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After nearly a month of marriage, you discover there is still much to learn after sharing tea with Penelope. Your husband soon regrets ever holding back.
Technically part three in the Interrupted series, but I think you can read it as a stand alone. Find parts one and two below!
part i, part ii
Masterlist here!
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader
Word Count: 4.5k
Warnings: SMUT! 18+ MDNI, oral m!receiving, pnv, biting? (idk it just happened!), pretty explicit, let me know if i missed anything!
A/N: A part three was requested! I took some liberties with the request. I thought it would be a while before I wrote it, but I actually wrote it all today... meaning, this has not been proofread. I got excited! @diagonazguly thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy!
Time passes you by in the blink of an eye. It seems as if you and Benedict had wed only days ago, yet you wake one day, and it has been a month. Still, when you roll over to face him, his arm wrapped around you the whole time, you still feel the familiar butterflies of newness.
“Good morning, wife,” Benedict hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Husband,” you reply, smiling in delight. You aren’t sure the title will ever grow old. You rest your head atop his chest, fingers running up and down his bare torso. It’s a mindless action, one that has grown to be routine in the month you’ve spent waking just like this. “And what are your plans for the day, Mr. Bridgerton?”
Benedict, in turn, rubs his hand over your arm, sending shivers up your spine. His voice holds the evidence of sleep, a rasp that quickly turns your affection to desire when he speaks, “I am afraid I have been postponing lunch with Anthony and Colin for far too long. I suppose I should accompany them to Mondrich’s.”
You let out a dramatic sigh, though a smile threatens the corners of your mouth. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, replying, “Well, I suppose I shall have to occupy myself then.”
“And how ever shall you do that, my love?”
The name brings heat rushing up your neck and to your cheeks even now. Adamant on not being teased for the reaction his words cause, you rise from the bed, wrapping your robe around your shoulders. You move toward your wardrobe, calling over your shoulder teasingly, “Penelope wished to have tea while you men do whatever it is you do. Though, I must call upon Eloise soon as well. It has been a while since we spoke, and I dread to think she would believe I’ve forgotten my favorite Bridgerton.”
Benedict gasps in mock offense, his hand flying to his chest, “You wound me.”
Your laugh fills the room, bringing a smile to your husband’s face as you sort through your various dresses.
“You should wear the cream one,” he suggests from the bed. He’s sat up now, propped against far too many pillows.
Turning to face him, you tilt your head. “Is that so?”
“Indeed,” he nods. “I would not wish for anyone to forget you are a new bride.”
You roll your eyes fondly but take the dress from its hook. Turning back to him, you hold your ring in the air, “Is this not sufficient?”
“Well, I should hope it is, but one can not be too careful with a bride as lovely as you.”
“And now you flatter me!” You grumble, flustered again. He smirks, and you know that had been his goal.
“Never, I merely cannot contain my praises, darling wife.”
You move back toward the bed as if floating on air, sitting on the edge beside him. Benedict grins, far too pleased with himself for bringing you back to him.
“You fluster me,” you complain, feeling completely childish when you hear the words leave your mouth.
Benedict’s grin only grows. “Do I?” He asks innocently, pushing your sleep-mussed hair out of your face gently.
You nod, leaning into his touch.
“My apologies,” he murmurs, leaning in. His eyes flicker to your lips, and only a moment later, they are on yours. Your lips move against his, much more practiced now than when you first wed. You sink into him, his hand on your waist pulling you closer until you’re practically on top of him. His free hand finds your leg and pulls it over his lap, so you straddle him, all without ever breaking the kiss.. Your robe pushes up your thighs, leaving little to the imagination.
You come to your senses suddenly as if waking from a pleasant dream. With your hands on his chest, you push yourself away. Benedict chases your lips, groaning when you move out of reach.
“Benedict, we have duties to attend to today! We cannot spend the day in bed,” you chastise, lowering your voice to add, “again.”
“Darling,” he complains, large hands roaming your body. “We have plenty of time. Besides, I assure you I can be swift.”
You chew the inside of your cheek, torn between the now familiar feeling of desire in your gut and your plans for the day. Benedict’s eyes brighten, seeing your hesitation. He begins to press open mouthed kisses up the slope of your neck, pausing only to add, “Let me show you why I should be your favorite Bridgerton, my wife.”
—
It’s nearly two hours later when Benedict helps you out of the carriage at Penelope and Colin’s home. Your hand wraps around his bicep, letting him lead you up the path to their door where a footman waits. He leads you to the drawing room, each step precise.
“I admit, I already find myself looking forward to this evening,” Benedict leans down to murmur in your ear.
“You are insatiable,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile.
The footman steps into the drawing room first, announcing you both, “Mr. and Mrs. Benedict Bridgerton.”
Colin and Penelope rise swiftly to greet you both, meeting you half way. Penelope embraces you first, while Colin greets his brother.
“Y/N, I feel as if it has been an age since I’ve seen you!”
You laugh, nodding in agreement when you pull back to look at her, “I know! I feel as if I’ve hardly left the house since we wed.”
Colin pulls you into a hug, “Yes, well, that is to be expected for newlyweds, is it not?” His voice is teasing, looking to his brother next.
Penelope swats at her husband, “Leave them be. Don’t you two have cards to play?”
You all laugh as Colin feigns offense, “Very well. We shall leave you ladies to chat. Anthony will be waiting.”
You interlock your arm with Penelope’s, waving goodbye as the men retreat. Benedict winks in your direction before the men disappear from view. Your friend guides you to the couch, already pouring you a cup of tea. You accept it with thanks. It doesn’t take long for the two of you to begin gossiping just like old times, giggles falling from your lips.
You know you’re in trouble when Pen gets the familiar meddling look in her face. One you’re all too used to after over a decade of friendship. Maybe that’s why you’re only slightly caught off guard when she speaks again.
“I presume you and Benedict have been… getting acquainted with each other,” she smirks.
The tea burns your mouth, at least that is the story you’ll tell, and you splutter, “Penelope!”
She only giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. “Forgive me! I admit I am curious.”
“Curious? What precisely do you wish to know?” You furrow your brow, sitting the tea cup down. You look down at your gown, picking at a loose thread mindlessly.
“We needn’t discuss it if you do not wish to. It’s only… Men speak of it, do they not? And it is not as if I can speak to Eloise about it. If not because it would be improper, then because I could not possibly divulge such information about her brother,” Penelope rambles, halting with a breathless laugh. “A problem you share, you see. I merely thought it might be nice.”
You reach out, taking her hand in yours, an amused smile on your face. “Pen, we may discuss it,” you laugh softly. “I simply do not know where to begin.”
“Then, I shall,” Penelope grins.
—
Hours later, Benedict and Colin return, one clearly having more to drink than the other. Benedict has his arm around Colin’s torso, helping him to the chaise. After apologizing to Penelope for returning him in this state, Benedict takes your hand, leading you to the carriage once more.
The whole way home though, all you can consider is everything your sister-in-law had told you. You glance around the carriage, wondering how on earth they had even come up with such things. Benedict takes in your expression, furrowing his brow.
“Is something troubling you, my love?” He asks, placing his hand on your knee. You follow the movement, considering everything else Penelope had told you.
Benedict’s hands are quite large, easily twice the size of your own. The realization makes your head swim. You chew your lip in thought, wondering how it would feel if he-
“Y/N?” Benedict tries again, finally pulling you from your thoughts.
“Hm?” You look up suddenly. Your cheeks heat when you realize you have been lost in thought. “My apologies, I was lost in my own mind.”
“Is something troubling you?” He repeats.
You shake your head quickly, offering a smile. “Nothing at all. Did you and your brothers enjoy yourselves?”
Benedict studies you for a beat longer before accepting your answer. “Yes, it was enjoyable, but they do not entertain me nearly as much as you do.”
He descends into a dramatic retelling of the events from the gentleman’s club, seemingly leaving no stone unturned. As he goes on, you find your thoughts drifting back to all the new possibilities Penelope had revealed. You had no idea lovemaking could take so many forms.
As days go by, you find yourself thinking about it more and more until instead of excitement, you begin to feel uneasy. Why had you never known of the possibilities? Was Benedict easing you into married life as Penelope had suggested, or was he unsatisfied? Did he wish for more?
The thoughts both excite and frighten you. You find yourself even now, in Benedict’s study as he paints, pressing your legs closer together in an effort to ease the near constant ache that has situated itself between your thighs.
Your book sits forgotten in your lap, instead finding the sight of your husband’s hand gripping his paintbrush far more enticing. Several veins bulge along the backside of his hand, and their presence disarms you. You don’t know how long you stay like that, simply staring at your husband with growing lust. It isn’t until he sits the brush down that you realize he is staring back. You sit up straighter, clearing your throat nervously and attempt to appear as if you are reading after all.
“Ah, ah,” Benedict shakes his head, eliminating the distance between you. “You are not fooling me, my love. You are watching me.”
“Can a wife not admire her husband?” You try to appear nonchalant.
He grins, kneeling in front of you. “She may, but you have been doing it for days. I am beginning to believe I have grown a second head.”
You flush, sitting your book to the side. “You have not grown a second head,” you mumble softly.
“Ah, a relief,” he jests. One hand grasps your chin gently, tilting your head up to face him. “Would you care to tell me what is on your mind then? Hm?”
“Nothing,” you answer quickly.
To his credit, Benedict doesn’t laugh or chastise your obvious lie. Instead, his face grows soft, sensing your embarrassment. “Darling, you are forgetting I have known you since you could speak. I am certain I can recognize when you are speaking falsehoods.”
He’s right, you realize. You do not stand a chance of fooling him. Still, you are so used to such topics being out of bounds. You aren’t sure how to speak freely, even to your very handsome husband who only wishes to help.
“You will not laugh?”
Benedict takes your hands in his, pressing a kiss to each knuckle. “I will not laugh,” he assures you.
You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. “When we visited Penelope and Colin, she asked if she could speak freely,” you begin. Benedict’s forehead creases, but he only nods, urging you to continue. “It is only… Well, she told me about certain… interests her and Colin share. Interests I did not know existed.”
“Interests?” Benedict repeats, still brushing over your knuckles gently. It’s clear he has no clue what you mean.
You sigh, looking around as if a servant may be lingering in a corner. Of course, the room is empty besides the two of you. Only after you make certain of this do you try to clarify. “You know,” you lower your voice like you are sharing a secret, “Marital interests.”
Benedict’s face transforms into a wide grin, and he can’t help the loud laugh that escapes him. You glare, pulling your hands from his.
“You said you would not laugh!”
Your husband tries to catch his breath, running a hand through his hair. “I am sorry, my love. It is not funny. It merely surprised me!” He excuses. “I did not expect that to be what is troubling you. Though, I believe I may need more help understanding. Did these ‘interests,’” he teases, “Displease you? It has been nearly a week since we visited with Penelope and Colin, and these thoughts still plague you.”
You hesitate, still embarrassed, before shaking your head slightly. It takes a moment, but once you gain the courage, you begin to ramble, “It is not that they displeased me. It is the opposite! I cannot look at you without imagining all of these newfound possibilities. You did not tell me that a woman could take a man in her mouth!”
Benedict chokes on air, his eyebrows raising nearly to his hairline, but you only continue on.
“Or that the marital act could occur in the carriage!”
He did not even wish to hear how you had discovered that.
“And so every time I look at you, I am considering all of this! But you must have known already! So why did you not tell me? Do you not wish to do that with me?”
Benedict thinks his heart might explode. He had been worrying about how quiet you’ve been for days, but he had never expected this to be the cause. His silence causes you to shrink in on yourself, and he can feel you drawing back. He reaches for your hand again, desperate to calm your racing mind.
“My love, why did you not tell me this was troubling you so? Of course I wish to do everything with you. I merely did not want to rush you. Marriage is a new adventure, one completely foreign to us, but I know that it is an even bigger change for you. I did not wish to move too quickly or- or to overwhelm you.”
Your face softens, the lines of worry dissipating. “That is all?”
“Of course that is all,” he repeats firmly, bringing your hands to his lips again. “If I had known it would have the opposite effect, I would have told you weeks ago. Will you forgive me?”
Feeling suddenly very silly, you nod. Your bottom lip juts out into a pout, and though you’d be embarrassed if you realized, Benedict finds the sight incredibly endearing.
“I am sorry for stewing in silence, Benedict,” you apologize sincerely. “I should have spoken with you, but you are right. It is a rather large adjustment, being able to discuss such things.”
Your husband brushes your hair back with his free hand, assuring you, “Oh, that’s quite alright, sweetheart. I know how you might make it up to me.”
“How is that?”
The fondness in his eyes transforms into lust, a smirk taking over his mouth. “You mentioned taking me in your mouth, I believe?”
Your heart skips a beat, but you nod slowly, even as a blush climbs onto your cheeks. “Should we return to our chambers?”
But Benedict only shakes his head, rising from his knees and offering you his hand. You take it, rising.
“If not our chambers, then-”
To your surprise, Benedict takes your spot in the chair, reaching for a throw pillow. You furrow your brow, opening your mouth to question him, but he interrupts.
“If you wish to know everything, then you must know that the marital act can occur wherever we wish, darling.”
“Here?” You ask in surprise, looking around nervously.
Benedict laughs, situating the pillow on the floor between his feet. “Yes, here. Do you trust me?”
You nod without a second thought, and he smiles.
“Then, I will teach you.”
He gives you his hand, helping you to the ground, directing you to put your knees on the pillow. Only when you’re there does he begin talking you through the process. At first, you run your hand over his breeches, feeling him as you have before, but after a few minutes, he guides your hand to his belt, helping you unclasp each button until you can free him. Eye level with his manhood for the first time, your breath catches, nerves suddenly catching up with you.
“If you wish to stop, you must merely tell me,” he assures you.
You shake your head, looking up to meet his eye. “I wish to. I merely do not wish to disappoint you.”
He shakes his head, running his hands through your hair soothingly. “I do not think you could disappoint me if you tried. Being with you is enough.”
“Do not flatter me,” you grumble sarcastically, “I am serious.”
“As am I.”
“What is next?” You ask, determined.
Benedict releases a slow breath, still tracing through your hair. “Next, you may kiss me. You may do whatever you wish.”
You nod slowly, moving closer. You press a gentle kiss to the tip, your nerves easing as you hear him take a sharp inhale. Encouraged by the sound, you continue pressing kisses down the length of him, watching how he grows in your hand. Tentatively, you stick out your tongue, licking up the side.
“Dammit,” he hisses, and you pull away instantly. Benedict takes in your wide eyes and lets out a breathless laugh. “No, darling, that was exactly right. It felt good.”
“It did?” You ask hopefully, leaning in again. He nods, gripping the hair at the base of your head. He doesn’t pull or tug. He only holds onto you like an anchor, trying not to float away in the sensations.
You continue like that for a few minutes, eventually gaining the confidence to wrap your lips around the tip of him. A low moan spills from Benedict’s lips, and his grip on your hair tightens. The sensation makes you hum around him, creating an endless cycle of pleasure that neither of you are willing to end just yet.
You must pull away eventually though. You release him with a small gasp, your chest rising and falling quickly. When you look up at your husband, his eyes are blown wide, staring down at you in awe.
“I should have taught you that much sooner, wife.”
A laugh escapes you, but you reach for him again. Benedict stops you though, shaking his head.
“Enough, as incredible as it is, I find I still prefer being inside you.”
“Benedict,” you whisper wide-eyed, the lewd words catching you off guard, but he only laughs.
“Darling, you just had me in your mouth. You could not possibly still be scandalized by my vocabulary.”
“I am not scandalized!” You insist.
Benedict chuckles, offering you his hand and rising from the chair. He helps you to your feet, and it’s a conscious effort to look him in the eye. He notices your straying gaze but doesn’t comment. Instead, he lifts you into the air without a sound, crossing the room to place you upon his desk.
“What are you doing?” You gasp.
He reaches for the hem of your dress, lifting each layer above your hips with practiced ease.
“I am showing you the various uses of my study furniture. Surely you do not object?”
You shake your head quickly, and he grins, finding your undergarments.
“My god, wife, you had been thinking of the possibilities, hadn’t you?” He muses, feeling how you’ve soaked through the fabric.
His words cause a whimper to escape you, and you lean forward, burying your face against his shoulder in an effort to hide. He chuckles, pushing them aside.
“It is a good thing, my love. Certainly, I’ve proven that much to you so far, hm?”
You nod, words failing you. You’re already wrecked. That much is clear, and Benedict can feel himself growing addicted to the feeling.
“Shh,” he soothes, positioning himself at your entrance. He falters, growling at the position. He takes hold of your leg, lifting one to wrap around his waist. The other hangs over the edge of the desk. “There we go,” he breathes, sinking into you.
Your mouth falls open into a silent moan, and Benedict wastes no time, setting a steady rhythm that leaves you unable to catch your breath. Up until now, you had only known gentle lovemaking. The kind where Benedict keeps his eyes on yours, whispering soothing words and praise, but now, his pace is harsh and unforgiving. A lifetime’s worth of desire that had been waiting to spill out. Waiting for him to deem you ready, and now that he has, he isn’t sure how he ever held back.
Each thrust hits something that causes your vision to blur. Overwhelmed by the sensation, you bite down on his shoulder, and Benedict groans so loudly you’re certain the whole house must hear. Except you can’t focus long enough to care.
“Dammit,” he huffs, “Do it again.”
You aren’t sure if it’s a plea or an order, but you don’t care either way. You reach for his shirt, thankful he’d only been wearing one layer while he painted. You lift it, but Benedict’s movements don’t falter even as he helps you lift it over his head, tossing it to the ground. When there’s no longer any fabric covering him, you sink your teeth into his skin, relishing in the sounds your husband makes when you do.
“God, I love you,” he pants, gripping your chin with a harshness he’s never used on you. He turns your face towards his, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.
“I love you,” you breathe into the kiss.
Suddenly, he breaks the kiss, pulling away from you. He takes a step back, and you whine. A pathetic sound you didn’t know you were capable of making. Benedict’s eyes trail you up and down, drinking you in. He runs his thumb over his lips, inhaling sharply.
“Why did you stop?” You frown, holding yourself up with palms against the hard wood.
Benedict’s eyes light up when he chuckles, a trait he’d always had, but that causes your breath to catch even now. “I believe I’ve given it to you too easily, sweetheart.”
“I do not understand,” you frown, dropping your skirts and smoothing them out uncomfortably.
He steps closer, following the line of your frown with his thumb. “Tell me what you want me to do,” he whispers, eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes hungrily. “Whatever you wish, you shall have, but you must ask, my love.”
Your mouth opens but clamps shut, not sure what to say. You can feel the preconditioned shame filtering through, but then, you look up at him. Truly look at him. And when you do, you see the hunger in his eyes. Eyes that have seen you through every phase of life. Eyes that have seen you in sleep and freshly awake. Eyes that still look at you as if they are trying to both see and memorize every part of you all at once.
Beyond that though, you see the adoration, the love. You know because it is the same way you look at him. The same way you’ve always looked at him. That realization fills you with a confidence you had never felt before. He loves you.
So when your mouth opens again, all you feel is need.
“I want to feel you.”
You see the way his eyes seemingly light with joy while still darkening with want.
“Hm, is that all?” He breathes against your cheek, kissing you there. One on your cheek, on to your jaw, and then down your neck.
He unlaces the front of your gown, letting it slip down to your hips, while never ceasing to kiss you. When your breasts are bare, he latches onto one, his eyes not leaving yours.
“Benedict, I-” you gasp, back arching, pressing you closer to him.
But even still, your husband doesn’t stop kissing you. He wraps his lips around one peak, his fingers finding the other, but he maintains eye contact, humming around you in response. You keep one hand on the desk to hold you upright, but the other laces through his hair, tugging harsher than you probably should.
You know what he wants you to say. He wants more from you, but you don’t know how he expects you to think with this much pleasure coursing through you. He must come to the same conclusion though because he releases you from his mouth, looking up at you expectantly.
“I want you inside of me again,” you finally admit.
“Was that so hard?” He teases, standing to his full height and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Turn around.”
You do immediately, requiring no further explanation. All you need is him, however he will have you. He lifts your skirts again, pressing a hand between your shoulder blades to guide you lower. You must hesitate, looking over the papers on the desk to ensure there was nothing of importance, because Benedict reaches past you, pushing everything to the floor.
“Benedict!” You gasp, “What if those were important?”
“I cannot think of anything more important than this,” he confesses, gripping your hip. He enters you easily now, and your head bows forward in pleasure.
Moans of his name fall helplessly from your lips, but Benedict is not much better, panting whispered declarations of love in your ear. It only serves to drive you higher and higher.
Lovemaking has always been exactly that. Gentle touches and caresses as Benedict practically worshipped you. You didn’t know it could be different, but now, with your palms digging into the wood of his desk, you realize how wrong you had been.
“Benedict, I think I am going to-”
He wraps his arm around you, finding where you need him most. It is almost instantaneous, the one extra push you needed pushing you over the edge. Benedict swears at the feeling of you clenching around him, fingers digging into your hip as he chases his high. When he finds it, he doesn’t pull away like he usually does. Instead, he uses the hand around your waist to pull your back toward his chest, unable to resist the temptation. He moans lowly against your neck, his movements faltering then slowing to a stop.
He curses, taking a step away and helping you stand. He smooths out your skirts, cupping your face when you turn to face him.
“Are you alright?” Benedict asks, brows drawn in concern.
You nod quickly, eyes fluttering. “I am perfect,” you add, leaning into his embrace. He runs his hand up and down your side, accepting your answer.
“In that case,” he grins, lifting you into his arms once more, “I believe we shall need a bath.”
After nearly a month of marriage, you discover there is still much to learn after sharing tea with Penelope. Your husband soon regrets ever holding back.
Technically part three in the Interrupted series, but I think you can read it as a stand alone. Find parts one and two below!
part i, part ii
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader
Word Count: 4.5k
Warnings: SMUT! 18+ MDNI, oral m!receiving, pnv, biting? (idk it just happened!), pretty explicit, let me know if i missed anything!
A/N: A part three was requested! I took some liberties with the request. I thought it would be a while before I wrote it, but I actually wrote it all today... meaning, this has not been proofread. I got excited! @diagonazguly thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy!
Time passes you by in the blink of an eye. It seems as if you and Benedict had wed only days ago, yet you wake one day, and it has been a month. Still, when you roll over to face him, his arm wrapped around you the whole time, you still feel the familiar butterflies of newness.
“Good morning, wife,” Benedict hums, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Husband,” you reply, smiling in delight. You aren’t sure the title will ever grow old. You rest your head atop his chest, fingers running up and down his bare torso. It’s a mindless action, one that has grown to be routine in the month you’ve spent waking just like this. “And what are your plans for the day, Mr. Bridgerton?”
Benedict, in turn, rubs his hand over your arm, sending shivers up your spine. His voice holds the evidence of sleep, a rasp that quickly turns your affection to desire when he speaks, “I am afraid I have been postponing lunch with Anthony and Colin for far too long. I suppose I should accompany them to Mondrich’s.”
You let out a dramatic sigh, though a smile threatens the corners of your mouth. You tilt your head up to meet his gaze, replying, “Well, I suppose I shall have to occupy myself then.”
“And how ever shall you do that, my love?”
The name brings heat rushing up your neck and to your cheeks even now. Adamant on not being teased for the reaction his words cause, you rise from the bed, wrapping your robe around your shoulders. You move toward your wardrobe, calling over your shoulder teasingly, “Penelope wished to have tea while you men do whatever it is you do. Though, I must call upon Eloise soon as well. It has been a while since we spoke, and I dread to think she would believe I’ve forgotten my favorite Bridgerton.”
Benedict gasps in mock offense, his hand flying to his chest, “You wound me.”
Your laugh fills the room, bringing a smile to your husband’s face as you sort through your various dresses.
“You should wear the cream one,” he suggests from the bed. He’s sat up now, propped against far too many pillows.
Turning to face him, you tilt your head. “Is that so?”
“Indeed,” he nods. “I would not wish for anyone to forget you are a new bride.”
You roll your eyes fondly but take the dress from its hook. Turning back to him, you hold your ring in the air, “Is this not sufficient?”
“Well, I should hope it is, but one can not be too careful with a bride as lovely as you.”
“And now you flatter me!” You grumble, flustered again. He smirks, and you know that had been his goal.
“Never, I merely cannot contain my praises, darling wife.”
You move back toward the bed as if floating on air, sitting on the edge beside him. Benedict grins, far too pleased with himself for bringing you back to him.
“You fluster me,” you complain, feeling completely childish when you hear the words leave your mouth.
Benedict’s grin only grows. “Do I?” He asks innocently, pushing your sleep-mussed hair out of your face gently.
You nod, leaning into his touch.
“My apologies,” he murmurs, leaning in. His eyes flicker to your lips, and only a moment later, they are on yours. Your lips move against his, much more practiced now than when you first wed. You sink into him, his hand on your waist pulling you closer until you’re practically on top of him. His free hand finds your leg and pulls it over his lap, so you straddle him, all without ever breaking the kiss.. Your robe pushes up your thighs, leaving little to the imagination.
You come to your senses suddenly as if waking from a pleasant dream. With your hands on his chest, you push yourself away. Benedict chases your lips, groaning when you move out of reach.
“Benedict, we have duties to attend to today! We cannot spend the day in bed,” you chastise, lowering your voice to add, “again.”
“Darling,” he complains, large hands roaming your body. “We have plenty of time. Besides, I assure you I can be swift.”
You chew the inside of your cheek, torn between the now familiar feeling of desire in your gut and your plans for the day. Benedict’s eyes brighten, seeing your hesitation. He begins to press open mouthed kisses up the slope of your neck, pausing only to add, “Let me show you why I should be your favorite Bridgerton, my wife.”
—
It’s nearly two hours later when Benedict helps you out of the carriage at Penelope and Colin’s home. Your hand wraps around his bicep, letting him lead you up the path to their door where a footman waits. He leads you to the drawing room, each step precise.
“I admit, I already find myself looking forward to this evening,” Benedict leans down to murmur in your ear.
“You are insatiable,” you reply, shaking your head with a smile.
The footman steps into the drawing room first, announcing you both, “Mr. and Mrs. Benedict Bridgerton.”
Colin and Penelope rise swiftly to greet you both, meeting you half way. Penelope embraces you first, while Colin greets his brother.
“Y/N, I feel as if it has been an age since I’ve seen you!”
You laugh, nodding in agreement when you pull back to look at her, “I know! I feel as if I’ve hardly left the house since we wed.”
Colin pulls you into a hug, “Yes, well, that is to be expected for newlyweds, is it not?” His voice is teasing, looking to his brother next.
Penelope swats at her husband, “Leave them be. Don’t you two have cards to play?”
You all laugh as Colin feigns offense, “Very well. We shall leave you ladies to chat. Anthony will be waiting.”
You interlock your arm with Penelope’s, waving goodbye as the men retreat. Benedict winks in your direction before the men disappear from view. Your friend guides you to the couch, already pouring you a cup of tea. You accept it with thanks. It doesn’t take long for the two of you to begin gossiping just like old times, giggles falling from your lips.
You know you’re in trouble when Pen gets the familiar meddling look in her face. One you’re all too used to after over a decade of friendship. Maybe that’s why you’re only slightly caught off guard when she speaks again.
“I presume you and Benedict have been… getting acquainted with each other,” she smirks.
The tea burns your mouth, at least that is the story you’ll tell, and you splutter, “Penelope!”
