#inappropriate use of gold stars

[w0lvierama]

NSFW

Boyfriend!Toji, who is, let’s be real, still getting used to being in a relationship with a girl he actually likes. Even though he’s dirt poor, he tries to get you gifts because he can tell gift-giving is your love language. He will pick flowers from your neighbor’s gardens so that he can give you flowers. He’ll pocket your favorite candy when he’s at the convenience store. He now gambles with his only intention being to buy you something nice with his winnings. (He still sucks at it, unfortunately.)

Boyfriend!Toji, who develops better habits with you around. He drinks less when you’re around because you hate his beer breath, he cleans his small apartment whenever you come over, and he’s spending more on the water bill, trying to make sure he isn’t going to smell when you cuddle him. You recently got him to chew on nicotine gum instead of smoking, and he’s actually trying to keep away from cigarettes. With you around, his mental health has been so much better, and he isn’t always grumpy.

Boyfriend!Toji, who secretly likes it when you buy him dumb little gifts like matching PJs or the pink scarf he likes to wear in the winter months. He has at least three beanie babies you bought him on his car’s dashboard.

Boyfriend!Toji, who calls you all sorts of pet names and is rough with you in bed. He makes sure you can’t walk afterwards and he can’t help but degrade you. He always is on top of aftercare, and will often worry if he’ll scare you away with some of the things he likes in bed. He hasn’t been as safe with his other relationships, and when you first started having sex, he was suprised with himself when he insisted implementing a safeword. His favorite position is missionary, surprisingly. He loves to see your face when he’s deep in you.

Boyfriend!Toji, who definitely has a praise kink. He loves to hear about how good he is to you. When you jokingly buy gold star stickers for him, he snorts at first, mumbling, “Cute idea, sugar, but if you put those anywhere near me, you’re going to regret it.” Then you stand up on your tippy toes to stick one on his forehead while he’s cooking for you, and all his blood goes straight to his groin. He starts to eat the gold star shit up, and now tries even harder to make sure you’re happy. (He won’t admit he likes it though, but his body’s reaction makes it clear each time.)

Boyfriend!Sukuna next! True form/Heian era version ofc.

[daisylolezzi]

wanna know whats so perfectly and endlessly exciting about fantasies? i can have them anywhere about anyone af any time.

i can be at work, in an important meeting with the ceo on a project, keeping professional and on topic while my mind wanders to how his old hands would feel fondling my breasts and sliding inappropriately up my inner thigh until his fingertips brush against the soft damp cotton of my panties, how his breath would feel on my cheek as he whispers that he only hired me because he wanted to stare at my tits all day, how his heavy body would feel keeping me pressed down over his desk while he slowly fills me with his thick cock...

i could be in a shop buying groceries and feel a chill go down my spine as i wonder how it would feel for a random man to press up behind me, grope my ass and my tits from behind, breathe against my neck that i should stay quiet and make this easy for him as his hand lifts my skirt, pulls my panties aside and shoves two fingers inside my cunt, fingerfucking me against the shelves until im tight and gushing and shaking as my wetness slides down my thighs, until i gasp as i cum, and he disappears as i buckle and slowly sink to my knees to catch my breath...

i can be at a pride event with all my lesbian friends, flipping off passing men and holding the hands of other women around me, as my thoughts flood with tingling accuracy at images of those same men getting fed up of my callous arrogance, charging the parade, grabbing me and my lesbian friends by our hair, throwing us to the ground and showing us what it really feels like to have the priviledge of society behind you.... shoving our legs apart and slamming into our obviously still virgin gold star cunts with their hard throbbing cocks, ignoring our screams in protest just like everyone else at the parade ignores us, laughing and fucking our wombs hard and deep as everyone who was once celebrating our lesbian pride is now cheering for the men raping us into the concrete street, our tits (and "unintentionally wet" pussies) on full display for these men to stuff and cum into over and over, taking advantage of our prideful lack of clothing to give us exactly what we were asking for...

i could be walking down my street just for some air and feel my body tremble with the anticipation of a random stranger running up behind me, tackling me to the curb and fucking me hard and fast because he just had to use me, needed to get off and i was the most available cunt for him to stuff...

i could be in a session with my therapist to work through my daddy issues and trauma, trying not to grind into the couch im sitting on as i picture him moving to sit beside me, whisper that he's here to help me overcome the difficult thoughts im dealing with, telling me as his fingers gently rub my nipples over my shirt that my trauma is the only reason i 'think' im a lesbian, promising as his other hand gently parts my thighs to rub my pussy and clit over my jeans that he can fix me and make me a good girl again, whispering as he kisses my neck to lay back, relax, dont think about it too much until eventually hes ontop of me, panting and moaning into my ear as he gets off, softly and slowly raping me for the first time of many...

and i can do this all day, without anyone ever knowing any better. these are just a small handful of all the ones i have 🤭🥴

[tgcg]

bad mouther, hole master

TG: kissing with tongue is gross as hell

CG: COME THE FUCK OFF IT.

TG: what

CG: I'M SAYING SHUT UP.

TG: oh

CG: IT'S NOT THAT WEIRD. IT'S LIKE THE NATURAL PROGRESSION OF REGULAR KISSING TO EVENTUALLY INCLUDE THAT. IF YOU HAD ANY SEMBLANCE OF ROMANCE GHOSTING THROUGH THE DEVOLVING REMNANTS OF YOUR THINKPAN YOU'D APPRECIATE WHAT IT BRINGS TO THE NUTRITION PLATFORM OF ANY CONSENTING CONCUPISCENT RELATIONSHIP!

TG: youre talking about it like its a goddamn military weapon or some shit

TG: some kinda scientific fuckin method to fondle a dudes mouth with your own mouth thats

TG: thats gross

TG: this isnt supposed to be a debate before fuckin congress on the pros and cons of getting your mack on

TG: its i would say a reasonably personal thing to react about and thats just my reaction man you dont gotta arbitrate it

TG: and like why the hell do they have to linger on it so long in these movies do they really want me to immerse myself in people necking each other that much

TG: roll the sounds around in my earholes like im swilling a fine fuckin wine

TG: well my professional opinion is that shit tastes and sounds mad gross and tbh i havent seen a single movie where it was close to being any kind of necessary

TG: its just a cringy waste of everyones time

CG: YOU HAVE NO IDEA WHAT YOU'RE TALKING ABOUT, AND I DISAGREE WITH EVERYTHING THAT COMES OUT OF YOUR IGNORANCE GASH, YOU LUMP OF TIGHT-LIPPED CLUELESSNESS.

TG: did you just homestar me

CG: FOR THE SAKE OF ARGUMENT, SINCE YOU'RE APPARENTLY DESPERATE TO START SHIT WITH ME RIGHT NOW: HAVE YOU EVER EVEN DONE IT?

TG: hell no

CG: THANK YOU FOR PROVING MY POINT.

TG: proving your point--

TG: bro have uh

TG: have YOU???

CG: EXCUSE ME? HAVE I WHAT?

TG: come on

TG: i walked into this stupid conversation with a fucking shovel and by god am i digging myself a damn hole big and wide enough for every dave across time to squeeze in so i might as well get cosy in this shit before we all start collectively shoving dirt in our mouths

TG: bet your ass im taking you down with me though

TG: grab your spade and get digging man

CG: GRAB MY WHAT????????

TG: just tell me

CG: ???????!!!!!!!!

TG: karkat

CG: NO!

TG: f-

CG: WHAT IS YOUR PROBLEM!!!!! WHAT PART OF "SHUT UP" DO YOU NOT UNDERSTAND????

TG: wait no

TG: oh my god dude

TG: you can spin that shit all you want but you can do it the hell away from me

TG: i do not need to be hip to your weirdo foursquare fantasies

TG: patently not my business

CG: STOP RIGHT THERE. JUST SHUT IT. I AM PUTTING US OUT OF OUR MISERY RIGHT NOW. I AM CONDUCTING AN ACT OF MERCY ON THIS INSANE FUCKING CONVERSATION AND YOU ARE GOING TO ZIP YOUR LIPS AND TAKE IT.

CG: HERE IT IS: YOUR SINGLE OPPORTUNITY TO PRETEND YOU NEVER SAID THAT TO ME. I AM GOING TO FORGET YOU MADE A COMPLETE MOCKERY OF ME AND MY CULTURE THIS ONE TIME. AND LET YOU CONTINUE TO DIG YOUR STUPID, SHITTY HOLE.

CG: AND DAVE, I AM BEGGING YOU NOT TO WASTE IT.

CG: TO ANSWER YOUR SHOCKINGLY INAPPROPRIATE QUESTION, NO I HAVE NOT DONE IT.

CG: WHO GIVES A FLYING FUCK.

CG: HAPPY?

TG: ……..

TG: way to defuse the situation solid work

TG: real gold star effort grabbin that lit wick and blowing on it

TG: ok first of all you asked me first so dont act like im the one being a weirdo about this

TG: second of all i didnt mean it like that and you know it

TG: THIRD of all what the hell was the point of engaging the knightly theatrics then if you cant even verify that shit

CG: WELL FUCK, SORRY DAVE! I GUESS I'M JUST A FUCKING ROMANCE ENTHUSIAST! I GUESS I GIVE A MAJOR SHIT ABOUT THE THING YOU'RE OPENLY MOCKING TO MY FACE! IS THAT SO IMPOSSIBLE FOR YOU TO WRAP YOUR THOUGHT SPONGE AROUND?

CG: AND IT WAS COMPLETELY REASONABLE FOR ME TO ASK YOU THAT, YOU CONGEALED FETID NOOKSTAIN! MY STATUS ON THE MATTER HAS LITERALLY NOTHING TO DO WITH THE POINT EITHER OF US IS TRYING TO MAKE.

CG: TRY TO KEEP YOUR NUGBONE FROM CAVING IN ON ITSELF WHEN I DROP THIS BOMBSHELL: I'M ALLOWED TO HAVE OPINIONS ON THINGS I ACTUALLY KNOW ABOUT, EVEN IF I HAVEN'T DONE THEM! I DON'T JUST GO TROUNCING THE FUCK ABOUT LOBBING MY UNFOUNDED OPINIONS AT PEOPLE LIKE I KNOW EVERYTHING ABOUT ANYTHING. UNLIKE SOMEONE WHO MAY OR MAY NOT BE INVOLVED IN THIS CONVERSATION WE'RE HAVING RIGHT NOW!

TG: youre

CG: I’M TALKING ABOUT YOU BY THE WAY. THE SOMEONE IS YOU.

TG: oh gimme a break

TG: bro youre going apeshit over something you havent even done

TG: you know what that sounds like to me it sounds like an overcompensating fake fan who doesnt get any

TG: you heard of troll napoleon complex

CG: AT LEAST I ACTUALLY FORMED MY OPINION BASED ON CAREFUL CONSIDERATION --

TG: -- oh yeah i bet huh

CG: -- INSTEAD OF JUST BANKING ON NUBJERK --

TG: -- not a real thing you just said

CG: -- REACTIONS AND WRINKLING MY SNIFF NUB AT ANY SIGNS OF GENUINE PHYSICAL INTIMACY!

TG: stop saying nub

CG: YOU EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED BULGEWAD

TG: not too much worse than being a perpetual fountain of emotional diarrhea

CG: DON'T YOU DARE.

CG: DON'T YOU DARE TRY TO USE THAT AS A "GOTCHA", YOU--… YOU! FUCK!

TG: dude did you actually run out of insults

TG: okay this is getting concerning

TG: youre the international dude of verbal dunks

TG: that can not be happening

CG: AAGHRJRGHJRGRHJAGHRJGRHJAGRHJRGRHJRGRHRJR

TG: you cant run out of em youre like the ultimate peddler of hate

CG: YOU DON'T THINK I'M CRITICALLY AWARE OF THE HOOFBEASTSHIT I'M SPEWING NIGH FUCKING CONSTANTLY?! I AM PAINFULLY COGNIZANT OF HOW MORONIC EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS IS!!!!

TG: feel like ive done some damage here

CG: ESPECIALLY MYSELF!

TG: alright bud time to calm down

CG: YOU CALM DOWN!!!!

TG: okay whatever!

CG: WHATEVER!!!!!!!!

TG: jeez

…

TG: here

…

CG: UGH.

TG: yeah

TG: really glad stuff like this happens in private

CG: YEAH. SAME HERE.

CG: JEGUS, CAN WE GO BACK TO BEFORE WE HAD THIS CONVERSATION? I DON'T ASK YOU MANY FAVORS, SO SURELY YOUR SLURRY OF ILL-DEFINED TIME POWERS CAN ALLOW YOU TO DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

CG: JUST LIKE, WIPE THAT WHOLE THING OFF THE SLATE.

CG: LET'S START OVER. SAY, FIVE MINUTES AGO. HOW DOES THAT SOUND?

TG: what conversation?

CG: OKAY, GOTCHA.

[mischieffae]

After Hours | Loki x Fem!reader

Summary: Spending the majority of the evening working on an important business project, the two of you find release within the empty building's cubicles. Who knew that a time crunch could unleash all this pent up tension?

Warnings: MDNI 18+, smut, fingering, squirting, rolled up sleeves (because that's a thing yes), half clothed sex, using the office desk inappropriately, hanging on with the tie for dear life

Word Count: 1,881k

Notes: This was supposed to be TVA Season 2 Loki. But it turned into corporate office AU. But you can still picture him as such. Listen, I have a thing for this type of scenario ok? I don't know jack shit about corporate but I do know a lot about smut, so that's all that matters. 😈

The soft ticking of your office's clock was driving you slowly mad, each little noise an irritating scratch against your brain. The computer screen's blue tint made your eyes burn with exhaustion. It was half past midnight, an absurd time to be still working on the company's reports but someone had to do it. Asgard Inc. didn't really care how it got done, but IF it got done. Thankfully your colleague Loki Laufeyson decided to tag along for the ride, most likely regretting his decision as you hear him sigh in boredom while typing away.

Maybe this would get you a raise? You highly doubt it. Perhaps a good ol' pat on the back, a gold star? Or a pizza party.

Speaking of food.

Your stomach grumbles in protest, a finger loudly clicking down on the mouse with enthusiasm as you finish your last line on the excel sheet. Tired hands lift to run across your eyes, totally forgetting about the 12 hour mascara that you're still wearing.

Fuck it.

You can hear a small chuckle from the cubicle next to yours, a rustling of feet sounding before a familiar head looks over the wall.

"You finished already? I think that's a new record you know."

Makeup smeared eyes raise towards his voice, your brows furrowing from the incoming headache. Why didn't he look as disheveled as you? He was here as long as you were, perhaps a couple hours more. And yet here he stood, hair still gorgeously intact, tie a bit loose but nothing tragic. Probably didn't even notice the time on the clock since he's had way more coffee than you. It wasn't fair.

"Record for the slowest report on Earth maybe. What about you speedy? You must've finished hours ago."

"Two, actually. Then I was just getting caught up on emails."

Of course he was. You give an eye roll with a groan, a wide smile forming on his face in victory. The two of you had made it a game that whoever would finish first when it came to reports, the loser had to buy the other coffee the next morning.

For you, this was strike five.

"Don't be so hard on yourself, this time was a lot for you."

Was that sarcasm dripping off his tone?

"Why are you even still here anyways? Trying to gloat and rub it in my face? Not going to work Laufeyson."

Loki slyly brought himself away from the other side of your cubicle to stand proudly in front of you. You forgot how tall he was, your throat bobbing slightly as your eyes noticed the one little detail that always seemed to unravel you.

Those damn sleeves were rolled to his elbows, showing off those perfect forearms with small veins protruding off on them.

Shit.

"Now why would I do such an awful, terrible thing like that? I'm only here for moral support."

It was no secret that the two of you have been quite obviously attracted to one another, often sending each other small flirtatious signals that even a blind person could sense. Was it slightly embarrassing knowing that the whole company was aware of your devious attractions? Perhaps, but when it came to Loki you couldn't bring yourself to care anymore.

It also helped that he was a higher up. You were safe in that regard.

Your legs instinctually cross over one another, the fabric of your skirt rising to show a little more skin. Which, he was definitely eating this shit up.

"Why wouldn't you? It's in your nature, after all."

Oh, that seemed to get him. It was as if a switch had been turned on, the playfulness on his face morphing into a shade of desire that made your heart clench inside your beating chest. Suddenly you felt like a rabbit snared in a trap, the fox leaning forward to inhale the scent of timidness.

"Is that so? Hopefully a nature that you thoroughly enjoy.."

You didn't realize how close he was until a hand reached forward to ghost along your jaw, a finger curling around a loose strand of your hair.

There was no turning back now.

" .. - Always..."

Loki's mouth clenches slightly as he lifts you from your rolling chair with a swift movement, a strong hand resting on the dip of your back. The other, begins to hold the juncture of your throat and jawline tenderly. The twig has been snapped between the two of you, your eyes fluttering as he slowly leans inward to brush his cold lips against your own flushed ones.

"...Good."

The floodgates of desire finally thrust open, your mouths clashing together in a passionate slow dance. You swear you could hear a soft moan escape from his throat, your lips parting to allow his skillful tongue to wrap around yours. He tastes of fresh mint, and a slight taste of coffee beans, his cologne of crisp pine filling your nostrils in a heavenly aroma.

Gods you wanted to be devoured.

He pulls back with heavy breaths, lips pressing lewd kisses under the dip of your ear. You could hear his desire, his hot breath tickling your skin as you let him ravage your flesh. Shaking fingers lift to grab upon his leather belt for support, pulling towards your willing body in a desperate sharp motion. A deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, his breath tickling your ear.

"If you want it, take it."

You swear he would be the death of you.

With a slight whine, your fingers quickly tug with annoyance as you unbuckle the belt, throwing the offending piece of clothing to the floor with a loud clank. Was he chuckling from your excitement?

Cheeky bastard. No matter, you'll have him singing a different tune soon enough.

You pull back to gaze into his eyes wantonly, a hand slithering inward to wrap around his hard length in triumph. Your hand begins a steady rhythm, twisting in just the right places as his hips roll into your grasp with a low pleasurable groan. A thumb presses upon his swollen head, his lashes fluttering against his high flush cheekbones. You could tell he was holding back and it made your heart flutter in excitement.

"What's that? Cat got your tongue so soon?"

Perhaps not the best thing to say in the moment, or perhaps it was. You couldn't decide. But he seemed to take your words as a challenge, his hand roughly moving yours out of his trousers before the other swept the items off your desk in one quick action.

Well that wasn't planned.

Loki's eyes are filled with mischief before he lifts your body to settle your back along the desk's surface, his hands moving to lift your skirt to settle upon your hips. Two can play at this little game.

"Not yet darling..."

His pupils are blown with lust, breaths releasing heavily past parting lips as his hands move to rub small circles on your hipbones. It causes your toes to curl in your heels, your back lifting upward to press into his grasp. There was a small silent plea in his eyes, and only you could ease the hesitance that stood before you.

"Then get on with it.."

If you could burn this memory in your head forever, you would. To see such a desperate man on his knees, his lips trailing along plush thighs while he lets your calves rest on his shoulders....it was almost too much. Your breath hitches as you feel his fingers roughly move your soaked panties to the side of your apex, your throbbing sex on full display for his pleasure.

You swear you heard him say something, beautiful, exquisite, along those lines. But words mean nothing right now, only actions.

A cry you haven't heard before escapes your lips as his hot mouth finds your dripping folds. He is a man starving, a moan rumbling against your clit as he devours you whole. His fingers tighten on the flesh of your thighs, your hands moving downward to grip raven locks as you buck into his mouth in rolling movements. Gods, it was heaven, that bastard so skilled with his tongue you for sure thought you'd faint right then and there. You moan his name with encouragement, his mouth pulling back to insert two strong fingers inside your core.

You lift your head to gaze towards your entrance, and what you find could only be described as ethereal. His mouth is glistening from your sex, his hair tousled from the roughness of your pulls. But what really got you was seeing his vein forearm thrust in quick upward motions, a breathless smile forming on his flushed face as he stimulates you to your climax.

"Come for me baby, come all over me.."

A coil tightens in your stomach before it unleashes with a tidal wave, your back arching in a tight motion before yelling out his name in ecstasy. Hot clear fluids spill from your cunt, the lewd noise of its wetness filling the air as he continued to thrust through your orgasm. It was overpowering, his heavy chuckle sounding in awe before he groans with content.

"Good girl, such a a good girl...."

You could barely respond as he swiftly moves to release his cock from its confinements, his hips wiggling to spread your thighs in a welcoming stance. It was a desire you didn't know you had in you, the type that would drive you mad if you weren't sated right here and now. Your reach to hold onto his hanging tie as he leans forward, the head of his length pushing into your cavern with one fluid thrust.

He gives you no time to accommodate his size but you do not care. Not when there was this much tension involved. You moan out his name while tightening your hold on his tie, using it as a rein to control the beast that drives into you. He's panting wildly, holding onto one of your thighs while the other arm holds himself upward.

You can't believe it is you that is making him sound like a wanton whore, that it was you that is making him hold back a whine as he thrusts wildly in a forgotten rhythm.

Your legs move to wrap around his hips to drive himself deeper, deeper, until you swear he is hitting your insides. It's keeping you feral, your eyes locking on his blown ones as his brows furrow with upcoming release.

" -.... Fuck.. I -...."

That was all he could mutter before a hand moves to wrap around your throat tightly but not enough to choke, a finger moving inside your mouth as you suckle on its digit. It makes him explode, a desperate moan releasing from his flush lips as he spills deeply inside you. Hot spurts of his cum coats your walls, your body tightening around him like a vice to suck up each and every drop.

He is shaking from the aftermath, heavy pants sounding from him as he gazes downward in awe from the pleasure. You both giggle in exhaustion as he leans forward to kiss you gently, your hands cupping his cheeks with a smile.

Yeah, you could stay after hours as much as you need to.

Tags! @thefairywithboots @oswildin @loki-cees-all @eleniblue @lokisgoodgirl @mischiefmaker615 @cueloki and anyone else that's ok being tagged, let me know!

[honey-riley]

Love You To Death || S.R. || 3 || Hello My Old Heart

WARNINGS: PTSD, jealousy, the team getting drunk, hints to DV.

wc: 2.5k

2 || 3 || 4

A/N: Sorry this one took so long to get out. As I said, I had something really traumatic happen, so I took a bit of time away, but I'm doing better now!

The next few days for Simon were a blur — the days felt more comfortable, the nights allowed him to rest peacefully. Simon spent most of his time busying himself, trying to get his mind off of work, and off of her. 

That night she came over, she looked so pretty. The way her hair fell around her shoulders, her cute little freckles that dotted her cheeks like stars in the sky, her green eyes that reminded him of a forest on a sunny day with the sun gleaming through the leaves, the subtle dusting of gold spikes in her irises. Her roman nose was strong like her, her oval face shape that framed her features. She didn't really have a slender face, her cheeks were chubby — not overly chubby, but they were cute. She was still just as tiny as she was when he met her of course, standing at four feet, eleven inches — only making it up to his lower shoulder when she stood next to him. 

But he couldn't fall for her. It was inappropriate. He was her Lieutenant, and she had a boyfriend. 

"Tank. What should I do?" He sighed, rubbing his forehead as he sat in his recliner. Tank blinked up at him, letting out a chirp in response. Simon glanced at his watch, taking in the time. He had to get to work soon. 

He got in the shower, letting the hot water cascade from behind, down his shoulders, and down his muscular body. He scolded himself mentally as Honey weaseled her way back into his mind, making his cock twitch. 

"Goddammit." He growled under his breath, closing his eyes and leaning his head back, letting the water roll down his forehead. He kept his hands away, not wanting to associate his subordinate with that. She had a boyfriend, and it wasn't him. He didn't want to be hers, he didn't want to be anyones'. He just wanted to be him — not tied down. 

He turned so that he was facing the water, rubbing his face, and especially around his eyes, which was a habit that he had gained from rubbing the eye black off of his face. 

He washed his hair, face, and body before getting out of the shower, and getting ready for work. He got dressed, got his gear on, put his eye black on, put his mask on, and left. 

When he got on base, Honey was still asleep in their shared room. The room was pitch black, and not wanting to bother her, Ghost shut the door behind himself as he came in. He fumbled around in the dark for a moment, trying to find the lamp that sat in the corner of the room. He eventually found it, turning it onto its lowest setting. He glanced over at her, watching as she stirred a little due to the sudden light in the room. 

He didn’t bother, turning back to his paperwork that sat on his desk — the paperwork that he still had yet to finish. He let out a long sigh, starting to read through it. 

After about twenty minutes of reading, filling out the forms, and signing things, Honey started to wake up. She sat up slowly, rubbing her weary eyes. 

