living life vicariously through fanfics

“You know you could walk a little slower, sweetness. ”

Finnick’s voice blares out teasingly into the morning air as he trails behind you. Your hair sticks to your forehead in sweaty strands, your body on high alert as you make sure to scope out any remaining candidates that aren’t on your side. Which isn’t much, considering you have Katniss and the others, but it’s still a good idea to be cautious. To your relief you had found Finnick in the woods last night. And as much of a victor as you are, the dark makes you nervous. So he had allowed you to sleep beside him, curled up with his arms wrapped around you. It wasn’t intentional, of course, but when he sleeps it seems that he tends to get handsy. And when the warmth of his body was beside you, you couldn’t resist letting him throw you into his embrace.

“Maybe you could walk a little faster, pretty boy.”

He chuckles at the nickname, his pace finally catching up with you so you can see the cocky smile on his face.

“You think I’m pretty?”

Your friendship is like this, a lot. Flirtation, playful banter, and a few hook ups every now and then since the two of you met at a capital event one year. And now, even when you’re supposed to be enemies, you’re working together. It’s just a connection, an order that makes you both flow freely with each other and get the things you desire.

You ignore the way Finnick’s hands ignite flames on your skin and the way his smile makes your heart flourish. You also ignore the way you feel the constant need to protect him and keep him alive. In this game, you can’t have anything serious.

“Mm..” you reply. “Sometimes.”

Your hands wrap around his neck as you pull him to you. He smiles, that pretty crooked smile, and presses a kiss to your temple.

And then, you hear a snap.

You and Finnick are both on high alert then, and turning around you’re both faced with a victor. Not an ally, it seems, as she’s pointing a knife at the both of you.

It doesn’t take long before she’s dead, but it’s still a bother to you. You don’t like murdering these people, and you’ve never liked the whole idea or subject of the hunger games. The first time you had won, but at what cost when they’ve sent you right back in?

It’s kill or be killed. And as the woman’s blood splatters on your face, you sense that familiar feeling of rage from the first time you killed creeping back into your psyche. That rage that loathes the capital, loathes those stupid fucking districts as they fall into the ground. And your knife doesn’t stop the assault on her as you make sure she’s dead. It’s better, this way, to overdo it so they don’t have to suffer. Finnick is surprised at your strength and skill, he always has been, but he finds it best not to bring it to attention.

As you two walk away, the woods begins to clear. And then you both watch as you see the Arena come into view, dark and blood soaked.

“Great,” you mutter. “More to show the people.”

It’s obvious that everything is being recorded, but this is the most clear spot. As you sit down on one of the rock formations, your lean back to watch the clouds and the orange sunset. Finnick sits beside you, his neck and chest splattered with blood. And after a moment, you begin to speak.

“I don’t like doing this.” You state. “It’s all bullshit. It’s psychotic.”

Finnick nods in agreement, his jaw clenched as he watches the stains on your shirt.

“We should give them a show.” He says. “Do something that we know they can’t get away from.”

And that’s when you get the idea.

You look at him, a mere glance. You’re both probably sweaty and disgusting, but even now Finnick looks absolutely god like. You know he’s chiseled, under that gray suit. And you know what big thing lies underneath the crotch of his underwear.

You smile, your hand coming to rest gently on his muscled thigh. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, as he watches your palm begin to move up more.

“What are you doing?” He asks. He doesn’t seem completely against the idea, though. Because then that cocky smirk you know so good and well is plastered onto his face, his hands finding there way to the exposed skin of your shoulder. He leans over and kisses your collarbone, gently. You huff, your lips moving to graze the spot below his ear.

“If they want them a show, let’s give them a show.”

Seeming to be on the same page, Finnick crashes his lips into yours in a bruising kiss.

Meanwhile, at the capital, the monitors in the room begin to awkwardly watch as you push Finnick down onto the rocky arm. His back hits the floor with a grunt, and then he’s watching as you sit up and unzip the back of your suit. He groans when your tits are revealed to them, full and sitting in all their glory. He brings his hands up and gropes one in his hand, feels the soft skin and your pert nipples being brought to attention. You tut when he tries to move his fingers down to your pussy.

“No, Finn.” You coo. Your nails scratch his addam’s apple, and he flushes as you begin to climb on top of him. “No touching there until I say.”

He groans when you press down against his growing bulge.

“You know if we don’t hurry we could die, right?” He huffs.

“I don’t want to hear excuses, baby. We both know fucking me again is the last thing you want to do before you go.”

He can’t deny that, and as you demand that he lift himself up and unzip his suit down to his thighs, he follows your directions with desperation. You watch as you pull his briefs down below his balls, watch as his girthy length springs to full attention. He moans when your hand connects to his skin, and begins to jerk him off with vigor. You can feel a tension in the air, the feeling of being watched extremely prominent. And it shouldn’t get you so wet, but it does. So you bring yourself to eye level with Finnick’s cock, and spit down on him, quick to shove his tip into the warm confines of your mouth. He makes a deep sound in his throat, and you move away teasingly when his hips try and move his cock farther into your throat.

“C’mon, sugar.” He says, overwhelmed. “Don’t be mean.”

“Why don’t you just shut up and do what I say, Odair?” You demand. You slap his cock, and he groans, legs beginning to tremble at the pain and pleasure mixing. “Besides, I’m not letting you use my mouth right now. I just needed to get you wet.”

He whines in protest when you pull away from him. But then you’re pushing your suit down, past your calfs and onto the ground.

So help you, if you’re going to die it’s going to be like this.

When your pussy is revealed to him, Finnick’s cock jumps and he sits up to guide you to his lap. He’s warm, his cock drooling and messy. You don’t hesitate to rub his tip against your clit, your thighs holding his lean body down.

“Please, y/n, fuck!” Finnick stutters, the feeling of your wet silky cunt making him go crazy.

You smile as you finally guide him to your entrance, and sink down. His cock fills you up to impossible levels, his balls pressed flush against you when he finally bottoms out. His hands go to your waist, and when you bounce on him, his eyes roll back and he cries out like a bitch in heat.

“Jesus Christ.. you feel so fuckin’ good, angel. Love your pussy so much.”

“I know, sweet boy.” You moan when he grazes a soft spot inside you. “It f-feels good, doesn’t it? My little pussy feel good around that big cock?”

“God, yes. Cmon, ride me harder, momma. I know you can.”

And when you begin to fuck him faster, he brings his hands down to your ass, and begins bucking up into you with a feral pace. Your arousal makes him keen, makes his brain turn to mush the moment your scent hits him. You look so beautiful, so flushed and perfect, and something snaps inside of Finnick, then. His fingers spread your cheeks apart, and his voice is raw.

“Bet you like this, huh? The whole capital watching you get fuckin’ destroyed by my big cock? Hm?”

You gasp at his words, your fingers clawing at his chest.

“Finn, baby, fuck!”

“You love it, don’t you?”

No reply. Finnick slaps your ass harshly, and you yelp at the sting. His hands grab your throat in a harsh grip.

“Answer me!” He demands. You cry out, trying to nod the best you can, and then uttering out a “Yes! Yes sir!” As his large hands cut off your air supply.

“That’s my fuckin girl.” He replies. His fingers rub your clit, leaving your throat as you gasp for air and your orgasm washes over you. Your pussy gushes all over him, soaking his cock and balls and the rock below the both of you, and without warning Finnick is grabbing your hips with his large hands and turning you over so you’re beneath him. It’s quick, and you’re incredibly surprised. You wrap your legs around him as he begins to pummel you, now with more leverage and strength, and his cock feels like it’s destroying you from the inside out. You don’t complain, though. And when Finnick’s hips begin stuttering, you know he’s about to cum.

“C’mon, baby, cum inside me, cum in my pussy!”

Your words spur him on, makes him leave bruising marks on your wrists as he holds them above your head and begins to cum in thick, messy ropes. Your walls practically milk him of everything he’s got, and when he’s done you can feel the stickiness of his seed dripping off his cock and onto your thighs.

He buries his face in your neck, then. And with a small laugh, he pulls himself out and begins to lick his cum out of you. Your middle finger comes up into the air as he does it. A sign, as the victor from district 4 eats your pussy. A big ‘fuck you’ to the capital.

The cameramen and people at home watch in shock and awe. There’s a debate of whether or not they should turn it off, and after a while everyone becomes too distracted by the images on screen to worry about it. The next day, none of the other tributes look at you both the same.

Because at that time, they had been watching, too.

You inhale, looking up at him as he grinned down at you. His thumb rubs your chin, a shaky exhale falling from his lips. “I love you, Y/N. Every part of you, forever and always.”

You exhaled, nodding. “I love you, Finnick. Every part of you, until the end of time.”

You hear footsteps as you lay against Finnick’s chest, his fingers drawing patterns against your bare upper back. You probably looked insane as you looked up, tears staining your perfect makeup, but when you saw Peeta and Katniss, you smiled. Your arms wrapped around Finnick’s shoulders as he pulled you closer, inhaling as Katniss paused.

“Smile, Katniss,” you say, exhaling. “It helps them believe you.”

You saw her fists relax as you nodded at her. She nods back, a slight smile developing on her lips before you giggled. “Wider, honey. If I can’t stop these games, maybe you can, Mockingjay.”

Her brow ruffled as Cinna ran over. “Y/N, darling, your makeup! Come on, we need to fix it.”

Finnick sighed. “Cinna-”

“Of course, Cinna,” you smiled as you stood, stepping off of Finnick. “Will you come with me?”

He nods as you grab onto the edge of his shirt, his other quickly taking both of your shaking hands into his own. You smiled at Peeta and Katniss, mouthing ‘smile’ at them as Cinna took you down to the salon to fix your makeup. “I like the blue, Cinna, put more of it please.”

He smiled, nodding as he does as you say. Finnick’s lips stay pressed to your skin, anywhere from your shoulder to the back of your hand. He watched the interviews of Peeta and Katniss, gasping when Peeta pulled the same trick he did. “Guess everyone has baby fever, don’t they?”

You hum. “I hope so. Maybe the more babies we make, the more they’ll want to shut down the games.”

“I wish that was how it worked, Y/N,” Cinna whispers, smiling sadly. “What names were you thinking?”

You purse your lips, pausing. “Finnick, of course,” you say, making him laugh as Finnick squeezed your hand before sighing. “I’ve always loved the name Nautilus. Or Atlantis.”

Finnick smiled. “I like those.”

You laughed before Cinna turned you back into the mirror. “You like?”

You smiled, nodding when you saw how beautiful the makeup looked. “I love Cinna.”

He grins. “Perfect. Now go, you’re going to be late!”

You quickly get out of the chair as Finnick grabs your hand, quickly leading you down to the stage so you both can raise your hands together. You grab the person’s hand next to you, grinning as you raise your arms before Caesar announces, “And we will see them at the wedding of Panem’s Prince and Princess, Finnick and Y/N!”

Your mind was hazy as you went back to the room, leaning on Finnick for support with his hand in yours as you both stood in the elevator. It was quiet on the way up, his hand softly stroking your hair as you squeezed the other. “Fin?”

“Yes, darling?”

“Can you go get me a pregnancy test?”

He pauses as the doors open, walking in with you. “Why?”

“You made me think,” you whispered, sitting on the couch. “I just want to take one.”

Finnick scoffed. “Why if you think we’re going to die?”

You pause, looking at his form; his arms crossed in a way that made his biceps bulge, jaw clenched and eyes glaring down at the floor. “Fin, come on,” you say, sitting next to him to pull him down to the couch. “It was for effect, Finnick.”

“No, no it wasn’t,” he says, looking over at you, gaze softening. “You don’t think I will protect you? I promise you, I swear to you, I will get you out of that arena alive.”

You smiled, leaning forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I know you will, Fin,” you whisper, sighing. You let your fingers curl into his golden hair, softly brushing your nose to his. “I will do the same for you, and you know it.”

“You don’t have to protect me,” he says immediately. “It’s been my job to protect you since you were born. I’ve always, always protected you. Remember when we were little and that fucking asshole kept untying your nets and I fucking pummeled his ass? And then-”

“I couldn’t protect you when you were Reaped, Fin,” you say, remembering when his name was drawn and you fought against Peacekeepers to get to him. You ran onto the stage, ignoring the scolding of your mother and jumped into his arms, sobbing until you were dragged away from him.

“Finnick! Finnick, don’t go!” You wailed. He had just turned fourteen, you still eleven and unable to understand the point of the Reapings and what you were feeling.

“Y/N, go, please,” he whispers into your ear, his hands still at his sides. “Go before someone kills you.”

“No! No, I'm not leaving you! Finnick, please, please don’t go. Don’t leave me, you promised,” you sobbed into his shoulder, arms around his torso. “You promised.”

His hands twitch as they slowly wrap around your waist, pulling you closer. “I’ll come back. I promise you.”

And he did. He did come back, but two years later, you went too when you were fifteen. And then, you came back.

Even then, nothing was the same as when you came back. After being sold by Snow, you and Finnick’s relationship was broken. You both blamed the suffering and traumas of the other on yourselves, and because of that, you stayed apart for about a month. It was even more torture than the literal torture of Snow, and when you both saw each other again, you never let the other go since then.

“Let me protect you now.”

He inhaled shakily as you pulled him closer, pressing a kiss to his lips. “We’ll protect each other, Y/N,” he says, kissing you again. “I swear on it.”

You smiled as he paused. “I’ll get you that test.”

