#i love maids x the ladies they serve
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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!!!
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The Novice
Aemond x Septa!Reader
The one-eyed prince makes a late night confession.
Contents: Book!Aemond. Pure filth, extremely dubious consent/non-con. Confessional dirty talk, coercion, power imbalance.
Words: 4200
Mostly book!Aemond, but with some show elements added to make him a real piece of shit.
CW: sexual assault!
Proof read, but I am not good at proof reading.
-
Twice a week, the grand sept receives fine visitors.
It is always something you look forward to, something special and exciting; hearing guards in the streets outside, and the swift feet of errand boys running to inform your superiors.
The queen will be arriving shortly.
There is not much preparation that needs to be done, because you never tarry in your duties - there are always fresh matches laid out, candles ready to be lit, not a spec of dust on the altars. But for the queen, you go above and beyond. You fetch cushions for her dainty knees, you light incense in every corner, and you usher out any crowds that are not worthy of her presence.
You greatly admire the queen. She is all that a lady should be, the very image of womanhood. Gracious, pious, beautifully but modestly dressed, and always kind and courteous to you. She says thank you, and blessed day, sweet Sister, and she asks about your training, your health and wellbeing, what charitable causes you wish to devote yourself to.
The older septas say that the queen seems to have taken a liking to you, and that perhaps if you are lucky, she will request for you to join her household once you have taken your vows. To be a helper and companion to her daughter, and to teach the little prince and princess - her grandchildren, which is a strange thought, because the queen is so young and so beautiful to already be a grandmother.
She is certainly much younger than her husband. The king is old and frail and rarely leaves his castle now, but even in his youth, he never came to the sept. At least that is what you are told. Septon Alester says he is an unworthy husband, and an unworthy ruler, too. A heretic, like all the rest of his Valyrian kin, who flout divine law and believe themselves above the gods.
You would never dare to utter such a thing, but it seems at least partially true - in all the time you have served the sept, the king has never accompanied his queen to prayer. Not even once. She always comes alone, escorted by her guard and her maid. And sometimes by her son.
The one-eyed prince. The one who rides the largest beast in the world.
There are many rumours swirling about noble lords and ladies, but especially about him. In the taverns and winesinks people say he is of a sullen disposition, and that the loss of his eye at such a young age has left his face hideous and deformed - clearly they have never seen him, but you have, and you know it is nothing more than malicious slander.
The prince is as beautiful as his mother.
They look lovely when they kneel together by the altar, with their hands delicately folded and their heads respectfully bowed. Regal, godly. Like the Mother and the Warrior, you think. You often wonder about the contents of his prayers - what could a royal prince possibly wish for? Not as many things as a queen, it would seem, because he never kneels for as long, retreating after a minute or two to stand and wait for his mother. Watch over her; look at her with devotion and reverence. You cannot help but steal quick glances at him; at his graceful posture and his strong face, and you are always too slow to look away, so sometimes he catches you in it. Even when you stand on his blind side, he somehow knows to turn his head and meet your gaze. The little bow he gives you is courteous, but the taunting smile that follows is not, and you must always remind yourself that you have done nothing wrong.
It is not a sin to be curious.
—
When the evening bell tolls, and the city gates close, the High Septon calls to prayer. But one person must always stay behind to keep vigil until the morning, and the duty is shared between all servants of the Faith. Septons and septas, novices, even holy brothers and sisters, sometimes. Only the Most Devout are exempt from it, as well as those who are weakened by illness or old age.
You are neither, but you do not mind taking your turn. It is an easy task, as all of the city is asleep, and those who are not would much rather drink and carouse than come to a place of worship. Here, the night is quiet and calm, and you quite like these hours of solitude. Alone in the sept with only the statues, and maybe the gods, for company.
On this day though, you are startled from your thoughts when the heavy doors are swung open.
You have never before encountered guests at this hour, so your fearful imagination is quick to jump to conclusions - the man could be a thief, a common brute, a scoundrel hiding from a brawl, or - gods forbid - from the City Watch.
But when you peek out from your little corner, you are surprised to see that it is the prince. And that he is alone.
He is dressed differently tonight, in dull colours and coarser fabrics, far simpler than what he usually wears. Perhaps in an attempt to go unnoticed among the common people - but if that was indeed his intention, he has very much failed. Everything about him is unusual, from his hair to his eye to the shining silver clasp at his neck; the immaculate tailoring of each of his garments. Even the way he carries himself makes it abundantly clear that this is no grocer or stonemason.
You cast your eyes down as his steps echo through the sept, purposeful and determined. Clearly heading towards you, but you would hate to be presumptuous, so it is only when he is right in front of you that you rise from your seat to curtsy. Reverently, so deep that your knee almost touches the floor.
“Sister,” he nods. “I have sins I wish to confess - a troubled mind I wish to unburden.”
You curtsy once more, though not as low this time.
“I am not ordained to hear confessions, but I should be happy to fetch a septon - “
“No,” the prince says. “I will speak to no one but you.”
What he demands is a breach of the rules, and a cruel thing to ask of you, but there is not much to be done about it. You can hardly refuse a prince of the realm, and what if he tells his mother that you were unhelpful? After all, it is your sacred duty to comfort and guide the faithful. To lead them on the path to righteousness.
So you nod, draping your veil over your head as you both sit down on your little bench. Right beside one another, so close that your legs almost touch. A proper septa would say confess, and may the Father judge you justly, but that is not appropriate for you, so you merely look down at your folded hands and wait for the prince to speak.
“I am plagued by impure thoughts,” he begins.
The colour drains from your face in an instant. Oh, not this.
Anything else, you do believe you could handle. Envy, drunkenness, greed, gambling, even violent offences, perhaps. Anything but this. But you remain calm; force yourself to keep your composure as you speak.
“All young men have impure thoughts. It is perfectly natural.”
From the corner of your eye, it looks as though the prince smiles ever so slightly.
“Of course,” he nods. “But mine are by nature nefarious, because the lady I desire is a chaste and pious woman… a maiden, and justly proud of her innocence. She would be distraught if she knew the wickedness she inspires.”
You feel yourself blushing. Although you are sufficiently educated on the matter, speaking of such things makes you feel ashamed and uncomfortable. As it would most young women. Confession or not, nothing about this conversation is appropriate, and you want nothing more than to be done with it and return to quiet contemplation. You keep your eyes cast down, and you are as curt as you dare when you answer.
“Then you should not sully her, My Prince, even in your thoughts. You should pray to the Smith for strength, or to the Warrior if you prefer, and occupy yourself with noble pursuits. Prayer, studies, and so forth.”
“Oh, but I do,” the prince says gravely. “I devote my every hour to noble pursuits. And yet time and time again I sully her, and my own hand too in the process - yes, I must confess that I have sinned exceedingly, in both thought and deed. These urges of mine are so unbearable, I simply must relieve myself…” He pauses to look at you coolly, his brows drawn together in a disapproving frown. “You look quite pale, Septa, is my confession too scandalous for you? I should hope the Faith would not admit a novice so unfit for her position…”
“Of course not,” you quickly mutter, though in truth, you are mortified. This is far beyond your station and skill. Not only is the matter highly delicate, but you must also carefully choose your words so as to not offend a member of the royal family. And one with a - supposedly - unfortunate temper at that.
“It is not for me to command a prince,” you begin, “but it is my duty to remind you that the Faith condemns such practices - surely you know that by indulging your urges, you will only make them stronger.”
“I have tried to refrain from it,” the prince laments. “But even then, she haunts me… at night, I dream that I lie on top of her - that I spread her thighs and press her body to my own. And these dreams are so vivid, so terribly arousing, they often cause me to - forgive me, Sister - emit my seed.” He sighs deeply, and turns his face away, his shoulders tense; his handsome features full of torment. “A rather shameful predicament, for a grown man - is it not?”
Perhaps, you think, but a common one nonetheless, and not something he should be chastised for. You know perfectly well that there are some functions of a man’s body that are beyond his control, as do the gods who made it so. It is best not to dwell on it.
“My Prince,” you say instead, with what little confidence you can muster, “ - with your permission, I would offer you this advice: if you cannot restrain yourself, and if you care for this lady, then you should court and wed her.” You fiddle nervously with your dress, lowering your voice to barely more than a whisper. “It is a wholesome thing, for spouses to give their bodies to each other - for a man to make love to his wife…”
The prince hums, either in agreement or contemplation, you can’t tell. But you hope he will take your words to heart, and make this irresistible woman his wife. If the mere sight of her can stir such passion, then he would surely grow to love her deeply, and their union would be happy and prosperous. Blessed by the gods.
- Or maybe not.
“I am afraid that is not possible,” the prince says. Slowly, thoughtfully. “Because you see, my lady is a septa - a novice, as it were…”
His words trail off, and his hand reaches to caress your face, right by the edge of your veil, where a strand of hair has loosened from its pin.
You recoil at once, springing from your seat to look at him with shock and horror.
“This is highly improper - “
“I have thought of nothing but you,” he exclaims, impassioned, rising quickly to reach for you once more, “ - since the day I saw you, I have wanted no one else - ”
Again you manage to evade his embrace, but the prince is tall, and his legs are long and agile. Each one of his strides is worth two of yours, and when you back away he follows, stepping ever closer until you are backed up against a pillar.
Oh how you wish that it had only been a thief come to rob the sept. You could have easily escaped out the little hidden door by the dias; let them take whatever riches they could carry. There is only silver here, and the Faith has no shortage of that.
The prince is after something far more precious.
“Don’t touch me - ” you plead, feeling your pulse quicken, the hair rise on the back of your neck. He is too near, moving to loom over you, intimidating and imposing, and so tall that he must bend to brush his nose against your hair.
“It is a waste,” he murmurs. “That such beauty should only belong to the gods.”
You should flee. You should defend your virtue. Maids and ladies, harlots and tavern girls, all women know to protect themselves, to kick where a man is the weakest, to scratch, bite, shout, make a racket. There are guards patrolling the square outside, and septons sleeping nearby in their cells - if you were loud enough, someone would hear you and come to your aid.
But at what cost, when your assailant is a prince?
You dare not risk it, so you stand frozen in place, too frightened to push him away, too frightened to even look at him as he gropes your body, touching it in ways that it has never been, and should never be touched. One of his arms wraps around your waist, the other trails over your dress, feeling your shape underneath the fabric. Your stomach, your hips, your bottom, and especially your breasts.
He cups them with both hands, kneading and massaging them hard, pressing his fingers into your flesh.
“I would take you right here,” he breathes. “Against this very pillar, for all your gods to see - ”
The blasphemy, the shameless vulgarity - you gasp, and at the sound, the prince chuckles faintly.
“You said yourself it is a wholesome thing…”
“For husbands and wives -” you squeak, “please, you mustn’t hurt me!“
“Never,” he says, bringing your hand to rest on his chest, over his heart, as if to reassure you. “If you would only oblige me, I swear I will be gentle…”
You shake your head, but it does not dissuade him. He kisses your hair, your cheeks, the shell of your ear, touching his lips to every little sliver of exposed skin. Not just your face and neck, but your forearms too, your wrists, the insides of your elbows. Anywhere that lets him truly feel you. Feel the rapid beat of your pulse; the warmth and softness of a woman’s body.
And as he touches you, you feel him. His manhood, stiff against your hip when he presses himself against you, moaning softly at the feeling. It is a most intimate sound, and you are ashamed to realise that your body instinctively responds to it; to the closeness, the touch of a man. You feel warm in your chest, and wet between your legs - unnerving, and so at odds with the panic that still grips you, with the tears that prickle in your eyes.
“Please don’t - ” you whimper, just as his teeth graze your jaw, drawing a single, involuntary sigh from your lips. One that spurs him on to swiftly yank the veil off your head and discard it, fully exposing your hair and neck.
He pulls back to look at you, your neatly pinned tresses, your smooth throat and collarbones. Your beauty that he has long wished to admire.
“Like an angel,” he says softly, longingly, taking your face in his hands and stroking your cheeks with his thumbs. “A little angel - the Maiden in the flesh - “
“That is a blasphemous thing to say,” you sniffle.
It only makes him laugh, and before you can say anything else, he tilts your face up so he can press his mouth to yours.
No one has ever kissed you before. Many boys have wanted to, but none were ever allowed the privilege. You always knew you did not want to be a wife. That you had a different calling.
It is a very strange sensation, this kiss. Hot, wet, and sticky. You do not return it, and yet the prince is undeterred, parting your lips softly but insistently, just enough to slip his tongue inside. It gives him pleasure, even when your mouth is slack and unresponsive - you can tell from his blissful sighs, and from the indecent way he moves his hips, rubbing the prominent bulge in his trousers against you. He is so entranced by your mouth and your body that you feel a treacherous sense of relief, thinking to yourself that if this is how he wants to gratify himself - by licking your tongue and humping against your hip - you will let him. No real harm has been done to your virtue, and the gods will understand you had no choice. Already you are silently saying your prayers, to the Warrior for courage, the Mother for compassion, the Father for leniency -
But you are cruelly interrupted when the prince draws back and begins to loosen the closure of his breeches.
“No - oh no, no - ,” you shriek, but as you try to wriggle from his grasp, his face hardens and his gentle touch becomes like a vice. Rough and unyielding, holding you in place.
“You must forgive me,” he rasps, his gaze dark with lust, his nostrils flaring, “ - for I can no longer deprive myself of what I so desire...”
He is so much stronger than you. With an impeccably polished boot he shoves your feet apart, his one hand pinning your arms behind your back, the other hiking up your skirts, determined, deaf to your frantic pleas.
“You don’t understand, I must remain chaste!”
“Don’t lie to me,” he hisses, “I know the workings of the Faith, you’ve taken no solemn vows yet - “
“No, I have, I have!” you cry. “I pledged myself to the Maiden when I was a girl!”
It is the truth, but the prince does not care. He silences you with another desperate kiss, crushing his face to yours, reaching to hook his hand under your knee and lift your leg. He has you trapped, pinned between his body and the stone column, and you can claw at him until your hands bleed, it makes no difference. Your dress is bunched up, your legs forcibly parted, your most intimate secrets laid bare to be violated. A great sin, made even greater by the circumstances, and yet the gods have abandoned you, left you here to suffer.
They must be occupied elsewhere, and the statues too stand motionless on their plinths, with their tranquil faces, staring blankly into the distance as though deliberately blind to your tragedy.
To the hand that worms its way underneath your smallclothes. The nails that dig into the back of your neck, holding your head in place. The mouth that swallows up your sobs until he is forced to break the kiss so he can reach between your bodies and finish unlacing his breeches.
You gasp for breath, looking up and straight at him, your eyes wet and pleading, your lip trembling.
“Don’t ruin me, please - I beg you, don’t take from me what can never be replaced - “
The prince’s hand hesitates on your thigh. His one eye flickers between your two, between the tears that flow uncontrollably down your cheeks; your little hands clenched into fists against his chest.
For a split second there’s a shadow of something softer on his face, a strange draw around his mouth, and then he curses and releases your leg. And you bolt, without thinking, ducking under his arm to sprint towards the door and safety.
You manage all of two steps before the prince catches you and pins you to the pillar once more.
“Not yet - ” he orders, slipping a hand down the front of his trousers to finally free his member from its confines. He cradles it at the base to proudly show it off before he begins to stroke himself, shamelessly and urgently, while you look on. At once frightened and sinfully curious.
You have never seen it before. The masculine organ. Only in drawings, of which some were intended to educate young women, and others were of a much lewder nature. The prince’s manhood does look much like those anatomical illustrations, only it is bigger in person than you had imagined. Hard and swollen with need. It fits perfectly in his fist, and the skin glides back to reveal the head, which is thick and meaty, and a dark purple red. It almost looks as though it should be painful for him, having it filled and engorged in such a way. Having it stretched to be so big. But of course you know that is not the case. And even if you didn’t, his gasp of pleasure would have made it very clear.
He reaches for your wrist, tugging it down between his legs, and you are quick to look away when he closes your fingers around it, with his own hand on top. Somehow, you reason that if you keep your eyes averted, it is not as sinful. Not as deserving of punishment.
But you can still feel it. In your palm, against your clammy skin. Warm, and pulsing as he squeezes your fingers tight around the shaft, moving them from the base to the tip and back down again, using your hand to pleasure himself. Slowly at first, but as his arousal grows he quickens the pace, moving your hand only over the tip of his member, massaging the bulbous head with quick movements. All the while groping at your chest.
And you let him do it. All of it, resigning yourself to be used at his will and pleasure. It is the best and safest course of action now, and all you can do is bear it. You keep your sobs inside, and your eyes cast down, staring mindlessly at the patterns in the stone floor until the prince’s hand seizes your jaw.
“Look at me,” he commands through gritted teeth, running his thumb over your mouth, pressing against your lips. “Open - suck, use your tongue - “
You do as he says, wanting so desperately to just be done with it - once he has finished he will surely let you go. The thought prompts you to suck on his fingers with increasing fervour, taking them deep into your mouth, running your tongue along the length of them, along his knuckles; making him gasp at the feeling.
“Fuck, like that - gods yes,” he moans, letting go of your hand to lean against the pillar for support, his eye falling closed, his hips making shallow, instinctive thrusts.
You continue with the same movements, up and down over his manhood, trying to mimic exactly what he did before, whilst still sucking on his fingers, too. Letting him feel your soft mouth and your warm lips; your little wet tongue caressing his skin. You haven’t a clue as to what you are supposed to be doing, and there is no grace or skill to your licks, but each swirl of your tongue makes the prince moan regardless. He would probably much rather feel this attention somewhere else, but clearly he has the wits to know that shoving his member into an unwilling mouth is not a wise idea. So he contents himself with this.
And thankfully, it does not take long before your efforts are rewarded.
When you choke back a mewl his hips jerk forward, and his hand flies down to close around yours again, guiding you to squeeze him harder and faster. His jaw goes slack, and his manhood stiffens even more, and even though you are inexperienced, you know what it means. You can feel it, feel his sac tighten, feel him twitch in your hand as semen travels up his shaft. He bends to lean his forehead against yours, and finally, finally, he spurts, moaning with pleasure as he empties himself onto your hand, his seed pulsing out in hot, wet squirts. Soiling not only your skin and your dress, but your conscience too; your virtue, honour and dignity.
And at last it is over.
The prince slumps forwards against you, hiding his face in your neck. His body trembles with the final waves of his rapture, and he brushes his fingers over your hair in a strangely intimate way, a tender way. As though you were lovers.
In a sense, now, you suppose you are.
Before he leaves you he quickly tidies his clothes, throwing his cloak around his shoulders and tucking his shirt into his trousers. And once he has made himself presentable, he retrieves your veil too. Brushing it off with a gloved hand and draping it over your head once more.
“Thank you, Sister,” he says sweetly, cradling your face to kiss your lips and then your forehead. “I feel much more at ease now.”
No sooner have the doors closed behind him before you fall to your knees by the Maiden’s altar to beg for her forgiveness.
Please feel free to come into my asks or DMs with critique of my fics! Constructive is preferred, but not required.
Tags. @arcielee, @helaelaemond, @targaryen-madness, @qyburnsghost.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond x reader#aemond targaryen x you#aemond x you#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut
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Love Sick ///Aemond X F!Reader
Summary: Alys Rivers had a vision about the prince’s arrivals, using her charm to lure him, she haven’t anticipated you, his new wife. So a little something might help him see who he truly belongs.
Warnings: SMUT
Word Count: 1,8K
Notes: I have read a lot of love potions fics and decided to give it a try. So here we are.
Main Masterlist
Alys Rivers always had visions, the flames would always tell her their secrets, this made it easier for her to survive. Yet, one vision kept appearing for her, a Targaryen Prince, dressed in his battle gears, long silvery hair tied to his back, a scar across his beautiful face.
She anticipated his arrival at Harrenhal way before it was even decided he should go. So when she heard the roar high in the skies, and saw the huge dragon landing in her home, she knew her time had come.
She had tended to him since he stepped his foot in Harrenhal, preparing his bath, serving his food, and occasionally flirting with him, she noticed how he looked at her, she was a pretty woman, long black hair and emerald green eyes, she was sure that it would just take a couple of days and he would fall for her.
Whoever, what Alys Rivers haven’t seen in her visions, was the Baratheon beauty arriving a week later. Lord Borros' third daughter, known for her breathtaking looks and even more impressive brain.
Lady Baratheon strolled through the front door, guards behind her as she walked through Harrenhal. And Alys watched with horror as the woman entered the dining room, giving a little smile to the Prince before slowly making her way towards him.
“Lord Husband.” She greeted, kissing his cheek and squeezing his shoulders, Aemond gave her a small nod and gestured for her to join him.
“How was your journey, my lady?” He inquired as the servers prepared her a plate, she politely thanked the maid before taking a piece of green bean with her fork.
“Quite exhausting, I am happy to finally settle down.” She bites her food. “Your dear mother was right, it feels good to be away from the Keep.” Aemond chuckled.
“Do not remind me of all that chaos.” She smiled at him, Alys kept in the corner watching the exchange in silent anger.
“Queen Helaena sent her greetings to you, my dear.” He held her hand.
“Did she talk to you?” Y/N nodded.
“Just a few words, but she seems better.” Helaena was still grieving the loss of her children in the hands of Daemon’s assassins.
“More wine, my Prince?” Alys intervened, her voice low and sensual, the prince turned his eyes to her, lifting his goblet. She could be his wife, but Alys knew what desire looked like, perhaps the prince just needed a little help.
⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆
Prince Aemond was in his study room, book in hands as he took some time off. Alys knocked, hearing his powerful voice commanding her inside.
“I brought some tea, my prince.” She placed the mug with the hot tea on his desk.
A simple love potion, she knew that he had feelings for her, so this would simply amplify them, make them so unbearable that he wouldn’t have any other choice than to go looking for her. He would claim her as his, as it should’ve been.
Alys excused herself, going straight to her room in the servants wing, she needed to get ready for when Aemond Targaryen knocked on her door and took her in his arms.
She had cleaned her room, and then, took a long shower, rubbing a scented soap on her skin, making herself look flawless. She sat on the bed and waited for him.
⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆
Y/N brushed her hair, Harrenhal was quite hot, so she asked the maid to run her a bath, she didn’t plan on leaving her chambers, so a silky nightgown covered her body while she took care of her hair.
The door was abruptly opened, making her jump in her seat. Her husband, without his coat and with four buttons of his linen shirt open, looked at her, a smirk on his lips as he entered the room.
“You know, dear wife?” He closed the door, walking towards her. “It was always you, when I went to Storm's End that day, it was you I had in mind.” His tone was slow, like he had been drinking.
He grabbed her hand, removing the brush and placing it on the desk. His other hand brushed her shoulder, pulling the straps down just a little.
“So beautiful, such a smooth skin. I know I had to have you.” He pulled her up, spinning her around until she was facing him, her hands splayed on his chest while he held her close by the waist. “You smell so good.” The prince said, smelling the skin of her neck.
Y/N felt her cheeks flushed at the attention, heating pooling in between her legs, forcing her to close them for some friction, as Aemond started to kiss her neck.
His touch was delicate, his lips cold against her hot skin. Kissing, licking and biting, making her whimper at the sensation spreading across her body.
“A-Aemond.” She half spoke half moaned, making the prince grow impossibly harder, his cock painfully restrained by his pants.
“You sound divine when you moan my name.” He said, getting away from her and walking towards the bed. He sat down, still looking at her, his shirt was messy and fully opened now. “Come here, my dear wife.” She made a move to walk to him but he stopped her. “Take it off.” He ordered.
She shivered as she saw the lust on his gaze, with shaking fingers, she undone the laces holding her nightgown in place, letting it pool at her feet, standing there completely bare to his hungry eye. His pink tongue darted out, wetting his lips as he eyed her up and down.
“You’re a goddess, I cannot wait to see you choke on my cock.” He grabbed her hand as she got close, pulling her straight to his lap. He kissed her, tongue exploring her mouth, hands cupping her ass.
She reached for the eyepatch, throwing across the room, she hated that damned thing, covering his beauty from her.
“You’re so beautiful, my prince.” She breathed, his lips attached to her breasts. Sucking the nipple in his mouth and moving his tongue in circles, making her squirm in his lap, brushing his hard cock.
He squeezed her flash, kissed her like he was going to die in the next second, and she moved her hips against his clothed cock, making it very hard to keep controlled. He never felt that kind of lust before, but he was ready to give in.
Y/N got up, and slowly kneeled in front of him, she had heard the ladies in court talking about the pleasures the mouth could bring to a husband, and despite the lack of experience, she wanted to try.
She reached for his belt, removing it and opening his pants, he lifted his hips just enough for her to slide all the pieces of clothes he was wearing down, freeing his dripping cock from its cage.
She swallowed hard, hesitantly grabbing it in her hands, earning a hiss from him. She moved her hand up and down, slowly, taking encouragement in his groans, the pleasure growing in him as she gently stroked him.
In a more bold move, she lowered her head, giving it a lick in the tip, Aemond shivering as she did so, she looked at him, giving him a small smile that could be the death of him. Then, she took him in her mouth, bobbing her head and masturbating what she couldn’t fit in her mouth. Aemond closed his eyes, buckling his hips and enjoying the sounds of her choking on his cock whenever she went too deep.
She hummed, sending vibrations down his cock, making his balls tight and the orgasm wash over him, his cock twitching, sending hot cum down her throat. She removed her mouth, coughing a little.
“You look so beautiful, kneeling in front of me.” He praised, his thumb caressing her cheek, making her blush as he looked at her. “Allow me.” He said, pulling her up and laying her down.
