#tulle embellished | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonchildstyles · 2 years

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l'amoureux

weddings are beautiful, especially in Paris, but as the bride's personal assistant, y/n didn't expect to lose herself in the magic.

wordcount: 11k

—————

"(Y/N), I think I'm going to lose it."

Taking a deep breath, (Y/N) tried to center herself before turning on her heel to face Priscilla. Finding her boss with the perfectly creamy and embellished bridal veil in hand, she could only imagine what kind of imperfections Priscilla believed she found in the accessory.

"What happened?" (Y/N) chirped, the feigned pleasantry coming as second nature at this point with how hellish these last nine months have been.

Holding up the veil with the sparkling adornments facing her, Priscilla's hands were shaking. (Y/N) couldn't tell if it was the three cups of coffee she made herself before they'd even left the villa for breakfast or if Priscilla was three seconds away from a legendary tantrum.

"I think they gave me honey pewter, and not the lavender pewter I asked for when I ordered," Priscilla rushed out, shaking the veil in (Y/N)'s face as if she could see the sparkles better if they were less focused, "Do you see that? That's going to throw off everything I had picked out for my bouquet!"

"Hold on, let me see," (Y/N) indulged her, grabbing for the delicate veil before her boss could have a chance to rip it to shreds. Angling the crystals to the light, (Y/N) could see some warmth in the jewels, but she remembers specifically making the order for Priscilla and emphasizing how important it was that the crystals lean on the cool tone (it was easier for both (Y/N) and the bridal shop to just do it this way, no matter if Priscilla was difficult during the entire process). There was no way this could have slipped by, especially with the amount of email updates (Y/N) requested for Priscilla throughout the entire making of her veil.

Pulling out her phone and swiping into her professional email, (Y/N) found the initial conversation with the bridal boutique owner, all the details of the order spelled out plainly before being verified by the owner. Inside the same thread, photos had been sent with very clearly lavender hued jewels stitched to the tulle inbetween the romantic pearls. Examining the photos further, (Y/N) couldn't help but notice that, aside from the crystals and pearls, this veil looked nothing like the photos she had received.

Priscilla's veil was supposed to have a subtle sheen to the fabric, chosen for the express purpose of emulating the way the Eiffel Tower sparkled at night which was exactly where she wanted to have her bridal shoot the day before the actual wedding. Minimal lace detailing was meant to border the entire hem, matching the delicate bodice of the gown Priscilla planned to wear during the ceremony. The veil in her hand had none of that, something she was surprised her boss hadn't picked up on, but was grateful for nonetheless.

Peeking over her shoulder, Priscilla was busy with her daughter, Lenore, as the toddler walked her around the room, pointing at every tiara and ivory gown the tiny boutique offered. At least she could count on baby Nora babysitting her mother when (Y/N) couldn't. With her boss distracted, (Y/N) went on her mission to find the salesgirl she'd just had a choppy, half-French, half-English conversation with.

"Ex-Excuse me?" (Y/N) muttered as quiet as possible before the girl could disappear behind a curtain taking her to the back.

"Oui?" she chirped, petite blonde brows raised.

Holding up both the veil and her phone, (Y/N) did her best to remember the two semesters of French she took in high school. "Le... Le voile? It's not... It's non, not right," she struggled through, pulling up the string of photographs of the correct veil on her phone in her other hand, "We need this one."

She watched as the salesgirl looked back and forth between the photos and the veil in her hand. "Comment tu t'appelles?"

"Um—its for Priscilla King?" Despite the fact she knew she couldn't butcher Priscilla's name like the French she didn't know, (Y/N) didn't feel confident saying much of anything right now.

"May I?" the girl asked in accented English, gesturing to the veil in (Y/N)'s hand.

After offering it up, (Y/N) watched as the salesgirl's eyes immediately dropped to the ticket looped around the comb attached to the veil. It only took a moment for the girl to turn the ticket around, displaying a completely different name on the tag.

They gave her the wrong veil.

"Je suis vraiment désolé," the girl bubbled off, muttering out something about bringing the right one before holding up one finger and disappearing passed the curtain.

(Y/N) let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding.

Priscilla had been a nightmare as soon as the real wedding planning started a year ago when she found out it was more than just looking at wedding magazines and telling her wedding planner what her budget was (there wasn't one). But, in the last few months especially, she had escalated into a territory that made even her fiancé cower when she was in one of her moods, and Nate was one of the most firm and level-headed guys (Y/N)'d ever met (he really had to be if he was going to be with Priscilla at all). And, unfortunately for (Y/N), since she was Priscilla's full-time personal assistant and part-time nanny, she got the brunt of it all.

At least with this, she wasn't going to get her head ripped off, unliked when they found out the venue had accidentally ordered one case less of the very specific champagne Priscilla insisted on serving. That had been one that even had Nora asking why her mom's face was turning so red over some bubbly water.

Stepping towards the case of the something blue's the bridal shop offered, (Y/N) caught Nora's attention first before her mom shot her a panicked glance when she noticed there was no veil in sight.

"Everything's okay," (Y/N) shot off before her boss could say a thing, "They brought us the wrong veil on accident, but I showed her the pictures and emails, and she's getting yours right now."

"So, no honey pewter?"

"Nope. And, there's going to be lace trimming."

"Oh, thank god," Priscilla exasperated, looking much too relieved over this simple of an inconvenience. "(Y/N), I don't know what I would do without you; I'd probably lose my mind."

(Y/N) refrained from telling her she most likely already did long before (Y/N) entered the picture. Instead, she plastered a smile on her face and hoped they would make it back to the villa in time to take a nap before she would be on Nora duty while Priscilla and Nate had a final meeting with their wedding planner before guests started pouring in tomorrow for the start of the three day long celebration leading up to the actual wedding on Friday.

"You know I'm always happy to help."

————— (Y/N) sighed as she stood outside of the banquet hall's bathroom. As soon as the guests started pouring into Paris this morning, she had been on Nora duty while Priscilla and Nate ran around with the wedding planner, leaving her to entertain the toddler for hours. Now, she was left exhausted as she lent against the elaborately carved wall of the hall, watching as the bride and groom welcomed their guests in before a dinner and cocktail hour would be served to kick off the next couple days worth of celebration.

"Nora, sweetie," (Y/N) called, turning to face the heavy wooden door to the restroom, "do you need help?" It'd been longer than five minutes, which was cause for concern for the easily distracted Nora.

"No, I'm just wiping!" Nora chirped through the door, much too loud given the echo provided by the looming hallway of the banquet hall. (Honestly, the space was basically a cathedral, as far as (Y/N) was concerned. Stained glass windows were placed high on the intricate walls, tinting the vaulted ceilings in shattered hues. This place was much more than a banquet hall, especially if the deposit for one night was anything to go by).

The sound of a huffed chuckle came from behind (Y/N), the laugh getting her to instinctively turn on her heel. She had an apology poised on her lips, a reciprocating smile that said "kids, right?", but as soon as she caught who was behind her, she stopped a breath short with her lungs stunted.

Dressed in a raspberry blazer, gold accents stitched through the seams with curling brown hair held back only by a pair of large sunglasses, was Harry Styles.

Harry actual Styles. In real life.

(Y/N) didn't have a chance as soon as she caught sight of that curving smile, dimples and all, as he advanced down the hall to the men's bathroom just to the side of her. She was sure she looked like a guppy with the way she gaped her mouth open as if to say something before snapping it closed.

Sucking in a deep breath, the air coming in prickles through her throat, she did her best to form a coherent thought. "Sorry, she's just..." (Y/N) breathed out, an absent smile plucking at the corners of her lips as he came closer. He really did have the smallest group of freckles dotted over the bridge of his nose.

"'S alright, it was funny," he told her, voice deep and rich. It was familiar to her—at least as familiar as a voice could be when only previously heard through a pair of headphones or a speaker.

With that, he slipped around her. A polite, lopsided smile was on his lips, as he disappeared into the restroom.

(Y/N) stood in shock, watching at the bathroom door closed heavily behind him, only a flash of the blazer and the flare of his pants seen before he was gone.

That was Harry Styles.

What was Harry Styles doing in Paris? What was he doing at this venue in Paris? Priscilla and Nate had rented out the whole space for the entire night, so no one outside of previously RSVP'd wedding guests should be here.

There was no way he had been invited to the wedding, though, right? Priscilla surely would have mentioned if she knew Harry Styles at all, let alone well enough to invite him to her one-hundred dollar per plate, per course, per person wedding. Right?

(Y/N) even helped her mail out invites and had passed along the final seating chart to the wedding planner, she couldn't have missed a name like his, right?

Just then, Nora popped out of the bathroom, tiny fingers grabbing for (Y/N)'s hand before (Y/N) had even noticed she was there.

"I'm ready now," Nora chirped, already tugging (Y/N) back to where the bride and groom were shaking hands and hugging guests, welcoming them into the space.

Though her brain was still a bit rattled (she had literally been listening to his music just this morning as she got ready and now she was sharing the same air as him), (Y/N) escorted Nora through the fray of guests until they had reached her mom and dad by the entrance.

"There you are!" Priscilla beamed as soon as she saw her daughter, reaching her arms out to pick Nora up and sit her on her hip. "Got everything taken care of, Nori?"

"Yeah, now I have room for dinner," Nora smiled, nothing short of proud of her accomplishments in the bathroom.

Priscilla only laughed along with the guests that were slowly shuffling through the entrance that had caught the exchange, bouncing her daughter on her hip before turning to (Y/N). As soon as she caught sight of her assistant's face, the dark arches of her brows came together in a pinch.

"Is everything okay, (Y/N)?" she asked, stepping out of line and letting Nate field all of their relatives and friends for a moment.

(Y/N) floundered as she tried to find her voice, her mouth suddenly dry as the memory of him was brought to the forefront of her mind. "I think... I just saw Harry Styles by the bathrooms."

"Oh, is he here already? I don't remember saying hi." With Nora hooked over her hip, Priscilla stood on the toes of her heels, eyes scanning over the hall in search of the head of brown curls (Y/N) could probably point out from memory.

"You know him? He's really here for the wedding?" (Y/N) questioned, trying to keep her jaw from dropping.

"Kind of," she shrugged, dropping her search to match (Y/N)'s wide gaze, "Nate knows him better than I do, but yeah. His firm reps Harry, but they don't see each other too often. It's mostly through his manager, but Harry's always friendly and super kind when he comes in; he's so good at remembering the weirdest things Nate mentions in passing. We decided to invite both of them."

(Y/N) didn't want to admit that she knew exactly who Harry's manager was and was excited at the thought of Jeff also being in attendance of the wedding.

"I can't believe you've never told me," (Y/N) gaped, "You've heard me listening to his stuff all the time, and you never said anything. I helped with the seating chart and I didn't even notice his name!"

A soft smile worked its way onto Priscilla's lips. "I know, I thought that was weird, but I figured you'd find out soon enough. You should talk to him more; he's really nice, (Y/N)."

"I can't talk to him," (Y/N) immediately shut her down, remembered the way she looked at him like a guppy during the whole two second interaction by the restrooms. A wonderful first impression.

"Why not?" Priscilla pressed, painting a bright smile over her face when one of her relatives skated passed their conversation.

"He's Harry Styles, I can't talk to him," she reasoned though it sounded silly out loud. That thought was only reaffirmed when Priscilla gave her an arched brow and a quirked smile.

"Whatever, (Y/N)," Priscilla sighed with affection for her assistant, "We'll be here for a few days, so I doubt you'll be able to avoid him much, but I'm excited to see you try."

Shaking her head, a short smile tugged on (Y/N)'s lips. "You want to see me suffer."

"No, I would never," Priscilla waved off, "Nora likes you too much for me to torture you. But I enjoy seeing you torture yourself over silly things like this."

Before (Y/N) could give any kind of smart remark back, Nate beckoned Priscilla back to the fray, where an elderly couple (Y/N) remembers as Nate's great-aunt and uncle was waiting to greet the bride. Priscilla gave them a wave before turning to (Y/N) one last time, something wicked turning the very corner of her mouth.

"Have fun."

With that, she walked back to join her groom, Nora on her hip waving to (Y/N) over her mom's shoulder.

—————

"This way, this way, s'il vous plaît!"

Tearing her eyes from the Degas painting hung up high on the gallery wall, (Y/N) followed the guide that was touring their group through the Louvre. With Priscilla, Nate, and Nora spending the day with their families before the craziness of the pre-wedding shoot tomorrow and the big day on Friday, (Y/N) was given somewhat of a day off of all her duties. After forwarding Priscilla everything she might need while filling out some of the marriage paperwork that went along with having an abroad wedding, she was left to either go on the wine tasting at one of the beautiful vineyards outside of Paris, or on a guided tour of the Louvre—both booked and paid for by the bride and groom so their guests can enjoy a taste of Paris as a thank you for spending their special day with them. As much as (Y/N) would have loved to get a little day drunk at a French vineyard, she didn't trust that she wouldn't be on Nora duty later in the evening. Instead, she packed herself onto the shuttles with some of Nate and Pricilla's family and friends that would take them to the art museum.