“The other day,” Ghost started, keeping his eyes on the paper which he was writing on. 

“Pretend like it never happened. You never saw me at the shops, you never came over, none of it, Tailer.” He added, using her last name. 

Honey was taken aback a little — she thought that they were on better terms now, but apparently they weren’t. She sat there, watching the back of his head, taking in every detail. 

She wanted to ask questions. 

She wanted to ask why? 

Or what she had done. 

But she didn’t. She kept her silence, and though he couldn’t see, she nodded. She got out of her bed and started getting ready for the day. She put her hair in a bun, got her uniform on, and put her socks and boots on. 

Meeting with the rest of the team, Honey stood outside, the fresh morning breeze surrounding her. The sky was still and gray — which was average for a British morning, something she had gotten used to. The hums of truck engines and the distant sound of NCO’s barking orders at newer recruits filled the otherwise stagnant air. 

“Good ta see ya, lassie. ‘Ow’re ya doin’?” Soap grinned, clapping her on the back. 

“Well.” Honey nodded politely with a small smile drawing on her own lips. She glanced back at Soap, her eyes landing on his sapphire blue eyes. 

He nodded, taking his hand off of her back. He stood next to her, his chest puffed out slightly, his hands on his hips as he watched the base run like it always did. 

“What’s it like in Germany? A’ve been a few times, but never enough to really take in my surroundin’s, yanno?” Soap asked. 

“It’s nice. Where I’m from, the architecture is beautiful. It’s um..”

“I don’t know the word in english,” She giggled softly, trying to think. “Rote Ziegelsteingotik (Red brick Gothic)." She added. Soap nodded along, pretending to understand what she said. He didn’t speak a lick of German, but he was starting to pick up on it now that Honey was there. 

“Sounds beautiful, Lassie.” Soap smiled. “Jus’ like ya.” He added. Ghost’s neck nearly snapped with how quickly he looked over at Soap, shooting him daggers. 

Soap, on the other hand, was blissfully unaware of Ghost’s stare. Honey stood there, noticing the both of them. She cringed inwardly, but nodded with a smile, shoving down the awkwardness that was creeping.

“Thank you.” She said softly, glancing away. Her eyes wandered, watching a few trucks pass by. 

“Alright, lets get this show on the road, ‘ey?” Price smiled as he approached the team. Gaz took his spot next to Honey, staying quiet. He offered her a friendly smile, which she returned. 

After running five and a half miles with the team, they got breakfast, and Honey was sitting at the end of the table with Soap next to her, Price across from her, Gaz next to Price, and Ghost next to Gaz. 

Ghost wanted to be as far away from Honey as possible. He didn’t want anything to do with her, now that he had seen her as a civvy — especially because she had seen him that way too. Simon had been kind to her, repaying her for her own kindness, while Ghost didn’t want anything to do with her. 

It was like a switch had been flipped, as soon as he put on his mask, he was Ghost. He was different. He was a war machine, he was intimidating, mean. And he wanted it that way, but he also never wanted anyone to see Simon ever again. 

When he was Simon, he felt vulnerable, and he was kind and caring, like a little boy again. The boy that was beaten and treated as less than valuable his entire life — less than a person, less than alive, so he became a Ghost. Separating the two, and shunning Simon away. Simon never wanted anyone to go through what he did, but Ghost wanted everyone to go through it. 

Later that night, the team went out for drinks to celebrate their last win against Makarov. It was definitely one for the books, and now that they had time to do it, that’s what they were going to do. Get absolutely hammered. 

Honey could drink— and she was keeping drinks down well. She sat at the bar with Soap, drinking her third glass of Jägermeister on the rocks. 

“Lass, that’s fuckin’ disgustin’.” Soap chuckled, shaking his head. 

“I’m German.” She shrugged with a giggle. He shook his head for a second time, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. Ghost sat at the end of the bar, as far away as possible. He was nursing a glass of Jack Daniels, neat. 

‘Nothing forces a man to face his feelings for a woman more than the interest of another man.’

His eyes lingered on the two, maybe he was protective, but he didn’t want to care. She had a boyfriend —who was a piece of shit— and she seemed comfortable with Soap. He lifted his mask a little, taking a sip off of his drink before putting his mask down. 

Honey caught sight of the lower half of his face, mentally trying to piece together what he looked like under there.

He had a sharp nose, sharp eyes, sharp jawline, soft lips that were slightly pouted, and glasgow smile scars. They arched up from the corners of his mouth and all the way to just under his cheekbone. Honey couldn’t see the end of it, but she knew they had to be pretty long. 

Glasgow smiles were acquired from being tortured— the assailant would slice the edges of your mouth and make you scream, either by kicking, stabbing, whatever it be, they would make you scream, which would in turn rip the wound open. And to know that he went through it and survived sent a chill down her spine. 

She looked back down at her drink, taking a long sip. “I’m gonna need a few more of these.” She giggled. “Maybe tequila.” She added, nudging Soap, who chuckled in return. He ordered her drink, and she traded her old glass for the tequila, which she nearly chugged. She stuck her tongue out, shaking her head, trying to get the flavor off of her tongue. “Christ.” She giggled, her eyes narrowed in disgust. Price chuckled next to her, patting her back. 

A few hours later, Honey was hammered, and stumbling around everywhere. She had been drinking all night, and she wasn’t drinking lightly. Ghost went out to have a cigarette, and Honey stumbled out of the pub a minute later, unaware that he was there. She plopped down on the concrete, digging in her pocket for her cigarettes. She pulled one out, putting it to her lips and drunkenly lighting it, nearly missing her cigarette. 

She took a long hit, letting the smoke fill her lungs. Ghost glanced over at her, his arms crossed with his own cigarette between his fingers. She glanced up at him, her eyes lighting up. 

“Hiii!” She smiled, happy to see him. He gave her a curt nod, glancing away, watching the road. She scrambled to her feet, coming over to him. He looked back down at her, his brow arching as he tried to decipher why she was there. 

“Sooooo, howave you been?” She slurred, looking up at him with a big grin. He couldn’t tell if her cheeks were flushed because of the alcohol or him. He gave a grunt in response, looking away. 

“You need to go home. You’re drunk.” Ghost replied. “Don’t have a rideeee.” She whined, taking another drag off of her cigarette, letting the smoke out after a second. 

“I’ll give you one.” He replied, looking back down at her. He wasn’t drunk, he had only nursed his Jack Daniels all night, but that was it. She nodded, leaning back against the brick wall. He unlocked his car, pointing to it as the headlights flashed for a second. “Go sit in there. I’ll be back in a minute.” He grumbled, putting out his cigarette and going back in the bar. 

Honey went over to his car, getting into the passenger seat. She sat there, glancing around his car, taking it in. It smelled like him — the smell that she remembered from his house. Cigarettes, whiskey, vanilla, sandalwood, and a hint of cinnamon. She leaned back in her seat, buckling up and resting her head back against the headrest, closing her eyes as the world spun around her. 

It was a 2023 Aston Martin DBS 770 Ultimate Volante in Ultramarine Black, a luxury car. She opened her eyes and glanced around, taking in the size of it. There was no way that that man could fit in here.

He was 6’4”, muscular, and over all, big. She watched as he came back out, walking back to the car. He opened the driver’s side door, sinking down into his seat. His knees nearly touched the steering wheel, making Honey giggle. 

“Du bist zu groß (You’re too big).” She giggled, letting her head lazily lull to the side. 

“Huh?” Ghost grunted, his brow furrowing. He didn’t speak German, and apparently nobody on the team did, except for her.

“I said, you’re too big for this car.” She smiled, her grin lopsided from the alcohol. 

“You’d be surprised to see how hard it is to find a car that can fit me.” He murmured, starting the engine. 

The rest of the drive to Honey’s house was silent, and when they got there, Ben was sitting on the porch, waiting for her to come home like some kind of predator. He sat there, watching as the car pulled up, his eyes narrowing. He leaned back in his chair, sinking back into the shadows. 

Simon got out of the driver’s seat, coming around to the passenger side. He opened the door for her, letting her out. He gently took her tiny hand in his, carefully pulling her to her feet. Simon glanced around, checking their surroundings before leading her up to the front gate. Ben stood up, making Simon’s eyes shoot up. He gently let go of Honey, not wanting to piss Ben off — but it was too late for that. 

Ben stormed up to the gate, grabbing Honey by the arm. She looked up at him, her eyes wide. 

“Get in here, now.” Ben growled, opening the gate and nearly throwing Honey through it. 

“Ben!” She gasped, clinging to him for some sort of balance. She was hammered, couldn’t walk straight if her life depended on it, and Ben was throwing her around like she was nothing. Simon stood there, the look in his eyes changing for a moment, but he didn’t know what to do. He stood there, his eyes distant as he remembered what it was like to be ripped around like that. What it was like to feel like you weighed nothing, and not in a good way.

He took her inside before Simon even realized, and he stood there. Remembering. 

His father’s handprints burned into his skin, like an old wound bubbling up again. The thought of it made his stomach churn. He couldn’t let this happen to Honey, but it was too late. She was already inside, the door was already locked, and he was standing there like an idiot. Knowing that she was drunk and possibly defenseless made him feel so sick. 

He glanced back at his car, debating on whether he should leave or stay. What could he do if he stayed? He couldn’t just barge in and say ‘oh, hey, that’s not right’, but he couldn’t leave her like that either. She could be hurt, or worse. He didn’t want to think about it, but the thought wouldn’t leave his mind. 

They were part of a family now, tight knit. And though Ghost didn’t like her, he was still a decent human being. He wouldn’t let her suffer, right? 

Right?

[hiatuswhore]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝓎 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝐼𝒱 — 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓉𝑜𝓃

♕ A/N: I am so sorry for just disappearing on this fic. I love this fic but I’ve been struggling with writers block BADLY. My think tank is broken or something. So since I disappeared for so long the word count is double the usual. Thanks for your patience. Feedback please!

♕ SUMMARY: Oh, the most scandalous season of the year has come to pass. After quite the successful year for the Bridgerton’s the eldest son plans to throw his hat in the ring. Concurrently the Sharma sisters do just the same. One a spinster, the other hopeful romantic, and the middle daughter? What can be said about such a force that is not said when she enters the room. Good luck to all who pursue her.

♕ WORD COUNT: 17.6K

♕ WARNINGS: None

previous — Masterlist — next

THE NIGHT SKY SITS HIGH UP WITH A COOL BREEZE THROUGH THE WINDOW. Sitting alone in front of a vanity worth more than most of your things combined, you sit in the mirror, brushing your hair, toying with the idea of a marriage to William. It’s ideal—more than ideal, it comes with everything you want in life. An out from society, the means to do as you please, but still, it burdens you with a new level of expectations and responsibilities. No matter how much the choice glitters, it’s not gold. You cannot bring yourself to give him an answer.

Opening your room door slowly, you poke your head out quietly, scanning the corridor. At the sight of no one and the low hum of everyone to their own devices, you move cautiously through the hall. The stairs proved to be their own obstacle, with every creak threatening to reveal your scheming. Your end goal? The back porch, certain a moment beneath the stars.

“—you cannot be serious!” Stopping short, the back door sits in view a mere few steps away, but William’s voice halts your movement. The closed-door staring back at you, the persistent padding of the floor matching the faint shadow beneath hastily moving back and forth.

“Spare me, William! You speak on speculation alone!” Anthony seethes, his attempts to whisper clashing with his own frustration. A scandal? You want to listen, to cling to any information the private conversation offers, but the foyer lacks any semblance of coverage. It would only take one person opening the door to reveal your highly inappropriate snooping. As a guest of the Bridgertons, no good would come from this kind of trouble. You cast the moment to the back of your mind, acknowledging that you have more complicated matters than two Englishmen in a row.

Rising early the following day. Typically the beaming sun through the curtains and the loud chirping of birds result in dramatic whines and huffs. Not today. Before your mother or even Lady Danbury can rise to object, you ask Lady Violet to use the driver to see some of the countryside. Her nescience to your troublesome nature granting you jovial approval.

In the carriage, you rest your arms on the open window, the cool air blowing across your skin. The sun warms your face as you melt into the calm that comes with endless farmland.

“Excuse me, sir. Can you pull over, please?” You call out. The vibrant green shines with a sea of endless flowers, assuring John, the driver, that you will soon return while entering the open field. Walking through the grass, you march without a destination. Occasionally swatting away a fly or bug, your smile remains.

“Appa, look at this,” You whisper, eyes shining at the flowers around you. John’s no longer in sight. You are not positive about how far you have journeyed when you turn around. Without a worry, you continue back straight from the direction you came. After a long while, the lack of the familiar carriage comes with a wave of ambivalence. The silence continues on as a frown settles on your face, the terrain on a continuous loop.

Scolding your inability to follow any directions ever given to you. You drag your feet huffing at the uncomfortable rub of your boots. The concept of time now an illusion. Your mind says it’s been hours as your feet cry days. You thank the heavens above at the sound of a horse until you see who rides toward you with a pointed look.

“Must you always be so erratic? William and I have been searching for you for hours! Do tell, how does one get lost with no turns?” Anthony exclaims, stopping expertly at your side. You wipe the discomfort from your face as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“First, I’ll have you know that I am not lost. Secondly, no one asked you to come searching for me!” Anthony points out the ways off you are from where the carriage let you out. Falling silent, you roll your eyes before holding out your hand to join Anthony on the horse.

“You can’t be seen riding on the back of my horse. It would be improper,” He says, keeping your hand out; you narrow your eyes at his words, “So, to be clear, you journeyed out here with no alternative of getting me to the estate? Have you come only to chastise me, Mother?”

“If you put it like that, then, of course, it sounds foolish,” Anthony grumbles, your right eye twitching as you fight the urge to push him off the horse, “Because it is foolish! Now spare me your silly formalities and help me up!”

His nose scrunches as a sigh leaves him. Taking your hand and pulling you up, he utilizes the opportunity to lecture you on every worst-case scenario. You secure your arms around his lower back and lean your head on his shoulder. He drones about the dangers of the particular area and how fortunate nothing occurred. While he continues listing every action of yours he deems a nuisance, you soak in the release of the tensions on your legs and feet. Before you know it, his words and the smooth trot of the horse lull you away.

“—are you even listening? Of course, you are not. Why would (Y/n) Sharma listen to anyone else other than herself?” Anthony says, glancing on his shoulder to find your eyes closed.

“Don’t be such a boorish oaf. It’s been a phenomenal day,” Yawning, you find yourself nuzzling further into the back of his shoulder as if nothing else matters. Anthony lets out a dry chuckle, keeping his focus ahead as his mind pushes William’s confession to the back of his thoughts.

Before you know it, Aubrey Hall stands in view like your saving grace. Daphne steps through the doors as Anthony helps you down from the horse. Her eyebrows furrow as she carefully eyes the two of you, “No matter how painfully dull I find you, I must say thank you for coming to get me. Repeat that to anyone and I’ll deny it to my dying breath.”

“I expect nothing less from you, Miss Sharma,” Anthony nods his head at your thank you as Daphne lingers by the steps. Her eyebrows furrow at the two of you as her mind generates connections she previously presumed to be false.

“(Y/n) Sharma! Have you gone mad? I was worried sick, my child,” Your mother rushes down the stairs pulling you into a tight hug. While relief fills her, it subsides as she pulls back from the hug with a pointed stare. “What have you done?”

“If I may, Lady Mary? It appears our driver just made haste. Miss Sharma was only a little ways off of the path. Indeed partaking in a breathtaking but safe area of the countryside,” You turn to Anthony as he speaks with a charming smile. His easygoing nature saves you from a long lecture you would have inevitably received from your mother.

“Well, then, my apologies, dearest. Lord Bridgerton, please accept my utmost gratitude for ensuring my daughters' safe return,” Lady Mary says as she takes your arms. She excuses the two of you with a polite smile before dragging you toward the house. You look back at Anthony with narrowed eyes, but he only offers a sardonic smile with a mocking wave. You are certain his help does not come without cost.

“Though Lord Bridgerton vouches for the safety of your insolence, you know better (Y/n)!” Your mother sighs with her back on the door.

“Mama, I did not wish to upset anyone. I just wanted to explore the countryside. You should have seen it. It was beautiful!” You sit on the edge of the bed as your mind fills with the flowers splintering in your memory. The reds, blues, and purples blending in your mind, the ache of your feet long gone.

“My darling, can we please just focus on ensuring tonight’s dinner goes without shenanigans?” Mary sighs, holding her composure she stares at you with patient eyes. “I need your word that while we are here as guests, you will do everything possible to ensure this visit goes smoothly. For Edwina’s sake.”

“Mama, it was only—“ You huff, but as she shakes her head, asking only for your word. “Of course, Mama. I want to make clear I would never do anything to jeopardize our family or Edwina’s happiness. I need to know you know that?”

Mary’s shoulders fall as she takes in your glassy-eyed gaze. She joins you on the edge of the bed, taking both your cheeks in her hand. “(Y/n) I know you believe that, but you fail to remember your actions have consequences. When it is just us, I am more than okay with your adventurousness. But here, my wildflower child is a different world than you know. One wrong move, and it can ruin us all.”

The heaviness of her words does not come without consequence. Even long after your mother leaves you, her words do not. The arrival of dinner does not allow you to dwell on the implications of your mothers' words. You sit between Colin and Benedict, with Kate and Eloise across from you.

“This room is exceptionally well-lit. Have you noticed, Col? How bout you, Lady (Y/n)? The twinkles of the candles, it’s as if—we sit among the stars,” Benedict speaks in awe that exceeds the contents of his words—amusement dances across your face as Colin's eyes continuously bounce to his mother and back to Benedict.

“What is wrong with you?” Eloise questions, mirroring your expression as she eyes her elder brother.

“I was just telling Benedict how brilliant the stars were in Greece,” Colin says as if his mind formulates his sentence as it leaves him.

“No, you weren—“ You raise an eyebrow as Colin lightly kicks your shin. The rest of the table watches the pause between the two of you. Colin offers you a pleading smile as you shake your head, shielding your lips with your glass. “You should know that I weaponize my silence. The cost is simple. Why is Benedict acting odd?”

“I gave him a powder that I acquired from my travels. He took far too much of it,” Colin says, earning a loud laugh that draws the attention of the rest of the table. You quickly recover by bringing your glass to your lips again; meeting William’s gaze, he raises an eyebrow. Shrugging your shoulders, you tilt your head toward Benedict until William’s eyes move to the left of you. The longer you stare at the Bridgerton, the more apparent his altered state appears.

“Are you enjoying your time here, Miss Edwina?” Daphne asks, diverting the attention to the opposite end of the table. Edwina sits with Colin to her right and Anthony to her left. Daphne sits across from her with Anthony to her left and William to her right.

“I am, very much. The buzz of the city is thrilling indeed, but I quite enjoy the peace of the country,” Edwina smiles brightly as most of the table watches her. Your attention more on Benedict, who continues quietly in your ear about the room's beauty. Lady Danbury watches you quietly with Kate at her left and Lady Violet at her right. You silently thank whoever made the seating arrangements as your mother sits beside Benedict, unable to eye you the entire night.

“As do I. Though I dare say. It is not quite so peaceful with my entire family in residence,” Anthony points out. Rolling your eyes, you find William chuckling softly, his eyes on you.

“Certainly, I cannot compare my family to your seven brothers and sisters, but you have all become familiar with my wonderfully chaotic sister (Y/n). Kate and I were known to be a handful growing up, but Mama always had her hands full with (Y/n),” Edwina says, leaning forward to catch her gaze; you offer a playful wink. Kate does not miss the opportunity to share when you decided you no longer desired the hair on your head.

“Not this again,” You whine, shaking your head as Kate details how you excitedly carried your hair in your hand.

“I had never seen Mama become so flustered so rapidly. She was endlessly chasing (Y/n) throughout our home,” Edwina details as a chorus of laughter fills the table. Daphne's giggles cease as William huffs to the right of her. She follows his gaze to her left. A smile ghosts on Anthony’s lips as he watches how you laugh sheepishly. Anthony’s eyes focus on you, a nostalgic glint in his eyes,

“(Y/n) was such a fast child I could rarely catch her when she was determined to not be caught,” Your mother smiles, her eyes glazing over as if she leaves the dinner table to relive that memory. The story lacks the part where your father caught you. Despite your upset mother, he only laughed. Not a simple laugh, one without end—he laughed so hard the rest of you could not help but follow suit.

“In seriousness, both Kate and (Y/n) bear heavy responsibilities for our family. (Y/n) has never allowed any moment, no matter how hard in our lives to go without some silver lining. If anyone can help you through a tough time, it’s her. We’d have never survived the tough days without her,” Edwina continues as you look to find her gaze, only to find Anthony’s. It lasts seconds as you roll your eyes at him before looking at your sister. A chuckle leaves his lips as he fails to hear Edwina talk about Kate. Daphne watches warily as William silently watches his oblivious best friend.

“That sounds remarkably similar to you, Anthony,” Daphne says, watching as her brother snaps back into the conversation, “Much familial responsibility to bear, indeed.”

Kate catches Daphne's knowing gaze, and the two watch each other silently for several seconds. You sit watching Colin fail to keep Benedict in check, knocking over his glass and covering his face. When he removes his hand, it reveals a child-like grin, sheer contentment.

“Benedict dear, you alarm our guests,” Lady Violet says with the grace of a seasoned noble. A perfect blend of warmth and patronization. You know that tone all too well.

“Not at all,” Kate says as you offer a giant smile to Lady Violet. The sound of Lady Danbury’s fork against her glass commands the room's attention.

“It is time for a toast,” Lady Danbury says. A smooth distraction, chuckling, you glance at Benedict.

“A good idea. To cheer our guests,” Lady Violet says as your mother beams happily at the idea. It’s clear what they hope to achieve at this dinner, and you find it rather nauseating how they puppeteer it all.

“Or to tend to other pressing matters,” Lady Danbury's words are everything short of subtle. The attention turns to Anthony and Edwina quickly. Kate makes eye contact with Daphne, then with you. While you look unfazed by the inevitable purpose of this invitation, it’s clear Kate seeks a haste exit.

“My—I believe my sisters and I have grown weary,” Kate says. A sharp kick to your shin blocks your attempts to deny her words as you hiss quietly.

“Whatever you gave Benedict, you might need to give it to Kate,” You whisper to Colin, who turns to your sister. She holds her wine close to her lips as her fingers drum against the glass. Her posture’s stiff as she looks at Anthony as if her eyes can strike him dead.

“A toast. Yes,” Anthony rises from the head of the table as you all raise your glasses. “My sincere gratitude to the Sharmas for joining us. It has been splendid having you here to witness what is now my second annual loss at Pall-Mall. Not to be repeated, I assure you. And my special gratitude to Miss Edwina. It has certainly been a privilege to truly make your acquaintance these past few days. In fact, I believe there is a question I would like to ask you.”

You watch as most of the table sits at the very edge of their seats as Anthony pauses. Your eyes cut to Daphne, your eyebrows furrowing at the sight. Daphne steals glances at William, whose lips press tight as he stares at Anthony with—confusion? Kate shares Daphne’s weary expression, and you furrow your eyebrows as something does not quite click. Anthony now stands with his hands clasped behind his back, scanning the room. His eyes find your own, furthering your confusion as he pauses for a second. Anthony moves his gaze to William, and the two appear to speak to one another without saying a single word.

“I should like to uh—I should like to ask you please refrain from telling anyone back in London about yesterday's loss. I fear the harm to my reputation would simply be too great,” Awkward chuckles chorus through the room, but you glare daggers at the Viscount. You may not know classic literature well or Latin, but you know your sisters. The fall of Edwina’s face appears subtle, but the sting of Anthony’s words are unmistakable. Daphne and Kate let out sighs of relief as William stares at you. You cannot decipher what he contemplates, but you are sure it has something to do with Kate, Daphne, and Anthony. Dinner continues, and the end cannot come fast enough.

Finally, just your sisters and yourself. Kate rubs Edwina’s head as you sit without words. Deep frown lines crease Edwina’s forehead, her eyes misty, and you are confident that her self-scrutiny eats away at her insides.

“You must know you did nothing wrong,” Kate dares to say, but Edwina’s words are sharp as she speaks almost instantly, “I must have done something. The rest of the ton are now set to join us in the country. Surely, if the Viscount were to propose, he’d have done it by now. Yes?”

“Edwina, you are putting far too much pressure on yourself. You are wonderful, and they know it,” You take her hand in both your own, bringing it up to your lips.

“That is easy for you to say. People always love you, no matter where you go. You were proposed to by a man in line for the throne of England, Lady Violet dotes on you, and you charmed the Queen. You don’t even try and have done far better than I am. What if I missed my chance? Perhaps I should’ve found out more about the Bridgertons. I should’ve known more about their interests. I should’ve been better,” Edwina does not allow either of you to get a word in as a tear escapes her eyes. You place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand as your chest aches at her words.