You nodded, thankful as he opens the door, and when you don’t hear it close, you look over the couch. When you see Katniss standing there, Finnick’s arms crossed as he raised a brow. “Can I help you?”

“I want to speak with Y/N,” she says before Cinna comes into view.

“Finnick, darling, the rings are done.”

You jump over the couch, still in your long flowy dress. “Cinna! Let me see!”

“Ah!” Finnick says immediately, pushing you away. “No, you can’t see until tomorrow.”

You pouted, whining. “Fin, come on!”

He laughs, pushing you back slightly. “Go. Katniss, come in, Cinna, walk with me.”

You pout as he walks over, kissing your lips. “Get changed, darling. I’m sure it’s hard for you to walk around in that.”

You giggled, brushing your lips against his again. “I love you.”

He stroked your head. “I love you more.”

Finnick walks out, leaving the door open for Katniss to walk in. You hummed as she slowly closed the door. “Where’s Peeta?”

“Speaking with Effie and Haymitch.”

“Oh? So you’re here alone?” You giggled as you walked toward your room, looking back. “Can you untie my dress for me?”

Your words make her inhale, but she steps forward to let her nimble fingers tug at the satin string that tied up your dress. Easily, she gets it undone, and you let it fall from your form and step out of the dress and corset. She gasped as you walked toward the closet, basically completely nude besides your lacy panties that did little to nothing to cover you up. You pull on one of Finnick’s oversized shirts, opting to not wear bottoms as you come out and sit on your bed.

“Well? What can I do for you, Katniss?”

“What is up with you and Finnick?”

You raised a brow. “What do you mean?”

“You’re the Prince and Princess!” She yelled, covering her mouth soon after. “You both just… you, especially, you’re like… like-”

“Undeniably attractive?” You say, outstretching your leg with a giggle before leaning back on your hands. “Sexy? The epitome of lust?”

Her face falls. “I’m leaving.”

You laughed. “I’m playing! What’s your question again, Kat? Kitty Kat? Can I call you that or-”

“Why are you so self absorbed? Princess like?”

You giggle. “I was in the public’s eye since Finnick’s games. I was his girlfriend, Katniss, and when I was reaped two years later, we suffered the same fate over again,” your smile disappears. “Finnick and I’s lives are not everything you see on TV, Katniss. Even if you didn’t watch our show.”

She grimaced. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re lucky you survived with Peeta, Katniss. Lucky that Snow wants you dead.”

She glared. “How is that lucky?”

You don’t look away from her, slowly hiking up your shirt. “Because it’s better than him wanting you alive,” you said, showing her a mark on your upper thigh that Cinna always covered with makeup. “Do you know what this is, Katniss?”

She pauses, but shakes her head.

“This is the mark of the people sold by Snow,” you say, pressing on it. It disappears for a few seconds, but comes back. “Only some know what it is. It’s impossible to take off, I have scars to prove it,” you say, pressing on it again to see the faded scar before it comes back. “Your games weren’t even a year ago. If Snow loved you like he did me and Finnick instead of wanting you dead,” you stand, walking in front of her to force her back against the wall. “Then you would’ve gone through the same things as us and come out just as twisted. Maybe worse.”

She inhaled, choosing to stay quiet as your fingers slowly stroked her hair. “You’re beautiful, Katniss,” you say. “And I’m glad you didn’t suffer like us. We do what we have to to survive, Katniss, and if being a whore in both the light of a camera reluctantly and behind closed doors willingly, then so be it.”

You hear the door open, stepping back. “I’m sorry- I am.”

“I don’t need your apologies, Everdeen,” you say, sitting back on the bed as Finnick walks in. “I need you to do two things for me,” you raise a finger. “One, I need you to be my maid of honor. The girls who get pregnant together, stay together. It’s good for popularity.” You raise your second finger. “Two, I need you to end these fucking games. For all of our sakes.”

Finnick pops a candy into his mouth, tapping your chin making you look up at him. He holds your chin, pressing a kiss to your lips before letting the candy slide into your mouth. You smiled, cherry flavor popping into your senses before you pulled away. “My favorite.”

He smiles. “Good thing I have more then,” he says. “Can I have another kiss?”

You giggle, nodding as you pull him on top of you.

“I’m leaving,” Katniss says immediately, turning around before you hum against Finnick’s lips.

“Oh! Wait!” You say as Finnick quickly got off, moving the bag he got before collapsing onto the bed. You go to your dresser, pulling out the box that Cinna had given you after the interview with a gift for the person you chose to be your maid of honor. As much as you wanted it to be Mags, you didn’t want to bring her out to the Capitol to watch you go back into an arena you only wanted to escape.

You took it out, ignoring the two boxes that held your matching gold bracelets before closing the drawer. Turning, you hand her the box. “For you and Peeta. Matching. I want you to be my maid of honor and Peeta to be Finnick’s best man. It works out that way.”

She slowly takes it, gasping when she opens it. She slowly takes out the necklace, cascading pearls wrapped in gold rope chains to cover her entire chest like a throwing net. She grabs the other, a thick rope chain with pearls studding each intertwined link for Peeta. “This looks-”

“Expensive? It is. Do you know how hard it is to get pure gold these days? Everyone wants those new carbon things but no, I want the classics,” you smiled as you went to the bed, quickly crawling over Finnick’s legs to sit on his lap. You push the candy around your mouth, covering it in your spit before leaning down, watching his mouth lull open obediently and let the cherry flavored candy fall into his mouth. You giggled, lulling out your tongue to lick at his own before looking over at Katniss. “Get to the estate at around nine in the morning. Finnick and I will be there earlier, but you know it’s bad luck when a groom sees his bride. Cinna’s assistants will begin dressing you when you get there.”

Katniss nods. “Okay, I will uhm… we’ll be there, all of us.”

You smile. “Sounds good. Make sure Haymitch and Effie wear black! If I see one speck of color, she’s leaving.”

Katniss laughs slightly. “Okay. See you tomorrow, Y/N.”

You look up, smiling at her. “See you tomorrow, Katniss.”

With that, she leaves as a loud crack makes you look down at Finnick who chews on the candy. He grinned, his tongue stained pink as you kissed his lips. You groaned as he pulled your hips into his own, rutting them softly into yours before his hands squeezed your sides. “You gonna take that test?”

You almost forgot about it, but you nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I am.”

“Do you want me to go with you?” He whispers, hands stroking your side as you inhale shakily.

“Yes.”

He lifts you up, taking you to the restroom, slowly setting you down onto the ground. You go to the toilet, sighing as you slowly pull down your pants and opening up the test. Quickly, you do your business, clean yourself off and wash your hands before tapping on Finnick’s shoulder.

You whimper into his back, rubbing his arms. “Fin, I’m scared.”

He turns around, stroking your cheeks. “It’s okay to be scared, darling. Just remember I’m here and I’m here to help you, to protect you, to save you.”

You sobbed into his hands, gasping as the timer Finnick must have set and quickly grabbing the test. You inhaled shakily, the words Negative not registering in your mind.

“Y/N, honey?”

“I really wanted it to be true, Fin,” you whisper, your eyes burning almost as though there were no more tears left to cry. “I really wanted to be pregnant with your baby.”

A choked sob fell from Finnick’s mouth, his arms immediately pulling you into his chest as you both crumbled to the ground. You sobbed into his chest, his hands pulling you into his lap as you rubbed his shoulders and he rubbed your back. “We’re going to get out of there alive, my darling. I promise.”

This time, you believed him. Looking up, you pressed a kiss to his lips. “I love you, Finnick Odair.”

“I love you, Y/N L/N. Forever and always.”

“And when we meet in our next life.”

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next part will be uploaded this Wednesday! (and linked in masterlist and the link for next part) (05.17.23)

“It’s good to see you again, Y/N,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. “I’m sorry it has to be under these circumstances.”

You giggle, shrugging. “Just make me look good when I’m about to go out, Cinna darling.”

He winks. “That’s what I do best, sweetheart.”

Finnick sighs as he kisses your temple, all of you slowly going to the shuttle where Cinna leads you to the table, softly patting your shoulder. “I have a gift for you both.”

You raise a brow as Finnick pulls you into his lap - he was always more protective around Cinna, even since the beginning of your games where Finnick was your Mentor and Cinna designed your outfits.

Cinna slowly takes out two boxes, opening them to reveal matching gold bracelets. “A gift from Effie Trinket.”

Your nose scrunches as you look over at Finnick who looks up at Cinna. “Effie Trinket, the mentor for District 12?”

He nods. “Yes, the tributes are-”

You giggle. “Peeta Mellark and Katniss Everdeen. The fakest couple in all of Panem,” you look back at Finnick, smiling. “They wish they could be us, darling.”

Cinna just laughs as he slowly takes them out of the boxes and puts them on each of your wrists, smiling. “Now Y/N, you know they’re only doing what they can to survive.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “Well then she should be a better actress. It’s sad because he seems so in love with her. I hope he finds someone to love him like he does her.”

Finnick laughs with you, kissing your neck. “Why are we getting gifts from their mentor, hm Cinna? What does she want?”

“For you to make an alliance,” he explains as he slowly sits down. “Is there anything specific we want styled this time around? I’m thinking for the parade we go with something… netty.”

You purse your lips, thinking before looking at Cinna dead in the eye. “I want to get married before the games.”

His jaw drops as Finnick smiles against your skin, your eyes catching the blurring scenery outside of the train. “Married? I get to design the Prince and Princess’ of Panems wedding outfits?!”

You giggle, nodding. “If you would do us the favor, Cinna.”

He inhaled, dramatically waving at his face. “This is going to be amazing. Amazing, I say.”

“I want white,” Finnick says, Cinna nodding as he grabs a sketchpad from… somewhere, Finnick staring down at you with a smile. “It’s going to be the best day in the world when I marry the love of my life.”

His words make you giggle as you press a soft kiss to his lips, Cinna sighing. “I wish it was under better circumstances,” he says, smiling at you both before gasping. “Rings! I need to design rings!”

You giggle as he runs off, looking back at Finnick before pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I… I don’t want to meet them.”

He paused, raising a brow. “The District 12 tributes?”

You nodded, but then shook your head. “Any of them. Johanna especially. They all survived their games and were promised that they would never have to suffer through it again, and now,” you inhale shakily as he kisses your temple, shushing you softly. “Now we’re all going back. My nightmares have barely gone away, Finnick, I can’t-”

He shook his head. “No, no darling, calm down. I’ll be there, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

You inhaled, nodding into his neck before the blaring voice announced your quick arrival to the Capitol. He stood, carrying you in his arms as you both walked out, immediately being taken to the area where you would be prepared for the games, being cleaned, shaven, everything.

This could’ve been the one thing you missed, gentle hands caring for your body and cleansing you of whatever- it almost made you feel relaxed and calm.

But when you stood in front of the dark horses of the District 12 horses, you felt anything but.

You stroked their face, cooing softly at them as you watched them eat a sugar cube from your palm. You paused when you heard soft footsteps, smiling before looking up at Katniss who stood next to their side.

“Katniss Everdeen, as I live and breathe,” you say, giggling as the horse nudged into your shoulder. She was dressed extremely differently from you, your outfit going along with Finnick’s with a netted bralette covering your chest and a bikini-like bottom covered with a golden threaded net acting as a see-through skirt. You felt exposed, but you had definitely been more exposed to the Capitol’s eyes before. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

She smiled, even though it was obviously fake. She was not a good actor, you could tell that. “Y/N, Panem’s Princess. I never thought I’d meet you.”

You giggle in response, taking another sugar cube from your other hand and giving it to the other horse. “Oh? You’ve wanted to meet me, hm?”

Her face flashed between annoyed and the mask she wore, smiling wider at you. “Oh, always. My mother adored your reality show.”

You hum as you look over your shoulder, another pair of steps heading your way before you see Finnick. “You should work on your acting skills, Everdeen,” you say, turning back and smiling at her. “And your lying skills. They may have fooled Panem, but they will never fool me.”

Finnick comes behind you just as Peeta goes behind her, Cinna already walking toward you both. “I’m sorry you both had to cancel your wedding,” you say, Finnick’s arm immediately going around your waist as he pressed a firm kiss to your jaw. “But I do thank you for it. It gave us, people who are truly in love, space to get married. I hope to see you both there.”

“Now, Y/N, play nice,” Finnick mumbles against your skin, hand wrapping around your throat and squeezing slightly as his teeth graze your cheeks. “We want alliances, darling, not enemies.”

You just giggle, leaning into Finnick’s grip, even though you could feel Katniss glaring a hole into you. You finally look at her, her jaw clenching. “How do people pay for the pleasure of your company?”

You couldn’t stop giggling around Katniss, not when she acted so serious. You put out your hand, watching as she tensed under your touch. “Finnick takes secrets as his form of payment,” you say as he finally lets go of you, leaning close to her ear. “I take bodies. And not in the way you’re thinking.” You squeeze her arm, smiling at her before turning to Peeta. “I hope to speak to you later, Peeta. You definitely seem more fun to talk to.”

You take Finnick’s hand as he leads you away, Cinna quickly coming to fix your outfits before you mount onto your carriage. “Snow wants a show,” he whispers to you both, sighing. “I have a little surprise for our Princess,” he hands you a remote, pointing at the button. “You click this here and everything will happen, alright?”

You nod, smiling as the music begins to play. “Thank you, Cinna.”