Now, almost an hour into the tour, (Y/N) wished there wasn't a guide telling her when to move on from each room and where to go next. Of course each room was teeming with people just as excited to see the classics as she was, but that didn't diminish any of the magic she felt staring at the pieces, a tiny plaque next to them detailing out the title and materials used with a famous artist's name attached. She was currently entranced with the Degas paintings of all the tutu clad ballerinas—dramatic in the value but tender in each stroke—and didn't want to go before she had a chance to get a look at each and pretend she was there in the opera house watching those girls perform.

But, as she had found during the beginning of the tour, the guide wasn't going to leave without all members of the group with them. He would stand at the threshold of the next room, mega-watt smile on his face as he waved his little orange flag above his head, beckoning the group to come this way, this way! It was easier on everyone if she said her quiet goodbyes to her favorite pieces with a lingering glance and a photo on her phone before joining her group.

Before she could pout any at the loss of the Degas paintings, the guide directed everyone with a bright smile into the next long hallway. In here, marble statues and sculptures were dotted around the space, standing proud and glimmering in the sunlight filtering through the open windows. The space was otherwise sparse, leaving all attention onto the legendary figures planted across the room. Though she heard the tour guide spouting off facts and details about how important these statues were, how they came to be in the Louvre's possession, and some of the techniques that helped them come to be, (Y/N) didn't hear anything coherent. She was too busy trying to keep her jaw from dropping.

How could anyone manage—especially with tools that weren't anywhere near as advanced as what was at an artist's disposal now—to make stone appear soft and pliable, full of curves and gentle give? Nothing was as breathtaking as seeing the hand of a sculpted man holding his lover by the thigh, his fingertips denting deep against her flesh, only to be reminded from the glimmer from the sunlight, that this was nothing more than stone manipulated to mimic human skin.

As soon as she heard the guide announce in his accented English that the group was free to roam around the hall, take photos and explore the pieces, she all but bound away from the group. She made a beeline towards the statue that caught her eye the second they slipped into the room.

Large, sprawling wings sprouting from Cupid's back almost looked large enough they could graze the ceiling as the marble swooped down in the shape of a muscled arm as he cradled his lover. Pysche was wrapped in nothing more than a sheet, the marble somehow looking thin and delicate like the silk that was meant to be draped over her waist in a cradling hold. Cupid held her gently as he craned his neck, trying to reach her lips and revive her with a kiss as the title of the piece suggested. They were trapped in that one moment, not close enough to share their kiss, but just near enough (Y/N) could see and feel the anticipation shared between the two mythological figures.

"'S crazy, isn't it?"

The same deep voice that made her breath catch not more than twenty-four hours prior brought (Y/N) back to the real world in the middle of the museum. Whipping her head to the side, she saw Harry Styles once again sharing the hall with her.

He wore wide legged jeans with holes over the knees and a faded, vintage looking t-shirt with bunnies graphically printed along the bottom hem. A brown tortoise clip disrupted the flow of the line of rabbits as it was pinned to the bottom as well, bunching the fabric enough to reveal the waistline of his Gucci branded pants. The same large sunglasses she had seen him with last were perched on the top of his head, holding back the iconic brown curls he was known for.

"What?" she asked, the sound of her blood pumping past her ears having drowned out everything he had to say the second she realized who he was.

"The sculpture," he smiled, nodding ahead to the marble gods, "'S crazy people can look so real when they're made out of stone like that. Even the blanket she's wearing looks like 's about to float away, even though 'm sure 's easily over a hundred pounds."

"Oh," she chirped, clearing her gaze with a blink before she turned back to face the sculpture that had captured his attention. Neurons fired in her brain, pushing her to find something to say that wasn't about how much she loved him or oh my god, you're Harry Styles, what are you doing out of my phone screen?! "Y-Yeah, definitely. I've always thought it was interesting the way these people were able to make rocks look so soft. I don't understand how, but I like looking at it."

A dimple dented his cheek, that much (Y/N) could see from the corner of her eye. His arms crossed over his chest made him appear even broader than photos granted, even as he shifted his weight on long legs that toed at the ground with a hip pushed outwards. "I know what y'mean. I've tried painting something like this a few times, and I can't even get something that's actually soft to look the way this marble does. I don't think 's real; we're not supposed to touch, only because if we do, we'll find out 's all actually made out of sponges or something."

A smile quirked (Y/N)'s own lips at his joking, a stifled laugh exhaling from her nose so as to not disrupt the quiet that filled the hall. "I think you might be on to something," she told him, exaggeratedly looking around the hall as if trying to spot eavesdroppers, "I'd be careful with that information, if I were you."

A peek of his white teeth appeared from between his raspberry lips as he nodded to her joke, leaning into the secrecy they were creating over the subject. A short silence fell between them as they resumed looking at the sculpture, (Y/N) peeking at the plaque beside the statue though she couldn't comprehend anything knowing who was standing beside her.

"You're friends with Nathan and Priscilla, right?" Harry asked, side-stepping into her space though he crooked his head, making it apparent he was looking over her shoulder at the plaque.

"Yeah, I guess" she mused, impressing herself by how normal she was appearing through this conversation despite the rattling of her heart in her ribcage. "I'm Priscilla's personal assistant, and sometimes nanny for Nora. We're basically family at this point."

"Oh, so you're (Y/N), then." Harry pulled his attention from the sculpture, looking to her with a bright smile and something like recognition going through his gaze as he trailed his eyes over her face, placing her for the first time.

"I am, yeah," she smiled back, feeling her skin warm at the fact Harry Styles knew her name and had some idea of her existence.

"Nathan's mentioned you a few times. Supposedly, y'keep Priscilla's head attached to the rest of her, and keep her from biting off Nate's when she's had a day." She couldn't help but think he sounded almost impressed. If only he knew what it was like to work with Priscilla day in and out, then he really would be impressed.

"I wouldn't say that...," she trailed off, feeling a little too proud to completely deny the hard work that went into her job. "Nate's very good at calming her down, too. So is Nora. I'm just the first one she goes to with her problems."

"See? That says it all," he pressed, dimples denting his tanned cheeks, "If y'weren't so good to her, she wouldn't go to you before finding Nathan."

She liked when he said it like that. It made her feel important, even if she was nothing more than a little speck in Priscilla's grand life.

"I guess so," she whispered.

Flicking his gaze from the statue back to where she stood beside him, he offered his name in a low voice: "'M Harry, by the way. Realized I never introduced myself even after I creepily guessed your name."

The loud laugh that bubbled out of her chest had little to do with the joke he tacked on the edge of his introduction, and more to do with the fact Harry Styles had just offered out his name as if she was one of the point-two percent of people in the world who wouldn't already know who he was. He was just as polite as all the twitter threads and articles suggested.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she reciprocated, trying her best to keep her face from warming the longer she looked at him. His nose really was just as perfect in person as she'd seen in photos.

If she looked at him long enough, pretty features on a broad body hidden under soft tufts of clothing, (Y/N) could see him blending in with the perfect statues around them. Fluffed spikes of marble would emulate the curls on the top of his head, hard corners carved from the stone would be the only thing could could accurately display the quiet strength in his form. Even the length of his pink shoelaces wound through his worn Vans could be perfectly carved from small strips of marble. He would blend right in with Cupid himself, only missing a pair of fair wings drawing from his back.

Before their conversation could go any further, (Y/N) was broken out of her stupor at the sound of the accented English of their gallery guide calling for everyone to reconvene at the other end of the hall. She swore Harry's gaze lingered over her for just one extra moment before he followed her eye towards where that same little flag that was being waved over their guide's head as their group was directed "this way! this way, s'il vous plaît!".

It was an unspoken moment as they fell into step with one another going towards the threshold to whatever was next on the agenda, (Y/N)'s strides much slower as to match Harry's that was lingering despite the length of his legs.

"Bummer, right?" he offered in a quiet tone as they were still steps behind the last stragglers of their group.

"Hm?"

"I was hoping he'd let us stay in here a little while longer. I was having fun," he told her, the curl on his lips just as secret as his muted tone.

"Maybe he'll let us roam around on our own at the end, and you can come back," she told him, trying to rein in her hammering pulse from the way he seemed to be sharing something secret with her.

"And, you'll come with me, right?"

(Y/N) didn't have a hope in the world to stop her rattling heart and stunted lungs at his request.

"Of course," she said in a pitched tone, heart racing too fast to listen to anything their guide was saying as their group was directed towards the next room, "I wasn't done looking at them, anyway."

Harry ignored the hooked thumb she threw over her shoulder in the direction of the couple of myths suspended in marble they had spend their time in front of. Instead he had his gaze pinned on hers, seemingly ignoring everything else.

"Me neither."

—————

(Y/N) was relieved as she stood behind the line of the camera, watching as Priscilla posed and primped in front of the lens. The Eiffel Tower stood in the background, large and just as romantic as Priscilla had gushed over the second she pitched the idea of a bridal shoot in front of the landmark. With the right editing, the phots were going to look dreamy and worthy of being splayed across bridal magazines for the next decade, at least.

Plus, when she was busy being pampered over, Priscilla didn't have time to continue the inquisition she had started the second (Y/N) climbed into the taxi that morning.

Somehow, word had gotten back to Priscilla that Harry Styles and her assistant had spent almost all of the tour of the Louvre together, giggling and whispering over quiet jokes and fonding over the same art pieces. And according to Priscilla, that meant they were in love and had been keeping the secret from her.

That's why (Y/N) treasured this reprieve behind the scenes, stepping back whenever a makeup artist came by to touch up the powder under her boss's eyes or a hairstylist perfected the waves that rippled her dark hair. She didn't need Priscilla feeding into the crush that was beginning to take ahold of (Y/N)'s heartstrings every time she thought of how she spent her time the day before.

That is until her name was shouted across the set. A flash of Priscilla's dark hair was all could be scene as she disappeared into the impromptu changing stall that had been set up by the team hired to perfect the shoot.

(Y/N) sighed before resigning herself to standing outside the stall while Priscilla shouted to her through the sheet, asking for more details of the 'date' she had been on the day before.

"Yes?" she called to her boss once she was on the other side of the familiar stall while Priscilla was helped into her second wedding dress (she had three looks all together that would be shown during the big day, and she wanted to make sure she had wonderful pictures of each of her gowns).

"Tell me what happened in the sculpture room again," Pricilla demanded, "I want to know exactly what he said. And how he said it. And where he was looking when he said it."

Remembering the way Harry had stood beside her, admiring Cupid and his love (which she later found ironic considering he had a role acting as his own version of the god) brought a shiver to her heart. The sound of his voice dropping next to her ear was vivid enough in her memory that she couldn't believe Priscilla hadn't already heard it with the way it echoed in her head.

Still, even with her hammering heart and uneven filling of her lungs, (Y/N) shrugged. "I've already told you everything he said. We talked about the sculpture and then how I knew you and Nate."

"And that was what had him following you through the rest of the museum?" Her tone was incredulous, (Y/N) not needing to see Priscilla's face to know how scrunched and petulant her features probably were. The spitting image of Nora when she was having a tantrum.

"I guess so."

A loud groan could be heard alongside the sound of a zipper lacing together. "C'mon, (Y/N)! Give me something fun!" she called, "It's my wedding week, and this is how you treat me? Not giving me even a little crumb of what it was like flirting with him in the middle of Paris?"

"That's because we didn't flirt, Pris. We talked about paintings."

Drawing the curtain aside in a harsh pull, Priscilla was unveiled in her second dress of the day, this one large and tulle filled with sheer panels on the bodice. Despite being dressed like an angel, the grump on her face was the perfect juxtaposition that described her boss.

"Then why did Nate tell me his cousin saw you two huddled away while everyone else was looking at the Mona Lisa?"

(Y/N) tried to recall when they had even visited the Mona Lisa, but every memory after the sculpture hall was more focused on Harry than anything else. She couldn't help but see him in every billowing piece of art, abstract or realistic.

"Oh my god," her boss chirped, features lighting up at something (Y/N) must have missed.

"What?" (Y/N) asked, about to look over her shoulder. Maybe the Tower had sparkled to life early?

"You made a face!" Priscilla bubbled, reaching for (Y/N)'s shoulders before giving her a little shake, "That's what I was looking for! You don't even remember seeing the Mona Lisa, do you? You were too distracted by your new boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend—I don't even have his number, or anything."

"But you were distracted with him, weren't you?" The silence (Y/N) offered was enough to have Priscilla rocketing with glee. "I knew it!" she beamed, clasping her hands together with her manicured nails gleaming in the French sunset, "Are you going to dance with him tomorrow? I can change the seating chart with Adelina and make it so you're seated together for dinner if you want. Oh my god, I cannot wait to tell Nate 'I told him so' when he finds out you're seeing Harry."

(Y/N) couldn't help but laugh at the miles and miles ahead of herself Priscilla was getting. "I don't think you can tell Nate anything considering the only place I'm 'seeing' Harry is at your wedding tomorrow."

"Exactly," she cemented, trailing over to where the photographer was calling to his muse to resume her posing, "You should be thanking me for getting you a date to the wedding. So last minute, too."

Before (Y/N) could offer any kind of retort, Priscilla slipped into the same thing that had earned her her fortune in the first place—modeling. (Y/N) could only stand behind the photographer and the line of lighting equipment, stewing in the heat that reached her cheeks at the idea Pricilla put in her head of dancing with Harry tomorrow at the reception.