She only giggles, covering her mouth with her hand. “Forgive me! I admit I am curious.”
“Curious? What precisely do you wish to know?” You furrow your brow, sitting the tea cup down. You look down at your gown, picking at a loose thread mindlessly.
“We needn’t discuss it if you do not wish to. It’s only… Men speak of it, do they not? And it is not as if I can speak to Eloise about it. If not because it would be improper, then because I could not possibly divulge such information about her brother,” Penelope rambles, halting with a breathless laugh. “A problem you share, you see. I merely thought it might be nice.”
You reach out, taking her hand in yours, an amused smile on your face. “Pen, we may discuss it,” you laugh softly. “I simply do not know where to begin.”
“Then, I shall,” Penelope grins.
—
Hours later, Benedict and Colin return, one clearly having more to drink than the other. Benedict has his arm around Colin’s torso, helping him to the chaise. After apologizing to Penelope for returning him in this state, Benedict takes your hand, leading you to the carriage once more.
The whole way home though, all you can consider is everything your sister-in-law had told you. You glance around the carriage, wondering how on earth they had even come up with such things. Benedict takes in your expression, furrowing his brow.
“Is something troubling you, my love?” He asks, placing his hand on your knee. You follow the movement, considering everything else Penelope had told you.
Benedict’s hands are quite large, easily twice the size of your own. The realization makes your head swim. You chew your lip in thought, wondering how it would feel if he-
“Y/N?” Benedict tries again, finally pulling you from your thoughts.
“Hm?” You look up suddenly. Your cheeks heat when you realize you have been lost in thought. “My apologies, I was lost in my own mind.”
“Is something troubling you?” He repeats.
You shake your head quickly, offering a smile. “Nothing at all. Did you and your brothers enjoy yourselves?”
Benedict studies you for a beat longer before accepting your answer. “Yes, it was enjoyable, but they do not entertain me nearly as much as you do.”
He descends into a dramatic retelling of the events from the gentleman’s club, seemingly leaving no stone unturned. As he goes on, you find your thoughts drifting back to all the new possibilities Penelope had revealed. You had no idea lovemaking could take so many forms.
As days go by, you find yourself thinking about it more and more until instead of excitement, you begin to feel uneasy. Why had you never known of the possibilities? Was Benedict easing you into married life as Penelope had suggested, or was he unsatisfied? Did he wish for more?
The thoughts both excite and frighten you. You find yourself even now, in Benedict’s study as he paints, pressing your legs closer together in an effort to ease the near constant ache that has situated itself between your thighs.
Your book sits forgotten in your lap, instead finding the sight of your husband’s hand gripping his paintbrush far more enticing. Several veins bulge along the backside of his hand, and their presence disarms you. You don’t know how long you stay like that, simply staring at your husband with growing lust. It isn’t until he sits the brush down that you realize he is staring back. You sit up straighter, clearing your throat nervously and attempt to appear as if you are reading after all.
“Ah, ah,” Benedict shakes his head, eliminating the distance between you. “You are not fooling me, my love. You are watching me.”
“Can a wife not admire her husband?” You try to appear nonchalant.
He grins, kneeling in front of you. “She may, but you have been doing it for days. I am beginning to believe I have grown a second head.”
You flush, sitting your book to the side. “You have not grown a second head,” you mumble softly.
“Ah, a relief,” he jests. One hand grasps your chin gently, tilting your head up to face him. “Would you care to tell me what is on your mind then? Hm?”
“Nothing,” you answer quickly.
To his credit, Benedict doesn’t laugh or chastise your obvious lie. Instead, his face grows soft, sensing your embarrassment. “Darling, you are forgetting I have known you since you could speak. I am certain I can recognize when you are speaking falsehoods.”
He’s right, you realize. You do not stand a chance of fooling him. Still, you are so used to such topics being out of bounds. You aren’t sure how to speak freely, even to your very handsome husband who only wishes to help.
“You will not laugh?”
Benedict takes your hands in his, pressing a kiss to each knuckle. “I will not laugh,” he assures you.
You take a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. “When we visited Penelope and Colin, she asked if she could speak freely,” you begin. Benedict’s forehead creases, but he only nods, urging you to continue. “It is only… Well, she told me about certain… interests her and Colin share. Interests I did not know existed.”
“Interests?” Benedict repeats, still brushing over your knuckles gently. It’s clear he has no clue what you mean.
You sigh, looking around as if a servant may be lingering in a corner. Of course, the room is empty besides the two of you. Only after you make certain of this do you try to clarify. “You know,” you lower your voice like you are sharing a secret, “Marital interests.”
Benedict’s face transforms into a wide grin, and he can’t help the loud laugh that escapes him. You glare, pulling your hands from his.
“You said you would not laugh!”
Your husband tries to catch his breath, running a hand through his hair. “I am sorry, my love. It is not funny. It merely surprised me!” He excuses. “I did not expect that to be what is troubling you. Though, I believe I may need more help understanding. Did these ‘interests,’” he teases, “Displease you? It has been nearly a week since we visited with Penelope and Colin, and these thoughts still plague you.”
You hesitate, still embarrassed, before shaking your head slightly. It takes a moment, but once you gain the courage, you begin to ramble, “It is not that they displeased me. It is the opposite! I cannot look at you without imagining all of these newfound possibilities. You did not tell me that a woman could take a man in her mouth!”
Benedict chokes on air, his eyebrows raising nearly to his hairline, but you only continue on.
“Or that the marital act could occur in the carriage!”
He did not even wish to hear how you had discovered that.
“And so every time I look at you, I am considering all of this! But you must have known already! So why did you not tell me? Do you not wish to do that with me?”
Benedict thinks his heart might explode. He had been worrying about how quiet you’ve been for days, but he had never expected this to be the cause. His silence causes you to shrink in on yourself, and he can feel you drawing back. He reaches for your hand again, desperate to calm your racing mind.
“My love, why did you not tell me this was troubling you so? Of course I wish to do everything with you. I merely did not want to rush you. Marriage is a new adventure, one completely foreign to us, but I know that it is an even bigger change for you. I did not wish to move too quickly or- or to overwhelm you.”
Your face softens, the lines of worry dissipating. “That is all?”
“Of course that is all,” he repeats firmly, bringing your hands to his lips again. “If I had known it would have the opposite effect, I would have told you weeks ago. Will you forgive me?”
Feeling suddenly very silly, you nod. Your bottom lip juts out into a pout, and though you’d be embarrassed if you realized, Benedict finds the sight incredibly endearing.
“I am sorry for stewing in silence, Benedict,” you apologize sincerely. “I should have spoken with you, but you are right. It is a rather large adjustment, being able to discuss such things.”
Your husband brushes your hair back with his free hand, assuring you, “Oh, that’s quite alright, sweetheart. I know how you might make it up to me.”
“How is that?”
The fondness in his eyes transforms into lust, a smirk taking over his mouth. “You mentioned taking me in your mouth, I believe?”
Your heart skips a beat, but you nod slowly, even as a blush climbs onto your cheeks. “Should we return to our chambers?”
But Benedict only shakes his head, rising from his knees and offering you his hand. You take it, rising.
“If not our chambers, then-”
To your surprise, Benedict takes your spot in the chair, reaching for a throw pillow. You furrow your brow, opening your mouth to question him, but he interrupts.
“If you wish to know everything, then you must know that the marital act can occur wherever we wish, darling.”
“Here?” You ask in surprise, looking around nervously.
Benedict laughs, situating the pillow on the floor between his feet. “Yes, here. Do you trust me?”
You nod without a second thought, and he smiles.
“Then, I will teach you.”
He gives you his hand, helping you to the ground, directing you to put your knees on the pillow. Only when you’re there does he begin talking you through the process. At first, you run your hand over his breeches, feeling him as you have before, but after a few minutes, he guides your hand to his belt, helping you unclasp each button until you can free him. Eye level with his manhood for the first time, your breath catches, nerves suddenly catching up with you.
“If you wish to stop, you must merely tell me,” he assures you.
You shake your head, looking up to meet his eye. “I wish to. I merely do not wish to disappoint you.”
He shakes his head, running his hands through your hair soothingly. “I do not think you could disappoint me if you tried. Being with you is enough.”
“Do not flatter me,” you grumble sarcastically, “I am serious.”
“As am I.”
“What is next?” You ask, determined.
Benedict releases a slow breath, still tracing through your hair. “Next, you may kiss me. You may do whatever you wish.”
You nod slowly, moving closer. You press a gentle kiss to the tip, your nerves easing as you hear him take a sharp inhale. Encouraged by the sound, you continue pressing kisses down the length of him, watching how he grows in your hand. Tentatively, you stick out your tongue, licking up the side.
“Dammit,” he hisses, and you pull away instantly. Benedict takes in your wide eyes and lets out a breathless laugh. “No, darling, that was exactly right. It felt good.”
“It did?” You ask hopefully, leaning in again. He nods, gripping the hair at the base of your head. He doesn’t pull or tug. He only holds onto you like an anchor, trying not to float away in the sensations.
You continue like that for a few minutes, eventually gaining the confidence to wrap your lips around the tip of him. A low moan spills from Benedict’s lips, and his grip on your hair tightens. The sensation makes you hum around him, creating an endless cycle of pleasure that neither of you are willing to end just yet.
You must pull away eventually though. You release him with a small gasp, your chest rising and falling quickly. When you look up at your husband, his eyes are blown wide, staring down at you in awe.
“I should have taught you that much sooner, wife.”
A laugh escapes you, but you reach for him again. Benedict stops you though, shaking his head.
“Enough, as incredible as it is, I find I still prefer being inside you.”
“Benedict,” you whisper wide-eyed, the lewd words catching you off guard, but he only laughs.
“Darling, you just had me in your mouth. You could not possibly still be scandalized by my vocabulary.”
“I am not scandalized!” You insist.
Benedict chuckles, offering you his hand and rising from the chair. He helps you to your feet, and it’s a conscious effort to look him in the eye. He notices your straying gaze but doesn’t comment. Instead, he lifts you into the air without a sound, crossing the room to place you upon his desk.
“What are you doing?” You gasp.
He reaches for the hem of your dress, lifting each layer above your hips with practiced ease.
“I am showing you the various uses of my study furniture. Surely you do not object?”
You shake your head quickly, and he grins, finding your undergarments.
“My god, wife, you had been thinking of the possibilities, hadn’t you?” He muses, feeling how you’ve soaked through the fabric.
His words cause a whimper to escape you, and you lean forward, burying your face against his shoulder in an effort to hide. He chuckles, pushing them aside.
“It is a good thing, my love. Certainly, I’ve proven that much to you so far, hm?”
You nod, words failing you. You’re already wrecked. That much is clear, and Benedict can feel himself growing addicted to the feeling.
“Shh,” he soothes, positioning himself at your entrance. He falters, growling at the position. He takes hold of your leg, lifting one to wrap around his waist. The other hangs over the edge of the desk. “There we go,” he breathes, sinking into you.
Your mouth falls open into a silent moan, and Benedict wastes no time, setting a steady rhythm that leaves you unable to catch your breath. Up until now, you had only known gentle lovemaking. The kind where Benedict keeps his eyes on yours, whispering soothing words and praise, but now, his pace is harsh and unforgiving. A lifetime’s worth of desire that had been waiting to spill out. Waiting for him to deem you ready, and now that he has, he isn’t sure how he ever held back.
Each thrust hits something that causes your vision to blur. Overwhelmed by the sensation, you bite down on his shoulder, and Benedict groans so loudly you’re certain the whole house must hear. Except you can’t focus long enough to care.
“Dammit,” he huffs, “Do it again.”
You aren’t sure if it’s a plea or an order, but you don’t care either way. You reach for his shirt, thankful he’d only been wearing one layer while he painted. You lift it, but Benedict’s movements don’t falter even as he helps you lift it over his head, tossing it to the ground. When there’s no longer any fabric covering him, you sink your teeth into his skin, relishing in the sounds your husband makes when you do.
“God, I love you,” he pants, gripping your chin with a harshness he’s never used on you. He turns your face towards his, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss.
“I love you,” you breathe into the kiss.
Suddenly, he breaks the kiss, pulling away from you. He takes a step back, and you whine. A pathetic sound you didn’t know you were capable of making. Benedict’s eyes trail you up and down, drinking you in. He runs his thumb over his lips, inhaling sharply.
“Why did you stop?” You frown, holding yourself up with palms against the hard wood.
Benedict’s eyes light up when he chuckles, a trait he’d always had, but that causes your breath to catch even now. “I believe I’ve given it to you too easily, sweetheart.”
“I do not understand,” you frown, dropping your skirts and smoothing them out uncomfortably.
He steps closer, following the line of your frown with his thumb. “Tell me what you want me to do,” he whispers, eyes flickering from your lips to your eyes hungrily. “Whatever you wish, you shall have, but you must ask, my love.”
Your mouth opens but clamps shut, not sure what to say. You can feel the preconditioned shame filtering through, but then, you look up at him. Truly look at him. And when you do, you see the hunger in his eyes. Eyes that have seen you through every phase of life. Eyes that have seen you in sleep and freshly awake. Eyes that still look at you as if they are trying to both see and memorize every part of you all at once.
Beyond that though, you see the adoration, the love. You know because it is the same way you look at him. The same way you’ve always looked at him. That realization fills you with a confidence you had never felt before. He loves you.
So when your mouth opens again, all you feel is need.
“I want to feel you.”
You see the way his eyes seemingly light with joy while still darkening with want.
“Hm, is that all?” He breathes against your cheek, kissing you there. One on your cheek, on to your jaw, and then down your neck.
He unlaces the front of your gown, letting it slip down to your hips, while never ceasing to kiss you. When your breasts are bare, he latches onto one, his eyes not leaving yours.
“Benedict, I-” you gasp, back arching, pressing you closer to him.
But even still, your husband doesn’t stop kissing you. He wraps his lips around one peak, his fingers finding the other, but he maintains eye contact, humming around you in response. You keep one hand on the desk to hold you upright, but the other laces through his hair, tugging harsher than you probably should.
You know what he wants you to say. He wants more from you, but you don’t know how he expects you to think with this much pleasure coursing through you. He must come to the same conclusion though because he releases you from his mouth, looking up at you expectantly.
“I want you inside of me again,” you finally admit.
“Was that so hard?” He teases, standing to his full height and pressing a kiss to your forehead. “Turn around.”
You do immediately, requiring no further explanation. All you need is him, however he will have you. He lifts your skirts again, pressing a hand between your shoulder blades to guide you lower. You must hesitate, looking over the papers on the desk to ensure there was nothing of importance, because Benedict reaches past you, pushing everything to the floor.
“Benedict!” You gasp, “What if those were important?”
“I cannot think of anything more important than this,” he confesses, gripping your hip. He enters you easily now, and your head bows forward in pleasure.
Moans of his name fall helplessly from your lips, but Benedict is not much better, panting whispered declarations of love in your ear. It only serves to drive you higher and higher.
Lovemaking has always been exactly that. Gentle touches and caresses as Benedict practically worshipped you. You didn’t know it could be different, but now, with your palms digging into the wood of his desk, you realize how wrong you had been.
“Benedict, I think I am going to-”
He wraps his arm around you, finding where you need him most. It is almost instantaneous, the one extra push you needed pushing you over the edge. Benedict swears at the feeling of you clenching around him, fingers digging into your hip as he chases his high. When he finds it, he doesn’t pull away like he usually does. Instead, he uses the hand around your waist to pull your back toward his chest, unable to resist the temptation. He moans lowly against your neck, his movements faltering then slowing to a stop.
He curses, taking a step away and helping you stand. He smooths out your skirts, cupping your face when you turn to face him.
“Are you alright?” Benedict asks, brows drawn in concern.
You nod quickly, eyes fluttering. “I am perfect,” you add, leaning into his embrace. He runs his hand up and down your side, accepting your answer.
“In that case,” he grins, lifting you into his arms once more, “I believe we shall need a bath.”
Jack enjoys flirting with the night shift’s newest nurse.
Note: Another one that was in my drafts, not my best but I figured I’d put it out there! Quick and cute! :)))
“Uh, Easter Bunny is seriously checking you out right now.”
You glanced up at Perla with a confused expression, looking between yourself and Princess. “Who?” You knew she was referring to Dr. Jack Abbot. His nickname was a play on words. At first you all teased him, calling him Dr. Rabbit. But now, you and a few of your fellow coworkers used the name Easter Bunny kind of like a code name, to talk about him without being too obvious.
Most of the time, everything you were saying was good. He was one of the best doctors to work with, incredibly respectful to nurses and always giving you and your peers credit when due.
Princess, beside you, rolled her eyes. “You! He’s checking out you!”
You glanced over, where Dr. Abbot stood a few feet away, tapping at an iPad. Or at least, you’d thought that was what he’d been doing. When your eyes landed on him, you found that he was staring at you intently. When you locked gazes, he offered you a small smile and a tiny wave.
Feeling your cheeks heat up, you waved back before glancing back at Perla and Princess, who were both staring at you with suggestive smirks. “This has been the happiest month of his life. Well, from what I’ve seen anyway.”
It was no coincidence Perla mentioned a specific timeframe. You’d transferred over to night shift a month ago, much to their protest. It just worked better with your school schedule, as you were currently back in school to become a nurse practitioner. While it definitely did help you manage your time between work and school better, you did miss your closest friends from day shift.
Luckily, you came in at 6 PM most evenings and they didn’t leave until 7, so you had a bit of time where your schedules overlapped. Like now.
Only the past month, they’d spent the last hour of their shift teasing you about Dr. Abbot. Even though you’d worked with him here and there when he would pop in during day shifts or was finishing his last hour of night shift, it was usually brief. Now, you were working pretty much side by side with him each night, and the girls were convinced he’d developed a thing for you. At first you’d thought they were insane, but as each day passed, you weren’t so sure. Especially when you caught him looking at you shamelessly, the way he was right now.
“If he was looking at me the way he looks at you, I’d have jumped his dusty bones in the supply closet by now,” Princess said, sighing dreamily as she rested her chin on her hand. You frowned at her. “Dusty bones? And didn’t Oliver just propose?” Oliver was her boyfriend of three years. She nodded, then shrugged. “Yeah, so? I can’t fantasize?”
“Yes but be more practical,” Perla encouraged her. “The supply closet has too much traffic. Think of the on call room in west wing. No one ever goes in there.”
Princess wrinkled her nose. “Yeah because it’s by the sluice room. You really wanna do it in there?”
Just as realization dawned on Perla, a deep voice chimed in. “Do what in where?”
All three of your heads snapped to the right, where Easter Bunny himself stood, looking curious. You were the first to look away, snatching your coffee from the counter to take a sip while Perla, always so smooth, lied easily. “Take a quick nap in an on call room before I head home to the chaos that are my sons. Which room do you recommend?”
Jack nodded in understanding, not seeming to suspect a thing. “There’s a good one in the east wing, near the vending machine that only sells doesn’t sell anything caffeinated. No one from night shift usually goes there. It’s pretty private.”
“Got it.” Perla shrugged on her jacket, leaning close to me as she grabbed her water bottle from the desk behind me. “You heard that kid? He’s already thought it through.” She wiggled her eyebrows at you and you bit back a frown while Princess, who overhead her as she was right beside you, giggled.
This did earn you three a funny look from Dr. Abbot, but he chose not to question it. He turned in his attention to you. “Those cookies you made were delicious,” he said, referencing the cookies you’d left in the break room. “You might be an even better basket than you are nurse. That’s saying a lot.”
Perla and Princess shot you knowing looks as they pulled you in for goodbye hugs. Princess’s breath was warm on your ear as she quickly whispered, “Easter Bunny likes you.”
Dr. Abbot bid goodbye to the two nurses and you watched as they walked away, already missing them despite their teasing. The nurses on night shift were nice enough, but you’d yet to bond with any of them the way you did with Perla and Princess.
“You look sad,” Dr. Abbot observed. You glanced at him, shaking your head quickly. “Oh, no. I’m not,” you hurried to say, not wanting him to worry. “I’m okay.”
“You miss working with them,” he continued, ignoring your previous words. His words were sure and confident as he studied your face. You knew there was no point in lying, as something you’d quickly noticed about Dr. Abbot had been his ability to get pretty much anyone to admit the truth, probably because he had such a calm but obvious air of authority. You sighed. “Yeah, I do.”
“Nurses on our shift treating you okay?” He asked, voice a bit concerned now, his posture softening. You appreciated it, and still found yourself slightly surprised at how gentle he could be. Most people’s first impressions of him, including yours, was how tough and hard he seemed. You’d figured that was from his many years spent in the military. Also, he was a good bit older than you, so you figured he just didn’t put up with much shit anymore.
But despite his rocky exterior, over the past month you’d quickly come to learn that he could be very soft and warm. He wasn’t nearly as intimidating as you’d originally thought.
“The nurses on our shift are very nice,” you assured him. “Just haven’t found my Perla and Princess yet, I suppose.”
“They’re pretty hard to replace,” Jack reasoned and you nodded your head in agreement. He then pointed to the top of your head. “I like your headband,” he complimented, steering the conversation in an unexpected direction.
Your hand instinctively reached up to touch the thick headband which held back your equally thick hair. It was a light yellow to match your light yellow under scrub, with the headband also adorned in white polka dots. “Oh. Thank you.”
“Your boyfriend get it for you?” Dr. Abbot questioned and immediately, heat rushed to your cheeks. “W-what?” You stammered and he bit back a grin, shaking his head. “Nothing. Never mind. It looks cute on you.”
Like that was any more helpful. Your cheeks still burned and now it was harder to think straight. This wasn’t even close to the first compliment he’d given you over the past month and still, it made you feel like a giddy schoolgirl. Thankfully, the doors to the ambulance bay burst open at that moment, EMT’s already shouting stats as they wheeled in a patient on a gurney who was unconscious and unstable.
Your instincts kicked in, your head instantly clearing as your mind immediately went to how you were going to help this person feel better. Dr. Abbot glanced at you. “You with me?”
You nodded and fell into step beside him, the next two hours of your shift flying by as you tended to the patient who’d been in a high speed, motor vehicle accident. It was one of the harder cases you’d worked on with him so far. The patient was a sixteen year old boy named Preston who’d sustained multiple traumas.
You followed Dr. Abbot’s orders with speed and precision, knowing when to step in and when to step back. “Very good work,” he said to you quite a few times throughout the stabilization. You watched how even in the chaos, he remained calm and steady, not stopping for even a second until the patient was stable. The room, filled with medical personnel, let out a collective exhale when his heart began to beat at a normal pace.
You looked to Jack the same exact moment he looked to you, his chest rising and falling quickly. You both shared a small, relieved look. He listed out the next steps and he, you, along with a few other nurses wheeled Preston up to the intensive care unit where he would be monitored until surgery on his broken arm could take place.
Once back in the emergency department, you headed toward the nursing station, Dr. Abbot behind you. It was your turn to pay him a compliment. “You were excellent in there.” Your tone was admiring as you sat down at the desk. Dr. Abbot stayed standing beside where you sat, grabbing the iPad he’d left there earlier.
He gave you a modest smile. “I try.”
“You’re a very good doctor,” you continued, not sure where you were finding this confidence but knowing it needed to be said. Dr. Abbot paused from where he was scrolling through the medical device, glancing at you. “Well now you’re just flattering me.”
You laughed, turning your attention to your screen. “Maybe. It’s not like you don’t do the same.”
“I do,” he admitted. You weren’t positive, but there may have been a hint of shyness to his tone when he spoke next. “Is it too much?”
You paused, making sure to look at him when you spoke next. He was already looking at you. So you gave him an earnest smile. “No. I like it.”
He relaxed slightly, the corner of his lip quirking. “Okay. Good. You never answered my question earlier, by the way.”
Now you looked confused. “What question?”
“Did your boyfriend buy you that headband?” He repeated his earlier words and this time instead of them stopping you short, they ignited a playful fire in you. “Nope,” you replied simply, knowing this wasn’t the answer he was looking for.
“Okay. What about those pretty earrings? Did he buy you those?”
You were enjoying the game now, pretending to scan a clipboard in front of you as you shook your head. “No,” you replied again nonchalantly. You could feel his gaze burning into you. “The new water bottle? Did he buy you that?”
You were impressed he’d noticed your new water bottle, which was blue with white stripes. You had a thing for patterns. You tried hard not to grin as you said, “No. I bought that.”
“Do you understand the point of these questions for you to tell me whether or not you have a boyfriend?” Dr. Abbot asked, sounding just mildly frustrated. “Otherwise, I’m going to think you are with a man who doesn’t spoil you the way you deserve.”
There was so much to respond to in those two sentences. You couldn’t bite back the grin now. “You think I deserve to be spoiled?”
“I think you should tell me whether or not you have a boyfriend,” Dr. Abbot shot back easily, crossing his arms over his chest. You eyed his biceps, thick and veined, before your eyes settled on him in a challenging manner. “What if I said I did?”
These words didn’t make him flinch slightly. His next words were automatic. “Then I’d tell you to break up with him because he sounds like he’s broke.”
You laughed and the corners of his eyes crinkled. He waited expectantly, arms still crossed. Finally, you gave in. “I don’t have a broke boyfriend. I don’t have any boyfriend.”
A pleased look settled on his face. “Okay. Good to know.”
You shook your head, amused as you went back to charting. Dr. Abbot stayed stood behind you, doing the same. You worked in a comfortable silence for a few brief minutes before he spoke up again. “You’re a very good nurse, by the way. You’re going to be an even better NP.”
“How do you know about that?” You asked. “Lena told me,” he answered, referring to the night shift charge nurse who was currently out with a nasty virus. He continued. “She also told me you love to karaoke when you’re drunk,” he teased.
Your face flushed and you broke eye contact, frowning. “Well great. Now I’m transferring back to day shift.” You also were never going out with Lena again. Girls night was supposed to be private!
“Please don’t,” Dr. Abbot said. “If it makes you feel better, when I’m drunk, I find the most random, saddest charities and give them like all of my money.”
You furrowed your brows at him. “That doesn’t make me feel better, actually. You have a heart of gold.”
He chuckled before leaning into a more serious tone. “Well, would dinner make you feel better?” When you stopped to stare at him, unsure if you were reading the situation correctly, he continued. “On Saturday at seven? There’s this really good Italian place I know that serves great drinks but no karaoke machine in sight,” he promised.
You grinned. Maybe Perla and Princess were right. Easter Bunny did like you.
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In which Remus overhears you talking about the person you have feelings for, and decides to distance himself from you so that he can move on, with no idea that you were talking about him the whole time.
warnings: fem!reader, Remus is an idiot, no use of Y/N, tooth-rotting fluff after some mandatory angst, self-doubt, Remus POV because apparently I like writing this man in distress, healing of emotional wounds, Remus is DOWN BAD, it is implied that reader is short | word count: 7421
note: this sprung into my head as I was making cereal today whilst listening to Move On First by Sadie Jean and I have never sprinted to my laptop so fast oh my god. This is a LONG one, because I am incapable of casually writing about this man. This went from a cuttle little drabble to an emotional ball of pain where reader forces Remus to love himself damnit.
“before you do, just let me learn to fall asleep, just me, without laying on your chest. I’m begging, please, just let me learn to look the other way.”
Remus Lupin was an idiot. A colossal, eavesdropping, heartbroken, fool of an idiot.
Because only an idiot could stand there and listen to – eavesdrop on – the girl he was madly in love with talking with such passion about her feelings for someone else. Someone that wasn’t him.