He got in between her legs, his breath fanning over her hot core, he circled the back of her legs, squeezing her skin and pulling her thighs apart. Smirking at her glistening cunt, he sank there, lapping at her folds, collecting all of her juice as she arched her back, moaning his name like a prayer.
He kissed her clit, rubbing circles with his tongue, making her see stars. Freeing one of his hands, he inserted two fingers inside her cunt, pumping them inside and out, in the same ruthless pace as his tongue. She moaned his name loudly enough to echo around the walls, feeling the knot in her belly grow until it was ready to snap. Driving her over the edge, her walls clenching around his fingers and closing her shaking legs around his head.
Aemond smirked against her, feeling her recover from her orgasm, he looked at her, sweat coating her forehead and panting, her chest moving up and down rapidly.
“Do you want more, my goddess?” She looked at him, smirking at her like the devil and she nodded. In a second, Aemond was on top of her, without any clothes and his cock ready for a second round.
⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆
Alys tapped in the bed frame, growing restless as the potion should be working in this exact moment but Aemond was nowhere to be seen. She got up, grabbing a robe and sliding it over her shoulders.
She walked towards the Prince chambers, forcing the door open just a little, she gasped as she peeked inside.
Lady Baratheon was facing the door, her eyes closed and mouth slacked open as she moaned loudly for him. “Do not stop!” She begged, her voice hoarse from all the screaming.
She was on all fours, her ass high in the air as Prince Aemond pounded inside her from behind, moving so fast that her breasts bounced back and forth.
Alys wanted to move but she was rooted in place, the potion had clearly worked but with the wrong person.
“Please, Aemond. I am going to cum.” She whined, and the prince pulled her hair behind, forcing her to look at him.
“And i am going to stuff you full with my heirs, make you swell with my seed and birth my children.” His tone so raw that Alys felt her cheeks hot in embarrassment, Lady Baratheon moaned his name, her body convulsing as her orgasm crashed down on her again, followed by him spilling inside her.
Alys watched as the prince removed himself from inside her, his hands stuffing his cum back inside her cunt. “I love you.” He breathed, pulling her by the hair again and kissing her with all he had.
“I love you too.” She replied, face flush red as she tried to recover from the amazing sex.
Alys walked backwards, running away from the scene, knowing that no matter what she did, she could never break the bond the two shared.
#prince aemond#aemond x y/n#house of the dragon aemond#aemond#aemond fic#aemond smut#aemond targaryen smut#aemond x you#aemond one eye#aemond targaryen#aemond fanfiction#hotd aemond#aemond x reader#aemond x fem!reader#moonlightazriel#hotd x reader#hotd fanfic
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Prince!Gojo x maid!reader
Minors DNI
I know I mentioned Prince Gojo x arranged fiancé reader but now I am also thinking about Prince Gojo x maid reader.
Tags/warnings: unprotected sex, creampie
Prince Satoru Gojo, who first saw you years ago when you joined his mother's household when you were both teenagers and had an instant attraction to you. You're not even a lady-in-waiting who serves the queen, they're at least noblewomen. You're a servant to a lady-in-waiting, far far below the Crown Prince in ranking, but do you think that's gonna stop Satoru? Hell no. Not when you're the most beautiful woman he's ever laid eyes on.
It took him years to actually speak more than a few sentences to you though, not because you're so below him, but because you're so ethereal, so beautiful and pure that he didn''t want to corrupt you with the sinful thoughts he has of you. But once the spark between the two of you became apparent, nothing could stop it from blazing, his better judgement and the social hierarchy be damned.
You think he's thinking about any of that when he's balls deep in your soft, velvety cunt? When he's feeling your legs wrapped around his waist and your hot breath panting in his ear, and hearing you whimper his name, his real name, and not "my prince" or "your highness" or "Crown Prince Satoru"? Because here, in this room away from prying eyes, he's just Satoru -your Satoru.
And no, you didn't expect friendly conversations and harmless flirtations and maybe a few stolen kisses to so quickly evolve into Satoru bunching up the skirt of your dress around your hips and rutting into you against the wall of an empty room during the few short minutes before he has high tea and you have to return to washing the windows. His pace is hard and fast due to the lack of time, and it makes your eyes water and your toes curl each time his thick cockhead rams against your sweet spot and causes you to see stars and dig your teeth into your lower lip to keep from crying out loud enough for someone outside the room to hear.
And yes, you know it's a terrible idea. That you should have saved your maidenhood for your future husband. That you're risking everything, your honor and your future, when you feel those ropes of royal seed spurting against your cervix and into your womb and very possibly putting a bastard in your belly.
But how could you have possibly said no to the handsome Crown Prince and those captivating blue eyes that look at you like you're something wonderful, something precious, something more than a servant who scrubs floors and empties chamber pots? When he's kissing the side of your face so sweetly and gasping out a declaration of love as he's fucking that royal seed back into you?
You can't bring yourself to regret it, even when you're soon back to washing down the windows outside of the room where Satoru is now dining with his family, sipping tea from cups expensive enough to keep you fed for an entire year. Not even when you feel that familiar trickle of his seed spilling out of you and pooling in your undergarments, and see those same blue eyes now momentarily flicker over to you with an utterly blank expression that betrays no recognition whatsoever.
#I wrote this really fast during my lunch break but i kinda like it so figured I'd post it#gojo x reader#satoru gojo smut#jjk smut#gojo satoru x reader#gojo x you#jjk x reader#gojo satoru smut#gojo smut#jujutsu kaisen smut#jujutsu kaisen x reader#satoru x reader#satoru smut#gojo jjk#gojo imagine#gojo fanfic#gojo satoru#jjk x you#satoru gojo x reader#gojo x y/n
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✩Just A Little Accident✩
✟pairing: Yan Claude X Fem Reader
✟genre: Yandere
✟warning: Yandere, mention of murder, reader being drugged.
✟one-short
✟fandom: Who Made Me A Princess
✟summary: After your maid spilled tea all over your lap, Claude knew she had gone…
✟a/n: This I meant to be a side story. Check out my other Yan Claude for this story to make sense if you haven’t. Also sorry I haven't been updated much but a lot has been going on. Going to try and update now.
Hissing in pain as the boiling liquid spilt all over your lap and in the process staining your dress. In the pain, you drop your cup and it landed on the soft glass, breaking its fall “I am so sorry my lady!” Annie your maid exclaimed, snatching up a nearby napkin and tried to remove the stain. Keyword, tried. All the maid was doing was making it worse.
Claude who was sat beside you, watching intensely, glaring dagger at the poor worker. The murderous glint in his diamond eyes sent chills down everyone including yours if you had noticed. You were much more occupied with Annie and the burning pain to even notice the emperor. Oh how Claude wanted to strangle that maid for putting her dirty hands on you, even worse hurt your fragile skin. The woman was a nuisance in the eyes of the emperor, a clumsy and idiotic person to be assigned to serve someone as graceful and perfect as you. The maid needed to go…
Placing a gloved hand over Annie’s hand, you gave the woman a reassuring smile. “If you keep rubbing it in like that, it’s just going to make it worse” you spoke softly. Eyes focusing on the large stain, you noticed how the woman began tearing up. Before you could get a single word out to calm her, apology after apology began spilling from her lips. She bowed her head in shame and her voice trembled. With a sigh, you stood up from your seat, placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and gently patted it. “I’m fine, calm yourself Annie,” You said, trying to soothe her, but she remained in her apologetic bow, her hands balled into fists and still trembling like leaf. “I’m going to just go change” you explained to the teary-eyed maid. Turning towards Claude you saw the murderous glare focused towards the maid and you felt something deep within you, telling, no yelling at you to stay. But of course, you didn’t listen. “I’ll only be 10 minutes” you timidly told the emperor. Eyes landed on you, the deathly glare that the emperor held had now vanished and had been replaced with a soft loving gaze. It made you sick.
Picking up your cream-coloured dress, you began walking towards the palace leaving poor Annie all alone with Claude. Diamond blue eyes watched you, his gaze not leaving your figure until you were out of sight. Now that his lover had gone, there’s no one to stop him for what he’s about to do next. Placing the half-empty tea cup on the garden table, Claude stood up with a dead expression. He towered over the quivering woman, who knew her life was soon about to end. The only witness to horrid scenes was a young guard, who just stood there watching.
Coming back with a freshly clean dress, you were about to open your mouth to tell Annie a funny story to cheer her up, but when you saw no sign of the maid, you were left confused. E/C eyes darted around the garden, searching for the missing maid. ‘Where is she?’ You question to yourself. “My dear, what seems to be the matter?” a familiar voice asked, pulling you out of your thoughts. Claude sat there, sipping away at his chamomile tea, he held this sickening smirk which was hidden under his cup. Stepping towards the garden table, you griped the top of your seat, feeling uneasy at the missing maid. You had an extremely bad feeling. You questioned to your fiancé to where your maid had gone off to, but there was silence after that. No excuse came from his lips.
It wasn't until you looked over at the other side of the table, a guard. He’s been here all along, maybe he might know! Opening your mouth, you stopped yourself as you finally noticed the frightened expression painted on the young guard’s face. The colour had drained from his face, his eyes widened with fear, his hand gripping tightly at the hilt of his sword, and his breathing unsteady. And that was all you needed to know and the whereabouts of Annie.
Your blood ran cold, you felt yourself shaking like a leaf. A million scenarios ran through your mind at what kind of horrible things Claude had done to her. Falling to the fall, hands covering your face, you sob. Not caring that you were ruining your makeup. The sound of the chair hitting the grass, signalled to you that Claude had gotten up from his seat. Feeling him wrap his strong arms around you, pulling you into a hug. You screamed, kicked and struggled for the blonde to let go of you, yelling insults left and right. “WHAT DID YOU DO TO HER, YOU BASTARD!? TELL ME!”
Out of nowhere, you felt a piece of cloth be placed over your mouth and noises quickly shutting you up. You breathed in the fumes, feeling your eyelids began closing on their own. To struggled to gain consciousness, but it was futile. The drug was too strong. Before slipping into unconscious you heard Claude’s voice echo in your mind. “You are mine understand. I will not let anyone hurt what is mine, only I can.”
Oh [Name], what did you do wrong to this story…
#who made me a princess#wmmap#wmmap x reader#who made me a princess x reader#yandere claude#yandere claude x reader#yandere manhwa#yandere#yandere x reader#wmmap claude#claude de alger obelia#manhwa#x reader#claude de alger obelia x reader#claude x reader#Claude de alger obelie#wmmap fanfic#yandere manhwa x reader#yandere wmmap#🌸
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Your Naga Lord saves your Mother
A/N: I've had this oneshot sitting in my drafts in a while, combining some old asks
Naga Lord (Leander) x F Maid reader
Word Count: 6K
General Plot: You and your family are staff in the house of a Naga Lord. Things go sideways when your childhood friend's father falls for you mother.
W: Description of murder, yandere behavior, spitting, otherwise sfw soft yandere fluff
More SFW fics here
“Hurry up now,” your mother said brightly as she ladled a bit of porridge into a bowl for you to eat. “Master Dervin will be cross if you're late with his breakfast.”
Though the two of you were mere servants in the Naga Lord’s home, she always fed you first before you had to do your duties for the morning.
She glanced up as you scarfed down your breakfast, her eyes warming as they met your father’s.
“Good morning, my favorite ladies,” he said, kissing her and ruffling your hair.
“Papa! I have to work!” You pouted, but he just snickered, stealing your spoon and taking a bite of your porridge.
“Don't bother making yourself neat for that snake bastard,” he chuckled as his hands slid around your mother’s waist.
“Charles, please. Someone might hear, and we'll be out on the street!”
He shrugged. As you finished your meal, your mother arranged the morning dishes for the Naga family on a silver cart, taking a moment to smooth and repin your hair before you were to serve them.
Your father was sure to spit in Dervin’s bowl when your mother looked away, making your eyebrows jump. He put a finger over his lips, winking at you.
“I'm off to the stable,” he said, grabbing an apple as he went. “Have a nice day, my pretty girls!”
You blinked at the contaminated bowl, wondering if you should throw it out.
“What are you staring at?” Your mother chided, pushing the cart towards the door. “Get along; I can hear them coming down the stairs.”
You hurriedly fixed a pleasant but distant look on your lips as you wheeled the cart into the dining room.
“Good morning, Mr. Leander,” you said to Dervin's only son, as he was the first to enter the dining room.”
“You’re radiant this morning as always (Y/N),” he beamed, taking his spot at the table. “but stop calling me ‘mister’ you never used to.”
Your ears heated as you placed his breakfast in front of him.
“It's not appropriate, sir. We were children then. You're to be the master of the house and will be married soon. I'm sure your fiancee wouldn’t appreciate-”
He cut off your words with a sharp hand.
“Don't speak of unpleasant things,” he grumbled.
“Apologies, sir.”
“Stop calling me-”
The arrival of his mother cut off his own words. She was a lovely Naga, sharing Leander’s white hair and sapphire blue eyes. Like his, her tail was a shocking electric blue.
“Stop prattling with that servant, Leander,” she snapped. “She has work to do. You're bothering her.”
Mrs. Elanore was not a pleasant woman, but she didn't like you servants to be harassed by the males of the house. Whether it was actual concern or jealousy, you didn't know, but your mother, especially, appreciated it.
Dervin, her husband, took every opportunity to corner her, trying to ply her with gifts and sweet words. Your mother was having none of it, which is why you delivered their meals, not her, and why your father spit in his food.
You nodded, thanking Elanore as you served her the tea she liked.
“Where is that imbecile?” she muttered, referring to her husband. “There are so few things I ask of him, but he can't manage the simplest tasks. He is to arrive on time for every meal. There must be some decorum in this household!
Her sharp blue eyes flicked to you.
“Go get him (Y/N).”
Leander slid in front of you like a vibrant blue flash before you could even respond.
“I'll go, mother. (Y/N) has her work, as you said.”
She gave him a tight nod, and you took the opportunity to finish setting the table for their return.
“I should fire your family,” Elanore mused. “your father would be happier, don't you think?”
You glanced up for a moment to find her eyes traveling over your form.
“You and your mother are too pretty to be maids,” she snorted. “You'll only cause trouble wherever you go.”
“Our family has served yours for generations,” you muttered, scared she might put you all on the street. “My grandparents died here, and so did theirs.”
“Just like a human,” she hissed, baring her teeth. “Servile and obedient. You’d think you’d have found something else to do in all those years.”
“Apologies, ma’am,” you said, looking at your shoes.
She waved a dismissive hand at you, sipping her tea.
“It’s in your nature. There’s nothing to be done. You and your mother are good at your jobs at least.”
Your cheeks warmed at the backhanded compliment. It was different when Dervin or Leander complimented you. She acknowledged the skill that had been passed through generations, not how you looked. You and your mother knew how to run a house. Your masters needed structure to maintain their dignity. With little to do, they would become depressed slobs if you didn’t keep everything running efficiently. At least, that’s what your grandmother told you.
Slithering through the wide doorway, Dervin and Leander settled into their spots at the table, and you took your place in the corner, waiting in case one of them needed something. The two male Nagas looked very similar in their features, handsome with a strong jaw and wide shoulders, but Dervin’s hair was jet black, as were his eyes. They always appeared blank and cold, which frightened you. Elanore wasn’t warm, but her gaze reflected an expressive nature, not a monstrous stillness.
Your eyes watched him take a bite of his breakfast, trying to hide the disgust that roiled in your stomach.
“Where’s your mother?” he snapped after a few big bites.
You didn’t speak at first, your eyes drifting to Elanore for permission. She answered for you.
“She’s in the kitchen where she ought to be. The servants are my business as the Lady of the house. Don’t bother yourself with their whereabouts.”
“I pay them,” he barked, but she ignored him, turning her attention to Leander.
“You’re to visit Iris today, Leander. I’ve purchased a gift for you to bring your fiancee.”
She snapped her fingers at you, and you hurried to her side to take the small package and walk it around the table to her son.
“I don’t wish to bring her any gifts,” he snorted, not even taking the gift from your hand. “She’s not my fiancee.”
Elanore rubbed her temples.
“The two of you are infuriating, you know that? You have one job, Leander. You have to marry well and produce an heir.”
She waved a finger at you.
“You can keep your little maid as a comfort doll if you like, but you will do as I have arranged.”
“I’m a grown man, mother. I don’t have to do anything.”
Electricity crackled between their eyes as they engaged in a silent power struggle. You stood awkwardly to the side, still holding the gift.
“I’m sick of this! I do my very best to advise you two idiots on the proper way to conduct yourselves, and you act like spoiled children!”
Her tail snapped faster than you could see and struck Leander across the cheek with a crack. Blood dribbled down his pale skin, and his eyes hung on her, the warm blue turning to ice.
“I should have never married a common husband like you,” she snarled, turning her ire toward Dervin. Vulgarity and Mediocrity are in your blood, and you’ve infected your son!”
Dervin’s black eyes flashed.
“My mediocre blood saved your foolish noble family from destitution. Thanks to my benevolence, you are able to live in the house your family has owned for generations. If not for me, you’d be begging on the streets, pleading with your relatives to take you in as a servant.”
“Fools,” she snarled, picking up her tea and slithering out of the room.
“Bring your mother to me,” Dervin demanded when she was out of earshot.
You let out a trembling breath as you thought up a lie.
“She went into town this morning for groceries, sir,” you said, knowing he’d never lower himself to search for her in the kitchen.
You screamed as the bowl he was eating from sailed across the room, shattering beside your head.
“Father!” Leander shouted.
Dervin gave him an amused but cool smirk before turning his attention to you.
“Send her to my room when she returns,” he barked and stormed out.
You leaned against the wall, panting as you mentally checked yourself for harm. Leander’s warm hands cupped your cheeks, looking you over.
“Did he hurt you?” he asked.
Your gazes met, but words wouldn’t come, so you shook your head.
“Don’t be afraid,” he said, his warm arms wrapping around you and pressing you to his chest.
You inhaled the spicy scent of the soap he used mixed with his own natural fragrance.
“I won’t let any harm come to you.”
When he pulled away, you found yourself looking at your feet, trying to avoid his gaze.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I dropped the gift,” you muttered, picking up the broken box.
You plucked the pretty hairpin from the shards of ceramic, seeing it was still whole.
“I’ll find a new box,” you said, trying to slide around him.
He stopped you with a hand on your shoulder, curling the other around your fingers.
“Keep it,” he said. “I’m not marrying Iris. My mother has no say in the matter, despite how she likes to posture.”
Your gaze shifted to the red slash bisecting his cheek.
“Let’s get this cleaned for you, sir. It will be a problem if it gets infected.”
He frowned but followed you to the kitchen.
“Is everything alright?” your mother asked as you pulled the first aid kit off a shelf.
“Good morning, zhingha,” Leander said, greeting your mother with a kiss on the cheek.
The word meant “mother” in the Naga’s old language. He had never considered his biological mother his; when he was a boy, he got quite attached to yours. He spent most of his time in the kitchen with you, playing and avoiding Elanore’s tantrums when you were children. The two of you had made the pantry your fort, and you’d put on little shadow plays while you lay on the floor together.
Your mother’s eyes focused on his wound, and she clucked.
“Poor thing, come bend down where I can reach you. You’ve grown into such a tall man,” she said, taking the kit from you and pulling out the correct supplies.
You hopped on the counter, swinging your feet as you watched her disinfect and bandage the cut.
“What mother in their right mind would do such a thing to their son,” she muttered as she worked.
She already knew who’d done it because she treated Leander’s wounds often. When she was done, she patted him on the head like when he was a little boy.
“That’s better.”
“We should go into town today,” he said. “My father is looking for you.”
She frowned, a flash of fear streaking across her face.
“Don’t worry. I’m supposed to be visiting Iris. We can take the carriage, and you can visit with your friends instead. Go have Charles ready it.”
She nodded, giving him a wan smile before she hurried to find your father. You hopped off the counter and headed to do your chores while your mother was safely out of the house.
Before you could make it out the door, Leander’s thick, electric blue tail coiled around you.
“Ah, ah, you’re coming too, saiya,” he cooed, dragging you into his arms.
Your heart thumped at the silly nickname he’d given you as a child. The word meant “little bear. " When he was young, he was fascinated with your round ears compared to his, which pointed at the end. As they had so often back then, his finger traced the arch of one as he hummed his pleasure.
“Sir, you shouldn’t,” you whispered, but Leander was too pleased with you in his arms.
He dipped his head, nibbling at your ear.
“I should eat you up, sweet little thing,” he whispered, making your body explode in butterflies.
He carried you out the back door to the stable, where your father was busy arranging the horses to pull the carriage. When he saw you tucked behind Leander’s large biceps, he frowned.
“Put my daughter down. She’s not your doll,” he said, his tone more curt than he probably should have been with a family member of the house he served.
Out of only politeness, you were sure, he set you down. Your mother let out a light, silvery giggle, patting your father on the shoulder.
“Oh, don’t be so strict, Charles,” she said. “He doesn’t mean any harm by it.”
As Leander tugged you by the hand into the carriage, you heard your Dad lower his voice, so he thought the Naga couldn’t hear.
“I don’t like those snakes touching her. They are far too familiar. Miss Elanore’s grandfather would never have allowed him to fondle her the way he does. Things were the way they should be when he was around.”
Beside you, Leander snorted, rolling his eyes.
“He also drove the family to bankruptcy,” he muttered under his breath.
“Listen,” your father went on as he helped your mother onto the seat next to him, and still unaware you could hear him quite clearly. “I’ve been talking with the Willards about (Y/N).”
“The Willards?” she asked. “The tailors?”
“Yes, they have a boy about (Y/N)’s age. Apparently, he has taken an interest in her, and his father approves. He thinks a girl raised as a maid will make a dutiful wife. I think we ought to consider it. We can visit while we’re in town today.”
You remembered the Willard's son Joshua from when you were sent on errands to pick up clothes for Elanore. He was a handsome young man, though a little on the skinny side. He seemed nice enough. Still, your cheeks burned, and you folded your hands tightly, hearing your parents plot your marriage.
“I don’t know, dear,” your mother hummed. “Do you really think it’s a good idea?”
He let out a grunt.
“I’d do just about anything to get our girl away from that snake. He’s only going to ruin her, string her along, and throw her away when he’s bored. They’re all the same. The Willard’s can give her a good life.”
You felt Leander stiffen beside you. As the carriage took off, his tail wrapped around you so tight you whimpered. He glanced down, his face darkening to a cool blue.
“I’m so sorry,” he muttered, loosening his muscles but not letting you go.
He gently unwrapped the hairpin, clutched in your palm, and busied himself fastening it to your hair.
“So pretty,” he murmured, greedy eyes eating you up. “I won’t let anyone else touch you (Y/N).”
You weren’t sure if that was supposed to be comforting. You’d always liked Leander. He was very handsome, and as children, you’d been inseparable. However, you also realized the massive gap between your two worlds. You were just a maid, and he was the only son of a wealthy lord. It wasn’t meant to be. Your father had explained to you many times before that Leander only doted on you because he was immature and unwilling to grow up. He thought he could still play make-believe with your life, and he warned you to be wary of him.
Feeling raw and confused, you tried to keep your eyes out the window, focused on the passing countryside as you made your way toward town. When your father stopped to park the carriage, he nodded to your mother as you climbed out.
She held out a hand to you.
“Darling, I need you to come with me. We’re going to stop at the tailor’s,” she said, carefully avoiding Leander’s gaze.
He, however, would not be tricked.
“How convenient. I need to stop there as well,” he said with a grin, tugging you back towards him with his tail. “(Y/N), keep me company as we walk so I don’t get bored.”
Your father gave him a deep grimace but was silent as he finished tying up the horses and escorted your mother by the arm down the busy avenue, walking a few steps ahead of you. You watched the two of them whisper to one another as you made your way to the Willard’s shop.
“Greetings!” Marshall Willard said with a grin when he saw you and your parents enter the shop.
His eyes jumped to the large Naga next you, and he winced just slightly before calling his son.
“Joshua! Come greet our guests. I’ll help the customer.”
Joshua appeared from the back, giving you a pleasant smile.
“Mr. and Mrs. (Y/LN). It’s wonderful to see you,” he said politely. “Can I offer you some tea?”
Meanwhile, his father greeted Leander.
“Young Lord Szake! What can I help you with this morning?”
You moved to follow your parents to the kitchen with Joshua, but Leander pulled you back by the shoulders.
“I’m here to buy (Y/N) some dresses,” he said, pushing you gently in front of him.
Everyone in the room looked at you, and your cheeks burned.
“What? Why, my lord?” you stammered.
He tipped his head at you.
“If you’re to be my personal attendant, you can’t follow me around in threadbare wool dresses. You ought to represent the Szake family well.”
“Personal attendant?” you parroted, confused. “But I’m just a maid.”
“Not anymore,” he declared. “Every Lord has a personal attendant to handle the paperwork and their calendar…those sorts of things.”
“But isn’t that normally a man?” Mr. Willard asked.
Leander beamed at him, a cold smile full of hate.
“(Y/N) has known me since I was just a child. She knows everything about me. I wouldn’t dare trust anyone else with my personal affairs.”
Your father frowned.
“Nonsense,” he barked. “(Y/N) is going to be married and have a domestic life, as she should. You’re a wealthy Lord; I’m sure you can find a qualified candidate.”
Joshua nodded beside him. You looked up at Leander, eyes large.
“I can’t be your personal attendant, sir,” you added. “It’s not proper. What will people think?”
He smirked at you, his long, strong fingers pinching your chin so you had to look at him.
“Fine…If your father insists you have a domestic life, you shall.”
Your shoulders wilted with relief, and you let out a breath.