“Edwina, do not fool yourself. How am I doing better, and yet you are the diamond of the season? You are amazing and do not need to study a man's family to prove your worthiness. If a proposal is what you want, I will beat it out of the Viscount myself if you so wish it,” Earning a chuckle from Edwina and Kate, the tension eases as a small smile plays on Edwina’s lips. It does not reach her eyes, but you do not expect to expel her fears so quickly.

A soft cry leaves her lips in one shaky breath, “I have bungled this entire affair, and now I feel like a fool.”

“Never say such a thing, Bon. I knew he would only end up hurting you. Come here,” Kate says, wrapping Edwina in her arms. You join the other side closing your youngest sister in. Your heads touch as you focus on the sound of Edwina's quiet sobs. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I thought he liked me,” Edwina cries, her hand squeezing you both a little tighter. You meet Kate's gaze, nudging your head, telling her it was now her turn to give a pep talk.

“(Y/n) is right, Bon. You are the diamond of the season. There is nary a gentleman back in London who does not wish for your hand. You have choices, Bon. I assure you that all will be well despite this disappointment with the Viscount. Plus, do you truly wish to marry someone our sister might murder?” A loud laugh leaves Edwina’s lips as you nod in agreement with Kate. Despite the heaviness of the conversation, a warmth lingers in the air.

The following day you wake to Kate rushing into your room, sitting up; you grumble as she mutters apologies. She moves to your things, removing the cream you have used on many cuts over the years.

“Are you alright?” You ask as she applies it near her collarbone. She assures you everything’s fine. “What happened to your chest?”

“I got a bee sting while near the gardens—“ You frown as she trails off, her eyebrows furrowing as your presence seems no longer relevant. “While I am not fond of the Viscount, you could help him.”

“Why am I helping him?” You ask. Initially, you do not believe her tale of being stung in the gardens and the Viscounts' familiar reaction.

“I do not know his history, Bon. What I do know is there is something with him and bees. I think he shares your ailment. It appeared like he could not breathe. He looked so afraid—his hands were shaking. Bon, I fear I will never understand your ailment, but for the first time, there is someone who can. Please talk to him, not for him—for you.” Kate crouches at your bedside, brushing your hair with her fingers much like she would after one of your episodes. You do not say a word during the entirety of her explanation. Rarely do any of you talk about your ailment. Kate caught it during the announcement of the season’s diamond, but beyond that, it had been relatively dormant.

“I will not seek him out, but if we happen to cross each other paths, I will inquire if he is indeed alright,” You say. Kate smiles, kissing your forehead before leaving your room. It only takes you mere minutes to get ready, not bothered by doing your hair in some precious way. Your mother, Lady Violet, Lady Danbury, and Daphne appear busy planning the lunch. The Bridgerton siblings scatter amongst the large estate to their own devices, and your sister appears nowhere in sight.

While you said you would not seek him out, you find yourself in the gardens. The flowers bloom beautifully with a significant number of hyacinths in view. You marvel at the simplicity.

“Miss Sharma,” Anthony joins your side, but his gaze stays on the flowers. You watch him carefully as he eyes them not in awe but with a cloudy disposition.

“Lord Bridgerton,” You say, turning to the flowers. Anthony's expression does not change, leaving you wondering if he even heard you. Uncertainty plagues you as you are sure what you want to say but not when to say it. “I will not dawdle any longer. I fear I am familiar with where you are now in this ailment. After the horrifying feeling as if all the air will leave your body at once comes that strange calm, where you feel as though you cannot feel anything.”

Anthony’s head whips in your direction, but you do not move your eyes from the flowers. The look on his face tells you that you are on the right track, but it does not confirm your assumptions, “Kate told me what occurred earlier. Correct me if I am wrong, but typically it comes randomly, right? Often in the most inopportune times but typically from certain settings.”

“I—you are mistaken, Miss Sharma. I, the Viscount, suffer no ailment, just temporary lapses,” He does not offer you much as he turns his attention back to the flowers, and you both share similar frowns.

“There is no shame in it, Lord Bridgerton. My father used to say we all have something, if not an ailment—an insecurity. A lot of my insecurities trigger my ailment, if I am quite honest. I have a lot to live up to with two great sisters. I am a lousy shot and not as cognizant as Kate. I lack resilience. I just bury my troubles with humor. Then there’s Edwina, whom you would be a fool to not marry. She checks every box of those silly questions of yours—excelling in modern and classical literature. Which are without a doubt boring,” Anthony chuckles as he listens intently. You let out a huff as you look up and meet his gaze. He appears in awe almost.

“Miss Sharma, I think you are undoubtedly your own harshest critic. You need not be like Kate because you find and elevate the room's most exciting part. Who cares if you are a lousy shot? My younger brothers excelled in shooting before I. You have voiced your distaste for classic literature, and it does edify the mind, but one has to enjoy it to sharpen their wit,” He clasps his hands in front of him, offering a sheepish smile as you look at him. A small smile threatens to break the frown on your lips. While you look off at nothing in particular, you miss how he looks at you. At ease, he appears unusually calm, not stressing the ball or his search for a wife.

“I—I must admit that I was wrong about you, Lord Bridgerton,” You say. A chuckle left his lips while correcting you.

“Anthony,” He says. You nod your head as a smirk tugs at your lips before mocking him.

“You suddenly think we are friends?” He looks incredulously at your sardonic tone, “Oh, do not look at me as if you are unfamiliar with who I am? You can call me by my name if you like. Last I checked, I lack a title and am not a man.”

He scrunched his nose before chuckling as your personality shined through. “With much regret (Y/n), I do agree with you to a point. You lack a title, but I am a gentleman.”

“Spare me your self-righteousness, Lord Bridgerton. I guess I should congratulate you. You have finally acquired the favor of one Sharma sister, now only one more to go, and you can wed Edwina,” Anthony’s face falls at your words. Looking past the garden, William walks toward you both. He ignores your playful smile as his eyes focus on Anthony to your right.

“Miss Sharma, we require a moment alone,” William says, glaring daggers in Anthony’s direction. He does not spare you a single glance as he waits for your departure.

“Miss Sharma?” You scoff at the formality, waiting for him to look at you. After a few seconds, William’s pointed gaze turns toward you.

“Your presence is likely needed elsewhere, and if I am not mistaken, it is highly inappropriate to be with Viscount Bridgerton unchaperoned,” He sounds like your mother, and you do nothing to cover your scowl.

“I know not of your issue, and I do not like whoever this is before me. When you find the time to pull your head out of your arse, then and only then will I happily enjoy your presence. Good day Lord Beauregard,” Your mocking curtsy’s evident before you stomp from the gardens into Aubrey Hall. The rest of the day continues in a blur of your mother preparing you and Edwina for lunch. In the middle of your mother doing your hair, a tap on the door becomes the room's focal point. Mary calls out enter, to which a maid reveals a letter for you from the Duke.

Lady (Y/n),

My apologies for my demeanor earlier. I am cross with my very best friend, and I fear I took it out on you. I will not be in attendance for lunch, for I fear tensions run far too high between Anthony and I. I will be in attendance at the ball. Until then.

Lord Beauregard

“Why is the Duke cross with the Viscount? They are dear friends,” Your mother says, reading over your shoulder, shrugging lazily at the neat cursive you toss it aside.

“Lord Beauregard is upset with Lord Bridgerton? Maybe that is why he did not propose?” Edwina says. You say nothing as Kate observes you as Edwina and your mother continue theorizing. Newton nuzzles at your feet as you hold your tongue. Your mother excuses herself, leaving the three of you alone. Kate still urges Edwina to recognize that she has no shortage of options in terms of suitors. This reality matters little, Edwina speaks passionately, and you cannot discredit her logic. Anthony can indeed provide her with the life she wants—deserves. Kate sighs, looking toward you. Shrugging your shoulders, you scratch the top of Newton’s head. Edwina keeps her gaze low as she speaks cautiously, “Sisters, I’ve been thinking.”

“Clearly,” You mutter under your breath, earning a pointed stare from Kate. Edwina’s shoulders fall as she glances between the two of you. “Apologies, bon, continue.”

Edwina straightens her posture lifting her chin. Raising your eyebrow, you cannot help the faint quirk of your lips. The anticipation of Edwina’s following words nearly comical, far too dramatic for your liking, “I am now quite certain I know why he has not yet made his declaration.”

Kate stiffens, glancing at you briefly before looking back at Edwina. The action terse, earning a furrow in your eyebrows at her. Edwina looks between the two of you with this confidence that you are certain has the strength of wet tissue paper. Her features too frail, and her voice far too delicate, “It's because of the two of you. (Y/n) you push too harshly at him and Kate; you hate one another.”

Edwina crosses the room crossing her arms, contemplating the situation. You eye Kate, her posture loosens, and a long breath leaves her. She looks back at you, and the pause lasts far longer than it should. Kate shakes her gently while turning to Edwina, “Uh, hate is probably too strong a word.”

“And quite frankly, I have been going rather easy on the Viscount,” You say, leaning back in your seat, taking note to later ask Kate what’s going on. Edwina's eyes widen, a glint flashing across her irises. “Oh no, whatever it is you’re thinking, I already hate it.”

“It is clear from your exchanges with the Viscount that he shares the feelings you each have for him. (Y/n) the two of you often banter, but the line between friendship and disdain is far too blurry. Kate, the two of you simply bicker, the line is very clear, and you are on the wrong side of it. All of this time, I thought I needed help getting him to fall in love with me. But I now realize I neeapparentting him to fall in love with both of you,” Edwina speaks softly, joining you on the couch. You can feel Kate’s gaze searing into your skin as she frowns at Edwina.

“Well, I don’t know about love, but the Viscount and I have recently found some common ground. I actually gave him my blessing earlier today,” You speak casually, watching Edwina squeal excitedly. She quickly pecks your cheek before turning to Kate with a soft smile. Kate’s sharp stare does not leave you even as Edwina urges Kate to try harder.

“I have not given up, I will not give up,” Edwina says with a dreamy look in her eyes. She rests her head on your shoulder, failing to see the tense stare between the two of you. Kate wastes no time in asking Edwina to go retrieve your mother.

At the closing of the door, the room still, you both stare each other waiting for the other to speak. Newton whines softly from the floor, the tension all-consuming in the sunlit room. You scoff, crossing your arms, “If you have something to say, just say it. The shared looks with Daphne and William and looks of scrutiny are becoming rather irritating.”

Kate huffs as her shoulders fall. She glances around the room before her eyes come back to you. The second she speaks, you do nothing to hide the grimace that takes your features, her tones gentle. Too gentle, you know it all too well, “Have you lost your mind? Why would you give Anthony your blessing? This will only further complicate things.”

“Do not patronize me, Kate. What are you even on about? We do not have to like him, Kate, but we cannot deny that he can give Edwina the life she wants. A large family, simple affections, dutiful husband,” You stand up with an incredulous glint in your eyes.

“A life where her husband and sister have feelings for each other?” Kate’s words rip through you. The weight of her allegation thinning the air around you. You blink several times as though if you do it enough, it will reset time, virtually ending this conversation.

“I would never hurt Edwina like that. That is a vile accusation,” You seethe, stepping closer to Kate, the breeze from the window cooling the fury that burns your skin. Kate places her hands cautiously on your shoulders. She knows how to anger you just as easily as soothe you.

“I know, bon, but we cannot ignore the truth of the matter,” Kate says, biting the inside of your cheek; you shake her hand off your shoulder. At the window, you peer out at nothing, in particular, swallowing thickly.

“He is courting Edwina, that is all,” You do not look at her as you speak, busying yourself with the many who prepare the backyard of Aubrey Hall with tables and umbrellas.

“I confronted him during Pall Mall about this subject matter. He, too, dismissed me. Neither of you even deny your feelings, only emphasize the inappropriate nature to which your relationship treks dangerously close,” Kate says, being greeted with your silence as you focus as though the workers perform for you. A long sigh fills the silence, “I do not wish to upset you, sister. We swim in precarious waters. If not careful, we’ll drown.”

You turn to Kate, your eyes glassy. Neither of you move, and Edwina’s jubilant voice sounds in the corridor. Before the door opens, you speak barely above a whisper, “We’re friends, that is all.”

Edwina rushes into the room ahead of your mother. She runs to the clothing, insistent on picking her best dress. Your mother glances between you and Kate. It seems she catches all that Edwina misses, and still, no one speaks a word of it.

Though not customary, you wear a sleeveless apricot dress that your mother forces you to pair with a sheer shawl. You walk without a destination with Kate through the backyard, the sea of faces, unfamiliar--the people, uninteresting.

“Sisters!” You can recognize Edwina’s light tone anywhere, her voice lacking the faint bass of your tone. Edwina sits with Anthony. Kate glances your way as Anthony meets your gaze. The pause brief. You glance at Kate before both of you look back to Edwina, her smile beaming. If she notices the hesitancy, she does not show it. “Come sit with us!”

Anthony rises as you both approach. As you approach the seat across from Anthony, Kate stands by the chair across from Edwina. Your eyebrows pinch as you look at Anthony, now questioning every little detail about his demeanor—every little detail about your own.

“Miss Sharma,” Anthony stands with his hands behind his back, dutifully nodding at both of you. You fight every urge to call him Serg.

“Lord Bridgerton,” Kate says. You nod your head fighting your better nature. The boundary between yourself and your potential brother-in-law now hazy. You like his disdain, maybe even prefer it. Contempt can be understood, but anything else resembles putting together a puzzle with missing pieces. You always did like to hide away parts of the puzzles to avoid finishing them.

The three of you sit down, sharing awkward glances as Edwina smiles, sticking out amongst the polite smiles. Anthony clears his throat, momentarily filling the silence. You fidget with a string hanging from your dress as Edwina looks at Kate.

“Did you tell the Viscount about your bee sting?” Your eyes cut to Kate, then Anthony as the question seemingly stills the table further. Kate chuckles softly. She looks at Anthony, speaking plainly. He offers a mock ah that earns an eye roll as you fiddle with your dress string. Edwina’s gaze turns to you, “Sister, you are quiet. Are you alright?”

“Tired perhaps,” Shrugging, Edwina huffs softly but maintains her chipper smile. The table conversation relies focally on Edwina bouncing between the three of you. Edwina suggests that Anthony give you and Kate a tour before you can decline; both Anthony and Kate speak over each other.

“I’ll be shooting with the other gentlemen. The party is to leave quite soon, I’m afraid,” Anthony offers a charming smile toward Edwina. Your younger sister perks up, not missing the opportunity to announce your adept skills in tracking and Kate’s excellent shot. Kate scoffs as Anthony laughs, seemingly dismissing the revelation.

“Do you not think it true?” Kate says. Benedict approaches, reminding Anthony it’s almost time to go. You cannot fight the grin off your lips at the sight of Kate. She has that look on her face. The one where she gets crazy competitive and enables your shenanigans.

Anthony chuckles, glancing at you just as you roll your eyes and laugh, “Perhaps your sister excels in fields with straight aim and level ground, but surely they would have some trouble managing—“

“Well, that certainly wasn’t condescending at all,” You murmur very clearly, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. Kate follows with her own question as Anthony steps further into it. Benedict smiles largely as his oldest brother crashes and burns rather quickly.

“I only mean to say—“ Anthony's slow drawl fuels your amusement. He meets your gaze, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

“Because we are women?” Kate says.

“No. I did not say that.” Anthony's gaze swiftly turns to Kate. At this point, he fumbles to clarify his point, merely shoving his foot farther into his mouth.

“But you implied it,” You point out, glancing at Benedict, whose grin falls as Anthony looks at him. Anthony then chuckles, speaking with a newfound diction, “Ladies, do not hunt.”

Kate quickly distinguishes between what ladies are and are not allowed to do. You bite your bottom lip, mirroring Benedict’s grin as Edwina redirects the conversation. Before you know it, you chuckle while changing in your room as Kate grumbles about Anthony, her irritation of the smug Bridgerton allowing you reprieve from her hefty assumptions. You push her accusation and William's proposal to the back of your mind. The fresh country air pulls a large smile to your lips. The glances from the other men barely reach you as Kate glares at them. Your and Kate's chaperone struggling like a fool on her horse behind the two of you. You sit on the back of Kate’s horse, your eyes taking in all the greenery, specifically the dirt that sits just faintly visible beneath it. The untrained eye would miss the faint but present signs of life in the area. One of the gentlemen up ahead calls the hunting party to the right.

“To the right?” You mutter, your eyebrows pinching as you glance over Kate’s shoulder. Several men steer their horses right as your eyes lock on Anthony’s back, the mocking tone leaving you with ease, “Viscount Bridgerton, do we intend to merely gaze at nature this day?”

“I do like your riddles, Miss Sharma, but I would love it if you spoke plainly,” Anthony says, his overly saccharine smile matching his mocking tone. Kate supplants Benedict spot riding next to Anthony, putting the two of you in clear view of the other.

“My sister's, right. Look, tracks are going off to the left. You can see the cloven shape in the moss,” Kate says. You spot her find, nodding your head as you gesture to the closest tree to the tracks, “The markings of the tree, deer like to rub their antlers against them.”

“Let’s stay with the group. If we find nothing, I shall offer myself up for both your target practice,” Anthony says, rolling your eyes as you scoff.

“You shall most likely come out unscathed as my target but rest assured, Kate won’t miss,” You taunt, tilting your head mockingly. Anthony narrows his eyes at you, a smile ghosting upon his lips. Kate glances between the two of you, sighing as she clears her throat, ending the moment as swiftly as it arrives. Silence blankets the three of you. You rest your head on the back of Kate’s shoulder, huffing quietly. The silence lives for only a few seconds as you perk up, “Lord Bridgerton, do you know why Lord Beauregard departed so abruptly?”

“He likely made haste once he realized you are more vexing than you are charming,” Anthony says with a matter-of-fact tone as you roll your eyes.

“I knew you thought me charming. The rest of your family certainly finds me to be so,” You fire back instantly, a smirk on your lips as you hold your chin up high. Anthony mimics your eye roll while looking ahead, your moment short-lived as William’s proposal lingers in your mind. You continue with half-hearted amusement while drumming against the saddle, “It’s unlikely William runs from me given his desire to make me his bride.”

Your eyes fog over as you presently leave the moment, Anthony’s locked stare failing to garner your attention. His voice lacks the condescension it has carried throughout the entirety of the day. He ignores Kate’s stare as he looks at you, asking, “You are engaged?”

The drop of your stomach at his question makes you sit straight as a pencil, a distant ringing in your ear faint and nagging. If Kate notices, she does not show or voice it. It seems that minutes—no perhaps hours pass since the question leaves Anthony’s lips, and yet his brother calls after him mere seconds after. Yet the question still lingers. You find yourself considering the possibilities. Will you marry him? You should have an answer. At least that’s what you believe.

Uncertain. Unbecoming. Unworthy.

A foolish—Kate’s voice pulls you back to the present. The horse comes to a stop as the masses dismount and scatters amongst the woods, “Sister, are you alright?”

“Always,” You say, climbing down with a grin. Kate eyes you carefully, and you wonder if she can see how you bury the anxiety, smothering its fire and leaving mere smoke in its wake.

Marching through the woods, you put your focus on your surroundings. You ignore how Kate challenges the others on how to go about the hunt. Kate and Anthony, too consumed bickering to notice how you veer off further and further from each of them. The lean, long-legged ruminant mammal greets your gaze with glowing reddish-brown fur with a cream-colored underbelly. A quiet chuckle leaves your lips, placing your gun down. You watch it in awe.

“Good find, bon!” Kate whispers. She joins your side, meeting your amazed expression with a proud smile. Anthony joins the two of you quite loudly, both of you shushing him as he thankfully did not manage to rouse the deer.

“Are you two quite serious? You cannot just go off like that,” Anthony scolds. Rolling your eyes, you scoff.

“If I wished to just see the trees and shrubbery, I would’ve gladly stayed and followed your very skilled guide,” Your sardonic tone earns a mocking smile, the two of you appearing like squabbling children.

“Lord Bridgerton, would you please be quiet. Bon, it’s your find. You should take the shot,” Kate says. All eyes fall on you, a chuckle leaving your parted lips as you stammer before the words escape you. Your sentences do not form or leave you as you glance at your gun.

Anthony purses his lips as Kate holds her gun out to you. You stare at the gun for several seconds, swallowing thickly. Just as you go to refuse, your blood boils as Anthony’s words reach your ears, “Miss Sharma, cowardice looks good on no one.”

“Takes a craven to know one,” You grumble. Taking the gun from Kate’s hand, you crouch down on the fallen tree. The barrel, at a comfortable place below your shoulder against your armpit, you inhale deeply, controlling the subtle tremble of your hands. Your palms glide against the gun faintly, coating it in a light sheen of sweat. You squeeze the trigger, closing your eyes, the sound scurrying away, telling you the verdict of your shot. Standing up, the sound of the hunting party rushing overfills your ears. Biting the inside of your cheek, your mind scrambles to prepare quick comebacks at the inevitable teasing that heads your way from the Viscount Bridgerton.

Just as the first few faces arrive, Anthony’s voice fills the silence, “It headed that way. It appears I am a bit rusty, but both Miss Kate and Miss (Y/n) are to be credited for finding the deer.“

Kate meets your gaze with a knowing look, but it does not matter as neither of you says a word to the other. The bout of confusion silencing, Kate does not push the subject any further than earlier, and you are grateful.

As the sky bleeds orange, it soon blackens, leaving you to lie awake with the pattering of rain outside your window to keep you company. Like most nights, you slip out of your room to your favorite part of Aubrey Hall, the steps. Sheltered by the house without being in the place. You rest your legs on your elbows on your knees, your chin against your palms like a patient child. The rain falls in heavy droplets, and light splashes mist up, just barely reaching you. It’s constant and unwavering. Approaching steps lull as soft as the pouring rain. You glance at the cup placed at your side.

“I like to have tea on my restless nights. It’s soothing,” Anthony sits at your side, staring out at the rain as he speaks. He takes a cautious sip of his own tea, glancing over at you when silence greets him. You stare at him with a raised brow glancing between him and the cup sitting next to you.

“I prefer—“

“Coffee. Perhaps if you take the time to look at the cup, you will recognize it,” Anthony says casually, taking another sip of his tea. You look at the light brown drink, steam wafting from it to your nose. The sweet smell leaves your mouth salivating in anticipation.

“Is your plot to assassinate me, Viscount Bridgerton? Presenting as a dutiful potential future brother-in-law with a cup of arsenic in hand?” You ask. Taking the handle of your cup, you bring it to your lips while holding Anthony’s gaze, amusement dancing in your eyes.

“Why, of course, my lady. Name a better pass time. I’ll wait,” He says, earning a chuckle as you wipe the remnant of the coffee from your lips. It lacks the nutmeg and cardamom you are used to. The bittersweet taste familiar but all the more different.

“Very funny, Viscount Bridgerton,” You chuckle softly, taking another sip as you peer back out at the rain. The muggy air and warm drinks flush your skin, a faint tint of reddish pink covering you. It’s serene but not perfect with the uncomfortable temperature, poor visibility, and loud silence. Yet it works. Neither you nor he moves to break this solitude. It lasts for seemingly a lifetime in mere minutes.

“William asked you to marry him?” Anthony says. You sigh, placing down your cup of coffee. You can see Anthony’s watching you from the corner of your eye.

“I presumed he would tell his best friend,” You are quick but not fast enough.

“Do you love him?” Anthony asks. You stare out at the rain with an unreadable expression. Your silence does not paint your truth to its full scope.

“I love William, I do. But I’m not in love with William,” You swallow thickly, your fingers fidgeting in your lap, “He wishes for me to be happy. Yet he does not understand what love does.”

“And what is that?” Anthony murmurs. He looks away from you, tracing the rim of his cup.

“It—“ You open your mouth just as your thoughts jumble in your mind. Taking a deep breath, Anthony glances over at you, a curious glint in his eyes. You cannot help but notice how you hold his full attention, “Love is like an anchor. It drags down to the sea. Further and further from reality, the reality is that marriage is an economic proposition. I do not wish to delve into detail, but the fantasy of love and marriage have long been sullied for me. I do not desire it nor require it. I know that may sound harsh, but it is my truth.”

“Not harsh at all. Refreshing perhaps,” Anthony says quietly. You nearly do not hear him. He takes a sip of his tea before clearing his throat, “After, uh, after my father passed, it took such a heavy toll on my mother. They shared a great love which showed all the good, but once you’ve seen the bad, it’s near—near—“

“Irreversible,” You say softly, finishing his sentence and meeting his eyes. The rain rages on, the soothing white noise all-consuming. You flinch as the sky brightens with the strike of purple lightning that flashes across the sky. The loud following booms rumbling the ancestral home.