Sure, maybe he would say hi at the ceremony tomorrow, but she couldn't see herself as being more than someone to spend the tour of the Louvre with, to him. Even if the idea of knocking elbows with him on accident while they ate dinner got her heart bubbling with a rush of blood through her body.

Paris was perfect for dreams, lovely romantic ones especially, but there was no reason to think Harry Styles was going to be anything more than a perfect addition to those dreams.

—————

"Why aren't you in your white dress?"

(Y/N) tucked Nora in front of her as staff from the venue rushed passed them through the hall, arms laden with bouquets of flowers Priscilla was sure to through a fit over if she saw they still weren't set up. In front of her, Nora almost tripped over herself as she looked over her shoulder at (Y/N), a fluffy lavender dress on her toddling form.

"Your mom is the only one who gets to wear white today, remember?" (Y/N) prompted, pulling Nora to walk again at her side with her hand outstretched for the little girl to wrap her palm around her fingers, "She's the one getting married, so she gets the special dress."

"Oh," Nora sounded, bright blue eyes shuttered by an owlish blink. "When are you getting married, then? Are you going to wear white, too?"

Despite having started coming around just when Nora was getting into her curious phase, non-stop questions flooding from her mouth with little filter, (Y/N) never tired of her prodding. Drawing her into one of the many private rooms attached to the venue where Nate's and Priscilla's families were gathering before joining the main hall before the ceremony, (Y/N) tried to figure out how to explain to the toddler there wasn't a wedding of hers that needed to be worried about.

"I'd have to trick someone into marrying me first before I have those answers for you, sweetie," (Y/N) joked with a soft laugh, a tease that went right over Nora's head as she looked up at her with her Bambi eyes.

"Why would you trick someone like that?"

(Y/N) stammered, mouth dropping into a guppy gape as she tried to talk her way out of a bad joke to tell to a toddler. "I—It was..... You're right, Nori," she relented, walking to where the little girl's maternal grandmother was waiting with a bright smile on her face at the sight of her granddaughter, "That would be mean of me."

"Yeah. My mommy told me you have a boyfriend too, so it would be mean to trick someone else into marrying you when I'm sure he would want to marry you."

Priscilla was lucky she wasn't here, otherwise she could be getting a glare full of daggers for telling Lenore something as silly as that, especially knowing who Priscilla was telling the toddler was the boyfriend in question.

Before (Y/N) could say anything to dispute the case, she passed Nora off to her grandma. As she fielded questions about Priscilla's state the morning of the big day, (Y/N) decided she would have to wait on gently scolding her boss until after the ceremony at the very least.

—————

(Y/N) did her best to keep her tears at bay as she watched Priscilla and Nate exchange vows, Nora sat in her lap with her eyes pinned to her mom and dad finally marrying after hearing about this impending wedding for two years (though (Y/N) was sure she could only really recall the last year's worth of memories with Priscilla running around frantic and Nate following in an apologetic wake). Vials of sand that represented each family member were now swirled together in a jar beside the officiant, symbolizing the union of their entire family through this marriage, one that couldn't be separated. The weather was perfect out in the vineyard Priscilla snagged a year and a half in advance of the date, just warm enough so she could blame the heat covering her skin on the sun and not the lump forming in her throat.

As hard of a time as she gave Priscilla and the chaos that had filled her work for the last year, her boss was one of the closest people in her life. Seeing Priscilla so happy with someone like Nate—her perfect counterpart—, being married in the most beautiful place, her dream wedding come to life, was enough to have (Y/N)'s eyes sopping with unshed tears.

Watching them be announced husband and wife, Nora joining them on their descent back down the flower petal studded aisle, (Y/N) finally allowed her tears to fall. Her eyes followed them along with the rest of the guests as the little family disappeared inside the winery. Gentle instrumental music struck up before ushers made their appearance and began herding the guests to the east side of the rustically French building, ivy and lavender sprigs clinging to the siding that would be the backdrop for the cocktail hour that would commence while Priscilla and Nate reveled in the newly married bliss and took a few photos before the reception started.

These moments were the hardest part about going to family events with Priscilla: the mingling. As familiar as she became with certain figures in her boss's life, it wasn't like these were her family and friends. Her closest friends in this whole ordeal were tucked away in the bridal suite while (Y/N) was left to snack on cucumber sandwiches and tiny flutes of wine, lingering by the side of the winery while pretending to clack away on her phone. Here and there, familiar faces greeted her, chatting about the beautiful ceremony and how cute it was for her to keep ahold of Nora while her parents were busy otherwise. (Y/N) of course thanked everyone, reiterating that the ceremony was very beautiful, yes, Priscilla's dress was gorgeous, wasn't it?, and the menu for dinner sounded better and better the longer they stood out in the Parisian countryside. As soon as the dead air appeared, they would share goodbyes and chat with you later! before heading off to another group of people to share the time with.

Of course, this was the one hour during the entire week that Priscilla wasn't in dire need of her, leaving her to her own devices as she read the same three emails over and over to busy herself.

Until, of course, her name was called from one of the small cocktail tables a few feet over, a head of brown curls popping up over the crowd as she searched for her caller. A ringed hand waved to her just as one of Pricilla's college roommates moved out of the way, a giggling whisper shared with whoever it was that was at her side when the woman caught sight of who she was blocking.

Harry, clad in a creamy white suit (he was very lucky Priscilla hadn't caught him, otherwise that ensemble would have been stained red with wine or something even harder to get out of the fabric) with a bright smile on his face, dimples deep in his cheeks, as he called to her. At his side was Jeffery Azoff, who (Y/N) was almost as excited to see in person as she was when she met Harry himself. He beckoned her to him with a wave of his hand, green nails sparkling in the golden hour sunlight.

"Hey, you," he greeted her, a grin with his two front bunny-like teeth on display, "Been waiting for m'turn to talk to you since the ceremony ended."

(Y/N) couldn't contain the smile that spread over her lips at his words, his eyes pinned to her with the full of his attention, the same way everyone always described when meeting Harry Styles. No distraction could pull his attention from someone he deemed worthy of it. "Really?" she asked, hoping he didn't pick up on the dreamy quality of her tone.

"Yeah, was jus' telling Jeff all about all the fun we had with Jean-Pierre the other day," he teased, the green of his eyes glimmering with inside jokes they had tittered over in the marble halls.

"He hasn't shut up about it for the past forty-eight hours, actually," Jeff chuffed, mirth in his eyes as he glanced at his friend, sipping from his wine, "I was hoping you could take him off my hands. At least you'd get all the jokes he's telling."

"I don't know," (Y/N) shrugged, tension releasing from her muscles as she folded her arms over the surface of the table, "I don't get half the jokes he tells, either."

Feigned offense piqued on Harry's features as he looked between them, mouth dropping open though he couldn't quite erase the slight curl on the corner of his mouth. With the single strand of hair that fell over his forehead, he looked entirely too dreamy in the middle of the French countryside. Once again, (Y/N) found herself grateful over the fact Priscilla hadn't caught him in his ivory ensemble—having a deep red wine stain on his suit would surely ruin the effect.

"Heyyy," he whined, a pouting crease forming between his pinched brows, "That's mean."

"You've told the same jokes for the entire time I've known you, H," Jeff pressed, a fond smile on his face as he gazed at his friend though he didn't stop his teasing, "and every time you tell them, I still don't get it."

Before Harry could interject any more pouting, (Y/N) chirped up with a matching quirk to her lips. "Yeah, he did tell the same joke twice at the museum. A little bit of a repeater, he is."

"Oh, not you, too," Harry whined, dropping his head to be right in her line of sight. His smile was a little too bright, dimples a little too deep, eyes a little too clear to be convincingly offended. "You're supposed to be on m'side, (Y/N)."

The sound of her name wrapped in his voice was something that echoed in her head for the last forty-eight hours since she'd seen him. "I am, he just has some good points. Sorry, Harry," she told him, speaking low enough as if she was sharing a secret with only Harry.

Over the swirls of curls on the top of his head, (Y/N) could see the way Jeff was eyeing the interaction before adverting his eyes with a smirk on his lips before they were hidden by a cup of wine.

"Y'could make it up to me, you know," he murmured to her, his folded hands coming up to smush against his tanned cheek, altering the layout of the soft smattering of freckles on the center of his face.

"How?"

"Save a dance for me."

(Y/N) felt her lashes tickle her brow bone with the way her eyes widened, rounding and softening as she processed his request. She was sure that if someone showed her a recap of this moment, she would look like a moony teenager setting eyes on her crush for the first time.

Swallowing around her suddenly dry throat, (Y/N) nodded her head. "I-I can do that."

The way his grin stretched across his lips and the smallest dusting of pink coloring touched at the tip of his nose, could have had (Y/N) on a stretcher if not for the interruption that came in the form of one of the venue's staff tapping on her shoulder.

"Ms. (Y/N)," the staff member greeted her with a tight smile that did little to sully her accented English, "The new Mrs. Davies is requesting your presence very urgently up in the bridal suite. If you wouldn't mind excusing yourself, I can escort you up right away."

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, deflating some at the fact she was going to have to leave Harry so quickly, "Okay, yeah. Give me just a second."

The staff member gave her a strained smile, but nonetheless took a step back. She felt for the girl, really; Priscilla was a piece of work when she wanted to be and (Y/N) had a feeling she was walking into something gruesome in that bridal suite.

Turning back to Harry, (Y/N) jerked a half-hearted thumb over her shoulder. "It sounds like I'm needed, so..."

She trailed off, not wanting to be the one to say bye. Harry seemed to feel the same as he ducked his head, obscuring her view of him with the cover of his hair. "I'll see you later, though, right?" he prompted her once he matched her gaze again, the blushing green peeking through the length of his lashes.

"Definitely," she cemented, taking the first reluctant step away from the table. Though her eyes lingered on Harry, she made a point to divert her gaze to her new friend of the day. "It was nice to meet you, Jeff."

"Nice to meet you, too, (Y/N)," he offered politely, a sly smile stitched to his features she had a feeling wasn't going to dissipate.

With one final wave, (Y/N) was beckoned by the staffmember back to the winery, hasty steps having (Y/N) all but tripping over herself to keep up. Just before slipping through the doorway, she couldn't help but toss a glance over her shoulder, finding Harry with his arms crossed over the cocktail table, grapeleaf-green eyes pinned to her. It took a matching of his gaze and a punch to his shoulder from Jeff before Harry came to his senses. In the waning light, his already golden skin was amplified, but (Y/N) could still see the tint of pink that dotted his cheeks and touched at the tip of his nose.

—————

"Thank you," (Y/N) muttered as she left the kitchen with a lukewarm plate that held her dinner she should have eaten hours ago.

Trudging through the reception hall, music drifting through the room with the raucous laughter of both tipsy and sober guests clashing against the melody, (Y/N) couldn't decide if her head was going to pop first or if her feet would give out before then. She knew that wearing these heels gifted by Priscilla for her last birthday, red-bottom and all, wasn't going to be the most comfortable and arch-supporting idea, but that had been before she knew she was going to be more of a planner than a guest to this event.

While Priscilla was spending treasured moments with her husband, both behind the bridal suite doors prior to the reception and in the guest-filled banquet hall, (Y/N) was filling every role she could to help. Fussing over Priscilla was a given, so carting glasses of wine back and forth and directing the photographer on what shots her boss had specially requested be taken was something she had prepared to do. But, it was when Nora was passed off to her during Priscilla and Nate's first dance, and never quite passed back once the toddler started having too much fun at a grown-up's table, that (Y/N) knew she wasn't to have a moment to herself for the rest of the night. Just when she thought she was in for a slight reprieve when dinner was served, something she could enjoy while also taking care of Lenore, Adelina, the wedding planner, had pulled her to the side. (Apparently, there was something awry with the wedding cake, but Priscilla didn't need to know about it if everyone wanted to keep their heads). That was how she ended up passing Nora off to her grandparents and her first course back to the kitchen staff, asking them to keep it warm for her so she could have it later, after she dealt with the tiered spongecake that had melting buttercream and slouching fondant decorations.

It seemed that one favor she did, signed her up to be Adelina's assistant for the rest of the evening—or at least until everything settled down with only drinks and snacks being enjoyed among the guests. She was kept busy with every minute detail that began to run off the rails, things that didn't need to be shared with Priscilla but were much too important to leave alone. Even the photographer, the ever careful Frenchman who had the fear of God in his eyes every time he looked at Priscilla, had asked for her opinion more than once with (Y/N) practically directing the day's photos by the time ten-thirty rolled around.

That was something else that tugged her muscles down by the root and threatened to drop her through the floorboards if her exhaustion grew any heavier. One of the perks of this venue—and the hefty deposit Priscilla made on the space—was the lack of clear out time. Wine and food were just the things to persuade guests into lingering on the property, which is exactly what they did, especially when additional courses of finger foods and desserts were brought from the kitchen and the bottles of wine and champagne were endlessly supplied by the vineyard. Looking out onto the dance floor and the semi-full tables surrounding the space, (Y/N) didn't see an end in sight.