“Oh, thank goo-”
“As my wife.”
Everyone in the room’s eyes were as wide as saucers.
“What?!” they all said at once.
Leander gave Mr. Willard another bitterly cold grin.
“Measure her for dresses fitting the station of a Lord’s fiancee.”
“Absolutely not!” your father said.
“Lord Szake will never allow of this!” Mr. Willard pointed out.
“She’s to be my fiancee!” Joshua hissed, taking an incensed step towards Leander. “My father has already approved it!”
Leander’s gaze shot to him, danger reflected in his irises.
“There are not words on this plane to describe how little I care about whatever arrangement your families have worked out. (Y/N) will marry me, and you will dress her properly.”
He sank into his coils, pushing you in front of Mr. Willard, snapping his fingers.
“Now.”
You saw the man’s jaw tick, but refusing Leander’s request would only be bad for his business, so he pulled out his measuring tape and approached you. Not sure what was happening, you gave him a pleading look, begging him to say something. Reading your confusion and fear, his stare shifted to one more gentle.
“Lift your arms, please, miss,” he said quietly.
The room was dead silent while he did as he was told. Joshua and your father glared at Leander, who seemed entirely unbothered, while your mother appeared uncertain. You watched her suck in a deep breath, straightening her shoulders before she approached the Naga, speaking in hushed tones.
“Sir, are you sure this is wise? I’m not opposed to this match. I-I know…I can see you love her…I’m only worried for (Y/N)’s safety. Such arrangements between classes rarely work out well. Your fellow nobles will never accept her. Would you subject her to their cruelty?”
For a moment, he seemed to be considering her words, eyes sliding to you.
“My family has never been accepted into our peers good graces. You know my father was a common merchant. My mother married him out of desperation. She traded her noble title for his fortune. People’s opinions are only that. Opinions. (Y/N) and I will face the same prejudices together. Do you wish your daughter to continue her life as a maid or-?”
He gave Joshua a dirty look.
“Or become a servant to a husband who can never love her as I can?”
Your mother sighed. She lifted her hand and smoothed a bit of hair that had come out of place as if he were her own son.
“Please…for me, be serious about this if it is what you intend to do.”
He tipped his cheek into her palm.
“I will never betray your daughter zhingha.”
Your father let out a strangled noise, marching out the front door, slamming it behind him.
Joshua, who had been pacing in place, stomped over to you, grabbing you by the arm to face him.
“Is this what you really want (Y/N)? A snake for a husband?”
Before you could answer, Leander’s tail shot out, jerking him away from you and tossing him into the wall.
“Don’t touch her!”
The young man climbed to his feet, clutching his ribs.
“You nobles can’t just take whatever you like! (Y/N) belongs with us!”
Leander slid across the room like an elegant blue river, lifting Joshua up by his throat.
“Do not address my fiancee by her first name again. If I see your eyes on her, I will gouge them out!”
Joshua’s furious face told you he didn’t plan to back down. His father dropped the measuring tape, hurrying to rescue his son.
“Of course, he wont’ My Lord,” he said. “You’ve made your intentions quite clear. Yes, Joshua?”
He gave Leander another long look before he gave in.
“As you say, My Lord.”
Leander dropped him, returning to his seat near you, and jerked his head at the tailor.
“Continue,” he snarled.
“Go to the back and help your mother,” Mr. Willard said to his son.
Joshua gave you a last lingering glance before he disappeared.
–
You arrived back at the mansion in a very different dress than when you'd left. Leander had insisted on buying you and your mother matching readymade dresses from the shop window while you waited for the fourteen others he ordered to be made. The soft peach satin fabric was the nicest thing you’d ever worn.
The first thing you heard as you walked in the black door was the smashing of ceramic.
“Stay here,” Leander said.
Your eyes quickly flicked to your mother, who grabbed your hand and pulled you into the pantry, peeking out through a crack in the door.
“Father?” Leander called, opening the door to the dining room.
He ducked as a vase flew past, smashing to pieces on the stove.
“That bitch!” You heard him screaming.
He shoved past his son, dark eyes jerking around the room.
“Father! Calm down! What's happened?”
“Where is the human woman?” he snarled.
You and your mother slipped back into the shadows, trying to be as silent as mice.
“Father! She’s not back from shopping yet. Please, tell me what’s happened.”
His eyes narrowed, but seemed satisfied with his answer.
“It’s your mother,” he snarled. “She’s gone.”
“Gone?”
He bared his fangs at his son.
“Don’t parrot me like a dumb animal. The damn woman left! She stole the gold in the safe and disappeared! No one’s seen her!”
He paced on his thick tail.
“She must have paid off the townsfolk. No one will tell me where she’s gone!”
“Has she made off with our fortune?”
His father glanced up at him.
“Of course not; I keep the majority of our money in the bank. Only you and I can access it. I planned for this possibility but never expected her to do it! She only got off with our emergency fund…but it was enough to live well for a long time. When will the human woman return?”
“I don’t know, father,” he said. “But whatever you need, I can help you with it.”
He waved a clawed hand.
“I don’t need anything done! I’m going to marry the woman. I should never have agreed to marry Elanore. I won’t make that mistake again. An obedient human wife will suit me better.”
Leander let out a cold chuff.
“She’s already married, father!”
“Easily fixed,” he hissed with murder in his eyes.
“You can’t be serious!”
He tried to push past his son toward the door leading out to the stable. Leander blocked his way, his icy irises determined.
“I can’t let you do that, Father,” he said, his tone low and even.
Your father came marching through the door a moment later, unaware of the drama playing out. He froze where he stood, eyes immediately focused on the two Naga, staring one another down.
The opportunity in front of him was too tempting for Dervin to resist, and his tail shot out, a victorious smile on his lips. You couldn’t stay the scream that erupted from your throat, your mother rushing past you to protect her husband.
Dervin’s focus shifted to her, and Leander lunged at the same second. Caught off guard, he threw his father to the floor, and they quickly became a writhing ball of tails and arms.
“You’d betray me too, son?” he gasped as he tried to overpower Leander.
You smelled the coppery stench of blood as sharp nails scraped each other's skin. More than willing to help, your father picked up a heavy cast iron skillet, making his way around the hissing Naga, quiet on his feet.
There was a resounding crunch as the skillet descended on Dervin’s head. He flopped to the floor, limp. Blood leaked in a pool around him, but he still dragged in a wet breath. Before anyone else could move, Leander snatched a kitchen knife from the rack, jamming it through his chest. Dervin let out his gurgling last breath and then was still.
You and your mother clutched one another, sinking to the floor. Neither of you knew what to say or do, but your father and Leander didn’t need any prompting.
“Help me with him,” your father said, slipping his arms under the dead Naga’s. “We’ll bury him under the pig pens.”
Leander grunted his assent, lifting the majority of the weight as they maneuvered the body outside.
“Come,” your mother whispered, trembling. “The blood.”
You nodded, filling the mop bucket with water before pulling every towel from the cabinet to mop up the mess.
“What now?” you found yourself whispering, though there was no reason to.
She shrugged.
“That’s for Leander to decide. He’s the Lord of this house.”
By the time they returned, you’d scrubbed everything to a sparkle, the only blood left staining your new dresses and the towels.
“Take those off,” your father said. “We’ll burn the linens.”
The two of you nodded, slipping the heavy dresses over your shoulders until you only wore the thick shifts underneath. Leander helped you out of your shoes and slipped the red-splattered stockings off your feet.
Your father gave you and Leander a long look before he spoke.
“Take your fiancee to bed,” he said. “She shouldn’t have seen all this. I trust it won’t happen again.”
Leander returned a tight nod, and something passed between their gazes. They’d forged a silent agreement.
It wasn’t until your mother and father left out the back door to burn the rest of the evidence that the tears came. It was a relief Dervin was gone. He would have killed your father and hurt your mother, but it was still horrific.
“Shhh,” Leander hummed, scooping you up in his arms.
He carried you upstairs to his bedroom, curling into a tight ring to settle you in the center. His arms wrapped around you, and he pressed your head into his chest.
“Everything is going to be okay now,” he said softly, carding the strands of your hair with his long fingers.
“Lei, are we all going to jail?” you sniffled, his childhood nickname falling past your lips all on its own.
He chuckled, his eyes sparkling when they met yours.
“No. My mother did us a favor. If anyone asks, they’re touring the countryside until they're entirely forgotten.”
“What happens now?” you asked.
He tipped your chin with his thumb, dipping his head to slip his lips against yours. They were so warm that you felt your jaw's tension melt away. His eyes searched yours when they parted, carrying a lightness you hadn’t seen in many years.
“I’m going to marry you, and your parents will move out of the servant’s quarters. Your father and mother have earned their place in the Szake family. We’ll find some new staff.”
You nodded, his hair forming a smooth curtain blocking the world.
“Sleep now,” he hummed. “All is as it should be.”
Despite how you wanted to keep your eyes open, they slid shut against your will.
—
“Would you like lavender or rose tea, Miss (Y/N)?” your new maid asked as she opened the tea box in front of you.
“Rose,” you said, turning your attention back to the catalog in front of you.
You sat comfortably in the rose garden, enjoying the sunshine as you planned your wedding. It had been a month since the terrible night that Dervin died. When Leander had informed the merchants of the town that he was getting married, they’d sent piles of samples and booklets for you to look through. You’d never realized there were so many options! It was a little overwhelming. Since you’d come from humble beginnings, it felt strange spending so much money on decorations and lace, but Leander informed you it should be a grand occasion and not to spare a cent.
“Um…Miss (Y/N)?” one of your maids said, looking slightly frightened.
“What’s wrong, Lily?” you asked, concerned.
“Well…there’s a Miss Iris at the door looking for you. Should I bring her?”
Leander was out for the day, meeting with one of his importers, so you weren’t sure what she could want.
“Of course, bring her here.”
A minute later, an elegant Naga came slithering into the garden. Her curly violet hair was pinned in a pretty updo and she wore an elaborate pink dress, covered in ribbons.
“Hello, Miss Iris,” you said, waving for her to take a place at the table. “Can I offer you some tea?”
Her brow was drawn, and she looked you up and down.
“So…you’re who he picked,” she pouted. “Over me.”
Your ears burned, realizing you were speaking to Leander’s former fiancee.
“There’s no competition,” you said.
She snorted.
“Obviously not.”
She narrowed her eyes at you, and you expected a verbal lashing. You were a mere maid, after all. It was absurd Leander would take you as his fiancee. She sucked in a deep breath, and her expression suddenly softened.
“How…How did you do it?”
Your eyebrows jumped, confused.
“Do what?”
She looked around, uncomfortable.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
You took a breath as your maid politely poured her a cup of tea.
“I suppose so…If you’d like.”
“I’m relieved.”
“Relieved…why?”
She sipped her tea, thinking before she spoke.
“Because I don’t particularly care for Leander. In fact, I don’t like him at all. He’s…very…intense. He kind of creeps me out. He only spoke of you when we were out on dates; it was incredibly boring and awkward. Not to mention…the way he talked about you…He was fixated on all of your little ticks. Did you know he carries a lock of your hair around with him? And sometimes your stockings! He showed up one day elated because you’d accidentally sneezed on him and used his handkerchief to wipe your nose! He was cuddling it like a treasure!”
Your ears heated. Where had he gotten a lock of your hair? You’d never given it to him.
“He what?”
Iris waved her previous statement away.
“Anyway, I wouldn’t have liked him even if he hadn’t. He’s just…too much like a Naga male. Once they have something in their mind, they get…obsessed.
Our parents arranged our marriage. I hate that tradition. I’d never force my child into a marriage without love. That’s how you get murdered by some enterprising mistress!”
You blinked, unsure if you should be offended or not, but she went on.
“Honestly, there’s…someone else who has my interest. Only…he’s not a noble Naga.”
“Oh! That is a puzzle, isn’t it?”
She nodded, stretching her hand across the table to touch yours.
“That’s why I need to know how you did it! How did you win over Leander’s parents? Maybe if I can tell Joshua how to do it, I can…I don’t know…”
You giggled.
“Joshua…Willard?”
Her violet irises flared.
“You know him?”
“Ah…yes…but not well. He seems like a very nice man.”
Her eyes glazed over, wistful thoughts playing in her mind.
“He’s so kind and considerate. I’ve never met anyone like him, so gentle. A few weeks ago, I went to pick up a dress, and he helped me. His hands were so soft, and his voice was so sweet. Every night since then, we’ve been meeting in secret! I know he’s the right one and he thinks so too!
I don’t want to brute of a husband. I want a kind person who I can talk to. That’s why I have to know how to convince my parents not to marry me off to some…stranger!”
You weren’t sure how to answer.
“I think…You should do whatever you must to protect your beloved,” you said. “I can’t tell you exactly what to do because it will be different for you. We’re all different in different circumstances.
She looked a little disappointed.
“What I do know, though, Iris, is that if you love one another, you will find a way You two are adults, not children. No one can make you marry someone you don’t want to. It’s only a matter of how far you are willing to go, what sacrifices you will make to have the life you want.”
She nodded, thinking.
“But…” you started, pausing to sip your tea, “What if your parents went on a little vacation?”
“A vacation?”
You shrugged.
“Once you’re married, you’re married,” you said. “Maybe by the time they return…if they return… you’ve sorted your affairs.”
The two of you shared a knowing look, and she brightened.
“I like you (Y/N), you’re very clever! You’ve given me hope! Is there anything I can help you with in return? I want us to be friends!”
You smiled, picking up one of the catalogs.
“Yes, actually. I have no idea what is proper for a lady. Can you help me? We can plan our weddings together.”
She beamed at you, taking the catalog.
“Of course!”
A few hours later, Leander came slithering through the garden.
“Iris? What are you doing here?” he asked, his shoulders stiffening. “I thought I made it clear…”
Iris snorted and waved him away.
“I’m not here for you,” she said, raising her nose at him. “(Y/N) and I are planning our weddings.”
“Your wedding?” he asked, and she grinned.
“Yes! And now that you’re here,” she wrinkled her nose at him. “I think I’ll be off.”
She leaned down and kissed your cheek.
“Thank you for your advice (Y/N). I’m going to talk to Joshua,” she said before sliding past Leander without saying goodbye.
“What was that all about?” Leander asked when she was gone.
You shrugged.
“True love, I guess.”
He pulled you into his coils, peeking over your shoulder at the catalogs on the table. He ran a finger over the things you’d circled.
“Lei, can I ask you something?” you asked.
“Anything, love.”
You twisted around to look at him, narrowing your eyes.
“Did you tell Iris that you were excited I sneezed on you?”
“Ah…noooo,” he lied, his whole face darkening to a deep blue. “Wh-Why would she say something silly like that?”
You giggled.
“Of course not,” you said, patting his chest. “I must have misheard her. Can I borrow your handkerchief? It's a little warm out here.”
He passed it to you and you daintily patted your forehead, handing it back. His eyes widened at the little scrap of fabric in his hand and he hastily stuck it in his jacket pocket.
Leander might be a weirdo, but he was your weirdo and you wouldn't have it any other way.
#monster romance#monster x girl#monster boyfriend#monster x reader#yandere fluff#monster fluff#yandere male#x reader#male yandere#yandere x darling#yandere x you#yandere#yandere blog#yandere community#yandere oc#yandere scenarios#yandere x reader#soft yandere#naga x reader#naga#naga fluff#x maid#monster bf#monster lover#monster x human#teratophillia x reader#terato#yandere monster
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Lovely As Can Be
summary | Your path crosses with Osferth's once more, who has blossomed into a different man from the last time you saw him. (based on this request.)
pairing | osferth x maid!reader
tags | 18+, MINORS DNI! unprotected sex, public sex, grinding, osferth's not a virgin in this one Lord, fluff (lots of it), sharing an orange is a love language
wordcount | 6.5k
song rec | Would That I - Hozier
note | surprise surprise! here's something with our baby monk (who is looking super fine in that gif)! a certain scene was inspired by ophelia (2018), can you spot which one? :D
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!
(divider by @saradika-graphics)
You had been helping the young maids put up the freshly washed linens to dry when you were informed of the arrival of some guests. Wiping your wet hands on your apron, you left the girls to welcome the travelers who were to stay in Mildrith’s inn. Passing by some of the other help scurrying around, you keep an eye on their tasks, giving out instructions when you catch something that would not pass your madam’s standards.
An amused scoff left your lips when you reached the front of the house, a familiar group of warriors awaiting you with enthusiastic grins. Uhtred called out your name, greeting you warmly.
“Ah, King Edward’s dashing knights,” you jested, greeting them all with a smile and a nod.
You were only a girl when you first received the pleasure of meeting Uhtred and his group of warriors. Freshly sixteen, Mildrith had taken you under her wing to work as a maid in her husband’s inn. It was the biggest in town and was frequented by most travelers when traveling south, hence the constant need for help within the establishment. In the first months of your position, you had spent many an hour scrubbing floors, cleaning out bed pans, and pouring mead for guests.
It was a couple of months after your assignment that the arrival of the arguably infamous Uhtred of Bebbanburg sparked much excitement within the town, especially in Mildrith’s inn where they were sure to be staying. You watched, wide-eyed, as the Dane and his group strolled through the establishment, carrying such a commanding presence that everyone had stopped to look at them. Behind the group, you noticed a lanky figure trailing behind them, swathed in holy robes, appearing smaller than the rest despite being the tallest.
‘A Christian monk travels with Danes, how odd,’ you thought then.
You remembered his blue eyes, always wide like a frightened doe. It was clear he was barely a warrior, freshly taken under Uhtred’s wing, but you had treated him with no less respect than you did the older men.
He was a boy back then, and now, standing before you, was a man; Osferth was now a seasoned warrior like the rest of them. When his back used to be hunched in insecurity, he now stood tall, chest proud.
“Look at you, baby monk, looks like you’ve grown some hair on your chest," you commented, hand propping up on your hip. His build now filled out the robes nicely, shapely muscles filling in the loose crevices of the garment.
“Ah, he’s grown them alright, even more down his–” Finan began, but a slap on his shoulder from the king’s bastard had him cutting his words short, bellowing in laughter.
“Very nice to see you again, my lady,” Osferth greeted sweetly, giving you a slight nod.
“Sweet as ever,” you cooed, turning to the other men, “unlike some of ya!”
They opened their mouth to protest, but you quickly led them into the inn, ignoring their complaints of faux offense. You led the men to a long table in the dining area, where the afternoon meals were beginning to be served. The group of warriors sat down, weary and starved from their long journey. You called a younger maid to fetch some mead for the guests, before bringing over some bread and stew.
“Looks like Mildrith has you ordering people around now, eh? No more scrubbing floors for you then?” Uhtred mentioned, making you chuckle while pouring the liquor into their cups.
“She has me watch over the newcomers, especially the clumsy ones, but aye, I earned my right to not be cleaning chamberpots now, my lord,” you responded, placing the jug of mead back onto the table. “Doesn’t mean I don’t get my hands dirty now and then!”
You took a seat beside Sihtric when he scooted over for you, urging you to sit with them. There was a reprieve from the ache in your heels, joints relaxing in relief after long hours of being on your feet. You asked the men about their journey, listening in awe at all the battles they fought and the lands they traversed since you last saw them.
“And they hung us upside down from a tree! I mean seriously, they could have just tied us to a trunk and be over with it, but no, they had to dangle us like some roasted pigs!” Finan exclaimed, hands waving wildly at his retelling. A laugh bubbled from your chest, mixing with the deeper chuckles echoing from the table.
Behind you, some stable boys had passed by in search of some mead to cool off after hours in the hot midsummer sun. Spotting a familiar head of dark hair, Uhtred points to Eadric, turning to you.
“Isn’t that…? Call him over, I want to know if he is keeping you happy as a married woman!” He exclaimed in sincerity. Confused, you turned around to who he was pointing at, before pulling down his extended arm before he could call Eadric over.
“Keep it down,” you said in haste, the smile on your face dropping. All four men looked at you in confused concern, looking at you as your gaze dropped to your lap.
“I am not a married woman. Eadric and I, we did not…” you trailed off, shaking your head lightly.
“What?” Uhtred asked in bewilderment, gaze flickering to your former lover who had walked away to return to the stables. “But you both had been so eager to marry!”
“I know, I know. He, uh, he had a change of heart,” you explained, rubbing the back of your neck. They all looked at you in pity, so you plastered a rueful smile on your face, waving it off.
“Tis no matter, we were young, and we were foolish. I-I’ve moved past it, really,” you reassured them.
“If you need us to do anything, just say the word,” Uhtred said, earning a nod from the rest of the group.
“Aye, Sihtric is quite skilled at making things look like an accident,” Finan said lowly, making you giggle as the Dane nodded eagerly. Osferth sat silently, watching the light in your eyes dim at the turn of the conversation.
“Thank you, but there is no need,” you said gratefully. With a deep sigh, you rose from the bench and smoothed out your skirts. “Well, I shall go see that your rooms are ready, and if there is anything you need, you know where to find me,” you told them, before leaving them to their meals. You were unaware of a pair of icy blue eyes following your retreating form as you walked away, busying yourself with your tasks once more.
Before dusk had begun to settle into the horizon, Mildrith had sent you off to gather some greens for supper from the market. You had hurried to old Hilda’s shop, filling your large basket with greens for the stew as well as some potatoes and grain. You all but waddled back to the inn, balancing the heavy basket on your hip, willing yourself not to drop anything into the damp earth on your way back.
“My lady!” A familiar voice called out behind you, making you stop in your tracks. You lifted the basket higher on your hip, keeping a firm hand on the wooden carrier to prevent it from sliding down further. Osferth rushed to you, taking the heavy basket from your hands.
“Let me, please.”
“I do not wish to burden a great warrior with a task so little, Osferth,” you tried to reason, but the monk had already lifted the weight with ease. He smiled at you, shaking his head.
“No great warrior would deny a lady his aid when she needs it, he would be less of a man if he did so,” he explained, walking beside you back to the inn. An amused smile lifted on your lips, turning to look at the taller man beside you. Your eyes studied the shadows the setting sun cast upon his face, now more structured and manly than you had last seen him. The plumpness of youth had melted and given way to a sculptured jaw, an aquiline nose, and pursing lips. His bright blue eyes once shone with exuberant wonder and apprehension now reflected a more mature wisdom. He carried himself with an air of confidence you had never seen in him before, one that belonged to a man who was sure of himself.
Catching your gaze on him, Osferth turned to you, raising his eyebrows in question. Your cheeks flushed at being caught in the act, your lips lifting into a shy smile.
“You seem so different now than when we last saw each other,” you said. The monk’s eyes caught the way you slightly bit your lip, watching how the plump flesh reddened at the contact.
“Different in what way, my lady?” Osferth asked.
“You seem stronger. More confident,” you told him, trying to pick the right words to describe the change you have seen in him. “Like there is a fire burning within you.”
A smile touched Osferth’s lips as he glanced at you, the corners of his lips curling upwards. Your eyes meet his icy blues, his dirty blonde tresses appearing much darker in the dimming sunlight. A hum left the monk’s lips, keeping his eyes on yours for a moment longer before returning to the road.
“I suppose I have,” he agreed. Osferth’s longer legs made for bigger strides, and the taller man shortened his steps when he noticed how fast you had to walk to keep up with him. He turned his head to look at you once more, “though I suppose I could say the same thing about you, my lady.”
His gaze roamed over your features, taking in your flushed cheeks, the rosy pink of your lips. Surprise sparked in your orbs, making him chuckle when you turned to him.
"You have grown more beautiful," his tone was matter-of-fact, like he was stating a simple truth. The words made your heart flutter, the breath catching in your throat for a moment. You had never been one to be bestowed such compliments, thus making the smallest of praises leaving you flustered. Osferth's eyes twinkled as he continued to stare at you, enjoying the way he seemed to make you flustered in his presence. "You have a certain glow about you, my lady. Like the warm touch of the sun on a summer's day.”
“My, it seems you have become a warrior and a poet,” you jested, earning a chuckle from the man beside you.
As you neared the inn, young Ida had passed by the pair of you, carrying dried linens. You did not miss the way her eyes caught Osferth’s, the man beside you smiling at her. The young maid immediately blushed, ducking her head as she walked by. His gaze followed her passing form, craning his head back as she passed. You ignored the strange feeling in your chest at the sight, returning your eyes to the muddy road.
“I am certain Uhtred and the others had you meeting all kinds of girls around the land, seeing as you are now quite the charmer,” you teased Osferth, bumping your elbow into his. The young monk made a grunt of amusement, turning back to you. It had gone unnoticed by you when he had begun to walk much closer by your side, the back of his hand brushing against the back of yours with the sway of your arms.
“You think I am charming?” He arched a brow at you, a playful tone coloring his voice. You rolled your eyes as he spun your own words back at you, chuckling as the bastard nudged your elbow in return.
“Oh dear, I fear all that time on the road has taught you all the wrong things,” you said, letting out a comical sigh that made Osferth laugh. As both of you reached the inn, you gestured for the warrior monk to hand you the basket, but he refused, telling you he shall take it to the kitchens for you, ever the chivalrous gentleman. You led him through to the bustling kitchens, busy in preparation for supper, where he had dropped the basket. Many words of thanks left your lips at his gracious assistance in hauling the heavy load of produce around for you.
“It is no trouble, my lady,” Osferth waved off. Looking around the area, you subtly reached into the basket, pulling out an orange to give to the taller man. You had secretly bought it for yourself, splurging on a treat you had not seen in ages. You handed it to Osferth, who looked equally in surprise.
“Where did you get this?” He asked, eyes wide at the side of the bright fruit. He took it into his larger hand, lifting it to his nose to smell the sweet scent of its zest, his lips letting out a delighted sigh.