His heart bled a little at the thought.
It was a complete accident, really, how this had happened. You were with Marlene and Lily, sat in the courtyard on the bench beside the large oak tree, with absolutely no idea that he was on the other side of it, back pressed against the bark, book completely forgotten in his lap, his desperate attempt at solitude turned into an exercise of torture.
He could get up and leave – he ought to get up and leave – but then you would see him and you would call him over and ask him how his day was and lay your head on his shoulder with no idea that every breath you took and every loving word out of your mouth were like daggers slowly peeling his skin from his bones.
He took a shuddering breath, pressing his head back against the tree trunk, eyes screwed firmly shut. Perhaps if he tried hard enough, he could block it out. He knew immediately that it was futile – it was you, there was no blocking you out. His body was attuned to every move you made, every sweet word from your lips. He couldn’t ignore you even if he tried.
And so he sat, and waited, and prayed for it to end so that he could crawl back to his dorm and do something entirely unmanly like cry.
“And his eyes. Have you seen them?” You continued, entirely oblivious to the metaphorical daggers you were throwing his way. “I’ve never seen eyes like them.”
“I will admit, he does have nice eyes,” Lily agreed. Traitor. “I’ve never seen that shade of brown before.”
“Like getting lost in a forest.” Your voice was wistful in a way that had Remus’s heart clenching, and he pressed his hand against his chest to try to soothe the ache of it all.
“I will say,” Lily continued. “He is rather handsome. He’s tall…”
“So tall,” you said. “I’d have to tug him down by his hair to kiss him.”
“You’ll give him a hunchback by the age of thirty,” Marlene scoffed.
“If the person I’m in love with develops a hunchback for the sole reason that they’ve spent so long kissing me, then I have done my job well.”
In love with. The words echoed sharply in his mind, pulsing against every crevice of his thoughts until he couldn’t escape them, until they were all he could hear. You were in love with someone. You, perfect and kind, generous and loving, so beautiful it hurt, were in love.
Oh god, he would take a thousand full moons over the way he was feeling right now.
“Or you could just, ya know, climb him. Like a tree,” Lily suggested, snickering.
“That too.”
“Yeah,” Marlene said thoughtfully. “Honestly, I get it. He’s hot. Nice hair, nice arms, and he’s got that whole rugged and mysterious vibe about him.”
Rugged and mysterious. If there were two things that Remus Lupin wasn’t.
“He does have nice hair,” Lily agreed. “I have no idea how he makes it so fluffy. Do you think it would be weird if I asked for his haircare routine?”
“I think it would make Sirius jealous that you were going to anyone but him for haircare advice,” Marlene snickered.
“And he’s so gentle, too,” you continued. “Have you seen how kind he is with everyone? Always putting other people first, helping others with their homework, sitting with people when they need someone to talk to.”
“Not to mention how he is with you.” Marlene hummed idly, her voice teasing. “We’ve all seen the heart eyes aimed your way.”
“Oh please,” you scoffed, but there was a note of hope to your voice that had Remus wanting to curl up and sink into the earth. “He doesn’t have heart eyes.”
“He most certainly does with you. You’d have to be blind to miss it. And he’s always going out of his way to help you with stuff. Carrying your bag, bringing your favourite snacks to your study sessions in case you get hungry, always giving you hugs and forehead kisses and ugh, you two are sickening and you’re not even together.”
Hugs? Forehead kisses? Oh, he was going to be sick. The thought of someone else touching you like that, of holding you the way he did, of knowing the soft feel of you under their arm and the press of you against their skin, had him wanting to break things.
But he and you were purely platonic. Close friends who happened to both be tactile people. He, touch starved and desperate for affection, you, the epitome of a human ball of sunshine sharing love with the mindless press of your lips against cheeks and the gentle squeeze of palms in a way that was purely platonic and yet had his insides melting every damn time.
If you and this person were together, those touches would have to stop. He’d have to let go of the feeling of you beside him, put a stop to the way he would foolishly take your hand between classes or the way you would lean against him in the common room when the fire was low and sleep hung in the air like a weighted blanket.
“I just…” you said wistfully. “God, I just want to kiss him so badly.”
His stomach soured. Bile rose up his throat, and he rubbed a tired hand over his eyes.
His gaze caught on the scars on the back of them, and the sight of them made him irrationally angry. Of course you didn’t want him. His skin was a web of pain and trauma, a map of angry slashes and wounds that had left both physical and mental marks, etching themselves so deep into body and soul that they would never go away.
As if you could hear his thoughts, your voice drifted over to him again. “He just deserves so much. He goes through so much pain, and I just wish I could be there for him, do things to make it better for him.”
He had never quite felt anything like the way his soul was drowning now. Whoever this was, this mysterious handsome stranger with a troubled past, was someone you wanted to help. Did you want to press your lips to their scars like you sometimes did with Remus’s? Did you want to brush away their tears and tell them they were loved, just as you did with him?
He hated the thought of it. Hated it so desperately he couldn’t breathe.
“The scars are hot too,” Marlene continued.
“Marlene!”
“What?” She asked defensively. “Am I wrong?”
“No, you’re not,” you conceded. “You’re really not. But… they must have hurt so badly. I don’t want to make light of that just because they only add to his attractiveness.”
Lily scoffed. “God, you’re so sweet. No wonder he’s into you.”
Remus, as much as it pained him, wholeheartedly agreed. You were so sweet, so pure – he wondered what you thought of him, of the web of pain marring his body. Whoever this person was, their few scars must have been nothing to his. He had never come across anyone at Hogwarts who looked like him, and the thought had his stomach sinking.
“He’s not into me,” you said, and yes, there it was, the sadness Remus would have done anything to erase from your voice.
Whoever this person was, they were a fool. How could they not be into you, love every facet of you, every smile, every laugh, every frown, every tear. How could anyone be anything but desperately in love with you?
He needed to leave. He couldn’t be there a second longer, listening to you gush about this person as if they were the greatest thing to ever walk the earth. His hands were shaking as he pressed down against the grass, ready to lift himself up, when Lily spoke up again.
“So, are you going to tell him?”
Remus froze.
“... I don’t know.” Your voice was quiet, meek, and Remus strained to hear you, his heart pounding in his chest. “I want to. But I don’t know if he likes me like… that. And we’re such good friends, what if I ruin it by asking and he doesn’t actually want anything to do with me?”
It was horrible, absolutely horrible, that Remus was praying for that to happen. That whoever this person was would absolutely lose their mind (because what sane person would reject you?) and say no, and he could be the one to console you, to hold you close.
He hated himself for it. You deserved to be happy, damnit, regardless of who it was with, even the very thought of it had him wanting to throw up.
“Trust me,” Lily said gently. “He’s into you. He’d be out of his mind to say no. I have never seen anyone look at someone the way he looks at you.”
That was a lie. Remus was fairly certain his own eyes formed literal love hearts whenever they settled on you.
“You have to tell him,” Marlene agreed. “Listen, if he says no then he says no. You two are too good friends to let that ruin anything. Him saying no is better than you saying nothing and regretting it for the rest of your days.”
“That’s true.” Your words had his heart sinking like a stone in his chest. “Okay,” you agreed. “Tonight. I’ll tell him tonight.”
Tears rose unbidden to his eyes, wetting his cheeks before he could stop them. That was it, then. It was over. He had lost you before he had the chance to really have you, because no one in their right mind would ever say no to a chance with you, and that meant that he would never get the chance to feel your lips on his, to run his hands through your hair as your head lay on his chest, to love you so wholly and completely that it would ruin him and he would love every second of it.
He wouldn’t be able to stomach it, seeing you with someone else. Watching you kiss them, hold them, love them. He couldn’t bear it.
Mind made up, he wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his jumper and took a deep breath. He would just have to find a way to move on from you, to create a separation big enough that seeing you with another man maybe wouldn’t hurt so much. Even if that meant he had to distance himself from you to do it.
—
The common room was loud, a riot of laughter and bangs, of quills scratching across parchment, of chatter incessantly buzzing against the walls and settling into the very bones of the tower.
Remus could hardly hear it, his eyes fixed bleakly on the fire, his entire body heavy as he sank further into the armchair he had tried to find solace in. He could feel the heat of the flames against his skin, and yet their warmth did little to soothe the cold that had settled into his core and refused to move.
James and Sirius were playing a game of exploding snap on the rug in front of him, Peter lay stretched out on the sofa eagerly watching, making appropriate sounds of awe that James and Sirius seemed to thoroughly enjoy. It should have made him happy, being surrounded by the smiling faces of his closest friends, settled into an atmosphere that reeked of joy and peace.
He felt anything but, and Sirius was beginning to notice.
“Oi, Moony,” he said after a moment of studying him, his dark brows furrowed. “What’s got you being such a sour wolf?”
“Very funny, Pads,” he said, unable to get rid of the heaviness to his voice, lulling the words into a dejected rasp.
“Seriously, mate,” James said as he turned on the rug, leaning against the side of the armchair. His glasses reflected the light from the flames, giving his dark eyes a shine that reeked of concern. “You’ve been down all afternoon. You feeling alright? Something happen?”
Remus was blessedly spared from answering by the opening of the portrait hole, and his heart sank deep into his stomach as you and the girls walked in.
James, spotting Lily, immediately straightened and reached for his hair, embarking in the hopeless quest of getting it to lie flat. “Y’alright, Evans?” He asked eagerly.
Lily, grinning from ear to ear, nudged you. His heart fluttered in a desperate panic as you made your way over to their group. Your cheeks were red, your teeth worrying your lower lip. Your eyes, wide and panicked, were darting around the space, refusing to land on him.
Remus’s throat went tight. His hands were shaking, so he hid them in the folds of his jumper, trying to resist the urge to flee. The room felt too hot, suddenly, stuffy in a way that had him unable to breathe properly.
He couldn’t seem to look away from you – you looked nervous, your shoulders hunched slightly, as if you were sinking into yourself. Had you done it yet? Surely if you had, you wouldn’t be back here, sitting with your friends. If they had said yes, like he just knew they would, then surely you would still be with them – god knew if you were ever foolish enough to give him a chance, Remus wouldn’t let go of you for all the world.
That you were here had to be a bad sign, didn’t it? Had they said no? What kind of idiot would say no? Then again, it was late, maybe you had been with them and left to avoid getting caught out after dark, maybe that nervousness was leftover anxiety or god what if he was reading it wrong and you were blushing because you had just spent however long with the object of your affection, doing things that the very thought of had his stomach turning in disgust.
Please, he thought desperately, ripping his eyes away from you, please, go away.
He couldn’t stand it.
“Go on,” he heard Lily whisper, and looked up right as she nudged you forwards. Towards him.
Your eyes met his at last, your chest rising and falling rapidly in a way that spoke of nerves. Your blush intensified – he wanted to kiss it, press his lips to your cheeks to soothe the heat – and you were fidgeting with your fingers.
“Remus, can I, uh…” You trailed off, looking back at Lily and Marlene quickly. They nodded, grinning. “Can I talk to you, please?” There was a moment of heavy silence. “Alone?”
Remus couldn’t breathe.
So you had told them, and you had come to tell him that the touching had to stop, that the easy friendship he had found with you would have to change. His heart tightened at the thought that you felt it necessary to tell him, that you cared enough to pull him aside and tell him politely that things would have to change.
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words died on his tongue. He couldn’t stand the thought of that conversation, of your pitying eyes and furrowed brow. Maybe you’d even hug him, say sorry, say–
“I’m going to bed.” The words ripped out of him before he could stop them.
Six pairs of eyes landed on him, all filled with varying levels of shock and disappointment.
Your shoulders fell, your teeth sinking into your lower lip again. “Oh. Um… is there any chance we could–”
“I’m tired.” He stood abruptly, the movement too harsh, too jerky, and you flinched as he stepped around the armchair, away from you. He couldn’t bear to watch your face crumble like that, and tore his eyes away from you, settling them instead on the staircase that led to the dorms, to isolation, to loneliness.
“Right.” Your voice was thready and thin. “Right. Sure. Another time, then.”
He nodded numbly, his eyes burning.
He had never needed to get away from somewhere so badly. He moved towards the staircases, completely missing the anger on Lily and Marlene’s faces, your defeated expression, and the sighs of disappointment coming from the other Marauders.
—
Sleep did not come easy to him.
He lay there for an hour, tossing and turning, unable to get your face out of his mind. The hope in your voice, the curve of your lips, the shine to your eyes. You haunted every crevice of his mind, and he had no idea how to stop it.
When the door creaked open at last, and Sirius, James, and Peter entered the room, he didn’t say anything, remaining silent behind the drawn curtains of his bed, his futile attempt to block out the world.
He had expected laughter. Had expected teasing remarks, or the tail end of a conversation from downstairs, or even tired yawns. He hadn’t expected the silence to meet him back, settling in the room so heavily he could feel it as a tangible weight on his chest.
Finally, when the light shuffling of them getting ready for bed stopped, and darkness descended over the room, Sirius’s whispered voice cut through the air.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Remus knew it was aimed at him. “An absolute idiot.”
Remus didn’t respond, couldn’t respond through the burning in his eyes and throat. Instead, he rolled over, letting the tears escape, and pressed his face into the pillow.
—
Hours turned into days, and days into a week, until Remus had become so used to fleeing a room when you entered it that it had become second nature to grab his bag and all but leg it the second you stepped foot into wherever he had found himself.
But just because time had passed didn’t mean that avoiding you had become any easier. He wasn’t sleeping, his appetite all but gone, and his chest felt so tight that he had been to Madam Pomfrey twice to see if she could give him anything to ease it. She had smiled sadly and told him that her expertise was limited to physical ailments, and that was that.
He had hoped it would ease, that time would melt the agony into something softer, and yet nothing changed. Every glimpse of you cleaved him in two, every thought of you had his heart clenching, every missed study date and class spent sitting on the opposite side of the room to you felt like absolute torture that he didn’t know how to part with.
Every time his resistance crumbled, or you sent a wavering smile his way, or tried to speak to him and he almost gave in to the urge to just stay, he reminded himself of the alternative. Of seeing you with someone else, of having to watch you fall harder in love with someone that wasn’t him, of watching you go to Hogsmeade together and hold hands on the snowy paths, do all the things with you that he wanted desperately to do.
Granted he hadn’t seen you with anyone else, but that was likely just because he wasn’t looking at you all that much nowadays. He couldn’t, not without sparking the urge to go fill his pockets with stones and walk straight into the Black Lake.
Not that you hadn’t tried to talk to him. It had started off the way it usually was – happy, wide smile aimed at him, eyes bright if not nervous, voice gentle. “Hey Rem! Can we talk for a second?” turned to “Remus, can, uh, can I talk to you? Please?” to “Remus… are you okay?”
You had stopped trying – or rather, he hadn’t given you the opportunity to try again.
He rubbed his hand tiredly over his eyes, leaning against one of the stacks in the library, letting the quiet soothe the headache that had started up behind his eyes a few hours before. The lack of sleep was starting to get to him – every time he came even close to drifting off he would remember that look on your face, the happiness in your voice when you spoke about that person, the stabbing pain in his chest every time he had to avoid you.
Maybe Madam Pomfrey could help with this – she dealt with students who couldn’t sleep all the time, and he wouldn’t mind some time spent blissfully unconscious when he didn’t have to think about anything.
“I just don’t get it!” Someone spoke from behind the stacks. He recognised the voice almost immediately as Marlene, and shrank back further into the shadows. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right then. He didn’t want to do anything that wasn’t curling up in bed to sleep for a year or two.
“Marlene, please don’t.”
Remus damn near fell over.
It was the closest he had been to you in what felt like an eternity, and the sound of your voice was like a gutpunch. Oh god, he needed to get out, needed to get away before he did something stupid like hug you from behind and apologize and tell you he loved you until he was breathless from confessing.
“I’m serious!” Marlene continued, and he could hear the annoyance in her tone from there. “I don’t get why he’s acting this way. He’s clearly into you, and–”
“Marlene, please just drop it.”
How was this his life? Remus cursed under his breath, lowering his head into his hands. This was twice now he had accidentally ended up eavesdropping on you, and twice now that said eavesdropping had him hearing more than he wanted to about this mysterious person that you were so in love with.
He had clearly angered someone in a past life if this was the karma he was subject to.
“No, Marlene’s right.” And there was Lily, just to complete his torment. “He’s being a right twat. He has no right to treat you the way he has been, he’s supposed to be your friend before anything else.”
Remus stiffened, fingers tight against the bookshelf to this right. Was this person not treating you right? Was that why you had been so hellbent on talking to him recently; you’d been trying to tell him that you were upset?
He swore right then and there that whoever this bastard was, if he was hurting you, then Remus would put him in the goddamn ground.
“I don’t want to talk about him. Clearly you were wrong and he doesn’t feel that way about me. Why else he would be acting like this?”
“Because he’s an idiot,” Marlene grumbled.
“I just… I miss him.” The tears clogging your voice had Remus’s jaw clenching alongside his heart.
God, he wanted nothing more than to drag you into his arms and hold you, to tell you that everything would be okay and that he loved you and that no matter what other twats didn’t want you, he did.
“I miss him so much.”
“Come on, honey,” Lily said gently. “Let’s go back to the common room, settle down. Or we could sneak down to the kitchens, get some food.”
“Not hungry,” you said quietly.
“Baby,” Marlene tutted, “you can’t just wait here forever.”
“It’s just… this is where we sit, sometimes. Where he meets me. I don’t wanna leave in case he comes to find me.”
There was a ringing silence, and he didn’t need to be a Legilimens to know what they were thinking: whoever this was, they weren’t coming. Remus felt sick to his stomach at the thought of you sat there waiting, alone.
Marlene and Lily left, and he could hear you shuffling in your seat. He wanted so desperately to go sit with you, to just be with you. God, he missed you so much he couldn’t breathe with it.
Was this to be his life, going forward? What did it even matter if whoever this was wasn’t showing the same interest in you that you were in them? At what point did he crawl back to you on his hands and knees, beg for forgiveness, and try to kiss away the wounds this person had left on you through their absence?
Stomach soured, he slumped back against the bookshelf, content to just listen to you breathe, knowing in his gut that moving on wasn't working at all.
—
It all came to a head one rainy Monday morning, in the quiet gap between waking and breakfast.
The other Marauders had already left the dorm, shooting him grim smiles as they left, promising to meet him down at the Great Hall. Perhaps they had sensed that he needed some time alone, or perhaps he was simply taking too long, tugging on his robes with hands that wouldn’t stop shaking after another night of tossing and turning.
He was just shoving his shoes onto his feet when the knock came at the door, completely unexpected.
He froze, staring at it, baffled. No one knocked on the door. James, Sirius, and Peter just walked right in, and anyone else who wanted to talk to him would just wait down in the common room.
Slowly, his insides twisting, Remus cleared his throat and reached for the handle. The door swung open with a creak, and everything inside him unravelled at the sight of you on the other side. Hands shaking, hair a mess, uniform crooked, you had never looked more beautiful than you did then, staring at him with your brow furrowed and your hands tucked behind your back.
“Remus.” Your tone was curt, quiet, holding a thousand emotions he was terrified to decipher.
He couldn’t speak, this throat tight. It was for the best – he didn’t trust himself to talk to you right now. If he opened his mouth, the only thing that would come out of it was a harried ‘I love you’, and he couldn’t do that to you, not when you were likely here to confront him on his behaviour, not when you were in love with and still hurt over someone else.
“Can we talk?” You asked quietly, and judging by the look on your face you weren’t about to take no for an answer.
Every emotion, every ounce of pain and exhaustion, seemed to slam into him at once, and suddenly Remus didn’t care that being around you was only going to make those feelings worse. He just needed you, just needed to be around you even for a second, and he nodded gruffly as he opened the door further, allowing you to step inside.
He had never been more aware of his unmade bed, or the pyjamas strung over the headboard, or the opened trunk beside the bedside table that was littered with spare parchment and candle snubs.
You took it all in, something achingly soft on your face that messed with his heart, before your eyes landed on him, soaking in every detail. He shuddered to think of what you must be seeing. He hadn’t looked at a mirror in days, unable to stand the sight of his own reflection.
“You look tired,” you said eventually, and his eyes slipped shut without him meaning to.
“Yeah.” His voice was gruff, raspy with disuse, and he cleared it hastily. “Haven’t been sleeping well.”
He had never hated silence so much in his life. It had never been this awkward around you two, and for the life of him he didn’t know what to do with it.
“I wasn’t going to come up here,” you said quietly. “But Marlene and Lily stole my shoes and said they wouldn’t give them back until I did.”
Remus glanced down and noticed that you were, indeed, shoeless, your grey socks stark against the wooden floor. He would be having words with Marlene and Lily.
“Right,” was all he could say.
He felt restless, just standing in front of you like that, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to move either, drinking in the sight of you like a drowning man would stare longingly at land – too far to get to, yet close enough to hope.
You swallowed, your eyes glassy, and for one horrifying moment Remus thought you were going to cry. “You’ve been avoiding me.” You didn’t give him the chance to respond. “I would like to know why. Please.”
He almost smiled at the forced politeness, how you couldn’t bring yourself to be rude even though he deserved every bit of your ire. And then the demand sank in, and he cleared his throat, trying to dislodge the lump there. It didn’t work.
He didn’t want to lie to you. The last thing he wanted was to lie to you. And yet he didn’t know how to tell you the truth either.
“I don’t know how to tell you,” he said roughly, shoving his hands into his pockets. God, Sirius and James would throttle him if they could see him now.
You winced, as if his words had confirmed something for you. “That’s okay.” Your voice was shaky. “You don’t have to say anything more. I already know.”
The floor could have fallen out from under him and it would have had the same effect as your words.
“What?”
“I already know. You don’t need to tell me, I already know you don’t feel the same way I do.”
Oh God, and there it was. Was it possible to physically feel your heart shatter? Remus swore it was, and his entire body reacted to the blow of your words, shoulders curving inwards, jaw tightening to stave off tears.
You knew that he was in love with you. And you didn’t feel the same.
“Dove, I–”
“But just because you’re not in love with me doesn’t give you the right to just–”
“What?” His head snapped up. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me,” you said stubbornly, and there was anger in your eyes now amongst the hurt, anger that had his head swimming and his palms sweating because there was no possible way you had said what you just said. “And just because you were too much of a coward to turn me down nicely doesn’t mean you can just ice me out like–”
“You’re in love with me?” His voice cracked around the words. For a moment he regretted saying them, because saying them out loud would give you the opportunity to take them back, and he wanted to cradle them to his heart so desperately for as long as he could.
But then your eyes went wide, and something like horror crossed your face. “You… didn’t know?” Once again, you didn’t let him respond. “Oh god. Oh god, so you weren’t ignoring me because you– you didn’t– please excuse me whilst I go throw myself from the Astronomy tower–”
“But… I don’t understand.”
His entire world had just come crumbling down, the foundations of everything he knew, everything he feared, rattling and falling until he no longer knew which way was up or what to do with himself. His hands were sweating, and he wiped them on his trousers.
“I heard you,” he said, his voice urgent and desperate as he took a step forward. “In the courtyard, with Lily and Marlene. I was there, I heard you. You were talking about this guy, this person you were in love with, and–”
“I was talking about you!”
His entire world narrowed down to you, to the fire in your eyes, the flush on your cheeks. He stepped forward, to do what he wasn’t sure – shake you? Question your sanity? Kiss the living daylights out of you?
“But in the library, you were–”
“I was waiting for you! That’s where we always meet, where we study, where we sit together. And I thought you would… I don’t know, I thought you would come find me and explain or something.”
You were waiting for him. You were talking about him.
“You were talking about… me?”
“Of course I was! Seriously, Remus, I described you to a T and just because you don’t feel the same doesn’t mean that you had any right to–”
“I love you.” The words ripped themselves out of him.
You froze. Your chest rose and fell sharply, your eyes glistening. “... What?”
“I love you,” he repeated, and it was as if a great weight had lifted off his shoulders, something inside him loosening and allowing air into his lungs for the first time since he sat against that tree. “I love you so much, I don’t know how to breathe with it.”
Your hands were shaking. “Then… why? Why would you act like this? You haven’t spoken to me in a week, you’ve avoided me every chance you could get, you acted like I didn’t exist, Remus, that’s not… that’s not how you treat someone you love.”
The air ripped out of him, and he reached out to you blindly, hands settling on your cheeks. The smoothness of your skin beneath his rough palms had him dizzy with need, with longing, with everything he had missed so fiercely.
“I thought you were in love with someone else,” he implored. “The way you were talking about him, you sounded so enamoured, and it killed me because you were going to tell him that night and–”
But you had tried to tell him, hadn’t you? And he had been so caught up in his misery that he didn’t notice the signs. You weren’t blushing and nervous because you had spent the evening with another man, you were blushing and nervous because you were about to tell him – him, Remus Lupin – that you were in love with him.
His heart tripped over itself in attempt to keep up with the thoughts racing through his brain.
“And it didn’t cross your mind for one second that I was talking about you?”
It hadn’t. It honest to god, truly hadn’t, because surely there was no way that someone as perfect as you could want someone as broken and damaged, as scarred, as he? Surely you, beautiful and kind and loving, deserved someone better than him, who had to crawl into a tunnel once a month to scream and tear the skin from his bones.
“I didn’t… I didn’t think it was possible that you could– that you could feel that way about me. The things you said, I’m not– I’m not–”
Hearing the incredulity in his voice, you reached for his hand, and his fingers spasmed in your grip as you led him towards the mirror. When he realised what you were doing he froze, shaking his head, but you tugged him forward anyway, until the two of you stood side by side, hands interlinked between you.
Remus couldn’t look away from your hands in the mirror, his so much larger and rougher than yours, so scarred in comparison to your smooth skin. You leant up on your tiptoes, lips brushing his ear, and a shudder rolled down his spine.
“What did I say?” You asked. “About this person I’m in love with?”
He swallowed heavily, the words etched into his memory – they had haunted him every minute of the last week. “Dove, why–”
“What did I say?”
“You…” His throat was tight again. “You complimented their eyes. Said they were a shade of brown you’ve never seen before. Like… like getting lost in a forest.”
You dragged your fingers up his cheeks, thumbs smoothing over his eyelids when they fluttered shut. The touch was a soothing balm against every ache that he harboured in his heart.
“What else?” Your voice was little more than a whisper.
“You called them – me – handsome.”
Your fingers ghosted over his cheeks, brushing the bridge of his nose, the curve of his jaw. His lips parted on a ragged exhale.
“Open your eyes.”
He did, tentatively, and the sight of your hands on his face in the reflection had his knees weakening. “You said they were tall. So tall you’d give them a hunchback just from pulling them down to kiss you…”
Your fingers moved upwards, thumbs brushing his ears as you buried your hands in his hair, guiding him gently down until his nose brushed yours. He slouched, letting you guide him, his entire world narrowing down to the shape of your lips where they hovered just inches away from yours.
You grinned, as if you had just proved something monumental to yourself, the pad of your thumb brushing along his scalp in a way that had him melting in your grip.
“What else?”
“You called them rugged and mysterious,” his voice was embarrassingly breathy. “Said that they had nice hair, fuck–” You tightened your grip on his hair, and it took everything in him to keep his eyes on yours, watching every flash of joy and mischief and love clash in them.
“Lily still wants your haircare routine.”
“State secret,” he said with a crooked smile, although he doubted there was anything he would keep from you if you just kept looking at him like that.
