#it would have tied weddings in perfectly!!! | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

murdockparker · 23 days

Text

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say.

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed.

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by.

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise.

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?”

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?”

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion.

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.”

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more.

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct.

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.”

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room.

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it.

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process.

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze.

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.”

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal.

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display.

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter.

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door.

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon.

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask.

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say.

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish.

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly.

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered.

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck.

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water.

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face.

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out.

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward.

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed.

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above.

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said.

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—”

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother.

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—”

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?”

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain.

Rain.

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting.

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in.

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise.

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…”

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely.

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—”

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified.

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience.

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this.

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him.

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again.

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while.

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter.

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray.

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have.

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #this is a doozy and i am sorry #but only a little bit!!!

885 notes · View notes

cravetive · 5 months

Text

𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 𝕆𝔽 𝔸 𝔽ℝ𝕀𝔼ℕ𝔻 | ℂℍ. 𝟙

| 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐜𝐞𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐞 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐰 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐥𝐲 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫.

|𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞/𝐚𝐮: 𝐄𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬,𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭,𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭, 𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐚𝐮, 𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐬, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭.

| 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐉𝐉𝐊 𝐗 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

| 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

| 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐨𝐱𝐢𝐜 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬𝐞, 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐝𝐫𝐮𝐠𝐬 & 𝐚𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐨𝐥, 𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐳𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭, foul language ( 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 ), 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡, 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤, 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐟 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐬𝐞𝐱𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬), 𝐬𝐞𝐱 ( 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐬).

| 𝐀/𝐍: 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐝𝐮𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫! 𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐟𝐢𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞 does 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐫𝐮𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐤𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐟 𝐛𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲.

𝐂𝐡.𝟐

resentment.

bitter indignation of having been treated unfairly.

you had carried that heavy feeling for some time now, weighing you down with each step that you took. you wished you could pinpoint the reason, to have one target to focus on but there had been many things that caused you to clasp onto this feeling, it had become so familiar, you dared to call it a friend.

its warm embrace consuming you when you lay empty at night.

in your darkest hours.

Being raised in an almost picture-perfect home prevented you from completely grasping how you had ended up with the stirring feeling.

you had been given all that you had ever asked for, your parent's wealth had guaranteed you a life of luxury and pampering that anyone would die for. you had been sent to the best schools, had surrounded yourself with the elites, you had been born into a world that had been hand-made perfectly for you, so was it truly unfair?

yes

besides the fact that you never had to truly worry about anything in life, you had been instilled with morals, morals that your father had soon thrown to the wind the second a business offer was laid on his table that he just had to bite.

success was not enough for a man like your father, he always starved for more.

so much so that once the Jeon family, one of the wealthiest and most influential families in Korea offered a 98 billion won investment into his company in exchange for the marriage of their heirs, there was no fucking way he was going to refuse.

regardless of the sacrifices his own daughter would have to make for him.

marriage was sacred, this had been instilled in you since the early age of 5, your parents had fallen in love at the sweet age of 18, and ever since they had been inseparable. even after 25 years of marriage they still managed to swoon for one another. They had built a successful company together with blood, sweat, and tears. the dedication and loyalty they had for their business only enforced their ties.

"If you are to marry someone, do it for love"

they would say, funny how that quickly changed the moment money was placed on the line.

it was painful for you to admit that all the glory had gotten to their heads.

they had prepared a wedding in less than a week, forcing you into a marriage with a man you had only met the day you said your rehearsed vows.

Jeon Jungkook

Jungkook was one of the youngest and wealthiest eligible bachelors in Korea, the news of your marriage had shaken society to its core, no one had expected such a thing, he was known for his partying and luxurious life and you were barely known at all, as you always ensured to keep a low profile. magazines and blogs had gushed over your dress and the venue, the celebrities and other elites who had attended, and the expensive wines and food that had been provided. all things that had been chosen for you.

and yet you prevailed, in the sickest way you had convinced yourself that it would all work out for the best, your father would have not set you up for failure, you were the apple of his eye.

arranged marriages were not uncommon in your circle, many of them had turned out just fine. eventually, you could fall for him, eventually, you could really love him, like a real marriage.

the thought now caused a vile taste in your mouth.

you had been so foolish, so naive to believe such things but given the circumstances, it was the only thing you could hold onto. hopeful thoughts.

the hope that had been snatched from you the moment you had learned the truth behind this entire ordeal.

you see unbeknown to your father, the money that had been used to trade his daughter had come from the illegal sale of firearms to the biggest mafia leaders and gangs in Korea, all the success the Jeon family had obtained had come from a long lineage of fraudulent businesses and crime and your father's company had just become the next victim.

they had used your marriage to strengthen their venomous root within the company, using it to launder their blood money.

98 billion drops of blood at that.

which meant that if they fell, your family fell with them and even though you carried great indignation towards the people who you had once called your parents, you could not imagine bringing them such pain.

therefore, divorce was not an option.

fear had forced you into a loveless marriage, had you harboring secrets for the family that would bring your own down in the blink of an eye.

"Mrs. Jeon"

a delicate whisper flowed into the air, snapping you back into the room in which you sat.

"mhm," you blinked, your eyes falling back onto the woman standing before you holding a catalog for you to view.

"I apologize ma'am" her voice shaking slightly, "I asked if you would like to view the new line of furniture coming out this season" she offered "for the remodelation of your home".

you stared blankly at the photographs before you and took a deep breath, your mind vacant.

"send some options to my assistant and then we will choose from them" you instructed.

the woman nodded and bowed deeply before removing herself from the room.

this was what you had to become. you had integrated yourself smoothly into the role of a stay-at-home wife as requested by your father-in-law who had made it clear that working was not a woman's duty and that you should allow your husband to provide for you.

all the dreams you once had of becoming a successful businesswoman had been replaced by brunches with other wives from high society and charity events. there was no room for your aspirations here and neither was there for any protest.

it made you want to claw at your eyes.

"Myung" you called for your assistant, and she quickly appeared before you. her small frame contrasting against your grand office, her shaky hands pressed tightly against the tablet on her hands and if you looked closely you could swear she was on the verge of an anxiety attack.

"yes Mrs. Jeon"

you cringed at the name that she uttered, wanting to remove yourself as much as possible from that family.

"Myung, please call me Y/N"

you corrected, causing her cheeks to grow brightly red at her mistake. She bowed quickly, her eyes wide open.

"Y-yes Mrs. J - Y/N"

"do I have any other meetings for today?" you inquired.

her eyes quickly scanned the tablet in her hands, the schedule reflecting off her thick glasses.

" uhm, you were free for the rest of the evening but Mr. Jeon actually called and requested to have dinner with you tonight" she announced nervously.

"oh" your lips parted "he's back from his travels, is he?" she shook her head rapidly, biting on her bottom lip, a bad habit you learned she had each time she grew nervous, which was often.

you leaned back onto your chair and pondered for a moment. spending time with your husband was always planned, always scheduled. much like a business meeting, there were many formalities taken at the time.

hell, you didn't even share the same bed.

in the year you have been married, the man had not touched you once.

it could be that he found solace in the arms of other women, many of whom smiled each time they passed you at events as if fucking your husband was some kind of bragging right, or maybe it was the iciness you radiated any time he was anywhere near you.

regardless of the reason, nothing had changed since the day you said I do.

it was visible to you from the first day you entered your shared home that this would not be a marriage that would offer you comfort or warmth.

once the housekeeper had shown you to your room and found no evidence that your husband had even graced his presence there you had concluded that you were doomed to the coldness of an empty relationship.

you scoffed rather loudly, turning your chair to face Myung once more.

"Who does he think he is" You bit "am I a dog that he summons whenever he feels like it?"

she stood still, thoughts bubbling in her mind.

you held out your finger before she could speak "Do not answer that".

you inhaled deeply before reaching for your Birkin bag and standing up firmly.

"call the driver and tell him to take me home"

"but Mrs. Je - Y/N"

Myung protested as you walked toward the doors of your office

"Mr. Jeon will be upset" she concluded.

there it was, that reminder that all those who stood beside you ultimately were under the Jeon payroll, and although they showed the utmost respect towards you, their loyalty remained elsewhere.

you snapped your head towards her and placed the shades you carried in your hands over your eyes in a swift movement, your red lips pulling into a smirk.

it had been a long time coming, your rebellion that was. you had been obedient for far too long, running at their Becking call like some kind of pet. the title of a trophy wife made you sick but that was what you were all along.

smile pretty for the camera Y/N, laugh Y/N, walk Y/N, bow Y/N, be respectful Y/N, don't be too loud Y/N, shrink yourself Y/N.

"then let him"

you had been silent for too long, cowarding at each of their words, in fear they would hurt your family.

but you were your father's daughter and you were starving

for revenge.

𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝! 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞! 𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤/𝐝𝐦 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook series #bts x reader #jungkook au #jin x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader

672 notes · View notes

ghcstao3 · 5 months

Text

Ghost never really learned how to properly tie a tie.

He never had reason to. Never had a father that would teach him, either. And when it comes to formal dress after joining the military, he’d always fidget and tug and prod at knots until they looked right, whether or not they were done properly.

He’s tried looking up tutorials, sure, but it’s just… overwhelming as to how many ways ties can be knotted. So he never bothers. Just does his best to pretend like he knows even when he’s so, so lost.

Because it doesn’t matter.

At least, not until—years down the line—his and Soap’s wedding.

Ghost figures it’s his time to finally learn, then, because it has to be perfect. He can’t mimic a knot for such an important day, just praying for the best, he has to do his tie up properly.

But he can’t.

He tries, over and over, watching videos and looking at picture-by-picture instructions, but he can’t. Ghost gets frustrated, hands trembling more and more every attempt until eventually he just… gives up. Rips off the tie and resigns himself to slumping into the nearest chair, running fingers desperately through hair he’d taken so long to make look nice.

Soap finds him much too close to the start of the ceremony, quick to rush to his side and ask what’s wrong.

Ghost isn’t sure when the tears had started welling, or when his bottom lip had started to wobble. He lets Soap gently guide his hands away from his head, pressing thumbs lightly into open palms.

“You’ll think it’s stupid,” Ghost mutters. His tie is loose around his neck, an irritating reminder of why he’s yet to be ready to meet Soap at the end of the aisle.

Soap smiles softly at him. He looks so handsome, as always—him and his perfectly tied tie.

“I doubt it,” he says, oh-so kindly. “Never is.”

Ghost laughs quietly, the sound shaky, watery. He swallows the lump that threatens to rise in his throat, peering into the comfort of Soap’s eyes to lend him strength as he confesses, “I can’t get my fucking tie right.”

“That’s all?” Ghost nods and Soap sighs, sitting down on his knees, pressing the back of Ghost’s hands to his forehead like an odd sort of worship. “Thank God. Had me worried you were rethinking things.”

"I'd never rethink this, I just—" Ghost takes a shuddering breath. "Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Ghost mourns the loss of Soap's warmth as he lets go of his hands. He lifts a hand to drag through Ghost's hair, surely mussing it in a way that looks better than the tangled mess Ghost had probably left it as. "All you had to do was ask for help."

Ghost's gaze falls to the ground as shame burns his ears. "I just didn't want you to think—"

"I'd never think any less of you for not bein' able to tie a tie, Simon," Soap assures him. "There's a stupid amount of ways to do it 'right', anyway. C'mere."

Ghost leans forward enough for Soap to have a comfortable grip on his tie. He watches Soap's face the entire time, the subtle concentration in his expression, though surely he should be paying attention to how he ties the knot instead.

He doesn't move even as Soap has switched to adjusting his collar and smoothing the artificial wrinkles of his dress shirt.

"Pure braw," Soap murmurs. He sits up to capture Ghost in a kiss, sweet and innocent and comforting.

"You're supposed to save that for after the vows," Ghost says once they break apart.

Soap barks out a laugh. "Prude," he teases.

He stands slowly, then, wincing when his knees crack as he gets up. Soap offers out a hand to Ghost, of which Ghost happily accepts.

Soap grins at Ghost, then, bright and blinding and full of love.

"Let's go get married, then, shall we?"

#simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #soapghost #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing

461 notes · View notes

ai-satin-chic · 3 months

Text

The $20,000 Dress Escape Room - Would YOU play?

Want to play a game?

This isn't a normal escape room. You're locked in, but there are no complicated puzzles to solve. If you win, you get a big cash prize, tax free. Only people like you can play. Ready?

The rules are as follows:

ENTRY

All rules must be followed completely. Any rules broken lead to automatic disqualification.

You must sign a declaration that you are a sissy and you will abide by the rules. Your phone will be confiscated and you must provide the details to log into your all of your accounts and contacts.

To enter the room, you must be dressed appropriately. This is called the "Entry Dress Requirement" (EDR). All garments will be provided for you and the final decision on each garment is determined by management.

The Entry Dress Requirement includes:

Full satin bridal dress - either cathedral length, tea length or short are acceptable. No sheath or lace dresses are permitted.

A large multi-layer, multi-tier petticoat (minimum size applies – multiple petticoats may be mandated).

Suitable head attire – bows/ribbons/floral headband.

Full length bridal veil (this may be worn in front of face if preferred).

Undergarments including bridal shapewear, lingerie and stockings (garters provided if required).

White satin heels (minimum heel height applies).

Additional Entry Dress Requirements include full, properly applied make-up, perfectly presented hair and tidy nails. Newly-applied false nails are acceptable if professionally done. Perfume will be applied excessively onto you before entry.

Any disagreement, argument or conflict during the entry process will result in immediate disqualification.

Once management is satisfied you adhere to the EDR, front, rear and side photographs will be taken of you and recorded. Only when all the above rules are satisfied will you be able to enter the escape room....

THE GAME

Upon entry to the room, the door will be bolted behind you and every action after this point will be recorded by our 4K cameras. Smile!

To win the prize, you must escape the room by finding and wearing the correct combination of garments.

The combination will consist of a wedding dress, a matching pair of shoes and a veil. All items must be worn perfectly – dresses must be tied correctly, with any bows, buttons or ribbons fastened as per the dresses' design. Dresses with trains must be worn with full train extended, with no creasing. Important: the wedding dress will only be acceptable if filled out fully with sufficient petticoats. Veils must be tidy and fully spread out. Shoes must be very tightly tied. Ballet style shoes need all ribbons fully tied, with perfectly-shaped bows. You must be able to demonstrate being able to walk perfectly in all shoes.

To submit a combination, walk up to the camera and curtsy. Your photograph will be taken and one of the following results will happen:

A: If any part of your attire is not correctly worn (e.g. back zip not fully fastened, no required train attached, or insufficient petticoat for the dress), you will be notified and you must wait 15 minutes before submitting another. During this time, you may only wait. You will not be told which garment needs adjusting.

B: If you have the incorrect combination, you will be notified and you must wait 15 minutes before submitting another. Again, during this time, you may only wait. You will not be told which garment is incorrect.

C: If the curtsy is not perfect, or if you are unable to walk perfectly in the shoes, you will be notified and you must wait 15 minutes before attempting again. Again, during this time, you may only wait.

D: If you have the correct combination of wedding dress, shoes and veil, whilst also adhering to the rest of the rules, the door will open and you will win the Grand Prize.