“This was the last one Hilda had, and I just couldn’t help myself,” you said sheepishly. “You can have it, Osferth, for helping me with this.”
“Oh no, I cannot, my lady! ‘Tis yours!” Osferth exclaimed, handing the round fruit back into your hands. You shook your head, pressing it back into his grasp.
“No, please! It is no matter, I am sure she shall have some again. ‘Tis summer after all, and the season brings much fruit into our harvest,” you explained, earning a sigh from the young warrior. You gave him a small smile, placing your hand atop his larger one. “I doubt you can find these on the road anywhere else.”
“Thank you, my lady, you are most gracious,” Osferth expressed, giving you a sincere smile. You stared up at his blue orbs, the corner of your lips lifting into a smile of your own. A strange warmth spread across your chest, making you feel coquettish and timid as the blonde towered over you. The tips of your shoes were a hair inch away from the tips of his boots, his warmth engulfing your entire being. At this distance, you had a direct view of the cleft of his nose, and the way his pupils changed in diameter as he gazed at you.
You were broken away from your trance by the sharp voice of Mildrith, calling you over. Your feet took a small step away from Osferth, clearing your throat. The young warrior sniffled, looking at his shoes and rubbing the back of his neck.
“I should go, Osferth,” you said, giving him an apologetic look. He nodded in understanding giving you a small smile.
“Of course, I shall see you at supper, then?” He asked, to which you nodded. You watched as the young monk walked out of the kitchen, pocketing the orange you had given him. You couldn’t help the way your lips lifted higher, a girlish chuckle leaving your lips when he gave you one last look before disappearing down the hall, shooting you a roguish smirk.
“Oi! What are ya gigglin’ over there for? Get a move on, missy!” Mildrith scolded, making you jump. You squeaked out a small apology, bowing your head when you passed by her to get on with your work, unaware of the way the mistress of the house shook her head at you in amusement, a small smile breaking out on her own lips.
One thing that attracted the numerous guests to the inn was the suppers. They were always boisterous, rowdy, and filled with music and chatter. Even the townspeople spend their nights at the inn, making the establishment somewhat akin to an alehouse with the drinks that flowed and the laughs that echoed through the room. Tonight was no different, the common hall was packed with guests and local folks alike, and chatter bustled through the air as you maneuvered around the room, refilling cups of ale with the jug in your hand. You greeted your regulars, ignored the advances of some that already had one too many cups of liquor, and kept your eye out on anything else your guests might need. You checked on the younger maids walking around, guiding the ones who were a bit unsure of what to do. When you had first started at the inn, working the suppers intimated you, with your timid nature and clumsy hands. The overlapping noises left you rattled, coupled with the growing rowdiness as the night went on. As you gained more experience and became one of Mildrith’s most trustworthy workers, you took it upon yourself to look out for the newcomers, treating them kindly instead of punishing them for every slip-up they made.
You had quickly exchanged your empty jug for a fresh one at the kitchens before walking back into the hall once more. You heard a voice call you over, turning to Finan who was waving you to their table. As you approached, you spotted the women sitting beside each one of them. You recognized them from the brothel a few doors over, a frequent presence during nights like these in your establishment. It was no surprise that Uhtred and his men had found their companions for the night so quickly, their reputations certainly bearing no lie about their proclivities. Your eyes flickered to where Osferth sat with his arm around a young brunette’s shoulders. You caught the way her fingers toyed with the cross pendant around his neck, leaning into the long expanse of his neck. The corners of your lips dipped slightly at the sight, a strange twinge in your belly. You caught yourself before anyone could notice, plastering a wide smile on your face.
“Enjoying the night, boys?” you asked the table, refilling their cups.
“Aye, good to not be shitting in the woods for once!” Sihtric exclaimed, earning laughs and cheers from his companions. Osferth sat silently, observing the way you rounded their table. He tried to catch your eye, but you seemed to be focused on the jug you held in your hand as you poured ale.
“Why don’t you come sit with us for a while? You are working too hard!” Uhtred urged, to which you only gave a smile.
“Tempting, my lord, but my madam would not be too happy. It is quite a busy night after all,” you said, earning disappointed groans from Finan and Sihtric. You shook your head at their antics, before excusing yourself. For a brief moment, your eyes meet Osferth’s, who had been staring at you the whole time. You gave him a small smile and a nod, before walking away, letting out a sigh as the corner of your lips dropped.
You stood by a pillar, leaning on your weight on the wood while watching the crowd. A man had stood on top of one of the tables, strumming his lute while the guests sang along. In the corner of your eye, you spotted a familiar figure approaching the other side of the column, mirroring your position.
“Alright?” He asked, shooting you a concerned look. Another sigh left your lips, keeping your eyes on the lute player, feeling his gaze on the side of your cheek.
“M’fine, Eadric,” you said with indifference. Neither of you spoke for a moment, letting the echoes of the singing crowd fill the space between you.
“Mm, I know you. I can still read you well, you know, despite how we stand now,” he expressed, a somber tinge in his tone. A scoff left your lips, shaking your head at him slightly.
“Well, considering you can hardly read a few words on a scroll of parchment, I think it best if you stop fretting about me.”
“I will have you know I am capable of discerning whole sentences now, by year’s end perhaps I will be able to read you a sonnet to win your heart once more!” A laugh left your lips at his words, bubbling out before you could swallow them down. Your former lover looked satisfied with successfully getting a reaction out of you, smiling as your cheekbones lifted.
From his place at their table, a young warrior monk watched you and your former husband-to-be. The brunette beside him had been whispering nonsense into his ear, yet he paid her no mind, keeping his attention on you and the way you turned to Eadric, leaning to say something into his ear over the crowd’s noise.
As the night grew darker and the jugs of ale turned empty, you stayed on your feet, cleaning up in the kitchens away from the ruckus, alone. No Eadric, no Osferth, no grimy hand of a drunkard to grab you close. This was your favorite part of the night, to be granted a moment’s reprieve from the chaotic bustle of your days. It was peaceful to have a moment alone with your thoughts like a soft howl of wind on a dark night. Your hands worked mindlessly to scrub the dirty dishware while you let your mind run loose. There was little room for one’s thoughts in a position like yours. The days would often feel autonomic— clean off the linens in the morning, be in the kitchens by noon, and pour ale for the guests in the evening. The surprise of welcoming old friends like Uhtred, Finan, and Sihtric was a pleasant deviation from your otherwise monotonous life.
And dear Osferth. You supposed you had always been quite partial to him among the rest, you were close in age and personality, or at least you were. Where you were timid, Osferth was equally as shy, yet now, he had blossomed into something greater, forging his name into history, all the while you had remained a closed bud still rooted to the soil you had been planted in. As much as you missed the clumsy, doe-eyed baby monk, the warrior sat in your madam’s hall had as much power to render you weak as he did to wield a sword. To be under his gaze had you blushing like a young maiden, and he a dashing knight.
You shook your head, snapping out of your reverie. Osferth had seen many things and met countless faces, surely you did not hold a light to the girls that had come his way. It was no use to be feeling this way, not when he was to leave by the moon’s turn, not when you shall be left alone once more.
Dawn had barely broken through the horizon when you had risen from your cot, stretching your aching limbs with a groan. You had slept for barely three hours, but your body had grown accustomed to your early mornings, often rousing from your slumber with the sun’s rise. The air held a slight prickle of humidity during the summer, giving you no need for furs and a fire during the night. The rest of the inn laid fast asleep, and with the few more moments left to your own, you gathered a clean set of clothes, taking silent steps across the creaking floorboards to step out. The smell of the earth was refreshing, coupled with the morning dew that sprinkled the green grass. It was quiet, save for the howls of mourning doves that echoed through the trees. Humming an old tune to yourself, you made your way to the lake past the thick of the woods, placing your clean clothes on the ground before shrugging off your dress. Clad in only your thin cotton shift, your bare feet padded on the soft soil to approach the lake’s edge. You dipped a toe in, testing its temperature, before stepping down the shallow surface. The water held a slight bite of cold, just how you liked it. You took careful steps across the soft earth, the water rising higher up to your waist. You bent your knees to fully submerge yourself into the cool water, staying underwater for a moment, before breaking the surface to catch your breath. The water felt wonderful on your skin, even more so as it soaked your hair clean of yesterday’s muck. You bathed peacefully in the lake, scrubbing on your scalp and swimming across the water. You allowed yourself to settle, granting yourself a moment of calm before another busy day. Your eyes closed as you let yourself float on the water’s surface, humming to yourself once more.
The quiet peace of your morning was disrupted when you heard the first sounds of approaching footsteps. Alerted, you returned to your feet, looking around for the source. You had no place to hide, not when you were right in the middle of the forest’s clearing. You spotted a large rock situated against the lake’s edge, covered by tall, wispy grass, prompting you to quickly swim towards the stone and lean against it in hopes of hiding your bareness. Through the grass, you spotted a pair of boots approaching where your clothes had been placed, giving away your presence.
“My, a magnificent fish has come to shore!” A familiar voice called out, echoing through the air. Warily, you poked your head out to catch a glimpse of the intruder, only to find the warrior monk. You felt a relief to be discovered by Osferth rather than a stranger, your lips lifting into a small smile as you regarded him.
“Are you here to fish my lord?” you played along, feigning innocent curiosity. You crossed your arms over your shoulders to cover your chest as you stepped away from the rock, revealing yourself to the royal bastard. It seemed he had awakened not too long ago either, evident from his blonde tresses that were slightly ruffled. His feet took steps closer to the lake’s edge, while his hands crossed behind his back. He flashed you a lopsided grin at your query, shaking his head lightly.
“No, no. Though I am a warrior and have traversed these lands and back, I have no skill for the waters. Perhaps the fish will allow me to admire its beautiful scales instead?” he asked, blue eyes raking over your wet form. You bit your lip as he stared at you, cheeks warming despite the cool air. Stiff buds poked against the wet fabric of your shift, still covered by your arms.
“There are far more handsome fish around here, perhaps you may find some better use of your time with them,” you suggested, making the warrior monk’s thin lips twisted at your words.
“I would rather not, I find this one particularly breathtaking,” he said, looking at you with a gaze that made your skin tingle. Your mind raced with uncertainty, while your skin burned with desire. To be graced with Osferth's magnetic presence had ignited a deep pulsating ache within you, one not easily stoked by any man. Under the morning sun, you gazed upon his face. He was handsome, very much so. The royal blood in his veins graced him with a beauty higher than that of any common man, but all his rugged edges were all thanks to his time as a warrior walking with Danes. You desired him, and now, he stood before you, all yours for the taking.
You looked around, making sure there was no one else in your surroundings, before uncrossing your arms and standing tall, baring your chest to his eye, pathetically covered by the now translucent fabric of your wet shift.
“These waters can get quite lonesome for a fish like I. Perhaps my lord would like to join me?”
You visibly gulped as Osferth shamelessly stared at your breasts, waiting with bated breath for his next move. Keeping his eyes on yours, the warrior monk disrobed. He had been without his cuirass, only his robes and breeches. Piece by piece, Osferth’s pale flesh became exposed to your watchful eye. He had placed his robes neatly beside yours, before removing his boots and unlacing his breeches. A small gasp left your lips when he pulled his trousers off, standing tall with his gradually hardening cock on display. An amused huff left the monk’s lips at the way your eyes were stuck on his length, chest puffing proudly under your gaze. He was well-endowed, this he knew, it was what garnered attention from all those women after all. His long, muscled legs approached the edge, cock swaying with every step forward. A warmth in your belly grew as the young warrior dipped into the water, prickling your skin as his eyes stayed on yours the whole time. Your chin tilted upwards as he towered before you, the difference in your heights making you feel covered in his shadow, protected.
“I trust you had a pleasant evening?” you asked, voice dropping low with the change in proximity. Osferth hummed, giving you a small nod.
“Yes, though I admit, it would have been much better if it had been spent with your presence beside me,” Osferth said. His warm breath fanned across your face, the heat of his flesh radiating against yours, causing a shiver to run up your spine. His orbs flickered across your features for a moment, his hand hovering above your arm, yet not touching you. The corners of your lips shifted into a downward smile at his words.
“My apologies, my duties prevented me from doing so. Though it seemed the seat by your side had been occupied. Either way, you had splendid company, only the best in town for the King’s warriors,” you replied softly. He shook his head slightly at you, sniffling lightly.
“It was not her company I sought.”
His large hand covered the width of your arm, pulling you closer into his space. Your hands placed themselves on his chest upon instinct, while his slithered around your waist. His aquiline nose dipped into the skin of your cheek, breathing in the scent of your flesh. Your eyes fluttered close upon the contact, your heart thumping at the feeling of a growing stiffness poking against your thigh.
“How did you know where to find me?” you whispered in his ear.
“I had stepped out for air after my morning prayers. It was then I caught a glimpse of you, walking into the woods,” he explained, lifting his head to look at you. Your fingers trailed against the edge of his jaw, feeling the small prickling of his lightly growing stubble beneath your fingertips.
“You followed me?” you asked, raising your eyebrows at him. A sheepish smile formed on his thin lips, while yours lifted in amusement.
“Tis not safe for a lady to be alone in these woods,” he reasoned, tone light and almost playful. He furrowed his eyebrows in mock concern, shaking his head lightly. A chuckle left your lips, reverberating against Osferth’s chest.
“I know these woods better than you, Osferth,” you replied, to which he only shrugged. “Did the Lord speak to you in your prayers, leading you to me?”
“Aye,” he nodded. His hands squeezed the softness of your arms, before drifting down to settle on your waist. “He all but called me a fool, for letting a beautiful lady walk away from my midst without showing my affections.”
“I am no lady.”
“You can be my lady if you will it so,” he said. Osferth’s calloused hands cupped the sides of your face, keeping your eyes on him.
"You have met the most beautiful ladies in the land, and you will meet more. I am but a simple maid, why me?" you questioned, voice dropping to a whisper. A wistful sigh left his chest, thumbs caressing the plump flesh of your cheek.
"A flower may bloom in the most ordinary of gardens," he whispered softly, his voice carrying the weight of genuine fondness. "And yet, it is that very simplicity that makes its beauty all the more extraordinary."
His head dipped close to yours, your lips just a hair's breadth apart from his. "You have always enraptured me, from the moment I had first stepped into your midst," he confessed.
“Do you jest?” You asked, searching for any sign of any sign of insincerity; you found none.
“I do not jest about matters of the heart,” he whispered, leaning his face closer to yours. You couldn’t help the way your eyes fluttered shut when his nose nudged against yours. His lips pressed a kiss against one cheek, then the other, almost in reverence. Your hands on his chest slithered up to wrap around his neck, pressing yourself further into his build. Your foreheads pressed together, basking in its each other’s warmth for a moment before Osferth leaned forward to capture your lips in his. A gasp left you in surprise, though you had quickly softened into his arms. You had let him lead you in pace, clearly having less experience than the well-traveled monk. The only other man you had kissed was Eadric, and even then you were young and had no knowledge of the ways of the flesh. This was different; Osferth kissed you the way a man kissed a woman, a lover, a wife. It was all-consuming, a kiss that bordered on gnawing, coupled with his wandering hands that caressed and squeezed your curves. They were rough despite the fabric of your shift separating his touch from your bare flesh, and as they cupped the sides of your thighs, he silently urged you to wrap your legs around his waist.
You obliged, letting him carry your weight with his hands supporting your rear. His stiff length is pressed between your bodies, its veiny underside pushing against the dip in your folds. A whimper permeated the air between you when he guided your hips to rub against his shaft, one echoed by a grunt from the warrior monk. It was an odd feeling, though deliciously pleasant. It was different from when your fingers would circle your pearl as you lay in your cot, biting back your sounds of pleasure lest someone heard through the thin walls. Your hips began to move with Osferth’s rhythm, grinding your pearl against his cock.
“Osferth…” you whispered, pressing your forehead against his once more. The man had started to pant against your lips, small grunts leaving his lips.
“My lady,” he moaned out, before smashing his lips against yours. The kiss was frantic and desperate, with tongues dancing against each other and teeth clashing. You moaned against Osferth’s lips when his cockhead snagged against your folds, rubbing deliciously against your pearl. The prickling heat in your belly began to grow, but you needed more.
“Please, Osferth,” you pleaded against his lips, before letting out a whine.
“What is it, my lady? Say what you need, and it is yours. I am all yours,” he responded. His eyes met yours, which had turned clouded with a heady tinge. There was a wrinkle in between your eyebrows as they furrowed in desperation.
“Take me, all of me,” you said. Your hand reached behind you, taking hold of his cock to guide it to your slit. With another deep kiss from Osferth, he breached your entrance, sliding you down his length. Your moan echoed through the breeze at the stretch, prompting you to bury your head in his neck. You bit hard into the junction of his shoulder from the slight sting; the lack of intimacy with another man leaving your walls unaccustomed to such a stretch. Osferth’s chest vibrated against yours as a deep moan left his lips when he bottomed out, stilling for a moment.
When the pain in your walls began to subside, your hips slowly began to move. Large, calloused hands remained on your rear, guiding you up and down his prick. There was a slight ripple in the water from your movements, growing into small splashes when your hips increased their pace.
You tugged the collar of your shift down, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Osferth leaned down to take a nipple into his mouth, sucking on the stiff bud while a hand massaged the other. Breathy moans of pleasure freely fell from your open lips, singing a tune so sweet to the monk’s ears. Your fingers gripped the hairs on the back of Osferth’s neck, your hips never losing their rhythm. His lips switched to suck on the other breast, leaving soft marks on the supple flesh, marking you as his.
“Do you like this, my lady?” Osferth asked against your skin, before trailing his kisses upward to suck on your neck.
“Yes, oh yes!” you whined. The thought that someone shall hear your moans and discover the pair of you was forgotten with the way your mind grew dazed in Osferth’s embrace. Your nipples rubbed against his taut chest, the fine sprinkle of hair on the milky flesh ticking your sensitive nubs.
“You are the most divine,” the young monk moaned, squeezing your rear. Your lower lip is caught between your teeth tightly, almost breaking flesh as you neared your precipice. The sensation of your pearl rubbing against Osferth’s pubic bone threatened to send you into overdrive, shooting sparks of pleasure up your spine. The warmth in your core bloomed upwards, starting to spread to your chest. Your walls began to squeeze his cock, signifying the start of your release.
“Osferth, ah, I am going to–”
“Go ahead, my beauty, let it go for me,” he coaxed you. Your release washed over you like a dam breaking through its walls. A whine left your lips as your eyes shut, your features scrunching together in bliss. Osferth’s eyes stayed on your face, watching you get lost deep in your delight. He continued to bounce you onto his cock through your release, before pulling out to quickly tug at his cock under the water’s surface. With the sight of your panting chest right before his eyes, Osferth’s cock released spurts of his seed. The clear water was painted with the cloudy fluid, diffusing into the lake.
Recovering from the euphoric daze that had overtaken you, your eye stared into Osferth’s icy blues. You bit your lip to suppress the gigantic smile that had lifted your cheekbones, a giggle bubbling out from your chest. Your lover merely raised his eyebrows, a smile breaking out on his sculptured features.
“What amuses you, my sweet?” Osferth asked softly. You merely shook your head, before leaning your head against his shoulder in an embrace.
“Nothing, I am merely overjoyed,” you replied. A radiant glow fluttered in Osferth’s ribcage, his lips pressing a kiss against your hair.
After rising from the water and redressing, you and Osferth sat on the grass in silence. Your head was leaned against his, while his arm wrapped around your figure, rubbing your back in comfort. You wished for this moment to last for eternity, that you would not be called to your duties, and him to his own. Alas, such power was out of your hands, thus you willed yourself to savor the warmth of his embrace as much as you could.
You felt him reach into his pocket, turning to look at him in surprise when the orange appeared in your sights. The same one you had given him in the kitchens.
“Why have you not eaten it?” you asked. You could smell the citrussy zest of the fruit in his palm, sweet and inviting.
“I was hoping to share it with you,” he said, making you blush. He began to peel the orange, its scent spraying all over. His grip had been too tight, lacking gentleness with the fragile pulp that ended up crushed under his fingertips. You laughed at the juices that spilled on his hands, before gesturing for him to hand the fruit over.
“You are making a mess! Here, let me,” you offered. The smiling warrior handed the orange to you, watching your gentle fingers peel the fruit expertly. Once the rind had been removed, you had handed it back to Osferth, but he had split the fruit in half, giving you the bigger portion. You let out a delighted hum as the sweetness coated your tongue, savoring the taste you only come by so rarely. Osferth watched you with bright eyes while eating his own.
In the quiet still of the morning, moments before you were to be called back into the inn, you sat with your lover upon the grass. You shared an orange, along with soft kisses and words of tenderness. You knew naught what the end of the moon shall bring you, nor the end of the day, but you had this moment, one you shall always think of fondly.
#bella writes ✍️#this is queued#osferth x reader#osferth tlk#osferth x you#osferth x y/n#osferth x oc#osferth#the last kingdom#ewan mitchell
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Hi there! I love your tumbler!
If it's not too much trouble can I request yandere Sebastian Michaelis x Cat Demon reader?
Reader is disguised as a maid to a young lady, whose her contractor and mistress. Maybe Ciel has business with Reader's mistress and that's how Sebastian meets them.
Cat Reader | Yandere Black Butler
You? Serving them? Please it’s more like the other way around and you only tend to stick around because you're intrigued by something the noble has. The same can be said for anyone you let waste any of your time:
Sebastian Michaelis
“Hello there. Pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
“....To bad the same can’t be said for me.”
“You are as enticing as your power!”
He catches on pretty quickly
Cooing at you through out the mission
Ears and tail or not he’s more than privy to stoking your attention
And sending his cutlery into the neck of anyone else lucky enough to succeed
That or he might continue to orchestrate missions that require you’re…owners to meet
#yandere black butler#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint#yandere x reader#yandere x you#yanderexrea#yandere#yanderes#yandere kuroshitsuji#yandere kuroshitsuji x reader#yandere sebastian michealis#yandere sebastian x reader#yandere sebastian#yandere sebastian michaelis x reader#yandere black butler x reader
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Charade...
a/n: Omg, like guys I'm lowkey obsessed with Coriolanus Snow, like obsessed, but I can't like to stop, like I'm literally going crazy for this white boy like lemme just love you like pleaseeeeee. Also, I got heavily influenced to write this after watching the charade movie, this fic will have lyrics connected to it, so you can listen to it or not, the choice is yours. The song I used is Charade by Henry Mancini.
warning: angst, mentions of some sort of cheating, reader being used, yelling. proofread (?) maybe, idk.
pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader
word counter: 1.6k
When we played our charade...
You stood there fitting on your dress, one of the maids tightening up your corset on the back of your dress. You were going to attend an event, being seen by the public of the people of Panem. Well, being the first lady of Panem, organizing, and attending thousands of events in your husband's honor. Your role was to keep a smile, even when it was a good time for you or your country. You served the public and served your husband, looking inside yourself into the mirror in front, as the maid finished fighting your dress up. It was a red, burgundy dress that he personally picked for you, to match your husband's suit.
We were like children posing...
You weren't originally supposed to be in the position, you weren't even supposed to be married to him. You only know if when you were kids, him and his cousin, Tigris. You were familiar, knowing her more than you knew him. But time came to pass by, and you managed to know more about him, his likes, and dislikes, he was always around his grandmother when he stopped by you. It was always a vivid memory for you, playing seek with the younger version of himself and running around the park, you really missed him, but now it didn't feel like him at all.
Playing games..acting out names..guessing the parts we played...
Placing your hand near where your heart lay, staring at the mirror hoping it would break. It was a small world, you both went to the same academy, where you met him again after a little time apart, you still sent letters to him though, hoping he read every last word you marked on the page. You manage to reunite there, spending your time with him, talking, walking to classes, and doing everything together.
Oh, what a hit we made...
You felt your heart pumping when you were near him, his nice demeanor making you feel safe. He was your everything, you didn't think he thought the same but you still kept the feelings to yourself. Remember sitting in the library after hours, studying next to him, feeling yourself getting drowsy, almost falling down on your open textbook. "Are you tired?" You turned to him, he didn't look at you, his eyes looking at the textbook. Your cheeks flushed, before he turned to you. You felt your palm getting sweaty, and the pace of your heart increasing, "No" You lied, turning back to your book, "I know when you lie, Y/N" He tapped his shoulder, your eyes widening, "You sure?" You asked. He nodded. You placed your head on his shoulder trying not to make him uncomfortable or distracted. Smiling to yourself, before closing your eyes, you swore to yourself that you saw a little smile on his solemn face.
We came on next to closing...
You were really satisfied when you were with him, a smile never leaving your face. Spending time with him whenever you can, and he loved it too. A smile is always on his face when he sees you in the hallway, running towards him.
Best on the bill..lovers until...
He was familiar with your family. Your mom liked him. Your father respected him. You were happy, but happier when he confessed his feelings to you, your cheeks felt hot. Everything felt like a dream to you, this was what you wanted. His hands were on your face gently, as he pulled you into a kiss, you closed your kiss, loving every minute of it. You felt on top of the world, and your crush liked you back, isn't that what you wanted the whole time.
Love left the masquerade...
Everything took a sharp turn when reaping day came, he was in the top 24th of the best students in the academy, pairing in the Hunger Games as a mentor. You were happy for him, hugging him and giving him kisses. Him, laying down on your lap, as you played with his hair, as he voiced his wants to you. You listened to him, enjoying his ribboning voice to your ears, kissing him on his forehead.
Fate seemed to pull the strings...