“What else?” You asked, and although he had absolutely no idea where you were going with this, he found himself replying anyway.
His hands felt heavy at his sides, and he reached up to ghost them over your waist, not quite making contact, terrified to touch you in case it would make this moment – this beautiful, perfect moment that he wasn’t entirely sure wasn’t a dream – end.
“You said they were gentle. Kind. Would carry your books, pack your favourite snacks, and would kiss your forehead–” and fuck, he did do all that. It had been so mindless, taking care of you, so natural to him that for you to praise it like you had felt so monumental that you must have been talking about someone else, but no. “You said their…”
And that’s when he trailed off. His tongue felt heavy, and he couldn't bring himself to speak the words.
“Say it, Remus,” you said gently.
He shook his head, hating himself for the tears in his eyes, and you brushed your nose against his so carefully it was as if you were worried he would fall to pieces in your palms. “Say it.”
“You said that– you said that their– my–”
“Say it.”
“That my scars were… attractive…” The last word was spoken as a curse.
You pulled away, and a pathetic noise of displeasure ripped itself from his throat as his hands spasmed. This was it, he thought miserably. This was where the other shoe dropped.
His eyes slid shut, unable to stand the sight of you walking away from him, but your fingers curled under his chin, guiding his face upwards instead.
“Look at the mirror.”
“Dove…”
“Look at the mirror, Remus.”
He forced himself to open his eyes and looked at his reflection, seeing everything he hated about himself on full display. The gangly limbs, the pale freckled skin, the scars. There were so many of them, slashed across the bridge of his nose, down his hairline, up his jaw.
The tears in his eyes spilled over, and he had never felt more vulnerable in his life than he did when you reached up to brush them away with your thumbs, your own eyes glassy as you stared up at him with so much love. He didn’t take his eyes off his reflection, trying to see what you saw when you looked at him, trying to understand how anyone could think that such an ugly part of him could be attractive.
You slowly ran your finger across the scar on the bridge of his nose, and his breath was shuddery as he resisted the urge to back away. He didn’t want you touching them. Touching them would make them real, and you would see them for what they were: a reflection of the darkest parts of himself.
“You are so, so brave…” Your words were little more than an adoring whisper. “Your scars are your story, Remus. Each slash and mark on your skin is a reminder of all the times I could have lost you and didn’t. A reminder of everything you’ve had to face and came out stronger for it, a reminder of everything you continue to endure and still be the man that you are today.”
He shook his head, shoulders heaving, chest cracked open, raw and vulnerable, but you didn’t let him talk.
“They’re your strength. Your resilience. I could never hate them.”
You slowly guided his face away from the mirror, reaching up on your tiptoes to press your forehead against his. He gasped, breath ghosting over your skin, the sensation of you against him a heady drug he couldn’t live without.
“I could never feel anything but love for any part of you.”
Remus sank against you, his entire body heavy, every inch of him feeling so loved he didn’t know how to cope with it. No one had ever looked at him, seen every inch of him in all its terrible glory, and loved him anyway.
“What else?”
“What?” Remus asked, his mind cloudy, unable to think of anything but you and the smell of your perfume and the feel of your lips so close to his.
“I said one more thing about them. What did I say?”
“I don’t…” It hit him then, suddenly, and his heart began to race again. “You said… you said you wanted to kiss them.”
“Am I allowed to?” You asked, and there were nerves in your voice, though he couldn’t fathom why. He had been dreaming about this for years, and if you wanted to kiss him the last thing he was going to do was say no.
In fact, the second the words left your lips he knew there was nothing he needed more in life than to feel the press of his lips against yours, and that if it didn’t happen soon he might just die. He nodded mindlessly, eyes slipping shut once more, breath ragged.
“Please…”
He leant down just as you reached up onto your tiptoes, your lips meeting in the middle in a gentle press that had him exhaling harshly against your mouth. It was everything, everything, he had ever dreamed it would be, slow and soft and so full of love that he could do nothing but sink into you, one hand coming up to cradle your face, the other tangling in your hair, arching your head back to meet him.
You pulled away first, and he chased your lips like they were a lifeline, until you were grinning against him and he couldn’t help but smile back.
“You love me?” You asked quietly, and Remus laughed breathlessly as he bumped his nose against yours, pressing his lips to yours once more, desperate and heady, trying to convey without words every emotion tucked away in his battered heart.
“So, so much.” He pulled you to him, tucking your head beneath his chin, pressing his lips to the crown of your head over and over again, hardly able to believe that you were there with him like this.
You sighed happily, pressing your face into robes, and then giggled. “We are definitely late for breakfast.”
“Worth it,” he said immediately. He slouched down once again to press his lips to yours, and then pulled back with a hum. “We’ll have to come up with a solution for this, by the way.”
“Solution for what?”
“How goddamn short you are. As much as I love you, I actually don’t want a hunchback by the time I’m thirty.”
You laughed, slapping at his chest. “Well, I could always, what did Lily say? Climb you like a tree?”
You were going to put him in an early grave, Remus was sure of it.
He would have responded, when his brain started functioning again, but your stomach interrupted loudly instead.
You flushed bright red as he laughed, smoothing a hand up and down your spine. “Come on, dove. Let’s get some food in you.”
You nodded, moving towards the door, when you suddenly froze. “Remus?”
How it feels to genuinely enjoy the Pitt and not get caught up on every little bad thing a character has done because they’re all complex human beings and none of them are truly evil like everyone in this fandom seems to think
This is my published fanfic! Please be kind <3 There is more to this story if anyone is interested... Hope you enjoy!
Interrupted (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)
Content warnings: attempted SA by 3rd party, regency stereotypes, jealousy, reader is described as having feminine features and follows regency era standards for women. (Please let me know if I've missed anything!)
There he is again tonight.
Benedict Bridgerton stands at the very edge of the ballroom, hiding from eligible young ladies and their mothers alike. Candlelight catches in his dark curls; the gold of the chandeliers highlights his cheeks. He lingers near a marble pillar, a glass in hand, politely evading society with the ease of long practice. You can’t help the quiet snort of amusement that escapes you.
Your best friend’s elder brother has been the bane of your composure for as long as you can remember. You have adored him from the first moment you’d arrived at Bridgerton House in crooked ribbons and scuffed slippers. You had been old enough then to no longer require assistance climbing the steps, but he had offered you his hand as though it were nothing. That memory has lodged itself stubbornly in your heart; time has only sharpened it.
It is difficult not to follow him with your eyes now. If Benedict returns even a fraction of your affection, though, he has never allowed it to show. You pray he never discovers the truth of your childish, hopeless infatuation. Eloise teases you enough as it is, and lately, even Colin has taken to smirking whenever your gaze strays at tea time.
“Y/N? Are you even listening?” Eloise’s voice snaps you back to the present. Heat rushes to your cheeks as you turn toward her.
“My apologies,” you flush. “I seem to have misplaced my focus, but I assure you, I am listening now.”
Her eyes follow the path your own had taken. When she spots her brother stationed against the wall, she rolls her eyes dramatically. “You are utterly hopeless.”
“I know not of what you speak,” you reply primly, refusing to glance back toward him. “As I said, I lost focus.”
Eloise huffs, though amusement tugs at the corners of her lips. “Shall we fetch a drink? I have been meaning to tell you about the book Colin brought me from Greece.”
You link arms with her at once, grateful for the diversion. “Lemonade sounds lovely.”
The crowd near the refreshment table is thick with perfume and murmured gossip. You've just reached for a glass when a gentleman materializes beside you with uncanny timing.
"Miss Y/N." You turn, and he bows with practiced elegance. "Lord Thomas Jameson," he introduces himself, extending his hand. "I have been admiring you all evening."
You smile politely and place your gloved fingers in his. His lips brush your knuckles in a gesture just a touch too lingering. Eloise catches your eye, the two of you exchanging a look edged with barely concealed amusement.
"You are most kind, my lord."
"Nonsense. I merely state what all must be thinking." His gaze flicks to Eloise. "Miss Bridgerton. A pleasure."
"Charmed," Eloise returns, though her smile was tight.
Jameson's attention settles fully upon you once more. "Might I be so fortunate as to secure a place upon your dance card?"
He is handsome, charming in the superficial way that often impresses a ballroom. Besides, you could not refuse a dance simply because your heart belongs, quite foolishly, to another.
"Of course," you agree, managing a polite smile. He offers his arm, and you take it, allowing yourself to be led onto the polished floor, your untouched lemonade forgotten.
From across the room, Benedict's jaw tightens. He has never liked Jameson. The man wears civility like a coat, well-tailored and carefully displayed, but beneath it lay something grasping and entitled. Benedict knows enough of London clubs and whispered stories to distrust him thoroughly. Watching Jameson's hand settle at your waist stirs something sharp and unwelcome inside him. A jab to his ribs brings him back to the present.
"Say, brother," Colin drawls, "are you bored with us? You appear rather absorbed by Miss Y/N's dance."
Benedict crosses his arms. "I am no such thing."
"For my part," Mr. Adams adds with a laugh, "I would not blame him. Miss Y/N is quite the vision tonight. Perhaps I shall inquire after her card myself."
The remark strikes like flint to tinder.
"Indeed," Colin says lightly, though his eyes are anything but, "she has bloomed since her debut."
Benedict sets his empty glass down with more force than necessary. "I require another drink."
He does not look back as he strides away. By the time Eloise joins him at the sideboard, Benedict is halfway through a glass of whiskey.
"Y/N has abandoned me," she announces dramatically. "Lord Jameson. Do you know him?"
"Yes."
"Well?" she presses, "Is he kind? I dread the notion of her marrying some dreadful creature."
Benedict nearly chokes, "Eloise."
"It is an honest concern."
He pinches the bridge of his nose. "He is wealthy. He holds a proper title. He is not... particularly kind."
Her eyes sharpen, "How unkind?"
"They are merely dancing," he insists. "There is no cause for alarm."
Eloise lifts one brow. "Then why is he leading her to the terrace?"
Benedict's head snaps toward the doors.
Eloise gasps triumphantly. "See! You are worried."
He mutters a curse under his breath and sets his glass aside. "Remain here."
"Benedict—"
"Please," he says more softly, squeezing her arm. "Trust me."
She huffs but relents, "I expect a full report.”
"Would not dream of denying you." He is already halfway across the ballroom.
You had not thought it so terribly bold to accept Lord Jameson's request for air. It is your first season; you tell yourself you must not appear skittish. The terrace doors close behind you with a soft click. Moonlight bathes the gardens in silver. You rest your hands upon the stone banister, drawing in a steadying breath as memories of childhood games among the hedges drift through your mind.
You do not hear him approach until he stands far too close. His hands come down on either side of you, boxing you in. "My lord—?"
"Shh." His breath brushes your ear. "I told you I had been watching you. I made you desirable tonight. It is only fair you return the favor."
Your stomach drops. You try to turn; he catches your wrist, his fingers tightening painfully. "I should return to the ballroom," you say, striving for calm. "My chaperone—"
"Nonsense." His grip tightens, "I shall have what I seek."
Terror blooms in your chest. You struggle in his grasp, thrashing and squirming, but he's stronger. His hand drags at your gown, tugging at the hem. The terrace door opens. A tear falls down your cheek, knowing your honor shall soon be ruined. Even worse, what if you are forced to wed the man who has put you in such a compromising state? Just as you begin to despair, though, Benedict Bridgerton steps into view.
You nearly sink to the ground in relief. Benedict takes in the scene, his eyes flicking between you and Lord Jameson. His voice is rougher than you've ever heard it when he speaks, "Unhand her, Jameson."
The lord straightens up, but his grip on you does not relinquish. Clearly, he had not heard Benedict enter. He turns his head to the second Bridgerton sibling, raising an eyebrow, "Ah, Bridgerton. Miss Y/L/N and I were merely getting acquainted with each other. Isn't that right?" He squeezes your wrist tighter.
A whimper is all you can manage, and you watch as Benedict seethes. It's like watching lightning strike in the distance. One minute, Benedict is in the doorway; the next, he is pulling Lord Jameson off of you, pushing him to the ground. His arm rears back and delivers a harsh blow to the side of Thomas's face.
You back up, the railing digging into your back. A startled gasp leaves you, and the sound is enough for Benedict to take pause. He looks over at you, scared and shaking, and his expression softens.
Then, his mask falls back into place, and he turns back to the bleeding Lord."If I see you near her again, I will ensure you never set foot in good society again. Am I clear?" Benedict growls.
Groaning, the lord nods slowly, clearly knowing he stands no chance against a Bridgerton. "You will not speak a word of this to anyone," he adds, and the man nods once more.
"Good," Benedict grunts. "Now, apologize to her." You're shaking, watching the scene like one watches a fire. You're unable to tear your gaze away even as everything is consumed, and your whole body burns red-hot. Thomas is angry, angrier than you've ever seen a gentleman, but Benedict shakes him by his collar, repeating, "Apologize to her!"
"I'm sorry," he gasps out, "Sorry."
Benedict huffs, pulling him up by his cravat. "Go," he says simply. The man looks between the two of you, hesitating, but one more look from Benedict, and he's gone. You're frozen in surprise, hands shaking beneath the gloves.
Benedict moves closer. He reaches out to squeeze your shoulder, and you flinch. Guilt washes over you immediately, but Benedict only smiles softly. It's a smile you've seen before. The same one he'd given when you were both children, and you scraped your knee. Pity, concern, but there's something more there now.
"I'm sorry," you murmur, rubbing your sore wrist. Your eyes are locked on your white glove, refusing to meet his gaze.
"Y/N," Benedict speaks softly, taking another step toward you. "You have nothing to apologize for."
God, why did you have to cry? Tears spill down your face, and you wipe at them uselessly. You must look a fool, akin to a crying toddler, but Benedict doesn't mock or run away. He wipes your tears with his thumb, and you finally bring yourself to look up at him. He softens even more when he sees your face.
"Did he..." he begins, cupping your face in his hand. He swallows, clearly debating how to word his question. "Did he hurt you?"
You shake your head, feeling the warmth of his palms on your cheeks. "No," you sniffle, still squeezing your own wrist. "He grabbed me, and he-" your voice cracks.
Benedict shakes his head, pulling you into a hug. If anyone were to see, the sight would be scandalous, but you can't bring yourself to care. You allow him to hold you, crying into his chest.
"It is alright. We needn't speak of it tonight. All that matters is you are well." He glances down at where you hold your wrist. When you've stopped crying, Benedict takes hold of your hand, his voice barely a whisper, "May I?"
You hesitate, but when you meet his gaze, you know it will all be alright. Finally, you nod silently. He smiles reassuringly, fingers dancing up your arm to the top of your glove. He pulls the dainty thing off like he's done it millions of times before, and likely, he has. A bruise is forming on your wrist. It's faint and will likely only take a couple of days to fade, but Benedict's jaw clenches at the sight. His fingers trace it, his touch feather-light. Your breath catches in your throat, his touch feeling reverent.
Benedict's eyes flicker up to yours, "I apologize, Y/N."
You can only furrow your brow at first, "You apologize? Whatever for?"
“If I had intervened sooner, I-" he sighs, shaking his head. "I should have intervened the moment I saw the two of you together on the dance floor."
It's your turn to shake your head, reaching out to grab his hand. He winces when you do, and that's when you finally look down at his own injury. His knuckles are bloody and bruised, evidence of the punches he had used to defend your honor.
You gasp, lifting it closer into view, "You are hurt!"
He waves you off, "Oh nonsense," he scoffs. "I would've continued had a lady not been present."
You laugh through your drying tears, "I hardly feel like a lady." You're examining the injury curiously when an idea occurs to you. "My glove," you murmur to yourself, looking to Benedict's other hand that still holds your white glove. You take it from his grasp, tying it around his knuckles securely.
"Ah! You've ruined your glove!" Benedict protests, "As I told you, I am quite well, Y/N."
"I assure you, I have more gloves than I know what to do with," you reply.
Benedict eyes you, a fond smile pulling at his lips. How is it that you still make his heart stutter after the events of the night? You look breathtaking, even with dried tears running streaks down your face.
"Y/N," he speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. You ignore him at first, fussing with the glove to avoid meeting his blue eyes. He tilts your face towards his with his free hand, forcing you to look at him. "You are in shock. We should get you to a guest room."
"Nonsense," you argue. "I am well enough to return home."
"For my own peace of mind, then," he insists. You hesitate, and he adds a smooth, "Please." His hand is warm on your face, and all you can think about is how badly you've wanted him this close for so long.
"Benedict, I-" Your eyes flicker to his lips, an indescribable feeling of desire coursing through you.
He follows your gaze, looking at your lips. He wants to hear more. He wants you to say the words he's longed for you to say for so long, but he can't let you. Not right now. Not after everything that's happened to you tonight.
So as much as he loathes to, he clears his throat, "Come, Y/N. Let us get you comfortable." He offers you his hand. Your face falls, and it takes everything in him not to say to hell with propriety and kiss you senseless. Against all odds, he stays strong, even when your bare hand slips into his.
"What about my mother? I- I do not wish to tell her," you admit.
Benedict pauses, looking at you tenderly. He squeezes your hand, speaking lowly, "We needn't tell anyone if you do not wish, but Y/N," he begins, holding your gaze. "You must know you did nothing wrong. You have no reason for shame; you do know that, don't you?"
You hesitate, blaming yourself. "I should not have accepted his invitation to the terrace. It was not ladylike of me. I should have known better, and I must have done something. Otherwise, he would not have thought me the sort of lady who-."
"Enough, Y/N," he pulls you closer, holding up your wrist. "You did nothing to deserve this. Thomas Jameson is a cad and a fool, and it pains me to think you believe you could have earned this."
Seeing your upset expression, he switches gear, "In fact, perhaps I shall go find him and challenge him to a duel, hm?"
You can tell by the look on his face that he is merely trying to put a smile on your face. A breathless laugh escapes you, and he grins.
"How dare you laugh! Do you not have confidence in my dueling abilities? Because I assure you, I am quite the marksman!"
You laugh again, and he wipes your tears with a pleased smile. "There's that smile. Now, dry your eyes, and I shall grace you with my plan."
When you nod, he continues with a flourish, "We shall travel through the servants' hall out of sight. Then, I will track Eloise down and ensure she convinces your mother to allow you to sleep over with her. Ladies have sleepovers, do they not?"
You roll your eyes, nodding, "Yes, I suppose they do."
"Ah, so I thought. Very well then, will you allow me to escort you to a guest room now, or do you intend to continue arguing with me?" Sighing, you take his hand and follow him as he leads you through the dimly lit service halls. It's strange being here with him. He walks in front of you, tugging you down the long hallways. You stare at the back of his head, allowing yourself to imagine him as your suitor.
The two of you emerge in the upstairs east wing after Benedict peeks through the hallway door dramatically. "We must make haste about it," he teases, pulling you as he bursts into a jog.
You laugh in surprise, trying to remain quiet, "Benedict! I can hardly run in this gown!"
"Well, that simply won't do!"
He scoops you into his arms. You practically squeal, covering your mouth quickly.
"Shhh!" He hisses, but there's a wide grin on his face.
"You must put me down, Benedict! This is ridiculous!" you exclaim through your giggles.
"Nonsense!" He chuckles, finally coming to a stop in front of a door. "Besides, we are here," he explains, opening the door. "You are injured. You must let me take care of you."
"It is my wrist, and it will be faded by the morning," you argue, but he only scoffs, sitting you on the edge of the bed.
"Nonsense, you mean you are not writhing in pain?" He teases, examining your wrist dramatically.
"Do I appear to be writhing in pain?" You're wracked with giggles, his touch ticklish on your wrist.
Benedict lit up. It had been so long since he'd allowed himself this much fun. He couldn't remember the last time he'd joked and teased a lady just to see her smile. Usually, it was all means to an end, but this time, he wasn't considering how quickly he could get beneath your skirts.
"No, I suppose you do not appear to be writhing," he agrees, smirking. "Though you do appear to be quite ticklish, it seems."
There's a mischievous glint in his eye, and you glare, scooting back towards the pillows on the bed. Shaking your head, you point with your still bare hand, "You would not dare, Benedict Bridgerton."
Leaning closer, he raises an eyebrow, "Would I not?"
He steps closer, and you gasp, exclaiming, "Do not!" But this time around, there is delighted amusement on your face.
The guest room door swings open, and a worried Colin Bridgerton is in the doorway. He looks between the two of you, the way you're backed against the pillows, and Benedict looms over you. At first, he assumes the obvious and begins to back out of the room, but then he recalls the reason he had entered the room in the first place.
He'd heard your exclamation, concerned by your words, paired now with the sight of a fresh bruise on your wrist. Benedict must realize how the scene looks because his face falls immediately, seeing Colin's worried, and now angry, expression.
He holds his hand out to Colin, "Brother, it is not what it looks like."
Colin ignores Benedict, looking at you, "Y/N, are you alright?"Your cheeks must be pinker than Lady Featherington's atrocious gown.
You nod your head quickly, "Yes, Colin. It is as he says. It-" you look at Benedict worriedly, "It is not what it looks like."
Colin studies your face, intent on knowing if you are truthful. He motions to your wrist, "You are hurt."
You look at your own wrist as if suddenly remembering your earlier encounter with Lord Jameson. Your eyebrows raise practically to your hairline, "Goodness, Colin. Of course, Benedict did not hurt me."
Colin looks between the two of you again, noting the protective look on Benedict's face. The flash of anger. He crosses his arms instantly, "Someone else did then?"
Benedict sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Colin, it is none of your concern!" He scolds, knowing the shame you felt despite his earlier words.
"Benedict, it is alright," you say softly. "I do not wish for your brother to think you cruel."
The older Bridgerton steps between you and Colin, his expression shifting to one of reassurance. "Do not worry on my account. I hardly worry myself on Colin's opinion," his tone is humorous, not wanting to stress you.
You crack a small smile, "You are quite right. It is only Colin. I trust he will not report to Lady Whistledown."
Colin takes a slow step forward, still concerned, "Y/N, if something has happened, I would not tell a soul."
You roll your eyes, "Well, I know that of course, but," you look back to Benedict sheepishly. "Truthfully, I would prefer not to tell the story. Besides, you needn't babysit me all night, Benedict. I am quite well. You may take your leave of me, I assure you."
He furrows his brow, beginning to argue, but you glower, crossing your arms. "Truly, I am quite sick of your face," you insist.
Benedict ducks his head, hiding his amusement, "Very well then." He rises, motioning for Colin to lead the way toward the door. "I will send Eloise in with some gowns."
He's halfway out the door when he turns back, his eyes crinkled. "I do not believe you, though, for the record."
Your arms cross against your chest, asking with a furrowed brow, "About what?"
Benedict's dimple appears on his cheek, "I believe you are quite fond of my face."
And with that, he shuts the door, leaving you in disbelief. You pace the room after that, until your ball slippers have rubbed blisters on your heel. You collapse onto the bed with a huff.
The ceiling in the guest room is rather plain, but you stare for what feels like forever, replaying the events of the night. So much had happened in only one night. The thought of that wicked man's grasp on your wrist sends shivers up your spine. You remember the fear you had felt when the door swung open, and the instant relief when Benedict had appeared. He had arrived just in time. It's an effort not to wonder what would have happened had he not been there.
Later, once Eloise had come and gone, you were left alone. Or so you thought.
Sleep would not come. The bruise on your wrist throbbed faintly; the memory of Jameson's grasp was worse still. You slipped from bed and opened the door-
—and nearly stumbled over Benedict Bridgerton sitting on the floor outside your chamber, sketchbook in hand.
"What on earth are you doing?" you whispered.
He rose swiftly, flushed. "Ensuring you were not disturbed."
"You meant to sit here all night?"
He hesitated. "Yes."
The weight of it stole your breath.
"You need not act from duty," you said softly.
He gave a short, incredulous laugh. "Duty?" He stepped closer, candlelight gilding the earnestness in his expression. "You believe this is duty?" His hand found yours, searching your expression.
The candlelight trembles between you, throwing shifting gold across his face. His eyes drop, not to your lips this time, but to your wrist. To the faint bruise darkening beneath your skin.
His jaw tightens, "When I opened that terrace door," he says at last, voice rougher than before, "and saw him with you..."
He stops, swallows, "For a moment, only a moment, I believed I had failed you."
The air feels thinner.
"I thought I was too late." His hand curls slightly at his side, as though remembering the feel of Jameson's collar in his grip. "And in that instant, I saw the rest of your life unfold without me in it. I saw you standing beside a man who would cage you. Touch you." His voice drops, almost shaking now. "I saw you looking at him the way you look at me."
The confession lands between you like a spark.
"And I realized," he continues, stepping closer, "that the pain of that vision was not honorable. It was not noble. It was not friendly affection." He lets out a short, humorless breath.
"It was jealousy. It was terror. It was love."
Your heart stumbles in your chest.
"You were a child with ribbons perpetually slipping from your hair," he says more softly. "You followed us into the gardens and demanded inclusion in our games. I told myself I watched you because you were Eloise's friend. Because you were small. Because someone had to."
A faint smile ghosts across his mouth, "But you were not small forever."
He reaches up, hesitates, then cups your cheek as though it is something precious.
"One day, you laughed at something I said, truly laughed, and I felt something shift inside me. I ignored it. I told myself it was habit. Familiarity."
His thumb brushes just beneath your eye.
"But habit does not make a man search every room for one face. Habit does not make him count the hands that dare touch her waist during a dance."
His other hand lifts, hovering at your hip without quite settling there.
"I have tried to draw everything," he murmurs. "Landscapes. Light. Strangers in passing carriages. Yet every sketch becomes you. The curve of a cheek becomes yours. The tilt of a chin. The fall of hair."
His voice grows quieter, "You have become the measure by which I recognize beauty in this world."
He exhales, forehead nearly brushing yours now, "And when I thought I might lose you tonight... I understood that a world in which you do not belong beside me is not one I care to inhabit."
The space between you has vanished. Your night robe brushes his coat. You can feel the heat of him through the thin fabric. His hand finally settles at your waist — tentative, as though awaiting permission.
"I ought to court you properly," he says, drawing himself up slightly, though his hand does not leave you. "I ought to call upon your mother. Bring flowers. Stand in your drawing room like a respectable gentleman."
A flicker of warmth softens his mouth.
"I will do all of it. Gladly."
His eyes lock with yours — open, unguarded.
"But I have had a lifetime to consider my heart. In every season of my life, the answer has been you."
He takes your hand, pressing it firmly against his chest. His heart is racing beneath your palm.
"If you will have me — not because I saved you, not because you feel indebted, not because of what nearly happened tonight — but because you choose me..." His voice steadies. "Then allow me to spend the rest of my life proving I am worthy of that choice."
A breath. A final step forward.
"Y/N. Will you marry me?"
You cannot speak at first. Your entire life seems to unspool behind your eyes — gardens, laughter, teasing glances across ballrooms, years of quiet longing you thought foolish and solitary.
"You thought you alone carried this?" you whisper finally. Your hand trembles where it rests over his heart. "I have loved you since I did not understand what love was," you confess, voice unsteady. "I followed you into those gardens not because I wished to join the game — but because you were there."
His breath stutters.
"I watched you dance with other women and told myself I did not mind. I told myself I was a child. That I would outgrow it." You shake your head faintly. "I never did."
Your fingers tighten in his coat. "When he took me onto that terrace, I was afraid," you admit. "But when the door opened, and it was you..." Your voice breaks softly. "I have never felt such relief in my life."