IMPORTANT: at all times inside the escape room, you must continue to wear the Minimum Garment Requirement (MGR). Failure to do so will result in disqualification. There are no exceptions to this rule. The MGR is:

A: The original petticoat(s) worn on entry. Additional petticoats may be worn to match a wedding dress, however once you have put on a petticoat, it MUST NOT be removed. To reiterate, you may add petticoats, but you MAY NOT remove them.

B: The original shapewear/lingerie worn on entry.

C: Hair, make-up and head attire needs to be kept to perfect standard throughout. Loose bows must be re-tied if mandated by management. Any attempt to submit with loose hair, slack bows or smudged make-up will fail.

You may try any combination of dress, shoes and veil, however you may NOT remove any items of MGR in order to aid dressing.

There is no time limit. The game only ends with submission, disqualification or a win....

SUBMISSION / DISQUALIFICATION

Submitting or breaching any of the above rules leads to instant disqualification. If this occurs, the following will happen:

Immediate publishing of all photographs, videos and written materials to all of your social networks.

Photographs and USB sticks with all the footage will be sent to all of your contacts – your work, family and neighbours.

Immediate ejection from the escape room. Your original clothes and possessions will be seized and you must leave with whatever you were wearing at the time of ejection.

No assistance will be provided in returning home.

WINNING

If you find the correct combination of dress, shoes and veil, you will win the Grand Prize of $20,000. In addition, you may also keep one dress, one pair of shoes and one veil of your choice. Any petticoats worn at the time of winning may also be kept.

However, you may also choose the alternate prize. If you so wish, you can forfeit the cash prize and return to play the game again whenever you wish.

#fantasy #escape room #bride #short wedding dress #wedding veil #white bow #wedding dress #satin heels #white heels #white satin dress #long hair #ball gown #petticoats #story

326 notes · View notes

lina-studen · 2 months

Text

"something floral": literature student blabbering about the usage of flower symbolism in "nevermore", how it ties to the theme of insanity and a little bit (a lot) about shakespeare.

from lenore's perspective, flowers are closely associated with isolation caused by her trauma and supposed "hysteria". floral pattern wallpaper accompanied her loneliness for days, months, even years. image of the flowers signaled that lenore's position would remain unchanged, that she was stuck, that she would continue to slowly loosing the clarity of her mind.

having torn the wallpaper off the walls, lenore believes that she will never see this image again, but flowers continue to accompanying her. lenore sees them again during her first meeting with annabel lee. and during the last one, too. she may have managed to get out of her lonely room, gain more strength in her legs, find a new friend, but lenore is still trapped. she's the daughter disowned by her parents, a stain on the family reputation that must be hidden forever. the image of flowers doesn't let her forget about it.

similar symbolism is also not alien to annabel lee. episode 66 is interesting in particular, because it directly quotes ophelia's monologue. I'm a big fan of shakespeare, it was he who instilled in me an interest in floral symbolism. a year ago, for a conference on foreign literature, I wrote an article about flower language of "hamlet". it's not available in english, but I'll list down some points that I considered relevant regarding "nevermore".

• rosemary can serve as a keepsake between lovers and also between the dead and the living. it could be seen at both weddings and funerals. in the old days it was also believed to be helpful in mental illnesses treatment.

• pansies, just like violets, symbolize innocence and devotion. ophelia doesn't consider the people around her worthy of violets, since she blames them for the death of her father.

• rue is a symbol of eternal suffering; grieving over her murdered father and the loss of her beloved hamlet, ophelia leaves some of the flowers for herself.

• the image of daisies has a close connection with the concepts of innocence, fidelity and eternal love. in shakespeare's tragedy, this symbol is overshadowed by the fact that in the world around ophelia there's no place for these beautiful things. for "nevermore" the symbol is also not so positive, since the readers are already familiar with daisies. they were on that wallpaper in lenore's room.

it's impossible not to note that annabel lee recites the monologue while in the bath, in the water. ophelia decides not to resist the river flow. her life turned into a tragedy: she was left without a father, her lover has seemingly lost his mind. her own sanity is also called into question. ophelia sings cryptic songs, goes into the field to weave a wreath, gives flowers to other characters. in the eyes of those around them, hamlet and ophelia seem crazy, while being the only sane and honest people among them. there's no place for tender, innocent ophelia in a cruel, deceitful world, so she drowns.

annabel lee also reflects on how both she and lenore are considered madwomen. her meeting with "leo" is accompanied by floral pattern on the annabel's dress. their madness is contextual, they both are perfectly sane, but don't fit into the system that could be leading to real madness with time. "all madwomen die twice. at least twice".

now about the arboretum. it obviously has a lot of flowers, but in my opinion this place is interesting in a different context. lenore and annabel visited the arboretum twice to discuss upcoming plans and such, and there are many parallels, both visual and narrative. not much time has passed since last time, but their situation has changed. they seem to look on their past selves from the upper level, having their conflict more acute now. I'll make a more detailed post about it later.

and now I'll just focus on how the characters in this arboretum full of roses behave as lost and confused as in the phobia-inducing flower labyrinth from earlier episodes. “the closer you get to beautiful flowers, the closer you get to their thorns,” says duke in episode 38. the flower imagery haunting the main characters doesn't let them forget that their sanity is always on a verge of slipping. and once a flower falls from its stem, it cannot be fixed.

p.s. guess which writer’s works I chose for a new article this year?

#nevermore webtoon #nevermore theory #am i a total loser for spending so much time on this post #yeah absolutely #but im glad i got to share my thoughts #lenore nevermore #annabel lee nevermore #annabel lee x lenore #nevermore webcomic

320 notes · View notes

russellsppttemplates · 18 days

Note

Hiii, would be comfortable with writing something about the reader not having a good relationship with her parents but loves her in laws and they are basically like her parents, thank you

Note: I have this plotline for Pierre, there are other pieces you can read as well about this too if you haven't read yet and want to read more 🤍

Cw: reader has a bad relationship with her family/has cut ties with her family

"Have you decided what you want to have in the tables?", Pascale asked as she brewed some tea for the two of you, watching Jean and Pierre working on the grill outside.

"Not really, we've seen a few arrangements, and we know what we don't like - especially those really big things where you kind of can't see the person in front of you", you scrunched up your face and she giggled, "it's not the priority on our list, but we're going through all of it in due time", you said, "It has been hard not having anyone else to discuss it with - Pierre only cares so much about how it all looks", you shrugged before composing yourself, "don't get me wrong, he's been very involved, he's been to all of the meetings with the wedding planner and the only thing he isn't involved in is the dress try-on for obvious reasons".

"No need to be so flustered, dear", your soon to be mother in-law soothed your worries quickly, "it's nice to know he's been helping, I knew he would after he asked me a couple of questions", she winked, "you never have to worry about asking for help or opinions - I'd love to to and pick the dress with you if you'd like me to be there", she offered, not wanting to step on any toes.

"I'm glad you're in my life", you spoke up, wiping the stray tear that fell on your cheek. All of the day to day jokes about mothers in-law you grew up hearing and laughing about were surely not written about the lady in you had in front of you.

"Chérie, we're the lucky ones to have you in our lives - there's no one else I'd love to be with Pierre", Pascale smiled, hugging you and rubbing your back gently.

"I like this one," Anna said, looking at the dress you were wearing. The look on your face however didn't match her excitment, "It's not it, is it?", Alexandra offered as you twirled around, not like the naked back detail.

You shook your head and walked back to the dressing room, shoulders slumping at yet another attempt to try on your dress. Was your body the problem? Did you have a funny taste in wedding fashion?

On your way to the curtained area, you tripped on the dress, quickly balancing yourself before actually falling over, checking if you had done any damage to the dress, "just because it doesn't look right on you it doesn't mean you should rip it, Y/N", you muttered to yourself.

"Chérie", Pascale called, "can I talk to you for a bit?", she asked before you nodded, letting her grab your hand, "It's ok, beautiful girl, there are lots of dresses. We will find the one you like the most and that is the one for you", she said rubbing your hand in a comforting manner.

You nodded and looked up, keeping the tears at bay, "thank you", you sighed, squeezing her hand.

The last dress was not one you would usually go for even though you still picked it from the hangers, finding the ties and undoing then enough so you could try it on. You slid the dress on carefully and pulled the ties as tight as you could, pushing your boobs a little so they would fall into the moulded cups. As you looked in the mirror, you felt beautiful in it. The bodice fit perfectly, hugging your waist beautifully before fanning out on your hips, and the train wasn't too long, just the right amount to elongate your presence. It felt soft against your skin, and once the lacing on the back was properly done up, it would feel secure and delicate.

Giggling softly, you walked out to meet the group again.

"I think she found it", your soon to be sister in-law Charlotte smiled she saw your radiant smile, "I just need help with the back", you said, turning around so Pascale could help you as she immediately got up and delicately threaded up the laces on he back.

"It's beautiful, Y/N, you look so beautiful", Pascale whispered, "It's like it was made for you," Alexandra clapped her hands excitedly, "This the one", your murmured, twirling around happily in front of the mirror.

(Thank you for sending this in ✨️)

#pierre gasly blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

155 notes · View notes

celestialwhoree · 2 months

Text

𝐒𝐚𝐲 𝐆𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐧 𝐆𝐨 - 𝐓𝐡𝐫𝐞𝐞

More Nik just 4 you🫵😚 Trying to make this reasonably slow burn but I just want them to fuck😔

Pts 1 & 2 here!

Nikto is shitting himself. In his enthusiasm to make amends with you, to spend time with you, he completely disregarded his greatest issue. He can't eat with his mask on. He can't very well show you his face when you look like the human embodiment of Tinkerbell, and he looks like - he doesn't really know what he looks like.

Whilst your neighbour is in crisis, you're perfectly happy to flit about your house, debating whether to wear your favourite pink miniskirt or a lacy white dress. The white would compliment the pretty satin kitten heels you're wedded on, and the virginal, snow coloured lingerie set you hope is finally seen by someone who's not you, or your mirror. Your hair is perfectly styled, lipgloss applied with meticulous precision. The outfit is the only spanner in your otherwise beautifully constructed works. You're so giddy that you feel sick.

Your neighbour shares a similar struggle in selecting his outfit, realising that he hasn't taken a woman on a date in a long time, and since then, his muscles have outgrown the sleeves of the suit in the back of his closet, and the pants to match are as moth eaten and neglected as his heart. Of course he wants to look as though he's making an effort - doesn't want to make you feel anymore unwanted by him than you already do, and yet most of his clothes make him look more monolith than man, no decent fit for a woman so soft and feminine as you.

You'd never have expected him to turn up on your doorstep with flowers. Peonies with fluffy pink petals, gently wrapped in a sheet of brown paper, tied up with blush lace. Kind of like you. He would never have dreamed of the way you fling your arms around his neck, tits straining against the thin alabaster fabric of your little dress. "You like them?" He rumbles thickly into your ear, flowers hanging at his side as he wraps his free arm loosely around your back, pushing the thoughts of how the plush skin of your ass would feel in his hands. "They're wonderful." You breathe, taking a sudden step back at the realisation that you've just entirely invaded his precious personal space.

"I need to tell you something." He murmurs, words coming thick from his throat, his confession trapped down in his chest, safe where no one can find it. "Of course, anything." The gentleness in your tone only makes him hesitate further. Why should he corrupt such a soft thing like you? Tie you down to a beast like him? "I am - I need to tell you something, and I understand if you do not want to spend time with me anymore. I am deformed."

Biting your tongue feels practically impossible. You so desperately want to reassure him. How do you tell him that you can see his laundry room window perfectly from your kitchen where you spend most of your time. How do you tell him that you've seen the scars he hides when he puts his mask in the washing machine.

"That's okay." You nod reassuringly. Why is there so much care in your eyes?

"You're sure? I am not handsome." You just want him to let you in. So desperately.

"I promise."

I'm so sorry for writing such short chapters but I need these two to get down and dirty rn💕

#cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare #modern warfare #Nikto #cod nikto #Nikto x reader #nikto x y/n #nikto x f!reader #nikto x you #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #celestialwhoree #say goodnight n go

280 notes · View notes

asterias-record-shop · 9 months

Text

—𓆩[cufflinks (s.r.)]𓆪—

𓆩[main masterlist]𓆪 𓆩[request/ask me something!]𓆪 𓆩[join the taglist!]𓆪

𓆩♡𓆪 CHARACTER - Husband! Spencer Reid x Wife! BAU Profiler! Fem! Reader

𓆩♡𓆪 TYPE - fluff, angst

𓆩♡𓆪 WORD COUNT - 1.4K

𓆩♡𓆪 SUMMARY - Spencer and a wedding ring never fit to you. The idea of marriage fit perfectly with him, but the idea of a band around his finger? No way. Instead, you both settled on cufflinks, both engraved with your initials and the latitude and longitude lines of where you both tied the knot. It wasn’t obvious though, not until a serial killer pointed it out.

𓆩♡𓆪 STORY WARNINGS - Cursing & foul language || mentions of sexual assault – not specific – please be wary || Y/F/I means your first initial idek || killer threatens Spencer through you || Spencer gets violent and angry || I think that’s it, let me know if you think any should be added!! ||

You didn’t have a problem with Spencer not wearing a ring, not one bit. He was always extremely open about how he rejected other women, always saying, ‘I’m married.’ to anyone who ever said anything to him. Besides, whoever paid enough attention could see how much he not only stared at you, but the way his hand would graze your waist when he went around you to write or pin something on the board.

At home or in public that was extremely far from the world of the BAU, he would wear a ring, the gold one engraved with the same thing – your initials, the lines of latitude and longitude, and as a bonus because it didn’t fit on the cufflinks, a line from your favorite poem engraved on the inner band.

On yours, besides the white gold band and your favorite gemstone encircled with diamonds, it had his favorite poem line engraved in the inner band as well. It was a later addition to your wedding ring, after your five year anniversary where he stole it and got it engraved for you.

This case though was different.

The killer was easily seen as misogynistic, especially in the way that he killed the women he did, specifically targeting married women and killing them after sexually assaulting them and leaving them in their bed before their husband woke up, or if he was gone.

This posed only one question – who was going to interview him?

There were different ways to go about this, you and JJ could go in as strong married women and tease him, or Matt and Spencer could go in as married men.

“JJ, Y/N – get ready to go in,” Emily says, inhaling as she stared at the man staring mindlessly at the two way glass. “We need to find out where Lucy is.”

“Got it,” you say, rubbing your wedding ring as you look over at JJ. “Ready?”

“Always,” she smiled, offering her hand for a fist bump before Spencer shook his head.

“I’ll go in.”

“What?” Emily paused, shaking her head. “No, you’re not-”

Spencer walked in before she could say anything else, quickly ordering Matt to follow him in as Spencer sat down in front of Ryan, the man they profiled to have been murdering these women after he killed his wife who cheated on him with his best friend, and best man at their wedding. Ryan’s eyes catch on Spencer who sat down in front of him, Matt standing and leaning against the two sided mirror.

“It was Agent Reid, correct-”

“Dr. Dr. Reid,” Spencer corrected, quickly fixing his cufflinks as Ryan’s eyes flashed to Matt and he smiled.