Until you saw Lucy Gray, on the holographic screen. You never saw her as an opponent, she actually made you curious, about her voice and how she represented herself. She was from District 12, with a voice only found in the country of Panem, and a nice one too. Your eyes seemed to tune on to the TV screen, watching her. She was going to be the ticket for Coriolanus to win, hoping in your heart that she would win the hungry games. Though she physically didn't suit the standards of a fighter. You gave out prayers at night for her to stay alive for Coriolanus.
I turned and you were gone...
Time... when you Coriolanus would hang out was shortening. His time is consumed by the Hunger Games. Most of his time, his thoughts, and mind went to her. You understood why he couldn't talk to as often as you wanted, but a small part of your heart panged from the thought. Many thoughts rushed through your head, thinking that Lucy Gray would replace you as a seal upon his heart, you tried to wash them out, but couldn't. It was irrational to think that of your boyfriend, you wished you didn't believe too.
While from the darkened wing...
You tried to voice your thoughts to him but were met with a quiet stare. Your face was worried, and your heart was slowly crumbling. "Coriolanus, wait..please!' You exclaimed you cried out, but he kept on walking down the halls, before he turned to you, "Y/N, how can I..pay attention to the games, if you distracting me" That was the first time he raised his voice at him, your eyes widen, you felt your eyes getting glossy. It was the first time he ever raised his voice at you, "C-coryo, I'm just worried, please" You begged, he was getting irritated by you, "I just don't want to lose you" Your voice died out, your chest heaving, tears leaking onto your cheeks. Hearing his footsteps coming closer to you, his hands on your cheeks, "There is nothing going on with me and Lucy Gray, alright" He looked at you in the eyes, and your stomach dropped. Before he released it and walked down to the halls where the games were going to resume.
The music box played on...
Your heart beating in your chest, as you collapsed to the floor, Wanting to tear up but couldn't feel anything to let out. Your heart pumps a sad symphony as you place your hand on top of your chest, holding yourself close.
Sad little serenade...
You watched on your TV, your siblings, and your parents peering into the television. As you walked to the parlor room, looked at the television, looking at Lucy Gray being the last one alive in the games. Your heart jumped, feeling elated for Coriolanus and his victory being secured. You wanted to run to him, hug him, give him kisses on his cheeks, but the pang still ringing in your heart. Knowing that the seal of his love was won by another person, though it wasn't official, you still felt it.
Song of my heart's composing...
You went to the academy, going to your classes. You wanted to see Coriolanus, and hug him after his victory, waiting what felt like hours for you to go and run to him. Entering into the classroom and sitting down, looking to the side where Coriolanus was supposed to sit. It was weird, your dear Coryo. Would never missed any days of the academy anything, he always put his education first. You turned to your left, seeing Clemensia. Wasn't he his partner in class, "Um, excuse me. Have you seen Coriolanus" You asked, hoping for answers for yourself. She shook her head... wasn't it strange. The day after his win, he was magically gone. You needed answers...
I hear it still, and I always will...
The news hit you like a truck, Coriolanus volunteering his time in the military. it was odd, his goal, or dreams better to say, was graduating, and then going to a university, it didn't make sense at all why, he would go that route. He wouldn't do anything, he didn't tell you, right.
Best on the Bill...
You wrote letters, though time did pass
you still wrote letters to him, though you didn't send them, not knowing his direct location, but you hoped he was still alive, safe, and sound. Sending some prayers for him to come back, every day and night. Though you didn't give him a proper goodbye, you still felt you were entitled to do it.
A total of three years passed, you counted them. 365 days every year, waiting for him to come, maybe for you. But you just wanted to see him again.
Charade...
You heard a knock on your door and opened the door to see a matured Coriolanus at your door. Your heart dropped. It didn't feel real to you at all. You wanted to cry and hug him, but you kept yourself composed, looking him in the eyes, he didn't say anything. He offered you a dehorned, red rose. His appearance changed, his blond curls shortened, he was wearing a red suit and his face was stern, less gentle than you remembered. You took it, placing it in your heart, "I missed you" You whispered, feeling tears rolling down your cheeks.
But now, you are in his mess. Going out into the hall, as he waited for you, putting your hands around his, he turned to you, whispering into your ear, "You look beautiful" As you both walked into the awaiting people, waiting to see yours and his appearance.
Hearing the symphony die out, as you reached the shining light of the chandelier above.
#hunger games the ballad of songbirds and snakes#hunger games x reader#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus smut#coriolanus snow#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus x reader#coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus x you#tbosas#tbosas x reader#tbosas spoilers#tbosas movie#tbosbas#president snow#president snow x reader#young cornelius snow
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Mr. Holmes Maid (3)
Summary: You’re his maid.
Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Maid!Reader
Warnings: angst, power imbalance, dub-con (just in case cuddling/sharing a bed), master-servant relationship, the reader was an orphan, inappropriate behavior
Mr. Holmes Maid (2)
Mr. Holmes’ maid masterlist
The red dress is even more opulent and expensive than the others. You feel like an imposter standing in front of your master in a dress that shouldn’t cover your body.
“Wonderful,” the needlewoman coos. She clasps her hands together and smiles at you. “She looks so beautiful, doesn’t she, Mr. Holmes.” She wants to hear a compliment for her handiwork, not how you look in the dress.
“Mr. Holmes,” you dare not complain, but you don’t feel comfortable wearing a dress made for a lady, not a peasant. “Isn’t that too much? I can’t clean in this kind of dress.”
“It’s for special occasions,” he hastily says while pushing a few looks out of his face. “If we receive guests and such.” The lie easily rolls off his tongue. He straightens his back and looks at the owner of the shop straight in the eyes. “Right, Mr. Stevenson.”
“Oh, of course, Mr. Holmes,” the man almost cowers in front of your master. If he’d lick Sherlock’s polished shoes, you wouldn’t be surprised. “She will look lovely while serving your guests.”
No one at the shop believes Sherlock wants you to wear this dress for his guests. He wants you to wear them only for you.
“Wonderful,” your master finally says. “We will take them all. Maid,” he sternly looks at you. “You can redress after I paid for everything. I’ll be waiting outside for you. Don’t waste time, we need shoes for you too.”
“Shoes,” you murmur while watching Sherlock with curiosity. He’s so different now. Moments ago, he was all soft on you and placed his hand on the small of your back. And now, he orders you around.
“Yes, shoes, maid,” he grumbles. “Let’s proceed then.”
You wrinkle your forehead. What else does he want to buy for you today?
Sherlock leaves you and the needlewoman alone to talk to the owner about payment, and another order.
“My dear,” the woman whispers so no one can hear her. “He’s charming, smart, and very handsome. But be careful. You’re only a maid. If anyone finds out about your affair,” she looks around the shop, “you will be the one to blame.”
“I—no,” you gasp at her bluntness. “I…we…no. We never... I wouldn’t dare…” You shake your head. “Mr. Holmes never did such a thing, madame.”
“I’m not a madame, my dear,” she chuckles lightly. “I was you not so long ago.” She dips her head to watch her husband and Sherlock talk. “My husband saved me from ending up on the street after my master promised me love and devotion.”
You don’t know what to say, so you remain silent.
“After he stole my innocence, he tossed me out on the street like a stray cat,” she whispers. “If you ever need help,” she grabs your hand, squeezing it, “come back here. We have a spare room.”
You nod and give her a quick smile. Your heart is racing, just like your mind.
Is that what Sherlock wants? Steal your innocence and kick you out. Is this his way to remind you of your place? Maybe he tries to fool you, believing you’re just a dull maid, unable to think for yourself.
“Thank you,” you utter and ask her to help you redress. You need to get the expensive dress off of your body, or you’ll faint imagining all the things Sherlock could do to you if you let him…
“Are you unwell,” Sherlock watches you fidget in your seat at the carriage. “What is it, Y/N?”
“The dresses and all that,” you dare not to meet his gaze, “I can’t wear them. It’s inappropriate. I got my clothes and…guests wouldn’t want to see me in such a dress. It’s too…pretty.”
“I bought them,” he sternly replies. “So, you will wear them.” Sherlock’s features soften when you choke out a sob. “Y/N, you helped me so often while I was lost in a case. You made sure that I ate properly and got dressed. You even brushed my locks. Consider the dresses and coat a gift to thank you for your assistance with my cases.”
“I did my duty, Master Holmes,” your voice trembles when he looks at you with soft blue eyes. “Helping you and taking care of you is my honor.”
He smiles at your words. “You’re so…” Sherlock swallows the sweet words he wanted to say. He cannot say them. This would confuse you even more. “Caring and selfless.” He says instead. “If I offer a gift to you, I expect you to take it.”
“Yes, master.”
Sherlock sighs deeply. His words came out wrong, and now you shy away, believing you did something wrong. He wants to take the words back, but that’s just not him.
“We will be home soon, maid,” he softly says. “We should rest soon. It was a rather long and exhausting day for you.”
“What about dinner? I can still prepare everything,” you try to make things up to Sherlock. He bought all these nice things for you, and you could only think of the things the needlewoman said to you.
Sherlock brushes his hand over yours, gently touching it for a moment. “We have leftovers from last night. You need to rest. Tomorrow, we need to talk about a few things.”
You nod and drop your gaze. “Will you send me away now? Did I anger you?”
“What?” He gasps at your words. “No…I…” Sherlock grabs your hand to hold it tightly. “I would never let you go. And you did not anger me, Y/N.” He murmurs. “It’s late and we should not think of anything but to rest.”
Your heart races feeling his large hand hold yours. He doesn’t let go and interlaces his fingers with yours. Sherlock breaks another rule, but there is no one but you and him in that carriage.
Who shall judge him for wanting to hold your hand?
You pace back and forth in your bedroom. Sherlock said goodnight and tried to read some papers while he sent you to bed.
Now the words of needlewoman echo in your mind. What if she’s right? Maybe he tries to charm his way into your bed. You heard stories from other maids. Their masters did the same.
Sherlock never made any promises. He just came to your bed and slept next to you, seeking your warmth and closeness.
It’s all so confusing and you don’t know if you can resist his advances. Your heart, and maybe your soul too belongs to Sherlock for the longest time.
The moment he took you to his maid, you were lost, and you don’t know if that’s a bad thing…
Tags in reblog.
#sherlock holmes#sherlock holmes x reader#sherlock holmes x you#Mr. Holmes Maid (3)#sherlock holmes x y/n#maid reader#sherlock x reader#sherlock x you#x reader
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regress
Knight! Reader x Y! Prince
(gender neutral for readers)
No proofreads. Forgive me for not answering y'all ask/request! I will do them once I'm done publishing the other ocs! (Y'all wilding for yandere gold digger and omega! Lol) this one is short tbh and has another part but I'm unsure about posting it because it was too long. Let me know if you wanna see it.
Warning: hints of death, yandere, psycopath
MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!!!
You woke up groaning. Your throat hurts, confused at yourself. You never had a problems with your throat. Always hydrated before going to sleep, So why the hell that it feels like its dry at the same time it's not?
It's kind of like itchy.
You went down the staircase, hearing the bustling sound of your subordinate roommates.
"Captain! You look pretty tired today. Did you perha—woah! What happened to your neck?" One of your members looked shocked, their eyes looking at the said neck. The other members in the room looks at you in confusion before their face was the same as the person who asked you.
You raised your eyebrow at him. "What about it?"
You let your calloused hands caress your neck, feeling if there was out of ordinary. "Can some of you hand me a mirror? I am confused as to why everyone looked shocked right now."
One of your subordinates quickly ran around to find you a mirror. When they found it, they immediately handed it to you.
You look yourself in the mirror. Just like their reaction, you were shock to witness it.
"What... How...?"
"...It looks like a deep wound from one of our melee weapon, specifically a knife. Captain. No wounds can someone survive that!" The person sitting at the dining table said as he observe it."How did you got that?"
You shook your head,"I don't know.... I only woke up feeling my throat feels dry and fine at the same time. Itchy I would say, it doesn't hurt. It feels irritating."
"I think you should consult a physician or a doctor for that."
You trace the scar on your neck. Thoughtful, of where had you gotten this. "... I might."
You strolled up to the palace, not getting any breakfast—even dinner last night—and skipping your schedule to train as forgetting the fact that you are late to see your master, so you immediately went to the palace of your prince. The one you serve in your whole life.
Maids greeting you a good morning, and you greet them back. One of them offered you a sandwich, it looks pretty neat and delicious to eat. Drooling at the thought chewing on it. You tried to refuse but they insisted on giving it to you, seeing you didn't get a breakfast and dinner, you looked a little dizzy for someone who trained to endure without food for months. You accepted it along with a water, thanking them, feeling a little hungry and quickly gobble up the food making your way from hallway to the kitchen with them before anyone can scold you for eating around the halls. Parch from the food, you drank the water from the glass and put them on the sink before going back to your task to check up on your prince. You bid the maids a good bye.
Once you reach the room of your master. You saw there was no lady in waiting nor a butler on his doorway. So you knock on the wood, announcing yourself, waiting for your master's response to let you in.
"(Y-y/n)?" You heard a whimpering voice behind the room. It sounded like he was crying. You asked him if he was alright, but before you could get any answer from him, you saw the door being pulled opened and then finding yourself engulf by an arm around your shoulders.
"Mmm sorry—shouldn't doubt you!—my own fault!... Was supposed to trust you—love you so mmmh–much!I-I— don't l-leave m-me—hicc!" The prince cried on your shoulder, babbling incoherent words that you didn't understand. You look bewildered at his sudden burst, not expecting for someone who always smiles and befriend anyone regardless of their status. You slowly went to embrace him, comforting him, feeling him wrapping his legs around your hips and you let him, crying on your now wet uniform full of tears and snots continuing to blabber incoherent words.
You tried to let him lay down to his king sized bed but his grip on you wouldn't let you. So here you are awkwardly patting him on the back as you sat yourself on the edge of his bed instead. You were hesitant to touch his hair, it is against the rules that a lowly life like you has the audacity to touch them especially in their hair, it's a sign disrespect and could lead to a treason. But you decided to do it anyway, he needs your comfort right now and that rule doesn't apply to you if the prince needed it anyway—plus you already broke the rules when you hugged him back.
He freezes up when he felt your hands on his head before slowly taking a deep breath, sniffling, calming down from your touch. He buried his nose onto your neck, shuddering before planting a small kisses from you, whimpering.
"sssorry—hic-!ssorryyso-sorry... louvv you too..m..much.. shouldnn't...leea-hic-!leave me..."
You cannot comprehend what he was trying to say but his action made you surprised, but you let him be for now, continuing patting his back awkwardly because this isn't what you expect first thing of the day when you work.
Prince Rylle must have a nightmare for him to act like this.
"... Your highness?"
You heard him whimpered before leaning himself away from your neck, slowly looking at you. His eyes were puffy, some tears were spilling. Prince Rylle was sniffing and hiccuping from his tears.
You looked away from his eyes, indirectly obeying his older brother's words to not look straight at him. You carefully wipe away the water droplets coming out from his orbs, waiting for his nerves to calm down.
He stayed there at your lap for a few minutes, until he recollect himself.
After wiping his tears, one of your hand went to grab a handkerchief from your pocket trying to rid of the snot that was clogging his nose.
But before you can do that, the tanned male squeaks and tried to push himself off on you, falling down from your lap. Head first colliding on the floor. Thankfully, he didn't bleed.
"Your highness! Are you alright?" worriedly you went to assess his head from the impact.
"I-I'm fine!" He quickly got up, wincing from the slight concussion from his head.
"I apologize, it was my mistake for startling you. I shall be careful next time."You got up from the edge of his bed before stroking his head gently.
He looks at you, the way he gaze up to you seems like he had seen a ghost.
"... Are you really..here?" He whispered. You were puzzled by his question. "... I'm here your highness." Quickly bowing down to his level.
He walk up again to you, requesting if he could hug you again. You stood up and saw in your peripheral vision his eyes were starting to become teary again. His snot were starting to clog his nose, but you let him hold you.
You felt his arms around your waist. Hands firmly grip on your sides.
"... God, I t-thought I lost you." He whispered. Whatever nightmare that was. It must have traumatised him. You felt his tears running down again to your clothes.
"... I'm here your highness.."
"... You're really.. h-here." He whispered.
You patted his back. "... I am here."
"Today is 7th of May, Year..890." You uttered before jotting down the notes for your report. The prince was beside you, silent at his own office. He too is jotting down his report or at least he is, but you felt his gaze on you. You weren't used to the prince Infront of you being silent. He would always filled this room with his chattering, sharing his knowledge to you on what he learned from his teachers—since a commoner like you doesn't deserve education—and sometimes he would always complain about the other nobles being rude to their servants and how obnoxious they were.
So you broke the silence filling in the room. It is unusual for your master to be this silent.... And staring at you for quite some time."Is everything alright your highness?"
He didn't answer. He was still gazing at you.
"Your highness?" You repeat.
The prince snapped back to reality.
"O-oh! Yes! Yes I am! I'm-I'm still recollecting m-my thoughts about my nightmares haha!" His fake laughter died down when his gaze stayed to your neck. He frowned. He was contemplating whether or not he should ask. But he did.
"... Where did you get that? The... Scar on your neck."
You cleared your throat before feeling the scars again. Just like earlier, you didn't felt any phantom pain from it.
"... I would have tell you the reason behind it but I have no idea, your highness. I must have slip a knife drag it on my nec—" You wanted to jest about it but you got a sullen look. His face was frowning even more.
"Please, do not do it again."
"...I... Yeah. I am jesting your highness... I had woken up with a scar already imprinted on my neck." You didn't get a response after that, he avoided his look from it.
You look back at your finished report. Organizing them, putting them aside the table, before standing up. "Umm.. As much as I would like to accompany you all day, your highness. I have business to attend to with the crown prince." You didn't particularly give him the detail why you need to leave, you walked away. His brother technically assigned you on something dangerou—
"... Were you going to assassinate the southern duke who was accused of embezzlement of the empire's treasury?"
Your boots stop clacking on the tiled floor of the room, quickly turning your head back to your master. Whose eyes were blank as if he just absentmindedly told you what he said.
"... How... Where did his highness learn this... Information."
You were supposed to make him believe that everything around him is perfect. Is what your master's psychopath family told you to do. He doesn't need to know everything.
He was supposed to be completely utterly away from it and only focusing on the bright side of the kingdom.
The tanned male before you gave you a nervous smile. You realized that today he is acting weird."No! Nothing I-I was just speaking something ill! It was a mere jest, my sweet!" His hands were wavering as a sweat formed down to his cheeks, when he talks.
He was lying.
"Where did you get that information, your highness?" You looked at him, your body turning to him. Repeating your words.
He gulped, one of his hand pulled his collar a little as if he was sweating from his clothes. You noticed how his eyes were looking everywhere except your figure. He mumbled something before turning back to you, stammering."... Forgive me... I ... I overheard your meetings with my older brother that n-night."
You thought about the meeting he was talking about. It was Prince Rylle's birthday that time and he was at the very center of the attention so none of the nobles or slaves have witness you left to the garden when the his older brother, the crown prince commanded you to follow him there. You made sure before you left, the last time you saw him before you had gone to follow his highness, Prince Rylle was dancing with one of the noble ladies.
So it is not possible that he might overhear your conversation when he had to take turns on the ladies that lining up to have a dance with him.
"But you were in the middle of dancing with the lady Rub—"
"N-no! I wanted to-to find you to accompany me by the garden when you were not in your post! I found myself walking alone in the garden and then I saw with my brother! I promise I did not mean to eavesdrop on your conversation with my brother!"
That wasn't the only thing that his brother ordered you to kill someone. You would have refused if it weren't for the fact that your mother's expenses for her health wasn't increasing. But the crown prince promised salvation to your mother as long as you do what he told you. It was tempting deal but you did it, feeling pressured as if refusing that bastard's command would give you penalty of death. Was that even a deal? Plus shedding someone's blood by your own hands wasn't your forte. You are a knight that was supposed to protect Prince Rylle. You can only immobalize your enemy but you cannot bring yourself to kill.
The duke was not the only one who you need to assassinate tonight and you weren't even sure if he really did try to embezzled the treasury. You witness that old man to be strict, intimidating but he took a great care the people who serves under him and the villagers who were residing in his property. All you heard from his rumors was that he was a good leader and a good provider.
"Was that all you heard, your highness?" You were internally panicking. Not wishing to meet your punishment if one of his family heard about this. Prince Rylle needs to be pure from this world is what his family told you. He needs to be away from these secrets.
"Y-yes!"
"... Can I ask you a favor?"
His soft gaze wanders around your lips before slowly nodding. So you asked him a favor to never let his family knows about him finding out about this.
He frowned as if he realized something. The white haired male stood up from his seat and walk towards you, as he softly grabbed your hands to his. Clasping it.
"Now that Gods favored me, this time I will protect you."
" Of course, darling... I will not let them." He unclasps his hand from yours before giving you a hug. You can't quite hear the last sentence he said.
#yandere lover#yandere#soft yandere#yandere male#yandere oc#yandere x darling#yandere x y/n#yandere x you#clingy yandere#yandere boyfriend#pretty yandere#yandere prince#yandere x gn reader#yandere x reader#yandere boy x reader#yandere boy#yandere oc x reader#yandere oc x you#delusional yandere
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the house of snow (8) ✧ coriolanus snow
the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board| ao3
pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader
series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.
chapter summary: sejanus crosses a line.
word count: 5,961
series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later
chapter warnings?: scheming sejanus, jealous!coryo, angry!coryo, arguing, threats of execution, pet name (petal), not proofread
Thank you for the invitation. Though it was signed by Coryo, I imagine that you are the one who advocated for my presence at tonight’s opera. I appreciate that you hold our friendship in such high regard. That is why I write to you now. Ma has already confirmed our attendance for tonight, but I was hoping that I might be able to speak to you in private. During intermission, please meet me—
A knock at your door startled you out of your thoughts.
“Are you nearly ready?” your father asked from the other side of your door.
“Just a moment more!” you called out, hurrying to return the letter to its envelope. You rose from your seat at the vanity, sparing a glance at your reflection to ensure nothing was out of place, before tucking the letter in your trunk at the end of your bed.
When you reached your door, you took a breath. Your father was a perceptive man. If he saw your nerves were jumbled, he would have questions and you could not handle questions at this moment.
Your father smiled as you opened the door. Then he frowned, glancing around the room behind you. “Where is your lady’s maid?”
“I dismissed her after I finished getting ready. I wanted some time to go through my correspondence.” It was perhaps best to tell the truth in that regard. What your father didn’t need to know what that you were just reading the one letter, over and over and over again, trying to surmise if it was real, if there was a trick being played against you.
“I should hope you were not writing any replies. The last thing you need is to get ink everywhere.”
“No, Papa, I was only reading them and sorting out which ones needed to be replied to first.” Well, that was a lie. But it was harmless enough. You hoped.
When you received Sejanus’s letter in the mail, it confused you. You were never the sort of friends that wrote to each other. It certainly would have been presumptuous if you had. But when you read the contents of the letter, learned of his proposed plan, it only served to confuse you further. You had spent the entire day reading the letter as your lady’s maid pinned your hair into an elaborate updo, applied your makeup, and even as you dressed. You were half sure that if you read it enough times, Sejanus himself might materialize to tell you it was all just a clever joke. That he didn’t really mean it. You knew Sejanus well enough, though, to know that he was quite serious about these sorts of things.
Your father nodded, then extended his arm for you to take. You slipped your hand around his arm and allowed him to guide you downstairs. He was silent for a moment while you walked, but when he reached the top of the stairs, he stopped.
“Is there something wrong?” you asked. Had he already caught on to your ruse? Would he demand to see the letters and know that there was only one? Would he tell Snow?
“I wanted to thank you for your cooperation,” he said. “I know this match was not what you hoped it to be, but I swore when you were born that I would do everything in my power to ensure that you are taken care of for life. You may not have gotten the love match you wished for, but you will be marrying into a reputable family with the resources available to provide you the best life imaginable. His Majesty will take care of you. He will be a good husband to you.”
“You cannot possibly know that.”
He sniffed, then conceded, “No, I suppose I don’t. But His Majesty was incredibly persistent. He had been asking for your hand for some time—”
“What?”
He blinked, as if he was surprised you didn’t know. But how could you? How could you have known? “When you graduated from the Academy, he asked for your hand. I suppose he hoped for you to join him on base while he served as a Peacekeeper. That certainly wouldn’t have been an appropriate life for you, so I told him no. Then when he returned, he asked again. I told him I wished to see him prove himself to be a worthy husband for you. I never imagined that he would become King, of course, but it was a pleasant surprise. A welcome one, really, all things considered. Just before the season began this year, he asked again. I had no reason to tell him no, except that I wished for him to properly court you before we reached any firm agreement.”
You did the math in your head. If what your father said was true… “I’m four and twenty. If he has been asking since I graduated, then he has wanted to marry me for five years.”
“Longer, I presume. He already had a ring when he asked for your hand the first time.” He looked down at your hand. “The same one, if memory serves well. Cleaner, though.”
That…You didn’t know what to do with that. How long had Snow been vying for your attention? Even with Sejanus’s revelation that Snow’s feelings for you had been genuine, you assumed it was a recent development. Certainly not something that extended back to your schooldays. Had the bickering always been one-sided? No, that couldn’t be…
“We hated each other in school. We tormented each other,” you said, more to yourself than your father.
But he laughed as if you spoke to him. “Sometimes, boys are mean to the girls they are interested in. Any attention is better than no attention, in their eyes.”
“I don’t know what to do with this,” you admitted.