His hand slides fully around your waist now, firm, grounding.
"I do not choose you from gratitude," you continue. "I choose you because you are the first person I search for in every room. Because my heart quiets when you are near. Because I cannot imagine my future without you in it."
Tears gather in your lashes, but they are not born of fear.
"Yes," you breathe.
His entire body stills.
"Yes," you repeat, louder now, surer. "I will marry you. I have been yours in my heart for years."
Something in him breaks open. He gathers you up as though you weigh nothing, lifting you clean from the floor. A breathless laugh escapes you as your arms wind around his neck. He presses his forehead to yours, eyes closed.
"You are certain?" he murmurs, almost disbelieving.
"Quite certain," you reply, smiling against his mouth.
This time, when he kisses you, it is not tentative. It is full.
His lips claim yours with warmth and certainty, not desperation. His hand cradles the back of your head, careful even in passion. You melt into him, your fingers sliding into his hair, the world narrowing to breath and heat and the steady rhythm of his heart against yours.
When he pulls back, your foreheads remain touching.
"We shall do this properly," he says softly. "I will ask your mother. I will endure whatever scrutiny awaits me."
You smile.
"And if she refuses?"
His dimple appears.
"Then I shall simply charm her. I have had years of practice. Besides, your mother loves me."
You laugh, and the sound feels lighter than anything you have known all evening. "Yes, I suppose that's true."
Outside, the last of the candles flickers. The house is quiet. The terror of the terrace feels distant now, replaced by something steadier. Warmer.
He sets you gently back upon your feet but does not let go of your hand.
"Get some rest," he murmurs. "Tomorrow begins the rest of our lives."
"And you?" you ask softly.
He brushes his thumb across your knuckles.
"I shall be right outside your door," he says with a faint smile.
You squeeze his hand, whispering, "Stay,”
Benedict stills. Every inch of him goes rigid with restraint.
"Y/N," he says carefully, the gentleman warring visibly with the man who has just asked for your hand. "If I remain... it would not be proper."
Your fingers tighten around his. "I do not mean—" You swallow, steadying yourself. "I do not wish to be alone."
His expression changes immediately. The fire in his eyes gentles into something fiercely protective. "You are afraid," he says quietly.
"I am not," you insist automatically, then falter. "Not of you. Only... when I close my eyes, I see it again."
His jaw sets. That decides it. He steps toward the hearth and drags a chair closer to your bed. Not beside you. Not beneath the covers. Close enough to see him.
"I shall remain," he says firmly. "But here."
You blink. "On a chair?"
He arches a brow, "You did not think I would take advantage of my fiancée's vulnerable state, did you?"
The word fiancée sends a warmth through you that eases the lingering chill in your bones. You climb back beneath the covers. He removes his coat and folds it neatly over the chair, sleeves rolled slightly as he settles. The candlelight casts him in gold and shadow.
"You need not sit upright all night," you murmur.
"I have done more uncomfortable things for less worthy causes," he replies lightly.
Silence settles. After a moment, you reach your hand out from beneath the covers. He looks at it. Then, without hesitation, he takes it. Your fingers lace together, your hand warm in his.
changed, fundamentally - benedict bridgerton x reader
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader
Word Count: 3.7k
Summary: Your heroics are required to save Daphne when a garden party by the lake goes awry. Benedict aids you afterwards, and sets your mind at ease as to his intentions towards you.
A/N: Honestly, I was craving some protective Benedict but had no idea where this was going until it was suddenly written. Something about the combination of being both protective and in awe of the one you love? Lush. Sending you all love <3
---
Whilst garden parties were often frequented by ladies and gentlemen who wished to talk about the beauty of the gardenias or the latest marriage mart gossip, you had to admit that they provided the best food of any events of the ton you’d been to thus far. Tiny sandwiches, scones and cakes littered the table, arranged in fans or circles which had already been highly scavenged.
Luckily, at this particular garden party, you were both abundant in food and good company, since you had managed to steal Daphne away before she could police Anthony’s connection with Miss Edwina for the afternoon.
“I know you do not live here anymore, Daph, but you must visit more often. I can hardly stand these events without you beside me,” you moaned, patting Daphne’s hand that sat in the crook of your elbow.
“Perhaps if you would stop avoiding a certain someone, then you would have different company for such occasions, hm?” Daphne arched a brow at you and you averted your gaze to the grass beneath your feet.
“I am a passing fancy to him and nothing more,” you said, assertive in a way that did not invite further discussion, “To hope otherwise would be foolish and fortunately, I am no fool.”
Daphne looked as if she wanted to argue that point, but you pulled her closer and asked about her son instead. If there was one subject that could derail her dearest friend’s thoughts, it was her family with the Duke.
While she spoke, your mind began to wander. Imagining a life where Benedict was not simply entertaining you for the fun of it was a far-off dream, but sometimes it was nice to imagine for a little time. The two of you had known each other in passing for years, with your frequent visits to the house to see Daphne and Eloise, but had only truly spoken to one another at a ball last year.
—
You were with Daphne and Benedict was with Anthony, their dutiful confidantes as they navigated the tumultuous season. When the diamond dragged the viscount away to argue in private, the two of you were left awkwardly stood side by side.
“You are Lord Y/L/N’s daughter, no? Forgive me, I’m sure Daphne mentioned your name…”
“But I’m sure you were far too busy to listen to your little sister when she was a child,” you smiled, enjoying the way his eyebrows rose at your jest, “It’s Y/N.”
“And you are debuting this season too? You seem glued at the hip to my dear sister, for one who could be considering her own prospects,” Benedict was making polite conversation, which was to be applauded, because it looked like the effort was paining him. You decided to take pity, seeing as he was floundering so.
“You do not need to humour me, Mr Bridgerton. I will be fine without Daphne for a few moments I’m sure.”
“I’m not…humouring you.” he said, indignance colouring his tone.
“So you care deeply about my prospects? It is my second season out and I have had two proposals thus far, but have not yet deemed it necessary to accept, if you must know. You truly do not pay attention to the ton at all, do you?”
Benedict now looked completely taken aback. Perhaps it was the fact that you didn’t appear angry with him, simply curious.
“I’m afraid I lack a certain…interest in such matters, yes. I apologise if-”
“Ah, do not apologise. It is refreshing, if anything,” you assured him with a bright smile, “I know how sincere Daphne is about finding a suitable match, a love match in fact, and I am more than happy to help her do so despite your brother’s meddling. My prospects can wait a little longer.”
“You are not worried your prospects may dwindle?” Benedict asked, now seeming genuinely curious himself rather than simply making conversation. When he realised how his question sounded however, he was quick to rectify, “Not that I believe they would dwindle! With a beauty such as yours-”
“Mr Bridgerton, please,” you giggled as you held up a hand to stop him. His eyes were still travelling up your figure, and you wondered if he was taking in your appearance for the first time, just now. The thought sent an thrill up your spine, however unwelcome it was, “You can stop worrying about offending me. To answer your impertinent question, I’m sure my prospects will be just fine. I am not concerned with a love match myself, after all.”
“You do not want love or you do not believe in it?”
“I find it unlikely, let’s say,” you said, “What about you? You have been of age for a number of years now.”
“Indeed,” he grimaced, “As my mother likes to remind me regularly. Please do not let her see us having this conversation or she will ask if I have met my future wife.”
You laughed again and this time he joined you. Whether by accident or not, the conversation had turned into a pleasant reminder of how wonderful the Bridgertons were once you got to know them. Anthony was surely an exception, however, if his conduct with Daphne was anything to go by.
—
That felt like so long ago. There had been more conversations since between the two of you, each conjuring up more longing than the last. Benedict, as he insisted he be known to you, had never made polite conversation with you since. He asked about your hobbies and went into painstaking detail about his. Occasionally he realised how long he had been talking about his latest painting, and the blush that painted his entire face was imprinted onto your mind for the next week.
But, as you had explained a number of times to Daphne, Benedict showed no interest in marriage and it would be improper to continue to spend so much time with him at balls and garden parties without there being an end goal. Even if you didn’t care for one, your father had made it abundantly clear that even though he wouldn’t interfere in your search for a husband, he expected you to act with the utmost dignity at all times.
You tuned back into Daphne as you walked along the riverbank, just as she was finishing a story about Augie’s latest escapade.
“You will bring him with you soon, won’t you? And Simon. I should love to see them again,” you said earnestly, hoping that such a response would make up for the fact that you hadn’t been listening for a minute or two.
Daphne nodded her assent just as two gentlemen stepped into your path and the two of you came to a halt. You barely recognised the lords in front of you, but you knew that one was married and the other was not, much like you and Daphne. A pit began to form in the depths of your stomach.
“Your Grace, Miss Y/L/N,” the man on the left greeted you both and you immediately determined he was the bachelor from the way his eyes lingered on you, “Would you look at this view?”
As he spoke he gestured grandly to the lake and gardens, both hands flung out wide. One of these hands narrowly missed Daphne’s head as she flinched out of the way, but she lost her balance doing so. Before you could come to her aid she was toppling into the river with a yelp.
“Daphne!” you shouted, quickly dropping to your knees to help her out once she surfaced. Time seemed to slow down as the seconds ticked by and no Daphne emerged. You glanced up at the two gentlemen but they were clearly going to be no help as they tried to contain chuckles.
The bachelor noticed your horror-struck expression and scowled.
“She will be fine. Surely the Duchess can swim, can she not?”
It had been a number of seconds now and panic was beginning to rise within you. You whipped your head round to find the nearest Bridgerton brother for help, and immediately set eyes on Benedict, but he was too far away. You were acting before you could think better of it.
“Benedict!” you shouted over to him, watching his head snap towards you in an instant. Hoping he would soon come rushing over, you looked back to the still surface of the lake, took a deep breath, and dove forward into the water.
The chill hit you immediately, but as soon as you managed to open your eyes, fear gripped you far more urgently. The river wasn’t deep, but Daphne’s dress had caught on a rock that she was frantically trying to pull free from. With her gown quickly absorbing water, and panic having overridden any sense, she was only becoming more stuck by the moment.
Letting adrenaline guide you, you kicked your legs as hard as you could to get down to her and located the part of her dress that was stuck under a rock. You tried to pull on it but it was no use. Planting your feet on the rock instead, you kicked away from it with another strong effort and it rolled to the side just enough for Daphne to pull free.
You felt splashing behind you and knew that at least one Bridgerton brother had leapt in to help. There were arms around Daphne’s waist pulling her upwards, and soon you felt strong arms around you as well, aiding your journey to the surface. Once you emerged, you gasped for air.
“Daphne, are you well? Are you alright?” Anthony was desperate as he pushed his sister toward the river bank, Daphne unable to answer as she coughed from lack of air. Anthony’s fussing was soon drowned out by somebody behind you, holding you afloat.
“I have you,” said the voice, not quite calm but not yet reaching Anthony’s level of panic, “Here we are, towards the grass, Y/N, that’s it. Just breathe, my love.”
You and Daphne had been hauled up by both Bridgerton brothers and those that had gathered on the bank for the spectacle, and soon the four of you lay panting in the grass. Daphne reached over and squeezed your hand. When you looked at her, she had tears of gratitude shining in her eyes and you simply squeezed her hand in return. She would have done the same for you.
“My sincere apologies, Your Grace! We must all count ourselves lucky you have such a…heroic young woman for a friend.”
The two young ‘gentlemen’, if they could even fit such a title, still stood idle. The married fellow had the decency to look ashamed, but the bachelor still had something smug in his expression, particularly as he glanced down at your dress as it clung to your soaked form. Still panting, you pushed yourself to a stand and tried not to wobble as you reared on him.
“It is lucky that someone was feeling heroic, my lord. Tell me, were you born a coward or did you become one after each of your younger brothers married before you could even secure an engagement?”
The man blanched at your outburst, his face twisting into a far more sinister sneer. Had you not been accompanied by the entire ton, you perhaps would have thought better than to goad him so.
“I beg your pardon? Why, you insolent little-”
“That’s enough,” came Benedict’s voice as he stood beside you and you felt warmth wrap around your shoulders. His jacket. He pulled the lapels tight around you from the side until you held them yourself to protect your modesty, “Unless you wish to see a different side of me, Maycliffe, I suggest you take your leave.”
His words were polite enough, but Benedict’s tone was murderous. He had stepped up since providing his jacket and was now stood half in front of you, leaving no room for the man to continue his argument.
“It was an accident! Goodness, Bridgerton, what are you going to do? Paint me to death?”
You stepped forward to argue Benedict’s case on his behalf, a hand on his arm, but he gently held you behind him with his forearm and a glance in your direction. However much you wished to put this man in his place, you were a woman in need of a suitable match one day. It would not do to be the one to cause a scene.
“I should imagine the Viscount will have a myriad of things to say to you, once he has ensured Daphne’s recovery,” Benedict said calmly, “Would you like to wait here until he deals with you?”
There was a spark of fear in Maycliffe (as you now knew him) at that. Anthony was to be feared far more than the free-thinking, compassionate artist. Just before he left, Maycliffe’s eyes strayed to you once again, and Benedict took another step forward until the two men were nose to nose.
“You don’t get to look at her,” he murmured sharply, only just loud enough for you to hear. He stood still until the married man took the hint and pulled Maycliffe away, who was shaking his head and cursing as he left. You breathed out your relief. As much as you were loathe to admit it, Benedict’s chest heaving with anger and his calm yet fierce tone had made your knees weak.
“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathed, watching as he turned to face you as soon as he heard your voice. His hands twitched at his sides but stayed where they were, “I should go home, get dry. Can I return this to you at a later date?”
You gestured to the jacket and he reached out to rub the lapel between thumb and forefinger. His eyes bore into yours with the same intensity you’d just seen from him, but none of the anger.
“Come to Bridgerton house. Please. It’s closer and the doctor can check on you as he does Daphne. It would set my heart at ease.”
He placed a hand on his heart and it was impossible to refuse. A carriage ride later, you entered the house as Anthony helped Daphne inside.
“I really am fine now, brother. You do not need to prolong such fuss.”
Anthony rolled his eyes and, for the first time in all the years you’d known him, looked at you to share exasperation over Daphne. You allowed him a small smile.
“He’s right, Daph. Let everyone fuss over you a little longer until we are satisfied you’re well,” you said, “At least until you are clean, dry and checked over by the doctor.”
It was Daphne’s turn to roll her eyes, but she acquiesced and followed the maids into a room to bathe and change. Benedict had sequestered a few maids to aid you and sent you off with them with a reassuring smile.
“Please, call on me once she is well,” he said to one of the maids, who nodding knowingly before hurrying after you.
—
Once you were freshly clean and dressed in one of Eloise’s simple day dresses, the maid Benedict had spoken to took you to one side.
“I can call upon Mr Bridgerton if you like, Miss,” she said, then lowered her voice conspiratorially, “Or I can lead you to his room, if you would like a moment alone. I think after the day you’ve had, you’ve both earned it.”
You felt heat travel all the way up your spine and into your face. Biting your lip, you nodded at the maid against your better judgement and allowed her to lead you to Benedict’s room. Despite trying to save your heart from Benedict eventually tiring of you, your brush with the lake had changed your resolve. Perhaps instead, it would be best to enjoy such attention while it was granted, and worry about consequences later.
You hoped this maid was as discreet as maids could be.
She left you at the door with a wink that made your stomach swoop, and before someone could catch you in the corridor, you knocked.
“It’s me. Can I come in?”
A pause.
“Yes, come in.”
You began to push the door open then abruptly stopped.
“Are you decent?”
There was a pause and you could already see the smirk Benedict would be sporting in your mind’s eye.
“Mostly.”
You narrowed your eyes at him through the door, as if squinting might help you discern whether he was decent enough for you to enter. With a quick glance around to check once again you weren’t being watched, you ducked inside.
You leaned back against the shut door and sucked in a breath. He was mostly decent, though his billowing white shirt was barely buttoned and there was more chest on show than you’d ever be allowed to see in decent society.
“I was going to make a joke about how improper it is for you to be here,” Benedict said, as he stood from where he had been sat and crossed the room towards you. You fought the urge to press yourself further against the door as he advanced, “But I find I am just grateful to see you’re alright. No lasting concerns after your impromptu swim?”
“Not a one. I am fortunate that my family home in the country has a lake. We spent summers swimming there when I was young,” you explained, having to look up at him now that he was so close.
“We are all fortunate, then,” he said and once again you saw the telltale twitch of his hands by his side, “I must say, I would never like to see you call out to me and dive into a river ever again.”
You grimaced.
“I apologise-”
“No. Your heroics saved my sister from a worse fate. The doctor has checked her over and she is perfectly fine, thanks to you.”
His eyes were flickering between yours. However desperately you wanted to, you kept yours trained on him rather than his lips.
“I am so very glad to hear that. If I never see that gentleman again it will be too soon,” you said, then regretted mentioning him when a cloud passed over Benedict’s expression.
“He is no gentleman. He is a scoundrel, unworthy of any lady’s time, let alone yours. The way he-”
Benedict stopped himself and the muscle in his jaw ticked as he averted his gaze to the ceiling to calm down.
“It’s alright,” you said, unable to resist from reaching out to grasp his forearm, “He is unworthy of any more thought from either of us.”
“It was the way he looked at you,” Benedict spat, as if he had not heard you speak, “As if he had the right to do so even though you were…”
He trailed off, but you could fill in the blanks. Maycliffe’s gaze had wandered downward multiple times when your dress was soaked through and likely more see-through than was decent. The idea made you feel ill, and then the idea that Benedict had seen you in the same state filled you with a strange thrill.
“Your jacket was most welcome, in that case. As were your words. Sincerely, thank you, Benedict.”
He waved you away with a small shake of his head, a pitiful scoff. When he looked back at you, the intensity that took your breath away had returned.
“You have been avoiding me these past weeks. I have missed your company. Greatly. Seeing you put yourself in danger for the sake of my sister... If I did something to offend you, I can only apologise.”
“No, Benedict,” you insisted, still holding onto his forearm with a grip you didn’t know you possessed, “Not at all. I am the one at fault. The truth is…”
Adrenaline was coursing through your veins now as it had been earlier. There would never be another time where you felt so brave, so indestructible, that you could possibly have this conversation without cracking.
“The truth is that I have enjoyed your company immensely these past months. More than a friend should. But you have made your thoughts on marriage abundantly clear and I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings. I am sure I will be able to return to our easy friendship once my feelings dwindle.”
Only the last sentence was a lie. You weren’t sure it would ever dwindle, particularly as you thought of his eyes, his wit, his chest dusted with hair, his kindness. But Benedict was looking at you as if you had grown a second head.
“What are my thoughts on marriage then?”
“Come now Benedict,” you took your hand from his arm, “You have never shown interest in the marriage mart. You are a free spirit, free from the constraints of society, you say so yourself. Often.”
“But I have never expressed a distaste for marriage,” he said, still full of confusion, “And surely I have never expressed distaste for you."
“No of course-”
“Y/N. If you are saying what I believe you’re saying, and my feelings for you are returned, then you must know that you are not a passing fancy. I think you are wonderful in every conceivable way. Perhaps I should have been clearer-”
“No, I should have! I simply never believed that your mind could be changed simply from getting to know me-”
“How could I not be changed, knowing you? How could you not know that you had changed everything?”
You stopped talking over each other at that. Gazing at Benedict anew, your eyes flicked downwards to his lips at long last, like an apple finally succumbing to the overwhelming force of gravity. And with the same force, as if destined, Benedict leaned in closer, close enough that your breaths mingled in the still air between you.
“You have changed me. Fundamentally. Irreversibly. I am not going to propose to you in this darkened room, as it is not what you deserve, but if you are agreeable then I am going to propose. To you. If you’ll have me.”
You grinned and pressed forwards, just to see what it would taste like to kiss him. The briefest touch of lips and tingles spread across your entire body. Benedict let out a soft groan at the back of his throat.
“It sounds as if I already have you,” you whispered, before Benedict captured your lips with his own and there could be no more words between you for a little while.
---
if you read this far, you are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires :)) if you have any ideas for bridgerton fluff my ask box is all ears and so am i
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notes: i've had a few requests for how Joel and wifey met and must say I have been working on this for quite some time.
Warnings: protected sex (ikr what a shocker from me!!!), oral f!receiving, anxious reader during sex, multiple orgasms, reader has hair, brief descriptions of body change post pregnancy
18+ ONLY
- - - -
Joel forgot to make the reservation to Tommy’s number one favorite steakhouse for his birthday. The damn idiot. He had been so busy this year, what with launching their own company, and Joel taking the lead, he’d been swamped with workworkwork. And of course, the place he was meaning to dine at was no longer taking reservations or walkups.
Which left Joel to scrounge for a high-top bar-area table in Tommy’s third favorite steakhouse, some ritzy fancy place that wasn’t in either Miller’s ball park. What should have been an evening indulging in one 70 year old man throwing down on the grill in a family run steakhouse that had massive 27 oz steaks for $32, they were instead having to settle for a corporate run, posh place that had abstract art on the walls on sale for thousands of dollars, a menu with foreign sounding wines, and tiny steaks on big plates, topped with random greens for decoration, and pulling a whopping, ridiculous price tag for some pinky sized meat.
That being said, even after Joel had forwarded the correct address, it’s been 15 minutes, and no Tommy. He anxiously glances at the wall clock. Joel wasn’t looking forward to sitting here, what with his scrounged hair and unkept beard. The best wardrobe he could put together included a lesser-stained pair of boots and a flannel shirt tucked in his jeans, with a belt he had forgotten about, collecting dust in the closet until tonight.
He didn’t belong. He just wanted to eat, clink a beer or two with Tommy, and call it a night.
He swears, if Tommy doesn’t show up in the next 5, 4, 3, 2,—
“Oh my god this place is a maze.” you say, shaking your head and setting down at Tommy’s vacant chair.
Right in front of Joel.
He blinks a few times. Who the hell is this chick?
This chick, evidently oblivious, hadn’t even glanced up to his presence, proceeding to dig through your purse you just tossed to the ground as you go on…
“And then…wait where did I leave off— Oh fuck, so then Kelly asked him if he was going to get her flowers, and he said ‘oh only if you want’ and then I was like ‘Kel, you shouldn’t have to ask on your birthday to get flowers from your fiancee.’”
And you still haven’t looked up, busy now applying some honey vanilla scented, nice smelling lip balm. Even as Joel opens his mouth to say something, you close your eyes and shake your head again with a chuckle, proceeding: “…like that’s shit you argue with your teenage boyfriend over, not the guy you’re gonna be having kids with! And then she said this was the third time she brought it up, plus—“
Joel puts his hands down softly on the table, frowning. Holy shit, does this woman ever stop yapping?
“—oh didn’t she have to drop hints like an atom bomb that she wanted to get married? After what, 4 years? I swear, this is why I’m staying single even if the hottest, sexiest, sweatiest fucker were right in front of—“
You finally look up, to see…some guy?
Instead of fear, or embarrassment, or… any reasonable expression, your face instead sours to that of a confused defensiveness.
“Who the hell are you?” You ask offensively.
Joel is taken aback. “Wh—I’m … Joel?”
“Okay ‘Joel’ but I meant what are you doing sitting here?”
Joel tilts his head, too astounded. “This is my table,” he states matter-of-factly.
“Uh— no it’s not,” you almost cackle, like what an idiot he is. “And I need you to get out of that chair, because my friend Maria will be back any—“
You glance around, only to see your very friend Maria, waving wildly at you from across the room, sitting at a table that very much was the one you were at prior to leaving for the rest room.
“Oh!—that’s odd…”
Ok finally, she’s gonna —
“Why the hell is Maria sitting at the wrong table??”
He lets out an incredulous sight. “Lady, I think you’re at the wrong table.”
You turn back to him, tilting your head like a curious dog. He feels like he’s hanging on the edge of his chair, just trying to piece together what could possibly be going through your too-busy mind.
You take a look over to her again, then to the current table. Then again to her.
Which leaves you… sitting here…. With....
“Oh fuck… I’m so sorry!” You whisper, and now you’re full of embarrassment, face flush warm.
You tumble out of the chair and rush over to Maria, who’s giggling and looking back at Joel while you slam your face into your hands onto the correct table.
Joel just watches you for a moment, still stunned. A little flustered. Strangely… entertained?
You kept peeking your eye through your fingers, before trying to burry yourself into the menu. All while your friend Maria howled at your utter mis-founded confidence.
Joel grins slightly to himself, not really sure why he’s also finding it a bit funny. You were kinda—
“Why’d you pick this place again?”
Joel jumps a little, his glass of water nearly tumbling over as Tommy slinks down into the seat in front of him.
“What?”
“Was Jackie’s full again? You forgot to make a reservation there, didn’t you?” He asks nonchalantly, tucking his napkin into his lap with a casual slouched posture. None the wiser that Joel’s mind is completely sidetracked by his strange encounter with this peculiar woman just moments earlier.
Joel tries to keep his focus on Tommy for the night, but he keeps stealing glances your way. Unfortunately, a whole host of bodies had been sat at the tables between you, leaving it impossible to see whether you were still over there or not.
By the end of the night, when Joel stood up, he lets out a disappointed grunt: Your table had already been cleared, and you were gone.
Joel grasped his jacket, letting Tommy out to his truck first. “Sorry it wasn’t Jackie’s,” he groans, closing the door for his little brother, all buckled in and hanging his arm out the window.
“S’alright. Was a good night to pretend to be rich bitches.” He nods with his cap and a honk honk. “Drive safe, brother.”
“Happy birthday, fucker,” Joel retorts just as Tommy pulls out and disappears into the night.
The place is about to close up, only few stragglers at the bar left. He jingles his keys in his hands, pausing at his the junction between the restaurant entrance and his truck.
He looks back at the window table that you were seated in.
“S’cuse me,” he interrupts the host, who’s wiping down menus.
“Is it possible to make another reservation?”
“Sure. How far in advance?”
“1 year from now, exactly this date and time?”
She peers up to him with a raised brow.
-
1 year later
“What the fuck do you mean you forgot to Make a reservation to Jackie’s… again?” Tommy asks, walking in fancy rich bitch restaurant with Joel.
“I kinda liked our meal here last time…” he starts, trying to reason that he didn’t … intentionally forgoe his own little brother’s birthday for his own means. Tommy hasn’t even noticed that Joel’s attention is entirely on scanning the restaurant
“That’s great… but save this shit for your birthday.”
As the two wait for the hostess to seat them, Tommy leans closer to Joel’s shoulder, giving a slight inhale.
“Did you … shower before you came here?”
“Yeah?”
Tommy raises his brow. Joel’s the type to usually grunt the entire day in one go before showering to bed. “And your hairs combed.”
“So? That a crime?” Joel brushes him off, looking around the restaurant again as casual as he can fake it.
Tommy sways on his heels, glancing down from his side eyes. “Shirt’s ironed in too.”
“Tommy, we gotta look the part here…”
“No we don’t. We eat. We pay. We leave. Who you tryin’ to impress other than my stomach?”
Joel shakes his head with a hearty laugh.
Was Joel staking his brother’s birthday on the hope that you would be here again? Cmon, that’s ridicul—
Maybe.
But as the two of them are escorted to their table, Joel did another lap of eye scan around the room before sitting down, all the doubts flooded.
You weren’t here.
What if you were just here randomly that one day? What if you were just visiting from out of town? What if you came once and never came again? He bet this entire night on an assumption that you were celebrating something on this specific date, but there was absolutely no indication that you were doing anything but having a night out with a friend.