“My apologies. Dr. Reid. So, I see why they sent this… man in here, that shiny silver band on his finger, trying to intimidate me,” he moved to look at Reid. “But you… you don’t show obvious signs of being married.”

Spencer doesn’t break eye contact or move, that he could tell at least. “I’m not.”

Ryan smiles. “What’s her name?”

“Who’s name?”

“Your wife’s.”

“I don’t have a wife.”

“I don’t know if she’d like you rejecting the fact that you're married,” Ryan mocked him, copying his straightened form and interlacing his fingers. “Is she an agent?”

“How did it feel when your wife cheated on you with your best friend?” Reid’s question made Ryan’s face flash, Matt straightening slightly. “Must’ve hurt.”

“Not really.”

“Oh no? It didn’t hurt you enough to kill not only her but also your best friend and five other women who you thought resembled her? Women who were faithful to their husbands?” Reid leaned forward. “Unlike yours?”

Ryan swallowed. “None of them were faithful.”

“How so?” Matt finally spoke, Ryan smiling slightly.

“Does her name start with… Y/F/I?” Ryan tilted his head. “Was R the original first letter of her last name or did you change it?”

Reid tried not to react. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m not married.”

“Is she an agent?”

“I’m not married.”

“Was she that H/C agent? She looks like my ex, I saw it the moment she came in busting down that door. It was kind of hot,” Ryan smirked, leaning forward. “Is she like that in bed, Dr. Reid? Or is she more submissive? You don’t look like the kind of guy that takes control, but damn would it be nice to see her beg-”

“The only thing that you’re going to hear begging is your own voice in prison when every man in there is passing you around like a toy,” Reid responded, tilting his head slightly. “Do you know where rapists stand on the totem pole, don’t you? And where you’re going… you’re going to be one of their bitches.”

Ryan’s smile falters as Reid smiles, tilting his head. “Where’s Lucy?”

“Who’s Lucy? I’m focused on that wifey of yours.”

“Could it be where you and your wife got married?” Reid asked, watching as Ryan’s eye twitched. That wasn’t hard.

Matt was already walking out as Spencer started to stand, Ryan leaning back in his chair. “Is your wife faithful, Dr. Reid?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Reid responded, glaring. He knew you were faithful, going on being married almost eight years, sticking it out when he was arrested and through worse things like his addiction. “Those who cheat aren’t built for a relationship.”

“If she cheated, wouldn’t you kill her?!” Ryan sat up, attempting to force his wrists out of the handcuffs. “They were all cheaters, all of them!”

“My wife would never cheat.” Reid finally let the facade crack, slamming his hands down onto the desk. “Just because a woman cheated on a stupid, narcissistic, misogynistic man like you!”

“I should’ve hunted her first,” Ryan snarled, glaring up at Reid as he laughed. “Shoulda gone for the pretty wife of Dr. Reid-”

Reid’s actions were quick, his hand flying forward to slam Ryan’s face into the metal table, repeatedly bashing him into the table before Alvez came running in, wrapping his arms around Reid’s waist and dragging him out of the room.

“Reid, Reid!” You rushed forward, quickly running forward to cup his face. “Spence, baby, calm down. Calm down.”

It was as though you snapped him out of a trance, his body going stiff as your hands softly held his face, thumbs softly rubbing along his skin as you looked back at Luke. “Thank you, Luke.”

Luke let him go as you quickly hold Spencer’s shoulder, pushing your hands down his arms to hold his hands and pull him to one of the private rooms, cupping his face as he immediately leaned into your chest. He inhaled sharply as he kissed your neck. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, sweetheart, I am so so sorry. I hated… I hated thinking of you with him… him touching you, anyone touching you other than me.”

“No one will,” you whisper back, pulling away to cup his face once again and press a firm kiss to his lips. “I’m yours, Spencer Reid. Forever and always, no matter what. You see this ring? I’m yours.”

He inhaled, nodding as he leaned forward to kiss you softly, humming. “I think… I want a ring instead of cufflinks.”

His words make you giggle, shaking your head. “You sure? I can get you more cufflinks.”

He laughed slightly, nodding. “Okay. I like cufflinks.”

“Then cufflinks you shall have, my love. And I’ll add something to that ring you have at home, too.”

He smiled, nodding as he leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to your lips. “I’ll hold you to that, Mrs. Reid.”

You giggled, nodding as you pressed another kiss to his lips. “You better.”

Regular taglist: 𓆩[@lem0ns77]𓆪 𓆩[@cecepop15]𓆪 𓆩[@memeorydotcom]𓆪 𓆩[@your-favorite-god]𓆪 𓆩[@xyzstar]𓆪 𓆩[@just-my-shit]𓆪 𓆩[@your-mom21]𓆪 𓆩[@c78r]𓆪 𓆩[@dizscreams]𓆪 𓆩[@copypastedaphne]𓆪 𓆩[@asrt5]𓆪 𓆩[@xoxomoonlightbabe]𓆪 𓆩[@ineedmentalhelp123]𓆪

#asterias-record-shop #spencer reid #criminal minds spencer #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid fandom #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds fandom #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x fem!reader #criminal minds fic #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem! agent! reader

499 notes · View notes

in-a-mountain-pool · 10 months

Text

Blossoming Over You

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

pronouns: She/her (afab)

rating: Explicit/18+

warnings: NSFW/Minors DNI, 69 position, smut

word count: 4500+

summary: Aemond and his new bride, Lady Y/N Baratheon, steal a moment together alone at their Wedding dinner.

author’s note: The people have spoken! After my poll to celebrate gaining 69 followers (which is now a lovely 100 followers!) there you have it, an Aemond x Reader 69 smut fic. You’re welcome. As always, likes, reblogs, and comments are not a requirement, but always love to come home to. Thanks again to @bottlesandbarricades and @ewanmitchellcrumbs for your lovely encouragement and commentary in my google doc!

Masterlist

The Great Hall was shrouded in the shades of your family's colours, with deep reds and blacks against the golden yellows of the House Baratheon. Not a plate was empty, nor a glass unfilled as the great households of Westeros came together to celebrate the wedding of Prince Aemond Targaryen and his Lady Y/N.

The betrothal had been a long one, starting at the very beginning of the Dance of Dragons on that fateful night at Storm’s End, and after a year of near unending grief and loss, your love was the salve to heal the deep wounds left behind. The Greens had triumphed over your betrothed’s half-sister only 6 months prior, and now was the time to march onward into a time of peace.

The Queen Mother, Alicent Hightower, watched on from afar, taking in the merry celebrations. All of her children were prospering, thank The Seven, and hopefully soon the realm once more. Prince Aemond and his bride had been missing from the party for quite some time, slipping out just after the speeches had ended and their guests had flocked to the dance floor. In amongst the beautiful patterns created by dancers in dresses of the finest silks, she’d watched as he’d lovingly sought her hand and pulled her away to his chambers.

Later that night, out of the corner of her eye, Alicent sees them return hurriedly through a servant's side door. Y/N was hastily straightening her dress and the priceless jewels hung around her neck, her youngest son rose-pink in the face, his usually perfectly tied hair uncharacteristically mussed and knotted. His mother could hardly contain the hearty chuckle that escapes her mouth as she notes the way he scans the room nervously to see if anyone had noticed their absence… Like it hadn’t been the talk of the Red Keep that the young Prince had hardly been able to keep his hands off his little bride since the end of the war. They were head over heels, and after all of the tragedy that had befallen them, no one could find it in their hearts to judge them for it. It was a match made by the Seven indeed.

It was clear in the way that Aemond would gaze at her when they would dine together, the tender way he would cradle and protect her on dragonback, and the way that no matter how beaten and bloodied he had been during the war, he had never so much as raised his voice at her.

Aemond had always been a gentle soul as a child and this shone brightly whenever he was around his betrothed. Whilst her son had never said the words outright to her, not in plain, it was clear to all that there was a deep love between them. A love that would no doubt last the rest of their days. They’d proven it to the Realm already, before wedding bands and great feasts had even been necessary.

Alicent feels a soft nudge on her arm as Helaena leans over to pass her a goblet of wine, raising her eyebrow playfully to gesture at the couple. Her heart swelled as she watched his new wife reach over to brush back the unruly loose strands of his hair from his face, adjusting the strap of his now rather wonky eyepatch with a care that spoke a thousand words.

He never let anyone touch him, especially not his face. But with her, it was different.

An affectionate smile grazes Aemond’s face when Y/N’s hand lingers upon him to stroke at his scarred cheek, his ringed fingers coming up to enclose themselves around her own, bringing her palm to his lips for a sweet kiss.

The Queen laid her hand softly on the top of her Daughters, leaning back into her chair and sighing as the heavy cares of the last year washed away. She knew that when all was said and done, after all of the blood, the horrors and regrets, brighter times were here for her son, and she knew in her heart that they would be here to stay.

By the Gods, would the speeches drag on much longer!?

The week before their wedding had been the longest week in all of recorded time. She was sure of it. There had scarcely been any time to see her betrothed alone, what with all of the wedding planning and the countless rehearsal dinners at the insistence of the King. Aegon had proclaimed that he’d wanted everything to be perfect for his little brother, though Aemond had known better that it was because he’d used your wedding as a convenient excuse for a week filled with feasting and drunken festivities.

You’re sitting politely, half-way through listening to Ser Tyland Lannister’s slurred speech, telling tall tales of his supposed ‘great friendship’ and comradery with the Prince, when you feel a soft warmth spreading upon your thigh. Aemond’s hand had slipped under the table to squeeze at the soft flesh of your inner thigh, stroking small circles and with his thumb.

“I don’t know what’s worse, this speech, or those ice sculptures.” Aemond whispers, his lips tickling the shell of your ear through your hair.

You try not to snort laughing as you take in the look of pure contempt on your husband's face as his gaze falls upon the already dripping ice carvings of Vhagar and the Baratheon Stag, towering above the crowd at the centre of the Great Hall.

To Alicent’s and the Iron Bank’s dismay, Aegon had been adamant that the wedding would be one the greatest celebrations the Realm had ever seen, not only to honour the bravery of his dear brother during the war, but as a show of power over the scattered remains of the Blacks. And ice sculptures in the height of summer in King's Landing to him had seemed positively lavish.

“My darling, are you surprised? Lest you forget, there is a statue of you in the Dragonpit as tall as Brandon’s Wall.” You murmur to him, tongue-in-cheek and drinking your wine to hide your coquettish grin.

“It is simply his way of showing you that he loves you. Aegon is ever so proud.”

Aemond coughs slightly to mask his mirth, squeezing your thigh once more before purring into your ear.

“I, on the other hand, have several ways that I plan to show you my affection tonight... ” His thumb creeps inward, rising further towards your centre through the layers of your wedding dress.

“That is, if Tyland Lannister ever stops to draw breath.”

Your heart races, as you try as hard as you can to focus on the great tapestry at the end of the room opposite you, another exuberant commission of Aegon’s, detailing your husband’s victory over his Uncle at the God’s Eye earlier that year. You bite at your plush bottom lip as Aemond’s hand moves to cup at your sex, a dark chuckle leaving his throat as the hand gripping your goblet wobbles, almost spilling your wine down your front.

“Sweetling, please, it’s rude not to listen.” He drawls, his nose nuzzling at your temple, breathing you in.

When your new Mother-in-law looks over to you with a small furrow in her brow, mouthing to see if you are okay, you shoot a tight smile her way, and a swift kick to her son’s foot under the table. This only serves to make him chuckle even more, his large hand sliding down to squeeze at your knee lovingly, before returning back to the table to take your hand in his.

“... there has not been a finer warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms, since Aegon the Conqueror himself. To Prince Aemond, and his bride, Lady Y/N Baratheon. May you live long and happy lives, free from war, and with love in abundance!” Slurred Tyland, raising his tankard of ale into the air.

The room exploded into cheers and hear, hears, the band starting to play once more. The sound of rich strings and flutes fill the air as your guests flood onto the dance floor. Aemond’s chair scoots closer to yours, his thigh pressed hotly against yours. He hastily grabs a plate and starts collecting an assortment of your favourite nibbles and treats for you, before placing it down and leaning over to whisper into your ear.

“You will need a full stomach. Take what you like now and we can take the rest with us.”

You look up in quiet surprise, gently biting into a small lemon cake he’d had made for you specially.

“Aemond- but it’s not the bedding ceremony for another three hours. There are speeches to be made, dances to be had-”

Aemond stares Y/N down with an unmistakable gleam of lust in his eye and a playful smirk on his lips. “I’m not talking about that. That will not take place for hours yet… But did you really think I could wait that long before I tasted you again my love?”

He surveys the room, watching the great houses of the realm eating, drinking and dancing, before he stands up suddenly, lacing his hand with yours and pulling you up to his side.

“I’d love to stay and chat with our guests, but I find myself completely enraptured by you… Y/N, come.” Aemond murmurs into your hair.

He walks you forward towards the servants entrance door with a serious look on his face as you slip behind an old tapestry on the wall and into the depths of the castle. You’d used this passage countless times before, the last time when you’d had to make a quick escape after Aemond had brought you to completion upon the steps of the Iron Throne. Aemond knew a lot about the architecture of the old castle, and by the God’s had he made good use of it during your betrothal.

Within a few moments you’re there in his bed chambers, slamming the door behind you and locking the latch, something that had quickly become second nature after Aegon had walked in on you both one too many times before.

Finally. This was the first moment you’d been alone all week, free from prying eyes watching or judging. No more interruptions.

He places the small plate of food on his bedside table, and strides towards you, grabbing your face and devouring your mouth with his lips and tongue. His large hand splays itself on your small waist. A deep sigh escapes your lips as he hikes up the many layers of your wedding dress, cupping at your ass desperately through your smallclothes.

“Aem- Aemond, take care, my dress… we can’t get too carried away-”

“I don’t give a shit about your dress.” He says panting between kisses, backing you up towards the chaise lounge beside the fireplace. “I can’t help myself. I need you. I want you.”

Aemond grabs you by your hips, lifting you to lay you down upon soft pillows with an indisputable urgency, pressing his weight upon you and attacking your neck with fervent kisses and small bites.

“Ah! There’s no time… Please don’t start something you don’t intend to finish, my love.”

With a growl he pushes up your skirts to your waist and hooks his finger into the soaked crotch of your smallclothes, pulling them down to your ankles. “Oh we will finish… just not in the way you might expect.” Aemond says, with an impish smirk and a rather devilish gleam in his eyes.

“I had something else in mind. Something we have never tried before.”

You lean onto your forearms to meet his harsh kisses, a look of intrigue forming on your face. You and Aemond had certainly tried a lot of things. After countless nights ‘researching’ in the library, he had been able to convince you that there was a lot of enjoyment to be had in each other that did not involve the loss of your virtue. It was really the least The Seven could do to turn a blind eye to their pursuit of happiness.

You blush intensely at the perverse grin decorating his cat-like lips as he gently pushes your shoulders back again, biting at your collarbones beneath the collar of your dress, and sucking small love bites along its edge. You struggle to get your words out at his ministrations, your hands clasping at his strong shoulders, still covered in the soft black velvet of his doublet.

“S- something in mind, my love?”