“Perhaps it is time to retire to our rooms. Allow me to escort you,” Anthony says. You raise an eyebrow at him with a teasing grin. He rolls his eyes taking a taunting tone, “To ensure the arsenic takes, of course.”

Chuckling softly, you reach for your cup, cut off as Anthony takes it before you. You offer a mock surrender raising your hands in defeat earning a chuckle. Anthony walks you to your room door. Pausing before entering, speaking just barely above a whisper, “Tell anyone of this, and I will deny it. You are not as dreadful as you present yourself to be.”

“Great final words, my lady,” Anthony jokes, earning an eye roll as you bid him goodnight before disappearing into your room. Inside you choose not to dwell on the conversation too long, finding sleep at the touch of your face to your pillow.

You stand with Lady Danbury flittering with the uncomfortable corset rather than pay attention to all in attendance. Lady Danbury glances at you, vocalizing the arrival of Lord Beauregard. Your eyes dart across the room, considering blending into the sea of ambitious ladies and their slithering mothers.

“Miss Sharma,” William offers a warm smile while holding out a glass of wine. He apologizes for his absence, suggesting they dance.

“Mhm, do I let you off the hook so easily?” You sip your wine with a tilt of your head, a playful glint dazzling your eyes. William lets out a hearty laugh, his own sparkle shining with mischief.

“Please, oh beautiful Miss Sharma. Please forgive me, for I cannot continue without your forgiveness,” William clutches his chest, throwing his head back dramatically. The laugh that leaves your lips rises from deep in your stomach. Your cheeks grow sore as you ignore the looks of others. It’s almost easy to forget the frivolity of being in William’s company.

“Shut up and dance with me,” You chuckle. Discarding your cup, you take William’s hand, leading him to the dance floor. He bows as you curtsy, the two of you taking your uniform positions. Step back. Chin up high. Lift your hand. Turn. Each step visibly graceful and painfully robotic, controlled.

“I don’t wish to pressure you, but I cannot help but wonder where your thoughts are on my proposition of sorts,” William says. He makes the dance look easy. Each move carried out as though instinctive.

“Mhm, binding myself to the royal family who currently lacks an heir puts me dangerously close to being wed to a man who could be king someday. You offer not a simple proposition but a hefty proposal that cannot be taken lightly,” Your matter-of-fact tone impedes your count. William shifts right, covering your stumble with a light lift as he turns the both of you. When your feet touch the ground, you grumble a thank you continuing the dance, “I am too uncoordinated.”

“Some could say unique,” William counters. Taking your hand, he spins you gently.

“Unfit,” You fire back, continuing your count, step back. Hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand.

As expected of the dance, William steps forward following your step back. His nose brushes your own as his gaze does not falter, “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Without a doubt.”

Your voice catches in your throat, William looking at you as imagine man did upon discovering fire. While your decision remains unclear, you are certain of one thing. The security and companionship of William’s offer. Your eyes glaze over, thoughts flooding your mind all at once. William chuckles softly, pulling away, continuing a simple sway. “I do not aim to make you uncomfortable or pressure you. Only for you to see you as I do.

“It appears Eloise is enjoying this night just as much as you,” William looks over at Eloise. She dances a few paces to your left. Her eyebrows pinched as her eyes narrowed at Lord…you cannot put a name to his face. In seconds the gentleman walks away as Lady Bridgerton follows Eloise to the stairs. Her exchange with her mother does not reach you, but the looks are all too familiar. Lady Violet's unable to understand her daughter but proceeds with gentle patience, Eloise’s frustration. Neither understands the other. You find yourself glancing across the room at your own mother.

She smiles encouragingly, blissfully unaware of your plight. Unable to see the world through your eyes.

“You should go after her,” William says, pulling away from the simple box step you’ve both resigned to. Your eyebrows furrow as William bows, with a fond smile as he speaks, “Eloise Bridgerton. A comely lady of the ton going against the norms of the system set upon them. Sound familiar?”

You cannot stop the smile that spreads across your face. William nudges his head toward the direction Eloise disappeared. Nodding your head, you follow the stairs, passing Penelope on your way. She quickly calls out where to find Eloise. It does not take you long to find her door. You offer two light knocks, turning your head to listen in.

“I wish to be alone!”

“Might I join you? I certainly wish for a reprieve from the farce that occurs in your family home,” Chuckling, you lean on the door frame. Shuffling behind the door greeting you with the distant music of the ball continuing on down the hall. After a few seconds, you are sure she will ignore you, but the opening of the door welcomes you. Eloise sits on the floor a few feet from the door. She pulls at the string of her dress, watching as a piece of hem gently unravels. You take a seat next to her, drumming your fingers against your thighs, “do you wish to talk about it?”

“Being my mothers' disappointment? Not particularly,” Eloise says with a matter-of-fact tone.

“I get it. The feeling is rather draining. Focus on it too much, and you’ll find yourself scrutinizing every detail about yourself,” You say, resting your head back against the wall. The laxness of your tone contrasts her furrowed eyebrows.

“You feel like your mothers' disappointment?” Her incredulous tone earns a chuckle as you nod with a gentle smile. “Not a chance. You’re pretty and charismatic, every mother's dream.”

“Many find me argumentative and blunt. Kate is more reserved. She has mastered proper etiquette. Edwina is the comely charismatic one. Most days, I can’t tell if Mother fears what I might do or what I might say,” Your words leave you quickly, shrugging as you near ramble. Wetting your lips, you chuckle as Eloise continues your rambling, “And even when you say something outside of the norm as they’re expecting, they act as though it surprises them. As if they don’t know our natures.”

“Ah, so my Mom isn’t special. It just comes with the having a mother package, I see,” You jest, chuckling softly as Eloise does as well. Only little shards of the prior remains. A reminder in the music that plays from downstairs as the ball continues. The fancy dresses you both wear that itch at the neckline and constrict your midsection. Reminders in your stations amongst society, “Eloise, we are the second daughters. The middle children, like shadows not clearly seen but fairly visible. Existing behind the first and last born daughters. It may sound like a sad reality, but there’s something rather amazing about us.”

“Being ignored and forced to conform?” Eloise’s eyebrows pinch as she stares at your chuffed stupor.

After a few seconds of staring off with the grin of a fool, you speak. Your voice much like velvet, appearing as though nothing in the world could hurt you, “We get to be whomever we wish, not what our mothers molded us to be for society.”

“Are you certain you don’t want to marry any of my brothers?” Eloise smiles, sliding closer. She rests her head on your shoulder. You kiss the crown of her head before resting your own head on hers. Eloise yawns as her words leave her, resembling a sleepy child as she says, “I do not wish for you to leave. My sisters don’t get me.”

“It’s okay. Sisters aren’t supposed to. It keeps things interesting that way,” You joke, earning a weak chuckle. Eloise does not say a word. She continues resting her head on your shoulder. A few minutes pass before Benedict pokes his head in, and you do your best to help get Eloise to bed. You both walk back to the main room together, where the party continues.

“Eloise seems to really like you,” Benedict says with a big grin. You furrow your eyebrows, looking at him.

“And just what exactly are you implying, Lord Bridgerton?” Your playful and straightened posture earns a laugh.

“Just that whether we become in-laws through our siblings or not, you, Miss Sharma, are always welcome back here. Especially for Pall-Mall,” Benedict says. His smile spreads across his face, even his eyes smiling.

“I will remember this invitation and hold you to it,” You tease, grinning as Benedict assures you his word is his bond. As you both walk, he cuts right at the dance floor. You cut left, following the outskirts of the dance floor. Edwina’s smile shines on the opposite side, the light of a young girl in her eyes. Reaching Edwina’s side, she clings to your arm with a giddy smile.

“Oh, sister! Lord Bridgerton and I have danced twice tonight. Twice!” Edwina exclaims, her smile shining up at you as she interlaces her fingers in yours. She gestures to the dance floor where Kate and Anthony dance. Your eyes stay on them as Edwina speaks, her words not fully registering as Anthony’s eyebrow furrow at something Kate says. Edwina gives your hand a light squeeze, “Oh, Didi, I’m certain he’d not have asked me for two if he did not have intentions for the evening. Kate should be giving her blessing as we speak. Oh, isn’t it all so exciting, sister? We shall both be wed before the season's end!”

“Yeah,” Chuckling softly, your eyes stay on Kate and Anthony. Anthony’s eyes widen before scanning around the room. His search halts as he captures your gaze. Edwina still speaks, oblivious to your lack of attention or how Kate looks between you and your staring partner. Anthony glances at the door and back at you; arching your brow, you turn to Edwina. Your pensive stare eludes her as she rambles with a large smile, painting the vision she sees of your future. Anthony politely bows to Kate before leaving the room as Kate joins you and Edwina. If she notices how your eyes follow Anthony out of the room, she does not give any inkling of it as she nods along to Edwina’s excitement. Your ears ring as the various colored gowns of the room muddle, and your vision splinters. You swallow dryly, the ringing in your ears growing louder. Pulling at the edge of your short-sleeved dress brings a faint cool to your flushed skin.

“Sister, are you alright?” Edwina’s voice snaps you back into the present, looking at her with a weak smile.

“Just a bit warm. I think I shall take a moment to get some air,” The words leave you quickly, almost incoherently. You do not look at Kate, her gaze burning a hole into the side of your head. The corridor outside of the ball greets you with low light and a cool breeze from the open back door. Anthony stands on the porch pacing back and forth. You look at him and then glance back at the doors that lead into the ball. You should go back inside, of this you are sure. Despite this, you take a few steps forward, your light efforts capturing his attention. You tilt your head toward the library doors before entering without a word. The room is far more lit than the hall, with many candles and closed windows drying your mouth. You eye the pitcher and cup on the desk, undoubtedly some form of alcohol—hopefully far stronger than wine.

Anthony slams the door behind him, his fists clenching as he paces. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms, your mocking tone filling the silence, “Please just share what I have done this time. The suspense is killing me.”

“When will you leave? Huh?” He asks, furrowing your eyebrows; he gives you no time to speak. A mirthless chuckle leaves his lips, “Oh, Miss Sharma, now you are one for silence?”

“What are you going on about?” You scoff, narrowing your eyes at his condescension.

“Your sister speaks of your plans to depart back to India, so when shall you leave?” Anthony grits his teeth, hissing his words as he steps closer to you. Your eyebrows quirk up, staring into his eyes, quickly identifying what lies across his face—utter betrayal. Anthony shakes his head, scoffing, “Of course, you grow silent when one desires you to speak. You live to get under my skin. I’m almost certain god has sent you to punish me.”

“Lord Bridgerton, I fear we have found ourselves in a conundrum that if it ever came to light, I fear my family would never forgive me. We mustn’t confuse our understanding and friendly nature for something entirely different. Yes, I can be infuriating and insolent, but it's a part of my charm, I think. We are just confused. A line is blurring between us,” A weak chuckle leaves your lips. How can one want to punch and kiss someone all at once? You shake your head as though to rid yourself of the thought and feeling. Internally scolding yourself for ignoring Kate’s warnings, you clear your throat, “You seek a wife of perfection, which my sister can provide. That is simply where we must stand.”

“I am a man of honor and of certainty. I have been certain of what I seek of what I want from start to finish in all things. Especially matters of my family, and yet—“ He pauses, inhaling sharply as he looks at you. The look in his eyes that was not there before that you have not seen before.

“Here, in your quick wit and inability to listen to reason, you challenge all I stand on—all my certainty. Your sister and I share understanding, but there is no shroud for what we share,” Anthony stands before you with a look of utter desperation, of devotion. His eyes reflect all you feel. The confusion, the frustration, the desire.

“Lord Bridgerton—” Straightening your posture, you clear your throat. It falls on deaf ears as Anthony steps closer, his hand ghosting over your cheek. The heat of his palm spreads across your face like wildfire that never quite touches. He speaks quietly as though coveting his words “(Y/n). Tell me you feel nothing. Tell me, your mind does not feel the temptation of this dalliance? Do you have no comprehension of how you plague me?”

Your voice sits in your throat. Every muscle in your body tense as though you await something cataclysmic. Neither of you takes your eyes off the other. His hand still cradles the air centimeters from your cheek. The crackling of the fireplace fills the silence.

It all implodes with the faintest tilt of your head into his palm. You both pull forward sharply. His hands cradle your face as your foreheads touch. You place a hand on his shoulder. The proximity dizzying. The feel of him all-consuming. You squeeze your eyes shut, the consequences be damned.

“This is wrong,” You whisper, gripping his shoulder and taking long deep breaths through your nose. His breath tickles your lips as the space between you further closes.

“Oh!” You flinch back, Daphne’s eyes looking from you to her brother. Her eyes are wide as Anthony steps toward her. She looks back at you, speaking softly as your glassy eyes stare back at her like a fearful child, “I’m sorry.”

Daphne leaves the room hastily, with Anthony chasing behind her. You walk to the desk, pouring a quick glass of the drink. The drink makes you grimace as you swallow it down in one go. You do not look up as the door opens again, crying out desperately, “I require something stronger, please!”

“Oh, Bon,” Kate says softly. You rest your hands flat on the desk letting your head hang as your tears fall beneath you. She pulls you into a tight hug, letting you sob into her shoulder. You refuse to share the source of your despair, your thoughts haunting you. Kate was right. Even William was aware, “Oh (Y/n).”

“Didi, it’s all wrong. It’s all wrong! ” You cry out, looking up at her. She cradles your face. All red and puffy.

“Bon, we will get through this, I promise you. Wipe your tears and show me the fearsome (Y/n) I know.” Kate says, kissing your forehead. She takes you up to bed, tucking you in, even brushing her fingers through your hair as you quietly cry with your back toward her. When Edwina stops in, she offers well wishes before bed. It only fuels the fire of your despair.

The following day, you rise early, bathing before hastily packing your things. You thank the heavens that Kate makes no mention of the night prior, nor does Daphne. Your goodbyes? Almost robotic as you anxiously await packing away into the carriage and leaving Aubrey Hall behind. Kate holds your hand, offering occasional light squeezes as the three of you stand by the carriage. Edwina glances at your interlaced hands and says nothing as she takes your free hand in her own, kissing the top of your hand.

The slight chill of the morning breeze does nothing to cool the warmth that holds you captive. Your palms are sweaty as your stomach wrestles itself. You look at Edwina on the brink of tears, her eyebrows furrowing at the sight.

“Sister, are you alright?” Edwina’s head tilts as she gently squeezes your hand. Your throat drying just before you can find your words.

“Um, I need to—“ You speak quietly, the calling of wait making you tense as you all turn toward the front door of Aubrey Hall. Anthony marches down the stairs with unwavering confidence, squeezing Kate’s hand tight; you swallow dryly.

“May I speak with you?” He says. You fail to notice how Edwina slips her hand out of yours as well as how Anthony's eyes do not meet your own. Your ears ring so loud you do not hear the words that leave Anthony’s lips, only registering the knee he takes as he holds a ring out to Edwina. Kate whispers in your ear, coaching you to keep it together as your nails dig into her palms. Edwina’s eyes are large and shining. She looks at you and Kate. The smokescreen of pending nuptials blinds her to the mournful look that holds your face. Your mother focuses too intently on Edwina and Anthony to notice but Lady Danbury? Lady Danbury eyes you with a knowing look, but still, she says nothing. As the seconds pass like hours, your expression sharpens as though the despair never existed. You look at Kate, offering a curt nod.

“I do wonder about the trim. Is it too much?” Edwina asks, standing up on the podium as your mother beams up at her. You are certain the last you saw her so happy was when your father was still alive. Sitting by the window, you lazily peer out at nothing in particular. No one comments on your icy demeanor, but you know they have noticed it.

“Nothing is too much now that the Queen is hosting,” Your mother smiles, looking from Edwina to the Modiste. As your mother continues to look over different fabrics, Edwina may like the room grows silent in her absence. Kate steals glances at you as Edwina takes in the view of her gown.

“Did I mention we will be married by the archbishop himself?” Edwina says gleefully. Kate's smile does not reach her eyes as she nods and watches you. The bride-to-be glances over at you with a frown, “Sister, did something happen between you and the Duke? You’ve been unwell since the last night before we left Aubrey Hall.”

“We are fine,” Your flat tone barely audible as you continue eyeing the bustling road outside.

“Sister, you should accept his proposal. Then we would both have royal weddings, and you would be a royal! The Queen already adores you, and I’ve seen the way Lord Beauregard looks at you,” Edwina says, her smile large and tone encouraging. You purse your lips looking over at Kate. She holds your gaze before you turn back to the window. Edwina frowns, observing the brief moment, but she says nothing. Instead, she maintains her smile, “We must get you both dresses as well. Special ones. This wedding is as much both for your triumphs as it is for mine. Both of you clearly said something that swayed him to declare himself.”

“We cannot claim credit, Bon,” Kate says, chuckling slowly while shaking her head, but Edwina insists. You chew on your bottom lip, ignoring the burn of your throat, blinking continuously. Kate reminds Edwina that you both plan to leave after the wedding if you have not accepted William’s proposal.

Back at Lady Danbury’s, you hide away in your shared room, sitting by the window lazily drumming your fingers against your leg. You let out a frustrated huff, your sulking growing utterly dull. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glance at your room door, perhaps a venture outside. You stick your head out of the door, looking down both sides of the corridor before stepping lightly out. Where your mother is currently is not to your knowledge, but you know she will prevent wandering if she catches wind of it. You move carefully past the tearoom, freezing in your tracks.

“—nothing appropriate about what you’re doing proceeding with your engagement,” Kate seethes. Frowning, you press your ear to the door.

“On the contrary, I believe it is the most proper outcome for all,” Anthony says, rolling your eyes as you glare at the door as though he stands before you.

“Oh, and what of everything that has happened between you and my sister at Aubrey Hall?” Kate says. The silence tenses every muscle in your body as you await his answer.

“Nothing passed between Miss (Y/n) and I,” Anthony says cooly, a blatant lie. You bawl your fists. How dare he! Opening your eyes to something you could have easily continued oblivious to, only to shut you out completely. You march off to the stairs, stopping at the sight of your mother and sister at the bottom of them.

“Is that so? If I recall correctly, you appeared angrier than hornets at the prospect of her departure,” Kate says, “I can recall the way your eyes find her in every room. The way you look at her, far more than a prospective brother-in-law. If she accepts Lord Beauregard’s proposal, you will be bound to each other in a tortuous way forever. ”

“Would Miss (Y/n) and I being the ones to marry after all my public courting of Miss Edwina, be the outcome you desire?” Anthony asks. You greet them with a large smile stalling as you scratch the back of your neck.

“No, but I’m certain it’s yours,” Kate says. You make certain to enter the room first, giving Lord Bridgerton and Kate a moment to step away from each other. Anthony greets your sister and mother with a polite smile. It falters as he meets your gaze. You roll your eyes quickly, averting your gaze to your mother.

“I will return in seconds. You lot can begin without me,” You sputter, leaving the room before your mother can protest. She calls out to you, but you are already out of the door and halfway down the stairs. A pair of hands steadying you at your waist as you crash into a chest.

“Easy there. Are you always so spritely?” William chuckles, offering a warm grin as you recollect yourself. He frowns, taking a good look at you, “(Y/n) are you—?”

“If we were to wed, would you consider coming to India?” You ask. It’s selfish and wrong, complicating your situation even further if possible.

“I uh—well, I could, but once my grandfather leaves us, I will have to return. His responsibilities shall fall to me,” William says, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks at you, “(Y/n) I only want you to consider this if you truly see it in your future.”

“Let’s not fret over it now. Mother will wish to see you. Come,” You take his arm, pulling him along with you to the tearoom. Your mother and Edwina smile happily at William’s presence in the room. Anthony stares at the two of you, his eyes locked on your intertwined arms.

“Well, now that you are all here. I have news. Lord and Lady Sheffield sent word they are in London,” Lady Danbury says. You do not hide your grimace, looking up at Lady Danbury in pure disgust. Kate looks at your mother as Edwina smiles.

“Our grandparents?” Edwina says, looking at you. You look down at the door, counting each line you can see in the wood.

“Indeed. It seems they read the engagement announcement and wish to make your acquaintance and, uh, that of your future husband, of course,” Lady Danbury ignores the lack of reaction from all of you except Edwina. You scoff quietly, muttering to yourself, “Of course they do.”

“They are already in town?” Kate asks. William glances between you and your family, and so does Anthony. The best friends look at each other before Anthony addresses the elephant in the room. You glance at your mother, the way she controls her shallow breathing—looking around as though seeking an escape. Her mannerisms are familiar, too familiar.

Anthony escorts Edwina to the promenade as William escorts you. Your disposition even lower than before somehow. William stops in his tracks, crossing his arms. You stop not looking up, just waiting for him to rejoin you. When he does not, you look up with a frown.

“I’ve never seen you so, so gloomy. There must be some form of an insult or jest just charging up in there,” William smiles gently, watching as you shake your head, lowering your gaze. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

You sigh as the two of you walk again, nodding your head slowly, “My grandparents are just awful. Overcritical and impossible to please. I’m in no mood for them presently.”

“Well then, before the impending doom that comes from your grandparents' presence, perhaps you shall humor me?” William asks, standing on the ports and gesturing to the secured rowboat. “If I become insufferable, I will happily allow you to throw me overboard.”

“Promise?” You say quietly, fighting the grin that takes your lips as William smirks.

“You have my word,” He says, offering his hand out to her. She takes it, allowing him to help her into the board. He then gets in himself, untying the rope and pushing off the port. “In the colder season, this freezes over. It’s rather fun to step on the top of the ice and glide around. I tend to fall a lot doing it, but it’s all in good fun, I swear it.”

“Really?” The laugh that leaves your lips appears foreign, replacing your petulant stares. You look over the side of the water, picturing William struggling to stay atop the frozen terrain.

“Careful, you’re tilting the boat,” William says, raising an eyebrow. You smirk. Your eyes shine with a glint of mischief.

“What, like this?” You say, shifting your weight from one side to the other William gives grips the edge of the boat, giving you a hard stare. After a few seconds, it melts into a grin as he dips his hand in the water, splashing it up at you. You squeal, shielding your face as you splash water up at him. The two of you laugh like giddy children, gaining the attention of the many who walk around the promenade.

Kate chaperones Edwina and Anthony. They watch the two of you. Anthony’s gaze does not leave your form. Edwina’s words fall on deaf ears as he locks onto your laughter. Your younger sister gasping, pulls Anthony back into the present as the boat overturns, sending both you and William into the water. Both you and William resurface, laughing infectiously, not caring how everyone watches the two of you.

“You tipped the boat over, not me!” You exclaim, helping William push the boat toward the port.

“Says the one who insisted on rocking the boat,” William playfully scoffs as the two of you near the port flipping the boat right side up. You look up, grinning as Kate shakes her head at you, and Edwina happily points out your better mood.

“It seems you always know how to lift her spirits, Lord Beauregard,” Edwina says with a smile. William smiles at your sister, giving her a polite nod, his smile lessening as his gaze moves to Anthony.

“Miss Sharma, please allow me,” Anthony says, offering his hand out to you as he bends down. You stare at it, set on ignoring it, but Kate gives you a look as she gestures to the wandering eyes around you all. Accepting his hand begrudgingly, you quickly pull away from him, standing next to Kate. Your dress clings to you, dripping water down your entire body. William climbs onto the pier turning to fasten the boat back to the log, but Anthony’s already tying it tight.

“Fret not, friend. You always did struggle with tying knots,” The dig’s not lost on you nor Kate. You glare at Anthony, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Anthony and William stare at each other, the tension high as you look around, noticing the other onlookers growing. You narrow your eyes, stepping forward and pushing your palm against Anthony’s side. He stumbles forward into William, the two crashing into the lake.

Your jaw drops as they hurdle into the water, Edwina exclaiming your name as you fail to fight back your laughter. The water splashing up at the three of you, only fueling your amusement. Kate's eyes widen as her gaze bounces between you and the two lords in the water.

Anthony plants his hands flat on the pier glaring up at you as he lifts himself up first. His soaking-wet shirt now sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination. Kate nudges your side, reminding both you and Edwina of the inappropriate nature of staring. Even as the words leave her lips, the three of you shamelessly watch him. The show not ending as William pulls himself up. It’s wrong, oh so wrong, but every passing thought in your mind bubbles, leaving a warmth at your core.

“That was fun,” Smiling, you look between your sisters, who both shake their heads at you. Kate suggests it’s time to head back in worry of you getting sick. Your dress still drips water as you casually bounce on the balls of your feet. In the carriage, you sit next to Kate, resting your head on her shoulder while gently kicking Edwina’s feet.