But, Nora had been taken back to the hotel and tucked into bed by Nate's parents, leaving at least one responsibility off her plate. The photographer seemed to find his footing the more he realized Priscilla preferred her left-side and would enjoy any photograph of she and Nate kissing. Adelina had calmed down the second most of the traditions of the wedding were filed through—the garter-toss was one of the most nerve-wracking moments for some reason—as guests began reclining and holding separate courts at all the tables and others dotted the dancefloor to indulge in wine-induced dance moves. Priscilla had even settled well as she slow-danced with Nate, especially after changing into her third and final dress for the event, the fringed hem dropping to the mid of her thigh and sparkling under the romantic lighting draped across the rafters. (Y/N) lingered, on-edge, for an extra half-an-hour before finally treating herself with the task of picking up her food from the kitchen and settling in one of the back tables that had been vacated as children's bedtime had approached.

With a barely filled glass of red wine and a lukewarm plate of pasta in front of her, (Y/N) dared to slip her shoes off under the table before folding her legs underneath herself.

She didn't even know how long she had been menially scooping up her food, not even tasting the fine ingredients and expensive spices or how well they paired with her given wine, too exhausted to really process much other than finally having some subsistence in her body. That was why she barely noticed the knock of someone's knees against the underside of the table as they slipped into the spot beside her, the gentle voice having to call her name twice before she perked up.

"Sorry, what did you need he—Oh, Harry," she smiled, pleased to see him when she had been expecting another person that needed her help.

"Hi," he greeted her, the word coming out breathy and merlot-tinted. That would explain his messy hair and glassy eyes. The flush that tinted his skin looked perfect with his suit.

"Hi," she reciprocated with a small smile, "Have you been enjoying the reception?" She had a feeling she knew the answer to that one.

Nonetheless, the floppy nod Harry gave her, curls skimming his forehead, still made her heart bounce. "A lot," he told her on a breathy laugh, before his expression turned sour with a downturn to his lips, "But, y'said y'would dance with me, and I've barely seen you. Had to dance with Nathan's great-aunt five different times just to feel something."

(Y/N) choked on the sip of wine she had tossed back while he spoke, clapping her hand over her mouth as she fought to keep from spitting it out. Once she recovered, a choked bunch of air filling her lungs, she shook her head at him. "I'm sure you did feel something," she teased, twirling a meaningless bite of pasta around her fork, "she's practically in love with you. I heard her talking to Priscilla's cousin all about you and how she was somehow going to fit you in her pocket and take you back to the hotel with her."

"I wouldn't put it past her," Harry started grimly, fully believing Aunt Rosie's besotted threat.

"And, I wouldn't blame her," (Y/N) muttered, the words falling out before she had any clarity of mind to stop them.

A brilliant smile woke up Harry's grapejuice softened features. "Really? Want to take me home in your pocket, too, then?"

Caught, (Y/N) didn't have it in her to pull her eyes from her plate of food though she shrugged in response. "I don't have any pockets, so I'll have to fit you in my tote if that's alright."

"I can work with that," Harry shot back immediately, sitting up in his chair before scooting closer to (Y/N), folded arms settling on the table. "Do y'have extra room at your hotel, or will I have to sleep on the floor?"

Her face felt hot as she couldn't help but take his intoxicated flirting right to her heart. "I don't have lots of space, but I'm sure I could figure something out for you."

He seemed all too pleased with her response, bunny-teeth trapping his bottom lip between his teeth. Unable to draw her gaze away from his mouth, the very middle of the pillows tinted plum from the wine, (Y/N) draped her eyes over the faint freckles dotting the pink skin. Cute.

"If you're not too busy still, maybe I could redeem m'promised dance once things slow down again?" Harry's voice was only a whisper that hung in the air between them, almost drowned out by the loud laugh that originated somewhere on the dance floor.

"Yeah, yeah," she rushed out on a breath, hoping Harry wouldn't notice how eager she was to agree incase it was just as embarrassing as it sounded, "I would really like that."

She would think she would be used to the look of his bright smile by now, with the amount of times she'd been granted the sight throughout this week, but it still threaten to knock the breath out of her to have it directed at her.

"I'll keep an ear out, then," Harry told her, leaning back in his chair with his gaze going to the dance floor, staying true to his word of keeping watch, "Y'finish eating, though, before someone has a chance to steal y'away again, saying they need help with the music again or something. Barely had a chance to eat tonight."

A pinch collected between her brows as she canted her head to the side. "How did you know I had to help with the music?"

Another heart-stopping smile worked its way on Harry's lips though he kept his gaze attached to the dance floor. "I've been paying attention to you all night, (Y/N)."

—————

(Y/N) perked up at the change in tempo that sounded from the front of the banquet hall, a handful of couples still occupying the space while others were retiring to tables as the night drew on. Priscilla and Nate seemed to be in their own world wrapped in each others arms with no sense of time. But, for the first time in the last twenty minutes, their slowdancing finally matched the song that filtered through the speakers.

Dropping her fourth glass of wine onto the table, the alcohol sloshing dangerously close to the rim as she clumsily stood up. "Harry, Harry, hurry," she bubbled off as she fumbled to put her shoes back on her feet, "We can't miss this one."

"Miss what?" he asked lamely from where he sat, mouth dropping to a gape as he looked up at her.

"The song—listen! We missed the last, like, three slow songs I think. We can't leave until I make it up to you for teasing you earlier."

Harry's memory seemed to come back together at the mention of the song, his ears all but physically perking up for the time since he dropped the ball on his job of keeping an ear out for a suitable song to pull (Y/N) to the floor with. "Oh, yeah," he blinked, standing up with his knees knocking the table in his haste, "Get your shoes on. Hurry."

"I am, I am," (Y/N) badgered him, squishing her toes into the silk covered shoes.

As soon as she was upright on the stilts of her heels, she grabbed for Harry's hand and tugged him to the dance floor. The other couples made a small space for them to join, even if they were clunky on their feet while others had sobered some through the night. (Y/N) tried to recall everything she remembered about slow dancing with a boy as best she could, middle-school rules coming to mind first as she placed her hands on the broad of his shoulders. A breathy laugh fell from her partner's lips as he tugged her closer, setting a gentle grip on her waist.

"This alright?" he asked her, looking down at her with glassy eyes though that didn't fog the crystal green of his iris.

"Yeah, thank you," she peeped, enjoying the press of his rings through her dress. "I should probably tell you I don't know how to do this, so I'm going to step on your feet at least twice."

Harry didn't seem at all bothered by the shortcomings of his partner, instead dropping his head with a brush of his forehead against hers as he laughed. "I don't even think I'll notice."

It was with that, Harry started swaying her off-beat, going against the grain of the rhythm the couples around them had curated. Neither of them paid it any mind, (Y/N) honestly not even noticing until she caught sight of Priscilla and Nate twirling out in a completely different flourish than what Harry had her doing.

"I think we're going the wrong way," (Y/N) whispered with a giggle, using her grip on Harry's shoulders to tug him down to her level.

"Are we?" he beamed at her, not even daring to look around the floor, his eyes pinned her with no sign of removal.

"Mhm," she hummed, biting back her smile despite the way it still stretched across her cheeks.

The only movement of his eyes came as they dropped down the planes of her face, charting every dip and curve before settling on her lips for a lingering moment. "Should we change that?"

"Maybe."

Just like the placing of her feet (though she'd only stepped on his toes once so far, that she knew of), (Y/N) wasn't even aware as she tugged him down with her grip on his shoulders, making his face level with her's for a breath. A skim of the tip of her nose against his was the final touch before she was pressing her lips to his. The wine they had shared from her glass was now sipped from each other's kiss, plummy and warm. (Y/N) drank from his lips as she sealed a kiss against his lips, tipping her head just right to get a little more of him without getting too ahead of herself in the middle of her boss's wedding.

Harry's hands on her waist was the anchoring touch as they resorted to just soft sways out-of-time with the song picked by the DJ. Warm breaths that were exhaled out of his nose fanned across her skin, with every matching tilt of his head. He didn't want to pull away, that much she knew from the way he clung to her form and the shallowness of his breaths the longer they kissed.

If not for their location, (Y/N) would have tried to figure out what the wine tasted like from his tongue. Instead, she forced herself to draw back, Harry following after her though he only managed to touch his forehead to hers.

"My boss is over there, otherwise..." (Y/N) trailed off, her lashes threatening to tangle with his from the proximity.

Something a little too smug curled at his lips. "Otherwise? I can work with otherwise."

Just in time, the set changed, turning into something much more uptempo that had Harry dragging her from the dance floor. (Y/N) swore as they passed Priscilla and Nate that her boss gave her a raise of her brow and practically-staged glimmer in her eye.

The privacy of their little table in the back washed over them as Harry made a point to drag her original seat to sit right beside his, the legs getting crossed over one another. That made it all too easy for him to drape her leg over his knee, just where he settled the warm palm of his hand. Now that the wall was broken, the flirting having opened a gateway with the kiss being the perfect key to get through, Harry didn't hesitate to touch over her skin.

'When are you leaving Paris?" he asked her, his filter gone along with the boundary they had burned on the dancefloor.

Reorienting herself as she reached for her glass of wine, (Y/N) tried to remember what day it was. "I think I'll be here for another week or something. Pris and Nate want to have some of their honeymoon with Nora before I need to take her home and they can be newlyweds."

He hummed as he took in her words, his tongue peeking out as he swiped the tip of it along the plush of his now swollen bottom lip. "Then, I'll leave in a week or something, too."

(Y/N) blanched at his proposition, not quite following where he was going. "What?"

"Y'won't have Lenore all the time, right?" (Y/N) shook her head. "Maybe those days, I can keep y'company instead. There's a lot of Paris I haven't seen yet, and 'm sure you've been too busy to explore either."

Though she doubted that Harry Styles—world-touring recording artist who was known to slip away to foreign countries for weeks at a time without being spotted—had anywhere left in Paris to explore with her, the idea appealed to her nonetheless. It wasn't like the Louvre was the only art gallery and this winery the only vineyard.

"Really?"

Harry nodded his head with a set in his jaw. He was determined when he was tipsy. "'M sure we'd still see each other back home, but I don't think 'm ready to leave Paris if you're not going as well."

The implication that he would still reach out to her once they stepped back on home soil, that he was sure they would see each other then no matter what, was enough to have a warmth hitting her features that the wine could only dream of inducing from her.

"Ye-Yeah," she nodded, her heart bubbling in her chest, "I can let you know when Nora is with her parents and we can meet up. Maybe not tomorrow morning because I think I'm going to be a little hungover and exhausted, but everyday after that. If it's alright."

The way he leaned across her draped legs, hand cradling the hinge of her jaw, an intoxicating kiss to her lips was enough of an answer. (Y/N) didn't bother to ask again even after he pulled away.

Priscilla was going to have a field day with this.

—————

ive had so many feelings and ideas about weddingrry for so long so im super happy I got to get some of them out w this one! thank you sm for reading and sorry for any mistakes! if you have any requests or ideas of your own please send them in!

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dreamwritesimagines · 1 year

Text

Garden of Secrets [14] - Dahlias

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Weddings are a celebration of love.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, panic attacks, anxiety.

Word Count: 5700

Series Masterlist

All things considered, it shouldn’t have been a surprise that you couldn’t sleep the night before your wedding day.

It wasn’t as if you thought you’d be calm about it, but waking up gasping was not something you thought you could ever get used to. Everyone else except you was excited beyond words, but the only thing you could feel was pure, freezing fear.

But you had to keep it together. You knew you had to.

You needed to convince everyone that you were madly in love after all.

It felt as if you hadn’t stopped clenching your teeth since last night and your whole body was so tense that your muscles were starting to hurt. The skin on your palms was already irritated because of how hard you had been digging your fingernails into it, and that lump in your throat was getting bigger and bigger with each second, making it hard to swallow.

“Oh Benny is going to die when he sees you!” Charlotte’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you stole a look at her while trying to move your head as little as possible so that your maid could finish doing your hair soon. Josie and Bess were ready and Bess looked almost gleeful while Josie was in deep thought after having asked you multiple questions for the whole morning. You could hear your aunt rushing through the hallway every couple of minutes, no doubt panicking about something but so far, your uncle had managed to solve every tiny issue that made her nervous.

“Have you had a chance to talk to him?” you asked Charlotte and she shrugged her shoulders.

“Not today.”

“Yesterday?”

“Yes, he was very nervous,” Charlotte said. “I don’t think he sat down the whole time I was there, he was just pacing.”

“Oh that’s understandable,” Bess mused. “I’m sure he’s as excited as you are Y/N.”

“Probably,” you managed to say and Josie tilted her head as if she was trying to hear your thoughts but before she could say anything, your maid retrieved her hands from your hair.

“It’s finished my lady.”

A soft look crossed Josie’s gaze as you stood up and you walked to the full length mirror to see yourself better, your reflection making you pause for a moment.

The creamy white wedding gown looked absolutely beautiful, so beautiful that you could hardly believe it was in fact yours. The soft tulle over the silky skirts was embellished with small leaves scattered along the fabric and the bust was embroidered with tiny budding flowers, starting at the waist and carefully following the cleavage to the short sleeves. The thin crown over your head that held your veil back had the same shade of fresh flowers over it, and the whole outfit was so ethereal that it made you look like a lady from those nature poems, someone who belonged to sunlight and trees and flowers.