“I can see that your curiosity is getting the better of you, little Doe. I can assure you, you are not the only one who thinks the waiting has been going on just a little too long.”

His voice is husky, dripping in heat and passion. Aemond moves to kneel partially between your thighs, his lilac eye raking over your body.

“I have a thought. A thought I have had in my mind in your presence for some time now. Aegon told me, against my will of course,” he chuckles before continuing, “of a time he and one of his lovers had pleasured each other with their mouths… mutually, and simultaneously.”

You’d taken him in your mouth almost countless times, as he in turn had devoured you. Aemond was insatiable, especially after a battle. The thought of such heady pleasure taking place at the same moment made your centre throb with desire.

Aemond starts to crawl over your body fixing you with a smouldering look. “If we are quick and efficient, as I know we can be, I believe we can subdue ourselves for the next few hours… lest your husband be driven to madness, resorting to cupping his pretty little bride's cunny under the dinner table once again.”

He unlaces the ties of his tight black trousers with deft fingers. “I promise you, I can be very swift if the reward is sweet.”

Wordlessly you push down your bodice as far as you can to release your heaving chest, causing him to growl in contentment.

“My Dragon, the speeches… they commence in a half hour, and my handmaid's have left for the evening. If you mess up my hair-”

A feral laugh leaves his lips as he shifts around and lays on his side, his face level with your middle, swiftly hooking your leg over his shoulder, pressing hot sloppy kisses up the soft skin.

“Fuck your hair! … Though, that is a very convenient piece of information, my Lady. Even more privacy tonight… and even more opportunity.” With a soft kiss to your smouldering core he murmurs against your bare stomach. “I promise to be gentle with you, my love.”

He shifts his hand down to release his length from its confines, his hard cock springing free and flushed against your face. Aemond’s brushing kisses on your thigh creep closer and closer towards your heat.

“And… you wish for me to taste you, Husband?”

Aemond nods his head in a slow deliberate movement whilst stroking himself, his long hair tickling your stomach. “That is what I wish for, and I think you will come to like it.” He whispers, his breaths growing shorter, and his length swelling harder still.

Shyly you reach to take him into your hand, your dainty fingers not even coming close to meeting. Aemond was heavy and silky to the touch, and oh so hot. He was already leaking, your absence in the week leaving him hungry and craving the warmth of your mouth.

With a swift lick to your folds, he ducks his head between your legs and groans against your cunny in a way that has you shaking. “... If you would be so kind, little Doe…”

All you can do is whine softly, as you feast your eyes on the spectacle of a Targaryen prince, your Prince, nestled between your legs and devouring you like a man-starved. Unable to hold back anymore, you press your face forwards, your tongue brushing little kitten licks over the head of his cock. Aemond can scarcely contain the rumbling moan in his chest when your hand comes to join your tongue, eagerly sliding the gathering combination of spit and precum down his shaft.

“Ah- my sweet little one… a little slower if you please. Lest the moment be over too quickly.”

Aemond drawls out breathlessly, his eye squeezing shut in the sheer bliss of your wet warmth, all the while he starts to suck teasingly on your nub. Rough hands slide up to cup and caress the sensitive skin of your thighs, your flushed skin framing his handsome face.

Your face presses forwards, his hips rocking up purposely to slide home into your mouth until your nose is brushing against the soft blonde hairs at his toned navel. Hollowing your cheeks, your needy groans have him twitching inside of you, before he starts to thrust into your willing mouth. His movements are slow and purposeful, dragging his head against your tongue and against the back of your throat with a need impossible to ignore.

“Yes- Yes that’s it. Oh that’s divine. You are divine. Like the very Maiden herself.”

You have to remind yourself to breathe through your nose when he props up your leg with his hand under your knee, plunging two of his long fingers into your tight hole. Aemond crooks his lithe fingers upwards to tease relentlessly at that sensitive patch inside of you that try as you might you could never reach yourself. What you can’t fit in your mouth you grasp at tightly in your small hands, wrapped around the thick base of him now slick with your spit.

When he pulls out to tease your lips with the tip of his manhood, a pathetic high-pitched whine escapes your throat, a pink blush dusting your cheeks and breasts.

“Aem- Aemond… Are you sure The Seven will not condemn us for such- ah- impropriety? Such sin?”

You swear you can feel his sly grin against your cunt and the vibrations of his tremulous dark chuckling against your clit, shooting waves of white heat to the base of your spine.

“The Seven can judge me all they want.” He rasps gazing down at your slick dripping down onto your thigh, a thin line of saliva connecting his shining lips to your slick cunny. “Though I believe, just like you and I, they would find this very enjoyable.”

The thought of The Seven watching you in such a compromising position, the thought of such divine beings coveting the primal pleasure only he could bring you was almost too much to bear, only serving to add more fuel to the building fire inside of you.

You continue to work his length with your hand, curling your wrist to stroke the head of his cock with your palm before sliding straight down to the base. You duck down to suck at the sensitive skin of his stones, which seemed to only tighten at the very sensation of your plush lips and the warm breaths blowing out as you speak.

“That is blasphemy my Prince… but such blasphemous ecstasy is it not?”

You let out a gasping moan as he adds yet another finger into your swollen heat, licking up your folds and slurping at your sweet release.

“I might- oh- I might be willing to suffer the consequences of such sacrilege… if it means even the slightest possibility of tasting such sweet nectar once again.” Aemond pants out, gripping your thighs in a vice-like grip and pressing forward to lap up the slick gathered at your puckered hole, before diving down to slide his tongue into your cunt.

The sounds of wetness and lewd sucking and slurping fill the room in a manner so intoxicating that you can feel your release approaching swiftly. You take him deep into your throat now, feeling his hips tense under your fingers as he starts to frantically thrust himself into your face over and over, his stones slapping at your jaw.

Aemond gravels out his words through gritted teeth, his long fingers plunging into your sex hard and fast now, as his control starts to waver. Every word he utters is accompanied by a needy gasp at the end as a small tremor begins to make its way through his body.

“Fucking Seven… can do whatever they want to me… just so long as I can have you. And fuck you…. And love you.”

All at once it hits you, the week without his touch, the year you’d had been torn apart by war… the love he’d never really spoken of until this very moment. Your head lolls back against the cushions and suddenly you’re and moaning in ecstasy around his cock as he continues to fuck your throat. You clench tightly around his fingers, shaking and trembling as you reach your peak, completely overstimulated as he laps at your centre with an unrelenting passion.

Soft guttural groans fall from his curved lips, trying so hard to bring you to release once more. His hips stutter, his movements flustered… and he’s spilling into you. The feeling of you swallowing every drop washes over him like the waves crashing onto Blackwater Bay, and he cannot help but moan your name loudly and shudder, hands desperately stroking the at soft curve of your ass. He loses himself in you completely. Every dream he’d ever had, all his aspirations, meant nothing in the wake of you. He could be King of Westeros for all he cared. You were everything.

You release him with a soft pop of your mouth, panting as you let yourself breath for the first time in what felt like an age. The two of you lay spent, catching your breath. Ever so gently, you lean forward to press a tender kiss to the slender dip of his hip bone, nuzzling your nose against his naval.

“... Have I stolen your voice, love?” You whisper.

Aemond takes a few deep breaths, gathering himself and wiping his glistening mouth with the back of his hand raggedly. A lazy smile grazes his gorgeous flushed features. For a man so pale, you loved more than anything how only you could make him so pink and rosy.

“... I do believe The Seven had stolen it. To punish me for experiencing something so glorious and so holy, that no words ought ever to be able to describe it.”

Shakily he sits up and tucks himself back into his breeches, before pulling your back against his chest. You remember yourself and the party outside, and hastily pull up your bodice, fixing your hair until strong arms encircle you from behind, and gentle hands still you. Aemond presses languid kisses to your neck, his nose brushing into your unruly locks.

“... Just a few more moments.” He whispers pleadingly, his body still trembling from the bliss you had just given him. After a short while with tender touches, he starts to fix your hair for you, tightening loose ties, repositioning pins he’d skewed, all the while pressing small innocent kisses to your cheeks and collar.

You smile up at him adoringly when he finally stands and extends his hand to you.

“Alas my dearest one, we will have many more moments like this. In our own chambers…. In our own marriage bed.” Your voice is husky as he laces his fingers with yours and a boyish smile decorates his blushed cheeks.

“Indeed. We shall have many, many more tonight. And many, many more after that.” He steals a bashful look at you as you both start walking hurriedly through the secret passage once again, feeling a lot warmer than the time before, before he continues quietly, his voice just above a whisper.

“I believe we shall have them for the rest of our lives, in fact.”

You both hesitate before you head back into the great hall, Aemond’s pace faltering and softly taking your hands in his to gaze down at you with a purposeful glint in his eye. The faint sounds of your guests echo from behind the tapestry, the clatter of servants rushing by.

“... Come now, Aemond, my Dragon, we must go back. They will fear you have kidnapped me! To think, before my arrival to King’s Landing I was told that you were a rather wicked Prince?”

You giggle, watching Aemond ignore you entirely to lick at his thumb, reaching up to your face to brush away a wet patch of his spend from the corner of your mouth.

His hand lingers on your face to stroke at the apple of your cheek with his thumb, his lilac eye hooded and dreamy. “Oh I intend to be wicked with you however and whenever I can. You can be quite sure of that.”

Something shifts after he says this, his face still pink but seemingly for another reason entirely. You watch as his lips tremble and the tendons in his neck contract like he’s struggling to speak.

“But, I wonder… did they ever tell you how much the wicked Prince… loves you?”

A warmth like no other spreads across your chest and a blinding smile blossoms on your face.

He loves you.

“... Because I do love you, Y/N. Most ardently.”

As your eyes locked to his, the celebrations outside, the whole night seemed to fade away, leaving only the pulsating rhythm of your heart and his. You’d kissed countless times but in that moment it felt timeless, your lips gently meeting in a breath-taking embrace that whispered promises of a lifetime ahead full of happiness and devotion.

“... Now come on, little Doe. Let us away.” Aemond whispers tenderly against your lips as you break apart.

Taking your arm in his he parts open the tapestry, the light of the feast flooding into the dark space you had stolen yet another moment together in. With a deep breath, you take a step towards the Great Hall, and a greater step towards your future with him.

#Ewan Mitchell #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd fic #aemond smut #hotd fanfiction #Fics by me

729 notes · View notes

honeybeefae · 7 months

Text

Coronation Day (Eris Vanserra x Reader)

Eris Week Day Two: High Lord

Summary// The day of Eris's coronation is finally here and while everyone is getting ready you realize your mate is nowhere to be found. After searching everywhere you finally find him in the gardens and you see a side of him that he rarely ever shows.

(I’m sorry that these are so short but I hope you guys are still liking them! This fic was one of my favorites to write and I think it’s just the detail and imagery that really ties it in. I also love writing about vulnerable Eris so it has definitely been fun for me! <3 Thank you guys for reading!)

(I also had pictured what the dress, crown, and shoes looked like so here are the references but of course I want you all to picture what you like! It is you, after all :))

Your Dress / Crown / Shoes / Eris's Outfit (but gold instead of silver) / Garden Gates

(Also I listened to Safe and Sound by Taylor Swift while writing!)

@erisweek2023

WARNINGS: None

You look up at the grand clock as the seamstress puts the final touches on your gown, your stomach in knots as you look over yourself in the mirror. It was Eris’s coronation day and everything had to be perfect, including you. The gown was exquisite, the exact dress you would expect from a High Lord’s mate, and your hair and makeup enhanced your entire aura into royalty.

The gown was the color of golden leaves with large sleeves and beaded foliage around the top to pay homage to your court. It swept the floor and had a grand trail, almost like a wedding dress, while the crown that was atop your head matched perfectly to Eris’s.

“There, my lady, you are perfect.” The seamstress beamed in the mirror as she stepped back, taking in the entire outfit as you matched her smile with your own. “I have never seen a more beautiful and deserving woman to be our Lady of Autumn than you.”

“You are too kind, Cressida.” You blush, stepping off the pedestal and testing out your specially made-heels. “All this beauty is truly owed to you. I was but a blank canvas to your brilliant mind.”

“Now it is you who is being too kind, my lady.” She bows while she gathers her things and walks towards the door. “I will see you at the coronation!”

“I’ll be the one on the throne!” You laugh, waving to her before turning to your handmaidens with a nervous sigh. They all gush over your outfit, their voices intermingling into a crescendo before you shush them. “Have you heard from Eris?”

“Well…about that…” Luci begins, her mouth twisting down as she looks to the others who immediately look to the ground.

“What? What is wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, my lady, it’s just-” Luci tries to explain before Nikolet steps forward, finally caving.

“No one has seen him since this morning!” She confessed, her hands wringing together in front of her. “He was getting ready and when the seamstress came to check on everything he had vanished. They didn’t want to tell you since you were also in the middle of-”

“They didn’t want to tell me that my mate was missing…on his coronation day?!” You raise an eyebrow, trying to control your anger as the girls sheepishly nod. You pinch the bridge of your nose and take a deep breath, shaking your head. “I will go find him, just finish getting ready.”

“But my lady-” Luci tries to interject but you hold out a hand, silencing her.

“He is my mate. Wherever he has run off to and why he has run off is nobody’s business but our own. Now please, get ready. I will see you all there.” You urge, shooing them, before picking up your skirts and walking out the door.

The castle is bustling with activity while you try to find him. People were running around making sure everything was in its place, that the flowers were set and the food was prepared. You try to look neutral as you pass everyone, barely acknowledging their bows and awes of beauty as you search everywhere. You weaved and waded through the crowds of fellow court members, peeking through the doors of rooms and studies until you stopped at the grand entrance doors.

Where on Earth could he be?

You bite your lip, looking side to side, before you catch a glimpse of sunlight coming in from the window above. As you turn to see its path, noting how it hits the painting of the garden so beautifully, you get an idea.

The pace of your steps picks up as you hold your skirts tightly and all but run through the kitchen, apologizing to the staff as you almost run into the cake. They shout out, wondering where you are off to in such a hurry, but you ignore them as you push through the back doors and glide down the outdoor steps.

Leaves rustle above you as the autumn air greets you like a lover, wrapping around your bare shoulders in a soft caress while your heels click against the cobblestone walkway. The trees grow thicker as you make your way to the very back of the estate, to your and Eris’s small garden of Eden.

Tall stone walls and oak trees guard it from prying eyes, secluding it for everyone except the two of you as you slow your pace and walk through the iron gate. Autumn leaves cover most of the pathway leading to the small bench at the back of the garden where you spot Eris with his head in his hands, the tree above rustling and whispering things you think only he can hear.

“Eris?” You say softly, smiling softly when he raises his head to look at you. He looks beautiful in his dark red suit, golden embellishments lining the wrists and collar, with a white shirt and dark pants to match. His hair was styled neatly, as always, but what stood out to you the most was his pained, troubled eyes. “Oh, Eris.”

“You look beautiful, Y/N,” He says, watching as you walk over to him and crouch in front of him. Your dress rustles against the ground but you don’t pay any attention, all of your focus is on him. “A true Lady of Autumn.”

“What’s wrong, love?” You ask, grasping his hands in yours. “Cold feet already?”