“Bon, your hair is still wet,” Kate sighs, failing to shrug you off. Edwina giggles softly, moving her feet as you follow hers.

“Quite observant, Miss Sharma,” You chuckle, rubbing your hair against her side, earning a groan as she pushes you away. Edwina covers her soft chuckles with her hand as she watches the two of you. The carriage ride’s mostly quiet beyond a few snickers and Kate’s annoyance with your persistence.

Back at Lady Danbury’s, you openly gape at the sight of an indisputable fact—you are indeed your mothers' child. For hours your mother rushes around like a mad woman. She rushes about the house between making sure you all wear the perfect dress to the intricate styles of your hair and the jewelry you accessorize with. Not a single thing out of place, snarkily reminding you that today’s not the day for nonsense, as she calls it.

Kate offers you a weak smile as you roll your eyes grumbling beneath your breath. If either your mother or Kate dislikes the Sheffields more than you, they hide it well. The last time you can recall seeing them at the ripe age of five, you glared at them for the entirety of your visit. Their interest only stemming from the gossip about your exciting personality, to later deem you unruly. You never did understand why your mother even sent you there. The damage—irreversible.

“It’s just one dinner,” Kate says, fiddling gently with your hair smoothing out every little menial imperfection.

“Yes, one dinner of those people we have to call family scrutinizing every little detail about us. About mother. About you,” You take a deep breath, your expression hardening as you swallow dryly. Edwina enters the room doing a light twirl, her smile large. There’s a clear difference between who can remember meeting the Sheffields and who does not. Edwina’s smile falters at the sight of your pensive stare. She walks, placing her hands on your shoulders with an encouraging smile.

“There is still time to take a small nap if you need didi. I can distract Mama,” Edwina says, chuckling softly as you shake your head, leaning your head onto her hand.

“I appreciate it, bon, but I know a nap will do nothing but agitate me further,” You glance at the door watching your mother jet past. A chuckle leaves your lips, “And quite frankly, Mama as well.”

“Edwina dear, I need to speak with your sister alone,” Your mother enters the room, taking a deep breath as she softly pants. Edwina smiles, nodding her head and leaving the room without a further word. Lady Mary looks at you with her lips pursed.

“I know, Mother. I do not require further instructions for dinner tonight. Be punctual, proper, and pleasant,” You huff, crossing your arms. Lady Mary sighs, walking over. She takes your hands.

“Oh, my wildflower child, you are all those things. I’ve come not to lecture you but to check on you. I know you carry strong feelings about my parents, and if at any point this dinner is too much, you do not have to stay for the entirety of it,” She says softly. You know her words are untrue. To leave dinner so abruptly would only further their thoughts of you.

“Right, so they can nod their heads and look down on me as the defective one of their bloodline. I will not,” Your words are sharp and tense. You stand with perfect posture. Lady Mary shakes her head, but her protests mean nothing, do nothing. You stand, appearing the complete antithesis of the girl everyone knows. “If I could get through two weeks of your parents as a child, then I can get through one dinner. I no longer wish to continue discussing this topic, Mother.”

She takes a half step back from you, keeping your hands in hers. The glint in her eyes as familiar as the one all those years ago when you returned home, guilt. She does not say another word. Nodding her head, she kisses the tops of your hands softly before leaving the room. You fan yourself with your hands, the room uncomfortably hot. The faint tremble of your hands clear as you clasp them in front of you, taking a long deep breath.

After a few minutes, you leave the room in search of your sisters. Lady Danbury smiles, walking with her cane as she calls out to you. She compliments your appearance, the rich red gown complimenting your skin tone. Lady Danbury wears her knowing smirk with a present glint in her eyes, seemingly always present. The two of you enter the room together, clearly interrupting your sisters. Lady Danbury smiles as you appear ready to walk the plank.

“Our guests have arrived,” Lady Danbury announces with a large smile. Her eyes solely on Edwina, who giggles with a giddy smile, leaving the room hastily. Before either of you can follow, Lady Danbury's hand shoots out, halting you as she sidesteps Kate. Her smile falls as eyes look between the two of you.

“You may spare us the instruction, Lady Danbury. We know we are to be on our best behavior,” Kate says with a polite smile. You bite the inside of your cheek, staring off with a blank expression.

“You think me an unfeeling harridan,” She says to Kate before turning to look at you, “and you hide from me as though I see right through you. Well, ladies, I am hosting this dinner for both your sakes.”

“You know nothing of my relationship with those people,” You scoff, glaring up at her.

“And yet I do,” Lady Danbury says, her gaze softening just a tad. Mother told her. You look away from her crossing your arms as you shift on the balls of your feet. “Going forward, Edwina’s betrothal may be the end of certain hopes you’ve harbored regarding the Viscount but access to the Sheffield fortune.”

“I want nothing to do with those people or the Viscount. I will take a lifetime of struggle before I am under the Sheffields' control or ruin this for Edwina. You speak so far out of place,” You narrow your eyes at her, but she merely chuckles.

“Oh dear, you can do better than that. Dear, the life of independence you seek is close, Kate. And you (Y/n)? You have been presented with an opportunity of a lifetime. A marriage to a royal. Security for the rest of your life and full independence from your grandparents. I implore you both to think of the reward of the coming events. Think of your futures. Deny the feelings and passions as you please, but once it cools. You dear have an abundant future ahead of you, where you and your sisters are happy,” Lady Danbury stands in front of both of you. Nostalgia dances in her eyes as she smiles with a bittersweetness to her expression. You blink away the heat in your eyes, taking a deep breath to will away the bundle of nerves that dance in your stomach. When neither of you says a word, Lady Danbury smiles once more, “Come along, girls, it’s time for dinner.”

In the hallway, Edwina follows closely behind Lady Danbury. Her light pink dress sparkling in the warm candlelight. You walk with your arm folded into Kate’s, your jewel-tone gowns matching just as much as your forced polite smiles.

“Ah, Lord and Lady Sheffield, it has been too long,” Lady Danbury’s jubilant demeanor easing the suffocating tension. Not long enough, in any other circumstance, these words leave your lips, but now? Now you keep your head high and posture statue-like, “May I present Miss Sharma, Miss (Y/n), and Miss Edwina Sharma.”

You and Edwina stand before your grandparents with differing expressions as Lady and Lord Sheffield take you both in.

“Oh, my dears, look at the two of you. Aren’t they lovely?” Lady Sheffield gushes, looking between the two of you. You meet Lord Sheffield's gaze, both of you eyeing the other with similar scrutiny. Edwina voices pleasantries for the both of you. Their questions and invitations flowed quickly, evidently aimed at Edwina. They remember you just as vividly as you remember them. Still, you keep your head high, posture perfect, and expression neutral.

“Mother. Father,” Your mother greets them, leaving a chilling silence in her wake.

“I do enjoy the opera. My sister Kate is the one who introduced me to it,” Edwina says, maintaining her high spirits as she smiles over at Kate. Your jaw clenches at the forced smile Lady Sheffield sends Kate’s way, her disapproval coated in honey. Another painstakingly loud silence follows before Lady Danbury recommends they all head to the dinner table. Her diversion from the simmering tension was swift, temporarily successful.

You meet Anthony’s gaze, offering a mocking smile before following behind the others. His eyes follow you into the room, a soft sigh leaving his lips as you join Kate’s side. Edwina walks hand in hand with Lady Sheffield, who dotes upon her.

At the table, Kate sits to your right, with Lady Sheffield to your left. To your further misfortune, Anthony sits in front of you. You ignore the hole he stares into your head at the start of dinner.

“And, of course, you must be our guests at the Sheffield Manor. It is nothing compared to the estates at Aubrey Hall, to be sure, but I think it a most pretty part of Hertfordshire,” You stare at the place setting as though it’s the most incredible thing you have ever seen. Analyzing every minuscule detail of the fall colors as a better alternative to the active conversation. If you notice the glances from Kate and Anthony, you do not show it.

“Do you shoot? We a have a fine stock of birds, and you're always welcome,” Lord Sheffield says, his voice booming through the dining room. Anthony’s gaze flicks from you to your grandfather. He thanks Lord Sheffield for the invitation, expressing his enjoyment in shooting.

“Kate and (Y/n) do as well. (Y/n) is an excellent tracker, and Kate, a great shot. A most efficient duo. All three of them nearly bagged a stag on our trip to the country,” Edwina looks at you, smiling. You mirror her smile before lowering your gaze once more. The cold food and untouched table setting sit staring back at you. Lady Sheffield's mirthless chuckle fills your ears as she looks over at you. Her faux saccharine smile and words pointed, “How unusual. Do they teach young ladies to hunt and shoot in India?”

“Only the fortunate ones,” Kate mutters, snickering; you bite the inside of your cheek. It’s the first real smile on your lips all night. You catch your mothers' smirk at Kate, her gaze shifting to you. She wears a soft smile.

“Uh, Lord and Lady Sheffield, how long do you plan to stay in town?” Kate asks politely. You reach for your cup of wine, taking a long sip. Say in the morning, preferably in the hour.

“Oh, we shall stay for the wedding. And of course, for (Y/n)’s when she weds the Queen’s nephew,” Lady Sheffield speaks definitely with merriment to her tone. She speaks as though she’s boasting of something she’s accomplished as if she knows you—any of you truly.

“I have yet to decide if I will accept his proposal,” Your neutral facade wavers, your jaw clenching once more. The grip on your glass so tight that the brown of your knuckles shines white.

“Oh nonsense dear, you shall not let such a generous offer pass you,” Lady Sheffield chuckles as though she shares a beautiful joke. Only Lord Sheffield laughs. You take a deep breath covering your grimace with another long sip of wine. The bounce of your leg beneath the tablecloth gently rattles the glass atop the table. To your disdain, Lady Sheffield continues, “Imagine. The Queen herself overseeing my granddaughter's nuptials and welcoming my other granddaughter into her own family, with all things considered. Her majesty is kind to be so forgiving after everything that has happened.”

“Now, now. We are all family here,” Lord Sheffield says. You finish your wine, letting out a long shaky sigh. To your surprise, your grandfather tries and fails to deter his wife.

“An earl, no less than twelve thousand acres. Any other young lady would’ve fallen to her knees in gratitude that her parents were showing such care,” Lady Sheffield says. You glance at your mother, your patience thinning by the second. She shakes her head slightly. Lady Violet's attempts to switch the topic falls on ears, your deep breaths growing louder. Even Lady Danbury tries to engage Lady Sheffield in pleasant conversation, but it’s clear the elephant in the room will not be ignored. “And all for what? A mere clerk, was he? And with a child from a previous marriage to God-knows-who.”

“My mother has a name,” Kate maintains an even tone, her shoulders squaring as you now openly glare at your grandmother. The wine warms your skin, shoving you closer to your wit's end.

“We could not show our faces in society for years. Not that she should care. She simply sailed away from all of us with that man,” Lady Sheffields says, your fist hitting the table with a loud bang. Reveling in how she flinches, her eyes widen at your nerve. The room stills, all eyes on you.

“That man is my father, and you do well to speak of him with reverence. You cry about appearance in society when you ignore your beautiful family in favor of acrimonious feelings toward the glue that holds the three of us together. Kate may not share our mother, but she is the very best of us. So you will not sit here and speak ill of her before me,” You practically hiss your words as you stare at your grandmother. There’s so much more that you must say that you want to say, but as always, you are never truly heard.

“Dear, we do not aim to hurt you or your half-sister. It is your mother who sailed away with that man robbing us of our two grandchildren.” Lady Sheffield ignores your comment about your father, omitting him entirely. The tenderness in her words like poison in your ears.

“Three. Your three grandchildren. I have three daughters with whom you have had every opportunity to form a connection. Like a fool, I sent one of them in hopes of you all fostering a connection only for her to return, unlike herself. But at the end of it all, the choice to shun us was yours alone,” Your mother speaks with an impressive blend of being stern and soft-spoken. “And do not think I took it lightly being cast out by the only family I had ever known. I was heartbroken, indeed. But in time, I came to see that, in your cruelty, you did us all a great service.”

“Mother, you require no explanation for these people,” You say, earning a warm smile from your mother as she looks at you.

“I have always admired your warrior spirit, my sweet girl, but this is not your fight,” Lady Mary says. You nod your head swallowing thickly as Lord Sheffield tries to dissuade you all from continuing. Your mother stares at her own, “When you cast me out, you set me free. Free to raise my daughters far from your constant judgment and craven demands that they should chase wealth and titles above all else!”

You smile to yourself. Never had you seen your mother so defiant. Never had you felt so close to her, so like her. Lady Sheffield scoffs, “You are a fine one to talk. You turn your nose up at my parenting but look at your children. The child not of this family is a spinster who muddles the very integrity and reputation of your own daughters. (Y/n) shoots and speaks with volatility unbecoming of a young lady. It’s a miracle she has the prospect of securing English nobility? It is clear Edwina will succeed, and I will always question the very foundation of how with such influences.”

Unbecoming. Unfit. Unworthy.

The words ring loudly in your ears, inhaling sharply, the table squabble no longer reaches you. Your shoulders drop as your stomach turns. Lady Sheffield rehashing the terms of yours and Edwina’s trust fund barely reaching you. You swallow the burn in your throat, struggling to blink away the water that wells in your eyes. Gaze low; the high-pitched ringing in your ears—disorienting.

“That is enough!” Anthony’s voice rips you from your own head. He looks from your grandmother to meet your teary-eyed gaze. His own only softens for a second at the sight of you before turning back to your grandparents, his expression one of frustration, “I can only think you’ve been exiled from good society because of your deficient manners rather than any other sin. Since the moment you arrived, you have failed to show the proper respect for the Sharma family and I will not stand for it.”

“I declare—“ Lord Sheffield says.

“I will not stand for it. Lady Mary has done admirably in raising her daughters. They are intelligent, kind, and loyal women. A credit to both their parents. And since you clearly do not wish to jeopardize your social standing by associating with such company, I suggest you do not. You may leave at once!” Anthony declares, staring at him. Your head spins as it did that night in Aubrey Hall. The weight of your reality harrowing as you glance at Edwina. Anthony rises from his chair. Your grandmother voices her disbelief as he walks away from the table. Standing by the door, he calls out, “Please send for Lord and Lady Sheffield’s carriage. They can wait outside. And do not trouble yourself waiting for an invitation to the wedding, for you shall not receive one.”

Your mother’s the first to apologize, but Anthony sternly announces he and his mother will be departing immediately. The tension in the air far more thick than it began. Your mother and Kate run after Edwina leaving you and Lady Danbury alone. After a few seconds, you exit the room without a further word, ignoring her knowing stare. You do not realize where your feet carry you through the corridors until you see the back of Lady Violet and Anthony.

“Lord Bridgerton, a word,” You call out, narrowing your eyes as he disregards you, “I have spent this night being insulted and humiliated. All I’m asking for is a moment of your time.”

“I owe you nothing,” Anthony huffs, looking back at you. You tilt your head, not needing to say, but you do with actual words. He pauses, sighing before telling his mother he will meet her at their home. You walk him to one of the many side rooms, your words leaving you quickly as you assure him Edwina did not know.

“It is clear she was as much in the dark as I. I am not upset with your sister. Is there something further you wish to discuss?” Anthony speaks sternly, his hands behind his back as he glowers at you.

Your eyebrows furrow, his understanding words not matching his expression. You continue cautiously, “No, uh, I just wanted to thank you for what you did back in there.”

“That is of no import. I take it there’ll be no dowry. Now that the Sheffields have withdrawn their support,” He speaks mechanically, like a cog in the machine of English nobility. You open your mouth, but no words leave you, “I’ll take your silence as confirmation. Clearly, both Miss Edwina and I have been misled, and it is best to call off this doomed engagement.”

“Oh, now you suddenly lack the desire to wed my sister,” You scoff, shaking your head, narrowing your eyes at him, “I am many things, but a fool is not one. Something is happening between us, and you’re using this lapse as an out for the mess you put us in.”

“Says the one who weaponizes her disdain for marriage as a tool against her grandparents,” He counters his accusatory tone and steps forward, doing little to faze you.

“The resentment of my grandparents and my resulting outlook on marriage is of no consequence to our dilemma. You are to wed Edwina, and I am to return to India with Kate,” You watch as his jaw clenches at the mention of India. Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Why do you insist upon casting Edwina aside?”

“You are the very source of all my strenuous relationships. I jeopardize my longest and dearest friendship due to your very presence. Your sister, Kathani, battles me daily not against my union with Miss Edwina but how I look upon you. Now you wish me to bind myself to you for all eternity, doomed to never have you in the light to which I desire. I am a gentleman. My father raised me to act with honor, but that honor thins and weakens with every interaction we share. Vanquishing you from my mind proves to be futile, as you plague my being without endless.” You move away from pacing faintly as you shake your head. His eyes stay on you, longing—pleading for a response.

“No, Lord Bridgerton. I cannot—I will not take part in this dalliance any longer. You confuse your feelings. Edwina is who you seek,” You speak barely above a whisper, your voice catching in your throat as he steps closer again. His hand on your cheek.

“Yet you are who I found. You challenge my feelings, yet you make no objection to my close proximity. You told your sister you intend to bend my nerves till they break. Miss Sharma, they have broken. Give me your love, hate, disgust. I want it all as long as it comes from you, only from you. You are infectious and come without a cure,” He whispers, his lips ghosting over your own. Shamelessly allowing him to drink you in, and as fast as the moment comes, it goes. He pulls away, walking hastily to the door, his words low, “I must take my leave.”

You let out a breath you had not been aware of holding. Your hand comes to cover your lips as your tears flow. The door opens once more, but you do not look up, uncaring of who has found you.

“Oh, Bon,” Kate says at your side. She pulls you into her arms. She knows the looks, the pauses, the warnings—Kate’s known all along.

“Didi, I fear you have been right. The Viscount and I dance around feelings I cannot explain nor reveal to Bon. I have ruined everything. I will ruin everything.” Kate shushes you softly, cradling you in her arms like an injured animal. When she finally coaxes you to walk with her to your shared room, you cannot meet Edwina’s eye inside.

“Oh, Didi,” Edwina gasps, taking your hands as she leans down, attempting to meet your gaze. You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath in as you build your courage.

“Bon, I fear you will hate me, but you must know I carried no intention to keep this from you so—” Your voice wavers as you still fail to meet her eye. Once the words are out, you cannot hide them. Not from Edwina, not from yourself.

“Didi, I could never hate you. I understand your disdain against marriage now, and once I am married to the Viscount, there will be ample funds to provide for all of us,” Her words strike you quickly. You say her name softly, but she shakes her head, “I want nothing more than to be his wife. His Viscountess. But first, he must forgive us. Do you think he will?”

Kate glances at you, your teary-eyed expression hardening. Before your sister's eyes, you bury it. You bury it so deep that not even looking in the mirror will show you signs of it. You clear your throat nodding your head, “He will. I will make certain of it, Bon.”

You lay with Edwina in her bed, rubbing her scalp as you soothe her to bed. As sleep captures her, you look at Kate. Mouthing your words, ending the previous conversation for good.

“He must marry Edwina.”

[teaberrii]

Year of the Dragon

You and Dan Heng are a match made in heaven until fate takes him away from you too soon. Years later, you think you moved on with a mutual friend who shared your grief and stuck with you during tough times until you meet a mysterious man with a striking resemblance to your past lover and a hidden motive. You’re determined to get rid of him, but how are you going to get rid of a god?

Dan Feng/You

Notes:

Cross-posted on Ao3

Genshin Impact and Honkai: Star Rail crossover

Female reader

Chapter index at the end of chapter one

Support my writing

Chapter 1: Take Me Home

The strapless, white dress with light, gold sparkles all around hugs your bodice and flares out at your hips and thighs, creating a dramatic silhouette that makes you look ethereal. Yet, the happiness reflected in your eyes is far from what should be present in a wife-to-be. You step off the small stool and leave the changing room, where your friends are waiting for you.

"This is the one!" March exclaims. Then, with a teasing smile: "Looks like a dress he'll want to get his hands on if you know what I mean."

Stelle sighs. “Is there no limit to your inappropriate innuendos?”

March puts her arm around you. “You know I’m right, Stelle. They’re taking the next step together as blissful newlyweds where intimacy is at its finest.” She winks at you. “You gotta take advantage of those golden years.”

“Gotcha,” you say. “I’ll definitely keep that in mind.”

March puts her hands on her hips. “Hey! I’m serious!”

Stelle has a hand on her chin, looking you up and down. “I agree with March. It’s a beautiful dress, but most importantly, it fits you very well.”

“Oh my! You look absolutely gorgeous!” You hear the heels of a woman working at the high-end boutique. She's already behind you, admiring the dress, by the time you turn around. “It’s like it was made for you.”

“...It’s like it was made for you.”

You were standing in front of a mirror with him behind you. His hug was warm and comforting, and when he put his chin on your shoulder and smiled, you felt like the luckiest woman in the world.

“It’s beautiful,” you said.

“You really like it?”

You turned around. “Of course!”

“Then, it’s yours.”

“Wh—What? Just like that?”

He awkwardly rubbed the back of his head. “I… designed it for you. It was my first time, and I wasn’t sure if you’d—”

You cut him off with a kiss on his soft lips. “...I love it, Dan Heng.”

“Would you like to see some accessories that’ll go perfectly with this dress?”

“Oh, yes, of course she would,” March answers for you.

Soon enough, you, Stelle, and March are following the worker toward another part of the boutique. You’re walking up the stairs when she looks over her shoulder and asks:

“So, who’s the lucky man?”

There’s a brief pause before you answer her. “We were high school friends.”

She gasps. “Oh! High school sweethearts? That’s adorable! I adore those kinds of stories. It’s so rare for a relationship after high school to work out, and… ”

The rest of her rambling falls on deaf ears. It’s something you’re used to hearing when you tell people the simple basics about your “fairytale relationship” with your fiancé. You met in high school and were friends for a very long time before you got together. As soon as people heard that, you never had to explain how you got together as most people were enamoured by the "high school sweetheart love story." You never want to explain anyway, considering how you ended up with your fiancé is as beautiful as it is painful.

If you never lost the love of your life, you and he never would've happened.

“Is there anything you have in mind?” the woman asks as soon as you reach an area filled with expensive but stunning wedding accessories for women.

“Not anything in particular, but—"

Elegantly displayed on the neck of a female mannequin is a crescent moon necklace made out of pure gold. As soon as the woman notices what you're looking at, she says:

“Oh, good eye! That design is new! It’s…”

Again, her explanation falls on deaf ears when you’re once again reminded of him.

“Can I look now?”

“Patience.”

You were standing on the balcony of Dan Heng’s room, facing the view of his family’s garden with his eyes closed. You had a hunch that Dan Heng had a surprise for you, but nothing could’ve prepared you for what you were about to see.

“...Okay. Open your eyes.”

You were speechless upon seeing an elegant, golden necklace in the shape of a crescent moon where your initials are engraved. Dan Heng unclipped the necklace and put it around your neck. His hug was warm and comforting, and you could feel his heartbeat.

“Happy birthday.”

“Hey!” You turn at the sound of March’s voice. She and Stelle are looking at some headpieces in a glass case. March gestures for you to come. You come up beside her just when she says: “This would look great with your dress.”

“Mind the pricetag,” Stelle cautions.

March takes a breath. “Ooh, okay, never mind… This might be a little out of our budget.”

You look back at the necklace. Stelle, noticing that you’re a little distracted, turns and sees the beautiful necklace in the other corner of the room. She looks back at you but says nothing.

Eventually, you wander toward a different corner of the room, looking at earrings and bracelets when you hear Stelle’s voice.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you say. “Why do you ask?”

“You keep staring at that necklace.”

“Oh, well… It looks just like the one I have.” You force a little smile. "I guess I was a little surprised."

You turn back to look at a new collection of earrings, but Stelle knows what’s on your mind. And like you, she’s reminded of the loss of a friend. She’s seen it all. Your ups and downs with Dan Heng, the man who went from a childhood friend to a lover with the evolution lasting for close to a whole decade.

“This is… truly amazing,” Stelle said, looking closely at the necklace Dan Heng had got you for your birthday. “Rich kid’s… riching.”

“Is that even a word?”

“Probably not.” She stood upright. “But I expected nothing less.” Just then, a large advertisement of a high-end fashion brand introducing their latest fall collection flashed on a tall building. “You never would’ve thought by looking at him.”

You looked in the direction she was looking and saw models with perfect skin and fits on the screen. Then, an elegant-looking logo in the shape of an L appeared on the screen. Seconds later, the name ‘Lunae’ appeared underneath the logo.