“You look so beautiful!” Bess said and Josie offered you a warm smile.

“You really do, Clover.”

“I feel very emotional already,” Charlotte said and you stole look at your maid.

“Thank you Paula,” you said and turned your head when someone knocked on the door in a haste.

“Can I see? Can I?” Teddy’s voice reached inside and you felt a smile pulling at your lips.

“Come in Teddy.”

The door opened and Teddy rushed inside, then his jaw dropped.

“You look so pretty!” he said and you crouched down to hug him.

“Thank you,” you said, fixing the collar of his jacket. “You look like a handsome gentleman, does he not Josie?”

“Oh absolutely,” Josie said and Teddy giggled.

“And you also look very pretty Miss Harlowe!” he said and Charlotte ruffled his hair.

“You’re the sweetest boy, Teddy.”

“Clover?” your uncle’s voice carried into the room before he appeared by the doorframe. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought you had seen a glint of tears in his eyes and he let out a breath.

“My dearest, you look absolutely stunning,” he said and pointed back with his thumb. “Your aunt seems to believe they will start the wedding without you if we don’t get to the chapel soon though.”

Your stomach did a painful flip. “Oh?” you asked. “I’m…I’m ready.”

Your uncle looked around the room and took his glasses out of the inner pocket of his waistcoat to clean it with his handkerchief, a habit that signaled he was deep in thought; you could recognize it by now.

“Can we have a moment please?” he asked and Josie nodded while Bess immediately stood up along with Charlotte. Teddy reached up to take Josie’s hand, making her smile wide as you gave the bouquet to Charlotte, and one by one everyone else left the room, leaving you there with your uncle.

“Marriage advice?” you asked, trying to ignore the lump lodging itself into your throat and he chuckled.

“Just making sure,” he said. “Are you certain you want this, Clover?”

No, you wanted to say. No I don’t want this, I am terrified, please, please get me away.

But instead of saying any of that, you willed a smile on your face and nodded. “I am.”

“And you have no second thoughts about this wedding?”

You shook your head this time, clasping your hands together behind you so that he wouldn’t see how hard you were clenching them.

“Not at all,” you managed to say. “I’m in love.”

His eyes searched yours before he held up his hands, gesturing surrender.

“Very well,” he said. “Then I’d say it’s time to go.”

“…Actually, can I have a second?” you asked after a beat. “I want to make sure I didn’t miss anything.”

“Of course, I’ll see you downstairs,” he said and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. As if on cue, a gasp got stuck in your throat and your legs finally gave out, making you fall on your knees. You clutched at your throat, forcing yourself to fix your breathing and closed your eyes for a moment, swallowing thickly.

“Pull it together,” you muttered to yourself, opening your eyes, and pushed yourself off your knees to stand up, then threw your shoulders back and walked out of the room.

The interesting thing about fear was that it basically turned you into a machine.

You were quite familiar with this. After all, back in that hellhole you called home, neither you nor Josie would ever lose yourselves in fear. It was like falling back into an old habit, no matter how much panic was rushing through your veins, you managed to keep your expression still and completely calm. For the whole road until the chapel, you could barely hear anything from the echo of your heartbeat in your ears but eventually you got to the destination and walked up the marble stairs into the church. While you waited for everyone from your family to be seated except your uncle who would be walking you down the aisle, you leaned back to the wall, biting inside your cheek.

“Are you alright?”

Your head shot up and you tried to gulp down the nervousness, pressing your lips together as you nodded, still picking at the flowers in your bouquet. You had decided on the tuberoses, thinking it would be some sort of an inside joke but even that wasn’t enough to distract you.

“Mm hm,” you muttered and your uncle cleared his throat.

“You can say it if you’re nervous Clover,” he said. “I was very nervous on my wedding day.”

You pulled your brows together. “What were you nervous for?”

“Marrying the most beautiful and amazing lady in the ton is bound to put some pressure on a person,” he said with a small smile. “Which is what Mr. Bridgerton and I have in common, I’m sure.”

You nibbled on your lip and took a deep breath.

“Uncle?”

“Yes dear?”

“What if—” you paused for a moment, the words getting stuck in your throat before you willed them out. “You and auntie were lucky. What if my marriage turns out to be nothing like yours? What if it’s more like…”

You trailed off, the mere thought enough to give you goosebumps and you could tell that he understood what you meant even if you didn’t finish your sentence. He shook his head fervently.

“I would never let that happen,” he said. “I promise you that. No one will ever hurt you no matter what position they hold in your life.”

You knew it was supposed to put your heart at ease, but you were beginning to feel nothing could at this point. No matter what your uncle told you, that small whisper in your head refused to go away.

You were walking into a burning house and no one else could see the flames other than you.

“Right,” your voice came out as a whisper before you cleared your throat and nodded fervently. “I know. Thank you.”

Your uncle stole a look inside and turned to you.

“Are you ready?”

You didn’t even notice you were rubbing at your wrist but that slight sting on the bridge of your nose that spread down to your throat was a telltale sign of the tears that were about to follow, and you couldn’t afford to break down here, someone would be able to tell something was wrong.

You could cry when you were by yourself, just not now.

“Yes,” you managed to say and put your arm on his arm. “Let’s go.”

He squeezed at your hand for a moment as if he wanted to assure you and you both stepped in, people turning their heads to look at you immediately. Though he was right there on the steps to the left of the priest, Benedict noticed the movement in the chapel and he turned around, his gaze turning softer the moment it fell on you, staring at you like he was enchanted.

Even through the mind-numbing fear you could still notice just how handsome he looked and a tiny spark of warmth shot through you, but it soon disappeared as the unstoppable wave of fear rushed through your system, turning your insides cold again.

Just a couple of steps left.

You didn’t even have to speak, all you had to say was “I do” and then—

Then a lifelong of misery and torture.

You blinked back the tears as you and your uncle reached the altar and your uncle went to sit beside your aunt while you took your place beside Benedict, Charlotte giving you a bright smile before fixing your veil and rushing back to stand by the steps of the altar as the maid of honor. You could feel Benedict’s gaze on you but you had a feeling you would break down crying if you so much as turned your head, so instead you looked up at the priest who cleared his throat, and started on his speech.

You honestly had no idea about the specifics of the speech or whether he had added anything else, because you could hardly hear anything due to the blood rushing in your ears, making your hearing almost muffled. Your heart felt like it was being squeezed right in your chest, the acid burning your throat but even through that haze of panic, the slight brush of Benedict’s hand over the back of your own hand snapped you out of your thoughts, making you turn your glances at him.

It was almost strange how you two had learned how to communicate with each other without really saying anything out loud in such a short time. He offered you a small smile as if trying to assure you or calm you down, and you swallowed thickly, a tiny, sad smile curling your lips as well before you turned back to the priest.

“…Will you love her, comfort her, honour and keep her—”

Breathe.

You had to keep breathing.

“I will,” Benedict’s voice was stronger than what you assumed yours would be. The priest nodded and turned to you, but your heart was beating so loudly in your ears that you could hardly pick up the first part of his question.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Focus.

“…So as long as you both shall live?”

You swallowed thickly, your sight blurry because of tears and took a deep breath, your answering coming out as a rasp;

“I will.”

A tear escaped from your eye and your hand shot up to quickly wipe at it, but it was the least of your problems.

Everyone except you and Benedict was going to think it was tears of happiness anyway.

The wedding breakfast was to be held in the Bridgerton House, and there were a lot of guests for some reason but it shouldn’t have been surprising for you considering how popular Bridgertons were. You hadn’t gotten the chance to talk to Benedict which sort of made him the only person you hadn’t talked to, because it seemed that all the guests had many questions for you; how you had come up with the idea of a floral gown, where you would be going for your honeymoon, and whether or not Teddy was looking forward to the little nieces and nephews he would play with.

The panic was still bubbling in your stomach but thankfully Josie had come to drag you away from them.

“Thank you,” you said and she scoffed.

“You’re welcome. We should kick them out at this point, honestly.”

“I don’t think that’d be considered polite, Josie.”

“Maybe not but that’s what they’re asking for.”

You heaved a sigh and looked around. “Where’s Teddy?”

“With Andrew. He keeps saying we need to adopt him and came up with the idea of Teddy staying with us half the year and the other half he can stay with uncle and auntie.”

“Really?”

“He wants to buy him a horse to bribe him,” Josie said. “When I reminded him that Teddy is six, he changed it into a pony.”

You smiled softly. “Teddy would love a pony, but he can’t stay with you half the year.”

“Mm hm, go tell Andrew that—auntie wants to see you by the way. Upstairs, second room.”

“Why?”

“So that you won’t be unprepared for your wedding night.”

You could feel your heart dropping to your stomach but you had to remind yourself to not show it on your expression.

“I already know.”

“I said something similar but she wants to talk to you—”

“Miss Y/N,” Anthony’s voice cut through and made you turn your head. “Lady Walcott.”

“Lord Bridgerton.”

“Have you seen Benedict?”

You looked around. “He’s not here?”

He scoffed. “Apparently not, since I’m here asking you.”

You narrowed your eyes, opening your mouth to retort but Josie beat you to it.

“Well if by ‘asking her’ you mean interrupting a conversation, yes you did,” she said. “We were in the middle of something in case it has escaped your notice.”

Anthony pulled his brows together. “I beg your pardon?”

“My pardon is not granted,” Josie said. “We haven’t seen him and for future reference, you should be careful not to appear impolite with my sister. This is my first and last warning, there will not be another.”

Anthony gawked at her and Josie rolled her eyes as she turned to you.

“Honestly Clover, can’t say I approve but as long as Benedict makes you happy…” she trailed off. “I’ll go and find Bess, go to auntie.”

With that, she walked away from both of you and you repressed a smile at the look of complete shock on Anthony’s face.

“You threw that viper insult around way too early, I bet I look like a nice person now,” you pointed out and Anthony frowned.

“Benedict told you.”

“I honestly don’t care what you think of me,” you shrugged your shoulders. “You don’t like me, I don’t like you either, not a huge surprise. I haven’t seen Benedict but Charlotte is nowhere to be found either so I’m guessing they’re together somewhere.”

Anthony blinked a couple of times. “And you’re okay with that?”

“Are you?” you asked back and Anthony’s eyes snapped to yours, a look of surprise etched over his features but it was gone immediately. You scoffed.

“I really don’t like conversing with you so I’m going to find my aunt now,” you stated. “But Josie has a point; don’t interrupt me again or demand answers in that manner.”

You walked away from him, leaving him there completely dumbfounded as you climbed the stairs and looked around, then approached the second door and knocked it.

“Auntie?”

“Come in dear!” she called out and you opened the door, then stepped inside. She was by the window, watching the people in the garden and you leaned back to the door.

“Josie mentioned…” you started, your throat dry all of a sudden. “But that’s not really—um—”

“Let’s sit down first,” she said gently and went to sit by the bed. You shifted your weight, then pushed yourself off the door to sit next to her.

“I’m not sure what your mother told you about marriage.”

You shook your head fervently. “She wasn’t really a mother to me,” you said. “Or Josie for that matter. But she…um, inadvertently taught me some things about how marriage works.”

Her eyes found yours and she gave you an understanding smile.

“Yours will be nothing like your parents’ marriage my dearest.”

But we don’t know that, you wanted to say. We just don’t know that.

“Benedict is a good man, and you always have me and your uncle,” she assured you, reaching out to hold your hand and you squeezed it, trying to smile.

“Thank you.”

“I’m very certain you will have an incredibly happy marriage,” she said and cleared her throat. “And most of the time, that begins with the wedding night.”

The fear churned your stomach but you took a deep breath.

“You don’t really have to explain what happens on the wedding night,” you said. “I already know.”

She raised her brows. “Do you?”

“Oh no I haven’t—” you shook your head again. “Not personally but…Countryside is not like here and Josie had a couple of close friends and some of them were married. They described it quite well.”

“And what did they say?”

“A lot of things,” you said, turning the wedding band around your finger while you bit inside your cheek. “It’s um—it’s a rather unpleasant aspect of marriage, as if there are any pleasant ones.”

“Clover that’s not true,” she said hastily. “I’m sorry for those poor girls, but I can assure you it is not unpleasant at all.”

You scoffed a laugh and shot her a look, and she tilted her head.

“You and Benedict are in love,” she said and you bit at your tongue, dropping your glances into your lap as you nodded.

“Yeah,” you muttered. “We are.”

“So why is it so hard to believe your husband who’s very much in love with you will make it pleasant for you?”

Your husband.

Right. Benedict was your husband now, and you were—

You were married. This had actually happened.

You tried to swallow the nervous lump in your throat and took a deep breath.

“Yeah,” you managed to say and stood up, desperate to get out of the room. “I should probably find my uh—Benedict, I should find Benedict because I haven’t seen him and people were looking for him and—” you motioned with your hands. “Yeah. Thank you so much auntie.”

You pulled the door open and stepped out, then made your way downstairs so that you could pass the foyer and go outside for some fresh air but before you could reach the front door, you heard someone saying your name and turned your head.

“Andrew,” you said. “Hello.”