He gives you a small smile and your heart flips. “You could say that…though it is very hard for me to get cold.” Eris chuckles though his voice falls flat at the end as he looks down, frowning. “What if I can’t do this? What if I can’t lead an entire court?”

“You can do this. If anyone can, you can, Eris.” You squeeze his hands tightly, bending down until you catch his gaze. “I have never had as much confidence in anyone leading as I do with you. This court has been through so much and you are going to bring it back to life.”

“This court has been through so much because of my father,” He scowled, standing abruptly while you sighed and stood with him. He began to pace back and forth as he continued his rant. “My father almost ruined this court and I know what the people think of him…what they probably think of me. I am my father’s son and what if, what if I become him? What if that is my destiny?”

The air stood still as he stopped in his tracks, looking at you with fear and sadness and doubt and vulnerability. You had only seen him like this once before when your mating bond had snapped. He hated to show weakness, especially when it came to his family, and your heart broke at his confession.

“What if I am no better than my father? A monster’s prodigy?”

You walk to him slowly and cup his face, caressing his cheek with your thumb as you pull him towards you and wrap your arms around his neck. Eris immediately crumbles at your touch and pulls you as close as he can, burying his face in your neck as your hands run down his back soothingly.

Something wet falls against your shoulder but you don’t draw attention to it nor to the shuddering of his shoulders. You just hold him as tight as you can while you whisper your truth into his ear.

“Eris Vanserra, I want you to listen to me.” You begin gently. “You are more than your father’s legacy. You are the creator of your own story, the holder of the pen, and right now is the first chapter of it. You have more kindness, bravery, and leadership in your pinky finger than your father ever had.”

His shoulder slowly came to a stop as you continued, pulling back so that you could press your forehead against his and look into his eyes. “My love, I wish you could see yourself as I see you. Because do you know what I see?” You ask, placing a finger under his chin when he tries to look away. “I see a man who is brilliant. A man who is loyal to his court and saved them from war. A man who may hide behind a mask but cares more than he cares to admit.”

“I see my mate, my handsome soon-to-be High Lord.” You smile, kissing his cheek. “The mere fact that you are afraid tells me, tells everyone, just how worthy you will be for this crown. You will do amazing things for this court, for all of Pyrthian. I have never had more confidence in anything in my life.”

“Y/N…” Eris trails off, lost for words, but you shush him with a finger to his lips.

“And if you happen to falter just remember I will be right by your side ready to set you straight.” You grin, giggling when he nods in agreement. “But seriously, you are going to be a wonderful High Lord.”

Eris takes a deep breath and whispers, “Have I ever told you how lucky I am to have been given you?”

“You could do to remind me more often…” You trail off teasingly. “Perhaps tonight after your coronation?”

He smirked and tried to give you a kiss but you cheekily turn at the last second, letting his lips land on your cheek and smiling when he let out a huff of frustration. You grab his hand and begin to walk out of the garden, turning back to him and saying, “Now, now, High Lord, we mustn’t keep everyone waiting. Come, let’s start this journey together.”

The two of you walk back into the Forest House, smiling and laughing, while everyone looks on in confusion. You arrive quickly at the doors of the grand hall where you can hear everyone talking, wondering what was taking so long. The advisors look worn out as they get in their places, just glad that Eris has been found, while you turn to look at him adoringly.

“Ready?” You ask.

Rays of sun shone through the windows again, catching him in just the right light to give him an ethereal glow that highlighted his amber eyes and cheekbones. “As long as you are by my side.”

“Always.” You promise, kissing him tenderly before pulling away as the doors open. “Let’s go get your crown.”

As the doors open the applause nearly deafens you, everyone cheering and smiling as the two of you walk into the room and down the aisle. At the end sits two thrones of equal size, both of your crowns sitting on the cushions as you walk hand in hand towards your destiny.

346 notes · View notes

raapija · 4 months

Text

Strollonso headcanons that haunt me:

They got together in 2018, Lance had just turned 20 and Fernando was 37.

Lance was the first person to settle Fernando down as he was previously known as a bit of a playboy.

They had to keep the relationship secret as both of them would be accused of corporate espionage. (especially not a good look on Fernando... remembering spygate) The rules were changed later in 2021 when Fernando signed with Alpine.

During Fernando's time off from F1, they came out and it was a bit of a scandalous affair. The media tried to drag Lance but Fernando went on a full-on campaign to support him so they moved on from it in a few weeks.

Fernando buys little gifts for him all the time and Lance pretends to be annoyed but actually loves it.

They mostly talk in English, but occasionally slip into French which sounds like complete nonsense to everyone else because of their accents. But they understand each other perfectly fine.

They got married in 2023 during the summer break. It was a small wedding with just family and some close friends. Lance's parents wanted a Jewish wedding, Fernando's family a Christian wedding. They ended up with a civil officiate to stop them from fighting.

They have two dogs; a shiba inu named Nyla and a golden retriever named Rósa. They treat them like their own kids and they often travel with them to the races.

Lance will tell you that they're polar opposites in their personality; he is quiet and more reserved, Nando is a chatterbox and slightly insane. Fernando thinks it's the other way around (delusion).

They would want to have a family but both of them are too stubborn to retire and become a home dad, so, it's on hold.

When Lance is around, Fernando is banned from practicing any kind of magic tricks as it makes Lance feel dumb for not figuring them out and Nando refuses to tell him how they work.

They have an ongoing bet on which one of them turns gray first. It's currently almost tied and Lance is worrying he's going to lose. (<- suspects Nando of cheating and dying his hair)

They mainly stay in Canada at Lance's or Switzerland at Fernando's house, but spend at least the minimum time in Monaco for taxes 💅 Also Spain. And thinking about Japan, bc Nando is obsessed with the country.

Every formal function they're invited to, Lance has to be dragged in like a cat refusing to go in a bathtub.

They've done Daytona 24h together, with Lando as their 3rd team mate.

Lance has a bad habit of forgetting jewellery everywhere and losing rings all the time which is why Fernando peppers him with pretty things. It also causes Fernando to wear both their wedding rings to keep Lance's safe. Lance would never forgive himself if he lost it.

Every time Fernando comes back from the karting school, he recites the whole day back to Lance and updates him on all the kids' progress. When they have small competitions, Lance helps as a race director.

Lance has a lot of hockey jerseys and Fernando wears them all the time. Lance is prohibited from touching Fernando's football shirts.

#strollonso #au #lance stroll #fernando alonso #f1 #aston martin f1 #headcanons

195 notes · View notes

wntrs0ldier · 10 months

Text

An Offer · part 10

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 7,1k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.), a/n: sorry if it sucks, i wanted to post it as soon as possible!

series masterlist

series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

With half of your face still snuggled into the pillow, you opened one eye and looked semiconsciously around the room again; or at least as much of it as the position of your body allowed. You took another breath and let it out heavily – you felt exhausted from waking up a moment before, but at the same time you knew you were rested. None of the worries that had been haunting you for the last few months weighed on you; as if there was someone who had taken all the weight off you. In fact, that someone actually existed; that someone wasn't marrying you purely for your own sake, but because he wanted to have you all to himself. Just you.

You felt the familiar, at the same time completely new pulsation between your thighs. You were barely awake and he was already affecting you – not even him in the flesh, but the thought of him.

You propped yourself up on your hands, then pulled away sluggishly from the mattress, therefore awakening a dull, deep pain in your lower back. An uncontrollable gasp escaped your lips; one of your hands immediately found its way to that spot to prevent the discomfort from spreading throughout your body, but the pain stopped at that one point. You remembered perfectly well where it came from, and the memory made it pleasurable in some twisted way.

Having reached for your phone, resting on your bedside table, you checked the time – it was almost eleven. In doing so, you noticed several messages from Suzie, as well as Connie. Your sister was asking where you'd been, your friend – how the wedding had gone. In theory you knew the answers to both of these questions, but you couldn't give them. You replied to both messages with the same thing; that you would talk to them later.

You slipped out of bed, and, grabbing your bag, sneaked to the bathroom.

After the shower you searched through your bag for something appropriate, but the problem was that you had no idea you were going to Las Vegas, and the climate here compared to that in New York was dramatically different; so much so that you knew you would have fried in Vegas wearing the clothes you had packed. Still, you weren't going to walk around in nothing but your underwear; so you put on what you had, in the meantime making a note in your head that you needed to sort this out soon.

You knocked on the door of Bucky's temporary bedroom, waited a moment, then looked inside. The room appeared empty, giving you that familiar, unpleasant knot in your stomach. But there was his bag on the floor near the bed, so you told yourself that he didn't leave you at all. Even so, as you walked downstairs, that cool, throat-clenching anxiety lingered with you.

It disappeared when you reached the kitchen, but not because of relief – it was replaced by guilt, since you immediately assumed Bucky had run away again. But there he was, just by the counter; in shorts showing his long, muscular legs, a t-shirt with sweat stains visible on it, his breath uneven, his hair tied in a bun. He looked back at you, strands of his hair, which had managed to escape from under the hair tie, were sticking to his face, reddened from the effort, shiny from sweat. His lower lip wore the mark of your bite – a small wound, darker than the rest of his pink mouth.

“You awake,” Bucky remarked, walking over to the fridge. He grabbed a small bottle of water and almost completely emptied it with only a few sips.

“Are you trying to get a heatstroke?” You asked with pretended curiosity, looking at him.

He rolled his eyes, a corner of his mouth lifted. “There are trees all around the neighborhood. I was safe,” he said. “Besides…” He shrugged casually. “I have really good stamina,” he stated, and you knew that there was an innuendo beneath his words. And although the night before you didn't have much trouble touching him, now suddenly you couldn't look him in the eye any longer. In addition, you were still consumed by guilt. Bucky easily noticed that; all playfulness was gone from his face, and whilst a calmness appeared in return, you knew that it was of a rather negative nature. “What is it?”

Ruining his mood was not in your intentions, but on the other hand, you had probably already messed it up. You wished you could hide your feelings from him. “I thought you ran away again. But just for a moment,” you clarified quickly.

Bucky pursed his lips, but he wasn't angry at you. “Do you think you'll be able to forgive me? Not now, but... at some point?”

“I forgave you right away, Bucky,” you answered without the slightest hesitation. “But I need time to fully trust you.”

“As much as you want,” he said immediately, almost stepping on your last word.

Your mouth curved into a pale smile; you had the feeling that this morning could have been much more enjoyable, and you ruined it all. Even though you had every right to – your fears were justified, and Bucky didn't try to convince you otherwise.

“Hey, umm…” you began. After all, you weren't going to let your shaky mood cast a shadow over the rest of the day. An important day. “There is a problem with my clothes. I haven't packed anything for this weather and-”

Bucky sized you up. “Wait here,” he ordered, then walked out of the kitchen.

Left alone, you looked around the room with no particular destination in mind. It was then that you noticed a small note attached with a magnet to the hood. You didn't want to read other people's memos, but your name caught your eye.

Y/N,

What do you say we spend your last hours of freedom together? Call me as soon as you are ready.

Marion.

Bucky returned to the kitchen, holding some neatly folded clothes. “Should be alright for now.” He handed you the things he brought, then glanced at the piece of paper between your fingers. “What’s that?”

You looked instinctively at what he was also looking at, and at first you weren't sure what to answer; you hadn't even had enough time to think about Marion's proposition. “Oh, it’s just…” Having shrugged cluelessly, you raised the note to Bucky's eye level.

A corner of his mouth lifted. “I'll have to call her. Tell her to deliver you to me in one piece.”

When Bucky went to take a shower, you first changed into what he had gotten you – shorts and a t-shirt; both of which belonged to him – and then you called Marion. After a brief, rather pointless conversation, she said she would send you the address where you were to meet. You grabbed the most necessary things, like your phone and your wallet with cash, credit cards, but most importantly documents, and ordered a cab.

The address Marion had given you led you to a huge, jaw-dropping casino; the ones you had inherited from your father – although they didn't fall into the category of small, modest buildings – were nothing compared to this monstrous object.

The cab stopped; you paid the driver and got out, lifting your head to continue staring at the building.

“Welcome to Black Velvet Casino.” You caught the sound of Marion's voice, and as you glanced in that direction, you noticed the woman standing at the entrance. “Come inside.” She gave you an encouraging nod, and as you walked to her, Marion put her arm around you. “Jamie told me to feed you, I heard you didn't have breakfast.”

You raised your eyebrows involuntarily. Although Bucky had said he would call his aunt, at the time you thought it was a joke; or that he would actually ask her to be careful with you. What you didn't expect, however, was for him to be overprotective even at a distance.

You both entered the casino. Inside, dark walls, geometric patterns, especially on the marble floors, elegant vintage furniture and elements of gold dominated. All these pieces seemed to be typical of art deco.

“So, it's your casino?” you asked, unable to stop yourself from constantly looking around, absorbing the details you were discovering.

Marion, leading the way to the restaurant inside the casino, turned to gaze at you. “It belongs to Jamie.” She beamed at you, a satisfied, slightly proud smile on her face. “I just run it. It's hard to have total control of the business in Vegas when you live in New York.”

Your brows drew together. “Yes, that’s right…” you answered rather automatically, half-consciously. You didn't have the slightest idea why the fact that Bucky owned such a huge, beautiful casino had left you in such a daze. Maybe because he wasn't bragging about his wealth when asking you to marry him? Maybe because he didn't have to have it all to sweep you off your feet?

While you ate breakfast – barely, and under your own duress since your stomach, due to the sudden stress of the wedding, refused to accept any food at all – Marion absorbed one bloody mary, explaining that it was, after all, some sort of vegetable portion anyway. Towards the end, she ordered one for you and another for herself to keep you company in sipping your drink. However, the loneliness wouldn't stop you from drinking – your stomach was more than happy to open up to some alcohol.

After the meal, you and Marion hit a few places from Marion’s intangible list of things to do before the wedding.

First, shopping – you supplied yourself with a couple of summer dresses, among other things, as well as something for your Las Vegas wedding. You didn't want to look completely traditional; it didn't do you any good the first time. You bought the shortest white dress you could find – with long, flared sleeves and an open back. You completed the whole thing with flesh-tone fishnet tights, sparkling because of small rhinestones here and there, high heels and short, tacky veil that cost you five dollars.

Then, as a wedding gift, Marion took you to a luxury spa for a massage, a series of masks and other treatments for your skin, a manicure and pedicure. All topped off with a glass of champagne. Only in your case; Marion, on the other hand, drank at least three, and you were hugely impressed by the fact that she didn't seem to be at least tipsy.

It's been a long time since you've experienced those two things at the same time – rested and peaceful both physically and mentally.

In the meantime, Bucky texted you to meet him at the address he had sent you, and to let him know when you would be getting into the cab. So you did; immediately after thanking Marion for the whole day and getting yourself a transport.

Even though you were already about to get married for the second time - if the situation a few days ago could be described as such – the seriousness of it was starting to overwhelm you. Mainly because you were left alone and had no one to distract you from all those stressful thoughts. You didn't even know how long you had been clutching the fabric of your short summer dress in your hands, but it wrinkled at that particular spot.

After the driver made you aware that you had arrived at the location, you paid for the ride, then left the car and your attention was drawn to the nearest building – a Marriage License Bureau sign stretched above its entrance.