He winks at you before jumping off, Finnick quickly taking your hand as the first carriage runs out. You tap his cheek, smiling as he compliantly looks down at you, pulling him down for a firm kiss. He smiled, his hand slipping to your hip before your carriage started to move. You pull away, tongue pushing into his mouth before your carriage emerges and you pull away. You turn back just enough to stare at Peeta and Katniss, winking at them as Finnick grabs your hand.

You wait until you’re in front of Snow to press the button, loud chants of your own and Finnick’s name filling the arena until loud gasps form instead. You look down, the golden net on your body slowly extending, a flowing blue skirt blowing into the wind almost like a waterfall. It extends off the edge of the carriage, long as the cheering gets louder. Your names turned into chants until District 12 came out, but Caesar’s voice was still praising you until the parade ended.

You both walk down the hall when it ends, that was until Haymitch caught you both and introduced you to Katniss and Peeta all over again. “It’s so nice to meet you both,” Finnick says with a grin, pulling you as close as possible to himself. “I wanted to speak to you guys earlier, but my pretty fiancée did all the talking.”

You pout as his hand goes around your throat again, but lean your head back as he softly squeezed. “Forgive me if I came across rude,” you say, smiling at Katniss. “I hope we can be allies in the games.”

Katniss scoffs. “What's the point when you’ll try to kill us?”

You paused, giggling as Finnick kissed your temple. “Nicely, darling.”

“If I wanted to kill you, Katniss, you’d be dead already,” you look at Haymitch, smiling. “I would love to be allies with your tributes if you can get her under control,” turning to Peeta, you wink as Finnick’s lips kiss against your cheek. “I like the boy. He knows when to keep his mouth shut.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Haymitch nods as you offer your hand, giggling as he takes it and pressed a firm kiss to the back. “I can’t wait to see you in white at your wedding.”

“Oh, you make me swoon, Haymitch,” you say, hand grazing his cheek as Finnick winks. “Guests are required to wear black. Finnick and I will be the only ones in white, even Snow is going to wear black,” you turn to Katniss. “The Princess of Panem has many things under her control.”

“I can see that.”

You giggle as Finnick slowly lets go of your throat, your hand moving away from Haymitch to softly caress her face. She inhaled sharply as you do so, and you purse your lips. “You really need to let loose, Katniss. No one likes a stick in the mud. Finnick, let’s go make love,” you giggle as her eyes widen. “Over and over again.”

Finnick smiles as you take his hand, softly kissing Peeta’s cheek. “See you at the interviews, pretty boy.”

When you’re far enough away, Haymitch sighs. “What I would do to get a kiss from her.”

Katniss scoffs. “What’s her deal? She’s just, like-”

“A princess,” Peeta fills. “A princess of lust.”

“Oh don’t take that to heart,” Haymitch dismissed them both before turning to Katniss. “But you, you better behave. They’re your most valuable allies, Katniss. If they she wants Finnick to fuck her in front of you, let them fuck. If she wants Peeta to fuck her, let him. She’s the Princess of Panem, for fucks sake!” His voice got louder, but he inhaled deeply to calm himself down. “Her sex epitome is an act in some cases. Her and Finnick have gone through things that you are lucky you didn’t.”

Katniss scoffs. “Like what?”

Haymitch pauses, but glares at her. “You will have to speak about it with them. Now, come on, you have some other people to meet.”

You and Finnick, on the other hand, did go to fuck. Your greatest source of shared trauma became your coping skill, and even with how toxic and horrible and down right bad it was, there was nothing you both enjoyed more.

You very well could’ve been obsessed with Finnick, and him with you, but neither of you cared how unhealthy it was- you needed each other like a person needed oxygen, and without the other, you would surely go insane.

You laid on top of Finnick, kissing at his neck as his hand drew patterns along your back. “Do you think I was-”

“They’ll see the true you when the time comes,” he whispers, smiling at you. “And when they do, they’ll love you even more. I swear it.”

You smiled, leaning up to kiss his lips before someone knocked. You pull away, snuggling into his chest as he yells ‘come in’, Cinna walking in with a smile. “They’re ready and they’re perfect. Interviews are in two hours, are you both ready to get dressed?”

You hum, throwing your hair back as Finnick’s hips buck uncontrollably. “One more round, Cinna.”

He laughs. “Okay. I’m coming back in ten minutes!”

You giggled, squealing as Finnick pushed you over, pulling your legs over his shoulders. “Make it fifteen!”

When the door closes, Finnick wastes no time thrusting deeper inside of you, your eyes rolling back as you claw against the sheets. “Fuck, fuck Finnick!”

“You’re a fucking whore, asking for another round,” he basically growled as your mouth lets out loud moans, his form leaning forward to ram his cock into you at a new angle. “You knew I wouldn’t say no, didn’t you? You knew that I was going to fuck you, over and over and over.”

You nodded mindlessly, groaning into his mouth. “Yes! Yes, Finnick, I want you to fuck me. I don’t want you to stop fucking me, fuck, fuck!”

“You’re a fucking, whore,” he grunts, fingers pushing down to press into your cunt with his fingers. Your eyes roll back as his fingers push into you, his thumb rubbing at your clit as his fingers curl inside of you, his cock still pounding into you like a jackhammer. You were so full of pleasure, the moans you previously held back now coming out in full force, cumming on accident with a scream as his thumb pressed on your puffy clit. “Fuck, Y/N!”

You screamed out as he pulled out of you, pulling your ankles from his shoulders as he flipped you around, forcing your face into the pillows as he pushed into you again. “You’re going to cum without my permission? Without telling me? No, not on my watch. I’m going to fuck you until Cinna comes in and you’re not going to cum until that final second ticks.”

“Yes! Yes Fin, fuck!” You wailed as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, moaning loudly as his cock pushed into you before being pulled out and fucked right back into you.

“You’re such a good whore, darling. A perfect cum rag for me to fuck and fill, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes Fin, I’m just here to hold your cum.” You say, groaning as his hips move faster, body bouncing on the bed and your clit rubbing against the silk sheets. How were you going to be able to not cum when he was fucking you so good?

You don’t even notice you were clenching until Finnick says something, his other hand pushing between your clit and the blanket. “You’re clenching around my cock, darling. If you cum, I’m going to fuck you on live TV. Gonna fill you up in front of Caesar’s stupid fucking face. You’d like that though, wouldn’t you?”

His hand forced you to nod, tugging at the roots of your hair as drool ran down the side of your mouth. “Speak.”

“Yes! Yes, Fin, I’d love it, just as long as you fuck me! I promise Fin, I’ll be good!”

“Being good is not cumming until those fifteen minutes are up,” he snarls into your ear, slapping your pussy with a firm hand as he forces you on your knees. “You’re not going to listen to me, darling? That’s a bad girl, not a good girl.”

You shake your head, eager to please. “No Fin, I’ll be a good girl, I swear! I want your cum, I want to be your perfect little cum slut, please!”

He paused, his hand moving slowly as he kissed your shoulder. “I’m sorry, darling, I can’t do rough right now. Can you please just-”

“I’ll do whatever you want, Fin,” you say, turning your head enough to kiss his cheek. “Why don’t I make you cum and we get dressed, sounds good?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t need to finish, darling-”

“Do you want to finish?”

He paused, but nodded. His hips move slowly as you intertwine your hands together, kissing his neck softly as you groan into his skin. “Fuck, Fin, you feel so good.”

“You too, darling, holy shit.”

It doesn’t take him long to cum, his seed painting your insides white as he collapses on top of you, kissing your spine. “I can’t wait to marry you, Princess.”

You giggle, looking back. For a minute, you forgot you could die in the next week. “I can’t wait to marry you, my prince.”

When you both stood at the interviews, you were nervous. Finnick went first, and you watched as he spoke with Caesar effortlessly like he didn’t tell you he would fuck you on live TV earlier. The thought made you smile.

“So, after interviewing some of the other potential tributes from District 4, we got about the same answer for what you and our princess did the night the Third Quarter Quell was announced,” he starts to laugh, leaning forward to pretend to whisper. “Did you and Y/N have some… fun?”

Finnick laughs. “Yeah, Y/N and I did have some fun,” he looks over at you, winking. “But then again, when do we not?”

As much as you hated these fake personas, you couldn’t help but love it on Finnick. You loved the way he absolutely radiated confidence, especially when he spoke about you.

Caesar laughs. “My, Finnick, how forward you are! You and Y/N have always been-”

“Very open about our relationship?” Finnick filled in, smiling. “Yes, our relationship is not only our pride but-”

The crowd chants. “The Pride of Panem!”

“Oh, you are! You both are,” Caesar gets closer. “But should we be careful about letting our children watch the games, Finnick?”

You wanted to scream. Children shouldn’t even be watching the games anyways, but still, Finnick plays along. He grins, flexing his finger at Caesar to bring him closer, the mic as well. “We’ll have a safe word, Caesar. I’ll say it so that the children can leave.”

“Oh, my my! Behave yourself, Finnick, there’s children watching!” He continues to laugh before placing a hand on Finnick’s wrist. “Now, I was told you and Y/N have a bit of a… surprise for us.”

He smiled. “Oh, yes, we do. Y/N and I, we’re…” he looks over at you, exhaling. “We have two surprises.”

Two? What were your two surprises? You knew one was your wedding, but the other?

“Oh? Who doesn’t love surprises?! Now, everyone wants to know, Finnick,” the camera zooms in, Caesar’s perfect teeth smiling almost scarily. “What’s your surprise?”

“Y/N and I are getting married,” he says, cheers erupting from the crowd. “Tomorrow evening. We invite all that are able to come to celebrate with us, our only request is that you wear black,” he smiles. “The only people wearing white will be myself and my bride, as this is the happiest day of our lives.”

Caesar laughs. “Oh, how exciting! I am so excited for you, Finnick, where are the rings?!”

Finnick shook his head. “The rings are still being designed, you will see them tomorrow evening. My second surprise, though,” he looks back at you, smiling. “Is from Y/N.”

Your face scrunched. What was he doing?

“Oh? And what does the Princess of Panem have to say?” He pushed the mic closer.

“She’s with child,” Finnick starts to grin. “My child.”

You gasped, covering your mouth as the crowd went silent. Finnick’s eyes snap to yours, the smile on his face calming all your nerves until the crowd starts to boo. Your heart rate spikes, your breathing getting faster until you hear the words they say. “Stop the games! Our Princess and Prince need to see their baby!”

You exhaled shakily as Caesar laughed awkwardly. “Well, Finnick, I hope you have a great wedding tomorrow and I hope to see you there.”

“Well I’ll certainly be there, Caesar, and I hope you attend.”

He announced Finnick’s name and district before he left the stage, a large bubble filling your chest. Your head began to pound with every beat of your heart, fingernails digging so deep into your palms that you drew blood. You tried to focus on your breathing like Finnick had taught you, but nothing worked.

“Y/N, Y/N darling,” Finnick spoke, holding your cheeks. “Look at me, hey. Only a few more hours, darling, just a few more. I promise you, love.”

You nodded, inhaling deeply with him as he stroked your hair. Your eyes begin to water, but he quickly pats your cheek. “Hey, we don’t want to ruin Cinna’s makeup, do we?” As much as his tone was light and playful, it was much more serious and you both knew it.

“I'm scared, Finnick,” you whisper, inhaling shakily. “I don’t want to go out there.”

“Y/N, where are you, my princess?!” Caesar’s voice was loud, slightly worried before Finnick pressed a kiss to your painted lips. His thumb smudged the lipstick slightly, just enough to take some pigment off but still make you look perfect. “Go, darling, I’ll be right here.”

It takes him shoving you softly for you to go out, a smooth smile immediately gracing your features as Caesar ran to you. You hide your shaking hands in your dress, but Caesar kneels in front of you and offers his hand. You giggled, outstretching your arm for him to take your hand. You quickly fix your face as he kisses the back, holding back a grimace as he looks up at you. “My princess.”

You curtsy, cheers erupting from the crowd as he led you to the main platform. Your dress cascaded behind you, long pale blue that was almost white, a nod to your wedding dress that you were going to wear the next night. He held your hands high as you sat down, announcing the words, “Y/N, the Princess of Panem!”

You close your eyes as the cheers get louder than you’ve ever heard, letting your hand slowly fall to your lap as Caesar lets go. When you open them, you tilt your head back, blinking back tears with a slight sniffle.

“Y/N, darling,” Caesar switched to the mic on his collar, reaching for your hand again with a sigh. “We truly feel for you.”

No he didn’t, none of them did. Even if you were pregnant, none of them understood, none of them felt what you felt. “I’m sure you could try,” you say, sobbing erupting from the dramatics of the crowd.

Maybe there were some true feelings behind Caesar’s eyes, but you didn’t see it. “When you volunteered for Mags, did you know?”

You shook your head. “No, I didn’t. Finnick and I have been attempting to have a family since we ended our show,” you inhaled shakily. It wasn’t a lie, it really wasn’t, but even then, it was horrible. You very well could’ve been truly pregnant from the mornings you were waking up sick, but you fooled yourself into thinking it was just the nervousness of getting out back into the games. “It has to stick when we’re going to die, right?”

Caesar shook his head, his eyes watering as he squeezed your hand. “You… you should not say that,” he whispers, sighing. “You do not think you can win?”

You laughed. “Caesar, the Princess of Panem never loses,” your fake joy comes back as the crowd cheered, but then it turned into boos. “But I would love to think of names for my future child without the fear of dying.”

“One final question, Y/N,” Caesar says as the crowd quiets down. “If you would have known… would you have still volunteered for Mags?”