Andrew tilted his head, his eyes searching your face. “Are you alright?” he asked. “You look…”

Your heart was beating in ears so loud that for a second you thought he could surely hear it, but you dug your nails into your palm and nodded as the room started spinning around you.

“Yeah,” you said through your teeth. “Uh huh, I’m fine. It’s just been a long day.”

That familiar heat started climbing up from the nape of your neck to your whole head, the pounding in your temples starting to get worse as you felt pins and needles on the back of your head. You raised your hand to rub at your eyes but it was trembling so bad that Andrew instantly took a step towards you.

“Let’s get you sit down and I’ll get Jo, how about that?”

“I um…” you blinked a couple of times and reached out to rest your hand against the wall as your vision started getting blurry from the edges. “No need for that, I’m absolutely fi—”

And as if someone blew a candle, everything went black.

The first thing you noticed when you came to your senses was just how badly your head was hurting and how the multiple voices speaking in the room was not making it any better.

“I can assure you Mr. Bridgerton, there’s nothing to worry about—”

“She has passed out, I’d say there’s plenty to worry about!”

“Benny, maybe we should listen to the doctor.”

“Apparently we shouldn’t!”

“You’re certain she’s fine?”

“Quite certain, Lord Thorne.”

“I’ll just send for another doctor—”

“Or maybe listen to this one first?”

“No no, I agree with Benedict. We should send for another doctor.”

“Lady Walcott, it is possible that today has been quite overwhelming for your sister.”

“Doctor, I’m about to overwhelm someone in this room if my sister doesn’t wake up in the next—”

You let out a groan and forced yourself to open your eyes even if it felt like they weighed a ton. The voices ceased immediately and Benedict stopped pacing in the room to rush to your side.

“Y/N?”

“I’m fine,” you managed to mutter but it came out so drowsy that it apparently did nothing to assure anyone in the room. Josie sat by your other side while your aunt let out a relieved breath that sounded like a sob, and your uncle wrapped his arm around her as if trying to reassure her. “If everyone could just stop talking, it would be much better though.”

Charlotte offered you a small smile and Anthony stole a look at her before turning to you and if you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he was worried.

“Are you sure?”

“Quite sure.” You nodded at Andrew. “And sorry about that.”

Andrew waved a hand in the air. “You almost gave me a heart attack but since the doctor is here it’s fine. We’ll just keep him close.”

“Have you eaten anything today Y/N?” Lady Bridgerton asked and you frowned.

“I…didn’t get the chance.”

“Oh thank God, that explains it,” Daphne said as she exhaled, “I’ll tell the maids to bring you something to eat.”

“Tell them to bring juice as well, Daphne.” Lady Bridgerton said and Daphne nodded, and left the room in a rush. The doctor cleared his throat.

“If we could clear out the room please?”

Josie looked like she wanted to argue but you shot her a look, silently telling her to drop it. She heaved a sigh as your aunt came to kiss the top of your head then left with your uncle after he squeezed your shoulder in an assuring manner.

“Fine…” Josie murmured and walked out of the room with Andrew and Charlotte pressed her lips together.

“I’ll find Teddy and tell him you’re alright, he’s with Bess,” she said and left the room with Anthony quickly following her. Lady Bridgerton offered you a small smile.

“We’re right outside,” she said and closed the door behind her, leaving you with Benedict and the doctor. You glanced at Benedict before looking at the doctor and pushed yourself to sit up in the bed, Benedict making a move to help you but you shook your head.

“I’m fine,” you said. “Just…”

“Excitement?” the doctor offered and you snapped your fingers.

“Yeah, that. Wedding and all.”

“Well you will be happy to hear you’re absolutely not the first bride to faint on their wedding day, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he said and the new name was so foreign to you -and apparently to Benedict as well- that you both stole a look at each other before you remembered to turn to the doctor. “Excitement and lack of food is not a good combination.”

“But you’re alright?” Benedict asked, as if trying to convince himself and you nodded.

“You heard him. Apparently it’s quite fashionable.”

The doctor put a small vial on the bedstand. “Lavender for the nerves,” he said and you reached out to take the vial into your hand to look at it.

“Thank you.”

“Of course. Make sure not to leave the bed until you ate and drank something,” he said and glanced at Benedict. “And I would avoid any strenuous activity at least until tomorrow.”

You could feel your face burning at the implication and the tips of Benedict’s ears went slightly pink as he raised his brows, then nodded.

“Y-yeah, of course.”

Everyone in the room knew what he was actually talking about and you felt like slipping deeper into the covers but you dragged your fingernail on the silky covers, following the patterns. The doctor grabbed his bag and bowed.

“Do send for me if this happens again,” he said. “Congratulations for the wedding.”

He walked out of the room, making you frown for a second before the realization hit you; you were married now, of course you could stay alone without a chaperone.

You put the vial back in the nightstand and Benedict let out a breath.

“Jesus Christ.”

You heaved a sigh, rubbing at your wrist absentmindedly. “That was subtle.”

“As subtle as a brick through the window,” Benedict murmured and his blue eyes flitted over your face, worried. “Do you need anything?”

You shook your head, the familiar panic twisting at your stomach. This was the first time you two were alone as a married couple and even if you knew nothing would happen -this was his family’s house after all- it still did nothing to extinguish the fire of complete fear burning at your throat.

Somehow, a small part of you was trying to convince you the fear was nonsense though. It was Benedict, and he had promised—

Right. Promised.

Dear God, you were a goddamn idiot if you were just going to take his word for it, especially now that he was your husband and was allowed to do whatever he wanted.

“No,” you heard the word leaving your lips as all your muscles tensed up again. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?”

You didn’t even notice your eyes flickering at the door before snapping back to his face but he caught it. A look of realization dawned on his face and he pulled back slightly, clearing his throat.

“Something has changed, has it not?”

Your answer came way too fast. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yes you do,” he insisted. “I’ve never seen you as terrified as you were back at the altar and you’ve never looked at me like this before, ever.”

Your jaw clenched. “Like what?”

“Like you’re waiting for something bad to happen.”

You were beginning to think that Benedict being this observant would never stop surprising you. Even after all these weeks, you were still not used to him noticing the tiniest things about you, things almost everyone around you would not even think twice about.

You were a good liar yes, but Benedict was a much better observer.

It did not mean you wouldn’t try though.

“I’m just tired,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “You heard the doctor. Excitement and everything.”

A sad smile pulled at his lips before he scoffed a bitter laugh, and at the worst time possible you noticed for the millionth time just how handsome he was.

“Right,” he said. “I’ll leave you to your rest then.”

For some reason that sent a pang of pain through your chest but you pursed your lips and nodded, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’m guessing you won’t tell me but please at least tell someone if you need anything,” Benedict said and walked out of the room, leaving you there. That pang in your chest, right in your heart seemed to heighten and you gritted your teeth, then slipped deeper into the covers with a sigh.

Lady Bridgerton and your family refused to let you out of their sight the whole day but when the night fell you knew you and Benedict were supposed to go to your new home. Even though you felt short of breath even thinking about it, you could only delay it for so long, so eventually you and he got on the carriage and departed from Bridgerton home after saying goodbye to your family.

Teddy had looked like he was on the verge of tears but both you and Josie had assured him that you would see him tomorrow. Though it broke your heart to leave him alone like that, you were so glad he had Josie to console him along with your aunt and uncle until tomorrow. Thankfully you had met the staff earlier in the week so there wasn’t going to be any introductions tonight. Neither you nor Benedict had talked for the whole road and normally you wouldn’t be bothered by the silence but now—

It just felt uncomfortable.

Benedict helped you out of the carriage when it stopped in front of the house and you saw the staff by the stairs. You smiled at them and after a short greeting both you and Benedict climbed up the stairs to get inside.

It still felt surreal that you were going to live here as the lady of the house but even that wasn’t enough to get rid of the tension all over your body.

The wedding night.

It was fine. It was going to be fine; you could handle it, of course you could. Josie’s friends had told you it didn’t take that long to be over so you were going to be fine.

At least you weren’t one of those clueless poor idiots in the ton. You knew very well what would happen, and no matter how unpleasant it was to be, after it was over you were just going to go back to your room and…

Nothing some sleep couldn’t fix, you were guessing. And considering how every married couple in the ton was doing it, it couldn’t be that difficult, just a chore if anything.

You could swear you were feeling lightheaded again from the panic but you dug your fingernails into your palms and took a deep breath, then carefully gathered your skirts so that you wouldn’t trip on them on your way upstairs.

Benedict only turned to you when you both reached the hallway your rooms were in and you cleared your throat.

“So how do we—” you mentioned between you. “Where do I go?”

Benedict tilted his head. “You said you wanted your own room.”

“I clearly want my own room,” you said quickly, your heart beating in your ears. “I do, I just…do I go to your room or do you come to mine? I’m not very familiar with—with the arrangement.”

An almost amused smile curled his lips and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I told you before, that will not take place if you do not want it to,” he said. “Do you?”

You could feel your whole face burning, that familiar flame of desire shooting through you but it was soon smothered by the cold fear tightening your throat. You swallowed thickly, looking up at him and his blue eyes turned soft before he took a deep breath.

“I’ll see you at breakfast,” he said, making you frown.

“…What?”

“Good night Y/N,” he said as he walked to his room, leaving you were completely dumbfounded. He closed the door behind him and you blinked a couple of times, still trying to wrap your mind about what had happened just now.

You slowly made your way to your own room and closed the door behind you, locking it before turning to glance around the room. The door on the other side of the room connecting it to Benedict’s room caught your attention immediately and you licked your lips, fidgeting in your spot for a moment before you approached it, leaning your ear to the wood so that you could hear what was happening. There was the sound of shuffling which made you think perhaps he was getting undressed for bed and even the thought was more than enough to make the fire over your face worse, so you immediately pulled back and locked this door as well, grimacing at the sound the key made in the lock. The movement in the other room stopped for a moment and you nibbled on your lip, then took a deep breath.

“Good night,” you said not even knowing whether he heard you or not, then stepped back from the door in a haste.

He had stayed true to his word. Contrary to what you thought, he had made no move to consummate your marriage, not even a kiss—

Even if you didn’t really mind the idea of a kiss from him, not at all. The memory of his lips on yours sent that familiar warmth through you, desire hitting you out of nowhere and you shook your head, trying to pull your thoughts together.

You walked to the full-length mirror, then started unlacing your dress with nimble fingers and took it off, your corset following soon. Letting out a breath, you walked to the bed and flung yourself on it, pressing your palms into your eyes before you let your arms drop to your sides.

Very well then.

This was not the first time Benedict Bridgerton surprised you, and you had a feeling it would not be the last either.

Chapter 15

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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pinksugarscrub · 3 months

Text

The Pirate Princess

Pirate! Hobie x Princess! reader

Scenario: To @the-kr8tor and the anon who inspired me. I present; the sea, swords, and an overly complicated love triangle!

Prologue, ???

You fidget with the handle of the blue teacup in your hand. Gold embellished in the rim. It’s cold, unnaturally so, but it’s finally stopped raining. The sky is clear except for a few puffs that look like balls of cotton the royal gardener grows. It’s peaceful inside the walls you call home.

“If you hold the thing any tighter Princess, I’m afraid it will break.”

Instinctively you loosen your grip at the sound of his voice. So familiar you might as well hear in your head at all moments in the day. Your palm stings from how long you held it to the porcelain but you hide it well to avoid being scolded.

You smile as you bring the steaming cup of tea to your lips. Your second, or third since this morning. “Harry, you’re late.”

He chuckles, brown curls shielding the roll of his eyes but you know him well enough to know he’s done it. When he sits you kick at his leg with your heel. Not hard but enough to annoy him but you can hardly do anything to get on his bad side. Everyone finds the need to tell you that aside from Miguel, Harry has a severe soft spot for you.

He yelps, nearly falling off of the garden chair across from you. Dramatic of course, what kind of General would he be if a measly kick brought him to his knees. “That damn hurt (y/n)! I was only a few days off.”

You laugh as you lean back in your chair. Harry already moving to place your legs over his lap. It’s become routine everytime you see each other. Which is rare nowadays.

“Well, you never leave a lady waiting.” Placing your tea back on the table to pour one for your friend (the maids would disagree). The action is a bit difficult given your position and the exceptionally puffy dress you’re wearing but you make do. “Especially your future queen.”

Harry doesn’t protest. Watching you with a look that he wouldn’t be caught dead giving anyone else. His fingers softly caressing the skin of your ankle.

“Yes, well…” Taking the cup graciously once you extend it to him. “If her majesty was more inclined to acting properly she should be more understanding.”

He recognizes the flavor as soon as it hits his tongue. Rose, your favorite. You’re worried.

He doesn’t push. Opting for you to voice your concerns if you deem it necessary. “Pete was showing me some more of his contraptions.”

You gasp, nearly dropping the sugar in your spoon. “Peter is here?”

You’re ready to slide out of your chair and run into his study. He left weeks ago with his apprentice. Something about metal? Vibranium? You can’t remember.

Harry catches your legs before they can hit the ground. Laughing as he holds you still. “Yes yes but let me have a moment with you before we have to listen to his regular tangents.” You whine which is unbecoming of a princess but the action makes Harry's smile grow wider. “Oh come on, I know you prefer Peter over me-”

You look absolutely appalled as you try to swat at him. Harry catches your hands with ease and kisses your knuckles to turn your expression into a happier one. Your laughter fills the garden and for a moment, just a moment, you forget about the war. Forget about tonight and…forget about how you’re going to break Harry’s heart.