“Know that you will be loved. I have never seen any man be so dedicated to something, someone, for it not to be done out of love.”
Downstairs, the butler announced Snow’s arrival. Snow entered the room, his blue eyes immediately finding yours. Your father moved to start down the stairs, but you remained planted firmly in place. A question nagged at your mind. If Snow had been asking for your hand for five years…
“Why did you act like I had to convince Snow to marry me when the season started? If you all but promised him my hand?”
His eyebrows raised. “My little dove, you have never done what you were told. If I said that you were to be wed to His Majesty, you would have all but runaway to avoid it.”
“But why act like it was my responsibility to get his attention? To throw myself at his feet when he already wanted to marry me?”
He was silent for a moment, contemplating his words. Finally, he settled on, “If you thought that you were serving your family by pursuing His Majesty, I had hoped that you would have seen his intentions were pure and good. It might not have been a love match in the traditional sense, but it would not have been a loveless arrangement.”
Nothing, you thought, about Snow was pure and good. “My fate was already set in stone. It didn’t matter what I did, you would have married me off regardless.”
“Don’t put it like that, little dove—”
You dropped your father’s arm, gathered your skirts, and walked down the stairs alone as Snow moved to wait for you at the bottom. A smile grew on his face as he watched you. It looked so genuine. You supposed it was.
Snow held his arm out to you as you reached the last few steps. You slipped your hand into his, letting him guide you down the final steps, before holding onto his bicep when you reached the ground floor.
“I like that color on you,” he said, eyeing the blue fabric.
“You should. It took Tigris hours to find the shade closest to your eyes.” Your mother was insistent that, as the future Queen, you should build your wardrobe to complement your future husband as much as possible.
“I shall send her my compliments then. Are you ready to leave?”
You nodded.
“Good. We shall be riding alone this evening. Will that be alright?”
It wouldn’t have mattered if it did. Everyone else in your life was making decisions for you. Choosing what was best for you without ever asking what you wanted. What you desired. But you were angry at your father. Angry at both of your parents, because you were sure your mother knew something about this, too. Angry that they both would keep this from you instead of just telling you that you were to marry the King. You might have respected their decision more if they had.
“I should kill my parents if I have to spend a moment with them tonight.”
Snow blinked. “Should I be concerned?”
“If you value your life, then you shouldn’t be.”
At that, Snow let out a huff of a laugh. “To kill the King would be treason.”
“Is a threat worth the same weight?”
“I would imagine so.”
“Then string me up at the gallows.”
He shook his head at you. He looked amused, like he didn’t take your words seriously. He probably thought you were just bickering to get on his nerves like you always did. “I would make an exception for you, petal.”
You turned your head, looking back up at your father, who still stood at the top of the stairs, dumbfounded. You turned back to Snow. “I wouldn’t kill you, for what it’s worth. As it turns out, you are the only person who has been honest with me recently.”
A frown settled on Snow’s face. “Is everything alright?”
You rolled your tongue over your teeth, contemplating whether you should tell him or not. It would be nice to vent, even to someone like Snow. But you didn’t wish to do it in front of your father, the source of your ire. And you weren’t sure you wouldn’t cry if you did talk about it. “I don’t wish to ruin my evening any further. Shall we go?”
Snow looked you over. Seeing nothing that would demand his immediate concern, he said, “We shall. But if you change your mind…”
“I will tell you if I do.”
The ride to the opera house was quiet. You weren’t sure if Snow was silent because he was giving you the space you asked for, or if he was concerned that your ire might soon turn on him. But he held your hand the entire time, his thumb stroking over your knuckles. Ordinarily, you would have been annoyed at the action. It was merely another way for Snow to exert a level of control over you. This time, however, it brought you some modicum of comfort.
“I invited the Plinths per your request,” he murmured.
That should have lifted your spirts, but it only made your stomach churn. You couldn’t let Snow know that, of course. As hard as you fought for the Plinths’ presence, he would be less than pleased if you revealed you wished he hadn’t extended the invitation. “Thank you.” You squeezed his hand, more for your comfort than his own. “I appreciate that.”
Even if you didn’t appreciate it in the moment, you probably would appreciate his willingness to abide by your wishes in the future (though, you supposed you did have to coerce him to do it).
Snow smiled and squeezed your hand back. “And I appreciate your vivaciousness. Even if it makes me want to pull my hair out.”
“That would be a shame,” you said before you could really think.
“What?”
Well, you already got this far. You might as well finish the thought. “The nicest part about you is your hair. If you pulled it all out, you wouldn’t have anything going for you.”
Snow laughed—a genuine laugh. “If my hair is the key to gaining your affections, then I shall be sure to not pull it out.”
You laughed, too. It was…odd. How light you felt with Snow now. Though you still objected to how he asked for your hand, how your father gave you no choice in this matter, it was different knowing that Snow might not be doing all of this as some way to spite you. To get back at you for all the fights you had with him over the years.
The pit in your stomach burrowed deeper. If Snow found out about Sejanus’s letter, Sejanus’s plan, you could not imagine it ending well. Any semblance of goodwill he held for you could be ruined in a matter of minutes. Would you be set up for a miserable marriage if you withheld the information from him?
“Snow, I—”
The carriage lurched to a halt. Your words died in your throat as the door opened. Snow stepped out first, then held a hand out for you to take. He helped you out of the carriage, his hands settling on your waist as you gained your footing. Your breath caught in your throat at the feeling.
As you moved to take Snow’s arm, he asked, “Would you like to wait for your parents or would you like to go our seats?”
You glanced back, seeing your family carriage in the distance. The idea of seeing your father again made you grind your teeth together. “Let’s go inside.”
Snow led you to one of the Lord’s Rooms where you would sit in the upper balcony of the opera house. It had been some years since you had been able to sit in one of the Lord’s Rooms. Since your time at the Academy, you supposed. These seats were saved for the upper echelon of the Capital’s elite. While your parents certainly were wealthy and titled, they could not quite afford such expensive seats. Truthfully, for a long time after the war ended, only the King and some dukes could afford it. It was only in recent years that marquesses, earls, and viscounts could begin sitting there again.
You took a seat front and center of the Lord’s Room, Snow taking the seat to your left. A smile tugged at his face as you tried to not let your jaw fall slack.
“Are you pleased with the seats, petal?” he asked.
“It’s perfect,” you admitted, because it was.
When you looked over at him, his smile had grown, his chest ever so slightly puffed out. Oh, he was proud of himself for this. You supposed he should be. If he had been vying for your attention for as long as your father insinuated, you imagined there was no limit to the lengths Snow would go to make you happy.
“Good.”
You were curious, though, to the lengths that Snow would go. “What would you have done if I was displeased?”
“Erect an opera house to your exact specifications.”
You couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips. To suggest such a thing was absurd. You were an intelligent young woman to be sure, but you hardly had the education required to design an opera house that both functioned as necessary and would not topple over in a gust of wind. “Then we should be thankful I am content here or else we might have to test the limits to the royal family’s protection from liability.”
Snow waved that off, though he still smirked at you referring to yourself as part of the royal family. “I would send anyone who would even think to sue you to the gallows.”
“So protective,” you teased. There was silence, for a moment, as you looked at Snow. Conversation was flowing easily, with none of its usual bite. Perhaps talking about your conversation with your father would be nice. To at least alleviate the stress you carried in your shoulders. “I am upset with my papa because of you.”
And that, perhaps, was the worst way to begin the conversation when you saw the way Snow’s smile turned into a frown. Oh dear, he probably thought you were trying to pick a fight. “I beg your pardon?”
“What I mean to say is, at the beginning of the season, when it was announced you were seeking a bride, my papa told me that I had to do whatever it took to win you over, even sacrifice my ideals. He made it seem as if it was something I had to do for the family. I refused, of course, but that did nothing to stop you from seeking me out. I wondered why for a long while, spent a long time convinced it was because you were trying to get back at me for all our quibbles over the years. But then I remembered Sejanus had told me that you were interested in me when we were children.”
Snow’s jaw ticked at the mention of Sejanus, so you quickly continued before he could spit some vitriol about your shared friend (for now, at least).
“That made no sense to me at the time he told me, of course, but the longer we courted, it started to feel real. Then, this evening, my papa told me that you had asked for my hand three times before. That you fought with me because you liked my attention, not necessarily because you had substantial disagreement with me. And when I asked, he said he lied to me about my needing to sacrifice my ideals to win you over, because he knew that I was already going to be your bride by the end of the season. I cannot respect a man who withholds things from me.”
“I apologize if I disrespected you, but—”
“Not you, my papa. It is clear now that, as far as this season was concerned, you had always made your intentions known. I can admire that. But my papa…I don’t know if I can trust him again. Or my mama, because I am sure she knew something about it, too.”
Snow considered you for a moment, before admitting, “If I had known you were kept in the dark, I would have told you. I assumed you knew I had spoken with your father and that that was part of the reason you kept fighting me. Telling me that you would rather marry anyone else but me.”
“No, I was, for once, clueless.”
He reached over for your hand. You allowed him to take it. “Well, you can rest assured that I will not let you be clueless as long as I can help it. We are to be partners in this marriage. There is no one that I could trust more to run this kingdom and raise our family than you.”
Your stomach twisted. All of this talk of honesty…It made you feel ill. You knew you should tell Snow about Sejanus’s letter. If he ever found out, any trust he had in you would easily be broken. You imagined he would lock you away in the palace, never let you see anyone but the staff and the heirs he would have you produce. And Sejanus…You shuddered at the idea of what Snow would do to him. It would make isolation look kind, you were sure.
Knowing you had no other choice, you tried again to tell him. “Snow, I wish to tell you one more thing—”
You were cut off by the sound of Sejanus greeting you and Snow. You prayed you did not look as ill as you felt.
“You look radiant this evening,” Sejanus said to you as he came to your side. Oh, Sejanus, he should not say those sorts of things. Not in front of Snow. Not when you knew how he felt.
Snow rose to his feet, dropping your hand. It was the polite thing to do as a gentleman, but you knew it was more a power play than anything else. And, though Sejanus towered over Snow, something about the way Snow held himself made him seem like the giant. “She does, doesn’t she? It must be the pre-marital bliss.”
You ignored Snow. Well, if you couldn’t tell Snow about the letter now, you might as well make polite conversation until the next opportunity arose. “Thank you, my lord. You look quite dashing yourself. Did Tigris design your suit?”
“She did,” he beamed. Oh, Sejanus, don’t smile at you like that. “She is the only one I trust to not make me look like a fool.”
“Funny,” Snow muttered.
You looked at him, your brows furrowed together. Was he trying to suggest Sejanus was a fool? Did Snow know something you didn’t? Your heart skipped a beat. Did he somehow already know of the letter? “What is?”
Snow blinked, as if he hadn’t expected you to hear him. A smile twitched at his lips. “You had said something similar, once.”
“Ah. Well, she is the best. Many people feel quite strongly over her,” you said. You smoothed a wrinkle on your dress. All of the kind talk between you and Coryo made you feel uneasy now that Sejanus was here. “It must be infuriating to know people like Tigris while they tolerate you.”
“Don’t be cruel,” Sejanus chided as Snow’s jaw clenched and unclenched. Don’t join in on the teasing. It will only make things worse.
“But it’s so easy.”
Sejanus took the seat to your right. From the corner of your eye, you watched as Snow’s hands flexed, as if he was restraining himself from lashing out at Sejanus. Knowing that no one could see your face but Snow and Sejanus, you allowed yourself to roll your eyes. The corner of Sejanus’s mouth twitched up into a smirk. In any other circumstance, you might have been laughing with him at Snow’s expense. This all felt too confusing for you—something you would rather attempt to process in private rather than search your feelings in the moment. So you moved to the edge of your seat, propping your arm against the railing, leaning your cheek against your palm. Snow, as he sat back down, reached for your other hand, and you allowed him to take it. Jealous little thing, he was. But you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind.
The performance soon began with little more spoken between you, Snow, and Sejanus. Mostly talks about your upcoming nuptials, which made it feel like a knife was being twisted in your stomach. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought that Sejanus was trying to be cruel. Sejanus, though, was something of an angel, and you were sure he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Perhaps that was why you were so nervous about this. You knew how Snow would read Sejanus’s actions. You knew it would be far from good.
You tried to push those thoughts away as the performers sang. It had been so long since you had been able to go to the opera, and you wanted to enjoy this moment. Snow would likely bring you to more performances, but just in case, you wanted to have fun while you could. Yet, Sejanus could not leave your mind. He felt entirely too close. It was almost suffocating. And when you dared to glance at him from the corner of your eye, and you saw the way his hand was placed on the arm of his chair, his palm face up, you felt ill.
So ill, you could not stand it.
When you dropped Snow’s hand, moving to leave the Lord’s Room, Snow rose to his feet. “Is everything alright, petal?”’
“I’m not feeling well. I just need to step outside for a moment,” you said.
Sejanus, too, stood. “What’s wrong?”
Oh, don’t do that. Don’t give Snow anymore reason to get upset or concerned.
You waved Sejanus off. “It’s too stuffy in here. I just need a moment.”
Snow watched you, his brows pinched together. You again wondered if he could read your mind, if he knew what you knew. Or perhaps he was acting as if he cared in his own weird way, trying to ascertain if he needed to go with you just in case this was something more serious. “If you wish to leave early, we can. I don’t want you to feel as if we must stay even if you are ill.”
Don’t be kind. You’re not sure you deserve it. “I don’t believe it’s that serious. Please, sit. I shall be back before you can even think to miss me.”
Somewhat reluctantly, Snow sat down. Sejanus remained standing, watching as you turned to leave. It was not until you left the Lord’s Room, sparing a glance over your shoulder, that you saw Sejanus sit down, too.
It was easier to breathe outside of the room. Not much by much, but certainly easier. Being sat between Snow and Sejanus, even if had been something of your own doing, had become something of a personal hell. Damn Sejanus. Damn him. This evening wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were supposed to have a nice evening at the opera. You were supposed to get on Snow’s nerves. You were supposed to laugh with Sejanus and not worry about his insane ideas. It was supposed to be nice, not…whatever it was about to become.
You found a somewhat secluded area of the foyer and leaned against the wall, trying to steady your heartbeat. You did not know if Snow or Sejanus or both would follow you. If they did, you worried about the other people who were invited eavesdropping on the conversation, realize that there was more than meets the eye regarding your betrothal to Snow. Oh, you would not be able to handle that scandal.
After a minute or two, the sound of the opera singer ringing in the background, you pushed yourself off the wall. It had been long enough that Snow would become concerned and come looking for you. And it was close enough to intermission that Sejanus—
“You look like you’ve seen death.”
You sucked in a breath. “You need to leave.”
Sejanus stepped closer to you. Too close. He reached out, brushing a loose curl away from your face. You fought the urge to flinch away. “We can go—”
You couldn’t help but laugh. “You cannot truly believe I would leave with you, can you? Sejanus, Snow is the King. He would do everything in his power, utilize every resource at his disposal, to find us and bring us straight to the Capital. You would lose your head, and I would never see daylight again.”
“That should not matter if we love each other. We could find somewhere no one could ever find us. We could live a life all of our own, never have to worry about anything else.”
“But I don’t love you.”
“Coryo told me that you would rather marry me. That you thought I am an easy man to love. Is that not enough?”
You squeezed your eyes shut. It was so hard to look at him and not cry. Why was he making this so difficult? Why was he putting you in this position? “I might have loved you. In a different life, maybe. But I do not feel what you feel for me. I will not risk my life and yours for a maybe.”
“But you will risk a life of unhappiness with Coryo?”
Why did no one listen to you?
Why did no one care to ask you what you wanted and actually listen?
“It is not as if Snow hates me. He cares, in his own way. Even if he shows it in his strange ways. I would want for nothing with him.”
“Can you love him?” Sejanus stepped even closer to you. He cupped your face in his hands. You squeezed your eyes tighter. “Tell me you will be happy with him, and I will leave you alone. I won’t bring this up ever again. I will leave—”
Sejanus was ripped away from you before he could finish speaking. Your eyes flew open. What was happening? Why—
Oh.
Oh no.
Snow’s face was blood red, his knuckles nearly matching as he gripped Sejanus’s jacket. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he spat.
“Coryo, I—”
“You said you didn’t wish to marry her. You said you wouldn’t try to take her from me. Was that a life? Were you trying to catch me with my guard down? What happened to not wanting to hurt me?”
“Please—”
You had never seen Snow so angry in all your life. Not even when you would spend every day at the Academy arguing with him. Not even when you had told him that you considered marrying Sejanus. Was Snow going to hurt Sejanus? He looked angry enough to kill. You couldn’t let that happen.
“Snow—” you tried to say, but he did not hear you.
“I should have the Peacekeepers drag you through the streets, throw you in a cell, and let you rot. I should have you executed,” Snow hissed. “This is treason.”
“Please, Snow—” you tried again.
You tried to think. Tried to figure out something, anything, to say that could quell Snow’s anger. But you couldn’t even get through to him. It’s like he didn’t even realize you were speaking to him. Oh, what could you say?
“I should make your execution a fucking spectacle. I should make everyone watch as you are hung—”
“Coryo, stop!”
Snow’s head snapped to you. His pale blue eyes looked you up and down, as if he was trying to determine if he should direct his ire to you. He let go of Sejanus’s jacket with a push. Ordinarily, it wouldn’t have made Sejanus stumble, but the sheer weight of everything brought the man tumbling down. Snow took a step towards you, his voice dangerously low as he asked, “Why should I?”
“I was telling him no. I don’t want to go with him,” you said, careful not to say Sejanus’s name. Saying his name in ordinary circumstances drove Snow insane. You hated to imagine what he might do if you did so now. He might just kill Sejanus with his bare hands. His hands. You glanced down, then reached for one of Snow’s hands. It was clenched into a fist, but he allowed you to open his hand, intertwine your fingers with his own. “I want to marry you, Coryo. I want to be your wife.”
Snow stared at your connected hands. He squeezed your hand. It looked like he couldn’t believe this was real. “He followed you out here. Were you planning to run away?”
You couldn’t lie to him. Not now. “He sent a letter this morning. He wanted to run away at intermission, when it was easy to disappear in a crowd. I…I tried to tell you, before he arrived this evening. I never intended to go with him.”
“He followed you.”
I didn’t ask him to, you wanted to say. But you knew that wouldn’t do anything to diminish Snow’s anger. Instead, you said, “I wish you followed me instead.”
When Snow looked at you, you could see his eyes softened ever so slightly. “I thought you might want some space.”
Though you did not wholly believe in what you were saying, you knew it was working to calm him down. “All I want is you, Coryo.”
For a second, a smile began to tug at Snow’s lips. But it vanished all too quick as he heard Sejanus begin to rise to his feet. “He needs to be punished.”
“Don’t have him killed.” When Snow’s eyes narrowed, you quickly added, “I don’t want the death of your friend, your best friend, to weigh heavily on your conscious. I-I know you’re upset now, rightfully so, but that should not mean you send him to the gallows.”
His jaw clenched and unclenched as he weighed your words. “Then what do you suggest I do? If we are to be partners in life, you shall have a say in carrying out punishments.”
Oh, he was being cruel. Perhaps rightfully so. Snow would not harm you physically, but he would not be so above hurting you emotionally. You had not told him about the letter, and in his eyes, you were sure that put you on a similar level of treason as Sejanus’s actions.
You fought the urge to look at Sejanus. “He shall enlist in the Peacekeepers,” you decided. “You can ensure he has an assignment far away from the Capital. Give him time to consider his betrayal.”
Snow said nothing. You worried he would dismiss your suggestion and call for the Peacekeepers anyways. That he would force you to watch as Sejanus was hung. You stepped closer, pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Please, Coryo?”
When you pulled away, Snow was blinking a mile a minute. You prayed that was enough to convince him, to show him that you were loyal to him. To spare Sejanus’s life.
“Go,” Snow spat at Sejanus.
Sejanus gave a shaky nod. He dared to look at you, his mouth beginning to open. Whatever he intended to say, though, was lost.
“If you are going to say anything, it should be to express your gratitude to her for sparing you from an execution.”
Sejanus swallowed. “Thank you.”
“If I learn that you have not enlisted by morning, however, I will follow through with stringing you up at the gallows.”
Sejanus nodded again and quickly left before more could be said. For his sake, you prayed he went straight to the enlistment offices. You weren’t sure if they were open at this time of night, but if he went now, he might be able to enlist first thing in the morning when they did open.
You let your head fall against Snow’s chest. His heart thump’d, thump’d, thump’d quickly. You wound your arms around his waist. “Thank you,” you whispered. And as he hugged you back, you added, “And I apologize for not telling you of his plans. I…I didn’t think he would be so foolish to try to follow through on them. Or, I suppose, I hoped he wouldn’t.”
“You truly wouldn’t have left with him?”
“I only want a life with you, Coryo. You…may not be an easy man to love, but that does not mean I cannot love you.” Maybe if you said it enough times, you mused, it would become true.
Snow pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “I want to move up the wedding date.”
You shut your eyes. “You’ll work poor Tigris to the bone trying to finish my gown in time,” you tried to tease. Your heart wasn’t quite in it.
“You could show up at the altar in a dressing gown for all I care. I don’t want anyone else trying to steal you away before I can make you mine.”
If this was the sort of anger you would have to grapple with should anyone else try— “Nor do I.” You pressed a kiss to his chest, just over his heart. A print of your lipstick left behind a stain. “I truly am sorry, Coryo.”
Maybe if you called him by his pet name enough times, he would forget this ever happen.
“Don’t let it happen again.”
As you stood there in his tight embrace, people began spilling out into the foyer. Intermission, it seemed, had arrived. And not a single one of them were aware of events that just transpired.
How lucky they were.
#the house of snow: a royal coryo au#coriolanus snow imagine#coriolanus snow x reader#coriolanus snow x fem!reader#coriolanus snow x female reader#coriolanus snow x y/n#coriolanus snow x you#coriolanus snow fanfiction#coriolanus snow fan fiction#coriolanus snow fanfic#coriolanus snow fan fic#coriolanus snow fic#starrywrites#starryevermore
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The Second Queen (ch.1)
Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!reader
Summary: 𝙴𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚜𝚞𝚛𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝙳𝚊e𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚌𝚛𝚊𝚣𝚢 𝚊𝚋𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐 𝙻𝚊𝚍𝚢 𝙷𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛, 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚜𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚎
Warning:: 𝚊𝚐𝚗𝚜𝚝, 𝚁𝚑𝚊𝚎𝚗𝚢𝚛𝚊 𝚒𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎, 𝚖𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚙𝚞𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛(?)
A/n: English is not my first language, there may be grammar problems, so...read at your own risk.
Chapter 2
GIFs
Everyone knows that Daemon Targaryen is crazy about his niece! Everyone can see that!
But is he looking at her right now? Noooo, he's looking at another flower that just appeared within the walls of this castle. Young Y/n Hightower walked around the courtyard and didn't know where to put herself. Alicent was standing next to the king, and the girl was not well acquainted with Rhaenyra. Rhaenyra had changed a lot, and she didn't want to get in her face.
Daemon watched the girl's tossing carefully, he wasn't listening to what his brother was telling him. He wanted to laugh heartily, watching the sweet and funny Y/n. She had always been like that. He remembered that. She hid behind her older sister, acting quiet and demure. But it seemed to Daemon that there was more to it than that. The girl was clearly hiding something inside herself.
"The weather is wonderful today," Daemon decided to walk over and speak to Y/n.
"Oh my prince!" she perked up "You're right, it is very warm today and I'm glad of it."
"Do you like warm weather?" The man walked past her, sitting down at the table and taking a goblet of wine in his hands.
"I love it! When the cold weather comes, I feel like I'm withering like flowers in a royal garden. I get so sad." the girl said and took the goblet of wine as well.
Daemon liked the way she spoke. Easy and casual. No playfulness, no fear, no vulgarity. Calm, outgoing, smiling. Daemon wondered how Otto could have such a beautiful daughter. The man wondered, if they married and had a daughter, was she just like her mum, or just like her dad?
Daemon grinned to himself again. He thinks like a fourteen-year-old boy who has fallen in love with the first girl .
The lords who saw the young Lady Hightower and Prince Daemon chatting involuntarily cast a glance at Princess Rhaenyra, who sat off to the side, bored. She occasionally cast her glance at her uncle, but her face expressed nothing.
"Look Daemon, it's the irises, they're so amazing," the girl ran around the garden dragging the prince behind her.
Daemon only smiled and followed the little lady.
"Does my lady like flowers? Which ones do you like best?" asked Daemon squatting down next to the girl.
"I like n/f," replied Y/n simply and quickly.
They moved over to a tree and sat under its crowns. Y/n told the prince about her day, occasionally distracted by the maids passing by. Damon only smiled.
"kepus!" came a voice from somewhere in the distance.
Princess Rhaenyra was approaching the pair. With a slightly annoyed mood. She hadn't reacted to her uncle's attitude towards the younger Lady Hightower, because she knew he would soon get bored of her. But it had been a week now, and her uncle had not visited her once.
"Princess," the Lady immediately stood up and bowed her head.
"Lady Hightower, shouldn't you be with the queen and serving her?" Rhaenyra immediately decided to point out the girl's place, for her place was next to traitors and liars.
Lady Y/n was dumbfounded at such a harsh behaviour of the princess, but what the girl definitely did not like was people who stick their noses where they are not asked. Clenching her fists, Y/n grinned:
"Princess, I'm not a servant. My sister has enough of them. My job is to enjoy my life and look for a potential suitor," the lady replied.
Rhaenyra blushed, coughed and looked at her uncle. There's that dreamy look again, but he's not looking at her, he's looking at the girl who first bared her teeth.