You smiled. “Caesar, no matter how much I want this child, if they’re not born yet, I want Finnick more. Forever and always. If Finnick goes somewhere, I'm with him,” you look back, inhaling deeply when you see his piercing cerulean toned eyes staring at you. “Until death do we part,” you raise your left hand to him, his own doing the same. “And when we meet in our next life.”

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next part will be uploaded this Sunday! (and linked in masterlist and the link for next part) (05.14.23)

reblogs, comments, and likes are greatly appreciated! I love getting y'alls feedback :)

It was common knowledge that you could fight, especially with Finnick as your mentor since the Reaping and practically best friend since birth, but you refused to show any skill during and before your games. Like Johanna in the later games, you weren’t deemed a threat until you killed eight people by trapping them in a net and throwing them down a waterfall, surpassing Betee’s amazing feat of six kills at once. Even then, though, you couldn’t protect the person you wanted the most- a young boy, younger than your age of fifteen, Reaped from District 3. 

Your kills of the games didn’t settle in until you left, finally processing the fact that you ended the lives of others who were trying to do the same as you, survive. You had let a superiority complex settle in during your tour, tricking yourself into thinking that if they wanted to live, then they would’ve tried harder.

It didn’t last long, though, after you saw Finnick again- his fake persona immediately falling when he got you alone, kissing you immediately, whispering soft praises and ‘I thought I’d never see you again’s. The real torture began when your tour ended and Snow finally pulled you into a horrible underground of the rich and plentiful, selling you to the highest bidder until Finnick stepped in and forced Snow to put him with you.

As much as you felt that it was your fault Finnick was being dragged into this life again, he assured you that it wasn’t the case, even though it was- in your mind at least. While Finnick took secrets as payment, you took two things as payment- money in forms of lavish gifts or cash, and death in the form of poisoning them. It wasn’t like Snow could do much when you threatened his family just like he did yours.

You learned later on why Finnick accepted this second form of torture, and you hated yourself even more when you figured out it was because of you, because they threatened you. They threatened to kill you, and just like that, you learned another thing about Finnick- he truly loved you, no matter how much you thought differently at first.

After that, you both had finally gotten out of the cruel grip of the Capitol and Snow, finding a makeshift home in the Victors Village of District 4. You and Finnick made your relationship public, to the dismay of Snow, but it was quickly fixed whenever everyone found joy in your relationship. You both even had a television show for a while, almost making your life seem normal until you ended it, dreaming of a life with no cameras and the fake personas you both made.

You knew what some people thought about you and Finnick - the Crown Prince and Princess - the most popular couple that ever happened in the history of Panem, a lustful couple that could never keep their hands off of each other after a series of lovers that weren’t quite voluntary.

You were broken out of your thoughts when you heard Caesar’s voice, his horrible laugh you only wanted to forget. He spoke to the other host, smiling. “I wonder if we will be able to see our Prince and Princess again! Oh, I miss seeing them. I miss their reality show as well!”

Claudius laughs. “Well, if we do see them, hopefully it’s in the games! Finnick and Y/N have always been my favorites, they’re amazing.”

Caesar laughs too. “Oh, yes! They are some of my favorites, and who knows, love in the arena again?”

You don’t hear the door open, Finnick quickly running into the kitchen of your shared home. He looks down at the broken bowl full of food, but ignores it as he quickly cups your face. “Y/N? Darling, look at me.”

Quickly, you do as he says, smiling. “I’m sorry, Finnick. I’ll pick it up now. The floor is clean, I swear on it.”

He groaned. He hated it when your persona just flared up, especially in moments like these when you acted as though you both were on a TV show again. “Y/N, don’t do that!”

Your eyes widen, gasping as he slowly rubs your cheeks with your thumbs. “We’re going to be okay, I promise.”

You shook your head. “No we’re not. No we’re not, we’re going to go back in and we’re going to die.”

He shook his head in response, stroking your face. “I’m not going to let that happen.”

You inhale shakily as he slowly kneeled down, picking up the fish that didn’t land on the floor and setting it on another plate. “Why don’t you go set the table?”

You nod, slowly kneeling down to attempt to pick up the broken shards. “Yeah, yeah I will-”

He kneeled in front of you, pushing your hands away. “Go set the table. I’ll pick this up.”

You nod as he kisses your hands softly, helping you stand before you go to the dining room. Outside was havoc, and when someone knocked on the door, Finnick beat you to it.

Mags stood there, hands shaking before Finnick slowly grabbed her wrists, helping her inside. “Come eat with us, Mags. Y/N made her famous fish.”

She inhaled, but nodded as she slowly walked to the table. You kiss her head softly, placing a plate in front of her as Finnick sets the food down, an array of sides to go along with the fish such as potatoes, roasted vegetables, and rice. You sit down next to Mags, Finnick on the opposite side of you for the four person table, sighing heavily as everyone begins to serve themselves,

You don’t, though, Finnick saying how good your fish always was and how excited he was to have it for dinner. Mags smiles as she slowly eats, almost like a bird, but Finnick stuffed his face. He paused when you didn't serve yourself, but smiled when he reached forward to hold your hand. “Are you tired, my love?”

You nodded, smiling at Mags as you stood. You pressed a kiss to her head, inhaling shakily before moving to Finnick, kissing his lips.

“I’m going to take a shower. I love you.”

He smiled sadly, nodding. “I love you too.”

You slowly go up the stairs, Finnick picking up the plates before washing them and leading Mags outside. As you took a shower, Finnick rubbed his jaw as he held a pipe. Normally, he never smoked - especially opium - but he needed it more than ever now.

Mags waved her hand, holding it out to him before he slowly handed it to her, watching as she inhaled deeply. “I think they’re going to rig the Reaping,” he whispers, looking back to stare at the restroom light to make sure you were still in there. “For it to draw me and Y/N.”

Mags exhales the smoke before looking at him, smiling. She makes a gesture, pretending to search in a bowl before gesturing to herself.

It took him a minute, but he shook his head. “No. No, you can’t do that. I won’t let you-”

She pushed him away, putting her middle finger up towards him before handing back the pipe. She stands, pressing a kiss to his head before waving and going back towards her house. He sighed, taking another deep inhale from the pipe before he felt soft hands on his back.

He turns around, smiling when he sees you, your hands running down his spine before going back to his shoulders.

“Are you going to come inside?”

He sighs, shaking his head as he sets down the pipe. “Why don’t you stay out here a little longer with me?”

You accept, slowly laying between his legs before kissing his thighs. “Fin? Fin, I want-”

“You don’t have to, darling,” he whispers, stroking your head as you lay on your stomach, kneeling before pressing your chest against the soft fabric of the chair. “Darling, wait-”

You hush him as you slowly pull down his pants, bunching them up at his thighs to watch his cock immediately harden and slap against his stomach. “You want me to wait when you’re already so hard?”

He laughs. “Well, darling, it’s hard not to when your pretty ass is pressed against my- fuck, got dammit-”

He inhaled sharply as you took him into your mouth, not even half of his length fitting inside of your mouth as you let your jaw go slack. You hold his upper thigh, bobbing your head as he tilts his head back. You hold back gags as you attempt to relax your throat, pushing your head as deep as you could before pulling away, gasping for air as your spit dribbled down his shaft.

You giggle as you use your hand to pump his length, pulling him back into your mouth as his hand slowly cups the back of your head. He groaned out loud, a gasp falling from your lips as he started to shallowly thrust, grunting. “Fuck, darling, you’re always so good. So, so fucking good.”

You hummed around him, watching as his eyes rolled back, another hand going to cup and squeeze his balls. His hips buck, a gag falling from your lips as your own rut against the chair, desperate for friction.

His moans get louder as you press your face against his pelvis, tiny pubes pressing against your nose from his well groomed body, groaning out as he pulls back your hair. You could feel your saliva running down your chin, gagging with each thrust as he cursed. “Let them hear us, darling. Let all of them hear us fucking.”

It wasn’t the first time you both had sex outside, but this was the first you both weren’t holding back. You could hear the wet noises echoing in the trees, the slow trickling of the river near by you and Finnick swam in before, where you both had made love too. It was rare you and Finnick didn’t fuck somewhere, especially in Victors Village.

You gagged loudly, thankful for the fact that Mags’ house was far away from your own. If there was one thing that you never wanted in your lifetime, it was for Mags to hear her adopted children having sex.

Your thoughts were distracted as Finnick pulled you closer, hips thrusting faster, harder. His cock was pounding, thrusting into you quickly, grunts echoing as he groaned. “Fucking hell, darling, you’re doing so good. Fuck, fuck! You’re perfect, c’mon, focus on me. Focus on me.”

You nodded around his cock, gagging as you pulled away just for him to bring you straight back down. He laughs, staring down at your wide, hazy eyes as he stroked your cheek. You looked so innocent sucking him off, choking and gagging so prettily around his cock.

It had taken you both time to actually have sex and enjoy it, and actually finish because of pleasure instead of faking. Now, almost every touch from each other turned the other on, and you both wouldn’t have it any other way. He sucks in a breath as he forces you deep into his cock, your choking turning him on even more as you squeezed his ball sac. He groans out your name, hips bucking quickly before he cums, balls basically clenching as he cums down your throat.

Your eyes rolled back as you hollowed out your cheeks, sucking as hard as you could to take all of his cum as deep as you could. You swallow all of it, as much as you could before he pulls out, the rest of his cum filling your mouth. With a giggle, you open your mouth wide as he stares down at you, leaning towards your face to kiss your lips. His saliva mixed with his cum and your own, your cunt aching as he pulled you back into his lap, his cock already hard and prodding at your sex.

“Fuck, darling,” he whispers, watching as you swallow and lick at your lips and down your chin. “Holy shit.”

“You taste so good,” you whisper, gasping as he slowly pulls at your dress, bunching it up at your waist. He pulled your panties to the side, a gasp falling from your mouth as his head slowly prods against your cunt, slowly pushing inside of you. You throw your head back, groaning loudly. “Fuck, Finnick!”

He groans into your chest, his hands moving from his cock to your back, rubbing at your spine before pulling at the ties of your nightgown. The breast area of your nightgown quickly falls as he unties your dress, leaning down to press his lips against your nipples, popping and sucking against them. You pull him closer, groaning as he sucked on one, his hands cupping at your tits as your hips buck into his.

“Fin, Fin, Fin, Finnick!” You moaned out, gasping as his hips thrust upward, into you, deep and deeper, his cock hitting every sensitive spot inside of you as you groaned.

“Fuck darling, just like that. Come on, get off on my cock. Wanna watch your face as you cum over and over, again and again.” He laughs as he drags his teeth over your nipple, watching your face scrunch up in a mix of pleasure and pain. “Come on, cum. Your pretty little cunt clenches when you're close.”

His tongue flicked at your nipple, his other hand pushing down under your dress, his nimble fingers rubbing at your clit. “Come on. Cum. Cum, now. You want to feel good, right? Cum. Want to watch you fall apart.”

You scream out, whining as he leans up, licking and sucking at your neck before snapping his hips up. His tip felt as though it was pushing into your stomach, his fat cock stretching you out so good as his tip makes a noticeable bulge on your tummy. You could see it from under your dress, his other hand moving from your breast to your stomach, pushing and rubbing at the bulge as the other does the same to your clit.

You screamed out, eyes watering with pleasure filled tears and you whined loudly. “Fuck, fuck! Yes, yes Finnick!”

He laughs, kissing your neck. “You still haven’t cum yet, darling. I can’t cum until you do, I fucking love you too much. Come on, come on! Do I need to do more, darling? Give you more pleasure?”

You shake your head, mouth lulling open. “No, no, it’s too much! Too much, Fin, fuck!”

“It’s too much and you still haven’t cum?” He laughs, his fingers squeezing your swollen, sensitive clit as you screamed out. Your walls clamp down on him, his hips thrusting up into you until his balls pressed against your ass. You choked, eyes rolling back as you came, a mind blurring orgasm immediately processing itself through your body- nails digging into his shoulders, dragging down his back before his cum spurts into you.

It was quick, cum filling your deepest parts, almost inflating you as he rubs against the bulge. You were being filled, cum pushing into your deepest parts as he pulled you lower.

“Yes, darling,” he praises, kissing at your neck as he pants. Your weak form collapses onto him as he strokes your back. “You did so good.”

“Again, Finnick,” you whisper, rubbing your face against his shoulder. “I want to be filled by you again.”

He nods, how could he resist you? How could he refuse something you wanted?

“Yes, darling,” he repeats. “Whatever you want.”

He took you inside, fucking you over and over again anywhere you wanted. You both weren’t even fucking anymore, not whenever you both got to your bed, now making love as he panted above you. You were so full, so full of him, of Finnick, the man you wanted to marry and to grow old with.

You weren’t able to, though, not after this Quarter Quell. You sobbed against his chest as he cradled your body, pulling you as close as possible as he kissed your head. His tanned skin was rough, covered in scars, his hands rubbing at your back to calm you down as his soft voice whispers into your ear. He whispers praises, assurances that he would never let anything happen to you. His golden hair made a halo over his face as you looked up, sea green eyes staring down at yours glazed over in unshed tears.

“Finnick, I’m scared. I’m so scared.”

Again, he shook his head. “Don’t be scared. You don’t need to be scared, I won’t let anything happen to you.”

“I want to be with you, Finnick. I want to be with you until the end of time, until I’m dead.”