“Are you lost, ma’am?”

You immediately turned your gaze towards the voice – you only recognised it after a second. As you got out of the cab, you didn't even think about where Bucky was; you didn't look for him, you didn't think of texting him to ask where exactly you were going to meet. And he found you, or rather he waited for you to find him – standing with his back up against one of the pillars, he was just finishing a cigarette. Apart from a smirk, there was a kind of lazy amusement on his face.

You approached him with a few, almost wobbly steps, his eyes bored into you. “How long have you been waiting here?”

“Not too long.” Bucky put out the cigarette on the edge of the dumpster, then threw the stub away. “You're nervous,” he remarked, tilting his head slightly to the side. Usually his ability to read your emotions was something you admired, but you knew that this time you were practically radiating stress.

“You are not?”

Bucky shook his head; unlike you, he oozed calm. “One of us has to stay sane.”

“Oh, and it has to be you, poor thing?” You raised your eyebrows in pity, to which he nodded confidently. You sighed heavily, turning more serious. “How do you do it..? How do you manage to stay calm?”

Bucky was silent for a moment.

“I don't have that feeling anymore that I have to do it; that I have to marry you. I mean, I have to,” he clarified. “But because it's the only way to have you around. And I want you around, so it's like I want this marriage, huh?” He gave you a half-smile.

You looked away, smiling too; not knowing why, you felt a little shy, a little intimidated by the extent to which he was confident in his decision.

“Do you want me around?” he asked, and you immediately turned your gaze back to him. “It's your last chance to escape.”

You both knew that there was no better candidate in the whole deal - you didn't think you would have met someone who was as agreeable and respected you as much as Bucky. Bucky, on the other hand, couldn't allow you to be given to someone else; he was too possessive of you. You were also both aware of each other's reasons, and while you might have been pleased with his, Bucky should have felt offended, being anything but the best choice among really average candidates. But he didn't feel offended; you sensed he didn’t.

“Of course I want you around.”

“Then let's go,” he said, smiling. You have probably never seen him so relaxed before – his attitude was somewhat encouraging. “I promise it won't hurt.”

Bucky was right – it didn't hurt.

On that day you were one of the really few couples who applied for a marriage license, so the whole process took a little over fifteen minutes. If someone had told you that a few months ago, you wouldn't have believed it – you wouldn't have believed that a man who shied away from marriage, who was only supposed to help you find a suitable husband, was about to become one himself. Moreover, with a smile on his face, not a look of terror in his eyes. Because that's exactly what he looked like when he held in his hands the document allowing you to get married – in addition to this constant, unrelenting calm, he seemed to feel relieved. You felt it too; you could finally breathe, since not only were you marrying a friend and ally, but you were going to be safe from now on; just like your father's business.

Once you were back at Marion's house, you each holed up in your own bedroom. On your bed were the bags from today's shopping; Bucky's aunt had promised to deliver them home so you wouldn't have to drag them everywhere with you. You laid everything out on the bed – dress, tights, shoes, veil – and looked at all these things. Preparing at the Barnes house under Winnifred and Rebecca's eye had not been a particularly traumatic experience, but now you felt more at ease. Maybe it wasn't so much the fact that you were on your own, but the whole atmosphere? The lack of forcing that Bucky mentioned?

You took another shower, rubbed some lotion on your legs, dried your hair and did some light makeup – it was far too hot for thick layers of foundation or eyeshadow. Besides, Bucky saw you without all that and didn't run away. Well, he did, you thought, but he came back after all.

The open back didn't allow for the presence of a bra, so you only put on your pants – not as stunning as before, but since you were prepared the first time and it was the groom who failed, you now felt completely blameless. Then you slid the fishnets on your legs, gently put on your dress so as not to leave any makeup smudges on it, and with the lack of a big mirror, looking at yourself from above had to be enough. And you were starting to get nervous again, but had already accepted that this was perfectly normal.

You slipped the high heels on your feet, grabbed the veil, then left the room. As you walked down the stairs, as a precaution, you kept your hand on the railing in case you were to twist your ankle in those shoes. Bucky had obviously heard your footsteps, because when you were halfway down, he appeared in the hall. You were able to observe the exact moment when his face took on a soft, slightly amazed expression; his lips almost parted and his breath trapped still in his chest as he watched your every move carefully. You grinned radiantly at him, stopping a few steps before reaching the floor.

He was again wearing a black suit, a black shirt and a black tie, all of which made him radiate an almost crushing power, an extremely strong energy. Even if he seemed to have forgotten the whole world around him.

Bucky approached the stairs slowly; he breathed hard, blinking hurriedly as if he had just been hit on the head. “I could marry you everyday,” he said, without taking his eyes off you; his gaze wandered all over your body, over every detail.

“We're on the right track,” you remarked, allowing yourself a little pinch. After all, you were getting married for the second time in less than a week.

Bucky chewed on his bottom lip, the sheer tenderness left in his eyes. He smiled softly. “Will you really be all mine? Just mine?” he asked surprisingly quietly.

“If you want,” you replied just as gently, and Bucky's mouth stretched into a wider, slightly teasing smile. He held out his hand to you, and as you took it, then stepped completely down the stairs, Bucky brought your hands to his lips and placed a soft kiss on your knuckles.

While you had been spending the day with Marion, Bucky had been arranging the place where you were to be married. You wanted as close to the date as possible, so it was decided on a small, definitely tacky, but at the same time charming to a fault chapel. Bucky didn't use his influence to get a better venue somewhere else – he may have been a ruthless gangster, heir to the throne of the underworld kingdom, but he wasn't a cold-hearted bastard, and as long as someone else wanted to get married, he wasn't going to disturb anyone. Besides, you didn't need royal conditions and special treatment.

The floor was covered with concrete, the walls were painted pink; there were artificial flowers and most of the space was taken up by cheap plastic chairs. Also pink. And soothingly empty.

A man in an Elvis costume guided you through the vows. And even though you didn't hear a word this time either, your lips moved in line with their content. But you were drowning – you were drowning in that gentle, happy smile of Bucky's; you were drowning in the way he held your hands the whole time – carefully, though he happened to squeeze them in a sort of nervous twitch. You were drowning in his eyes; in that stormy ocean that seemed uncommonly calm – very different from the first ceremony.

Elvis let Bucky kiss you and all you could think about was that you were married. For real. And if he decided to run away now, he would still be your husband.

But he didn't run away; he didn't even look like he was going to run away. He carefully cupped your face, his fingers slipped under your jaw. He smiled at you again with that striking gentleness of a man who might as well have loved you, then placed a cautious kiss on your lips. However, he immediately deepened it and quickly ruined by smiling into your mouth. You smiled back, resting your hands on his. Soon after, he pulled away from you, grabbed one of your wrists and turned it, exposing the cut in your palm. He brushed it with his lips, just as he had the night before, but this time you knew it was with different intentions - to remind you that your blood was still his blood, and his blood was yours; that no matter what, no matter your feelings for each other, no matter the situations you would find yourselves in more than once, you were one; you belonged only to each other.

And then there was that mysterious, suspicious smirk on Bucky's face. In the blink of an eye, he threw you over his shoulder, in the process probably showing Elvis your underwear, and headed for the chapel exit, carrying you – unconcerned in any way; giggling like a teenage girl.

“You didn't mention you have a casino,” you said as the car slowed down in front of the Black Velvet, then turned into the underground parking lot. “So big and beautiful casino,” you added.

“I don't like to brag about all the big and beautiful things I have.” He glanced at you meaningfully. You rolled your eyes, nevertheless unable to hold back an amused smile. “I guess it just never came up,” he answered a little more seriously, shrugging. He turned off the engine, then focused his gaze completely on you.

“You're right,” you agreed. “We were always busy only with my problems.”

“Hey.” He carefully hooked his fingers around your chin, stroked it with his thumb. “From now on, there won't be any problems. Okay?”

It wasn't that simple, there was no way to avoid problems, not in your world. But in that moment Bucky was so convincing you couldn't argue.

“Okay,” you whispered.

You got out of the car, Bucky took your luggage and then you went to the elevator and it took you to the lobby. Bucky led the way to the hotel reception.

“Oh, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes.” The young woman behind the counter spoke. “I mean, Mr. Barnes and Mrs…-” She glanced nervously at the computer screen. Bucky looked at you unsurely, as if he didn't know if calling you that way bothered you.

“Yes,” you said hurriedly, not wanting to keep the receptionist in an awkward position. “Sorry, I was just... thinking.” You gave the woman an apologetic smile.

“A honeymoon suite, is that correct?”

“Yeah,” Bucky answered.

The receptionist typed something on the computer, then handed Bucky a key and wished you both a pleasant stay. You were going to ask Bucky to give you your bag, as you could, after all, carry it yourself, but you closed your mouth faster than you opened it when a loud roar reached you: BUCK!

A man you didn't know was heading towards you, but it seemed he wasn't as unknown to Bucky; anyway, probably everyone there knew Bucky Barnes.

“Who are you hiding there, Buck?” he asked. You leaned out from behind Bucky's back and stood right next to him. The man sized you up with a gaze so disgusting you had to stick your eyes somewhere on the floor. “Aren't you going to introduce me?”

“No.”

“Is this your new toy? Since she doesn't have a name…” He raised his eyebrows significantly. Bucky clenched his jaw and let out a heavy breath through his nose; he'd lost any remaining patience, if he had any at all. “Listen, do you fancy a little poker game?” The man was not giving up. You supposed it was most likely the alcohol he had consumed that was blinding him to Bucky's anger.

“Yes, actually, I do,” he replied. Your forehead furrowed as you looked at him. Was he really going to play poker now? “Natalie,” he turned to the receptionist, putting your luggage on the counter in front of her. “Have somebody take this to my room,” Bucky said, and when Natalie nodded, he shifted his gaze to you. An apologetic, affectionate gaze; for although he had just emanated anger, he couldn't direct it at you. “Wait for me there, okay? I'll be with you in a minute.”

And then you watched as, clenching and relaxing his hands, he walked away with a man whose name you didn't even learn.

The honeymoon suite was larger than you'd expected. As in the rest of the casino, or at least the part you had seen, dark colors prevailed there; the navy blue walls were brightened up by the wallpaper behind the bed; the pattern was like golden peacock tails; gold sconces were placed here and there, in case the crystal chandelier couldn't handle all that darkness.

You walked up to a huge window overlooking the city. There have been times when you have preferred your own company, but this evening was not one of them. Was this what Bucky meant when he said he wasn't right for marriage? That he would always choose fun and the company of his buddies over his own wife? But you knew him – maybe not inside out, but well enough to know that he wasn't happy to leave you. Maybe he owed something to that man?

Hearing the door open, you creased your forehead. At first you thought it was room service, but you doubted they would have entered without knocking or any other warning. You also doubted that it was Bucky – after all, it had been about fifteen, twenty minutes at most. You moved tentatively towards the door, leaving the bedroom area. You were wrong – it was Bucky, but he looked a little different. You couldn't tell how different at first, but something was definitely off.

“Did you win?” you asked, watching him with your arms crossed. He was standing by the minibar, preparing a drink, but having caught your voice, he looked over his shoulder.

“Thought you were taking a shower. Or something,” he said. Three ice cubes dropped into a wide crystal glass clinked. “Want one..?”

You expected an explanation. Any kind of explanation. But you were aware that Bucky was not effusive. “Sure.” You sighed quietly and walked closer. As Bucky handed you the glass, you noticed his bruised, bloody knuckles. And it was also then that it occurred to you what was wrong – his clothes seemed to be slightly wrinkled. “What happened?”

Bucky let out a heavy breath but said nothing; instead, he occupied himself with preparing another drink, this time for himself.

“Jamie.” Your voice was soft; you knew you wouldn't convince him to speak with hostility and determination. One of your hands touched his shoulder affectionately; he immediately turned his gaze to it, possibly even to the engagement ring around one of your fingers. “What happened?”

He put down the ice tongs and looked at your face; without taking his eyes off yours, he reached for your hand. He tied his fingers around your wrist and pulled it away from his arm only to close your hand in his. He stroked the top of your hand with his thumb, and you were forced to put your glass down to avoid dropping it.

“That guy, Loonie,” he began. He clenched his jaw helplessly before continuing: “I wanted him to lose some cash first, so I could buy you something pretty. Compensate that you had to meet him.” He smiled without any enthusiasm. “And then I was going to knock his fucking teeth out for running his mouth left and right. But by the time we got to the table, he called my wife a nice piece of ass, so it went faster than I hoped,” he stated emotionlessly, shrugging. “I'm sorry I left you,” he added more gently. “But I couldn't let him walk around and talk shit like that.”

“Bucky…” you whispered, slipping your hand out of his grasp and placing them both on his cheeks. “We need to work on communication, okay? I need to know more about what's going on inside your head.”

Bucky watched your face with heavy breathing; he paused to completely when you touched his face, so now he had to catch up. “I want to kiss you,” he confessed, sending a hot shiver along your spine.

You wanted that too – you wanted him – so you saw no reason why you should make him wait any longer. You moved your hands down to his neck and pulled him closer, making your lips collide. Bucky tightened his fingers on both sides of your body, holding your hips right against his, and he pushed against you enough that you had to lean back. He wasn't pouring the same hunger onto you as he had the night before – now you could feel the need he'd mentioned on your lips, but also the need to take care of you, to hide you from the world.

Without taking his mouth off yours, he straightened up carefully; one of his arms went around your back, the other under your thighs, but as he lifted you up, it slid under the bend of your knees. He carried you back to the bedroom area, put you down on the bed, and unlike the previous time, you refused to let him move away.

“I'm not going anywhere.” Bucky placed a soft kiss on your forehead and stepped back a bit.

You sat up in the middle of the big bed, covered with a dark satin bedspread, and lifted your gaze to Bucky. His fingers nimbly undid one shirt button after another, revealing more and more of his naked torso. Your throat dried up again at the sight; you wanted to touch him, or help him take off his clothes faster; you wanted to take off your own, but you were unable to move - you stared at Bucky with fascination and slight insecurity.

The black shirt landed on the floor, right next to the jacket. Your eyes traced Bucky's shoulders, his arms tensing with every movement; and you stopped on his hands – beautiful hands that suffered, bringing justice to your case. He would never let anyone hurt you, not even with a wrong look or the bad words.

His pants fell to his ankles; he stepped out of them and climbed onto the bed, sitting right in front of you. Tentatively, you reached behind your back; you found the short zipper - because of your exposed back, you might as well have taken the dress off without unzipping it, but maybe subconsciously you wanted to buy yourself more time before baring yourself completely.

You lowered your gaze, your cheeks burning. “Could you help me?”

“Unzip the dress..?”

“Take it off,” you corrected, a slight frustration in your voice.

“Y/N,” Bucky said calmly, lifting your chin for you to look at him. “We don't have to do this if you're not ready.”

“I am,” you protested. You were ready for him the previous night, but then your head was occupied with something else; you didn't have that sober realization that Bucky would see you naked any minute. “It’s just… I'm a little nervous.”

“It's okay. I'm nervous, too.” He smiled softly. “Do you still want me to help you with the dress..?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. Bucky reached for the fabric on your shoulders and slowly, delicately pulled it down, exposing your breasts. He let out the air that had accumulated in his lungs, blowing a cool breath over them; brushing your heated skin, your hardened nipples.