At least you got to see him one last time.

An hour earlier . . .

Your head is pounding, everything is so loud. Words leaving lips left and right. Squeaky and demanding.

Curling your fingers into the tulle of your skirt you stare blankly at the map at the center of the table. Black splotches of ink on shorelines and townfronts you’ve only seen in paintings. Crossed out with a single flick of a wrist.

You gasp softly as a hand lands on your shoulder. Firm yet kind, you recognize it instantly. “Miguel,” you exhale. The bouncing of your knee ceasing.

The man doesn’t answer. Just purses his lips. Your stomach drops as he clears his throat, loudly and unabashedly. All eyes shift and conversation comes to an abrupt halt. “This meeting is adjourned. It’s a quarter passed twelve. Return to your homes.”

The men go to protest. Of course they would. It's war. But a hand raises, an emerald ring on the pointer finger.

His voice is gruff, mostly from the smoking he used to indulge in with your father. The memory causes some tension to leave your shoulders. “Gentlemen, we have taken most of the day. I don't see what's wrong with ending early. We may even come to a better resolution by morning with the proper rest.”

These men are ancient so they take ages, centuries even, to shuffle out of the small room. Grumbling like children it’s almost comical.

You sigh. In relief or exhaustion, you don’t know. Your body aches from sitting so long on your father’s old desk chair. You don’t have to look back to know you’ve left an impression on the seat. But then again, with how thick your petticoat is you might be nonexistent to the velvet.

Miguel extends his hand out to you and you take it. Offering him a quick nod before walking over to the entrance of the study. The senior Osborn’s eyes piercing your own as he waits for you. His irises as bright as the ring on his finger.

“Lord Osborn,”you chuckle,“thank you. I must owe you a million debts of gratitude by now.”

He laughs and you smile wider. Its melodic in a way. “Please (y/n), I’ve known you since infancy. Norman is fine. Unless you want to move ahead and start calling me father.”

You laugh nervously. Cheeks heating up as you fumble with your gloves. Struggling to make a coherent response you miss the look your Captain gives the noble.

“Don’t worry dear, just teasing.” The wrinkles in his face growing more defined. “Speaking of which, Harry arrived earlier this morning. His platoon was thankfully, successful in removing those ghastly pirates threatening a nearby port town.”

“Oh,” you stutter. Feeling the heat in your cheeks subside. “Oh how wonderful! Please be sure to send him my way.”

“Of course. Enjoy the rest of the afternoon. We’ll reconvene tomorrow yes?”

A knot fills your stomach as you nod. A strained smile on your lips. You want to say ‘Unfortunately Norman, I won’t be here tomorrow because I’m stowing away on a ship!’ Alright maybe not stowing away. You paid a fee. “Yes, tommorow. Thank you again.”

Eventually the man fades in the long corrodior of portraits and paintings. The tension in your body leaving along with him. You tilt your head and without a hitch your tiara falls into your awaiting hands. The jewels glaring back at you. You can finally breathe.

Miguel calls your name out with a sigh. His grip firm on your shoulder again and that brings you back to the present. “You don’t have to do this.”

His eyes staring deeply into your own. Despite his words Miguel knows there’s no turning back for you. You’ve made your choice.

You pull your shoulders back, determined as you set the tiara back on your head. The gold weighting almost as heavily as your heart. “It's been almost two years since father passed away and my coronation is only months away. How can I see myself as a queen when I can’t even help my own people now?”

“I can do this.” You repeat the phrase to yourself in your mind before continuing. “I’ll leave and come back in less than a month.” Your heels clicking as you begin walking down to the garden. You can see the terrace has already been set up for you. The banners of your family crest fluttering in the backround.

“Just having you believe in me to allow me to do this is more than I could have asked for.”

Miguel chuckles, uncharacteristic to anyone except to you. “I sincerely doubt you would have taken no for an answer.”

“How encouraging,”you huff. Smiling as you playfully hit his side. “I couldn’t have asked for a better mentor.”

He smirks before going back to his usual stoic demeanor. It’s almost cold the way he stares down at you but you know him enough to see he’s hiding his pain.

A stone heart was necesary in the eyes of the advisors. A Captain of the royal guard could show no weakness.

“Your kingdom has no other option aside from annihilation if you leave it in the hands of these arrogant fools for too long. Find Gwendolyn, and quickly.”

You feel a cool piece of metal through the silk of your glove and it takes you a second to realize Miguel is the one who’s placed it there. The atmosphere thick as you twirl the ring inbetween your fingers.

Your father’s ring.

Newly polished it might as well shine like a pearl. The words engraved in the metal more legible.

It’s a parting gift you realize. As optimistic as you’ve been about your journey. You know there’s a chance you won’t be coming back. Miguel must see that too.

“The boat leaves at sunrise. You have everything you need to succeed. It’s up to you to live up to the potential I know you have.” He surprises you by kneeling. The suit of his armor clinking together as the sun shines through the stained glass windows. The color makes him look almost ethereal. You feel like it's his presence you should be basking. You who should be kneeling.

"I have served no one nobler. Good luck, (y/n). Daughter of Dmitri.”

#hobie brown #hobie brown x reader #spiderman atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv #spiderpunk #spider punk x reader #hobie brown x you #atsv hobie #hobie x reader

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martysimone · 11 months

Photo

Aubade Paris | Illusion Fauve • ultra violet Leavers lace + animal print like design + dotted tulle + gold embellishments | Fall Winter 2023-24

#Aubade Paris #Aubade #Luxury Lingerie #lingerie

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dreaming-medium · 5 months

Text

Animals Without Direction

Chapter Twenty Two - Of Course

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Masterlist

“Am I supposed to fit in that?” Your voice held a hint of humor in it as you stared at the elegant gown draped over a mannequin in the center of the room.

Jisung laughs from behind you and comes around your right to look at you. “It is going to fit. It has the same measurements as your armor.”

You bite your bottom lip and take a few more steps towards the gown.

Deep purples and blacks make up the colors of the dress. It sits off the shoulders with bell sleeves. Lace embellishments cover every inch of the fabric. The plunge neckline of the corset dips down a bit to reveal some more skin.

The waist is tight and then poofs out slightly in an expensive show of velvet and tulle. Tiny black and purple gemstones litter the fabric to draw the eye and reflect light.

But the part of the dress that grabs your attention is the slit that runs up the leg to the upper thigh. It’s classy enough that when you stand still, one would not be able to see the split in the fabric, but once you moved around, it would be apparent.

“Seungmin will wear a matching suit made from the same fabrics.” Chan speaks up from your left. “Do you not like it?”

“It is gorgeous…” you trail off and step closer to the dress. Both men watch you closely.

You circle the mannequin, the back of the dress is just as elegant as the front. Your fingers come up and gently run over the fabric. The velvet is soft under your touch.

“I have never worn anything as beautiful as this before,” you whisper softly, not taking your eyes off the dress.

A black masquerade mask sits on top of the mannequin. What look like black vines make up the structure. It has purple embellishments all over it.

Everything ties together perfectly.

When you finally look up, you see both Chan and Jisung staring at you with soft smiles on their faces. The Jarl has his hands clasped behind his back as he watches you with sparkling eyes.

They’re both in comfy tunics and pants, hair fluffy and curly.

After breakfast, the two of them had asked you to follow them to another room before going back to pickpocket training with Seungmin and Minho.

As soon as you walked into the room, your breath was taken away by the gown before you.

“The seamstress still has some final adjustments to make before you take it with you tomorrow,” Chan informs you.

“I do not believe I have ever been this jealous of Seungmin,” Jising teases and looks over at Chan.

The Jarl laughs along with him and walks closer to get a better look at the dress himself.

“I do agree, Jisung.” His tone is more wistful than the diplomat’s was. His expression conveys more sadness than jealousy.

Jisung steps right up to the mannequin and gives it a once over. “The split in the skirt sure is something. All of the other ladies are going to be envious of you.”

Chan laughs and cocks his head to the side. “Minho suggested it, actually. He mentioned something about being able to strap a dagger there.”

You raise an eyebrow and stare over at him with a baffled look on your face.

“Really?” you ask with a laugh under your breath.

“Aye, he quite insisted, actually.” Chan reaches forward and pulls the skirt a bit to the side. The slit is on the side of your good leg. “Protection is usually his top priority.”

“I do not believe anyone is complaining,” Jisung teases and bends his head to stare at the slit himself. “You are supposed to get the ambassador’s attention after all.”

The two of them look at the dress without any shame. Their eyes rake over the mannequin like lions looking at a steak.

Your face grows hotter by the second with a blush. “I did not think that I would get a man’s attention just by showing a small amount of skin.”

Comically, at the same time, both of their eyes flick up to your face and stare at you like you said the dumbest thing ever.

“That is, in fact, the quickest way to get a man’s attention, Y/N.” Jisung states simply.

You huff and cross your arms over your chest, looking to the side. Suddenly, the wall was the most interesting thing in the room.

“How old is this ambassador anyway? Am I showing off my legs to an eighty year old man?”

“I have only met with Inuin’s ambassador once,” Jisung tells you, his eyes doing one more once over on the dress before walking back to a desk in the room. “He is younger, but still older than any of us. Perhaps around thirty to forty years of age.”

“Married?” asks Chan.

“Nay, never. He has had several women in his life, though. Prefers younger ones on his arm at all times.”

“Easy target, then.”

“The easiest, I can see why Seungmin was pushing for this. We really will never get a better chance for a distraction; especially with how most of the guards will be down in the ballroom instead of by his office.”

Chan nods and moves his hands behind his back once more.

“Plus, if any are near the office, I am sure that Seungmin will have no issues taking care of them.”

“He never does.”

Everyone in the room falls silent. The gown is stationary in the center of the three of you.

In just a few short days, you were to squeeze inside that corset and seduce a man older than you just to steal something from his pocket.

“Jisung,” a voice says from the doorway. All three of you turn and look over at the guard standing there.

“Yes?” he responds and turns to face him.

“A letter from Daefall has arrived.”

“I will be there in a moment.” Jisung says.

The guard nods and leaves after bowing at the hip to Chan.

“I will see you all at lunch, then.” Jisung smiles and follows after Chan, closing the door behind him.

Chan and yourself stay silent for a few more moments, his eyes watch you fiddle with the dress a bit more.

You trace small patterns in the velvet top, the fabric getting darker when you swipe it one way, lighter when you go the other way.

Thank The Six this is happening during the colder months, the fabric is so heavy.

“How goes the dance and pickpocket lessons?” Chan asks, breaking the silence between the two of you.

You don’t look up at him, you keep your eyes on the dress. “In the beginning, it was easy; the dance was simple, Minho taught it well. Seungmin then began to teach tricks about pickpocketing by introducing small lessons, that is when it began to become a bit more difficult.”

“I heard last night did not go well.”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “How am I supposed to pickpocket someone when they are expecting it?” A pause. “Plus, the two of them can be rather ruthless.”

Gentle laughter comes from Chan. He’s still standing on the other side of the mannequin, but he’s not looking at the dress at all.

“I do know what you mean, having just one of them as a teacher would be a lot, but both of them…” he trails off.

“Growing up, I also never was great at admitting when I was not good at something. It is tirelessly frustrating to be bad at pickpocketing. And to have the added stress of all of this?”

You motion to the dress, Chan’s gaze finally drops from your solemn face to look down at the gown again.

“There is so much riding on this ability.” You shake your head and let your hand drop from the fabric. “I do not know what will happen if I cannot do this.”

A long few moments pass between the two of you. Thoughts run through your mind like wild animals. What happens if you can’t learn to pickpocket? You leave tomorrow morning with Seungmin, you need to be able to pull this off. The future of the war depends on this.

“You sound like Changbin.”

You look up and meet the Jarl’s eyes. His sad smile pulls on your heartstrings.

“I know you heard his ramblings for yourself, I cannot imagine how much worse they became before the first attack on Fort Mire.”

At the thought of the commander, your heart aches for a moment. You miss him so much; the same goes for Jeongin, and even Hyunjin. For as much trouble as the mage gave you, the two of you developed a special bond.

The nights spent in front of the fire were special to you. You both never talked, just sat in each other’s presence. Sometimes you just need to know there’s another person there with you to feel less lonely.

With Changbin, he brought you this sense of comfort and safety that you’ve never found in another person. Maybe it was the fact that he was a tower of bulging muscle, but really you knew it was beyond that.

It was who he was.

“Yes, but I knew he had the ability to lead us the way we needed, he did not need to learn a new skill in just a few days.” You swallow a lump in your throat.

“He had never led an army to war before.” Chan replies.

Your mouth opens and then quickly shuts. Any retort you had fell out of your mouth and through the floor.

“It is different,” you mutter. Your tone has lost its strength– you know Chan is right.

He just laughs. “I do not believe it is. But regardless, I have faith in you, the entire court does.”

Again, you scoff and smirk. “That does not help, what if I let you all down?”

He doesn’t answer you for a long moment, so you look up and make direct eye contact with the Jarl.