“Don’t say that. Don’t say that, Y/N.”

You shook your head, cupping his cheeks. “Why? It’s the truth. I want you, I’m going to be with you until my heart stops. Promise me you’ll do the same, please.”

His eyes water, tears finally running down his cheeks as he nods. “I promise, darling. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”

You smiled, stroking his cheeks to rid them of tears. “I wish I could’ve had your babies, Finnick,” you choked back a sob, eyes watering as he gasps. “I wish we could’ve had children.”

“Stop, please stop, Y/N,” he sobs this time, leaning forward to kiss your tear covered lips. “Stop saying those things.”

“In our next life, Finnick,” you smiled, stroking his cheeks before kissing his lips. “In our next life, I swear to you, we will be happy. We will be safe. We will,” you inhaled shakily. “We will live a long, happy life together. We’ll have children, we’ll have a family. Nothing horrible will happen to us, no traumas, nothing. I swear to you.”

He sobs, pulling you closer. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I can’t do that for you in this life.”

And you kissed him. You kissed him so hard, throwing your weight over him, pulling his mouth as much as you could into yours. Your tongues dance, rubbing and swirling around each other’s before your hips rut against his. “You’ve done so much for me now. In this life. You’ve made me the happiest woman in this life, I swear.”

He smiles at you. “I love you, Y/N. I love you so much.”

You giggle sadly, nodding. “I love you too, Finnick. I love you, now and forever.”

The next day would be the Reaping, and soon, the Third Quarter Quell. You were going to make sure Finnick got out alive, even if it was at the cost of your own life.

You didn’t know he was thinking the same thing.

next part will be uploaded this Wednesday (and linked in masterlist and the link for next part) (05.10.23)

when you first met aemond you felt like you had won the greatest prize, thanking whatever gods we're listening for giving you such a blessing. He was kind, much kinder than any other man had been. he treated you with respect and even made sure you were taken care of in the bedroom.

something that still irked you about him was that you couldn't tell if he genuinely liked you. sure his actions were kind but he never really spoke to you. seven hells he never even kisses you.

he was a very strange man but you grew to love him all the same. it had been a couple months since the two of you had been married and were still unable to conceive.

aemond shook his head and alicent sighed, rubbing her temples before turning back to you. you would normally apologize but today you feel so embarrassed about it.

"you're dismissing dear."

you stand and silently make your way towards the door and exit. this was humiliating, what was wrong with you? why couldn't you just do this one thing? you didn't look at aemonds expression and you didn't want to, expecting to see disappointment and anger.

you didn't even notice you had left your notebook in alicents room, you had to go fetch you. as much as you didn't want to go back in there you needed to get your notebook so you quickly turn around to go get it.

once you reach the door you lift your hand to knock but freeze at the conversation inside.

"it has been months aemond! aegon and heleana had there children swiftly after marriage yet this one is not happening." there is silence and alicent sigh in anger at aemonds quietness.

"maybe its time we consider other options aemond. shes clearly not producing any heirs and the royal line must continue."

You stumble back with tears in your eyes. No you couldn't lose aemond. you gulp, why? why were you so useless that you couldnt do this one thing? his silence is everything. you rush away quickly to your room., ignore the odd stares from the maids.

you hide yourself under the covers of your bed and allow yourself to cry.

The day passes and the sun sets while you rot in bed. the door opens and your eyes shoot open. hes too early. its much too early in the day despite it being night for him to be returning now.

you pray he doesn't come over to you. you can hear his footsteps suddenly pause for a moment and you hold your breath. he lets out a sigh and his footsteps move closer to you.

youre frozen. he suddenly rips the sheet off of you and you shriek, burying your head into the pillow. "my lady..." his words are soft, in a pleading tone which tugs at your heart.

"my prince." you mumble into the pillow, not wanting to face him. he sighs once more and places a hand on your back.

"are you feeling well? you did not attend dinner." ah dinner was it really that late? you two always had dinner together. he must have come looking once you didnt show.

"im sorry my prince, i lost track of time."

he notes you dont answer his question, "my lady, if something is bothering you please tell me."

your eyes well up with tears again, why did he have to be so sweet? you suddenly sit up, a sudden rush of emotions floods you.

"please do not find another lady."

he gives you a bewildered look, "whatever are you talking about my lady."

you looks down as the tears begin to flow heavily, "im sorry i haven't conceived yet. please just allow me to try again, i can i promise please do not find somebody else to do it."

You let out a sob as you finish, you loved him so much you did not want him to go looking for someone else.

he places a hand on you chin and forces you to look up at him.

"i would never do such a think. i do not know where you got such an absurd idea from but it shall never happen, you are my wife. i am with you till death do us part."

you sniffle, "but the queen had suggested-"

he lets out a sigh and shakes his head, "is that what this is about?" you quickly shut up and sighs again.

"she had suggested it when you had left yes. but i had told her no. you are my wife."

"but what if i am unable to-"

"it does not matter."

"but the queen..."

he looks you in the eyes and you feel yourself melt in the warmth. "there is nobody else other than you. and there shall never be."

he kisses you. it had been the first time since your wedding he had kisses you and you never felt happier.

once he pulled away he rested his forehead onto yours. "it shall always be you."

he pulls away and gives you a smile, "plus it has only been a few months since he have married, there are still plenty more opportunities for you to get pregnant."

“I am incredibly sor…” you began to stutter out, ducking your head in shame of bumping into one of your employers.

“Shh, it is only I, Darling,” the kind voice you knew so well whispered.

You breathed out a sigh of relief, finally daring to look up into the kind blue eyes that stared back at you with nothing but adoration.

“Benedict,” you smiled, stepping half a step closer to him out of instinct. The hands on your waist tightened at the way you spoke his name - to Benedict; it was as if angels were singing and beautiful string music was playing.

And there you stood, with a teapot between you, staring at one another with lopsided smiles and longing in your eyes, keeping you frozen in place to savour the rare moment you found yourself in.

A faint thump somewhere in the house was what shook you from your trance; you jumped back and out of his grasp, looking up and down the hallway to make sure no one saw you in such a compromised position.

“I apologise, Mr Bridgerton,” you spoke at normal volume, curtsying before hurriedly walking past him.

You didn’t make it very far before a hand stopped you by curling around your arm, the black fabric of your uniform scrunching under his hold.

“Come see me tonight,” Benedict pleaded softly, looking at you with hope - as if you hadn’t already planned a rendezvous.

You nodded with a smile, looking both ways down the hallway twice before quickly going back to peck him softly on the cheek. Benedict grinned, pulling you back when you tried to make your leave again to place a longing kiss on your forehead and first then did he let you go.

“I will count the minutes, my angel,” he whispered, walking backwards slowly, watching you disappear down the steps and out of sight.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

You couldn’t keep the smile off your face, even as you returned the teapot to the kitchen. The kitchen-maid gave you a knowing look.

“You must tell me what jape the tea has bestowed upon you to have you smile so giddily,” she smirked.

You quickly wiped off the ridiculously large grin, heat travelling up your neck.

“Oh, I just overheard something amusing from Hyacinth,” you explained, gathering the silverware to bring to the dining table in preparation for supper.

“My dear, I may be a kitchen maid, but in no means does that make me simple-minded…- I do have eyes as well… and I do recognise the look of love from a certain second born Bridgerton brother,” she mused, stirring in the pot before her.

“Keep your voice down, please,” you hissed through a whisper, “could you imagine the scandal!”

“Oh please… Mr Bridgerton is but the second born, therefore giving him limitless options in choosing a wife,” she waved her hand about.

You shook your head, the silverware clinking in your grasp, “and you believe the viscount would give his blessing for his brother to marry a housemaid? I would certainly think not… it would ruin the family name.”

“It would do no such thing… with the eldest son a viscount and the eldest daughter a duchess; it gives the rest of the children enough freedom to marry who they so please,” she argued, now pointing the ladle at you.

“I wish that to be true, but I do not believe they can choose just anyone… and certainly not household staff,” you sighed, “but I thank you for dreaming for me.”

She stood silently, watching as you exited the kitchen with the plates you swiftly collected to bring up and into the dining room.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

Just as you finished placing the last knife, making sure everything looked presentable for the family, a pair of arms snaked around your middle, pulling you to him.

You gasped but calmed when you took notice of the fainted charcoal remnants on the person's hands - belonging to only one person.

His lips left a soft trail of kisses down the side of your neck and, in their wake, prompted goosebumps to appear on your covered arms and back.

“Benedict… someone may see,” you whispered, yet leaned your body back against him as his grip tightened possessively on you.

“I could not possibly wait to see you, and I cannot find it in myself to care if anyone should see… in fact, I want them to,” Benedict murmured, sucking marks onto that certain sweet spot on your neck that made you whimper.

You whined lowly, straining your eyes to keep them from fluttering shut, “Benedict… I would be out of a job if anyone were to see.”

“I would never allow that,” Benedict murmured against your throat, pulling you from the table and towards a more secluded corner of the hallway, tucked between two large cabinets.

“Ah, but you are not the viscount, my love,” you stated matter of factly, ignoring how your stomach fluttered as he pressed your back up against the wall, caging you in against it with his body.

“Luckily.”

Benedict’s face was bright with a smirk, pressing himself up against you, creating a bubble of warmth between the two of you.

He slowly leaned down to speak lowly in your ear, his warm breath grazing your already heated cheek.

“-will you allow me to have you, angel?”

A small gasp left your parted lips as he nibbled lightly on your ear, dragging his lips back against your cheek, leaving small kisses on their path to your lips.

His face drew back from yours before your lips attached; he raised his eyebrow expectantly, a small comforting smile permanently placed on his lips as he waited for your nod of agreement.

You looked both ways - looking and listening for any sort of commotion from the staff or people of the house… people who weren’t supposed to witness you fraternising with a Bridgerton brother.

After a long moment, your eyes found Benedict’s once again to give him a subtle nod.

His smile only grew before leaning down to crash his lips against yours; his arms snaked around you, keeping the gap between you nonexistent. His hands squeezed your body, scrunching your black uniform - his white shirt wrinkled in your grip as you tried to find a steady place on him to hold.

His tongue prodded your lips open enough to slip in and tangle with yours; he soaked up all your whimpers, only pressing you closer to him after each sound. Even through the layers of your dress and slip could you feel him - his trousers growing tighter by the second.

A breath was granted to you as he pulled back to look at your face, giving your flushed appearance an appreciative glance - a small string of saliva connecting you. His grin was as large as ever, cocking his head to bend down to leave large wet kisses on your neck, nosing the collar of your maid uniform down.

“This is quite improper, Mr Bridgerton,” you heaved, biting back the whimper that threatened to escape your swollen lips.

You could feel the smirk on your neck, but his assault didn’t cease, “oh, I am quite aware, my angel,” he nipped at the sensitive flesh before switching sides, basking in the way you gasped and how your fingers tightened on his arm.

“Benedict… please,” you whined, pulling him from your neck to show him the desperate look that dawned your face.

He ran a thumb over your bottom lip, tracing it delicately before sinking to his knees in front of you.

“I believe I know just what my beautiful girl desires… if she is agreeable?” he grinned, eyes sparkling when you nodded. His large hands bunched up the excessive fabric of your dress, looking up at you with a mischievous grin, “hold this, please.”

You did as he asked, holding up your dress and slip; still, you kept an eye on both sides of the hallway, scared that someone would walk past at any given time to see you exposed and vulnerable.

“Beautiful as ever, my sweet,” Benedict murmured, kissing paths up your inner thighs, purposely drawing out his teasing.

You bit down hard on your lip to keep yourself from whining loudly. Your knees almost buckled at the soft kisses he left on you, his warm breath fanning over your cunt, but never attaching as you wished it would - and with your dress in your hands, you couldn’t even pull him to you… you could do nothing but watch.

His eyes twinkled with mischief as he looked up at you, giving you a wink before finally doing as you wished - attaching his lips to your aching cunt.

Your teeth dug so hard into your lip you were sure it would draw blood, but you also knew that you wouldn’t be able to silence your noises if you were to ease your bite.

Benedict’s tongue worked with precision, keeping an intoxicating pattern on your clit and alternating to tongue at your weeping entrance.

You couldn’t keep your knees from bending, even if you tried - the only reason you hadn’t collapsed was because of Benedict’s hands firmly holding your thighs in a tight grip, feeling them shake in his hands every time his tongue flicked your clit just right.

The slurping sounds he produced from in between your legs were downright sinful. You couldn’t help the small breathy ‘oh god’ that left your lips.

“Are you able to stand on your own, my sweet?” Benedict breathed, flicking his tongue against your clit as he waited for an answer, enjoying how your eyes fluttered and you struggled to produce words.

You looked down at him with hooded eyes, nodding your head as you tried to stabilise your shaky legs.

His right hand left your leg, keeping you stable with only one hand.

Fingers brushed against your entrance, coating themselves in arousal before two of them pushed into you, instantly curling and spreading you. He kept his mouth attached to your clit, watching to ensure you wouldn’t collapse on the wooden floor beneath.

Benedict’s fingers worked steadily, searching for that special spot inside you - and with little search, his mission was a success - he could tell he’d found it by your sharp inhale and inability to keep your eyes open and on him.

“Give it to me, sweet girl,” he breathed, reattaching himself to your clit as soon as the words were spoken, feeling the telltale signs of your release, your cunt squeezing his fingers as it pulsed. He groaned against you, the vibrations pulling you right over the edge you’d been balancing on.