“I see no reason to be nervous here,” he claimed, lifting his eyes to yours. “You are the prettiest girl I've ever seen.”

You blushed, rolling your eyes. “That’s not true.”

“And how would you know?” He raised his eyebrows. “You have a beautiful body, I promise. Let me show you.” He reached to your wrists and embraced them carefully, then directed your hands to your chest; he placed your hands on your breasts, covering them with his own. He tightened his fingers so that you did the same – so that your palms squeezed your own breasts. “Feel that? Feel how beautiful it is?” Bucky asked in a whisper, and you parted your lips slightly to breathe. Without taking his hands off yours, he slid them lower; over your ribs, stomach and hips, down to your thighs. As you looked away from what your hands were doing, you saw Bucky studying your face. You glanced at his lips and he leaned towards you and pushed against yours, therefore forcing you to lie down with his own body.

He pulled your dress down over your legs and threw it somewhere on the floor, then your tights. Soon you felt the weight of his body on yours again – he was pleasantly closing you into some sort of safe space.

Bucky once again pressed a kiss to your lips with the longing you already knew, but also with the restraint. You didn't want anything to hold him back, so you immediately deepened the caress, invading between his lips. He murmured with delight, eagerly accepting your tongue, which effortlessly found his. They tangled together in the same wet, warm, sticky mess, but this time without the hunger there – you were giving each other time and space to explore your bodies; Bucky massaging your tongue with his pleasurably enough so that you couldn't be impatient.

One of his hands cupped your breast, he stroked your hard nipple with his thumb and you gasped and twitched under his touch. He began to roll circles on it, pulled away from your mouth and went lower to grab the other of your nipples between his teeth. He bit it gently and then sucked on it, teasing this one of the many tender points with his tongue. Your breathing became uneven, shallow. You felt the throbbing heat between your legs, your pants soaked with your burning need to be filled.

Bucky placed several kisses below your breasts and on your stomach, leaving a wet trail down to your belly button. He hooked his fingers around the edge of your underwear and pulled it down; you lifted your hips to make it easier for him to get rid of that too.

You felt his heated, soft lips on the inside of one of your thighs. He sucked at your skin in that spot.

“Bucky,” you whimpered.

“Yeah?” he answered quietly.

“I need you inside me. Now,” you said, not quite believing that this desperate request had left your mouth. But you were too dazed with desire, too smitten with everything he was doing to you. “Please.”

“You don't have to ask me for anything, baby,” Bucky protested immediately. He took off his underwear and towered over you again. You stared at the taut length between his legs.

Bucky grabbed his cock and, settling more comfortably between your thighs, directed it at your wet, waiting entrance; he brushed hard against it with the head, and you moaned uncontrollably. Soon you felt his tip thrust into you cautiously but firmly; Bucky groaned softly, closing his eyes for a moment.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes. Yes,” You replied without thinking. Bucky thrust his hips against yours, sliding in full length. You parted your lips and a hollow breath escaped your throat.

He began to move; slowly and gently at first, so that he could study the new territory, and your every little reaction. You placed one of your hands on the nape of his neck, then slid your fingers into his hair and clenched them there, giving release to the pleasure rippling through your body. You looked into Bucky's eyes while doing so, and although your mind was working less and less consciously, you could see some nervousness in them.

“Jamie,” you said. Your voice was now a mixture of soft moans and heavy, shaky breaths. “Relax. Everything is..- f-fine,” you assured honestly. Bucky smiled crookedly, but without conviction. “Come here.” Your hand put a little pressure on the back of his neck, making him lean even closer to you. You kissed him as much as your parted lips would allow, your other hand clenching on his shoulder; your nails dug somewhere into his shoulder blade, and Bucky let out a quiet whimper. Immediately afterwards, he placed a few wet, sloppy kisses on your cheek, and his movements quickened – still not very rapid, but his dick was rubbing against your walls, stretching you again and again, bringing almost overwhelming pleasure.

You could feel his hot breath on the side of your face as he moaned softly directly into your ear – something you would never expect from him, but the sounds only intensified the sensations. That was enough for you to reach orgasm – just listening to the evidence of the pleasure he was taking from your body.

You couldn't bear it any longer. You wanted the whole act to last for an eternity, but the built-up tension in your lower stomach had to explode eventually. Your head tilted back, your back detached from the mattress, arching; your whole body stiffened, paralyzed by the satisfaction spilling everywhere. Only after a moment were you able to let out a few shallow, quick breaths that had previously been stuck in your throat.

Bucky pressed his mouth to yours again; first he could barely kiss you; dazed by the sensation, and then his lips parted over yours, making you breathe only each other's air; your breath belonged to him, and his breath was yours and yours alone.

Bucky's body tensed as well; he froze in place, letting out a raspy grunt. He closed his eyes, and you watched his face flush with relief. You placed your hands on his cheeks and stroked the rough, heated surface. Bucky looked at you sleepily.

“Hi,” you whispered, giving him a gentle smile. He returned the gesture, but much more lightly.

“Hi,” he answered in the same tone, leaning over to kiss your lips again. Then he went back to resting on his elbows, without taking his eyes off your face, and with a caution still unfamiliar to you, he brushed a few strands of hair away from your forehead.

“Wasn't it too vanilla for your taste?” you asked suddenly.

Bucky furrowed, smiling with hesitation. “What?” he snorted.

“You know, vanilla in a way-”

“Yeah, I know what it means.” He slid out of you, making you flinch slightly, then collapsed into the spot beside you. A sudden, uncomfortable coldness washed over your body, so you reached for the edge of the satin bedspread and covered yourself with it.

Bucky turned his head so he could look at you. He reached out and brushed his knuckles against your cheek. “I don't know what you like. I didn't want to be too rough with you, didn't want to hurt you,” he said. “But we'll work on that. Figure it out.”

“I'm open to everything.” You shrugged. Bucky laughed quietly.

Holding the bedspread over your breasts, you sat up. “I need a shower.” You sighed. Looking around the bed, you realized that you were unlikely to be able to wrap yourself in the bedspread and take it to the bathroom.

“Do you want me to close my eyes?” Bucky asked; he was not mean or even biting, there was a sincere wish in his voice to make every little step easier for you. Nevertheless, he smirked with soft amusement, putting you in a somewhat better mood as well.

“You don’t have to.” You let go of the fabric, but immediately crossed your arms over your chest, covering your breasts.

“Alright, I'm not looking.”

When you glanced at him, his eyes were indeed closed. You grinned to yourself, got up from the bed, and, having grabbed your bag, snuck into the bathroom.

It was something completely new – being touched by him in that way. Before, he had seemed to be cold, rough, maybe even indifferent to you, but for some time now you had the opportunity to get to know his softer, vulnerable side. You knew that he was caring, but you suspected until now that this had a kind of sterile, professional dimension. Now you saw it in a slightly different light.

While Bucky was in the shower and you in bed, you decided to text Suzie. You exchanged a few messages, but in the end you didn't reveal to her exactly where you were and why. You got the impression that Bucky had made an effort to make it a secret, so you weren't going to reveal it. At the same time you were texting with Connie, or rather sent her an emoji of a ring, a chapel and a bride. In response, you received an eggplant with a question mark, and although you snorted with laughter, you decided to leave it on read.

You lifted your eyes from the screen, hearing the click of the bathroom door – in nothing but his briefs, Bucky ran his fingers through his damp hair. You had seen more, much more, but you were still impressed by the sight.

He slipped under the covers and you put the phone down on the bedside table, then adjusted your pillow so you could lie down. As you did so, you were overwhelmed by a tiredness you hadn't felt before – all the emotions of the day had sucked all the energy out of you. On the other hand, you again were a little anxious about sleeping in one bed with Bucky.

“You okay?” he asked as if he was reading your mind.

“Yeah,” you lied smoothly. “Goodnight,” you added, plastering a slight smile on your face, and turned your back to him.

“What are you doing?” The harmless amusement rang in his voice again.

“I don't want you to watch me sleep. It's… You know.”

He didn't say anything. What you received in response was the rustling of the bedding and the mattress sinking beneath you. Bucky lay down right behind you, pressing his body against your back, and carefully put his arm over your waist, leaving it near your stomach. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

“Great,” he replied, then let out a heavy breath, tickling your bare shoulder.

a/n: feel free to share your thoughts, they are more than welcomed 🥰

taglist: @goldensunflowe-r @nefri-black @vickie5446 @learisa @sjsmith56 @aya-fay @hhiggs @wishingwell-2 @buckysgirl01 @emily-roberts @prettylittlepluviophile @leaaa008 @itvy5601 @melsunshine @pattiemac1 @marvel-fandom23 @rabbitrabbit12321 @xsecretsirenx @heyyitsreign @xhollycowx @samfreakingwinchester @thrnlvr @samjuarezzz @loustan90 @kandis-mom @abaker74

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mob bucky #mob!bucky #mafia!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x y/n #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #mafia!bucky x y/n #mafia!bucky barnes #mafia!bucky barnes x reader #mafia!bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #mafia bucky

466 notes · View notes

fairysluna · 11 months

Text

SINNERS — Chapter 2

After Maegor finds out his beloved niece is to be wed with her own brother, he absolutely loses his mind. He can't just let her go.

MASTERLIST | SERIES MASTERLIST

Pairing: Maegor I Targaryen x Fem!OC.

Summary: The sudden departure of Aenelys and Maegor leaves the Queen and King with their hands tied, the rumours of their sinful relationship grow with their absence while they both are too busy getting used to their new home to see the consequences of their actions.

Tags/TW: incest, age gap (9 years), cursing, profanity, manipulation, violence towards oc, mentions of rape, the faith being a pain in the ass.

Word Count: 4.6k

PREVㅤ|ㅤ NEXT

Her big doe eyes were filled with curiosity and admiration as she was trying to look everywhere at the same time, not wanting to miss any little detail of the gorgeous palace where they were walking through. The decorations were paintings, vases, sculptures and other valuable things that were worthy of everyone's attention.

Maegor was holding her waist, keeping her close to him as they walked, whoever saw them might think he was scared of someone pulling her out of his arms and taking her away. They were being escorted by a group of guards, Aenelys deduced that they were a group of Unsullied, for they barely looked at them while they were guiding them through the hallways.

They took a turn, and Aenelys stopped for a second after being witness to the decoration in the walls. Maegor immediately noticed this small action, and he looked down at her without even noticing her red cheeks.

"Come on, dove," he softly said, as he started to push you forward to continue.

A blush ran to her cheeks once her mind made sense of the shapes of the tapestries; erotic figures of couples in different positions that woke her curious mind and took her to wonder how those things would feel. Some of those positions seemed uncomfortable, painful even. Her lack of knowledge in the matter had her feeling flustered, which became worse once her innocent curious eyes fell on the masculine shape of her uncle's body.

She felt her breath hitch once her mind played tricks on her, showing her images of her and Maegor in situations similar to those hanging from the wall. She imagined his big hands roaming around her tiny body, touching those places of her skin where not even her dared to touch. She imagined his lips pressing against her warmth, kissing her everywhere.

She forced herself to look away from him, now feeling the guilt of having those thoughts involving him in such a compromising way.

When she least expected it, they arrived in a room where a tall and sturdy old man was waiting for them. He was wearing a kind smile and looking at the both of them with gentle eyes. Aenelys looked at his clothes and that was enough to realize that this man was disgustingly rich; his robes were made with the most divine and exquisite silks of Essos, his white hair and beard were perfectly trimmed, and his neck, fingers and wrists were wrapped with bands made of pure gold.

He was just a few inches shorter than Maegor, but he was still taller than her.

Aenelys stopped her pace and Maegor stood in front of her. The unknown man gave them a small bow and then he spoke,

"My prince," he started, "dear friend of mine, how glad I am to finally have you back in my home." He stretched his arm, and Maegor took his hand shaking it in a formal way, but his treatment seemed to be more friendly towards him now. The words of the old man left quite clear that it was not the first time they have seen each other. "I see you came with company… Who's this gorgeous young girl?"

Maegor took a step aside, presenting her to his old friend. She felt all the eyes falling on her body, and she looked for her uncle's hand for comfort; just as she used to do when she was a child. Maegor smiled, pleased with that action.

"This is my niece, princess Aenelys."

Aenelys looked at the floor, she tried to lie to herself and say she was not disappointed with the way he introduced her; she was expecting something else, some sweet words that would help him claim how dearly he loved her, or perhaps something that might have shown his intentions to actually marry her. Instead, he said that; words that were pronounced with a neutral voice, showing no feelings nor emotions.

Perhaps she was living through false and unrealistic expectations, but she didn't know better.

"It is my greatest pleasure being in front of you, my princess," the old man said, bowing to her now. "Allow me to introduce myself; I'm Ser Vyros Nahar, but please just call me Vyros."

He grabbed her hand and pulled it closer to his lips as he left a soft and elegant kiss on it. A gesture that visibly bothered the prince, who softly frowned after being witness to that small action, especially after she smiled kindly back at the old man.

"The pleasure is all mine, Vyros…" she spoke softly.

"Allow me to introduce you to my son, Draqos, who would be more than pleased to be your guard during your stay in Braavos, my princess."

The young dark haired man took a step forward and leaned over to grab the princess' hand. Before he could even touch her, Maegor stepped in between them and frowned upon the man, who was slightly taller than him, but slimmer. Aenelys looked at her feet, showing herself submissive towards the action of her beloved uncle; Draqos had no choice but to step back.

"That will not be necessary, Vyros. I'm capable of protecting my niece."

Maegor looked at Draqos with a deadly stare that would perfectly threaten anyone, but he did not bend. Draqos stood tall as his deep green eyes turned to the princess and a small smirk appeared on his handsome face. The prince took this as an insolent action that did nothing but anger him more.

"My prince, I'm sure you will not have time to take care of your niece at every moment," he explained, "the nights are dangerous in this part of the city, beautiful girls like your niece might be at risk if she's not well protected."

Those words seemed to cause some kind of distraught to the prince, who stared at his friend with complete anger after he doubted his ability to protect her. His jaw clenched, and his back straightened as his tone changed to one somewhat sterner. "Do you not see me fit to protect my niece, friend?" He spoke angrily, almost grunting. A tone that Aenelys had heard him use many times to multiple people, except for her.

"I mean no offense, my prince. You're a fine warrior that is certain, but I've known you for years, your nights will be quite different from hers, you will not be here to protect her."

Aenelys knew what those words meant. She was not dumb or stupid to ignore the fact that her beloved uncle had needs that needed to be satisfied. She knew perfectly well that there would be nights where she would see her uncle surrounded by women with giant smiles, and voluptuous bodies; but some part of her wished and thought things would be different. She thought that she was going to be his only company, as well as he was going to be hers.

Oh, such a silly thing to think.

Maegor took a deep breath as he turned around to see his beautiful niece already looking up at him. He stared at her violet eyes, staring at him with the same devotion as always. Maegor thought of her as someone loyal, someone who will never disappoint him; he knew she was deeply in love with him, and he knew that no man in the world would be able to take her heart out of his hands, not even this gallant man called Draqos, who seemed to be quite interested in the princess, for his eyes never left her angelic features.