Oh shit, what if that was your girlfriend??? Oh shitshitshit.
Wait, no, you said that M chick (he doesn’t even remember her name) was your friend.
Oh--what if you had a boyfriend by now?
What if you did walk in that door right now, but you were holding hands with some rich pompous skinny ass college educated schmuck, all smiling and clinging to him like he’s the world, and Joel’s here desperately searching for you when you don’t even know him—
—“Who the fuck are you looking at?” Tommy asks, waving his hand in front of Joel after trying to look around the room in vain for whatever’s got his big brother’s attention.
— and then there’s the fact that Joel hasn’t been on a date in six… seven? Years? His last serious relationship ended because he wanted to settle down and she wanted to keep exploring options. I mean, he got it. They were really young at the time. He didn’t really know anything else. Instead, he spent all this time buried in trainings and apprenticeships and certification courses to be able to get to where he is now…and that left no room for even looking at women.
So why the fuck is he here trying to look for you ??
“Joel!” Tommy shouts, kicking him under the table.
“Shit, sorry.” He shakes his head and takes a long swig of beer.
“Sorry. Just—feeling off today.”
“I bet.” Tommy leans forward, putting his hand on Joel’s shoulder.
“You sure you’re alright?”
He nods. Fuck. He’s here for Tommy’s birthday. A birthday he wasted on this shitty place, banking on a girl he doesn’t even know the name of, and pretending to be a brother. God. He’s terrible. Joel downs the rest of his alcohol in one go, clearing his mind of you once and for all.
“I’m good Tommy. Let’s celebrate tonight.”
Tommy holds up his beer bottle. “To one year of Millers Co.”
“Fuckin cheers to that.” They clinks bottles with a grin.
Joel looks to his right, by chance, and his entire body freezes, blood draining and then revitalizing itself over his veins in a nanosecond.
You’re putting your hair up in a pony tail, smiling and chatting enthusiastically at the same table you were at exactly a year ago. It’s like not a day has passed. You have that same confident aura, like the world is circling you, without really trying. Maybe its just Joel, because aside from your friend you’re seated with, he’s the only one who’s entire world is focused on you.
He should stop staring. Fuck this is weird. Is it weird? But he can’t. He’s worried he’s dreaming, and if he takes his eyes off you again, you’ll disappear for another year. Wait, he’s imagining this right? He didn’t wish you into existence again? There’s no way you’re seated at the exact same table again. But your outfit is different. So maybe this is real?
Joel could feel Tommy trying to talk to him again, but his brain was utter mush. Instead of scanning the room, his focus was directed in a single spot this time, and Tommy could finally make contact with what exact has got his big brother so distracted.
He didn’t really get it, but Joel wasn’t giving any answers in this state.
Joel shakes himself from his trance, worried Tommy is gonna finally pinpoint and—where’s Tommy?
His seat is completely empty, and Joel panics momentarily that Tommy just straight up left him after being ignored for ten minutes.
Worse than that, Joel finally spots Tommy—heading over to talk to you and your friend.
“Heeeeyyy, ladies, I’m Tommy.” He smiles warmly.
“Um, Hi,” you nod with a polite smile.
“’m sorry to bother your dinner, but my brother, god bless him, has been starin’ at ya from across the room—“ he points to Joel’s direction momentarily—“ and you either cut him off in traffic this mornin’, or he thinks you’re cute and is too shy to come over here to tell ya.”
SHITSHITSHIT SHUTthefuckupTOMMYOHMYFUCKINGGOD.
Joel’s feet kick straight down on their own accord, knocking the table hard as he stands and causing people around him to stare.
He speed walks over there, not sure what his next move is: kiss you or strangle Tommy or some weird dance combination of both.
He doesn’t have time to think it over because now he’s here, standing there, like a baboon, as you, Tommy, and your friend blink directly at him, awaiting him to say something.
He needs to say something.
Something…
Anything…
Why isn’t he speaking
Your smile falters a little, eyes narrowed in. He feels himself shrink inside.
“Holy shit,” you whisper, pointing at him. “You’re that guy—“
Oh fuck she does remember me—!
“—that sat at my table last year!”
She doesn’t remember jack shit.
“I—lady, you sat at my table,” he argues defensively. Holy shit wait why is he getting defensive? Maybe because, holy fuck, how could you get that mixed up… Again???
You purse your lips and let out a little laugh. “Um. No. You came and sat at my table. I’m pretty sure I would remember something like that.”
You’re just as cocksure as yourself as you were last time.
He could get used to that.
“What was it—“ you tap your lower lip with your fingers, eyes drifting in though. “Oh! Joel!”
Oh … the way you say his name… he could definitely get used to that.
There’s a brief pause before you begin:
“So… you’re here again?”
“I take my brother here every year… for his birthday,” Joel blurts out.
“More like accidentally take me here—“ Tommy falls short, looking back at you… now realizing this time maybe wasn’t an accident on Joel’s part.
He’ll remember to kick Joel in the nuts later. But right now, his brother’s cartoonishly obvious heart shaped eyes are still locked on you, so he rolls with it.
“Yeah we’re celebrating… our own thing too,” Maria muses, nodding towards you. You roll your eyes playfully, knowing she’s too bashful to admit it.
“She graduated law a couple years ago,” you gloat, beaming at your impressive friend, who’s shrinking under the weight of her embarrassment. “So we’ve made it our little tradition.”
Joel opens his mouth and wishes he used his brain: “We can make it all our tradition from now on.”
The four of you go awkwardly silent, and it almost feels like the whole restaurant went quiet too and is staring at Joel.
Oh God, he should just tuck his tail and walk right out the door right now and leave town and—
You’re the first to let out a giggle, covering your mouth and scrunching your eyes and nose as you try to hide your cute laugh.
Oh fuck. He can definitely get used to that.
Tommy’s gonna give himself a massive pat on the back for this next move.
“Maria, was it?” He asks your friend. “Would you like to join me to get a drink?” He motions towards the bar.
Maria glances at you, now seeing you and Joel are staring at one another, uninterrupted, completely enamored. Shits not on pause. You two are just fuckin’…frozen at each other like little smiling elf statues.
“Yes I would. Tommy, right?”
“Yes Ma’am.”
She links arms with him and the two of them begin: “so you come to this dump to celebrate?” “It’s my favorite?” “Oh mine too!” Leaving you and Joel alone.
“Uhh…”
“Do you want—sit?” You ask awkwardly.
Joel takes Maria’s seat.
“Looks like you’re coming to sit at my table instead,” you snicker.
“So you admit it then: you sat at mine last year.”
You smile, readjusting your napkin on your lap. “I have a hard time admitting when I’m wrong. It’s a stubborn thing.”
“Mmm. Picked up on that.”
You both laugh. You bite your lip before smoothing the tablecloth.
“Joel,” you whisper, and god it feels really good all over his spine when you say his name.
“Yeah?”
“Nothing. I just… like saying your name. It fits you really well. Joel.”
He grins broadly, licking his lower lip and staring at you again with those big, gorgeous brown orbs. Even his voice feels…right. You have no idea how or why. He just feels so…right.
You tilt your head to the side, studying him. “You look … a little different.”
Joel clears his throat, unsure if that is a good thing or bad thing.
“Wait let me just—“
But you don’t wait, instead you’re already reaching your delicate fingers over the table and sifting them through his hair, ruffling his curls out of their perfectly combed place, watching as they tumble messily over one another until they’re bouncing all brown and natural under the low light.
“That’s better. Yeah, I remember that for sure.” You nod to yourself with a little grin that has him blushing harder than Santa on Christmas.
It’s radiant, it’s contagious, it’s sincere.
You offer him your name, and he repeats it with that low timbre that gives you goosebumps.
Oh, you could get used to him for sure.
-
Four Dates Later...
The puss puss is screaming his name already.
You had always told yourself you would never surrender the flower to man in no less than 6 dates first. But fuck… Joel’s… really something.
You’re seated at his bar stool in his house, swaying your feet with your arms crossed, watching him work like a wizard. He’s making something really really good, and as far as you can tell, something really close to home. you had both shared half a bottle of wine on his couch while he talked about his brother, how he plays guitar sometimes, his company. He listened intently as you shared your movie taste, how oh so different you are from your mom he’d yet to meet, and the best food spots in town.
You also promised you wouldn’t spend an evening like this at a guy’s house so quickly either but… Joel’s really something.
He makes you feel warm and fuzzy, in that gooey icky way you used to make fun of your friends for. He makes you feel safe and protected, and you almost want to start shit with him just to get him to tackle you down and put a baby in you right here—oh my god what is happening to you??
“Remember that time you sat at my table—“
He pauses to face you, eyes peering from his brows with a growl. “Don’t start with me, girl.”
Mmmmm girl. The way he says it is like hot sugar and sprinkles. Yes. Yes you wanted to get used to this ASAP.
Three homemade empanadas later, and you were sold.
-
As you tumble onto his bed, Joel and your lips can’t break up enough for you to get through a sentence before he’s sucking you back in. The alcohol swims in your system just as hot as the lust that had been dampening your legs all night—or the last few weeks for that matter.
“Just—just so you know… I know first time sex isn’t always great—scratch that. Its never great—“
He stops, his shirt halfway up his head. “You’ve never had sex before?” He asks softly, almost fearfully, like he’s done a horrible thing and not taken you to a hotel and bought you a car and—
“No! I meant first time with a new partner,” you clarify, helping him hoist the rest of that shirt over because you couldn’t be tortured to wait any longer for this view.
My oh my… what a view.
His chest is smooth, clearly undisturbed by any hair, and his belly is soft. But with each movement, you can see the flex of muscle ripping underneath. He has a worker’s body, true to his craft, not some jacked up gymbro bod that gloats his benchpress PR but couldn’t carry a bag of sand on one shoulder. His belly ends in a gorgeously light trail of hair, leading down like the Hairy Brick Road to disappear underneath his belt line, right to your long awaited prize…
He’s staring down at you as you lick your lips greedily, seemingly unaware that you had paused your conversation.
“You hungry for something?” He asks sincerely under a chuckle. “Can make ya more empanadas right now if ya too distracted—“
“Shut up and take these off.” you start undoing his button and zipper of his jeans.
He grins, leaning over to capture your lips as you do work to shimmy his pants off. You feel him push you down gently on your back, expecting him to crawl up and grasp you as he positions his dick between your legs.
Instead, he hooks the bend of your back knee over his shoulders, crawling down—
You freeze, holding his arm so he doesn’t slip any further. “Woah—don’t think I expect you to go down on me.”
“But I—“
“Because I know … all the guys before don’t do that the first time with a new partner, or even second or third, and like… Listen I…” you start rambling, eyes searching everywhere but his own. “I already like you…so I don’t want you…pretending for me… going out of your way for…if its not a given—especially on the first—“
He pulls up, grasps your face in his clutch and kisses you, drawing out all of your thoughts.
“You talk a lot when ya nervous,” he hums against your nose before pressing another kiss there. You both stare at one another. he could see your eyes were vulnerable, like it’s the first time your guard is being torn down by someone without your permission. Like you’re genuinely caught naked in your underwear.
He slithers closer to you, making you lie further back on the bed again until your bodies glide together. His breath ghosts over your lips, and you can feel your heart already palpitating from the sheer sense of control he’s grasped from you naturally. “S’okay. I like listening to you. Keep going.”
He descends lower, lips trailing kisses, hooded eyes never leaving yours.
What happened to that shy, awkward lump of a cutie who was too afraid to approach your table to say hi? He’s certainly not the strong, capable, confident wolf in front of you about to devour you whole…
“R-really,” you mumble, wanting to bring your mind back to why you’re nervous—shit are you nervous here? “You don’t… have to do it…to impress me. I’m already impressed—“
He huffs into your mound. “I ain’t doin it to impress ya, I’m doinnit because I wanna eat your pussy. Been dyin’ to for weeks now. Do men not normally go down on you on the first chance they get?” He asks, genuinely curious. As if it’s a shock to him that you don’t get your pussy ate every single waking minute of the day.
You stare at him slack jawed. He says it as if… as if… he does this every time….because he actually does it every time….
You feel a gush of slick ooze out of your cunt. “Get your fucking head down there and start eating,” you command.
He smirks, “There she is—that’s the one I like—“ before biting your thighs gently and nuzzling his nose between your folds.
Okay, shit, it’s happening. At the very least, even if he’s had practice, it may not even be good. He can’t tick all boxes, right? Yeah, this one thing, he’s probably terrible at. Shit, bet he’s just bluffing just to—
“Do me this once, baby.” His teeth softly sink into the fat of your inner thigh.
You’re already jittery and hazy, anxious and aroused, heavy lidded as your ears perk enough to try to listen.
“Let yourself have this one,” he whispers, eyes trained on you as he kisses the bite mark he left.
“Oh? You…seem cocksure of yourself…” you tease. Even if he’s good, he’d make a fine boyfriend for sure—
Your bravado quickly disappears as he flattens his hot tongue through your slit, sliding the tip against your entrance before pursing his lips, sucking in your sensitive clit with a kiss—
Holy fucking shit he wasn’t bluffing.
He pulls away with a suckle, and you just barely can focus your eyesight on him: the audacity of his baby brown eyes staring up at you with raised, curious, innocent gleam as his lips and nose shine with your arousal.
“S’that okay with you?”
You open your mouth, unable to form words. in fact, it’s the first time in your life that you have effectively been shut up, let alone by a man. He turned your brain into mush, your body floating between space and heaven, but your soul plated right here, underneath his gaze, his hands, his lips, his tongue—
He waits for your answer, warm steady air blowing from his nose to your quivering cunt.
You only gulp, mouth closing in submission.
A wide smirk creeps over his face. Now that’s what she’s like when she’s quiet. He seems to like that he’s shut you up; especially the way your brows knit close together as he drags his tongue through your petals again, over and over like a giddy boy enjoying his melting ice cream.
When he disappears again between your legs, you grasp your mouth with your hand, eyeballs rolling back as you already feel your core shake.
I’m gonna marry him I’m gonna marry him I’m gonna marry him, you chant like a mantra in your head.
And for 40 more minutes, Joel Miller ate you out like a fucking Goddess.
You were spasming randomly, letting out desperate chokes and groans. After the first orgasm, you gave up on the silent treatment. Letting him hear your praises as you came again, and then again, and three more times.
You had never had so many orgasms in a 40 minute span like that in your life.
He’d inhale deeply through his nostrils, burying himself in your mound before increasing the pace of his tongue. Flicking your clit then diving inside, thrusting and twisting. Suckling out your juices and then coaxing you with his fingers deep inside when you started to quiver. He’d lock eyes on you every so often, making sure you were comfortable for the ride.
He knew he would be addicted when he first watched you cum. It only got more insatiable with each one after that.
“Holy f-fuck—“you whine as he sucks your folds in one final time before releasing with a loud smack. “I—I could get used to that.”
He grins, falling down next to you. He takes deep breaths with you, as if having swam across the ocean alongside your marathon run.
The two of you just sat there. Calming your breaths. Your eyes to the ceiling.
His on you.
He strokes your arm with his fingertips. Up and down, soothingly and gentle. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking, and it kinda scares him. Maybe you were done. Maybe you had that post orgasmic bliss, and were ready to kick him out. Maybe—
“So … how do you want me?” You ask, biting your lips. Your hand is already on his chest, itching for more.
His eye dart to your lips one last time, his tongue swiping out. He leans forward and begins kissing you again. The two of you roll over, with him above you. You can feel the press of his hard length against your inner thigh, making you squeak.
He pulls out, his nose nudging yours. “Where I can see you,” he pants.
Joel shreds his last remaining article of clothing.
Yeah, this is it, you think. He makes up for bad sex by eating you out five times. There’s no way. Not that dick size matters of course. You weren’t gonna mention anything by it. That’s just…. Rude. No, it really matters how you use it. So even if he’s moderately big, which you’re sure he isn’t—
His throbbing, girthy member slaps wetly against his belly button.
“Fucking Christ, Joel Miller,” you gasp, eyes a little too wide. It pulses deliciously, veiny and mushroomed. “What the fuck do you feed that thing?”
Oh shit, what was that about not saying anything?
“I mean, its’ like—you look—it’s--“ you shut your trap and just give him two thumbs up.
He pauses, blinking at you before chuckling.
Oh my god, please kill me.
“Okay. That’s — I’ll take that.” He tears open the condom and spread it over his head.
There’s a tiny bit of you that feels a bit of disappointment as he rolls it down his length; the part of you that wants to take a massive leap with this man right now and do it raw.
Hell no. fuck, that’s definitely not a 4th date move. Though, coming to his house and having sex right after dinner was also not a date 4 move either…
He crawls back over you, his forearms planted by your head. Joel reaches down to grasp his cock. At the same time, you instinctively lift your legs, your thighs resting over his hips.
“We fit so beautifully together, huh?” He whispers, kissing your cheek.
You nod.
“You tell me if anything feels off, okay? Even if ya—“
You had snatched the base of his length, causing him to gasp and swallow his words. Effortlessly, you drag his head through your folds, slicking it up with your arousal before notching it at your entrance.
Joel grasps your face with both hands and seals his lips over you as the two of you work his cock inside your hole.
Even with his tongue tracing over yours, he doesn’t let you go. You moan deliciously into his mouth as he forces himself inside, inch by inch, slowly. Your pussy had been stretched and worn perfectly from his eating moments ago, making the stretch to accomodate his girth only pleasurable.
There’s no words. No snarky remark. Just the shared breath between you two. The blurred background except the vision of one another so close. The sounds of your synced, pounding hearts bursting through your chests.
He was so quiet. Tense. Still.
He looked so deep in concentration, like something was hurting him, like he was straining himself. He was so chatty a minute ago...had you done something wrong?
You open your mouth to speak, but Joel beats you to it.
“I’m —I’m gonna cum already—fuck—gimme a minute,” he finally rasps, closing his eyes tightly. His ears are flushed red as he remains completely still inside, the vein in his neck ready to burst from concentration. The poor man was so embarrassed that he might cum immediately, totally ruining any chance to impress you—
“I’m already cumming,” you whine, shifting your hips to get him to gently tap that spot inside that has you clenching around him. “With me?”
The motion sets him over the edge.
Both your jaws drop open in o’s as you orgasm together, pulsing, a mere 3 seconds into motionless sex.
His sweaty forehead falls to your chest. “Shit—shit—I—I’ve—I swear—“
“That—was so hot,” you whisper with a big smile on your face. Joel looks up at you: your eyes dark, biting your lips with a wicked grin as you look over his face, your hand playing with his ear. “More?” You ask softly with big curious eyes.
He fell a little more in love with you, if it were even possible.
You had sex again, this time a little more paced out. Joel was determined to focus on you this time, though you doubted he had considered his even once at this point. All he knew was that he wanted to feel you squeeze around his cock forever.
“You’re so beautiful,” he hums. “So beautiful when you cum.”
You moan desperately, coming back down from your umpteenth climax of the night. he sucked his thumb clean after having rubbed your swollen numb to get you there. You had one ankle hooked around his lower back, pulling him back in with each thrust.
“You—you’re right,” you swallow. “We do fit so well together.”
The both of you laugh, eyes crinkled.
You sigh, winding your arms around his neck. “I can’t wait to do this without a condom.”
He grips your thighs tightly, stuttering for a moment. “Fuck—don’t say that—don’t get me thinking’ bout how good you’re gonna feel raw—shit no can’t—can’t think—no fuck now Im thinkin it—its too good—“
“Yeah? You think about filling me up already? On our first time?”
“I’m warnin’ you, lady. Don’t get me started.”
You let out a loud moan as he started pounding you harder, your skin slapping one another.
“Fuck—thank you Tommy—“ you start.
“Don’t moan my brother’s name when I’m inside you.”
You tighten your lips and nod.
“Want ya spread out on my pillow like this every night.” He sifts his fingers through your hair, watching the way it parts for him. “Want you sayin’ my name like a prayer. Need your cum on my tongue and my fingers and cock to keep me warm. I don’t think I can go back to—fuck—I need more of you--“
He keeps thrusting into your sopping heat with such precision. Neither too fast nor slow. Enough that the two of you could enjoy, savor, explore.
“I want it,” you whisper softly, only for him to hear. You wrap yourself around him closer as he fucks you slow, deep, calculated, passionately.
Maybe both of you were thinking it then: You knew you would have the rest of your lives for it all.
By the time you had finished, and third condom wrapped and tossed in the bin, you were exhausted. You couldn’t even raise your head for the first few minutes. Joel too was whipped. He laid in bed with your head spread atop his chest, leg hooked over his stomach. Your sweaty body sticking to one another with the fan blasting down on your back. You could feel him tracing patterns on your naked back. Like he was telling your body to accept his touch because it wouldn’t be leaving you any time soon.
You were so close to drifting to sleep. Letting out little hums here and there as he rubbed your head with occasional kisses.
“Mbesr empapamda,” you mumbled into the pillow.
“What?”
You sat up slightly, hair messy already from his ministrations. Your eyes were half asleep already as you mumbled with a smirk: “Would you make me more empanadas some day again, Joel?’
He chuckled. “I’d make em everyday if you asked.”
You nuzzled your nose into his neck before finally closing your eyes.
-
You both slept the best night of your lives.
Joel initially woke up around 6am. When his vision settled, the low light of the morning sun just barely filtering in, his eyes settled on your sleeping form. Your hand rested on the pillow in front of you.
He knew it then. The sight of you right here, warming his bed, his soul, his kitchen, his heart, his body… Joel Miller knew he was going to marry you.
Obviously not something he’ll be mentioning for a while, but something that morning clicked. He was already tracing the empty space on your ring finger. How nice a ring would look there. How nice it would be to wake up like this every morning. To see you. The first thing to greet him each day just like this.
In that moment, Joel felt like he had to give you something of his. It was an urge he’d never experienced before, and he couldn’t quite place exactly why or what it is. But it forced him out of the bed silently and away to his work bench without a second thought.
-
“Hey, you,” he whispers.
“Nmmmm,” you sigh, squeezing your eyes again. You wipe your face with both palms. your voice sounds like gravel stuck in your throat as you mutter a very unsexy, “Heyyy.”
“I uh—“ he clears his throat. “This is for you.”
You eyes flutter open as he presents a tiny wooden carving of a butterfly. The details were rough but smoothed and you could immediately tell it was hand crafted. Upon closer inspection, you could see it had your initials carved into the body.
You sat up, blinking rapidly. “Did...did you just… make that?”
“Yeah.” the tips of his cheeks instantly reddened. “Woke up a couple hours ago and thought…well you looked…it seemed…It’s not super good I’m still—anyway, wanted to gift ya something…”
“Just now?”
“An hour ago. I came back to bed. But saw your hair falling a bit when you were resting so—“ He had just started getting the knack of crafting wood so it really looked amateurish. He felt stupid now, after spending two hours on it hunched at his desk while you slept upstairs in his bed.
He takes it gently into his hand and flips it, revealing a metal hairclip that had been glued on.
“May I?”
You nod, eyes sparkling with joy. Maybe you didn’t know any better, but it definitely looked like you thought it was the most beautifully carved piece of art you’d ever seen.
Joel gently fastens it into your hair before cupping along your cheek.
“Does it look good?” You ask.
“Amazin’.”
You smile again. Fuck, he wanted to see that smile every day from now on. He was officially smitten. “I can make ya all kinds of things. Well, eventually. I’m still workin’ on it, just started getting into carving so they’re not perfect yet but--“
“Can you show me?”
It was his turn to blink at you.
“Now?”
“Yeah! Unless you had something else you needed to do this morning…I can totally get out of your hair if—“
“Nope, you stay right here, I’m gonna—“
He stumbles out of bed and quickly closes the door behind him.
His workbench was a fucking mess and definitely not date-show ready. You could hear him banging things, scraping counters of knickknacks and bolts into drawers and doing his best to clean.
Biting your lip, you whip out your phone and called Maria on face time.
She answered, eye mask pulled up her face. “What? Oh bitch, I know you ain’t already sleep at J—“
“LOOK AT WHAT MY JOEL MADE ME!!” You squeal, showing off the hair pendant. You kicked your feet in the air excitedly, all the calm bravado you had kept at bay finally spewing over to show off what a man he was.
Joel sat on the other side of the door, listening. He had almost collapsed against from internally swooning so hard at your ‘my Joel’ comment.
He was going to make you so much shit if it meant you could call him “mine” again.
And he did. After a hot cup of tea and some avocado toast, you sat at his stool next to his work bench as he quietly did his work. You were wearing one of his t shirts, hair still a little messy, but ever so cute. Sometimes he’d tell you a little bit about the wood, the technique he’s testing, how many times he’s cut a finger. He’d worry he was boring you, but when he’d look up, all he saw were your shining, eager, attentive eyes on him, and it made his heart flutter faster than the mind blowing sex from last night.
He didn’t know he was doing it but the embarrassment on his face when he realized he had carved an o—a fucking wooden ring—and was holding it out to you.
You quickly pulled your necklace and strung it on the metal chain, clasping it back around your neck. “I love it,” you beam, holding it in your palm as you inspected it on your chest.
You were both thinking it:
I could get used to this.
-
Ten Years Later…
Something stinks.
So heinous, it forces him awake rather abruptly. His eyes adjust, the dull pain in his back reminding him he’s still alive. The blankets are hot and heavy over his body.
Joel blinks, rubbing his tired, baggy eyes.
The first thing that comes into focus are two fat pudgy baby feet stuck right up his nose. He looks down to see its connected to his little Ellie, who had somehow managed to fall asleep upside down, her bum up in the air like a downward dog. Next to her was Sarah, this one rightside up, and face smashed into the pillow. Her crazy hair is scattered everywhere. Below her was the new pup, Rutabaga, snoring on his back and kicking his paws in the air as if chasing through the clouds. His tail occasionally smacked Ellie in the head, though it didn’t stir her at all. Joel followed down the bed: Spoon sat with her head perched agains a set of legs. Her eyelids twitched as she utters a sleepy sigh.
Those lets went all the way back up the bed, on the far end, connected to the one who made all this extra space on the bed go to good use. Joel’s lips stretch into a wide grin when he finally falls on you.
You were sleeping so peacefully. It was like no time had changed.
The bed may be different. The room, the covers and sheets. His body was thicker, more worn. Hands more calloused. Eyes heavier, voice deeper. And you. Your hair was different now. So was your own body, in so many ways that continued to amaze him. You had grown some bags too under those pretty eyes, new muscle in new places, and some pudge in others.
But you were still you. The girl he fell in love with so many years ago.
He still hadn’t gotten used to any of it at all. And he’s happy.
“Hey you,” you whisper, smiling at him across the bed. You sputter out Sarah’s hair that had been tickling your nose, patting it down to get a good look at your husband.
“Busy night?” He teases, gesturing to the very crowded bed that wasn’t there before he shut his eyes.
You giggle, tossing an arm over all of them and hugging them tight. “I love it.”
The wooden butterfly clip would sometimes be the pendant on your suit. Sometimes the clip to hold your hair, other times to hold Sarah’s or Ellies. Shit, you’d even put it in Joel’s whenever you would give him a curled blow out during his forced spa days with you.
Right now, it sat on your bedside table, right on the lamp’s base.
The wooden ring?
He kept taking it back. Tinkering. Adding a design for each year you’d spent together. What started as a crude, plain, smooth band now had the tinniest etches of details, including hearts, the initials of each family member, butterflies and flowers, even a dog paw. It had become the one thing as old as the relationship itself, and the most sacred of items.