You bit down hard on your bottom lip, the irony taste of blood seeping from the small puncture your teeth had caused. Your eyes shut tight, concentrating on not letting any noises fall from your swollen lips as Benedict pumped his fingers slowly through your release; he revelled in the way you tensed in his hold, your legs shaking and the grip on your dress loosening slightly.

You could feel his smile on you, accompanied by his warm breath.

His fingers glistened with the evidence of your pleasure as he pulled them from you, making a dramatic show of sucking them clean.

Standing from the floor, he took your hands in his forcing your dress to fall back in place, covering up your slick covered thighs.

The grin on his face made your heart melt; you couldn’t help but wrap your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes to pepper appreciative kisses all around his face.

“Thank you… thank you… thank you,” you whispered between kisses, smiling at the chuckle that rumbled his chest.

Benedict’s grip on you tightened, pulling you into a loving embrace, “I shall be sure to indulge in actives such as these more frequently if this is the response I acquire.”

“You, my love, are a distraction from my work,” you sighed, bending your head to rest against his shoulder.

“If it were up to me, you would not have to work… I would take care of you,” Benedict thought out loud, caressing the back of your head, careful not to ruin your neatly pinned hairstyle.

“Unfortunately, it is not,” you whispered, voice muffled by his shining vest.

Benedict drew in a breath, opening his mouth to say something more, but the clanging of dishes and distant sounding voices stopped his thoughts.

“I love you,” he whispered quickly, placing a parting kiss on your forehead before you could leave his arms.

Timing was apparently on your side because as soon as you had stepped a decent step back from him, Eloise came bursting into the hallway.

“Benedict! You promised me a show of the illustrations you have conjured for my novel,” she sighed, clearly exasperated from her search for him. She gave you a smile as she noticed you.

You realised it must have looked weird for you to just stand, doing nothing but stare at her brother.

“Excuse me, Mr Bridgerton…. miss Bridgerton, I must finish preparing the room for supper,” you curtsied, smiling softly at him before making way to pass him, but not without feeling his hand brush yours softly.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

The clattering of cutlery against plates and soft conversation filled the dining room of the Bridgerton estate - a rare evening where the whole family was gathered around the long table - with the exception of Daphne.

You stood by - out of sight and mind - not paying much attention to the conversation that took place; the only thing that piqued your interest was the glances Benedict seemed to give you - letting his eyes linger on you for far too long for it to seem accidental or innocent.

Only a minute passed before the sound of a chair scraping against the floor pulled you from your thoughts.

“I must apologise, mother, but I feel a headache coming… I shall therefore retire and continue my supper in my room,” Benedict excused, already standing from the table.

Violet’s eyes widened in concern; shaking her head, she waved him off, “oh dear, of course… I will send someone to check on you later.”

“I do not think that should be necessary… some rest should do it,” he shook his head, gathering his plate with his half-eaten meal.

Suddenly his eyes met yours, “y/n, would you be so kind as to gather my glass and napkin?”

“Of course, Mr Bridgerton,” you nodded, choosing to ignore the whole family watching you. The viscount raised a brow at Benedict - it didn’t go unnoticed that he was perfectly capable of carrying all of it by himself but chose not to. With a last goodbye and a kiss to his mothers cheek, Benedict departed the room with you right in tow. You released a breath when the conversation resumed, and you were no longer under investigation by the head of the house.

Watching the man in front of you walk with slightly hastened steps, you wondered for a moment if what Benedict had said was true, but the quick glance and smirk he spared you was enough to dull your concerns. He slowed his steps enough to fall into step with you, walking beside you - closer than what was necessary and appropriate.

“Benedict Bridgerton, are you not aware that lying is a sin?” you teased as soon as the door was shut behind you.

Your heart fluttered when the soft sound of his chuckle hit your ears, “I was not lying,” he grinned, placing his plate down on the small round table he had beside his easel, “and yet I find myself feeling perfectly fine as of now.”

He crossed the room with a few long strides, pulling you to him gently to not spill the contents of his glass you were still holding.

“I suppose I am healed,” Benedict whispered, leaning down to place a sweet kiss on your cheek - leaving his face against yours as he nuzzled against your cheek.

You huffed out a laugh, “a true miracle.”

“…- Benedict…the glass… I am afraid I shall drop it.”

He only hummed, walking backwards with you in his arms still - blindly hoping he wouldn’t crash into the table.

When he didn’t crash but instead stopped in front of it, he carefully took the glass from you to place on the table; within an instant, you were back in his tight embrace, sighing as you buried yourself in his neck.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” you mumbled into his skin, tightening your hold on him.

“We could, my darling… if you were to marry me,” Benedict murmured into your hair.

With a jolt, you detached your face from his neck, “what?”

“Marry me.”

You sighed, “Benedict… you and I both know that that is not possible; your brother would never allow you to scandalise your family name like that.”

“I do not need my brother's permission to marry,” he huffed, moving his hand up to stroke your cheek, “and besides… Daphne has already secured the family name.”

“And who is to say if that is enough? Enough for you to marry a housemaid?”

“Anthony does not control what I do, and I am sure that we would be doing Eloise a great favour if we were to scandalise the Bridgerton name,” he grinned.

You shook your head, “And what of Francesca or poor Hyacinth… what are they to do? And what if Lord Bridgerton were to cut off your funds? What would you do then?”

“I am sure Anthony is more than capable of finding matches for them… and no one would care by then if we are away, living somewhere peacefully in the country…”

“-and if he were to cut off my funds, I suppose I would have to get an honest job and make sure you are taken care of.”

The smile on your face stretched ear to ear; you couldn’t help but swoon over him - he never ceased to amaze you.

“You would do that?” You asked incredulously, staring at him with wide eyes.

“Well, of course, my love,” he smiled back softly, tipping your chin up to leave a gentle kiss on your lips.

“I love you, Benedict Bridgerton… even if you were a cook, or a footman, or even a gossip writer,” you chuckled, leaning your forehead against his.

“And I love you, my sweet girl… - I shall speak with Anthony first thing tomorrow, and from there, we shall know whether or not I am to become a gossip writer,” he smirked, squeezing your waist with his left hand.

“-but first… I fear I may keep you from your work for the rest of the night as I am terribly ill and require constant care from my soon to be wife.”

“You forget one thing, my darling… - I have not yet accepted,” you smirked, pressing your lips hard against his before he could fire a quick quip right back at you.

· · ───────── ·𖥸· ──────── · ·

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at the cuffs of the jacket.

“Arms out, please, sir,” You told him.

He complied, never looking away from his brother, who was chatting loudly with him as he waited his turn for a fitting. 

You’d grown used to this work. And the reality of being ignored by men whilst you poked and prodded at them wasn’t something you minded. At least not anymore.

Frankly, you didn’t want to make conversation whilst you worked fittings, and strongly preferred ignorance to the leering looks and unwanted attention that other gentlemen gave you. Mr. Raugland was a great boss if only in the sense that he was quick to remove you from a client if they started to get too familiar with you. 

Once you’d finished fitting the older two brothers you quickly took the garments into the back of the shop and got back to work. You were going to have a late night, trying to get these garments, along with the rest of your work, finished and back into their hands by the end of the week.

And you had no time to waste, not if you wanted to remain employed. It wouldn’t take Mr. Raugland long to replace you with someone else who could do the work just as fast if you couldn’t keep up with the load. 

And that was not an option.

The next evening you were rushing through Mayfair with the final box for the Bridgertons tucked under your arm.

You’d completed the first two deliveries, the older two brothers lived in separate Bachelor lodgings across town, closer to the shop. Why on earth three brothers needed to live in three completely different homes made no sense to you, but it meant there were three different delivery charges so you weren’t going to complain.

Besides, the youngest brother still lived with his mother and sisters, in one of the beautiful large homes for the landed gentry in fashionable Mayfair. Walking through this part of town made it almost easy to forget one's troubles, and imagine a far easier, perfect life. 

The walk gives you a chance to daydream whilst you traverse the streets, imagining what it might be like to live in one of these homes, to spend one’s days leisurely, drinking tea and eating biscuits, and completing little embroidery projects instead of sewing entire garments in hours. 

You’d been so lost in that particular daydream that you hadn’t seen the tall figure coming through the Bridgerton house door just as you went to knock on the door.

“My Lord!” You exclaimed as you jumped back from the door as it swung open suddenly. “I’m so sorry, you frightened me.”

“And you are?” He asks.

“I’m here to deliver Mr. Gregory’s new coat and pants,” You explain quickly. “I’ve just dropped your garments at your address.”

You tell him your name. “I work for Mr. Raugland,” You add, though the blank stare you receive tells you that he has no recollection of seeing you.

“I-” You hesitate slightly. Already embarrassed at the need to remind him that you spent an hour crouched at his feet, fiddling with his hem. “I fitted you for your new coat yesterday.”

“Oh, yes, I remember you now,” The Viscount replies.

You study him curiously. You don't believe him, of course. But you’d never say that sort of thing to a gentleman’s face. 

You hand off the package to a footman who steps out when he notices the package you’re clutching in your hands. You hand it off to him with a grateful smile, appreciative that you don’t have to track down a member of the household to find the proper person to hand it off to.

You turn back to Lord Bridgerton, surprised to find him still standing next to you, watching you as you face him once again. 

“You and your many brothers keep us in business,” You finally say. Desperate to say anything so you don’t have to continue standing in this awkward silence.

“Why are you out delivering, aren’t there boys who do that for you,” He says as he gestures with a nod of his head to the footman stepping back into the house.

“Oh, I was heading in this direction anyway,” You reply with a shake of your head. And frankly, you needed the extra money. Not that you’d ever tell someone like him that.

“And where are you off to now?” He asks curiously.

“A meeting,” You reply as you glance up at him, descending the steps up to the house, and onto the pavement to make your way back down the street.

“What kind of meeting?” He asks as he follows you down.

“It’s not a meeting for someone like you, my lord,” You tell him with a slight smile as you shake your head.

“Well you can’t walk alone, let me at least accompany you,” Lord Bridgerton tells you.

You stare at him for a moment, as if he’d grown two heads. A Viscount offering to escort you? Perhaps you were still daydreaming. That would be the only explanation for this sort of madness.

“Sir, I assure you that I will be fine,” You reply quickly, dismissing his offer as politely as you can. “I’ve been walking around London by myself for years, I don’t think tonight needs to be the night that changes.”

Lord Bridgerton merely stared at you with his eyebrow raised, and his stupidly handsome face and you had no choice but to sigh and continue to walk, allowing him to follow beside you.

“So what is this meeting about?” He finally asks as he turns to look at you.

You pause for a moment. Thus far he’s been kind enough, and the offer to escort you was odd, but did not feel improper. So you decide to tell him the truth.

“Topics I’m sure are not of interest to you, and that will surely get me fired,” You tell him honestly. “Right of workers, women, that sort of thing,” You explain.

He raises his eyebrows as he glances over at you. “And you go to these meetings often?”

“Yes,” You tell him with a nod. “My brother fancies himself a bit of a revolutionary. A political leader for the working class. He works on those pamphlets that get circulated about the vote.”

“You’re a radical,” He says. It’s not a question, or even a judgment, really. He says it lightly. As if it’s a perfectly normal and natural thing.

“If wanting people to be treated equally makes me a radical, then yes, I am,” You reply.

“You would love my sister,” He says with a chuckle. “I’m sure she would love to learn a thing or two from you.”

You smile at the sound of his laughter and look away briefly. What a strange night this has turned into. Who would have thought you’d be laughing alongside a gentleman. 

“This is where the meeting is,” You tell him once you arrive at the meeting house. “I’m afraid if you step inside looking like that… well the men won’t take kindly to someone like you snooping around, you best be on your way.”

“Very well,” He replies, not looking the slightest bit off-put by your frankness. Though he does hesitate slightly. “Good night, Miss.”

When you entered the nursery you found him rummaging through the chest next to the theater box. He looked up with his trademark smile as you approached.

“Miss y/l/n! Ready for your stage debut?”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide a grin. “I suppose my hands are, yes.”

“That’s a start.” He beckoned you to kneel beside him at the chest. It was filled to the brim with puppets and marionettes in a rainbow of colorful clothing. It seemed almost an excessive amount of toys for one household, but when you remembered that the prior generation of Bridgertons was comprised of eight children, it began to seem justified. Benedict dug into the pile, pulling out figure after figure, inspecting clowns and horses and devils.

“Now, we have to come up with a story. What do you think will hold their interest?”

“They love the classic fairytales.”

“Alright, so we shall need a princess.” He sifted and found an elegant puppet of a woman in a green dress. “And a handsome prince, of course.”  He produced a figure in a smart jacket with gilt epaulets. “Who can…” He dug deeper, then pulled out an amorphous lump of grey fabric with hastily sewn button eyes, clearly a child’s creation. “...save her from a monster. So, why would the monster be after the princess?”

You bit your lip as you pawed through the chest yourself, looking for something that would spark inspiration. You found it in the form of a miniature basket, just the right size to accompany the princess.

“She has something he wants. Biscuits?”

If the childrens’ faces lit up half as bright as Benedict’s did in that moment, you would consider the show a success. “Oh, no doubt the boys will understand that motivation. Very clever. We have our story!” Cheerily, he closed the chest and began arranging the puppets on the lid.

You marveled at his confidence, speaking aloud when you perhaps should have held your tongue. “Do you simply have boundless talent when it comes to creative endeavors?”