A genuine smile is on his face, his brown eyes shine with the fire light from the sconces on the wall. His dimple is on full display with his grin.

It makes your heart flutter.

He looks so soft right now. How is he the Jarl? If you saw him in a tavern, you would easily mistake him for a farmer or an adventurer if he had a sword on his hip.

“You could never let us down, Y/N.”

His voice is even softer than his appearance. His words wrap around your soul and squeeze, they make your cheeks feel hot and your throat constrict with so many different emotions.

Just a few months ago, you would’ve never gotten near Miroh, but here you were, talking with the Jarl as if he was a close friend, confiding your fears to him.

Again, you gulp down the knot in your throat. “So, if I was to come back to Miroh without having successfully pickpocketed the key off of Inuin’s ambassador–”

“We would be happy that you came back to us in one piece.” He finishes your sentence and then continues. “Y/N, your health and safety– both you and Seungmin’s– is my number one priority. I care not if the mission is a success or not as long as you both return to this keep unharmed.”

His eyes look back and forth at your own, never once breaking eye contact.

“My court is my family, you included. My only desire in life is for my family to be safe.”

Unable to hold his searing gaze, you look down at the floor.

Family. You were a part of his family .

“Family,” you repeat in a tiny whisper, but you know he heard it.

“Aye, you are my family, Y/N.”

Family.

You had a family? How long has it been since you had a family…? How many years since you were tied to another person?

After your parents, there was Allerick, but he was more of a mentor than anything. He skidded along the lines of a caretaker sometimes, but never anything more than that.

You bite the inside of your cheek to hold back the tears.

By The Six, you’ve been crying entirely too much lately. Can you just have one day where your feelings are stable?

Emotions swirl within you, you feel every single one floating around in your chest fighting its way to the surface. It sends your mind into orbit.

Unable to communicate any of them, you nod your head and force yourself to look up at the Jarl.

Words get caught in your throat. All of the muscles in your face twitch with each passing thought that cycles in your mind.

A family. You have a family. And a big one at that. Full of big personalities that rival one another.

Chan stands in front of you, watching every one of the emotions that cross your face closely. You can see him analyzing every move carefully.

The Jarl of Miroh, your Jarl, your employer, your boss. Your lord.

But he’s more than that, isn’t he? He’s more than just a title? Yes, he becomes the Jarl when he needs to, but beyond that, he’s just Chan.

Chan whose heart is bigger than his chest.

Chan who is a fellow half elf.

Chan saved you from a past life full of sorrow and grief.

Chan who would give you, or any one of your court members, the sun if you asked him to.

“Thank you…” you hesitate, the next word gets stuck in your throat.

Why can’t you just say it?

His eyebrows lift, he knows what you’re trying to say. He can see your lips forming the word, forming his name.

Chan’s lips part and his breathing seems to stop for a moment.

Your mouth opens again.

Someone knocks at the door.

“My lord.” It’s the same guard as before. Chan’s entire face falls, he has to physically tear his eyes away from your face with a heavy heart.

“What is it?” he asks rather harshly.

“Your presence is being requested in the throne room. A villager requesting aid.”

His shoulders sag forward. “I will be down in a moment.”

The guard nods and leaves.

Chan turns and looks back at you. Your mouth is shut firmly, lips pressed in a thin line. Heat rises to your cheeks and your ears turn red in embarrassment.

“Will you be at lunch later?”

“I know not, we will see how thief lessons go.”

He nods, his hands clench into fists and then unclench a moment after. “I will see you for dinner then.”

“Aye, my lord.”

His expression falls, you can practically hear his heart shatter. But you just do not possess the strength to call him something other than his title anymore. The confidence that came over you previously went out the door when the guard opened it and never returned.

The Jarl hesitates. “Chan,�� he murmurs.

“Of course,” your voice strains out.

Chan stands there for another long moment before nodding once and making to leave. He pauses at the door.

“The key to pickpocket one of them is to do it when neither of them are paying attention, there are no rules. Who said you need to carry it out during the dance?”

He shuts the door behind him with a resounding click.

You stand there for a minute, weighing his words carefully.

Oh. Clever.

----------------------------------------------

You steel your nerves as you walk into the ballroom. After talking with Chan, you came up with some semblance of a plan. He certainly started the gears in your mind.

Before the dance even starts, you’re going to take the key from Minho’s pocket. He always winds the music contraption up before you begin.

That’s when you’ll do it.

Pushing open the doors, you notice that neither of the men are here yet.

Perfect.

Crossing the room, you walk right up to the music box, eyeing it closely.

Plan aside, you were rather curious as to how it works. Minho would wind the side lever for a bit and after releasing it, the top disk would spin and music would come out.

Carefully, you lift your hand up and run it over the black disk on top. Grooves ran through the entire thing.

An arm with a pin at the end sat beside the disk. Minho would place it on top of the disk after it spun and music would come from the large horn at the top.

Its design is mind boggling to you.

Your head cocks to the side and you stare at it.

Was it some sort of magic item?

“It is called a record player,” Minho’s voice comes from right behind you.

Your hand flies over your chest as you gasp in surprise. How did he sneak up on you so easily?

He has the same fancy outfit on as yesterday complete with a pocket watch and chain.

The advisor sure knows how to present himself, that’s for sure. He always has an air of confidence around him.

You look back down at the record player. “How does it work?”

Minho chuckles. “I know not exactly how it works, really. To my understanding, it is a lot like a music box.” He comes up and stands directly next to you. “The record on top has dips and grooves that when the pin goes over, sound is produced and amplified through the top here.”

“And it turns after the side is cranked?”

“Aye.”

You hum, weighing his words. After a moment, you step closer to him and reach for the lever, spinning it around. Small clicks sound from inside the box the more you spin it.

Minho makes no move to step away from you.

“How fares your leg?” He asks quietly, his voice close to your ear.

“Alright now,” you answer without looking at him. “Felix came to my room last night to stitch it back up.”

“Back up? It reopened?” His voice shakes for a syllable. You almost didn’t catch it.

“Aye, do not worry too much. I know not to push myself anymore.”

The lever clicks into place, you take that as your sign to release it. From behind you, Minho reaches over you and moves the arm to place the needle on the record.

Instead of retracting his arm, he grabs the edge of the record player, caging you against it from one side.

The hairs on the back of your neck stick up and a shiver tears down your spine.

You stand straight, looking down at the record spinning. The waltz music loudly comes through the horn.

Since it’s pointed a different way, it’s not as loud as it would be if you were directly in front of it.

Minho’s chest brushes against your back when he takes a particularly deep breath. Something hard pokes against your shoulder blade. Jackpot.

“Felix told me you came to him.” You don’t turn around to say that to Minho.

He sighs through his nose, the exhale hits your neck.

“Aye, I did.”

Slowly, you turn around to face him.

He looks down to meet your eyes, his face only a few centimeters away from you. His hand tightens on the record player and his jaw clenches.

“I was worried about your leg,” he murmurs. His dark eyes swirling with something unknown.

You hesitate for a second, keeping your eyes on his. He tenses up.

“Thank you, Minho.”

He looks shocked for a moment, as if he was expecting you to scold him for reaching out on your behalf. He looked like he was prepared to defend himself even more.

One of your hands lifts up and you run it lovingly down the lapel of his jacket. Once more, his jaw clenches.

“I had a talk with Felix,” you tell him lowly. “I have not been relying on you all as much as he wished I did.”

While your gaze goes down to where your hands trace, Minho’s stays strictly on your face.

“I know now you are just looking out for me. You would do the same for any of the court members, hm?”

He hesitates. “Aye.”

Again, you hum. Your other hand comes up to mirror the other, both palms planting on his chest as you look up into Minho’s eyes.

He’s watching you so closely. The look in his eye keeps flickering between something sharp and dark, and then to something soft and light. His eyebrows jump and twitch.

You can see his internal argument with his own emotions and how to feel about your proximity, about your words and touches. Even with the inner turmoil, he keeps his body in front of yours, caging you in his warmth.

Lips set in a firm line, Minho’s other arm comes up to properly pin you against the edge of the record player.

“I saw the dress,” you tell him suddenly.

He studies your face more for a telling reaction.

“I loved it.” A genuine smile crosses your face. He glances down at your lips and then back to your eyes. The corners of his mouth twitch. “I especially loved the slit in the skirt; it is smart.”

His ears immediately turn a deep scarlet color.

Slowly, while he’s distracted, you slip your hand closer to the inside of his pocket. It’s the closest you’ve ever been to victory.

“The Jarl said it was for a dagger,” you look away from his eyes for a moment. “But I am not so sure with you, Minho.”

You come back to look at his face. His eyes are still as sharp as ever, analyzing every muscle in your face. One of his eyebrows lifts.

“What do you mean by that?”

Inch by inch, you move inside his jacket pocket. The key is so close you can taste it.

“I believe you are just trying to get me to show some more skin.” Your body moves impossibly closer to him.

He smells so good.

Every hair on his head is perfectly kept. This man is the image of perfection.

Minho’s eyes narrow. “If I wanted you to show more skin, why would I include it in a dress that I will not even see you in.”

You huff, your hand inside his jacket, fingers brush against the brass key and curl around the warm metal.

“Because,” Your face inches closer and closer to his. “I think you thrive off the chase of it all. And I think that knowing that another man will be touching me and looking at me boils your blood in the most intoxicating of ways.”

Minho swallows thickly. He absentmindedly parts his lips the closer yours come to his.

His knuckles are turning white his grip on the record player is so tight. It’s taking every ounce of strength he has to contain himself, you can tell.

“Correct me if I am wrong, Lee Minho, but I believe you have been infatuated with me from the moment we met.”

The key is in your grasp, your movements so painstakingly slow to not alert him.

Minho stops breathing. All of his muscles tighten and grow taught.

Where did this sexual confidence come from? You’ve never had to seduce a man to get what you want before. You’re completely flying blind, the words seem to come naturally.

Your heart is racing out of your chest from his proximity.

Are you really putting on an act at this point, though?

The music swells in the air.

Minho lets out a strained, shaky exhale. But he doesn’t respond.

“Is that why you are so concerned with my affairs with other men? Because you want it to be you?”

The key is out of his pocket and in your hand. Carefully, you turn it and slide it into your shirt sleeve.

Your other hand slides up his body and cups his tightly clenched jaw softly. His teeth might shatter if he keeps this up.

“You said it yourself that jealousy can make a man crazy.”

You feel like prey under his piercing brown eyes. They’re swirling with danger.

Standing up on your top toes, you make for his lips, you hear his breath hitch in his throat.

“All you need to do is ask, Lee Minho.”

At the last moment, you turn your head and kiss the corner of his parted lips.

“But I will not do anything until you tell me how much you want it.”

From deep within his throat, it sounds like Minho growls .

But before he can do anything else, the door opens, revealing Seungmin in his fancy gala clothing..

“Are we quite prepared for lessons then?” he asks with a playful smirk.

Minho finally releases you and takes a few steps away.

“Aye,” you say sweetly, walking away from the record player and towards Seungmin. “Quite ready.”

Seungmin looks at you for a moment and then over at Minho. When his eyes leave you, you slip the key into your pocket.

It’s hard to contain your excitement at your victory, but you keep it together.

Both men take their places on the dance floor. Seungmin asks for your hand first with a bow.

“You will tell us if you are in pain.” He demands mid-bow.

“Aye, I will.” You answer, dropping into a curtsey.

The dance begins with the rogue.

You’re just as handsy as you have been with him. He has the key in his lower left pocket. When you’re dipped down, you feel it press into your hip.

Smirking, you let yourself be spun into Minho who holds you tighter than he ever has. His grip is possessive and controlling.

He leads you through the dance like a commander would lead an army.

You can’t deny that his bruising grasp does something to you. A fluttering feeling curly in your lower stomach.

His dip is sharp, a hot exhale fanning over your neck before you’re brought up and spun to Seungmin.

You let both of them dance you around for a bit. You don’t want it to be too obvious when you took the key.

Seungmin leads you through the waltz.

“When I get the key, what am I to do with it?”

“Ideally, you would slide it into my own pocket the next time I have you as a partner.”

You nod and continue with the dance. It feels nice to be able to dance around with them without feeling immense frustration from failure after failure.

At this point, you’re just getting in some dance practice.

Three more rotations until you successfully slide the key into Seungmin’s right pocket.

“How is your leg?” Seungmin asks after another rotation.

“It is alright, but we can stop now. “

Abruptly, he stops the dance and looks down at your leg, expecting something to be wrong.

“It does not hurt,” you chuckle.

Seungmin looks back up at you questioningly.

“Hmm,” you hum. “Check your left pocket, my lord.”

His eyebrows shoot up and he pats both of his pockets down.

Minho’s hand immediately flies up to the pocket that originally held the key.

At the same time, they shoot you shocked expressions. Seungmin’s expression brightens considerably with a proud smile. His eyes shine brightly in the dim light of the ballroom.

You smile and curtsy again. “All before lunch too. Must be our lucky day.”

#skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #lee know x reader #changbin x reader #hyunjin x reader #han jisung x reader #felix x reader #seungmin x reader #jeongin x reader #lee minho x reader #i.n x reader #stray kids fantasy au #skz fantasy au #animals without direction

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