Joel had eventually built you a chair, desk, table, shit even the headboard was custom made. He built your house, the girls’ cribs, rocking horses, duck barn, dog hammocks, kitchen stools, you name it. If it was wood, it was Joel’s. And each and every one crafted with love, for you, for always.
Yeah. This was it. This was his life. And that made his heart warm brighter and swell bigger every day for the last ten years.
The two of you stared at one another with faint smiles. The rest of your family was heavily sleeping between you. But even now, He could see it in your eyes. Always so pensive, always so expressive. He’s gotten quite good at understanding you through them.
This morning, they say, “Thank you for giving me this gift.”
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ 'a million people around all i see is you'
pairing ; king!coriolanus snow x debutante!reader
in the glittering world of panem high society, you were raised to be perfect — the prized daughter of a powerful family. your family was prepared to make the match of the season. but when king coriolanus snow arrives unexpectedly, announcing his intention to marry, everything changes.
✰ tags ; bridgerton au, strangers to enemies to lovers, smut, angst, draaaaaama, century specific misogyny, fluff, regency era.
summary: the subtle, obvious, sweet, and at times - dangerous - ways Coriolanus shows his love for you.
tags: coriolanus snow x fem!reader, possessive and lovesick!Snow, mostly fluff with light allusions to smut, significantly off-canon from movie (no lucy gray and no sejanus betrayal), CW possessive/dark behavior, graphic descriptions of murder, violence (it's only the last bit of this fic that's quite dark/violent, so feel free to read up until then. Please take care of yourself!!!)
At the beginning, he would mask his true feelings and physical urges towards you with a tight lipped grin and a reserved compliment. Something that acknowledges something you've done objectively well, with a genuine softness that didn't apply to any of his other classmates, but seemingly delivered in a nonchalant matter to feign indifference.
"Great dodge." he'd say to you, both of your chests heaving from adrenaline during fencing class. You'd nod gently, a shy "thank you" leaving your lips.
But when Clemensia wins the next round against him, Coriolanus doesn't go above simply shake her left hand in courtesy before leaving the arena briskly.
"Well played." he'd joke, when it was revealed during the final student appraisal that you'd beaten Coriolanus' marks by a few points. Despite Archane and Felix throwing subtle jabs at his way for "losing" the star student title, you'd just shrug off the compliment profusely, praising him endlessly.
"A mere fluke, really. You're the brilliant student. I reckon I just study hard and get lucky." you'd reply, straightening the cuffs of your jacket nervously. The blonde always found it so endearing how bad you were at taking compliments.
So different from the rest of the scum in Capitol, he thought.
Eventually, he'd start to turn his verbal compliments towards things unrelated to your capabilities and work. And more towards things that were of a personal nature, like your looks and dress.
"Your hair looks very nice today." he comments one afternoon late after school, his shoulders brushing against yours as you both await your rides home. Your hands fly up to your hair, to the small crown of daisies adorning your head, as if you've almost forgotten what you were wearing.
"You think so?" you shyly ask, looking up at him nervously. "I wouldn't have worn it to the academy if we hadn't been called down on immediate notice. It's just that the family I babysit for on the weekends, their daughter just turned six and... well, she was very insistent on making me a flower crown."
He finds your embarrassment awfully cute.
"But I swear, when Dr Gaul turned to look at me today, I thought she was going to kill me."
Coriolanus only rolls his eyes playfully at that, knocking his shoulders against yours.
"And what would she know about first rate fashion? You look amazing."
It's the nicest compliment you've gotten over a silly crown of flowers, your heart warming and your breath stuttering at his words. It's what motivates you to lightly squeeze his right arm before you get into the car, your touch lingering in his mind long after you depart.
A month later, Coriolanus runs into you at the farmer's market on a Sunday. His instructions by Tigris to "buy some bread and oranges for tomorrow" are almost forgotten in one fell swoop when he sees you. Free from your usual academic attire, you're wearing a flowy lilac dress which sits right below your knees, the silky fabric glowing in the yellow sunlight.
"This color really suits you." he decides to whisper in your ear after discreetly sliding into the space next to you, the action so sudden that it causes you to jump. Your shoulders soften when you recognize his striking blue irises, and then you pout, punching him right in the chest.
"You scared me, Snow." you jokingly scold him. "And where are your manners? You should always introduce yourself first to a lady."
He pretends to be wounded by that, hand on heart whilst leaning backwards.
"My deepest apologies. Would this help?" he asks, effortlessly pulling a white rose from his back pocket. He revels in how your gaze lightens up in awe and amusement at the gesture.
"Perhaps so." you reply back, fingertips brushing against his.
The blonde takes it as a sign to slide it behind your ear, the memory of your etheral form with his flower tucked behind your right ear etched into his mind before you're called away by your friends.
------------------------------
two: soft touches
Once he's sure that his feelings are reciprocated, Coriolanus would start to step the line over into something more serious. He's not willing to open up immediately nor is he necessarily a man of romantic prose. A large part of him is scared, even, of the way you make him feel.
After all, what is love if not vulnerability?
And how he could be vulnerable with you, a woman so far out of his league, widely adored and your family amongst the wealthiest in Panem?
So it would start off when the class seating arrangements are changed and you're seated next to Coriolanus for the remainder of the year.
He'd start to purposefully spread his legs a little bit wider than usual, his knees always brushing against yours.
He'd take every chance he could to lean over to explain something to you, his face a few inches away from yours, if you ever seemed stuck on a question.
He'd open the classroom door for you in the mornings and offer to carry your heavy textbooks back to your family's car after school, insisting that it was because he wouldn't want you to trip on your heels. And if you'd ever insist on carrying the books on your own, he'd keep a gentle hand on your upper back to keep you upright "in balance."
Once, whilst presenting a speech at your father's fundraising dinner that you'd stayed up all night preparing for, you accidentally lose track of your speech. You stumble on your words, voice cracking in panic as you start to scan the page of thick text, all of which suddenly seem jumbled up and nonsensical.
Sensing distress, Coriolanus' hand quickly moves under the table to squeeze your left hand (hanging by your side) in a reassuring manner.
It's only then, somehow, that you find yourself able to re-focus on the printed text and continue your speech. Afterwards, you squeeze his hand back and whisper your gratitude.
"I owe you, Coriolanus."
Another time, it's a formal ball being hosted by the academy to mark the holiday season. After a few drinks, you're tipsy and manage to drag your friends up towards the balcony, despite it snowing outside and being below zero degrees.
Cautiously watching your every movement by where he's leaning by the bar, Coriolanus quickly makes an excuse to exit the conversation he found himself trapped in, before walking outside towards your shivering figure.
Your dress certainly isn't helping your situation, it being a satin slip dress with sleeves and a conservative cut out by your shoulders. It exposes your chilled skin as you rub the naked space with your arms, your staggered breaths coming out in white puffs of smoke.
"Corio! What're you doing he-" you start to walk towards him but nearly trip, his arms coming to supporting your body last second to save you from falling completely on your face.
"You shouldn't be outside in this weather." he comments, amused, as he helps you find your balance once more. But you refuse to re-enter the ballroom, choosing to instead excitedly ramble about how wonderful winter in the Capitol is and how you can't remember where you've placed your bag.
Listening earnestly to your ramblings with a smile on his face, he quickly shakes off his blazer.
"May I?" he asks. You blink slowly, heart fluttering at the gesture.
"O-okay."
The boy then carefully drapes his blazer over your shoulders, the act immediately enveloping your senses in his signature smells - oakwood and rose. Your fingers clutch the lapels of the jacket, your nose burrowing in to the softness of the fabric.
"Are you sure you won't be cold?"
He's freezing, of course, but he keeps his posture straight and tuck his hands into his pockets.
"I'm just fine. Don't you worry about me."
-------------------------------
three: nicknames
Once you two become an item, Coriolanus moves on to calling you affectionate names.
Of course, he'll prefer to call you by your name in professional settings - like during a presentation, in front of the Academy staff, at formal galas and dinners - but when it's just the two of you, or around people you both trust, or when he's jealous -
He almost never calls you by your name.
Darling is the classic, lovestruck expression he uses when he's being his most vulnerable. It's what he whispers into the gap underneath your neck when he's waking you up in the morning, landing kisses across your collarbone during sunrise. It's his greeting when he surprises you with a bouquet of flowers on your birthday, right before he whisks you away to a trip to district 1. It's what he cries into your hairline when you are hospitalized following a rogue rebel explosion on your trip home.
"Darling... darling, can you hear me?"
Coriolanus' voice is foggy, your head still ringing from the loud explosion earlier, but your heart still races at the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand on yours. Throat croaking, you try to respond with an affirmative "yes", to which your boyfriend responds by quickly grabbing a near by cup of water.
Gently guiding the glass to your lips, he treats you as if you're a fragile porcelain doll: smoothing down your hair gently and fluffing up your pillows to lay you back down. It's only then that you get a good look at him under the flickering lights - the bags under his eyes look heavy, his usually neat hair a complete mess, his blue irises blood shot.
"Have you been sleeping, Corio?" you ask, worried, your thumb rubbing circles onto his palm. He chokes up at that, shaking his head sideways with a sad smile.
"How... how could you ask me that, darling? You've been in the hospital for days."
"I hope that doesn't mean you haven't been sleeping for days." you quip back, raising your eyebrows. Your boyfriend opens his mouth to lie, but the twitch of his lips gives him away. So you instead shift towards the left of your bed, making space for him on the mattress.
"Come on you silly man."
He smiles a guilty grin before snuggling up next to you, letting out a heavy sigh of content at your warm body against his.
Petal is his sweet, infatuated name for you when he's referring to you in conversation or calling out for you in front of friends and family. Tigris never fails to tease Coriolanus for the name, but he doesn't mind it - you're his flower, his precious petal.
"I can't believe you think this is ugly." Tigris sighs at the dinner table one night, shuffling through the myriad of designs on the desk. "This was going to be the design I send off to the boutique tomorrow."
"I didn't say it was ugly, I just think this design is far nicer." Coriolanus responds, pushing forward the blue design in front of him. His cousin pouts at that, clearly unsatisfied with his answer.
"Petal-" Coriolanus calls out for you, where you're cooking with grandma'am in the kitchen. "Could you come in for a moment?"
When your confused face pops into the room, Tigris quickly calls you over, dramatically stretching out her arms to grab you.
"Mr Snow seems to think this design - the gold sweetheart dress with lace trimmings - is uglier than this blue version. What do you think, (Y/n)?" she earnestly asks, pushing over the two designs to your direction. You shuffle through the papers intently, studying each drawing up close, before ultimately taking Tigris' side.
"I'd say your eye for design is impeccable, Tigris. And that Coriolanus should perhaps stick to things other than fashion."
That makes both grandma'am (who is listening in from the kitchen) and Tigris, burst out in laughter, with the latter throwing her arms around your waist in a sideways hug.
"Ah, I knew you were my favorite for a reason." she jokes.
"Petal, you wound me." your boyfriend jokes, a small scowl on his face for show. Though, when you lean down to kiss him, the scowl easily melts away.
My doll is what he calls you when he's driven sick by jealousy and possession. As, much to Coriolanus' distate, you have many admirers - due to you coming from a wealthy family and being a well known socialite in your own right.
Coriolanus has never liked Felix Ravinstill, but he swears his hatred for the president's son only tripled after you and Coriolanus became an item. Felix was never shy about his attraction to you - the forward compliments, the invitations to his house after school, the rush to sit next to you during lunch periods. But now, the blonde thinks, it's getting full on desperate.
As you sit reading a book in the hallways of tha academy, waiting for Coriolanus to finish his talk with Dr Gaul, the dark haired boy decides to chat with you. When your boyfriend opens the door discreetly, upon hearing your voice mingle with someone else's outside, his vision nearly turns red at how close the other man is to you.
You're pointing out something in your book to Felix, your innocent eyes fixated purely on the black and white text and thus completely missing how shamelessly the man next to you is eyeing you up and down. It takes Dr Gaul's shout - "actually, Ms (Y/n), could we have a word regarding your last proposal" - for Coriolanus' rage to slowly fade.
Instead, he starts to feel cold, hardened logic putting a plan into motion.
And once you're inside the classroom, Coriolanus doesn't hesitate to slam Felix up against the wall, making sure to angle the boy's head to hit directly against a marble statute. The impact isn't hard enough to crack the man's skull, the last minute measurement in Coriolanus' head ensuring that he wouldn't be punished for injuring the president's son.
But he makes sure that the impact hurts enough to leave a mark.
It makes Coriolanus' heart twist in pleasure.
"You better leave my doll alone, Ravinstill. She's not interested in you. She's never been interested in you." he spits, snarling like a ravenous dog.
"You're delusional, Snow, if you think she'd ever want to stay with you." Felix manages to spit out, trying to wiggle his way out of the taller man's hold, but Coriolanus is too strong.
"You're the only delusional one here. It's pathetic, really. All that money and social connections in the world, and it'll never be good enough for my doll."
Coriolanus can tell that hit a nerve with Felix, so he lets go of the shorter boy, nearly throwing him away to the side in the process. Pride and ego surges through his veins when you appear and call out for Coriolanus, so the blonde makes a concerted effort to kiss you fiercely for show.
His arm snaking around your shoulder to pull you right up against him, a devious smile on his lips.
-----------------------
four: lavish gifts and deep marks
Things only escalate once Coriolanus' tribute ends up winning the hunger games and he's crowned the winner of the Plinth Prize. Now saddled with money, reputation and a full ride scholarship to the university funneled by the Plinth family - he finally finds himself able to spoil you in all the ways possible.
Fresh flowers adorn your windowsill every morning. The finest jewellery and newest luxury bags are delivered to your doorstep at random. Perhaps most impressive of all, he buys a two bedroom apartment near the center of the Capitol for you two to move into.
"How'd you..." you can't even finish your sentence when you first see the place: the prime location, the high arched ceilings, the stainless marble... He hadn't even allowed you to pitch in any of your own - or your family's - money to buy the place, insisting that it was to be a complete surprise.
His arms come around your shoulder to hug you close, swaying you from side to side.
"Generosity of the Plinth family and the spoils of being the victor, darling." he drawls in your ear.
You're still in awe, hands tracing the intricate patterns of the roman columns supporting the ceiling, when he starts to tug you up the stairs.
"Would you like to see the view from our bedroom? It's magnificent."
Of course, Coriolanus' new elevated status and recent memory of acting as a mentor in the hunger games - planning, guiding, and having a role in the extended play of human lives - it all makes him quite obsessive and possessive of you. Given that you're one of the few people in his life who has known him for years now, before he was a mentor and before had all this money and status...
He has to make sure to keep you in his life. He's made a lot of enemies, after all, many of whom would like to harm him. And with his undying love for you, hurting you becomes an attractive option for his enemies.
So Coriolanus gets more possessive by becoming more shameless in public. He'll gladly call you his love in front of crowds of hundreds. He'll kiss you breathless and squeeze your lower back if he thinks a man is staring a bit too long at you. And when he knows you two will be separated for a few days - usually due to him having to travel out of the Capitol on business matters - he'll leave bite marks on your neck.
You didn't even think about how noticeable the marks might be when you rush out of bed one morning, having promised to attend an engagement dinner of a fellow classmate, Clemensia's. Your rude awakening comes when, mid-way through the rehearsal, Sejanus leans over to quietly ask if you've brought your foundation with you.
You scrunch your face at the odd question.
"Uh, yes... I have a powder compact in my bag, why?"
Your friend smiles at you apologetically, before motioning to your neck.
"Because, (Y/n), it looks like a vampire has bit you."
And when you look at your reflection in your wine glass, it's clear that you have odd, dark, bite shaped marks littering your collarbone and neck.
Later in the week, when Coriolanus has finally returned from his business trip, you try and scold him for it.
"I nearly died of shame, Corio. Seriously, you should've seen how Arachne was looking at me the whole night." you sigh, just as he laughs.
"You're over thinking it, darling. Besides, you weren't complaining when I was leaving those marks on you on Tuesday."
You open his mouth to scold him again, but find yourself unable to mutter a smart response, your thoughts flying away when he's back to attacking your skin with his mouth.
After all, you're like a drug to him - he can never get enough.
---------------------------------------
five: killing for you
Once Coriolanus is sure that you're not going to leave him, he finds it appropriate to take it to the next level: marriage. He drops a few thousand dollars on a large diamond ring, a ring which he makes sure you never take off (except in the shower).
At this point, the thought of losing you nearly equals his fears of losing everything he's built so far: becoming wealthy, powerful and well known amongst the Capitol's elite. He's terrified of living in a world without you and so he considers anyone who is deemed a threat must be dealt with in a secure, efficient manner.
No mercy, no hesitation.
After all, Coriolanus thinks one night, whilst sharpening a spare knife in the kitchen: if you give a rebel an inch, they'll run a mile.
The first person he kills is a security guard who fails to do their job correctly in protecting you.
He'd been hired by Coriolanus to protect you in your daily transport from the mansion to anywhere outside the Capitol (most often, to districts 1-3 to support your family's business dealings). But the bodyguard had failed to protect you one fateful winter day, leaving you to stumble back home with a twisted ankle and a busted lip as your bodyguard was only able to neutralize the threat after a few minutes of tussling with the gang's leader in the snow.
Your fiancee was fuming, sending you off to a near by hospital with grandma'am, before he motioned for your bodyguard to come downstairs to the empty garden.
The blonde didn't even feel an ounce of sorrow as he pulled the trigger, simply ordering the next bodyguard he'd hired to do the messy job of disposing of the body.
The second person he kills is a rebel who attempted to sneak a bomb underneath the car transporting you to the Capitol, following Coriolanus' announcement as candidate for the presidency.
The rebel was apprehended by the security detail team pretty quickly, so fast in fact that you weren't even made aware of the threat on your life. All you're told that day by Coriolanus' subordinates is that "there had been a change of plans" and you were to go to a fundraising dinner at an art museum instead to raise funds for the campaign.
And whilst you're off at the dinner, making a passionate speech for his presidency, Coriolanus makes an order for the rebel to be dragged out into the fields.
"You dare threaten the love of my life?" he sneers into the rebel's face, which is already bloodied and broken beyond recognition. The animalistic rage pumping through Coriolanus' veins is unlike anything he's ever felt before, and the gun in his hands suddenly feels like too much of a merciful ending for the rebel's crime.
"Just kill me." the rebel spits, but that only makes Coriolanus let out a sinister chuckle.
"Don't worry, I will. But I think a gun shot will be far too quick."
Instead, Coriolanus orders the man to be placed into a cage - a prototype that was being designed as a trap for the next year's games - and for a tub of venomous snakes to be released.
Whilst the other workers in his campaign look away from the horrific sight, Coriolanus just stares in great interest and pride. Once the screaming dies down, he calmly disposes of his bloodied shirt and hails a ride to greet you at the museum entrance.
"All good?" you ask, noticing an odd expression on your lover's face. But he just kisses you lightly on the lips, chuckling.
"Of course, petal. Why wouldn't it be?"
And so on and so forth. Whether it's directly or indirectly, Coriolanus becomes ruthless in securing your safety and your love. And he's so good at hiding it, he thinks, until one day he becomes a bit sloppy.
It was supposed to be an easygoing dinner at the mansion, a wealthy donor - his top donor, his campaign manager had informed him - named Robert Hemingworth had requested a private dinner. Coriolanus intially wanted to refuse, hating the thought of inviting a stranger to his home, but both you and his campaign manager agreed that it was best to play nice given the money at stake.
"For your troubles." Robert had said on his way in, a snarky smirk on his lips. In his arms were a basket of wines and grapes worth a pretty penny, but Coriolanus couldn't help but think that there was something about the brunette's gaze that he didn't trust. But with pursed lips and a fake smile, he forced out a thank you and invited the man into the foyer.
"What a... charming little abode." the oil tycoon had drawled, his gloved hands tracing along the walls. The sly comments and odd compliments (in truth, backhanded compliments) continued through out the night, all the way from appetizer to the main course. Sipping on copious bottles of red wine in an effort to keep himself grounded, Coriolanus was managing to keep his temper down until the older man asked about your whereabouts.
"Will your charming fiancee not be joining us?"
He froze at the man's questions, the hungry look in the millionaire's eyes and the underlying threat weighing down the atmosphere. The desserts had now arrived, two maids scurrying in with small plates of bread pudding, both of whom Coriolanus quickly dismissed with a wave of his hand.
"She's out with Tigris. Dress shopping." he'd decided to leave it at that, his left hand squeezing his glass so tight the glass started to crack. Coriolanus had hoped the man would leave the discussion there, as he wasn't sure what he was capable of doing if the older man didn't.
But the man continued. A disgusting moan escaping his lips in satisfaction after biting into the pudding, a devious smirk on his lips to match.
"Ah. Well, what a shame. I was hoping she would be part of the dessert."
No sooner than those words leave the millionaire's mouth, Coriolanus' left hand grabbed the knife laying on the board in front of him, where moments ago the maids were cutting cheese and ham. He then brings the blade to swiftly meet the older man's stomach, white dress shirt staining crimson red, all the while Coriolanus refuses to break the man's gaze.
"You fucking disgust me. Everyone in the Capitol fucking disgusts me one way or another, but you? You dare invite yourself to my home?" he retracts the knife, before stabbing it back into the suited man's flesh, each pause accentuated by another driving force.
"You dare speak about my love in such a vulgar manner?"
"You dare insinuate such sinful acts with my beloved?"
"You dare try and buy your way into her body?"
The marble floors are now flooded in a sea of red, the man's dying chokes and Coriolanus' heavy breaths overwhelming the room. The room stings of the smell of copper when you enter the space, quietly closing the door behind you, as you were only able to see the man on the floor and your boyfriend standing on top of him from the entrance.
"Corio? Love?"
The blonde turns around at the sound of your voice, face etched with annoyance.
Annoyed that you'd have to be subject to a vulgar sight like this. Annoyed that he'd stained your new kitchen set with an unworthy man's blood... And most of all, annoyed that he can't tell what you're thinking: your face kept completely neutral as you slowly approach him.
"You're back early." is all he decides to say, testing the waters.
You look down at his hands, soaked in hot blood, then down at the man who is writhing on the floor.
"Found what we wanted quickly, I suppose." you reply, stopping next to Coirolanus before leaning down to get a better look at the dying man. "Right, what was his deal?"
"Hm?"
It's only then that your plain expression breaks, your usually light eyes swimming with sinister charm, a coy smile breaking out on your face.
"Come on, Corio. You don't seriously think I didn't notice the amount of odd stains on your cufflinks? Or the terrified looks the house servants give you since the beginning of our engagement?"
He blinks, surprised. Coriolanus had always assumed he was covering his tracks well. Or that, at the very least, you'd have something to say about it all.
"He was making rather vulgar comments about you, darling. The bastard seems to have been making donations in an effort to get closer to you." he slowly explains as you stand back up, nodding slowly.
"Hm... Yes, that is rather concerning. And I suppose you've gone too far ahead for us to save him, always the temperamental lover you are." you tease.
Your humorous response and your unwillingness to run away from the darkness of the situation, it awakens something fierce in Coriolanus that he hasn't felt for you before.
"I suppose."
The euphoria he feels when your delicate fingers lace his to grab the knife instead, before you finally drive the blade down and end the man's life, is indescribable.
"I think you owe me a new dress." you say quietly, dropping the knife onto the floor.
The blonde wastes no time gathering you up in his arms, kissing you so fiercely that it almost hurts your neck.
"I think I owe you more than that, darling. How about the entirety of Panem?"
He'd do anything for you. The entirety of Panem be damned.
a/n: omg this has got to be the darkest piece of writing + fucked up ending I've ever written in like years of writing on tumblr 😅😭 but idk I'm obsessed with an idea of Corio's partner being someone who embraces him wholeheartedly and surprises him by being darker than she seems on the surface.
please leave a like/comment/reblog/ask if you've enjoyed, your support is what motivates me to write!
ALSO I've just re-opened my requests bc I would love to receive some corio fic ideas, so please send in your corio thoughts if you have any 🥺🥺🥺
Summary: Reader is Alex Blake’s TA, and after a guest lecture, Spencer seems to take a liking to her .
Prompt:You’re Alex Blake’s TA when a Dr. Reid comes to guest lecture. Things get heated quickly when you're alone.
Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader
Category: Smut
Content Warning: Reader POV, guestlecturer!Spencer , age gap (roughly 10 years), car sex, heavy making out, unprotected sex, slight female masturbation, Spencer is smart and that's HOT, heavy sexual tension
Word Count: 5.1k
Being asked to be Alex Blake’s TA was the opportunity of a lifetime, and when it was presented to me as a first-year graduate student at Georgetown, I took it eagerly and never looked back.
She had personally approached me after I’d finished a semester in her forensic linguistics class as a freshman, and commended me on my dedication to the material and my general work ethic, and then inquired if I’d ever consider filling out an application as her teaching assistant starting the next semester.
I immediately agreed. It was a no-brainer. Blake was a seasoned professional in the career field I wished to enter, not to mention she’d been one of the best professors I’d had whilst taking classes at Georgetown. Knowing I’d be working so closely with her absolutely thrilled me. It provided opportunities I'd have never gotten otherwise.
For example, getting to sit in on the class the famed Spencer Reid would be lecturing on.
She usually kept me quite busy, having me develop assignments and quizzes for her class when she had other responsibilities to attend to. I’d heard horror stories from other TA’s in which their supervisors would delegate ninety-nine percent of the work to their juniors, having them essentially teach the class for minimal recognition or pay. Blake wasn’t like that, and I was thankful. This time around though, she had very different instructions for me.
“You don’t need to prepare any material this time around.” Blake explained to me, and I nodded, listening diligently. “I’d just like you to sit in, and possibly take notes, as you see fit.” She added, and I flashed a polite smile, nodding.
“No problem whatsoever. I’ll sit in the back so as to not bother any students as I do.” I replied, offering her as much convenience as I could within my actions.
Secretly, I did want to catch more than a glimpse from the back of the room. I wanted to experience the esteemed colleague Blake had often spoken of with incredible fondness. I was aware he was slightly older than I was, and a bit socially inept from the way she described him in his stories, but I was also aware the man was a goddamn genius. She’d describe in precision the way Reid would pick up on patterns and leads faster than anyone else on the team, and his immense knowledge in multiple fields beyond criminal profiling. When she’d told me he had three pHDs, I had to hold back a gasp. I hadn’t even started my own doctorate, but the idea only exhausted me- and he had three?! Color me impressed.
Blake, being as brilliant as she did, could sense the hidden enthusiasm in my eyes in meeting this man.
“Honestly, I’d rather you sit in the front. If you’re taking notes for any student unable to attend, it’s more imperative that you know the contents of the lecture, rather than anyone else.” She said, smiling kindly.
“That’s absolutely alright with me.” I say, even quicker than before, nodding, thoughtfully. In reality, the only thing I was thinking about was how close I’d be near the man. I had no idea what he looked like, what he sounded like, but something about him made my stomach flutter.
“I’m sure Dr. Reid would be interested in meeting you, as well. He takes special interest in anyone pursuing our line of work.” Blake added. She didn’t mean for it to happen, but the words made my cheeks light up with a hint of embarrassment.
I don’t know why, but he intimidated the hell out of me. The idea of him taking interest in a conversation with me made my heart beat slightly faster, and I nodded. I tried to convince myself that my nerves came from a purely professional standpoint, but regardless of my intentions, I was absolutely exhilarated by our imminent meeting.