His brows raised, confused.

Now you felt bashful, but needed to explain yourself. Heat began to creep up your neck. “I’ve seen your paintings, in the room you keep as a studio.”

“You noticed?” His voice was so soft, his eyes so hopeful, it melted something inside you. Some layer of nerves fell away and you felt as if you were speaking to a friend.

“They are very good.” You nodded. “You have a flair for sparking the imagination, Mr. Bridgerton, whether with your oils or your words.”

“That is kind of you to say.”  Now you were both blushing. “And you seem to have unlimited patience and energy to chase after all my nephews. I don’t know how you do it all day.”

You chuckled. “They are sweet boys. I believe I have their loving family to thank for their good temperaments. And it has been easier with so much help extended to me.” You looked at him pointedly, hoping to convey your sincere gratitude for how much happiness he brought to the children and by extension, to you.

He took your meaning, then the telltale smirk spread across his face. “Even when that help teaches them cheeky pranks?” 

You couldn’t help but return his smile. “Yes, even then.” 

Then a stillness arose between you, much as it had the night before when he had looked up at you from one knee, his fingers warm around your ankle, his eyes twinkling with something you couldn’t interpret. They looked the same now as you held each other’s gaze. The silence together was comfortable. More comfortable than it should have been, given your position.

You remembered yourself and stood. “So how should we…?”

“Right,” Benedict seemed to shake himself back into the room as well, gathering the puppets and standing to face you. “You can voice the princess, and carry your basket like so.” Gently, he maneuvered the green skirt of the princess onto your right hand and the tiny basket into your left, guiding your hands together so that she appeared to be carrying it. He held the other two figures aloft, grinning. “And I will be the monster, and the dashing prince.” He held the little man up next to his face with a cocky twist of his head for you to compare. You huffed a laugh.

Then he stepped closer, voice lowered and head bent toward you. “We find ourselves in these roles yet again, and so soon after our last performance.”

The warmth that had been gathering in your cheeks went rushing down your back and through your limbs, your whole body feeling somehow exhilarated and petrified simultaneously. This was not just friendly banter, this was blatant flirtation. Twice now he had positioned himself as the prince to your princess, and it seemed he wanted your opinion of it. You certainly had one, but it was the stuff of fairytales, and entirely inappropriate for you to humor or hope for. 

You had to step out of his radius before you grew lightheaded, so brushed past him and ducked into the theater box.

“So I crouch down here?” You asked, trying to sound innocent but you suspected you only sounded flustered. 

He followed behind, shifting so that he was tucked against the wall and you near the exit. 

“Yes, here, kneel down.” He dropped to his knees on one of the cushions that lined the floor of the box and bid you to follow suit. You did so, anxiously fiddling with the toys in your hands.

Benedict smiled, reached over and gently held your wrist. You sucked in your breath, unable to focus on anything but his fingers, elegant and impossibly long, pressing softly into your skin. “Take the puppet, and hold it up.” He guided your arm above your head so that it peeked over the crest of the stage. You were frozen, letting him orchestrate you as your heart started to pound. You feared he may feel your pulse racing in his grasp.

“No need to be nervous,” he chuckled, “this isn’t the Globe. Just a touch lower,” He pulled your hand down a fraction, never loosening his grip, and then fluidly reached around your back to grasp your other hand holding the basket and bring it up to the stage as well. “There.”

He was surrounding you now, both of his hands on your wrists, his arms lying parallel across the top of yours, his torso just an inch from your back, close enough to feel the heat of him. You were enveloped, fighting the urge in every muscle to simply melt backward and let him hold you. The air between you grew heavy with everything you could not say, but wanted each other to understand nonetheless. 

His voice dropped to a rumble, his words spoken so closely, you could feel his breath across your cheek. “How does that feel?”

You were growing dizzy, overwhelmed with the feeling of him everywhere, with how clear his intentions had become and how very much you welcomed them. “Good,” you sighed shakily. “I feel…”

A peal of laughter echoed down the hall and caused you both to leap apart and stand. A stampede of tiny footsteps and approaching squeals soon led to the three nephews barrelling into the room, followed closely by a beleaguered looking Colin, carrying Caroline on his arm. The boys immediately fell to playing with toys, babbling amongst themselves.

“Hello, everyone!” You greeted them, smoothing your hair and skirts as if it would somehow calm your racing heart.

“Hello, hello, here we are.” Colin shepherded the children into the seats arranged before the theater and sat, bouncing his niece in his lap.

“How was the lake?” you asked.

“Not enough to deprive them of their energy, I’m afraid.” He rolled his eyes. “We are ready for this performance Uncle Benny has promised us.”

“It is sure to delight.” Benedict announced behind you, then sank to his knees within the theater again.

Timidly, you followed suit, crouching out of sight. You were nestled together again, shoulders brushing in the confined space. You held the princess and basket above your head as he had instructed but were so flustered, you had entirely forgotten the story you agreed upon.

Starting to panic, your eyes darted to Benedict. He grinned, gentle and encouraging, mouthing silently to you, “Once upon a time.”

Oh yes. The plot came flooding back and you called out to the audience beyond, dancing your hands across the window of the stage as you spoke. “Once upon a time there was a princess, but she had no kingdom and so lived in a cottage in the forest. She loved to bake biscuits and hers were the most delicious biscuits in the land. Every day she would walk through the wood to the nearby village to sell her wares.”

Benedict slipped the prince puppet onto his hand and popped it into view as well, picking up the story. “In the castle at the center of the village lived a prince who loved to eat biscuits, but also loved hunting. He could slay beasts of any size with his trusty sword. One day, when he was hunting in the woods, he could smell the most captivating aroma of biscuits coming from the cottage. But the biscuits were also drawing the attention of a terrifying creature who lived in the deepest, darkest part of the wood.” He slowly raised his hand with the grey lump of a puppet, staging his threatening entrance and beginning to speak with an ominous growl. “The dreaded monster named…”

You watched as he frowned, questing for a name. Then he peeked his eyes over the stage. “Colin.”

The resulting groan and chorus of giggles made you look over the edge too. Colin was scowling but completely helpless to defend himself as his nephews poked at his knees and Caroline burbled in his lap.

Holding back your own laughter, you returned to the story. “As the princess was walking on the path to the village, suddenly the monster jumped in front of her.”

Benedict skirted the monster over to the princess, revealing another frightfully entertaining character voice. “‘Give me biscuits!’ He roared. The prince heard the roar and began to head toward the noise.” Both of his hands shifted closer to yours, his shoulder beginning to press against you. You turned and found him looking at you intently. "The princess was frightened, but she was also courageous, and clever.”

His arched brow spurred you to action. “She shouted, ‘Get away from me you beast!’ And then threw her basket of biscuits into the wood.” You acted the part, letting your hand with the basket soar to the far end of the stage, crossing an arm over Benedict’s.

He took your cue effortlessly. “The monster, who wanted to eat biscuits just a little bit more than he wanted to eat people, ran after the basket, which had landed at the feet of the prince!” Both of his hands framed yours. You held still, incapable of thinking about anything but your proximity. 

“When the prince saw the monster approach, he took out his trusty sword and struck him through, killing the foul creature for good and all.” Pitting a conflict between his two puppets, Benedict felled the monster in dramatic fashion, followed by cheers from the onlookers. You both giggled within the theater box, and you assumed the tale had concluded. But then Benedict took his now monster-less hand and wrapped it once more around your wrist holding the basket, moving it in tandem with the prince. “Then the prince picked up the basket and brought it back to the princess.” Now your hands were gathered at the center of the stage, prince and princess tucked close to one another, and he never relinquished his hold on your wrist. 

Your mind whirred, distracted by the softness of his skin, by the press of him against your side. In a quavering voice, you kept narrating, unsure of how to conclude. “To thank him, she shared the biscuits with him.”

You had entirely stopped looking at the puppets or attempting to move them. With Benedict so close you could only turn and fall into his eyes, holding yours in that impossible, glittering way again, only inches away. He smiled, his voice loud enough for the audience but you knew it was directly primarily at you. “And they were so delicious and the princess was so beautiful, that the prince instantly fell in love with her and kissed her.”

As the prince puppet leaned in to peck the princess, Benedict leaned toward you, his eyes falling to your lips. 

“And they lived happily ever after.” You exhaled, the words tumbling out as a reflex.

You were lost, deaf to anything but the sounds of how you shared the air between you. This couldn’t be happening…Could he actually be… Giving in to the irresistible, you felt yourself swaying forward too. Fireworks began to burst in your mind as your noses touched.

Then a chorus of squeals and applause erupted from the other side of the wall hiding you, and you pulled back. You may have been out of sight but you were not alone, and by all rights you should not have been doing this at all. 

Entirely out of sorts with your heart pounding again, you leapt to your feet to see the children gleefully praising the show. Benedict quickly stood beside you and you both bowed, doing your best to plaster on a smile despite how your mind was reeling. Colin was applauding along with the boys, but quirked a brow at you both.

“Remarkable,” he mused.

You scurried out of the theater box, unable to meet the eyes of either brother, and gathered Caroline in your arms. 

Benedict’s voice was tight behind you. “Thank you, Miss y/l/n. I’m afraid I have some things to attend to.” Then he strode briskly out of the room.

Colin looked back at you, his tone friendly but curious. “Yes, I do as well. Excellent performance, Miss y/l/n.” You nodded in thanks but continued to avert your eyes, convinced your blush was revealing all. “Be good for Miss y/l/n you lot, I’ll see you soon.” Patting the little heads as he went, Colin gave a final bow then left too. 

You bounced Caroline anxiously, reliving every sensation in your mind. The repeated grasp of Benedict’s fingers, the invitation in his eyes, the heat of him crowding around you, your brush with an impossible kiss… Now he seemed cross with you. Cross or embarrassed, or perhaps just as confused as you were. What on earth were you supposed to do now? As Barney shrieked and overturned a jar of coloring pencils, you found your answer. All you could do was your job and keep your focus on the children.

The noise and bustle of people through the halls was nonstop. In addition to the children, there were always siblings laughing or playfully rowing with one another, the flowing grace of the ranking ladies dictating tasks to the army of staff, and the steady command of the Viscount and Duke as they carried their own gravity through the house and the grounds. You couldn’t help yourself from admiring them all, each beautiful Bridgerton and in-law with their quirks and quips. Eloise and Hyacinth were particularly theatrical, with Benedict and Colin often serving as referees or secret instigators, and you sometimes had to hide your laughter when you caught them bantering with each other. Each time he saw you, Benedict flashed that lopsided grin. It made you feel seen, it made you feel welcome, and it knotted your stomach in a way you chose to ignore. He was cheeky, but you appreciated his warmth.

You bore the brunt of his cheekiness one afternoon when he, Colin and Gregory took their nephews outside for the day. You were grateful for the reprieve and spent the time quietly with Caroline. After the Duchess insisted on supervising her nap, you decided some fresh air would be good for you as well. Making your way outside, you turned into a particular corridor and an odd sight met your eyes. It was a ball, lavender and small enough to be held in the hand, rolling slowly down the hall at an angle toward a door - the Viscount’s study door. You paused and watched with curiosity as it tapped the bottom of the wood and came to rest.

A muffled “Hello?” sounded from inside the study.

It was only when you heard a collection of hisses and giggles from the far end of the hall that you looked up to see the profiles of four faces, one at a significant height over three much smaller, peering around the corner. Benedict and the boys. The ploy became clear when Benedict crouched down next to Augie and whispered to him. The uncle was clearly the one providing direction in this game of hallway bowling, as he pointed out the appropriate angle and then watched Augie launch his own green ball toward the door.

This one hit with a much more significant thud. 

“Helloooo?” The Viscount called even louder from within his study, triggering an eruption of restrained laughter from the far end of the hall. It was then that Benedict looked up and saw you, and immediately brought a finger to his lips, begging for your silence. You were caught in the middle. You supposed you could have turned away and let everything play out without your involvement, but that felt cowardly somehow. It was your job to watch the children. You certainly weren’t going to cut into the Viscount’s study and disrupt him, nor tattle on his brother or the children. Perhaps the only thing you could do was quietly pick your way down the hall, hoping the Viscount didn’t emerge, and convince them all to stop their ruse. But before you could take a step, Benedict had angled Neddy’s shoulders in just the right way and his black ball went whizzing across the tile and slammed into the door.

Then everything seemed to happen at once. No sooner had the third ball hit the door then it swung inward and the Viscount stepped out, his face locked in agitation as he began to scan the hall. But his booted foot landed directly upon the wooden toys gathered there and he slipped, propelling his arms as he fell backward dramatically onto the threshold. 

Your surprised cry was likely the only reason he did not hear the burst of riotous laughter from the far corner. Instinct drove you to the doorway as you watched Benedict and the children duck out of sight. The Viscount was sitting himself up, grimacing and nearly steaming from the ears. You knelt beside him.

“My lord, are you alright?”

“Yes,” he angrily waved you away and clambered to his feet. “What on earth…?” When his eyes fell to the colored balls dotting the hallway floor, they filled with a sort of aggravated recognition. “The children,” he huffed, nostrils flaring.

You wouldn’t be lying if you didn’t provide further clarification. You were loyal to your employer, but not a snitch. The same skills you used to calm the nerves of frazzled children were often useful on their parents as well. “These things are bound to happen with so many little ones in the house, my lord.” You offered him a gentle smile, trying to convey sympathy rather than amusement.