"Ao didn't visit nyke, uncle. Gōntan mirros massigon? ao promised nyke iā kipagon va se zaldrīzoti!" Rhaenyra pouted, feigning innocence (You didn't visit me uncle. Has something happened? You promised me a ride on the dragons!)
"Iksan mirrī busy bisa week. Ivestragī's gaomagon ziry another jēda, Rhaenyra," the man replied (I'm a bit busy this week. Let's do it another time Rhaenyra).
Rhaenyra was a little taken aback. She was about to hit the young Lady Hightower with her shoulder, but surprisingly the girl managed to dodge, causing Rhaenyra to trip over the hem of her dress. She didn't fall, but her ears lit up even more with shame.
"My lady, would you care to dine with me?" asked Daemon.
"My pleasure!" pronounced Y/n.
They began to walk slowly towards the castle, they were in no hurry, they had all the time in the world.
"You know Daemon, I dream of riding a dragon with you too," the girl said quietly, she turned to the measuring man and smiled at him, walking forwards.
Damon smiled even wider.
Y/n didn't realise how she'd ended up in that position.
She and Daemon had just decided to read a book about the Ancient Kings.
It all started when Daemon decided to play a prank and as soon as the book started to get interesting he just slammed it shut and lifted it up, and of course Y/n tried to get it. She jumped up so hard and pushed off Daemon's arm that he didn't keep his balance and fell off the chair. And Lady found herself in his lap.
"Gotcha!" exclaimed the girl joyfully, and made herself comfortable on his lap. "You've thrown me off my reading, now I won't be able to find the moment!" whimpered Y/n and turned away from Daemon, showing her back.
"Please forgive me, but you were so sweet, lady, I just couldn't help myself," Daemon frivolously hugged the girl from behind and rested his forehead on her shoulder.
"I wonder if there's ever been one king who loved his wife so much that he was willing to die for her? Reading all these stories, no one narrates the relationship of the royal consorts. And if they do, it's cheating, strife and jealousy. It's not even pleasant to read," the girl turned the page.
"I wish I could use my brother as an example, but..." Daemon rested his chin on the lady's shoulder.
"Yes.... if you were king, who would you want to choose as your wife?" the girl asked.
"What is it, little flower? You want to be my wife," smirked the man.
"Maybe. But then I'd want to be the only woman in your life. And if I found out you kept going to Silk Street...but I'd treat you to manhood and turn the brothel into a bloodbath," the girl smiled and turned to the surprised man.
All Daemon could do was close and open his mouth.
"Oh, what am I...so what's up with Aegon the Conqueror?" the girl changed the subject and sat down on the soft sofa next to the man.
And so for a month Prince Daemon and Lady Y/n danced between each other. It was already clear to the whole council and the king that the prince was very warm to the girl. So rumours of the wedding had already spread far beyond the Royal Lands.
Y/n walked around in high spirits as everything she had planned began to come true.
"Sister!" came Alicent's voice from the empty corridor.
"My queen," the lady bowed respectfully, preparing to listen to a lecture from her older sister.
"The rumours are growing. You must not see Prince Daemon. Father is furious, I'm amazed that he's holding back from screaming at you," The queen equalled her sister and they walked further down the corridor.
"He yells all the time, I'm getting tired of listening to him. And what if it's Daemon, he's a prince!" the girl resented.
"But his reputation," fretted Alicent.
"I don't care. I hear King Viserys is getting worse. Who knows what might happen," Lady Y/n sniggered and walked on.
"What?" The queen stopped.
"Viserys has not yet appointed Rhaenyra as his successor. Father is doing a good job, if this continues, Daemon will be king as a sibling. The council may be outraged, but he will have a short conversation with them," Y/n continued to explain.
"You...want to be queen?... "Alicent looked at her sister with fear.
"Why not? I'll just combine my desire to be queen and my desire to have the right man by my side. It's not all about you being on top of things," Y/n continued walking, ignoring her sister.
Alicent now understood why her father didn't scold his youngest daughter, she was so much like him. Cunning and secretive. Alicent became even more worried, she no longer knew the girl who was walking down the corridor. It wasn't her sister.
"What do you mean?" turned sharply to her faithful maid Y/n.
"They were seen in the brothel. Rumours have already spread through the castle and the prince has been dragged before the king, my lady" Tala looked worriedly at her mistress, so gentle yet strong.
"Sir Conyn is finding out the circumstances?" asked the lady turning away from the girl.
"Yes, he went there as soon as we heard. They were in the brothel, but it's not known if they were asleep or not," Tala continued her explanation.
"He can't, can he? I'm...boring him so much..." Y/n settled into a chair next to the fireplace.
"My lady...rumours of his love for the princess have been floating around the castle for a long time. It was said that he was obsessed with blood purity and that he wanted to have a 'pure' child," Tala said.
Lady Hightower sat holding back tears, then stood up.
"I'll go and hear what's going on over there," Tala didn't follow her Mistress, only bowed her head.
Her heart pounded frantically, the closer she got to the throne room, the more clearly the voices of the enraged king and prince could be heard. There were no guards and the door was slightly ajar, you could see the king pinning the prince to the ground and shouting some questions.
"Wed her to me?" came Daemon's voice.
"Who?" gasped Viserys, hoping his brother would say the name of the younger Lady Hightower.
"Rhaenyra...Wed her to me," Daemon said.
Y/n stepped away from the door. Breathing hard, her heart began to pound even harder.
"I thought so," came the princess's voice from the shadows, and then she stepped into the light.
"How long have you been standing here?" Lady Hightower didn't dare look into the princess's eyes; she didn't want to see arrogance and self-righteousness.
"Since the beginning. Just as I thought, my uncle doesn't care about you ladies, he will choose me. As the heiress to the throne, as the one that will give him children of pure blood," her voice was quiet but cutting at the deep wounds of her heart.
"Princess...You cried out about never marrying and that you didn't want to bear a child because otherwise you would be treated like an animal. What has changed?" Y/n shifted her tearful eyes to Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra was once again taken aback. She had said those words at every corner, that she didn't want to be a 'laying hen', she wanted freedom. She looked into Lady Y/n's cold eyes and realised that she had changed herself for the sake of defeating her 'rival'.
The doors of the throne room opened. Guards dragged Daemon out. The man glanced at the two girls and his gaze darted to Y/n, but she paid no attention to him. She turned and walked further down the corridor.
"Y/n!" shouted Daemon, but the girl didn't turn around. He shouted once more, but was faced with silence and emptiness.
Daemon felt like he had crossed the line. Crossed it in everything. He looked at his niece, who was looking at him hopefully, but he only grinned and let himself be led away by the guards.
When he left King's Landing, Rhaenyra saw him off from afar. But he did not see the queen of his dreams.
And two moons later, the young Y/n Hightower left King's Landing, returning to Old Town.
#house of the dragon#hotd#daemon targaryen#daemon targeryen x reader#daemon x you#daemon x reader#x reader
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banshee's lament - chapter 1.
aemond targaryen x stark ofc
minor jacaerys velaryon x stark ofc
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a former ward of alicent hightower and aemond's childhood companion, shera stark, returns to king's landing after ten years. ten years after the incident at driftmark that left her and aemond permanently disfigured. after so many years apart, shera and aemond are almost strangers. almost.
a/n: i posted the first two chapters of this story before, but they're being reworked -- so just poof what you know about them out of your mind when reading it now and think of it as a clean slate.
wordcount: 3k
@huramuna-fics - follow & turn on notifications for just my fic postings! no taglists right now, sorry.
content: smut, angst, fluff, disabled ofc, aemond being delulu & obsessive, major canon divergence, ofc has a service direwolf, i'm taking canon rules and putting them in a blender and taking a shot, arranged marriage
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The wind had finally died down that day, the trees somewhat still over the horizon. Their branches still wobbled with some errant breeze, whistling through the wood like a song.
The window was pushed outward, the crisp air crossing paths with the smell of smoke, whirling and mingling like lost friends. A small fireplace was warming the room as the lady perched on her windowsill, dark copper curls hanging around her like tendrils. Shera took in a deep breath of air— it was crisp and refreshing, pushing away the errant effects of sleepiness.
Her skin prickled in goosebumps beneath her nightgown as she turned to her bed. A large black mass was snoozing softly still, taking up the majority of the mattress. Slinking over, she snuggled herself close to the giant canine, blowing softly on his muzzle to wake him. Large amber eyes met brown and milky blue, pupils dilating and constricting in tandem, before the wolf let out a sleepy chuff.
“Wake up, my love,” Shera whispered, fingers digging into his shaggy mane as she scratched just the right spot. “Moongeist, we must start the day.” she hummed.
The direwolf rolled over onto his back, belly exposed to the chilled air. His tongue lolled out of his mouth, one leg kicking as his companion got the one itch just out of reach of his own claws.
“Oh, you’re a ham,” Shera mumbled into his fur, peppering him with kisses. “You’re no wolf, you’re a honey glazed ham,” she tickled his belly, causing him to let out an almost laughing whine. “With a side of sweet potatoes and winter chard.” she rolled next to him, snuggling into him like he was a person. Sprawled out from the tip of his outstretched legs, up to his nose, he outmatched Shera’s height by about one and a half feet. Westeros would surely need to watch out if her wolf ever learned to walk on two feet!
They lazed together for the better part of an hour before Shera called in the maids— but not before donning her veil and choker. The maids would only help dress her from the neck down, and were ushered out after for Shera to do her hair alone. She took in a deep breath as they fastened the corset around her form.
“May need to lay off the blueberry hand pies , my lady,” one of the maids murmured. “‘Tis getting hard to lace you up.”
Shera felt a swirling pit in her stomach at the comment— it wasn’t a secret that she was no svelte ermine. She had curves and a bit of extra mass in the softer areas of her body, coupled with scarred stretch marks around her sizable bosom and thighs. “… hm.” she snorted, not wanting to dignify the maid’s comment with a response. This was, unfortunately, the norm. The jabs, the pokes, the insults between sentences— even the serving girls have become brazen, snickering as Shera walked past. She didn’t exactly understand it— mayhaps it was because she could hardly speak to defend herself, mayhaps they think her daft and non-understanding of their less than tactful barbs.
As normal as it was, it made it no less tiring. “Just… lace it up,” she quipped, a bit too harshly, as she held her thumb and forefinger to her throat at the scratch of pain. “… I have things to attend to…”
“Yes, my lady.” the maids responded in tandem, squeezing poor Shera into a corset much too tight.
After they left, Shera picked up a shoe and threw it at the door, startling Moongeist. “Damned ptarmigans… clucking hens… when do they cease?” she groaned, patting the wolf on the head as he, ever dutifully, retrieved her shoe. “I’m… we’re the wolves— they’re supposed to be afraid of me.” she continued, as it usually went. She would whisper and murmur to herself (to Moongeist) while she readied herself. Sitting in front of the open window, her fingers deftly weaved through her auburn locks, working absentmindedly into a braid. She pinned the braid upon her head, glanced at the mirror, then unpinned it.
It became a back and forth task as she meticulously decided on a hairstyle— she wasn’t usually so vain, but apparently, Prince Jacaerys was arriving for a meeting. She’d spent some time with him the past few moons as they ‘courted’. He was polite, of course, and had grown into himself well since their childhood. But… Shera felt nothing for him, princely charm be damned. And she was increasingly sure he felt the same, more inclined to enjoy the company of Cregan rather than her.
But that was the way of the world, wasn’t it? To be trapped in a loveless box for titles, for armies and alliances, for oaths— that was fate. And fate… was usually unchanged. Shera oft cursed the Gods, the Old and the New, for weaving her tapestry of life in such a bereft and depressing manner. If she were to look upon it, it’d be dreary and uncouth, not fit to hang upon a wall, destined to rot and mold in a cellar for eternity.
But what did Shera know of love, anyhow. How could she— for who would love a banshee?
She settled on twin braids that settled upon her back, pinned up into two loops. Adjusting her veil in the mirror and assuring she wasn’t too visible, she made for the door, Moongeist pressed to her.
The winding halls of Winterfell had become second nature, muscle memory— but her mind wandered, imploring herself to think… Did she remember such paths at the Red Keep? She hoped her memory, if nothing else, would serve her well one day.
None of the denizens she passed by in the corridors spoke to her, only gave her stiff nods before avoiding her eye line. Was she such an abhorrent sight? Her heels clicked against the stone, fingertips skimming the walls as she stayed close to them, using the familiar winding gait to guide her to the Great Hall. Her stomach grumbled under her tight corset– she hadn’t even had time to break her fast before already being shoved to the dragon’s maw. She heard the whispers of the ‘dashing dragon prince’ arriving early, upon his dragon which was the color of a witch’s brew, green and sprightly. Shera couldn’t help but roll her eyes as she pushed the heavy oaken door to the hall.
Cregan was there, beard trimmed so as to not be unsightly, and laden in dark aurochs fur. Their ancestral weapon, Ice, was strapped to his back like a second spine, rigid and unyielding. He was faced towards the fire in the hearth, while Jacaerys was to his side, the two already deep in conversation.
The sound of the door opening was as good of an indication of her arrival as she would get, and they both turned to her in tandem. Jacaerys, gallant and princely as ever, rushed to her side, but not before stopping a few paces before, as Moongeist was pressed to her thigh with a wary look in his eye.
“My lady,” Jacaerys exclaimed, flashing his dazzling smile, his brown mop of curls bouncing as he approached, albeit cautiously. “You look radiant as ever.”
Shera’s brow rose from under her veil– her facial expressions were hardly seen, and she was able to give her unabashed reactions to things quite often. She was woe to master the art of masking, so she simply did not. He called her radiant– an alluring lie if she ever heard one, he couldn’t see her face, how could she possibly be radiant? She presumed his mother had been schooling him in the art of politics. That is what this is, isn’t it? It’s all just… politicking.
“My prince,” Shera responded softly, giving Moongeist an ever subtle command to sit to the side, allowing Jace to take her arm. She didn’t much like being touched by other people, it made her skin crawl, but she too needed to… continue the charade. “Thank you– you are quite early, I hope I look… presentable.”
“We were waiting for a bit, Shera,” Cregan commented offhandedly, cracking his knuckles slightly. He was a bit annoyed, she could tell. “But, ladies do take long to get ready, do they not, my prince?”
“It wasn’t a long wait, no worries,” Jace responded coolly. “But yes, it takes a small army and frequent turning of an hourglass for my mother to finally be ready, I imagine it’s similar for most ladies.”
Ah, yes. As if it doesn’t take Cregan an hour to pick out his furs for the day, pompous ass. And did Jacaerys don himself in that heavy dragonscale plated armor? Doubtful. Shera suppressed the urge to give an indignant huff. “My… deepest apologies,” she murmured. “I do hope my dear brother wasn’t such a terrible conversationalist.”
Cregan snorted as Jace guided Shera to her seat, pushing it in for her. “My mother– she wishes to meet you, of course,” Jacaerys prattled, scooting into the chair next to her (and Cregan). “We are going to go to the Queen for approval for the official betrothal… and subsequent wedding.”
Shera blinked slowly as she absorbed the information. She expected to have to meet Princess Rhaenyra at some point and for the Queen to become involved in the betrothal– but the wedding? Subsequent? The nail on her pointer finger dug into the nail bed of her thumb idly, picking, picking, picking as she mulled over her next words. “... will the wedding be soon, my prince?” she asked, sneaking a glance at Cregan, who had a glazed over look in his eye.
“... my mother wishes to secure the… union before her ascension, my lady.”
“The King is not yet dead– I don’t understand the rush.” Shera blurted out, her nail sinking deeper into her flesh. She felt like there was some sort of secret she was not a part of, some undisclosed plan that she wasn’t privy to Oh, yes, of course– she was just the pawn, wasn’t she?
“That is well and true– my grandsire, the King, has been in poorly health for the past few years. It is… only a matter of time.” Jace stammered, trying to regain the upper hand in the conversation.
“Rhaenyra’s ascension will happen sooner than later, Shera. It is only a wish that you and Jacaerys are well bonded by then, mayhaps even producing an heir.” Cregan interjected.
She wanted to vomit, she wanted to scream, she wanted to lash out at everyone– she was a vessel, a puppet for a greater vision of Westeros that nobody cared if she was specifically a part of– ‘twas only her luck she was the sister of the Warden of the North, who held an amassing army and ferocity for those he was bidden for. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Warmth spread onto her fingertip and Moongeist shuffled at her feet, a low whine coming from the back of his throat. She felt such a rage come over her for a split second, her vision blurring as she felt the overwhelming need to sink her teeth into someone and make them feel her despair.
“Okay.” she finally said, her voice sounding far away and small, as if it wasn’t even hers.
Jacaerys and Cregan conversated further while Shera stared off into some small point in the distance until her eyes watered from not blinking, blood pooling and staining against her nails.
“Thank you. I must break my fast now,” Shera suddenly spoke up, not caring if the two of them were in the middle of a conversation. “We will leave within a fortnight.”
The journey from the hall back to her room was a blur, she remembers curtsying to Jacaerys and bidding him goodbye and some other innocuous pleasantries. Sitting back at her desk, she tore off her veil in frustration, bracelets and earrings alike jingling. She put her head in her hands, feeling the all too familiar ache of tears building.
She didn’t want to go— why did she have to be married? Why was it her destiny to be a pawn? To be a wife? Especially to someone who was there. Her throat clenched as she tried to hold back the tears— to no avail. They burned and stung, her already tender demeanor withering.
Prying her hands away, she looked over her desk. It was strewn with miscellaneous books to which she struggled to read, along with some half-done charcoal sketches of prospective sewing projects. Shera wasn’t known for outbursts, as her quiet and ghostly prefecture was one that stayed in the background of things. But, she felt a roiling in her stomach, wrought over like forged castle steel, molten and aching and hot— it burned in her like a plague, working its way through her and exiting her body in the form of a wail, coupled with her arms sweeping off the contents of her desk to the floor.
The momentary feeling of anguish subsided as soon as it came and her throat ached from her cry. Her eyes felt heavy as she tried to get up and subsequently failed, sinking to the ground like a discarded rag. Moongeist let out a whine, propping his head under Shera’s arm, having her rest some of her weight upon him.
“I’m pathetic, my love,” she whispered, feeling all the part of a fallen porcelain doll, placated on her bottom upon the floor, legs out in front of her as if she were a child on a playroom floor. “Nothing like the Winter Kings of yore. I’m sorry.” Shera’s thumb rubbed on the wolf’s ear as she wallowed momentarily in self-pity and self-loathing.
Gathering some strength, she pushed the papers below her desk to the side. The sweeping motion befell something new— no, not new. ‘Twas old, upon inspection. It was a stack of letters, covered in dust now, but neatly tied together with wool twine. Unveiling one, she skimmed it over to the best of her ability.
Dearest Shera,
It isn’t the same without you here. My head hurts all of the time, I keep bumping into things and I can scarcely write. In fact, I am having Helaena pen this to you right now. She says hello.
Mother is in shambles, frayed at the ends like your old blue dinner dress. Her and grandsire are constantly whispering and she cries more often. I think she misses you.
As does Helaena. As do I. Mayhaps even Aegon.
Does your head hurt as well? What do you do to help with the pain? Are you able to walk without bumping into things?
I hope to hear from you soon.
Best,
Aemond Targaryen
That had been the first letter sent to her from King’s Landing— Cregan, to his own dismay, sat down and read it to her after she had spinned herself into a crying fit, sending the maesters into a tizzy as she threatened to reopen the stitches upon her throat.
In her poppy-addled young mind, she hadn’t recognized that it was not Aemond’s writing or words, but most definitely Helaena’s, as the letter Shera sent back were those of Cregan, and not hers.
Prince Aemond,
It is an honor to hear from you. I’m recovering quite well, at the behest of my brother. Winterfell is very different from the South, but I am finally finding my footing here in the cold.
I have been a wolf at heart this entire time, like my forefathers.
My ability to walk has been improving, as the maesters here are excellently equipped for such a feat.
It is my hope that we can both find a sense of normalcy in our lives once more.
I wish you well.
Regards,
Shera Stark
She’d hardly remembered when Cregan read it aloud, and she didn’t catch the cold, rigid wording, bereft of any warmth and camaraderie that she would have included. Truth be told, at the time of it being written, Shera couldn’t even hold her own spoon to sip at bone broth, much less walk.
It was unclear to her still, to this day, why Cregan felt the need to lie about her condition— but it was apparently a well placed one, as the next letter to come was in another tone all together. It was about three moons afterward, and the handwriting was different. It was a bit shaky, but proper and dignified.
Lady Stark,
I am most gracious for your reply. It is a balm to the Queen to hear you are doing well.
Let us both hope we are well on the road to our full recoveries.
Stay warm.
Signed,
Prince Aemond Targaryen
Shera’s fingers traced over the letter, she could still recognize it as Aemond’s handwriting— but the tone seemed clipped and cold, colder than even Cregan’s letter was.
There were a few more envelopes in the stack, but if she remembered correctly, there was nothing of substance. Her chest ached occasionally when she thought about it all— did Aemond think of her still? Or was she just a silly footnote in his life? She abhorred to admit to herself, much less anyone else, that she still did. Aemond Targaryen still had a place in her mind, an undeterred host in the recesses of her brain that she couldn’t rid herself of— if she even wanted to. She wondered what he looked like now. Was he finally as tall as Aegon, mayhaps more? Did he finally get his hands upon the book he had been wanting to read? She hoped he spent his days flying upon Vhagar’s back— a gift that he had paid the price for.
She did as well. But her price wasn’t for Vhagar. It was for Aemond.
Her throat burned and constricted with the threat of tears once more as she pulled herself from the floor, Moongeist’s body pressed to her hip to guide her. Padding to the fireplace, which was nursing a few hot coals and sparse flame, she fed the letters into the fire one by one. The flames grew as they burned, the ink upon the pages fettering into nothing but ash and sickly memory.
Were they strangers now?
Does he remember her?
… why does she still wish to see him?
A wolf travels south at the behest of one dragon– but her mind upon another.
How sordid.
#aemond fic#aemond x oc#aemond fanfiction#aemond targaryen#hotd aemond#house of the dragon aemond#prince aemond#aemond one eye#hotd fanfic#aemond fanfic#aemond fandom#my writing#banshees lament#aemond targaryen smut#aemond smut#hotd#house of the dragon#aemond x original female character#aemond x ofc#fic: banshee's lament
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service
pairing: kim seungmin x fem reader
synopsis: busy seungmin hires a cleaning lady to spiff up his home only to accidentally hire a topless maid ♡
word count: 2.5k
rating: mature, includes: unprotected sex, swearing, oral sex (f & m receiving), usage of the word "mister" in a sexual setting, "good girl" is used once, slight body cumshot, slight power play ??
note - seungmin as a business man is very sexy to me.. i hope i articulated this story well bc imagining it in my brain was very 😵💫
seungmin was a very busy man.
his career often had him working long, stressful hours. his success came with the sacrifice of his social life and maybe a couple of metaphorical gray hairs due to the constant goals he needed to reach for his company.
he was proud of his work, no matter how tedious his job may be. sure, he barely had time to himself but his mother had always advised him to become a hardworking, professional man and of course he listened. at such a young age, he found himself quickly getting promoted and making enough to live comfortably, he couldn’t complain.
he normally came home late, toeing his shoes off at the front door and sighing as he made his way to his room. tugging at his tie to fall back into his bed.
his house virtually looked unlived in. it was a lovely place, marble flooring with high ceilings but the only purpose it served him was to sleep and get ready for work the next day, an unbreakable cycle. he knew he needed to take better care of his home, at least dust it off here and there, but with what time? he could barely use the bathroom for five seconds before work emails would pour in. he figured it was about time he found someone to tend to the house for him, do his laundry, maybe have some meals prepared for him. he had the means to pay for such a service so why not? having a cleaning lady wouldn’t be such a bad idea?
he needed someone fast so he scrolled online for services while he unwinded in bed. the quicker someone could show up to fix his house up, the better.
he ended up finding an ad that piqued his interest, clicking on it to get more information. the rate they were charging was a bit high but he assumed it was probably because they included more in their cleaning packages.
“fuck it.” he sighed out as he booked the soonest available date, at least his house wouldn’t keep suffering from his negligence.
__
the next morning, he was getting ready for work as he got a confirmation text message.
“morning, mister kim. i’ll be arriving at 10:30, we’ll keep in touch” you had messaged. he was pleased at how quickly his appointment got approved and he finished up so he could greet you when you arrived.
eventually his doorbell rang and he walked over to open it, smiling at you as he moved aside to let you in.
“hello, mister kim” you smiled as you introduced yourself. you held your hand out for him to shake. he returned the smile and shook your hand firmly, he seemed like a gentleman and his house was lovely.
he explained everything around the house in great detail and gave you a small tour. it was a beautiful house, very modern and sleek although you could tell he barely lived in it, it lacked the warmth of a typical well loved home.