Stelle was right. You never would’ve thought Dan Heng would be the heir to one of the biggest and most luxurious fashion companies in the world. When you first met, he was a scrawny, stubborn kid who ruined your sandcastle. And now, he was someone you loved with all your heart.

March stretches as soon as the three of you leave the boutique. The only thing you bought was the dress.

“Gosh, that was exhausting. I’m starved.”

“Isn’t there a Cultural Festival going on right now?” Stelle asks. “We could go there for some food.”

“Oh, you’re right!” March takes out her phone. “Today’s the second day… I think? There’s supposed to be some awesome performances happening.”

You’re on the way there with your friends when your phone goes off. You slow down and take the call as it’s from your fiancé.

“Miss me?”

“Oh, of course. It’s…” You look at your watch. “It’s only been an afternoon.”

“That’s too long without you.”

“Okay, okay. What’s the real reason you called, huh?”

“On my way to drop things off at the pawn shop, and then I’m going to grab some groceries for tonight. Anything you want for dinner?”

March looks back and sees you smiling and talking about something. Then, when you get off the phone and join her and Stelle, she asks:

“Was that your man?”

“He has a name, you know,” you say. “But yes, that was. Nothing exciting. Just syncing up for what we’re going to have for dinner.”

“Should’ve flustered him and said—”

“March,” Stelle deadpans.

“What? You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

Your fiancé had been a friend of yours, Stelle’s, and later Dan Heng's in high school. He’d confessed his feelings after knowing that your life was on the road to normalcy after the terrible, horrific accident that left you as an empty shell. Because of him, your days became brighter, but there was never a day where you didn’t think of Dan Heng and… what could’ve been. But, you love your fiancé, and that’s all that matters.

It’s late afternoon by the time you reach the Cultural Festival, which is bustling with visitors from all walks of life. You got to do some wine tasting from the Mondstadt booth—where you also heard the not-so-subtle gossip about how “hot” the bartender was—and showed off your calligraphy skills at the Inazuma booth. As the Year of the Dragon is right around the corner, you also enjoy a memorable lion dance performance with people from your hometown, Xianzhou, and the neighbouring region, Liyue.

“Oi, Haitham! Where’s my wallet?”

You and your friends walk by a pretty male who’s searching for something inside his bag while not too far away another handsome blonde is showcasing his swordsmanship with a blue-haired male on stage.

“Ooh, there’s also a fortune-telling booth,” March says. The map she’s holding is so big, it covers her entire upper body as she holds it. “Wanna check it out?”

“Lead the way.”

You and Stelle follow March past a popular circus show by the Cirque de Fontaine. You almost bump into a tall man with long dark blue hair with red tips and his friend, a man with long blonde hair and green eyes, as you’re distracted by the cheers for a young man and woman who look nearly identical on stage.

"Careful."

Is it silly that you remind yourself you're getting married when you look into the eyes of the man with the long, dark blue hair? He's handsome, you admit, and his gentle demeanour is reminiscent of Dan Heng. In the end, you quickly apologize and continue on your way.

“We’re here.”

Stelle looks around. “Are you sure this is the right place?”

Unlike the lively atmosphere at the other booths, the one a short distance away is a little… cold. There are no visitors around the dark green tent; the only occupant is a person sitting inside wearing a dark green, brown, and red robe. The hood is up, so you can’t see the person’s face.

“...This looks sus as hell,” March whispers. “Maybe we should go.”

Stelle takes another look at the map. “It’s a registered booth, though.”

“Hello, lovelies.” You and your friends turn toward the person—who you believe is an elderly woman from her voice—inside the tent. She puts her hands together and slightly bows. “Happy New Year… Would you like a free fortune prediction for the upcoming year?”

You and your friends glance at each other, and Stelle says:

“Sure. Why not?”

March grabs her friend’s arm just as Stelle steps forward. “...Girl, are you sure?”

“Ah… the one in pink,” the woman says, and March points to herself. “I see a raise… and possibly a promotion in your future this year. Would you like to learn more?”

March immediately sits in front of her.

“Well, that was fast,” you say.

Stelle sighs. “That’s March for you, I guess.”

You aren’t surprised that your friends are getting such great predictions for the upcoming Year of the Dragon. You assume it’s a business strategy, so you’re expecting to hear how you’ll also thrive and prosper this year. Once you sit in front of her and the woman takes your hand, she immediately looks at you, whereas her head has always been tilted down when reading Stelle and March’s fortunes.

“My child… A wedding is in your near future..." Well, that’s not creepy at all. If you recall, no one has mentioned your wedding, nor are you wearing your engagement ring. “...But, you will walk a path of uncertainty, and only when you walk with the man in the shadows, you will see the light at the end of the tunnel.”

“...Did you… understand any of that?” March whispers.

“No,” Stelle answers flatly. “Not at all.”

“...Man in the shadows?” you ask.

“I cannot see who it is,” the woman says. “...His presence is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.” Her head tilts downwards, and you assume she’s looking at your palm. “My dear… You’ve suffered a great loss in your past." Your heart freezes over, and your eyes widen. "Fire, destruction… Their bodies were never—”

“Stop!”

You didn’t mean to sound so anxious. But the short cry is clear that time does not heal all wounds. March has a comforting hand on your shoulder while Stelle is baffled and intrigued, though she does not show it. Just who is this woman?

You take back your hand. "Sorry... I... I think that's enough for today."

Then, you stand, but before you can leave with your friends, the woman says:

“...It’s up to you, my child.” You look over your shoulder. “Your Year of the Dragon will be the most exciting yet. Reap its rewards or fall further into darkness.”

“C'mon.” Stelle grabs your arm. "Let's go.”

The woman’s voice is quiet, but you hear:

“Be very careful, my dear.”

◆◆◆

The large golden gates creak open, revealing a spacious room where small, floating lights flicker until they settle on a glowing honey yellow. A tall, slender young man with fair skin, black hair, and green eyes walks with an air of confidence over a gold, dragon-shaped bridge. Statues of dragons are situated around the room—where endless, liquid gold pours from their mouths—into a small river that runs underneath the bridge and into crevices of the walls. If one looks up, it will remind you of a cathedral with large arched windows… except if you look out, you’ll be looking straight into the galaxy.

The footsteps stop just before a set of wide stairs. Two men are sitting across from each other on golden thrones in the shape of a dragon.

“You’re looking well for not having shown your face for weeks, Dan Feng.”

The one with pale skin and waist-length show white hair doesn’t spare Dan Feng a glance. Instead, he’s focused on the chess board in front of him where all the pieces are dragons.

It’s his playing partner, a man with yellow, diamond-shaped pupils and short brown hair with a long fringe on the side of his face, who says:

“Yes. Where have you been? We were quite worried.”

“Worried is a stretch, Zhongli,” the white-haired man says. With a snap of his fingers, one of the chess pieces moves to a different spot and suddenly takes out a weapon and smashes the other piece to smithereens. “I’m sure Dan Feng is capable of taking care of himself. He is one of us, after all.”

“Yes, well, before you two can continue talking as if I’m not here… The Aeons have escaped to the human realm.” Now, Dan Feng knows he has their full attention.

“How do you know this?”

“Not sure if you’ll like it, Neuvi, but a dead, little birdie told me all about it.”

“Sampo?”

Dan Feng nods.

"Did you confirm he was telling the truth?"

"Always the careful one, aren't you?" Dan Feng asks. "But, I did. Went down to the dank dungeons of death myself. Honestly, can't blame them. Their quality of life must've been horrendous."

Zhongli puts a hand underneath his chin. “...The Aeons have been locked up for centuries. How in the world could this happen?"

"Someone must have helped them," Neuvilette says, “why would they do that? And… What would the Aeons want with the humans?” Neuvilette looks at Dan Feng—”Why did Sampo tell you this now?”

“Well, my water dragon friend," Dan Feng says, "Sampo wants us to do something about it. The Year of the Dragon is coming, which means the gates to the human realm will open again. Assuming the Aeons left during the last Year of the Dragon, then they've been causing chaos for over a decade down there. We need to haul their asses back up because this is where they belong."

Suddenly, thunder rumbles in the distance, but no one is fazed. Then, a disembodied, cheerful voice sounds throughout the room:

“Happyyy Year of the Dragon!”

Lightning strikes a spot between Neuvilette and Zhongli, and when the smoke clears, there’s a young girl with mint-green eyes and long purple hair.

“It’s our year once again, my brothers!” She makes a fist and gently hits her heart. “How are we going to celebrate this year?”

“Work, Bailu,” Dan Feng answers flatly. “We have work to do.”

Bailu looks at him incredulously. “What do you mean we have work?” After Zhongli tells her about the conversation earlier, Bailu puts her hands on her hips. “So, you’re telling me that we have to spend the year cleaning up someone else’s mess? We won’t get to go down and party with the humans for another twelve years!”

“We aren’t supposed to get involved with humans in the first place, Bailu,” Neuvilette says. “You know that.”

“Well, yeah… I know. But, I’ve been seeing all the cool technology they’ve been coming up with. Like, did you know they have robots that’ll create art and write for you now? It’s literal magic!”

“It always baffles me how you can get so excited about human technology,” Dan Feng says. He snaps his fingers, and parchment and a quill appear in midair, where the quill writes what’s on Dan Feng’s mind:

We’re Gods.

“But, the fact that humans aren’t and can develop all these cool gadgets makes them so much more interesting!” Bailu looks at the disinterested faces of her dragon brothers. Only Zhongli seems to show mild interest. “Just wait until we get down there and we lose all of our godly powers. You’ll be forced to adapt to human technology just to survive.”

“...We lose our powers?”

“Guess you weren’t expecting that plot twist, huh, Neuvi? You would know if you visit every dragon year. The longer we stay down there, the more human we become. But, as soon as we poof back here, we slowly gain our powers back.”

Neuvilette almost looks disgusted.

“If the Aeons left during the last Year of the Dragon, they would’ve stayed in the human realm for twelve years…" Zhongli says. "At least, they'll be weakened, but we cannot underestimate them."

“We have one whole year!” Bailu whines. “Can’t this Aeon hunting mission wait until after we celebrate? It’s literally our year!”

“I guess it can’t hurt.” Everyone looks at Dan Feng. “It’ll be interesting to see the foolishness of humans during this time.”

“Woo! That’s one for Brother Moon!”

“Brother Moon?” Neuvilette asks.

“He’s the Dragon of the Moon, isn’t he?"

“Anyways,” Zhongli says, “looks like we’ll have no choice but to go to the human realm this year. Make sure you’re prepared.”

Neuvilette sighs. "And if we refuse?"

"Oh, come now, Neuvi," Dan Feng says. "Show some camaraderie. We have a traitor out there... At least the cronies of death know that we're innocent."

Only Bailu is beaming with excitement.

Later that evening, Dan Feng is in his room, looking out at the galaxy when he senses a presence. He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“Need something, Brother Earth?”

“I’m sure Bailu would be thrilled to hear you’re catching on to her nicknames,” Zhongli says.

“It’ll be our little secret.”

Zhongli is beside him just as an asteroid flies by. “...Sampo is neither friend nor foe." Dan Feng glances at him. “Call me curious, but I just find it strange he would go out of his way to tell you that the Aeons have escaped. How would he know? He’s the Reaper. The Aeons are none of his business.”

“...Sampo may act on his own interests, but even he is afraid of what the Aeons are capable of. Considering if they were to interfere with the natural order of things, it would be disrupting his work.”

“Natural order of things… Are you saying they’d interfere with the afterlife?”

Dan Feng briefly closes his eyes. “Sampo was the one who approached me first.”

The star-covered skies were different shades of purple and pink, and occasionally one would see shooting stars or meteoroids fly by. A tall, muscular man with tufted dark blue hair stood on a cliff, overlooking a long bridge where small, floating lights were bobbing their way across. They were the souls of the deceased, crossing the bridge that would erase their memories of their past life and toward an unknown realm, and only Sampo, the Reaper, could see what they looked like before they died.

“That bored, huh?”

Sampo turned around. “Let’s just say I saw something quite… intriguing. I can’t stop thinking about it, which is why I called you here.”

“Okay,” Dan Feng says, not interested in the slightest. “And what would that be?”

Sampo walked a few steps toward him. “...Did you know you have a doppelganger? A man who looked exactly like you in the human realm. Honestly, I thought it was you but with a better haircut.” He smiled upon seeing the hard look in Dan Feng’s eyes. “...Is it just me, or did you already know about him?”

So, he reincarnated, and if he looked like him, then his life was cut short once again… Dan Feng clenched his fists as he saw his brother’s face. What had happened to him this time? Was it because of a woman… again?

“Your silence is telling me a lot of things,” Sampo said.

“How did he die? You know, don’t you?”

“I do. I had a front-row seat to his untimely death so to speak. Very exhilarating, however.”

“...Untimely? Are you saying it wasn’t time for him to die?”

That cat-like smile was even more annoying than usual.

“I’ll tell you what you want to know. But, in exchange, I need a favour from you and your dragon friends.”

“...That’s when he told me he senses there's something strange going on in the human realm," Dan Feng says. "Over the last decade, he gradually noticed people are dying... when they aren't supposed to."

"And that led to the discovery that the Aeons have escaped?"

"Not directly. It was a fleeting thought, but someone went down to check anyway, and"—Dan Feng slightly smiles—"'lo-and-behold... our big, bad gods are gone. Apparently, there was an investigation without alerting everyone else, and while they couldn’t find our dirty, little traitor, they’re sure it wasn’t anyone from Castle of Dragons.”

“That explains why they entrusted this task to us.” Zhongli glances at his friend. “But it sounds like it worked in your favour. Sampo probably wouldn’t have told you about your doppelganger if he couldn’t get anything in return.”

“He would've baited me for as long as he can,” Dan Feng says flatly.

“...Who is this doppelganger of yours, if I may ask?”

Dan Feng closes his eyes for a brief moment and mutters a name that hasn’t left his lips in centuries.

“Dan Heng, my brother.”

◆◆◆

Over the next couple of days, you and your fiancé are settling nicely in your new home. But, you never told him about the strange encounter with the fortune teller at the Cultural Festival, even though it’s been on your mind. You already know what he’ll say:

“It’s just a creepy coincidence… Don’t let it bother you.”

You’ve never asked, but you gradually noticed how he’d change the topic or brush it aside when it’s about Dan Heng. Perhaps the wound hasn’t fully healed.

Your fiancé is cooking a special dinner for New Year’s Eve when you go to the kitchen to find him.

“Have you seen my necklace?”

“Necklace?” he asks, looking at you. “What necklace?”

“The one Dan Heng gave me. I've been looking for it over the past few days, but—”

“...Oh, that. I… I pawned it.”

“You… what?”

He turns off the stove. “I told you I was dropping some things off at the pawn shop the other day.”

“Why would you do that?!”

“You never wore it anymore. I just…" He walks up to you and attempts to put his hands on your shoulders. But, you step away. "I thought you didn’t want it anymore.”

“Didn’t want it anymore?” You clench your fists. “You should've asked! That wasn’t for you to decide!”

“I’m sorry. I…” He takes a small breath. “You’re right. I should’ve asked instead of making that choice for you. But… It’s about time we move on.”

“...What are you talking about?”

“Don’t you think keeping that necklace is hurting you? Hurting us?” Is it just you, or do you have no idea what he’s talking about? “It’s been years since the accident. Keeping something like that… It’ll only remind you of the past.”

“So, according to your logic, I should also get rid of all the things my parents got me as well.”

“No! Of course not! That’s not what I meant.” You walk out of the kitchen with him following you. “Dan Heng wasn’t just a friend.”

You turn around with a hard look in your eyes. “I’m getting my necklace back.” Then, you walk to the closet near the door to grab your jacket.

“It’s late.” His tone isn’t so kind anymore. “Is it really that important?” You don’t bother answering that question but instead, ask for the address of the pawn shop. He hesitates, and it isn’t until you ask for it again that he finally tells you. You grab your car keys and are about to open the garage door when he grabs your arm. “...It’s my fault, I admit. But, can’t you wait until tomorrow? It’s going to rain.”

Even if it can, you still want to get out of the house anyway.

By the time you arrive at the pawn shop, it’s already raining. The vintage-looking pawn shop looks as if it popped out of a fantasy novel. As soon as you step inside, you smell the scent of fresh wood. The place is lit entirely out of oil lamps. Some are hanging from the ceiling. Some sit on small stands. Old paintings and shelves with books and other knicknacks populate the walls. You walk past a glass case with old journals, compasses, and objects you’ve never seen before—not in Xianzhou, at least. Just when you reach the counter, a young woman pushes the beaded curtain aside.

“Hello.” She steps out. “Can I help you?”

“I’m here for a necklace.”

After describing it to her, she looks almost apologetic. “Oh, I’m sorry… Not too long after that young man dropped it off, someone bought it.” Your heart immediately sinks to the pit of your stomach. “Were you interested in buying it?”

“Buying it? That belonged to me," you say, trying but failing to let your emotions get the better of you. “...Do you know who bought it?”

“A woman. A very pretty one, at that. Long blonde hair and gray eyes. I didn’t get a name, though.”

Well… That really narrows it down.

“I’m sorry," the woman continues. "I wish I could be more helpful.”

You look around, checking the store for any CCTV cameras. When you finally find one, you point to it. “Could you check and see if you can identify her?”

“I can try, but… it's quite old, so I hope I can get some clear footage. Could you come back tomorrow morning?"

What other choice do you have?

By the time you leave the shop, it’s pouring. You quickly get in the car and take a glance at your phone.

Are you coming home? Are you okay? I’m sorry… Please forgive me.

You don’t want to forgive him, but a part of you still hopes that you can talk things out. You shoot a quick reply, telling him that you’ll be back at the shop tomorrow. As soon as you toss your phone in the passenger seat, it buzzes, but you don’t bother looking at it again.

You’re driving slower than usual as it’s getting difficult to see the road in front of you and your only companion is the heavy sound of rain against your car.

The one day you forgot your umbrella was the one day it rained. You were standing awkwardly at the bus stop, noticing that you were the only one to take public transportation while everyone else left in cars or had someone to drive them home. A bunch of your classmates drove past you, but you weren’t too surprised that they ignored you. You were like the black sheep of the school. You weren’t rich; you didn’t have connections. But, you did have good grades and loving parents who encouraged you to apply to this private school as it’d “look good on college applications.” There wasn’t any evidence that it’d truly help you, but it was an elite school with good programs. So, why not?

It wasn’t until a week in that you realized everyone knew each other. Or, at least they knew of each other. The community was small, and some people had asked about you and your background. You quickly caught on that telling the truth was a mistake. Some of your classmates made fun of you; others avoided you. The better ones were those who gave you a polite nod and smile. But the best one was Dan Heng, a boy who you met at a park almost a decade ago. A quiet, calm kid who made an effort to sit with you at lunch and unknowingly drew attention to you by giving you his.

You took a breath. Okay. Maybe you can run home. Twenty kilometres isn’t that bad. You ran 5 kilometres and survived. Then you’d have a fun story to tell your parents who were currently overseas. Just as you finished tightening your shoelaces, thunder rumbled in the distance, but it was the sudden calm, male voice that startled you.

“...Hey.”

You turned and almost gasped. “D-Dan Heng? What are you doing here?”

“...Practice got cut short.” He was still in his track uniform. “You don’t have an umbrella?”

“It’s refreshing to run in the rain, don’t you think?” Dan Heng continued staring at you until you finally sighed. “No, I forgot mine.”

“...You’re not running in this weather.”

“Yeah, well, if I continue waiting, it’ll be midnight.”

Dan Heng moved closer to you until you were under his umbrella. “I’ll take you home…”

Suddenly, the truck, speeding in the opposite lane, starts swerving. 

Tires squealed.

The incoming headlights come as fast as the speed of light.

You swerve.

A crash. A bang. And soon, you’re plunging into total darkness.

…

…

…

You want to open your eyes but can’t. But you know you’re still alive. You taste the fresh blood that runs from your head to your mouth. You feel the pain of a million needles stabbing you from all angles. You want to cry, speak, or move. But, you’ve become a vegetable. In the darkness, you see the silhouette of a man. Who is he? You have no idea. So, with the last of your strength, you mutter the name of the person you wish to see:

“...Dan Heng.”

And then the silhouette disappears. Now, you hear a calm, male voice.

"...Save her."

A chuckle.

“And here I thought you didn’t like getting involved with humans.”

Then, you hear someone snap their fingers, and then everything goes completely silent.

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15

End notes:

I don't think anyone can be more excited about this story than me lolol This began as a little seed of an idea a few months ago, and it wouldn't leave my head. At the time, I was thinking of just posting it as a one-shot. But after finding out it's the Year of the Dragon, I kept getting more ideas about it, and what better time to post than, well, now? lmao

There will be a little bit of Blade/You but I've yet to decide if it'll turn into a love triangle... Regardless, I'm determined to make this an epic crossover with fun character interactions between the two worlds. LET'S GOO.

Tag list (open): @lunavixia @aerithsthingss @boomie-123 @sunsethw4 @kiarathace

[rydiathesummoner]

Ranking the FFXVI dominants according to how good they would be at singing

#8: Jill.

Sorry Jill, but singing is not in the cards. Her early life in the north was wartime, and her side losing. Probably not a lot of singing lessons. Given how Anabella called her savage and viewed her as marriage stock it's unlikely she ever learned how to sing. No biggie though, she would rather shovel chocobo shit than perform in front of people anyway. Sometimes when it's just her and Clive, she will hum off-key. Clive thinks her humming is the most beautiful sound in Valisthea and doesn't even notice she's off-key because if Jill is happy enough to hum, then that's the best thing ever and beautiful and perfect.

#7: Hugo

Singing is for sissies. Pansies. Only weak men participate in the arts. Why learn to sing when you can have the glory of combat, gold and women?? That said, he was able to hold that "FUUUUUUUUUUCK" pretty well so he might be able to hold notes just as well.

#6: Joshua

He probably had music lessons as a kid so he knows the theory and can carry a tune. However, he spent his voice-changing puberty years in a coma. It probably took him ages just to get used to his body doing all kinds of wild new shit for him to re-learn how to sing. He might sing along in a crowd for holidays and ceremonies, but he's mostly lip-synching. It also doesn't help he has an alien in his chest and a tendency to cough up blood. Good luck projecting your voice with that.

#5: Cid

Yeah he's a bit off-key, and?? He's a former military commander, not a theater star. He doesn't give a shit if he's singing well or not, he's going to get drunk, sing his heart out with his buddies and if you don't like it, well the door's over there. He gets the lyrics right, mostly! What he lacks in skill he makes up for in style and getting the (bar) crowd involved. Not to mention his speaking voice is great, right? Just... kind of add a tune and it's still gonna be better than average.

#4: Benedikta

Despite her impoverished background, her singing is pretty nice. She really excels in sultry and jazzy/blues types of songs. Obviously she uses this surprising skill to entice men and not because she enjoys it or anything. To her it's just another tool in her kit, and like any tool she keeps it sharpened with plenty of practice while slinging her weapons around. Everyone in the weapons range loves to listen to her singing but they don't dare say anything.

#3: Barnabas

He has a rich and beautiful baritone. He could have been a star if he hadn't elected to be a murderous slave king to a deceitful god. He doesn't sing anyway though. Singing is useless. Unless it would summon Mythos. Wait, will it attract Mythos for the Lord and Master? Could singing potentially buff Mythos to prepare him to be even stronger for his Master? He's heard tales of such people from other stories. Better sing while battling Mythos. Just in case.

#2: Dion

His singing voice is stellar. His singing is like a clear night's sky. But you'll never hear it. He doesn't sing in front of others. That's... awkward. He's a weapon, not an entertainer. What would his troops think if he started belting out the show tunes he secretly loves? That's not how a Proper Bahamut™ acts! They would either never take him seriously again or make inappropriate song requests constantly and he's not sure which one is worse. He'll sing for Terence though. He gets flustered when Terence encourages it but does it anyway and secretly enjoys singing for him. Terence knows he secretly enjoys it. That's why he asks. Well, that and his voice really is amazing.

#1: Clive

Of course the theater kid is number 1. He was the star of all his Rosarian school musicals. He's been singing his whole life! As a kid some of his favorite memories are belting out old songs with Uncle Byron and his dad. They used to fantasize about becoming a singing quartet once Joshua was older if they didn't have the whole royalty and eikon thing going on. When he was enslaved by the Imperial army he didn't sing much, except on rare occasions with his fellow Bastards after a long mission and some smuggled alcohol. The bastards are confused why Wyvern has such a beautiful singing voice but whatever he kills good too. Once he's freed and has accepted himself he feel the urge to get back into singing again, but by now he's feeling a bit awkward about it. Like how does one approach the topic? "Hey guys, I'm a great singer check it out!" No, that's too weird for Outlaw Cid, he can't force it. He wishes to himself that there would be a singing contest or at least a drunken sing-along at the Fat Chocobo so he can finally show off his talent, or that Jill would somehow spread the idea around so somebody could ask, but so far he's been disappointed. Someday the Hideaway will hear it. Someday.