His jaw clenched, but the fire faded out of his posture as he nodded. “You are right.”

“I imagine you and your siblings were much the same, growing up here.”

At this he smiled, his features brightening into an entirely different man. This was the Viscount as you saw him with his son, the one full of love, hidden though he may have been at times. “Indeed we were,” there was a hint of a chuckle to his tone, and he seemed to grow misty, lost in his memories.

“I will be sure to reprimand them…”

“No,” He cut you off quietly, shaking his head. “You don’t need to scold them. The parents will see to their discipline.” 

Something in the way he said it, with a sense of intent rather than wrath, touched your heart. He wanted to be involved in his child’s life, much more so than any other parent you had worked for, and it was endearing. He looked at you with good humor in his warm brown eyes.

“But if you could keep them from scheming again, if you catch it in time…”

You smiled widely. “Understood, my lord.”

He returned your smile, and then with a curtsy, you backed out of the room and closed the door behind you. All you could think as you marched purposefully toward the far end of the hall was how lucky Benedict and the children were to have such a merciful head of family. Many other boys - or brothers - would have been made to pay for creating such a spectacle. When you turned the corner you found the culprits huddled together, Benedict trying to shush the three boys who were cackling with glee as they recounted the Viscount’s extraordinary fall. He turned in alarm as you approached, eyes wide with anticipatory guilt, a look you were certain he must have worn frequently as a child himself.

When he saw it was just you, he exhaled in disbelief. “You didn’t turn us in.”

The boyish lilt of gratitude in his voice and the relief in his eyes softened something inside you, but you pursed your lips, intent to make your disapproval clear.

“I should have. I don’t appreciate you teaching poor behavior to my charges.”

The easy smile and devil-may-care attitude settled upon him again. “It was a harmless prank.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m not sure if the Viscount would call it harmless.” You couldn’t imagine how he had been managing his seven younger siblings, and for so long. He would have been well within his rights to hire two nurses, one for his children and one for them.

“Oh, ignore him.” Benedict scoffed, then stepped closer. “I saw you laughing when he fell. You can’t deny it.” Then his voice dropped lower. “There is clearly some degree of mischief in you, Miss y/l/n, to grant us your discretion.”

You felt yourself blush, strangely overheated under his gaze. It was clear that remaining professionally courteous and distant from one another was not a consideration of his. Some part of you enjoyed it, something dormant that had begun stirring.

“And to keep up with these three, right boys?” He crowed louder again, walking over to the children and tousling their hair.

You blinked, reminding yourself that you were here to voice your disapproval. “Well yes, I suppose I must use it to know what you are all getting up to, you silly little things.” You smiled and crouched down, commanding an audience from the three little faces. You spoke firmly, adopting that precise tone to let them know you were not angry, but needed to be heard. “Now remember, whatever your uncles tell you, at the end of the day you must answer to your fathers, yes?” 

Three dark little heads nodded in unison.

“And you don’t want them too cross with you, do you?” The heads shook emphatically. “Alright, so if you are ever reprimanded, just tell the truth that your uncle told you to do it.” As you said it, you shot your eyes up at Benedict and smirked.

He gaped, aghast at your treachery. 

Then you stood, herding the brood together and ushering them back down the hall. Benedict stayed where he was and you turned, trying your best to sound supercilious. “You have my discretion Mr. Bridgerton, but I am not going to teach these children to lie.”

At this his gape transformed into that exaggerated pout, and you knew your wit had struck its target. With a smile, you turned back and kept walking.

As a parting volley he let out an exaggerated sigh. “And we were just about to get the glue.”

The withering stare you threw over your shoulder caused him to burst into laughter.

What they had neglected to tell you beforehand was how prolific the wider Bridgerton clan was. You could have researched them yourself, not that it would have changed your interest in the position, but you did not expect that the entirety of them would descend on the country seat at the close of the London season and start of autumn. Even the eldest daughter Daphne, now Duchess of Hastings, traveled with her family from their home at Clyvedon for a reunion with all the siblings. The Viscountess had given you full notice that the Duchess was bringing her own three children, August aged five, Barnaby aged four though a bit younger than Neddy, and little Caroline, not yet a year old. She had kindly offered to support you with more staff but you were eager to prove yourself and agreed to manage all the children on your own. It was only temporary after all, and you had cared for three children in one of your previous posts, though they were all sisters and you weren’t caring for a baby simultaneously. Nonetheless, you had agreed to rise to the challenge.

That was how you found yourself, a bit dazed as carriage after carriage rolled up the gravel drive, producing one gorgeous chestnut-haired Bridgerton after another. Six younger siblings arriving with the Dowager Viscountess and an army of servants, then the Duke and Duchess with their valet, ladies maid, and brood of their own. The noise of cheer and lighthearted bickering broke out at once, and you kept your bearings by focusing on Neddy, always standing nearby as he was fawned over by his aunts and uncles. When the Duchess introduced you to her children, you delighted in how the two little boys stood so proud and ready for your inspection, the younger clearly imitating his older brother. They didn’t seem to have any objection to you and immediately fell into playing with their cousin while you chatted with the Duchess about Caroline. She placed the little girl into your arms and her tiny eyes sparkled before she buried her face into your shoulder with a giggle. 

Rather than task you with whisking the children away, the entire army of Bridgertons wanted to be present together in the drawing room. Your job was nearly being done for you as you watched the youngest aunt and uncle, Hyacinth and Gregory, clatter around and entertain the three little boys with their toys. You rocked Caroline gently as the Duchess invited you to join her and the Viscountess where they sat. The love in the room was palpable.

When the adults began to bow out for various activities, you knew it was time to wrangle the children to their own space. The Duchess smiled sweetly as you balanced Caroline and called the three little boys together, bidding them to say their farewells.

That was when a groan sounded from one of the Bridgertons on a far sofa. “Awww,” he swung around to face you, his bottom lip folded into an exaggerated frown. “I didn’t even get to see them yet.”

Oh my. You had barely been able to register what each of the Bridgertons looked like, or indeed how many there even were, during the whirlwind of everyone’s arrival. This one, one of the Viscount’s brothers, was strikingly similar in appearance and yet more gentle looking. And he was a very handsome man, even with his childish pout. 

“Yes,” Another Bridgerton brother piped up beside him, a third copy of the Viscount. “You’ve been hogging them all. We haven’t gotten to spend any time with our niece and nephews.”

“Well, no one is stopping you from entertaining them now.” The Duchess responded primly. “I’m sure that Miss y/l/n would appreciate the help if you wanted to spend time with them in the nursery.” She turned back to you and you could see the kindness and cleverness in her blue eyes. She understood how full your hands were, but also did not want to undermine you.

“Yes,” you confirmed, your voice a bit uneven as you turned back to the first brother. “We can all go up to the nursery now. There are plenty of amusements for everyone.”

“Even a puppet theater!” Neddy crowed, jumping up and down and causing his cousins’ eyes to light.

“Yes, even a puppet theater.” You nodded at the three excited little faces gathered around your skirt.

“Well, then I’d say it’s time for a performance!” The second brother walked over and lifted Neddy under the arms, raising him high enough for the boy to perch on his shoulders, locking his tiny hands under his chin to hold on. “Colin Bridgerton,” he introduced himself to you with a warm smile, which you returned.

As the other, taller brother crossed the room, Barnaby immediately turned to him with outstretched fingers, bouncing eagerly.

“Uncle Benny, up up!”

With a broad grin the uncle knelt toward him. “Barnaby Basset, my brave little man. Come here,” In one smooth motion he lifted the boy, let him clasp his arms around his neck and swung him so that he rode pick-a-back. Then he turned his kind eyes to you.  “Pleasure to meet you, Miss y/l/n. I’m Benedict.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” You cast your eyes down in greeting, but also to keep yourself from staring too long into the blue-grey depths that seemed to hold you in fascination. You surveyed the lot of them, five eager-eyed Bridgerton boys, young and old. “Are we all ready then?”

“Up, up!” Crowed Barnaby over Benedict’s shoulder.

His uncle chucked. “Indeed, we are going up even further. Upstairs.”

Colin waved August ahead of you all. “Lead the way, good sir.” Dutifully jutting his chin in the air, the eldest little boy marched forward, leading your happy parade through the house and up to the nursery, guided by your whispered directions.

Once you reached your destination, the excited squealing began. The younger boys both wriggled off of their uncles to join August and they tore through the room, Neddy pointing out every toy and hiding place with pride. They quickly clustered around the puppet theater tucked in a far corner and began jumping in place, demanding a performance. Colin and Benedict were only too happy to oblige, gathering chairs for their audience. As you tried to settle the little ones, the uncles pored through a nearby chest of puppets.

“Ah!” Colin exclaimed, “Mr. Punch!” He proudly held aloft an old puppet, red nosed and holding his trademark slapstick. 

“Excellent,” Benedict grinned. “I shall be Mr. Punch and you shall be Judy.” He plucked the figure off his brother’s hand and stooped to maneuver into the theater box.

“Hold on! I found it! Why are you Punch?” Colin argued. You had to fight the giggle rising in your throat, watching these grown men bicker like children. Your charges who sat patiently at your side seemed better behaved. 

“Because I’m better at the voice.” Benedict shot back casually.

“Well, I won’t be your wife.” Colin spat. “I’ll be the banker or someone.” He began to dig through the chest again.

“Isn’t Punch and Judy intended for one performer?” You tried to sound innocent but couldn’t resist the urge to rile them, they were already too entertaining. 

Benedict popped his head into view and smiled, a devastating, lopsided grin that was suddenly the brightest point of light in the room. “We can adapt.” 

You nodded and turned back to the children. Caroline was dozing gently in your arms, undisturbed by the excitement around her, and the boys squirmed in their chairs, waiting for the show. Colin found a satisfactory puppet, disappeared into the box beside Benedict and the theatrical began.

It was all you could do not to burst into hysterics hearing Benedict voice Mr. Punch. He was far too talented at the awful, nasally whine of the misguided fool. Whether or not the boys had encountered this character before, their eyes lit up with delight as he introduced himself and then led them on his day full of misadventure. Soon enough, he encountered the banker, voiced in a smug baritone by Colin. At first he duped Mr. Punch by spiriting away bags of money while Punch was counting them, a joke that left the nephews shrieking with laughter. But once Punch caught on, he exacted his revenge by beating the banker with his slapstick. The attack became spirited and the banker even managed to wrest the stick away and began hitting him back. You suspected this was not part of the original sketch, and your suspicion was confirmed when both the slapstick and puppets disappeared beneath the edge of the theater box entirely. 

The children grew silent and curious as low angry voices and sounds of a tousle arose beneath the now empty stage and the entire structure began to shake. Lord help you. You thought you were getting two adults to assist in keeping everyone occupied, but now realized you had only added two overgrown children to your assembly. You cleared your throat loudly, which fortunately called the men back to themselves and two chestnut heads peeked over the top of the stage. Colin’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and Benedict pulled another of his dramatic pouts. You wanted to be cross with them for setting a bad example, but they were so charming even in their quarreling, that you said nothing and just fixed them with stern eyes. They quickly disappeared again and the puppets returned to the stage, made amends, completed their adventure and bowed to the cheerful applause of the little ones. Holding Caroline, you couldn’t clap yourself, but did smile widely as the men emerged and performed dramatic bows of their own, clearly pleased with the happy reception. The subsequent chatter while the boys circled around their uncles’ knees did cause the baby to fuss and you stood to rock her.

“Allow me,” Colin walked to you with a gentle grin. You settled his niece into his outstretched arms and he began to bounce and coo to her contentedly. Again you marveled at the love and commitment evident in each member of this expansive family. Parents so dedicated to connection with their children, and aunts and uncles so invested in their joy. It was rare to find in any family, but particularly in one so wealthy and titled where the upbringing of children was often left to an army of staff. But that was clearly not the way with the Bridgerton family.

You turned to Benedict and were reminded that not only was this family uncommonly kind, they were also all uncommonly attractive. He had herded the boys into playing with carved miniature horses and you joined him in watching over them.

“Colin has a way with babies,” he assured you. “You can trust him with Caroline.”

You returned his smile with gratitude. “Thank you both for being here. It is lovely to see a family that wants to spend so much time together.”

“Well, Clyvedon is so far away, we can’t pass up the opportunity to see these imps while we’ve got them.” He tousled Barnaby’s hair but the boy was too engrossed to look up.

“That was an excellent performance Mr. Bridgerton, despite the unexpected interlude.” He smirked at you with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. You had seen that look on the faces of children you had worked with before. He was a troublemaker, but likely got away with his misbehavior more often than not. When those traits endured into adulthood, they often spelled something exciting, and perhaps a bit dangerous. “You are frightfully good as Mr. Punch.”

He scoffed but you could see he enjoyed the praise. “It’s nothing. Well, it’s years of practice with my siblings. I was usually the one putting on the shows while we were growing up.”

“You’ve become very skilled at it. The children wouldn’t stop laughing. I could never hope to perform like that.”

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he leaned in, his kind eyes focused on you. “You’re certainly not like most of the shriveled old nursemaids I’ve met, no offense to your colleagues. You must be something of an actress to entertain children all day.”

The way he addressed you was so open and honest, as if you were a friend and not the hired help. It disarmed you in the most pleasant way, inviting you to be playful and honest too. “How can you know?  You’ve only just met me.”

“I expect I’ll get to know you better over the coming days.” That charming smile was going to be troublesome. Despite your better judgment, you sincerely hoped he would.