“feel free to make yourself comfortable.. i left a list on the kitchen counter of things i need you to do. thank you for coming so punctually, shoot me a text whenever.”
and with that, he was gone. grabbing his briefcase as he hurried out the door to start his day.
you looked over the list: sweep and mop, change his bedsheets, iron his suits and dust off his bookshelves.
cute, you thought as you noticed he signed his name on the bottom right corner in elegant cursive along with the date.
you started going around the house, working diligently, humming as you carefully dusted off his bookshelves. he seemed interesting, lots of books about philosophy and music. it seemed he was well versed in piano, having lots of classical sheet music scattered about.
your mind began to wonder.. he was handsome, was he single? he had to be seeing someone right? engaged at the very least? but the more you looked around, the more you noticed the absence of a womanly presence in his home.
just one toothbrush, one towel, no makeup lingering around, no forgotten panties or heels, nothing.
you weren’t one to jump to conclusions but normally one’s bedroom held a lot of information about someone.
is that why he requested your services? you wondered..
nothing wrong with hiring a topless maid to clean your house, it was always fun for both parties. he’d be satisfied with a cute little maid doing house chores and you’d be enjoying the attention and compensation. besides, he was pretty attractive and you couldn’t wait for him to get back home that evening to see what would ensue from him seeing you with your tits out for him.
but the problem was.. seungmin had no fucking idea he had requested services from a topless maid. he was tired, half asleep and just really needed his house to be cleaned. maybe he should’ve checked thoroughly, maybe he should’ve read between the lines when the site stated that they offered “special services”.
stupid, stupid mistake.
so when he comes home and unlocks the door, the last thing he expected was to see you semi nude.
his jaw almost hit the damn floor, eyes widening while you acted so nonchalant. you glanced over at him with a soft smile, washing some dishes while your pretty tits were on display for him, buds hardening from the cold air in his house.
“welcome back home, mister kim” you smiled coyly
“h-hi um..” his brain was short circuiting, he didn’t even know what to say or do (he would be lying if he said he wasn’t incredibly turned on to be greeted in such a way).
“excuse me.. im going to set my things down in my office” he said, trying not to look down at your exposed chest as he tried to also hide his painful erection.
he quickly walked off and checked the website again once he was alone in his office, laughing at how dumb his mistake was. if he had read carefully he would've noticed the implications of the website.
“dammit seungmin.. you are quite the idiot..” he said to himself with a chuckle.
however, it was a pleasant surprise even if it was unintentional on his part. he couldn’t remember the last time he had seen a nice pair of tits. this was making him realize how badly he needed to take a vacation from work and go have some fun.
maybe the lack of a relationship and intimacy was making him dizzy because he couldn’t help but think this was the best thing that could’ve ever happened to him.
so he let out a sigh and straightened himself out before walking back out. you had since finished the dishes and were leisurely wiping down his countertop.
“everything alright, mister kim?” you asked as you leaned over the counter, head leaning against one of your hands
he nodded his head and sat at one of the bar stools
“no.. everything’s fine. were you alright while i was gone?”
“mhm.. but i was excited for you to get back.. wanted you to compliment me on my job well done. did i do good mister kim? the house looks nice and tidy doesn’t it?” you giggled softly
“oh yes.. looks a lot better thank you. you did a perfect job, good girl”
“ah.. would you like me to take your shoes off for you? i mopped and i don’t want you to mess up my hard work..” you pouted.
before he could answer, you had made yourself over to him, getting on your knees beneath him and pulling off his shoes.
you could feel his gaze on you, he was a little tense and you found it absolutely amusing. you knew he was trying hard to act calm but you could see right through his demeanor.
“oh mister kim.. you’re so hardworking.. i can tell.. poor thing. all work and no play..” you cooed. “want me to help with that? i know you want to touch.. just tell me mister kim..” you stated blatantly, no need to beat the bush when you could tell from the tightness of his pants that he was turned on.
“a-are you sure?..” his voice was weak, he thought he sounded absolutely pathetic.
“oh yes mister kim.. i’m at your service remember? i wanna play too you know? i think i deserve it for doing such a good job.. been waiting for you to get home to me allll day.. i worked extra hard for my reward..” you looked up at him through your eyelashes with a devilish smile.
having sex with a client was never off the table for you, especially if you found them hot. if the situation arose and you were both down, you took the opportunity. you liked being taken care of after making their house look spotless. and lucky for seungmin, if he wanted to go further than just a little topless cleaning, you were more than willing to indulge him, he was just your type.
seungmin couldn’t even recall the last time he had sex.. he had been so swamped with work that he had since forgotten about such a thing. he was normally so uptight and frustrated with work, the occasional jerking off on the weekend wasn’t even doing it for him anymore.
he shyly leaned forward and cupped one of your breasts, giving it a firm squeeze before pinching the bud, his big hands were able to cup a decent handful and he was pleased at how warm they felt in his hand.
“how can i help you mister kim?.. oh please tell me.. i’m dying to get to work..”
his hands were basically trembling at the sound of your sultry voice. he could barely form a sentence, face flushed with his mouth slightly agape. this was absolutely preposterous but he was brimming with lust and want. he nervously started to undo his belt, pushing his bangs back a bit to get a better look at what he was doing.
there was nothing sexier than a man in a suit, freshly off work, a bit disheveled and tired from the work load but ready to to pull his cock out.
once his cock was visible to you, you bit your lip in anticipation. he was long, his cock leaking and an angry red, you were sure you could take care of his problem very well.
the length was making your mouth water, the idea of him being able to reach so deep inside of you making your thighs press together.
“oh mister kim.. your cock looks delicious.. may i have some?”
mouth open and willing to take him, you were so ready to taste him, hear the noises he would make. normally the shy ones were the loudest ones in your experience and you were excited to see him let go.
“go ahead.. make yourself right at home..” he says, cock twitching as he watched you inch towards his head, sucking on the tip and smiling against it
“so fucking yummy..” you whispered before taking more of him, closing your eyes when his cock hit the back of your throat.
you had to use a hand to stroke the bit that didn’t quite fit, gagging on his cock as you coated him in spit. drool trickling down his shaft and collecting on his balls as you reached down to give him a tight squeeze.
“s-shit.. i-i’ll cum if you do that..” he whined, eyes glued on everything you were doing to him.
and that only encouraged you to do it again, feeling his thighs clench as a grunt left his throat, pulling off just before he reached his high and giggling at him as he protested.
“don’t you wanna be inside instead?” you got up from your knees, bending yourself over the counter.
his eyes traced over the swell of your ass that was peeking from under the useless skirt. you were wearing a flimsy thong that would surely rip if he tugged on it just a little bit
“c’mon mister kim.. please.. i want your cock inside me..” canting your hips at him to entice him further but he was already planning on shoving his dick inside you.
he stood up behind you, lifting your skirt further to finally reveal your ass, thong irritatingly in the way so he picked it aside as he rubbed his cock against you.
he thought he was dreaming, maybe the lack of sleep was getting to him because there was no way in hell this was happening, not when it felt this good.
he gripped your hips tightly with one hand as his guided his cock to your hole, it was so tight, sucking his tip right in as he bit his lip in restraint. you opened your legs further for him as he pressed another inch in.
“fuckk mister kim.. can you feel how wet i am? my pussy is dripping..”
and he definitely could feel it. he could also feel how you purposely clenched around him, how soft your walls were, how inviting and warm your hole was. he couldn’t wait to have you full stretched along his cock.
once he bottomed out, he gripped your hair, pulling you into an arch as he fucked into you, tits bouncing with every sharp snap of his hips
his bangs hanging over his eyes, sticking to his forehead as he muttered incoherent curses.
“s-shit! you’re taking my cock so well..” he groaned, losing himself in the feeling of you
he didn’t know how long he would last, his balls tightening with every thrust. he was soon to be a goner, it just felt so fucking unreal, all this pent up stress about to blow deeply inside your pussy.
you moved against him, meeting his thrusts as you reached down to touch your clit, the ridges of his cock pushing against you so perfectly you thought your knees would give out.
“i-i’m gonna cum oh my god.. s-shit shit!”
one final pump and he was cumming, quickly pulling out to spill over your asscheeks. he was out of breath yet still rock hard.
you got on top of the counter on all fours invitingly, which seungmin gladly accepted the offer. spreading you open as he buried his face deep in your cunt, lapping hungrily as you moaned. wet noises filling his normally quiet home.
his tongue didn't leave a single crevice untouched, flattening and sucking harshly as your toes curled from the pleasure. he pressed his tongue in while his fingers came up to rub your clit. his nimble fingers coaxing an orgasm from you, one that made a mantra of "mister kim's" spill from your lips.
your essence all over his face as he licked his lips, sighing in ecstasy, giving you a light slap on the ass as he pulled your skirt back down
both of you in a haze yet still craving more. you knew this definitely wasn't going to be the last time seungmin would request services from you.
which was absolutely right.
seungmin quickly booked you again for the following week after you had left, same day and time. you were bubbling with anticipation for the next time you’d come over.
you fucking loved your job.
please refrain from reposting, modifying, translating, copying or stealing my work. - © binsito
#binsito#skz smut#stray kids smut#skz hard thoughts#skz x reader#stray kids x reader#skz x reader smut#kim seungmin#kim seungmin smut#kim seungmin x reader#kim seungmin fanfic#kim seungmin stray kids#seungmin skz#skz seungmin#stray kids seungmin#seungmin stray kids#seungmin x reader#seungmin x reader smut#binsito : seungmin
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Manners (Part 1)
Viscount Joshua Hong is by far the most eligible bachelor in London. Rich, handsome, and renowned for his excellent manners and refined tastes. Young woman would kill for the chance to be the Viscount's chosen bride. But nobody can quite determine which of the young ladies he prefers, and you are beginning to have your doubts. Is the Viscount really as gentlemanly as the ton seems to think?
Genre: Joshua Hong x Female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are a sibling to all the Lees (Woozi, DK, Dino) so your last name is Lee but the reader has no other specific characteristics, physical or otherwise.
Word Count: 3.2k+
Part 2
Series Masterlist [I would highly recommend reading the earlier stories in this series, Patience, and Candle, before this one but it's not strictly necessary.]
It was a warm evening in June when your life suddenly changed.
You had, at that point, been out in London society for almost two years without having received a single marriage proposal. Being the third child and eldest daughter of the Lee family, your responsibilities were far greater than your charms.
Most young ladies your age possessed a bountiful dowry and carefully developed talents to attract a husband. Instead, you possessed the responsibility of managing five siblings, an absentee father, and a mediocre dowry. Only three of the siblings were younger than you (but really, from the way he sometimes behaved, Seokmin might as well have been younger than you).
Mr. Lee (your father) was often away and busy managing affairs of the estate. He had ceased to care for society or matrimony since the death of your beloved mother. The responsibility of ensuring your siblings were raised well had naturally fallen on you, the eldest daughter. You did not entirely resent the circumstances. You loved all your siblings equally- even sullen Jihoon and cheeky little Chan- but your future was quite clear.
You would probably end up an old maid.
Or you would have, if not for that fateful June evening when Viscount Joshua Hong appeared unannounced on the doorstep of your London home.
—----------------------------------------------------------
The kitchens were in an uproar.
“These noblemen are quite careless!” the cook cried out as she struggled angrily to light the large coal fire. “To come around unannounced for dinner-the Viscount, you say- oh, what am I supposed to serve him? I was going to prepare a simple soup and fish for the family supper but that will certainly not suffice for a Viscount!”
You tried in vain to calm the cook.
“Really, Dotty, it is all right- I am sure the Viscount will not demand anything more than what we usually eat,” you told her gently.
“Of course he will not demand it- I am quite aware that the Viscount Joshua Hong has the most excellent manners. He should likely eat stale bread without complaint if we served it to him. But how would I ever be able to live with myself if I did that? Oh- how unfortunate that the Viscount should come for supper on the one night when there is no venison to be had…”
There was no calming the cook down. You sighed.
“Dotty, I must go upstairs to dress for dinner. Please do not worry and serve whatever you are able. The Viscount is a good friend of Jihoon and he will not mind a simple supper after having arrived unannounced.”
Dotty gave you a miserable look. “I should very much have liked to serve the Viscount my venison pie…”
You laughed. “I shall ask Jihoon to invite him to dinner again soon; and you shall be told well in advance so that you can serve your venison pie. But soup and fish will do for tonight.”
“Yes, miss…”
You left the kitchens through the back entrance and hurried up to the bedchambers through a side corridor; carefully avoiding the drawing room where Viscount Hong sat in conversation with your father and older brothers.
It was perfectly understandable that Dotty had panicked when the Viscount suddenly appeared at the doorstep of your London home to call on your brothers.
Viscount Joshua Hong was not only one of the richest noblemen in London, he was also the most handsome eligible bachelor. He was the epitome of impeccable manners and fine breeding. The entire ton had been waiting with bated breath ever since it had become public knowledge that he was in search of a wife.
You could not deny that you were equally curious. Any young lady that could catch the eye of Viscount Hong would surely be perfection incarnate. You could not think of a single woman that could compare. Perhaps the Duchess of Graham? Even she did not possess Viscount Hong's excellent manners.
As you reached the top of the stairs, you discovered that the entrance to your bedroom was barred by two of your younger siblings. Chan looked upset and angry, while little Nessie looked delighted.
You took a deep breath and prepared yourself for the onslaught.
“Why am I not allowed to sit with the gentleman downstairs?” demanded Chan, at the same time that Nessie cried, “Is it true Viscount Hong is here? Does he really have a golden carriage?"
You ushered them into your room before their loud voices could carry downstairs to the drawing room.
"You are not yet old enough to sit with the gentlemen," you told Chan firmly, before turning to Nessie. "Yes, Viscount Hong is here and you will be allowed to see him at supper. No, his carriage is not made of real gold."
"I'm sixteen-" Chan protested.
"Sixteen is not old enough."
"It's too old to be sitting upstairs with the girls," Chan insisted with a pout.
You sighed. "Stay upstairs for now. After supper, if Father permits, you may sit with the gentlemen," you told him. "Now go dress for supper quickly. Both of you."
You called for your maid to help you dress and then wrestled little Nessie and Lily into appropriate gowns. Fortunately, Chan managed to make himself look presentable on his own and you were able to get them all downstairs in time for supper.
The gentlemen were already seated for dinner; your father at the head of the table and Viscount Hong to his right along with your brothers- Mr. Lee Jihoon and Mr. Lee Seokmin.
"Remember to curtsey," you reminded your little sisters quietly.
They both curtsied prettily for the benefit of Viscount Hong, who greeted you and your younger siblings warmly with a handsome smile and bright eyes. He was characteristically patient when little Lily suddenly threw a tantrum and insisted on being allowed to sit beside him.
"I will sit beside the Viscount, you never allow me to sit beside the Viscount!" Lily cried, stomping your feet. You laughed nervously, taking your six-year old sister gently by the arm.
"Come now, Lily, I've told you before that you must behave when we have company-" you scolded lightly.
"I should very much like to sit beside Lily," Viscount Hong said with a kind smile, before turning to your father quickly. "Unless, sir, you should have any objection."
Your father waved a hand dismissively. "Let the child sit where she likes, we must get on with dinner."
Jihoon surrendered his seat to little Lily and moved around the table to sit beside you instead. You lowered your voice and mumbled in a low voice to your elder brother.
"Of course we are delighted to have the Viscount here for dinner, it's not that anyone dislikes his company," you mumbled. "But perhaps you could ask him to give us notice next time? Dotty was quite a mess about what to serve for dinner."
Jihoon coughed into his napkin.
"I don't know why he is even here," your brother whispered. "It's quite unlike Joshua. He is usually incredibly well-mannered but really, neither Seokmin nor I invited him here tonight and he simply won't leave."
You looked at your brother in surprise- you had thought that the Viscount was surely here to discuss urgent business with your brothers or father.
"Oh…"
The servants entered with dinner, so your conversation with Jihoon was cut short. You were forced to turn your attention to the Viscount, who sat opposite you and was listening patiently to a fairy tale that Lily was reciting.
"Lily, stop boring the Viscount," Chan scolded her lightly. He turned to the older gentleman with bright eyes. "Viscount Hong, is it true that you have five thoroughbred horses and three pure white Arabian horses in your stables? And that the Arabians were brought from overseas?"
Joshua smiled. "Yes, that is correct. Are you interested in horses, Chan?"
Chan flushed. "I've studied them a little."
"He's studied them far more than he's studied mathematics," you said lightly. Chan frowned but Viscount Hong's dark eyes flickered towards you in amusement. He gave you a small smile.
"I see your sister doesn't like your interest in horses," Joshua remarked.
"My sister doesn't like anything interesting," Chan complained and you nearly choked on your soup in embarrassment before giving your younger brother a stern look.
"Chan! "
But Joshua only turned to look at you with his usual kind smile. "If you can vouch for Chan having completed his mathematics, Miss Lee, then I should be glad to invite him to visit our stables next week to see the horses."
Chan's eyes widened in delight and he jumped out of his seat.
"Viscount Hong, would you really-"
"I believe the Viscount said the invitation was dependent upon you completing your mathematics," you reminded your brother calmly. "So sit down and finish your dinner. And thank you, Viscount Hong, I would not want us to intrude upon your hospitality."
Viscount Hong smiled. "I do not consider it an intrusion. It is the least I can do."
"We are grateful, all the same."
Your father cleared his throat as he finished his soup. The senior Mr. Lee was not generally a social man, but even he could not ignore the need to engage in polite conversation when there was a man of such noble standing as the Viscount at his table.
"Were you in attendance at the Hastings' ball yesterday, Viscount Hong?" your father asked. "My children tell me it was quite a wonderful event. And since you are looking for a wife, I suppose attending these events is of more importance than ever."
Joshua nodded respectfully at your father.
"Indeed, sir, I was in attendance. In fact- I was fortunate enough to have danced once with your daughter," Joshua replied with a small smile.
You nodded. Viscount Hong was very much an in-demand dance partner, but you were grateful that he had still asked you to dance with him a number of times over the course of the season. You knew better than to read too much into a mere dance, however. Joshua also regularly danced with plenty of women far more eligible than you- Miss Jeon, the Duchess of Graham, Miss Williams, Miss Yoon…
It was a long list that you did not care to repeat.
Mr. Lee nodded. "Yes- I am sure my daughter is quite grateful for your company."
You flushed in embarrassment at the implication that the Viscount had danced with you out of pity, but the topic of conversation was quickly rerouted by Chan- who had been unable to take his mind off the horses.
"Viscount Hong, when you said that I might visit your stables next week," Chan pressed eagerly. "Which day of the week were you suggesting, as I have my lessons on Thursdays…"
You frowned. "Chan!"
Viscount Hong laughed. "It is quite all right, Miss Lee. Shall we say Wednesday, Chan?"
"Wednesday sounds excellent…"
The supper passed in a pleasant manner. Joshua's unannounced arrival was certainly not convenient but you had to admire how smoothly the gentleman blended himself into your family supper. He was polite, but without showing any of the airs and superiority that someone of his station could have displayed around your family.
He showed enthusiasm for Lily's stories, patiently answered Chan's questions about horses and even joked around with Jihoon and Seokmin, whom he had known for many years. You knew that Viscount Joshua Hong was as far, far, far out of your reach as a man could possibly be but…
Well, there was no harm in silently admiring such a wonderful specimen of the opposite gender, was there?
You ushered your sisters upstairs to bed after dinner. Chan, stubborn as ever, insisted on being allowed to stay in the drawing room while the gentlemen smoked a pipe. You left him be: disciplining Chan was quite out of your hands and you had decided that you would begin to leave it to Jihoon.
You had just put the girls to bed and were about to undress for bed yourself when there was a frantic knocking at your door.
You opened the door, startled.
"Chan?"
Your brother was pink in the face and his eyes wide as he squeezed inside your room and closed the door behind him.
"Shhh! You will not believe what is happening downstairs!" Chan hissed.
You raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"
"We were all in the drawing room- and suddenly Viscount Hong and Father went into Father's study alone. Even Jihoon and Seokmin agreed that it was extremely strange for them to go off alone so I snuck into the study to listen in on their conversation and-"
"Chan!" you scolded him. "You cannot be eavesdropping on Father's-"
"You may scold me later! Only listen for now- Viscount Hong has asked father for permission to offer for your hand!" Chan whisper-yelled.
You froze.
"Sorry, my what?" you asked.
"Your hand," Chan repeated. "In marriage?" he added unhelpfully.
Your face felt hot. "Don't be foolish. You must have misunderstood their conversation. Viscount Hong would certainly marry a woman more suited to his station. To even suggest otherwise is nonsense-"
Chan looked angry. "I know what I heard, sister! He clearly said 'I seek your blessing to offer for your daughter's hand'- and surely, he is not intending to marry Lily!"
"He is not intending to marry me either-"
There was another sharp knock on your door and both you and Chan jumped, startled. You opened it to find a maid standing outside and she greeted you with a bow.
"Miss Lee- your father has requested you to come downstairs to his study."
—-----------------------------------------------
You went downstairs in a mixture of disbelief and anxiety. It was impossible that Viscount Joshua Hong had made an offer for your hand- Chan meant well but he was hardly the most brilliant young boy of his age. He had clearly misunderstood something.
You entered your father's study anxiously.
"Father?"
Mr. Lee stood from his desk. Joshua was seated quietly on a chair across from it- his expression was unreadable.
"Ah-daughter. Here you are. I believe the Viscount has something to say to you. I am afraid I left my pipe in the drawing room so I shall return to it. You may both converse here in my study."
And your father briskly left the room, closing the study door behind him and leaving you entirely alone with Viscount Hong.
Oh no.
Oh no.
"Miss Lee?" Viscount Hong asked you gently as you stared frozen at the now closed study door. He stood and stepped closer to you. "Would you like to take a seat?"
You turned to face him sharply.
"What is the meaning of this?" you demanded.
Viscount Hong gave you a small smile. He seemed a little surprised by your sharp reaction but reached for your bare hand- you were not wearing gloves so his soft fingers glided over your knuckles- and gently drew you closer to himself.
"Miss Lee. I suppose the present circumstances make my object in speaking to you here quite evident, but I will still pose the question to you," Joshua said slowly. His hand pressed yours. "Would you do me the honour of becoming my wife?"
You felt faint. You could not make sense of what was happening.
"But-but…" you stuttered awkwardly. "But why?"
Joshua looked taken aback.
"Why?" he repeated.
"Why would you want to marry me?" you cried.
Joshua let out a small, bewildered laugh. Your question seemed to amuse him. "Well- for the very reasons that any man would want to marry a woman, I suppose. For love! Should I perhaps have started with that instead of directly jumping to marriage?"
"Yes-I mean no-, I mean…" you trailed off and pulled your hand out of his grasp before moving to learn against the study table. "Oh my god, I feel rather faint."
Joshua followed you, concerned.
"Do you need help-"
"I am fine," you brushed him off. Your heart was beating at an unnaturally fast rate and you worried that it might suddenly explode in your chest. "I just… I don't really know what to say…"
Joshua took a step back from you warily.
"Am I to understand from your reaction," he began slowly and carefully, "that my affections are unwelcome?"
"No, not… not unwelcome, exactly, more shocking," you replied hastily. You took a deep breath and tried to calm yourself down and digest this strange situation that you had suddenly been thrust into. "Viscount Hong, do you expect me to believe that out of all the beautiful, talented and rich young ladies of the ton, you are in love with me?"
The Viscount slowly kneeled in front of you and took your hand into his once more, with a soft smile.
"I thought you would have noticed my affections. Perhaps I concealed them better than I imagined. I believed that my admiration for you was quite evident," Joshua said quietly.
"Clearly it was not," you told him firmly. "I have it on quite good authority that there is a running bet in the assembly rooms regarding which young lady the eligible Viscount Hong will propose to by the end of the season, and I can tell you with absolute confidence that not a single person has put their money on me! Even Seokmin has placed his bet on the Duchess of Graham!"
Joshua took a deep breath and nodded.
"I see my mistake."
"Do you?" you asked weakly.
"Yes," Joshua replied simply. He stood up and stepped back from you. "I thought it was prudent to be a little more… guarded about displaying my affections for you in public but I see now that I should not have held back so much. You did not even realise you were being courted."
You stared at him. "I… I do not think anyone realised, Viscount Hong."
Joshua's cheeks flushed pink. "Yes- well. Allow me to remedy my mistake. I will retract my offer for your hand for the moment, Miss Lee, as I see now that I have been hasty. And instead, I seek permission to enter into a formal courtship with you."
"Ah…"
"I will court you for one month before I will ask you once again to marry me," Joshua continued. "And if by then you still do not believe my affections for you are true, I will accept your rejection as gracefully as I can."
You still could not believe it. The image- the thought of yourself marrying Viscount Joshua Hong simply would not manifest completely in your mind. Even when you closed your eyes for a brief moment and tried to picture Viscount Hong at the altar, you still saw him with women more suited to his station- the Duchess of Graham, Miss Jeon, Miss Williams…
"Do you really love me?" you asked him weakly. You hated how exposed and vulnerable you felt in this moment, looking up at this man that was better than you in every conceivable way. "Me? Out of all the more eligible young ladies in the ton… you are quite sure you wish to marry me?"
Joshua stepped forward and seized your hand before bringing it up to his lips. His fingers pressed softly but firmly against your knuckles.
"I am sorry," he told you kindly, his dark eyes shining in the dimly lit study. "If I have made you feel unworthy."
You swallowed. "It is not… it is not that you have made me feel unworthy, only-"
"Yes. I wish to marry you, and only you, Miss Lee. By the end of this month, I shall ensure that you will never again question my love or commitment towards you."
He turned and left your study.
And so began, on a warm June night, your courtship with Viscount Joshua Hong- the most elite and sought-after bachelor in London.
---------------------------------------------------
A/N: As always, thanks for reading and feel free to share your thoughts or inputs!
Since Wonwoo and Joshua were neck-and-neck on the poll as of the time of me posting this, I've decided to go ahead with Joshua since his is shorter/simpler and we'll be doing Wonwoo next.
#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#joshua hong#seventeen fluff#joshua x reader#joshua hong x reader#joshua hong imagines#joshua hong scenarios#hong jisoo#joshua fluff#joshua angst#regency!au#seventeen angst
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