[celestiaras]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ you still love him ]❜

ft. hex haywire x f! reader — xsoleil, nijisanji en

╰₊✧ he’s still the same man that you love even if his hands are stained red, can’t you see that?┊0.7k words

contains: yandere hex, murder & death, obsessive/possessive behavior, delusions, kidnapping, established relationship turned forced relationship

➤ author's note: i don’t think it will ever be possible for me to write hex as anything but a yandere...

he hates the way you are looking at him with such fear as though he was some wild monster you stumbled upon in the deep woods at midnight, but he understands that you are just confused about the situation. anyone would be shocked to find a corpse neatly tied up to mask the rotting smell in the basement of their lover while trying to look for a toolbox, but wouldn’t you just calm down and hear him out? he hates the sight of you crying and flinching every time he reaches out to you, it breaks his heart to see you frightened of him.

you’re so naive and blissfully unaware of your own surroundings that you don’t even notice the dangers around you that you just seem to attract with your innocent charm and beauty. he’s just trying to keep you and this love he treasures so much safe, it’s all he ever wants and all he lives for. it’s his job as your boyfriend, as your lover, as your soulmate to shield you and your relationship from all potential harm even if it means getting his hands dirty.

if anything, shouldn’t that make you love him even more since he’s willing to go to hell for your safety and protection? even with this little secret revealed, he’s still your beloved boyfriend of about eight months now— the boyfriend you always praised for treating you better than you thought you deserved (even though he thinks you deserve all the stars in the night sky): not allowing you to lift a finger in his company by cooking and cleaning for you, smothering you in affection to always making you feel so loved and secure, and treating you like a princess. his only red flags were his bouts of jealousy and possessiveness, but you never gave it much thought and just gave him a kiss on the cheek since it seemed to ease his mind in the moment.

really, he could never push aside his overwhelming feelings of envy and rage whenever he remembers that he couldn’t have you completely to himself since you talk to dozens of others daily for your job. that’s all it takes really, just his mind whipping up fictitious scenarios of you talking to other men or worse was enough to drive him up the wall— so what did you think would happen when you started hanging around that disgusting fucking coworker?

you were just trying to be nice to him because you were such a sweet soul who couldn’t recognize the signs of his leering eyes and subtle inappropriate touches, or maybe you weren’t as innocent as anyone thinks and you were purposely testing him with little mind games. either way, his undying love was evident from the blood that stained the same stainless steel kitchen knife he used to make you steak dinners and the lifeless body that was old enough for rigor mortis to settle neatly in the corner of his basement.

the red that stains his hands is the same red of the string of fate that connects soulmates such as yourselves, a testament to his devotion and adoration for you. there is no other man or woman who would go to such lengths of killing another human being to protect you except for him— it’s always been him and you know it.

he knows that you still love him even if you are shaking in fear while he holds you in his arms. he knows that once you figure out how grateful you actually are for his sacrifices with or without his help, you’ll go back to your cheery self. maybe you two could even get married, with matching wedding rings of white gold and the finest cut diamond— he’d make the best husband for you and you two would have the most beautiful family in the world. no matter how long it takes you to recognize how you really feel, he will wait for you because he loves you more than you could ever imagine. you are here with him right now, safe within the walls of his own bedroom and far away from anyone else who only wishes you ill will, and you will stay with him until death does you part.

[halsins-herbal-underpants]

Control, Chapters 1+2

Halsin/Tav (Named Original Male Character)

Dayan | Seldarine drow Ranger

Rating: Explicit 18+

PWP, D/s, Sub Halsin, Bottom Halsin

CW: Rough Oral (hair pulling, deep throat, gagging), Light Bondage

Kinks: Scent kink, face-sitting, face-fucking, biting, scratching, knotting, inappropriate use of Polymorph

Read Chapters 3+4 on Tumblr

Read on Ao3

Approx. 5300 words

Dayan (Tav) needs some time to himself after the victory against Ketheric, the win a bittersweet one after learning the truth about the Absolute. His lover Halsin goes after him however, reluctant to leave the troubled drow alone. They decide to relax together and share a pipe --though due to Dayan's special blend, relaxing soon becomes the last thing on their minds. Dayan decides he wants to give a bit more than receive this time around, and Halsin obliges happily. Dayan takes time to indulge in his lover's body in way he hasn't gotten to really experience -- at least, not for a very, very long time.

Light D/s fic where Halsin gets to experience submissiveness in safety and love and Dayan gets some catharsis for the very, very difficult month he's had.

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Dayan knew he was in desperate need of a break.

There was a restlessness under the ranger's skin that no amount of exertion or excitement could quell; not the fighting nor hunting nor near-death misses of Reithwin, nor victory beneath Moonrise, nor even the difficult hike to Baldur's Gate. Whatever physical exhaustion he pushed his body to, Dayan’s heart and soul remained gripped in anxiety.

It made the drow feel unsettled and ill at ease even in camp, even in this quiet moment when his beloved group of unlucky misfits could set down tents and relax without worry of goblin or githyanki or cultist attack. At least he was rather good at keeping his discomfort hidden from his companions, for a little while.

But when the stalwart little family finally made it through the trials of the shadow-cursed lands and arrived at the abandoned outpost on the outskirts of Baldur's Gate, Dayan found his usual calm mask cracking a little. It was quiet their first night there and when the moon rose, he found himself standing atop the outpost's makeshift tower, staring out over the Chionthar. Watching and quietly shivering in the dark.

The twinkling lights of the city illuminated sparkling dots of gold and silver across the wide river, stretching far into the distance until they were swallowed up by black. Dayan thought of how far they'd come and how far they had yet to go...and what was awaiting them on their arrival. A chill ran down his back, brows furrowing as he stared at the huge expanse of civilization. Rows upon rows of buildings and streets and people, so crushingly close.

His fingers twitched, a jolt of sudden claustrophobia making his nerves hum uncomfortably even as he was surrounded by nothing but crisp evening air and stars overhead.

Dayan turned away quickly and got himself back down to solid ground. The view was causing bile to rise up in the back of his throat; his skin felt like it wanted to crawl off. He didn't say anything though, knowing everyone was struggling with their own thoughts. There was no need to add his own troubles.

Supper was quiet, conversation dying after a few words, giving over to the crackling of the fire. When everyone finally bid each other good night, Dayan just nodded in turn with a forced smile and slipped into his tent without a word.

Tonight he was sharing it with Halsin, the two’s dark history driving them closer than Dayan could have hoped for during the fight to free the shadow-cursed lands. The drow smiled to himself, thinking of it. Halsin on one hand, and Astarion on the other -- his past and his (hopeful) future come together. Dayan and the vampire were already in the midst of their complicated dance when Halsin came along, but he joined the steps easily. The three of them fit together like a well-worn puzzle – most of the time – much to the delight and teasing of their friends.

However, Astarion was in his own tent tonight. They learned quite quickly they couldn't all sleep together in a singular tent without elbows and knees in uncomfortable places -- or even collapsing the thing entirely, to the hilarity of everyone else the first morning they tried. Dayan had taken to bed hopping, which suited for now. Sometimes though, they all snuck away to the edge of the camp and slept together under the stars.

He was going to sorely miss that.

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Dayan sat on his bedroll as the moon waned overhead, waiting in silence for a bit until he was assured his companions were asleep and Halsin was deeply in trance, then slowly rose. He slipped out of their tent quietly, gathering his weapons and his pack before heading away from camp towards the river, alone.

At first Dayan just wandered the woods, thinking of nothing much at all. Breathing the air, listening to the sounds of the wind in the trees, the crickets, the night song. The trees gathered thickly together down the barely-forged path, and he inhaled deeply, smelling pine sap and loam. The canopy overhead made the moonlight shine though the leaves in narrow beams that lit everything with an ethereal glow. Something about it reminded him of home and he felt oddly homesick, despite their recent adventures reminding him so starkly why he left the Underdark long ago.

Pine slowly gave way to birch, and he smiled as he wove between the narrow white trunks, realizing at last he'd been idly meandering his way closer and closer to the sound of rushing water. Instinct, honed sharp by his years as a ranger; or perhaps a stronger desire. He felt pulled by the lazily moving stripe of darkness that bisected the land below them.

There was a break in the treeline right at the edge of the steep incline to the river, the far off mountains visible in the distance. They were faint through the haze of moisture-laden fog, the air pleasantly chill and crisp. Dayan beelined straight for it and crested the edge of the drop, dew-wet leaves slippery under his boots.

The hillside sloped sharply downward, ground soft and uneven beneath tangles of mossy roots; but the ranger was sure footed and confident as he skipped his way down, following the scent of algae and cattail. He didn't notice the large shadow that appeared at the rise of the hill behind him, nor saw it ease itself down the hill, following his laid trail with matching dexterity, though slightly more restraint.

Dayan sighed as the calm silver water finally slanted into view, fingers already undoing the buttons of his leather breeches before his boots hit the muddy riverbank. He dropped his bow and quiver beside an ancient fallen tree that had settled deep into the embankment as a permanent fixture, its skeletal limbs jutting out over the water. His scimitars came next, points plunged into the earth so they could be snatched up in a moment's notice, just in case. He set his pack down, his jacket flung carelessly over the trunk, gloves following moments later.

Behind him, that shadow came into relief, revealing an extremely tall, broad frame that slipped in behind the fallen tree, glimmering eyes locked on the drow.

Dayan gripped the waistband of his breeches, whipping the garment down his narrow hips to the tops of his boots, then lifted to try and pry his boot off along with the pants, too eager to feel the cool breeze on his skin. He hopped awkwardly in place, then heard a throaty chuckle behind him that made him spin around, his skin prickling in sudden warning. He'd been followed?!

"Who's there! I'm not to be trifled wi--wooAHH--!!" He'd made to reach for one of his scimitars, forgetting his legs were still tangled up in pants and half-removed boots. His arms pinwheeled as he lost his balance, falling hard to the ground with a muddy splash, wind knocked out of him. "Oof!!...Oww.." Whoever had chuckled burst into full laughter now and Dayan blinked, recognizing that warm laugh anywhere. "Wh--Halsin!"

"Hahaha...I am sorry, my heart! I didn't intend to startle you." The tattooed face of his favorite druid popped over the fallen tree, hazel eyes aglow with mirth. His hands rose in surrender and Dayan noted curiously he was, apparently, shirtless. "Are you all right?"

"Tch!" He halfheartedly glared at Halsin as the wood elf chuckled cheerfully, then sighed and laughed himself, giving in. "Sneaking up on me like a thief in the night, sunstone? Astarion's been a terrible influence, I see." He took the opportunity to sit up and finish peeling off his boots and pants, leaving only his smallclothes.

Halsin grinned and walked around the tree, revealing that yes, he was indeed only clad in his leather tights, even barefoot despite the chilly ground. He bent and reached for Dayan, offering a hand up. "You underestimate the cunning of an old druid; I've more experience in skullduggery than you would believe."

Dayan grumbled but took the hand, unable to hide the smile that played over his lips. "I doubt that. I can believe a great many things about you."

He was hauled up with ease, huffing as he got his footing and surveyed the mud caked over him. Well, this wasn't the first time he'd been covered in mud in only his underwear. It hardly bothered him and he turned his attention back to the much taller elf. "What are you doing here?" His eyes flicked up to meet Halsin's, pursing his lips a little. "Were you following me?"

"I...I was," Halsin admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, shoulders raised almost sheepishly. "I awoke when you slipped from our bedroll, out into the night. I apologize for not calling out to you, but when I saw you take your weapons, I was...well..."

"Worried." Dayan finished for him and then exhaled a long breath, his brow furrowing a bit. “That explains the lack of dress – did you hurry out right from the tent?” His expression softened a little as he stepped closer and put a hand on one of those broad forearms, squeezing it affectionately.

"I'm sorry,” he continued sincerely. “I never meant to worry you. I just -- I needed to go for a walk. Be away from camp for a little bit. Be..."

Dayan trailed off and then gestured around them, hand sweeping around as if presenting the wilderness and the lake and the night. He smiled when he saw full understanding in Halsin's eyes, and a knowing smile on his lips.

Not for the first time, the ranger thanked the Moondancer that Halsin was there. He loved Astarion, truely, with his whole heart, but getting the vampire to enjoy the wilderness with him was somewhat of a challenge most days. But Halsin was someone with whom Dayan could run free when he felt savage and wild, understanding when walls became too close and confined.

The drow lifted hands idly and began to undo the bands that held his hair in a tight tail. "Thank you, though. For worrying," he said softly, his gaze flicking back to meet those wise hazel eyes. "It means you're here now, and I'm glad for it."

"Something has been troubling you, my heart," Halsin replied, his tone low and gentle. He watched Dayan struggle with the tangle of his wet hair, the leather strips of his bands knotted tight, and lightly nudged his hands away to take over. Deft fingers worked the knots out as he slipped Dayan's hair free of the leather straps wound around it and then began to comb fingers through to smooth the long silvery-white strands. "I can see the tension in your shoulders and neck even now. You've felt like a cord stretched taut and vibrating."

Dayan sighed, long and soft, though from Halsin's words or the gentle motion of his fingers through the drow's hair, was unclear. "I feel like a cord pulled tight," he replied quietly. He started to rub his upper arms with his hands as if he was cold, though he wasn't. "Uncomfortable and thrumming. I'm restless under my skin, I can't get comfortable. I've begun jumping at shadows, been unable to sleep or even find true rest. Ever since we left the tower--" his words spilled from his lips, tumbling over each other. A lot to say built up over time, he supposed, and nobody to say it to.

"--Ever since we found out the truth." He gritted his teeth and tilted his head back, feeling that surge of nervous energy in his limbs. He bounced on his toes, fighting to keep down the sound that wanted to explode from his throat, not knowing if it was going to be a growl or a strangled scream.

Halsin stopped brushing fingers through his hair and placed a hand on his shoulder, but Dayan twisted away from it and grabbed his wrist, holding it aloft, tightly. Their eyes met, the druid's brow furrowed; Dayan stared into the wood elf's gaze a beat and then let out a slow breath, lids lowering.

"I'm sorry. I don't think --" He paused and sighed, his grip easing. "I feel like an electrical storm, sparking and dangerous to be near." He paused and then slid his hand up grip Halsin's and pressed his lips to his knuckles. "Stay though? Share a pipe with me. I was going to sit at the water's edge and smoke, try to...clear my head. Maybe calm my nerves a little, if what I brought helps." Dayan chewed his bottom lip, dark brows rising as he fixed Halsin with a soft beseeching look. "Only if you wish to, of course."

Halsin's smile was warm. "I do. I sought you out because I knew you were troubled. I would not abandon you now." He chuckled at the visibly relieved look on the drow's face and followed Dayan to his pack, craning his head curiously to see what 'help' his love had brought to ease his mind. A pipe, thinner and more elegantly curved than his own was produced, along with a leather bag, drawstring tight.

“Come,” Dayan murmured, taking one of those big paws in hand, fingers curling to hold it tight. He drew Halsin to a rather comfortable looking perch of mossy stone surrounded by cattails overlooking the river. The top was worn smooth by eons and covered in a soft bed of green. He lay down, clothes be damned and waited for Halsin to climb up and join him before he started packing the pipe. “This is your blend, that you gifted me,” he said softly, smiling warmly at the memory. “But I added a little something special.”

Halsin sniffed it discerningly and blinked. “Is that – Dayan, is that a reverie stick?”

The drow grinned, glancing up to meet his eyes. “I knew you’d catch it. Do you still want to…? I won’t be offended if you say no. It is something better shared, but I don’t mind flying solo. So to speak,” he chuckled.

Halsin laughed, himself. “Mmh, it has been a bit of time for me, but – perhaps just this once. We’re safe enough.”

Aye, I’m with you, sta kha'sik. Safe as houses. “Well then…” When he had packed it properly, Dayan slid the end of the thin elegant pipe between his lips and leaned close to the druid, the only one between them with fire at his fingertips.

“Light me up~”

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“Oh, I think –” Halsin sat up suddenly, his voice slightly breathless. “I think that might be enough for – for one evening.”

His hand moved to clutch Dayan’s upper arm in an effort to steady himself. The drow was perched at the edge of the rock, elbows resting on his knees as he stared out over the water. He didn’t know how long they’d been relaxing here, sharing the pipe between them, but the moon was directly overhead now. The whole river valley was awash in gentle silver-blue light. It was so peaceful and serene, his favorite time of the night. Dayan wished some of that peace had found its way into his restless veins.

The pipe clenched in his mouth, Dayan looked to Halsin, smoke swirling lazily from between his teeth. His bear had been stretched out and contentedly staring up at the stars until now. He wondered if anything was wrong.

“Too much?” Dayan asked gently, shifting a knee down to turn towards his lover and grip his arm beneath the elbow supportively. Halsin gave a soft laugh.

“Not yet, but I’m getting close, I fear. It has been a while since I’ve indulged. The usual euphoria is leading to…a different kind of intensity,” he finished in a low mumble and Dayan blinked and looked Halsin over, slowly grinning as his eyes flicked downward and found the cause for the druid’s concern. The stark outline of his erection bulged beneath taut leather.

“Where did that come from, all of a sudden?” he teased, sliding closer to Halsin and settling on his knees beside him, plucking the pipe from his lips a moment. Dayan’s skin had begun to prickle under the cool breeze coming off the river, but as he pressed closer to the huge elf he instantly felt warmer.

Halsin’s hand lifted to Dayan’s cheek, their eyes meeting. Dayan felt his face warm at what he saw there, his own amethyst gaze glistening as he blushed like a schoolboy and lowered dark lashes. He wrapped Halsin’s hand in both his own, bringing it to his lips to brush a kiss over the scarred knuckles.

“You,” Halsin said simply, and Dayan’s lips twitched into a smile he couldn’t have stopped if he wanted to. “The moonlight, when it touches your skin...the fine lines of your back in glowing relief…a sight so beautiful before my eyes, my words fail to capture it.” His tone was gentle, reverent; husky with need and desire.

“And – well, my heart –” Halsin chuckled low and sultry. “Your smallclothes are rather tight you know.”

Dayan bit back a laugh. Halsin was pressing even closer and he could practically smell the druid’s rising pheromones – that heady musk that was such a perfect mixture of sweat and heat and woodsmoke and something intrinsically Halsin, it always aroused him instantly.

“When you sit like that, there is very little I cannot see between your spread thighs.” Halsin’s voice was an octave or two lower, a rumbling that Dayan could feel quake in his own bones. The larger elf was nearly whispering in his ear as he pressed closer.

“You may as well be presenting for me…”

Dayan shivered but not from cold. He met Halsin’s eyes and gave him a slow, languid grin.

“Perhaps I was,” he mused, then lifted the pipe again.

“One more?” he asked hopefully, and after a moment of thought, Halsin nodded. Dayan exhaled a sound that could be a noise of agreement, or could be a moan. Either way he felt Halsin’s reaction, fingers twitching against his arm.

Dayan took a deep inhale of the pipe, breathing the smoke into his lungs, and held it. Then he turned to Halsin, gripping his jaw in a clay-colored hand, and gently pressed his thumb over his lips to keep them shut. He leaned in and blew the silvery smoke into Halsin’s nostrils, as the wood elf sucked it down deep, in an almost shuddering inhale.

After a beat, when he felt those powerful lungs expand and hold – Dayan’s thumb slipped into Halsin’s mouth and gently pressed, urging his lips to part until Halsin exhaled their shared smoke in pale, glimmering swirls that disappeared into the night sky.

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

The reaction was instantaneous.

Dayan felt Halsin’s arms grip his hips, yanking him onto the druid’s muscled thighs. His own had to spread wide to straddle them and he gasped, Halsin’s tented bulge pressing right into his own soft groin – well, it had been soft, but he was getting hard, quickly, only the thinnest cloth separating him from Halsin’s grinding. Not even enough to keep Halsin’s warmth away as the druid’s big hands cupped Dayan’s ass and squeezed two big meaty handfuls of plump cheeks. The drow groaned, dropping his pipe in the wet mud and wrapping his arms around Halsin’s shoulders.

The dreamy euphoria of a reverie stick only enhanced the sensation of everything, Halsin’s fingers nearly burning through the cloth of Dayan’s smallclothes. He felt a hard grip, the fabric stretching tight against his skin, and then suddenly there was a snap and the pressure fell away, a quick snaking of cloth between his thighs revealing the reason as Halsin yanked him free of any confines with a muttered apology.

Dayan gasped against the druid’s lips and moaned, not even bothered by losing yet another pair of underthings to his bear’s passion and need. His cock was free now and that felt much better, after all. They rutted with soft grunts for a moment, Dayan’s fingers scrabbling at Halsin’s waistband to free him of his own annoying barrier.

But something here, in the heat of Halsin’s mouth on his, their tongues together, those hands on his bare skin – muscles sliding beneath his legs, even in the euphoria he felt, something was not quite right…

“Mmh…” He groaned against his lover’s mouth and exhaled a sharp breath. “...Wait…” His voice was barely audible, but Halsin immediately stopped groping the drow’s pert ass and slid his hands to Dayan’s waist, pulling back from their heated liplock. The druid’s cock trembled, trapped and poking up beneath a waistband half-yanked down. Dayan’s mouth practically watered as the scent hit his nose and he exhaled a hard breath.

“My heart…?”

“This – isn’t what I–” He pulled back a little and Halsin’s hands left his waist. Dayan frowned and grabbed the right one by the wrist, pulling it closer. “No, I – I want you close, I want your touch, I do. I just–” He dropped his head and sighed, shaking it slightly. How to say what he really wanted? How to push past the conflicting sensations in his body to know?

He felt calming fingers in his hair, brushing through the long strands and gently rubbing the prickly fuzz of his undercut. He looked up and the care and love that stared back at him made his throat feel thick.

“Speak as you will, beloved. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere, not a step.”

Dayan relaxed, his head turning a little to rub his cheek against Halsin’s palm.

“Even now, with the sky above me and you in my arms – I still ache for solid ground. I, I want you! I want this," he clarified. "But I – I can’t – I don’t think I want to be–” He paused and then closed his eyes, easier to speak from the dark well of his mind.

“I feel bereft of any control," he mumbled, lifting his hand to press against Halsin's that still lay resting on his cheek. His head turned, lips pressed to the rough, warm skin and then slowly bit into the fleshy mound of his thumb, hard enough that it drew a gasping breath from the druid. Halsin's lower eyelids twitched and Dayan watched them him bright eyes, easing his teeth off when satisfied and slowly drawing his tongue over the ridges they left behind.

"Gods I wish I could wildshape," he continued, his voice lower, husky in his throat as he leaned closer, pressing to Halsin now, still holding onto his wrist. The taller elf was looking at him with heavy lidded eyes, his breath shuddering again as Dayan pressed a firm hand into the swell of his muscular chest and squeezed, forming half-moons into the tough skin. That hand then slid upward, slow and firm, making Halsin shiver as it planed his collarbone and wound around the back of his neck to grip his hair.

"This nervous skin, this fear would be silenced if I could run through the trees on all fours."

"My silver wolf," Halsin murmured, his lips curling, smile edged and trembling with a rising heat, a need Dayan could practically scent. The drow grinned as he watched his lover's pupils expand and felt that trapped cock grow even harder and thicker against him as he pressed closer. It made his own twitch and he angled his hips so Halsin felt the hot, firm press of his length. The groan that pooled in his bear's throat was like a song. He felt a slick wetness slide against his shaft and had to swallow down his own moan and instinct to grind.

Dayan exhaled a slow breath and let go of Halsin's wrist, hand moving to join its twin in his hair, tangling around thin braids and golden brown locks. His thumb grazed a strong jaw. "I love you," he said, so softly, and slowly drew the druid close, bending him like a willow sapling.

One hand clenched in Halsin’s hair, Dayan moved the other to press lightly beneath that finely-cut chin, his thumb braced against a bottom lip as he pressed closer.

"Everything's a mess, sta kha'sik." My light in the dark. "Nothing feels stable, nothing feels solid," he whispered against the druid’s mouth. His eyes locked onto Halsin's, the spring green of his eyes a narrow rim around lust-blown black pupils. Dayan wondered if his own were as wide, a black void circled with amethyst.

"I need something I can direct and shape without uncertainty. I need something I can control," he whispered.