He grabbed her face with the same delicacy he saved only for her. Aenelys leaned towards his touch, almost purring at it. Maegor found himself convinced about his thoughts, she already belonged to him for eternity and that subtle gesture of hers was enough proof to know it certainly. She was his, only his.

"Would you like that, dove?" He whispered as his eyes locked with hers. Aenelys' puppy eyes glistening with the sight of him. Gods she was so lost on him, "is it fine for you?"

Aenelys nodded softly, a subtle movement that Maegor only perceived because he was close enough to see it. He leaned a little, just enough to brush his nose against hers and make her feel the closeness of his lips. She basically drooled, so enamored by him that it looked pathetic.

The multiple pair of eyes looked at them unimpressed by that action. Ser Vyros even smiled tenderly as he stared at them. Aenelys did not let that slide, she noticed how there was no disgusted look on their faces after seeing such a scene, something that would definitely happen if they were in the West side of the world. It was in that moment when she thought she had made the right choice, escaping from the judgmental stares of the Westerosi people who were too blind to understand it; to understand them. Aenelys knew that this new era in their lives would lead towards her much desired happy ending, away from the people that would frown upon a relationship they would never empathize with.

She thought about it, being Maegor's wife was her long time goal in life since she had memories of her childhood. She knew the customs of her family would make it easier for her to marry him, even when he already had a wife… but it was a woman that he did not love, a woman he did not even like.

Now there was their chance —her chance— to prove to him that she will be able to make him happy, to satisfy him. They were free of discernment, no one would say something about them and the weird relationship that had been so questioned back at home.

Aenelys smiled at the people around her, and she was determined to make this place her new home.

Across the Narrow Sea, things were crumbling into pieces inside the Red Keep. Queen Alyssa was raging once the news of her beloved daughter's absence reached her ears, completely lost in the despair of not knowing her whereabouts.

“This is your fault!” She would scream at her husband, “if you would’ve exiled him before, our child would be here with us!” The tears were falling down her face as she was panting, “Now she’s out there, with your brother! Only the Gods know what kind of atrocities he would make her do…”

My poor child, she thought, wiping and crying out loud as she walked around the room in despair. King Aenys was trying to be serene, but the threatening words of his brother came back to his mind as he saw this as Maegor’s revenge for wanting him out of the castle. Aenys did not want to share that piece of information with his wife, because he knew that all this happened because of him.

He could have done many things to prevent this mess from happening, but he did nothing more than underestimate his young brother. Now these were the consequences of it, his daughter kidnapped by her uncle in foreign lands where she has never been.

But when the guards arrived, King Aenys knew he was wrong. He had misjudged his brother, and his daughter.

“Gaelithox is nowhere to be seen, Your Grace.” One of them spoke, the Queen walked closer to the group of guards, her eyes widened with confusion. “Neither is Balerion.”

“It is quite rare that he kidnapped her and let her take her dragon with them.” Aenys pointed out.

Alyssa looked at him scandalized, with an horrified stare. “So you’re suggesting that our daughter willingly left King’s Landing with that… uncouth man?” She spat the last words, rage running down her veins, “How can you even suggest such a thing? She is our girl!”

“She is a woman, my Queen.” He softly spoke, “She is not a girl anymore.”

“We shall look for her.” Alyssa said. She turned to the guards and looked at them with despair in her eyes. She would completely deny the fact that her daughter might willingly leave her side. It was impossible, Aenelys would never do that. “Please, reunite the tropes and prepare the ships. I want you to go to Essos and look at every piece of land you see… I want my daughter back and the head of Maegor be put on a spike.”

“You shall not do such a thing.” Aenys said, the guards and the Queen looked at him with disbelief.

Queen Alyssa walked towards him, her eyes red with tears as she was breathing fast. She could not believe her husband did not care about the safety of their first child, and let her be out there without help. She might be in danger, Maegor was a ruthless man. As far as the Queen knows, he might have done indescribable things to her daughter by now.

“We must do something!” She insisted, “Bring my daughter back!”

“There is a big possibility that Aenelys left King’s Landing because she wanted to do it.” Aenys said, “If we tried to go and get her, we do not know what Maegor is capable of doing.”

Then it hit her. The Queen stared at her husband with her jaw clenched after hearing those words; words that made her realize what was actually happening here. The mere thought made her scoffed while she shook her head in disapproval, her lips forming an ironic smile that contrasted with her soaking cheeks.

“You are afraid of him…” She claimed, “You are not scared of what he might do to Aenelys you are scared of what he might do to you if you dare to pull our daughter away from him.”

“Alyssa, my dear-”

“He threated you, did he not?” Alyssa interrupted. His silence did nothing but to prove that what she had thought was true. “How can you even call yourself a king?!” She yelled, blinded by rage and distress, “How are you planning to protect the Seven Kingdoms when you barely can protect your own daughter?!”

The guards did not even dare to move after such an altercation, and Aenys looked at her shocked; not angry, not mad, just shocked. Of course he knew he had to do something after Maegor threatened him, but he never did because he never thought his own brother would do something like this. He trusted in him too much that now he was facing the consequences of it.

Queen Alyssa soon left the room, fuming and crying desperate for her lost daughter. A couple of guards followed her, and when they were far enough from the King, she stopped them and spoke.

“I want a ship leaving for Essos in the morning. You will find my daughter and bring her here, where she belongs. Understood?” The guards nodded obediently.

When the next day arrived, a group of guards left Westeros in a fleet of three ships. King Aenys never found out.

The rumors around the castle were echoing louder with each hour passing. The absence of Aenelys and Maegor was noticeable, and the servants did not take too much time to spread the word to the entirety of King’s Landing. People were whispering in the hallways that Maegor kidnapped the Princess to rape her, to force her to marry him; others said that the Princess left willingly in her dragon in order to marry him. The other theory is that she was with child, and her own parents had sent her away to avoid the disgrace that those news would bring to the family.

Whatever the truth was, the Faith did not take long to find out about the situation, and the ravens started to fly across the continent from Oldtown to King’s Landing. The Grand Maester Gawen was the one delivering the news; the Faith had given a warning to the King, to stop the rumor of her daughter being a sinner, or else the Faith will take justice with their own hands. The High Septon did not allow incest, claiming it was an abomination that was going to ruin the Seven Kingdom. Sister and brothers, uncles and nieces or aunt and nephews marrying each other should be punished, for the Seven would never allow this kind of profanity. The King had his hands tied, even if he gets Aenelys back, his new husband would be her brother… and that was not a solution for the Faith.

Soon, the small folk, who once loved their King, started to blame him for the disappearance of their beloved princess. The servants and the spiders within the walls were responsible for misleading the information and after a few days all of King’s Landing were claiming that the King had given away his first child, Princess Aenelys, to his brother Maegor in order to keep him in line. Of course that was far away from the truth.

And that is how everything went to pieces. His daughter had begun something that soon was getting out of control. King Aenys started to lose his allies. The people who once loved him started to hate him for a lie, and the Faith was starting to chase him for the same thing. A week after the disappearance of Maegor and Princess Aenelys, the Faith declared war in the name of the Seven and the weak King started to decay.

Across the Narrow Sea, however, Aenelys was oblivious of everything that was happening back at home. In Braavos she had found a new home that had the same accommodations that she had back in Westeros. Maegor had made sure that she had a good group of servants and maidens that would keep her company in the days where he was not able to be by her side.

But now Maegor was sitting on a large sofa. He was drinking a cup of exquisite wine while he was watching Aenelys on the balcony of their new home. She would be there every evening, watching the city and the sea that was beside it as she drank her tea. She was asking herself how her family was doing… a part of her was missing them terribly, but the other part of her was content that she was able to be with Maegor, even when it wasn’t what she was expecting at all.

When Aenelys arrived in Essos she had the dream that her uncle would have the intention to marry her or at least to make her a woman. She is no fool, she is actually quite curious, which is why she has come across a few books that speak about pleasure and marriage… she was expecting something as such. But, in reality, Maegor has not changed his treatment towards her. He has not kissed her, he has not even touched her beyond a small hug. Aenelys tried not to show her disappointment, but it was clearly visible sometimes, Maegor just decided to ignore it.

The only thing that has changed, is that now they share a bed, but still Maegor would not even hold her close to his body at night when the coldness and the freezing wind of the East made her shiver between the sheets. There were nights where he would not even sleep in the bed at all, for he was spending his time in brothels or with hired whores in other rooms of the palace where they were staying; they were a gift from Ser Vyros.

Aenelys came to realize how thin the walls were; for she was able to hear during the night how her uncle would pleasure those women without shame or intentions to hide his profanity. Her heart would ache, her body would curl up in the bed as she cuddled with the blankets and silk sheets, closing her eyes and trying so hard to ignore the sound that those women would make. They were tortuous nights, filled with nightmares and subtle tears that would soak her rosy cheeks; feeding the imminent jealousy that would grow inside her chest.

She found herself in the balcony once again, the midday sun rays hitting on her milky skin and making it look paler than it already was. A white dress she was wearing, Maegor would always make her wear that color, claiming that it made her eyes look even more beautiful. There was no cup of tea between her hands now, for her mind was too busy repeating the previous nights as a constant poison contaminating her senses and making her upset. Her lip would quiver every now and then as the itch on her nose would announce the upcoming tears that she would miserably try to hold back. Her discontent was visibly obvious to everyone who possessed at least one working eye; she was being miserable… too heartbroken to even realize about the presence of her uncle in the room.

Maegor immediately perceived something was wrong with her, usually the smell of his cologne would be enough for her to turn around and flash him with the most innocent and gorgeous smile. This time, there was nothing as such, he found her naked back and her unbraided silver hair instead of her pretty, doe eyes.

He cautiously walked towards her, his heavy shoes being dragged on the floor carpet which muffled his steps. He grabbed one of the chairs close to the entrance of the balcony and sat there, his thick legs spreading open as his hand, which was carrying a glass of fine Dornish wine, remained on the armrest. He cleared his throat, and saw how the girl sank in her position after hearing the sudden noise that ended the silence.

“I can perceive you are not content this morning, my beautiful dove,” he began, his eyes examining the small frame of his niece. “What troubles you? Are you missing home already?”

She looks at her bare feet, shaking her hand as she, inevitably, steps closer to him. It was as if she was unable to keep herself apart from him when they were in the same room.

“There is something that bothers me a bit,” she confessed, shyly, her voice sounding as soft as a caress.

Maegor leaned back, and Aenelys looked at him up and down. A thin, loose, white shirt was covering his wide and thick chest. The blonde, almost invisible, hairs were decorating his skin. The poor girl felt the blush running into her cheeks at the sight, especially after having intrusive thoughts about him. Lustful ideas flood her mind making her weak in the knees.

“Tell me, dove,” he asked her, gently reaching for her hand and pulling her closer to him. She was standing between his legs as he hand went now to her hip.

Aenelys took a deep breath that came out too shaky for her taste. She was nervous not only because she was about to confess something to him, but also because his big hand was touching her. It barely let her think, she felt embarrassingly dumb.

“What- what you do with those women,” she told him, “I don’t like it.”

Maegor frowned, “what thing?”

The next words caused her some struggle as she fought the shyness within her to be able to pronounce them. “Bedding them,” she murmured.

The man chuckled, “you don’t like it?” He repeated her previous words with a playful smirk on his devilish features. She nodded. “Why?”

“It’s not-” she interrupted herself, taking a deep breath and using it as an excuse to think about a proper answer. “I don’t like the idea of them… touching you.”

“And you wish for me to stop doing it?” He asked. She nodded once again. “But, darling, if I don’t practice with them, how am I supposed to know how to please you?”

Her eyes widened with surprise, her breathing becoming unsteady. “Me?”

Maegor smiled, a mischievous gesture that had her drooling all over again. He pulled her even closer, and in a sudden movement he lifted her up to make her sit on his lap. It was a quick, agile move; he barely put effort in such an action. Aenelys was unable to hide the rouge on her cheeks, feeling the hands of the man she loved sneaking under her dress to caress her thighs. Her eyes became blurry as she dreamed awake. Would he finally claim her as his?

“You are supposed to give me children once we marry, my dove, and during the process I want you to feel the same amount of pleasure as I will feel.”

He felt how she subtly shook under his touch, sighing as if he had just told him the greatest news of her life. Her lilac orbes being clouded by the so usual dreamy glow.

“Marry me?” She asked in a whisper, “you… you plan on doing so?”

“Well, of course,” he shrugged, “why else do you think I brought you with me?”

“But wouldn’t it be better if you practice with… me?” she doubtfully said the last word. To which Maegor’s smile started to vanish.

“Oh, my sweet dove,” he cooed. His hands moving dangerously close to her core, his thumbs rubbing against her inner thighs. “You’re not ready for me, yet. You’re far too innocent and perfect for me to ruin you now.”

“But-”

“Uh, uh,” he quickly silenced her, and she pressed her lips. “You will be a good girl, and you will wait for me.”

“But I don’t want you to be with those women anymore,” she quickly claimed. Her lips pouting as her eyes became teary now.

Maegor closed his eyes as he scoffed, he was starting to lose his patience. His big hands squeezed her thighs a bit too harsh; her response was a gasp of surprise as one of his hands reached her jaw as he forced her to look at his eyes without escape. Aenelys frowned upon this odd gesture towards her, and her doe eyes soon turned into ones filled with a mixture of confusion and fear. Maegor was not able to control his strength, causing a bit of harm in the delicate skin of his niece.

“Stop this, Aenelys, stop acting like a child,” he whispered, his heavy breathing hitting against her quivering lips. “I will not accept orders from you, I have already told you my reasons; you may or may not believe me… but just stay out of what does not concern you.”

She let out a shaky breathing before pushing herself away from him. Aenelys stood up with her knees trembling and the tears soaking her cheeks. Her eyes stared at him with a new light, Maegor noticed it almost instantly, and that is when he knew he had ruined his plans. He had scared her. The poor girl’s hand went to touch her sore jaw, which now had the fingertips of the man printed on her delicate skin.

“Aenelys…” He said, standing up and trying to reach for her. She just took a step back, making him sigh. “Aenelys, please-”

“I should’ve stayed,” she whispered. Her voice was broken and filled with hurt.

Maegor laughed with irony, “you have a dragon, if you want to leave, then leave. I am not forcing you to be here.”

His words only broke her more. She had to bite her lip to avoid a sob to escape her, it was too painful.

She did not say anything else. She just turned around, still covering her jaw with her hand and she just walked away from him. Maegor rolled his eyes as he sat back on the chair, drinking his wine in one sip. The empty cup soon was thrown across the room, causing a thunderous sound that echoed in the room.

“Fuck,” was the only thing he said.

BOLD MEANS I COULDN'T TAG YOU.

GENERAL TAG LIST - @borikenlove @aemondsversion @jvpit3rs @watercolorskyy @kravitzwhore @valeskafics @clairacassidy @aemondx @arcielee @randomdragonfires @theminesofmoria @gothtargaryen @melsunshine @urmomsgirlfriend1

SINNERS TAG LIST - @hypocritic-trash-baby @misspendragonworld @hangmanscoming

408 notes · View notes