"Then you have it, my heart," Halsin said, his next utterance a breathy groan. "You have me. Take me...shape me as you will, direct me and I will obey." There was a pause, Dayan’s eyes locked onto Halsin’s, searching deep. He saw nothing there but love and desire, in equal measure. No shadows haunting his words.

”Please…” Halsin whispered and Dayan almost groaned at the sound of so much need.

He exhaled and bit the druid's soft lower lip, gentle pressure turning to sharp pain as his teeth clamped, drawing a copper taste and making Halsin twitch and gasp. He suckled on the lip, practically feeling the heated throb in it and let go. Halsin groaned, mouth still parted and slightly panting, his eyes hooded.

Dayan grinned then, mischievously and pulled away suddenly, causing Halsin to sway and have to grip the rock to avoid tumbling forward after him. He actually whined a little at the drow, which nearly made Dayan change his plan and push him down in the mud right here, after all. He inhaled to get control of himself again and then gave Halsin a smirk over his shoulder.

"Let's get the blood pumping, shall we?” He crooked a beckoning finger and chuckled as Halsin blinked, and then matched his grin as he scrambled down off the rock and paced after. He couldn't help but notice there was a subtle stalk in the druid’s movements. The bear stirred, it seemed.

“You’ve roused my blood hotter than you know, my proud wolf,” Halsin said, his voice a soft, low near-growl.

Dayan smirked and met the advancing elf, catching him between hands gently cradling his head. Halsin instinctively sank to his knees and Dayan murmured approvingly, bending to kiss him deeply, fervently. Even on his knees Halsin was tall enough the drow barely had to tilt to meet his lips, but even this small difference was arousing. Halsin kept his hands down and a thrill went through Dayan. He knows the rules.

“Patience, sunstone,” he whispered against Halsin’s bruised bottom lip, tweaking it with his teeth just once.

“There's an islet out there, see?" he cocked a thumb back towards the water. There was indeed a small hill of land a little ways out from the edge of the river, a few clinging trees visible. "Race me, and if you win -- I'll do one thing you want. A request," he teased, though they both knew he was already going to do many, many things Halsin would absolutely want. The druid perked at the idea of making a special request though.

“Now?” Halsin asked, breathless, and Dayan nodded. He kissed his forehead and let go, stepping back.

“Now.”

◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈━◈

Dayan didn't even have to count off. Halsin stripped in seconds -- Dayan felt a brief pang of regret, making the druid strip for him would have been enticing -- and barreled toward the water.

The drow laughed and darted to the fallen tree instead, jumping up on it gracefully and running down the length as it jolted beneath his pounding feet. He heard Halsin let out a growl of annoyance as he waded to deeper water, Dayan's little trick giving the drow a good head start. Dayan grinned wider in triumph as he neared the end of the makeshift springboard and jumped, diving smoothly into the river with barely a splash.

The two of them were both excellent swimmers, Dayan's lithe form against Halsin's powerful strokes. The ranger could hear Halsin gaining on him off behind to the left, churning up much more water than he was. He smirked and put on an extra burst of speed, the islet already in sight.

That is, until he heard the unmistakable sound of channeling magic behind him, and felt the water suddenly violently ripple, something darting below and almost pulling him down in its powerful wake. Water surged up his nose and he had to stop to cough and clear his sinuses, stinging eyes lifting just in time to see a narrow fin rise from the water.

"Whu--" Dayan blinked and then shouted in frustration, slapping the water with both hands.

"For the love of--!! HALSIN!! A shark is CHEATING!" He growled and kicked into a sprint, huffing. Druids!!

His eyes narrowed as he saw the fin quickly approaching the bank of the little islet and in a flash of golden, leaf-strewn light, Halsin splashed out of the water. He was red-cheeked and laughing, joyous at his certain win.

Dayan muttered an incantation just as his feet hit rock and suddenly with a spray of water, the ranger misty stepped just as Halsin spun around to look for him. Dayan dropped atop the druid and with their joint momentum sent the bear man crashing into the mud, the smaller elf landing atop him.

"Cheater!"

Dayan growled softly down at his love, eyes narrowing as he watched Halsin bite his lip to try and keep more laughter from bubbling. Dayan was straddling Halsin's abdomen, all his weight propped on his hands, which were pinning the druid's wrists to the slick mud of the isle's shoreline.

The river lapped at their legs as he grinned like a wolf down at his prey, both of them panting, flushed...and growing hard despite the chill of the water they just left. Dayan's cock was nudging into Halsin’s body as he straddled his ribs, adjusting his grip on his wrists subtly.

He wasn't as thick as Halsin -- he didn't know anyone who was -- but Dayan was fairly lengthy, slightly curved, with a small plush cockhead already half-exposed past a thin foreskin. The swim only heightened the heat pooling in his loins, and Halsin’s felt so warm Dayan almost expected the water dripping from his body and hair to sizzle when it hit the druid’s skin.

His love lay beneath him, flushed, breathing hard, and beautiful -- beads of water and sweat both glistening on his skin, his hair come undone, a loose wild mane framing his face. Wet tendrils clung to his forehead and cheeks and Dayan had an urge to run his tongue along those snaking strands.

"Misty Step? Who's cheating, now?" Halsin rumbled and Dayan had to laugh.

"Fair enough. We both win."

Suddenly his lips were on Halsin's in a heated, hungry kiss, tasting deep and claiming the druid's mouth for his own. He nipped and bit those lips until they were tingling and swollen, then pushed his tongue past them. Halsin moaned, a husky, rumbling sound that made Dayan's belly flip and his head swim. His cock pulsed and dribbled a few drops of precum onto Halsin's chest. When he finally pulled away to let the wood elf breathe, the tips of Halsin’s ears were pink, his face ruddy and warm and lips parted as he panted softly.

Gods, he was so lovely Dayan could weep.

He moved his lips to Halsin's ear. "You remember the words, the signal, if...?" he breathed and Halsin nodded. "And this is all right?"

"I want you, my heart," the druid moaned quietly. "I want–”

“--please," he broke off suddenly, a soft desperation seeming to seize him. "Take me, Dayan." His eyes flicked to meet the drow's, dark and liquid with desire. "Roughly. Harshly, even. Give me claws and teeth…break me if you must…but I need you…I’ve needed you for so long."

“Gods," Dayan groaned and let go of Halsin's wrists to grip his hair in both fists, body dropping flush to Halsin’s to kiss him fiercely again. Stocky arms made to embrace him but he yanked on those thick brown locks, jerking Halsin's head back as a warning, making the druid's breath catch.

"Ah-ah," he whispered. "Hands down. Keep them there." Halsin obeyed immediately, his arms dropping back in place. Dayan smiled and kissed his jaw. "Good boy."

That got a moan and Dayan swore he felt Halsin's cock jerk against his naked rear. It'd have to remain neglected for now.

His hands needed to be busy elsewhere.

[louisisalarrie]

https://www.tumblr.com/louisisalarrie/753801393016537089/honestly-id-do-anything-for-fetus-harry-louis-i

When I see these fetus Harry photos I always wonder how the hell Simon Cowbell could see this innocent child and think: “I’m gonna make him the womaniser of the band!” 😳 It doesn’t make sense!!

hellooooooo and welcome to the show, cutie

nah, 150% he was always the chosen one, and it makes sense as a narrative, as awful as that sounds.

he was only 16, so easier to groom than the older boys (even if it was only 1-2 years). he was “the baby” of the band which just made him so cute, and like… he was cute, obviously, but it was this “innocent pretty boy with bright eyes and a crooked smile who’s cheeky and awkwardly charming” ideal that would relate not only to the main demographic of 1d at the time (closer to age = more attainable etc.), but also to older women. SC saw the potential here, popped him to the front of the band, had him serenade female love interests in music videos (wmyb) and really pushed him early on so he would get this little bit of a reputation. Often times the leads of bands are the ones who are “womanisers” anyway, it’s a great bit of attention.

Justin Bieber, while he wasn’t in a band, was being touched inappropriately, harassed, and asked unprofessional questions as well, from the second Baby came out. It was a trend at the time, you know? The younger and cuter the boy, the better. Not only was this SC’s plan, but JB was hitting the media big time from a very similar attention, so SC pushed it on Harry harder. Directioners and Beliebers at the time were the biggest (loudest) fandoms who were consistently arguing over who was better. We’d go to war against them on awards that were fan voted. It was always a competition between the two, and SC grabbed some similar marketing tactics from JB’s experience as he saw how that marketability was increasing popularity and sales.

Also, note that this was part of the closeting. Harry was marketed as an available womaniser strictly to shove down the idea he was into dudes/larry was real, and louis was thrown into a long term gf narrative. It was the opposite of two ends and that’s why it worked so perfectly. Harry did the short quick stunts, was marketed as somewhat attainable to fans. Louis had the longterm gf that he was head over heels for. The perfect combination of opposite ends of the spectrum, opposite relationship priorities/needs/wants, and opposite values. “Louis’ a relationship guy, Harry’s not. They’d never work!”

It’s truly an easy way to market a star. It’s been used a million times before and will continue to do so. It’s nice to see that at least a few of the younger stars aren’t marketed like that to the same degree due to a shift in demographics and the protection of artists by fans these days, but it’s still happening unfortunately. Back then though, ooooo this was a gold mine. And has tarnished Harry and JB’s images to this day.

[theoldlesbianwithcats]

hi! yes, exactly! your comparison to TIMs is spot on. i’ve seen other lesbians make similar comparisons between the way fakebians violate our boundaries and how TIMs violate those of women more generally. they’re reading from each other’s rulebooks. i’m afraid to consider a relationship with a bisexual woman because i don’t want to be a prop in her yuri manga fantasy life.

i was bullied horribly as a girl because the other girls could tell i was gay, it affected me so badly i was eventually diagnosed with a serious mental illness as a result. i really feel like ‘comphet’ could have been useful for us as real lesbians to describe the way we force ourselves to be compliant with heteropatriarchy against our nature, but it’s gone full mask off lately and become shorthand these days for ‘had sex with a man’. goldstars ‘didn’t go through comphet’ i.e. we didn’t have sex with a man. i dated men, though, i personally definitely ‘went through comphet’. i didn’t sleep with them BECAUSE i was a lesbian, there was no other special reason. in theory, i don’t believe that all non-goldstar are liars. but i am sick to death of being condescended to about how i’ve supposedly lived some beautiful, rose-tinted, lesbian life. or even being told i must only be a goldstar because i am ugly and unsociable and no man would even want me. and more than anything in the whole world, i am sick of hearing lesbian-identified women talk about all the past sex they’ve had with men. every time i hear about a supposed famous lesbian who has a history of long sexual relationships sometimes with multiple men, or talking casually about sexual escapades with men, i want to disappear.

Personally, I gave up on dating or even being friends with bi women. 100% of the bi women I've known IRL ended up being lesbophobes or inappropriate with me, even the ones who are feminists or only date women.

I completely agree with you on the term comphet. Gold stars are affected by social pressure to be attracted to men and it deserves to be talked about, it just doesn't involve having sex with men! I know many gold stars who self-harmed, are mentally ill due to abuse and/or had addictions for example. I've been in feminist lesbian spaces where women were super comfortable talking (sometimes in explicit terms) about their past sexual experiences with men, but when I mentioned being a gold star or even just missing having sex with a woman, I was branded a weirdo! Sorry for being a lesbian in lesbian spaces, I guess?

I find it interesting that they can call themselves lesbians all they want, but their behavior and words betray them. Calling us too ugly and unlovable to attract men is not something a lesbian would say, since we don't care about attracting men. That's just classic lesbophobia from women who won't admit they're bi.

About celebs, I made a meme recently that reflects how I feel about it haha

[citrus-cactus]

So, quick question: Do you ever thought headcanoning a birthday for Wallace, Menoa, Maki or Daigo?

(I'm curious because, i don't remember seeing many headcanons about the non-Adv/02 kids when it comes to birthdays...)

Hmm, you know, I never thought about it until I got this ask! I don't have specific-date headcanons for the Original 12, just star signs, so I can take a similar stab at it for the movie characters based on vibes and some of my Very Specific Thoughts about them:

Wallace - Easy! Gemini (late May - late June). Mostly because of the twins thing. But also, in the US, school starts in late August/early September, with the age cutoff for entering a grade being about the same time, which would make him perpetually one of the youngest in his class. I'm projecting a bit based on what I remember from early elementary school, but since kids that age will tease you for just about anything, I think being "the youngest" among his peers would cause him to try to act more mature than he really is, and (maybe) provide some rationale for all that inappropriate flirting he does :) I'm putting that out there only because I headcanon the exact opposite to be true for...

Menoa - Virgo (late August - late September). Conversely, Menoa is perpetually the oldest in her school year, causing her to form the belief about herself early on (coupled with her ability to excel academically and start to skip grades), that she really is more mature than those in her age group (she's not).

Daigo and Maki - Based on this Wikipedia article, I like the idea of giving them birthdays to match the Holy Beast their digimon represent (White Tiger for Baihumon and Yellow Dragon for Fanglongmon. Even though we don't know that that's what Bakumon would have Mega-evolved into, that's my digivolution headcanon). That places Daigo's birthday in autumn and Maki's in midsummer (again, according to Wikipedia). Additionally, the White Tiger is associated with the Metal element, and as I know from Sailor Moon, Venus is the planet of gold/metal (kinsei), making Daigo fit very neatly as a Libra (late September - late October), a star sign ruled by Venus. The Yellow Dragon is associated with the element of Earth, which is a bit trickier, since there's no "Earth" sign in the summer (though, I suppose Virgo technically is) nor one on the zodiac with a ruling planet of Earth. The closest we have is the Moon as a ruling planet... so Maki's a Virgo or a Cancer depending on which path you want to follow. I do like going the opposite and making her born in winter though... Capricorn (late December - late January), makes the most sense to me; I actually like that quite well for her serious, goal-oriented personality.

And while we're at it, Meiko! For my-own-personal-crest-headcanon reasons, she also has to be a Libra. The scales = balance = Mei-mei (to me).

This was fun, thanks for the ask!

[sonlisasims7]

Introducing the Contestants

Hello everyone!

I'm Sabrina, a fairy-in-training and your hostess for the Foxbrook Generations Challenge. This challenge is simple: 30 lucky (or maybe unlucky) guys and gals have recently moved to Foxbrook to try to find love and maybe start a family. As a fairy, its my duty to ensure that everyone gets a happy ending, though things are not always quite so simple. Here I will be chronicling what has happened in the last week in the lovely town of Foxbrook, from new love and breakups, to cute dates, happy accidents, and even secret affairs. Nothing shall escape my magic eye, muahaha!!

So, without further ado, let us meet our new neighbors.

Django Brigham

Gatherer, Hydrophobic, Lucky, No Sense of Humor, Star Quality

Lifestyle of the Rich and Famous

Maria Pavone

Childish, Coward, Eccentric, No Sense of Humor, Slob

Jack of All Trades

Yuuki Chaudhary

Coward, Flirty, Friendly, Light Sleeper, Loner

Heartbreaker

Gulnara Johannessen

Angler, Dramatic, Frugal, Natural Cook, Unstable

Celebrated Five Star Chef

Zeferino Marquez

Cant Stand Art, Coward, Green Thumb, Shy, Vegetarian

The Perfect Garden

Yana Hobson

Cat Person, Charismatic, Dramatic, Easily Impressed, Loves the Outdoors

The Cat Herder

Otobong Charbonneau

Bookworm, Great Kisser, Green Thumb, Technophobe, Unlucky

Golden Tongue, Golden Fingers

Eadburga Kools

Dog Person, Excitable, Friendly, Neurotic, Savvy Sculptor

The Canine Companion

Narcissus Koemans

Brave, Great Kisser, Kleptomaniac, No Sense of Humor, Unstable

Firefighter Super Hero

Angeline Guerra

Athletic, Born Saleswoman, Green Thumb, Loner, Unlucky

Become a Superstar Athlete

Ghulam Andreas

Adventurous, Hopeless Romantic, Hydrophobic, Natural Cook, Shy

Great Explorer

Netta Blaha

Genius, Hot-headed, Loves the Outdoors, Lucky, Vehicle Enthusiast

Become a Creature-Robot Cross Breeder

Adoniram Peter

Disciplined, Loves the Outdoors, Natural Cook, Rebellious, Unlucky

Physical Perfection

Malati Sessions

Adventurous, Grumpy, Irresitable, Nurturing, Perfectionist

Seasoned Traveler

Porir Romao

Athletic, Great Kisser, Grumpy, Heavy Sleeper, Perceptive

Pervasive Private Eye

Gwenith Blake

Easily Impressed, Family Oriented, Genius, Heavy Sleeper, Vehicle Enthusiast

Surrounded by Family

Georg Vob

Charismatic, Easily Impressed, Inappropriate, Schmoozer, Unstable

Super Popular

Nadia Holt

Artistic, Clumsy, Grumpy, Light Sleeper, Mooch

Master of the Arts

Aeneas Amundsen

Artistic, Dog Person, Handy, Lucky, Photographer's Eye

Visionary

Valeria Chaykovsky

Green Thumb, Hates the Outdoors, Nurturing, Proper, Socially Awkward

Perfect Student

Ayaz Ahearne

Cat Person, Coward, Diva, Family Oriented, Proper

More than a Machine

Gudlaug Millard

Diva, Eccentric, Perceptive, Vegetarian, Virtuoso

Vocal Legend

Baraka Egawa

Childish, Insane, Light Sleeper, Mooch, Proper

Gold Digger

Kirke Kinsley

Charismatic, Great Kisser, Hopeless Romantic, Lucky, Vegetarian

Master Magician

Zack MacAlastair

Bot Fan, Cat Person, Hot Headed, Loser, Natural Born Performer

Celebrity Psychic

Tambudzai Wang

Cat Person, Disciplined, Genius, Mooch, Vehicle Enthusiast

Martial Arts Master

Filip Eliassen

Bookworm, Cant Stand Art, Loser, Neat, No Sense of Humor

World Renown Surgeon

Nazli McGuire

Family Oriented, Never Nude, Savvy Sculptor, Social Butterfly, Unflirty

Descendant of da Vinci

Hilding Robertson

Cat Person, Family Oriented, Neurotic, Schmoozer, Vehicle Enthusiast

Master of Mysticism

Oydis Pavesi

Eccentric, Excitable, Mooch, Nurturing, Slob

Monster Maker

P.S. Here's a link to the Custom World being used in this playthrough

[chipmunkweirdo]

CHARACTER INFO FOR MY AU ALVIN

Name: Alvin Michael-Murphy Seville (2.0)

Nicknames: Alvin Einstein, Clark Kent Alvin, Two Point Weirdo, Twerp Point Oh

Personality type: ENFP/ENTP (thinking and feeling were literally 50/50 on the online test)

Positive Traits: Ambitious, Adventurous, Persistent, Adaptable, Enthusiastic, Opportunistic, Curious, Imaginative, Innovative, Loyal, Confident, Courageous, Protective, Resilient, Generous, Charismatic, Resourceful, Friendly, Heroic, Academic, Quirky, Flamboyant, Funny, and Responsible (most of the time)

Negative traits: Moody, impulsive, self absorbed, ultra-dramatic, reckless, forgetful, messy, loud, annoying, obnoxious, whiny, clingy, hyperactive, rambunctious, absent minded, manipulative, argumentative, blatantly honest at inappropriate times, jumps to conclusions, easily bored, neurotic, paranoid, impatient, and indecisive

Special Abilities: Dreamwalking, Dreambombing and Dreamsnatching

Extra power: Crazy math and science visions. “I can see physics!”

Fashion Style: Unique and Flamboyant: Graphic T shirts with science and space themes, rainbow sneakers, the letter A somewhere on his clothes, must have cap on at most times. Glitter, sparkles, paint splatters. Crop tops and leggings.

Favorite Color: crimson, gold, cyan, sky blue, tangerine, electric lime, fuschia, and bright violet

Favorite Accessories: Red baseball cap with a green brim, a wrist watch so he can’t forget the time! Special double music note pendant with one red and one cyan gem. Alien head pin.

Biggest Worries and Fears: Being a failure, being left all alone, QUITTING LITERALLY ANYTHING, losing his identity, being hated because the real him isn’t “cool” enough, making a mistake so terrible he can never repair the damage it did, being perceived as stupid because of his struggles to focus, and being used and manipulated by higher powers.

Favorite Symbols: The letter A, music notes, atoms, light bulbs, lightning bolts, alien heads, rainbows, and stars.

Mental health differences: Has been diagnosed with combined Hyperactive and Inattentive ADHD. Was relieved because it explained so much of his behavior and struggles.

[pollylynn]

Title: Innominate WC: 900

“Maybe there’s more going on than just a tryst.” —Richard Castle, Overkill (2 x 23)

Demming is not her boyfriend. Tom is not  . . . Tom Demming is not her boyfriend. For one thing, she is a grown woman, and grown women don’t have boyfriends. They have . . . guys they are . . . seeing—guys whom they don’t know what to call. And if they’re grown women who are also cops, they doubly don’t know what to call them, because there’s the name thing and there’s the label thing. 

The name thing is bad enough. For her, it’s bad enough. For him—Tom. Demming. Whatever.—it doesn’t seem so bad. He calls her Kate with no trouble at all. Over coffee, it’s Kate. When he’s handing her into the cab they’re sharing, it’s Kate. When he kisses her outside the glass door to the lobby of her building, it’s Goodnight, Kate. 

It makes her jump every time. 

She is Katie to her dad, to her overbearing aunts and uncles and cousins. She is—as she’s only just recently been reminded—Bex to the people who knew her before, to the people who mostly bought the act and thought she was cool back in the day. She was, for all too brief a time, Kate to her mom, who at least made the effort in the early days of the most insufferable version of Bex, when she decided she would never again answer Katie. And now she is Kate to Demming. Tom. Tom Demming, who is not her boyfriend. 

To his credit, he calls her Beckett, too. Because he’s a cop. He’s a colleague. He has expertise that just happens to have been relevant to a few of her most recent cases, and that expertise extends to knowing that she’s Beckett at work. When it’s at the board and not over coffee. When he’s holding the door from the precinct lobby out on to the street, and not handing her into the cab they’re sharing—it’s Beckett then. 

It’s probably not worthy of a gold star, the fact that he knows what to call her and when and where to call her by one name or the other. It’s probably not worthy of comment, except that she doesn’t know what to call him. Or, rather, she does. It’s obvious, and even if it weren’t, she has his example to follow, doesn’t she? She knows the what, where, and when of what she should call him, but it doesn’t come easily. 

The tip of her tongue touches the roof of her mouth to make the T in Tom, but it hesitates. It backpedals to a D, and she’s caught up in a Detective Demming spiral at the most inappropriate moments. Or she stalls out entirely, trailing off into something along the lines of oh, you. She tries to make a joke of it—the fact that she trips over what name to call him every single time. He tries to take it that way, but it has to be obvious that neither of his names comes easily to her. 

And the issue of labels is worse. He doesn’t call her his girlfriend. Actually, she does not know this for a fact. But she is of the opinion that he had better fucking not be calling her his girlfriend. She is also of the opinion, if she is being honest with herself (she is not sure that being honest with herself is on the table when it comes to any of this), that the way the very thought of him calling her his girlfriend pegs her rage meter is . . . notable. It is possibly not entirely explained by the fact that she is a grown woman and a cop and she is not anyone’s girl-anything. 

It is possibly entirely explained by Richard Castle and the conclusions he is oh-so-sorry to have jumped to. Despite her stammering—regardless of the wandering tip of her tongue when it comes to calling another man by his name (any of his names)—Richard Castle is almost certainly the one wholly responsible for the spike in her blood pressure as her mind manufactures scenarios in which Tom Demming—Detective Not Boyfriend—might be casually referring to her using the G-word. 

Demming is a Robbery detective, and a good one at that. Demming has a professional network almost entirely different from her own. Demming has perspective on cases that’s different from her own, but rooted in training and actual investigative experience—not wild speculation and a disdain for logic, unlike some people she could (much more easily) name. 

Detective Demming is the man she’s called in to consult of late, and how dare Castle question that? How dare he imply that she would ever—ever—invent lines of investigation, just so that she could see the guy she happens to be . . .  seeing? That guy—whatever anyone wants to call him—is not the guy who gets to write on the murder board. He’s not the guy who gets to tag in on her interrogations.  

He’s the guy who’s been showing up for coffee, who holds doors and hails cabs, who kisses her on the stoop outside her lobby, because they are not at the Why don’t you come up? stage. Not at her place, anyway. Not yet. Or maybe not ever. 

She doesn’t know.  She doesn’t have to know what to call him or when to invite him up.  (If ever.)

And it’s none of his—of Richard Castle’s—business. 

A/N: She soooo wants to deny that Demming is her boyfriend.

images via homeofthenutty