While I knew there'd be initial awkwardness when I'd meet him, given my idolization of the man, I didn’t account for how terrible it’d actually be when I realized how fucking attractive he was. It was almost unfair. I was already tripping over the words I planned on saying in my head, and now he looked like that?
It was cruel.
The soft, doe eyes paired with sharp cheekbones. The slope of his nose, and the mess of brown curls atop his head. Every word out of his mouth was made even prettier by the soft curve and pinkness of his lips, and I found myself wanting to lunge over the table and kiss the hell out of him.
Needless to say, not the right thoughts to have about your professor’s (older) coworker.
While I was initially going to introduce myself to Dr. Reid before his lecture, hopefully establishing myself as a serious individual regarding my studies and eventual career, I shied away, opting for Blake to introduce me instead, nodding politely when he made eye contact with me, exchanging a quiet “hello” and taking my seat in the front.
That was it. And probably how it should be, considering I genuinely couldn’t think straight around him. Students began filtering in, and I took my spot at the front of the room, crossing my legs and beginning to outline his lecture as he began to speak.
He was a brilliant lecturer, and it was honestly criminal he didn’t do this for a living. He gesticulated wildly throughout the whole of it, but every word of his was punctuated with a genuine passion that even some of the best professors on campus lacked. I did my best to diligently keep up with every point he brought up, but with how fast he spoke, it was difficult. Still, an effort was made.
If that wasn’t enough to deal with, I swear the man kept making eye contact with me for the duration of his lecture. At first I believed I was imagining it, that his eyes kept drifting to mine by coincidence, but by the third time, I’d realized that everytime my eyes left his figure to scribble something, I’d look up to see his dark eyes boring into my soul, almost as if he was trying to solve me with a glance. It was intense and made my stomach turn in a way which wasn’t entirely unpleasurable, but I forced myself to remain professional.
Blake did not need to see me absolutely lusting after her coworker, even if he was utterly fit.
Anyway, he was probably only making eye contact considering I was in the front, and probably in an optimal spot for his eyes to focus on whilst addressing the whole of the class. Still, the way his gaze was trained on mine, reaching the deepest parts of my soul didn’t help the growing heat between my legs.
I forced myself to focus on the board, my notes, anything but those godforsaken eyes for the rest of the lecture. Anytime we made eye contact afterwards, I’d quickly look down, like I’d been caught doing something terrible.
Was anyone else seeing this? Was I insane and made delusional by my unexpected attraction to this man? Was he seriously making me wet just by looking at me?
Yes.
Sooner than anyone wanted, the lecture period had completed and Dr. Reid was finishing up. The students were absolutely enamored, especially the girls, as expected. Of course it wouldn’t be just me who’d noticed that in addition to being accomplished in his intelligence, he was also ridiculously easy on the eyes.
Blake stood in the corner, watching her students vacate the space, while some held back to talk to Dr. Reid as he packed his things. He seemed a bit shy at all the attention, but didn’t hesitate in explaining concepts to seemingly eager students, giving them all a soft, shy smile.
God help me, he was adorable. How was I falling for a man I’d never even spoken a word to?
I’d never left the classroom before Blake did, so as she stayed, I did as well, until the three of us were the only ones left in the room. Blake smiled, walking up to Dr. Reid with her hands in her pocket.
“You worked up quite the fanbase, Reid.” Blake said, a little playful.
Reid replied somewhat bashfully. “You have a great bunch of students.” He flashed a small smile at her as they spoke, still packing up his things.
The dynamic between my superior and the man was obviously sweet. They almost looked familial, which made sense. Blake had commented here and there that she managed to spend more time with the BAU with her actual family. I’m sure the latter was the same for Spencer. He probably had a doting girlfriend at home, ready to welcome him in her arms and I mentally kicked myself again for being so attracted to him.
He was nearly ten years older, for god’s sake! Enough! I screamed at myself.
I was brought out quite suddenly from my thoughts when Blake spoke in my direction. “This is (Y/N), my teaching assistant.” Reid came in my direction as I got up and approached him, offering a hand to me. “I’m Dr. Spencer Reid. Blake told me who you were, but we weren’t properly introduced.”
I gave a firm shake to his hand, which I noticed was calloused and smooth at the same time. God, even his hands were pretty. He had long, slender fingers with short-kept nails. They were veiny, and looked strong. I couldn’t help but imagine what they’d feel like inside of me, buried in the heat of my core as I begged him for more.. more..
I forced the thought out of my head, only nodding again at the handsome man. “Nice to meet you, Dr. Reid.” I say, forcing myself to be professional.
Stop thinking about fucking him!
“Spencer works just fine.” He says, imparting a kind smile that nearly made my knees weak. Did he have any idea the embarrassing effect he was having on me?
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Blake looking at the two of us with a bit of a strange expression on her face. I let go of his hand and took a step back. Oh god. Could she tell? If she could, she said nothing. She gave us both a kind smile, before grabbing her own things.
“(Y/N)?” She called out, starting to walk to the door. “Mind locking up for me tonight?” She said, already throwing her keys to me.
“That’s fine by me.” I say, grabbing her keys mid-air. I was used to this. Blake often wanted to leave a bit quicker than I did, and I was more than happy to assist in any way possible. What I didn’t realize, was that this left me and Spencer in the room alone, something I wanted to avoid, considering how fucking awkward this man was rendering me with so much as a glance at me.
I heard Blake leave, and as she quietly closed the door behind her, I leaned against a desk, keeping my eyes down as Spencer continued to pack his own things. I tried to not let my gaze drift to him, as I waited for him to finish up.
I let my thoughts wander to the lecture, and couldn’t shake the feeling he’d evoked in me when he looked at me like that. This was honestly ridiculous. The man had barely spoken ten words to me, and here I was, absolutely mooning over him. It was a new low for me, but in my defense being a graduate student meant I didn’t have much time to get my .. needs fulfilled.
“That’s why” I convinced myself. I just hadn’t gotten laid in a really long time. Nothing more, nothing less.
“So, you’re a criminology student?” Spencer says, suddenly, breaking me out of my trance.
I looked up, nodding. I responded on pure habit and instinct. ‘Yes, I’m in the process of getting my Masters in Criminology.” I said, nearly robotic.
“That must be interesting.” Spencer replied, flashing me a sweet smile that caused an entirely new slew of butterflies to erupt in my stomach. “I never studied criminology specifically, but the classes I took interested me.”
“Blake told me you had three pHDs.” I acknowledged, trying to return his smile, but in all honesty, I probably looked like an idiot. I was nervous as hell, and hoped he couldn’t tell. It wasn’t my fault. He was awe-causing. A sight to behold, if you will, in intelligence and appearance.
He laughed good naturedly, “Yeah. Three.” He must’ve noticed the stars in my eyes, because he continues. “As well as a Bachelor of Arts in Psychology and Sociology. And I’m working on another in Philosophy.” He finishes with a smug, boyish type of smile.
What was previously stars in my eyes, was now full blown shock all over my face. “Wow, Spencer.” I said, a little dumb-struck. “That’s.. a lot.” I add, a little stupidly, giving him a little laugh.
He sweetly scratched his neck, revealing his self-consciousness. “Yeah? You think?” He says, a small smirk in his voice, and I laughed again. “You think I should stop after Philosophy?”
“Totally. Save some knowledge for us.” I teased. It was comfortable. He was surprisingly easy to get used to. He was affable, despite how daunting his knowledge was.
“Hey, you try graduating before you’re a teenager.” He defends himself, playfully. “Not much to do, really.”
I laugh. “I don’t know.” I say, throwing my hands up a little. “Play ball? Run around?” I joke, and he makes a face at that, scrunching up his nose.
“Not my thing.” He replies, smoothly, and I laugh.
“Alright, fine. Keep your degrees doctor man.” And he laughs at my joke. Like, a real laugh. I didn’t even find my own rhetoric particularly humorous, but knowing that I’d gotten him to react like that made my cheeks glow.
He finished packing the last of his things and slung his satchel bag over himself, starting to walk over to the door. I made sure to gather all my things, and walked to the door with him. He held it open for me, and I nodded my head in thanks, and he let it shut behind us. I turned around to lock it, using Blake’s keys and placing them in my bag securely, before looking at him.
“Well, Spencer. It was nice meeting you, thank you for the lecture it was-” I start, but he interrupts me.
“Can I walk you to your car?” He interjected, looking a little shy as he did. I smiled a little confusedly, wondering why he’d want to do so, but I gave him my answer, nonetheless.
“I don’t have a car. I usually take the bus back to my apartment.” I explained, smiling softly.
“The bus?” He says, quirking his mouth to the side. “Isn’t it a bit late for that?” He replies, a hint of concern in his voice.
I gave a little sigh, “I mean, it’s fine.” I say, trying to laugh a little. “I’ve done it before.” I add, attempting to ease the worry out of his voice. “It’s not that late.” I say, but he simply shakes his head.
“No way.” He says, still adamant on this. “I.. I can drive you home, if you’d like?” He says, his words going slightly on the higher pitch as he rolled out his proposal, and I gave a small grin at that.
“Really? If it’s a hassle I can seriously just take the bus. I wouldn’t want you to keep anyone waiting at home or-”
He interjects again. “No hassle. I promise. I want to.” He pauses, before adding, “No one at home. You’re probably going to be the last person I see today.” He seems to blush at his final admission, and my eyes widen in interest. No girlfriend? Score.
“Alright, Spencer.” I say, smiling again. “Lead the way.”
He led me to his car, an old-fashioned Volvo and I couldn’t help myself from gawking at it.
“God, you have a cool car too? Is there anything about you that isn’t interesting?” I say, aware I was probably stroking his ego a bit, but honestly I wanted to. The man was just so damn intriguing, and every new bit of information I learned about him only made me want to unravel the whole of him. To truly know him, in and out.
He laughed, using his keys to manually unlock the door. “Oh, trust me. I’m plenty boring. The car is probably my only saving grace.” He joked, and I laughed again as I got into the car.
“Oh, I highly doubt that, but if you say so.” I say, sweetly, and adding a light tone of flirtatiousness in my tone. He seems to blush at this again, and I begin to think about the events of day. The stares in class, the perpetual rosy tint on his cheeks that had been there since we began our conversation, the way he joked and laughed at my (admittedly, unfunny) jokes.
Oh god. Did he like me?
Only one way to find out.
As Spencer got in the car and began driving onto the main road, I looked at him, trying to put on my best, innocent smile. “So, you said you’re not going home to anyone?” I say, a softness to my tone, but an undeniable hunger in it as well.
“Uh.” He responds, that damned blush coming on, strong. “Yes.” He replies, nodding as he keeps his eyes on the road.
“So, you don’t have a girlfriend?” I ask, a bit forwardly.
Now he’s really blushing, stuttering a bit. “Oh, no. No girlfriend. Not much time, given the BAU and our schedule.” He said, almost clinically, and I nodded.
“I mean, Blake has a husband.” I point out, a little smugly.
“I guess.” He says, sighing a bit. “But, you know.” He says. He vaguely gestures to himself, and I look at him a little confused, tilting my head at him.
“Spencer, I have no idea what you’re trying to say.” I say, with a little giggle. “But trust me, you’re absolutely gorgeous.” I continue, before I can stop myself.
He looks at me, giving me a soft smirk, and a raise of his eyebrows. He didn’t look uncomfortable, and honestly looked just as thrilled as I did, and I knew that this night had a good chance of going the way I wanted it too.
“Ah, you’re sweet.” Spencer replies, “But no. I just mean, I’m.. me. You know?” He says, trying to explain his (non-existent) shortcomings, but I just shake my head.
“You don’t give yourself much credit, you know?” I attempt to say with that amorous tone from before, but it was more overcome with genuine respect and admiration. “You’re smart, funny and nice to be around, I mean.” I pause. “Did you not see the absolute crowd of girls around you after the lecture? Trust me, Spencer. I bet you’re more than easy to be with, even easier to like.” The words rush out of me, and I watch him tentatively for his reaction to my words.
Instead of the sweet side smile he’d been offering me all night, he finally looked at me. The car had come to a stop at a red light, and his face was dangerously sexy as it was illuminated by the colored glow around us.
“And what do you think?” Spencer says, in a low tone, making direct eye contact with me.
I feel my stomach turn at the sudden directness in his words, his gaze nearly devouring me whole. I felt my mouth go dry and I swallow, trying to keep my tone steady.
“What do you mean?” I ask, my voice having a slight shake to it.
“I mean, what do you think about me? Do you.. like me?” He says, licking his lips slightly, and the action causes the previous heat between my legs to come by in full force.
“Oh, I mean.” I say, my previous confidence dissipating in an instant. “Well, yes, Dr. Reid. Everyone liked you today.” I say, trying to give more of a conservative answer now.
The man had a way of making me feel totally comfortable around him, and then flipping the switches, rendering me dumb and stuttering. Like I was now.
“Oh, so I’m Doctor Reid now.” He says, clicking his tongue and saying the words with an air of lighthearted teasing, but I only bit my lip, hurriedly trying to explain myself.
“I mean, it's your title.” I say, quickly, trying to justify myself. “I mean, you said it yourself- three pHDs. It’d be pretty shitty to just discard the years taken to achieve that. Um. Well. You’re a genius so probably not as long, but still! Calling you doctor is a sign of respect for your accomplishments and-”
“You're cute.” He interrupts, and I look back at him to see his eyes back on the road, a cocky smile plastered on his face.
The light around us turned green, and he started the car. I picked at my nails slightly, trying not to display any more signs of nervousness around him. I wanted to do something with him, at least, and that couldn't happen if I was a bumbling mess.
We drove in relative silence for the next few minutes, as I tried to gather my thoughts and possibly continue what we’d been building up to these past few hours, but a quick glance at the windows and the road we were on caused me to furrow my brows.
“Oh, this isn’t the way to my apartment.” I remark absentmindedly, looking at the window beside me, then in front. “I live near the train station, off east?” I offer, expecting him to fully make a turn back towards the direction I’d prompted him towards, but he didn’t even flinch, continuing on the more secluded road we’d entered.
“I know.” He said, glancing at me once more, actually applying more pressure to the gas pedal, causing us to go faster down the terrain.
Okay, fuck. He was an FBI agent, so I didn’t have to worry about him murdering me, right? Wait, no, that’s stupid. He could probably get away with it. No! He’s Blake’s friend. Her coworker. For the goddamn FBI. He wouldn’t murder me. What the fuck was going on?
I watched as Spencer pulled off to the side of the road, darkness surrounding us entirely. There weren't any other cars around, and it was silent in the car before I bit my lip, and started to speak.
“Did I.. offend you?” I ask, cautiously. No reply. I try again. “Why did we stop?” I add, trying to test the waters with him to see what he was thinking at that moment.
“I thought I could wait before we got to your place, but I need to know now.” He replied, a sudden urgency in his voice. He turned towards me, watching me with a dark, intense gaze, similar to the one he'd given me in class that day. “Do you want me? Am I reading this wrong with you? Because if I am, we can completely forget it and I can drop you home but (Y/N)..” He paused. He made direct eye contact with me and once again I found myself wanting to swim in those dark eyes of his. “I want you.” He said, his voice low and raspy.
I didn't give it much thought as I gave into my urges and surged towards his lips the best I could in the car. He responded immediately, bringing me closer with his hands and placing them on either side of my face, moving his lips against mine in a perfected rhythm. I used my fingers to quickly undo my belt, before climbing over the console to sit in his lap, getting closer without our lips disconnected once. He understood my actions and intentions immediately, pulling the seat back so I could rest more comfortably in his lap as we continued to kiss.
I knotted my hands in his hair, giving an experimental tug which elicited a low moan from his mouth. I grinned against his lips and his hands moved from my face to his hips, bringing my clothed core to rest right against his growing bulge, which I immediately moved against. He let out a sharp breath as I did and broke the kiss.
“Oh god. I’m sorry.” He said, breathlessly, hands on my hips. “I don’t know what came over me and-”
He looked almost frantic, and incredibly guilty, so I quickly leaned in for a peck, stopping him mid sentence. I brought my hands to his shoulders to rub them soothingly, and he seemed to relax in my touch.
“Spencer, calm down.” I say, nearly purring. “I want this.” I continue, rubbing patterns into his arms now. “Please.”
“You’re Blake’s student.” He murmurs, using one of his hands to run through already messy brown curls. “What am I doing?” He says, almost to himself, looking ready to stop our tryst.
I realize he was attempting to backtrack from this, and before he could continue his train of thought, I quickly leaned in from my position on his lap to start kissing his neck, trailing wet hot kisses down the column before whispering. “I’m not her student.”
He pulls away to look at me, biting his lip. “What?”
“I was her student last semester. I’m her teaching assistant now.” I smirk a little, licking my lips. “Technically not a student of hers.”
He seemed to take in my words for a moment, and then something in him shifted, and he lunged at me again, kissing me with even more ferocity. He absolutely devoured me, his hands everywhere at this point. Caressing my sides, in my hair, on the small of my back. He brought me closer to him in any way he could, pressing our bodies against each other in a frenzied manner that caused the wetness between my legs to increase tenfold.
“Wanted you.. as soon as I saw you.” He murmurs against my lips as we caught our breath in between kisses. “Knew it was wrong but..”
I nodded. I understood. I was the same.
“Fuck.” I moaned, as I felt the bulge resting below me get even harder. “Spencer, please. Don’t make me wait.”
“Impatient.” He remarked, smirking, now beginning his own line of kisses down my neck, making me moan in pleasure.
“Please.” I breathed out, my words being reduced to a squeak as he bit my neck gently, and my eyes fluttered shut. I was melting right in his damn hands, just like he wanted.
His hands started to work at the buttons on my jeans, and I sighed in relief, lifting up my hips to allow them to be tugged off, leaving me in my underwear. His slender fingers traced the seam, leaving me shuddering with pleasure for the man in front of me. I tried once more, breathlessly murmuring at him.
“Please. Please.”
“Use your words, baby.” He whispered, a devilish smirk on his face. I was too far-gone to care about what I looked like. I needed him so badly.
“I need you to fuck me, now.” I say, clearer. “I need it, Spencer.”
Something about me using his name, nearly moaning for the man when he’d barely touched me stirred something in him, and he started to undo his own slacks, freeing his cock from the confines of his briefs. I watched in fascination as it sprung out, and took in a sharp breath of air. I licked my lips before making eye contact with him, begging for us to get on with it at this point. He nodded, understanding my desperation and I smiled dumbly, beginning to lift my hips. He guided his cock to my heat and placed his free hand on the small of my back, slowly guiding me down his member.
I moaned softly as I felt him enter me, providing me with the most delicious stretch. I threw my head back in pleasure as he brought both his hands to my hips urging me down.
“That’s it. God, fuck. You feel so good.” He moaned, which only made me want to take more of him. I lowered myself down a bit faster, and he released a heavy groan as his hips met mine. I whimpered slightly, his length filling me up perfectly. A thin sheen of sweat had gathered on my brow and I leaned my forehead, adjusting to his size.
“You good?” He breathed out, using his hand to brush a piece of hair that had stuck itself on my brow, and I nodded.
“Yeah, just.” I took a deep breath, before licking my lips, looking up before nodding.
I slowly lifted myself off, letting the head of his arousal nestle in me before I slammed back down, eliciting moans from both of us. He began to match my movements in tandem, thrusting up into me wildly. I held onto his shoulders, burying myself in his neck as we went faster. I could feel his tip hitting my cervix every time, causing me to cry out with pleasure every single time.
I felt my orgasm rapidly approach, and Spencer seemed to sense this as well, considering the involuntary clenches I was giving around his cock. He let his hand slip down to where our bodies met and rubbed tight, fast circles around my clit, encouraging my release.
“Come on, pretty girl. Come all over my cock. You can do it.” He breathed out, watching my every move with a hunger I'd never experienced before.
It took a few more thrusts from him, combined with the insistent fingers at my bundle of nerves before my thighs began shaking, and I let out a chorus of moans, most of them sounding like strangled versions of his name as I coated his cock in my wetness, spurring him on to go faster inside me, bucking into me like a man possessed.
He continued to jut into me wildly, until I felt him finish inside me, coating my walls with his release. He breathed shakily, holding me close to him as I slumped over his shoulder, my chest heaving up and down as I came down from the intensity of the previous moment.
He affectionately removed me from his shoulder, pressing a soft kiss to my lips, the tenderness and gentleness in his actions contrary to what we had just done. I pulled back with a dazed smile, taking in how pretty he looked.
“If it’s alright, I’d love to take you out for coffee sometime.” He said, still a bit breathless, and a shy smile appeared on his face.
I giggled. He was literally still inside me, and was asking me out on a date with a boyish nervousness that made him even harder to resist.
“For you Dr Reid? Anything.”
ahh! writing this was a beast, and i imagined it to be longer but i got what i wanted in less words haha. i hope you guys liked this. any reblogs, comments, likes are so so appreciated i know it sounds totally stupid, but your guys' support means a lot lot lot!! thank you!!! <3
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he was your constant; your rock. you could rely on him for anything and everything.
he was the steadiest thing you’d had in your life for a long time now, but as he took your wrist and led you upstairs away from the party, you couldn’t help but feel the anger bubble up in your chest.
“peeta, what—”
“why?” he nearly shouts. peeta is mild mannered. he’s many things, actually; polite, charming, and personable, but angry was not one of them. it didn’t scare you like you’d always expected it to, but rather frustrated you.
“why what, peeta?” you hiss back.
he looks at you as if you had just grown two heads, his brows knit together in disbelief.
“you’re joking,” he breathes. you shake your head, not understanding what he is trying to get at. you defensively cross your arms, knowing the juvenile element would annoy him, but having nothing to do with your hands increases your already anxious state.
hello my love <3 can i request fluff with lockwood where y/n is sick and she also has injury on her hand (something like lucy's maybe?) and when lockwood wants to clean it she's not happyy about that 'cause she only wants to sleep and he's like "i'm your fully qualified doctor, remember? you have to listen to me, love", btw i absolutely adore your stories, keep writing cause you're amazingg, mwah <3
a/n: of course!!! domestic lockwood is the best in my humble opinion. and im so glad you like my stuff so much, love you my dear <3 also taking this as an opportunity to apologise for the terrible titles for most of my fics i spend ages thinking but can never think of something good lmao
warnings: minor injury detail
gn reader
Perfect - Anthony Lockwood
The library is the warmest room in the house, and by far your favourite, so it's no surprise when Lockwood finds you there, curled up on your designated armchair close to dozing. He smiles at you as he steps in, carrying a tray of something or other that he places down on the little coffee table before sitting in his armchair.
There's something about him today that makes you want to laugh. Maybe it's the way he's been mothering you all day because you're ill. Maybe it's the lack of Anthony Lockwood professionalism he has today, what with his crinkled hoodie and pink fluffy socks - aren't those the ones George has been looking for? He's so unlike his usual self today, but also inadvertently just like himself. A walking anomaly.
"How are you feeling now?" he asks quietly, as if your ears may explode if he speaks too loud. "Any better?"
"No better than I did seven minutes ago," you say with a laugh. "Lockwood, you don't have to keep a constant eye on me. You've got things to do."
"One of which being to take care of you," he says. "Which reminds me, are you finally going to let me take a look at that cut on your arm? It needs cleaning."
"I trust you with my life, but I do not trust you with the first aid kit. You'll shove half a tube of Germaline on it. Besides, I want to go to sleep, and here is cosier than my room."
He gives you a look, but it's halfhearted. "You can sleep once I've cleaned it. I've brought you some of your favourite biscuits and a brew in return."
You lift your head from where it had laid on your arms. "Doesn't sound like a very fair trade for you."
"Ah, I'll cope."
"Well, it doesn't hurt anymore. I'm sure it's healed amazingly and then I'll be back to my wonderful self in no time."
"I'm not leaving until I've at least taken a look at it. Then after that, you can have your tea and go to sleep." His grin is dazzling then. It's the kind he always uses when he's trying to get his way. "I'm your fully qualified doctor, remember? You've got to listen to me."
If you could be bothered, you could push for him to leave you in peace, but your head feels like it's full of water and you want to go to sleep. So, begrudgingly, you shift so that your arm hangs over the armrest of your chair.
The gentleness of Lockwood's hands as he takes your arm and slowly, carefully peels off the plaster you haphazardly placed on shocks you. His fingers are soft, holding your arm as if it's a delicate thing that could break at any moment.
He takes a minute to just look at the gash on your forearm. It's no longer than your index finger, cutting diagonally across halfway up, and it's still oozing some blood. The plaster is covered in it, and he deftly throws it into the bin before taking his little first aid kit from the tray he brought in. Its original purpose was for you to use it on him whenever he got banged up on cases, which was more often than not, but there's something strangely special about him using it on you now. It makes you feel a little giddy.
"You got this from a glass door, right?"
You're acutely aware of his touch as he shifts his grip so as to clean the cut. "Yeah. George knocked me into it by accident. I'm surprised this is all I got out of it."
His reply comes in the form of a quiet hum. As he cautiously cleans the wound, you watch as his brows furrow a little with concentration, creasing a little line between them, and his top lip twitches a little bit. A little quirk, you've noticed, when he's particularly invested in something. Usually, it's the latest gossip rag, in which he always loses sight of the real world, but now it's you. A small flutter arises in your chest.
He wipes over a small part of the gash, and you suck in a sharp breath. The sound makes him falter, the wipe hovering an inch above your skin as he looks up at you.
For a moment, then, you forget about the pain. Through his thick lashes, his eyes are brimmed with worry and apologies, but after insistence that you're fine, he continues to clean the fresh blood away.
"Let me put the cream on the plaster," you murmur. "You'll put way too much on."
He smiles. "Who's the qualified doctor here?"
"In all honesty, Skull is probably better at this kind of thing than you are."
"I'll pretend I didn't hear that."
"Do."
But, even still, he passes you the tube of Germaline and a long plaster. A moment later, you pass it back, and with delicate hands, he places it over the gash. It stings a little, and you hiss at the sudden cold, but the feelings are gone before the minute is even over.
"Perfect," he says with a soft, private smile. "All sorted."
His hand lingers, still holding your arm, and you suddenly feel more awake than ever. It's as if the tiredness has just melted away into the cushions of the armchair and down into the floor with only his touch, and you yearn for him to not let go. To stay exactly where he is.
And, as if having read your mind, he does.
If someone were to walk in, the scene would be strange. You, curled up in your seat with your arm hanging over the armrest, head resting on your own shoulder, and Lockwood, holding your arm as if it's some valuable thing, and simply looking at you with those expressive eyes of his.
"How do you feel?" he asks. His voice is a little breathy.
You're trying not to focus on the feeling of his fingers slipping down your arm until they almost - almost - slot in between yours. You shift slightly so that your head is in a position that isn't causing a crick in your neck, and it only grants a better view of him. His dark hair glowing bronze in the firelight, the ever so faint freckles on his nose, the dip in the left corner of his lip that insinuates another smile.
"A little better." The words almost catch in your throat when his fingers curl around yours just so. They don't hold yours, but they're so, so close. You can feel his pulse - or is that yours beating wildly out of control? "Do you have any paracetamol?"
He takes a second to realise what you've just said, and his hand leaves yours as he rakes about in the first aid kit for the painkillers. Out of pure mothering ability, he pops two out of the packet and hands them to you along with your mug of tea. Not the nicest thing to swallow them down with, but it'll do.
"You need to be more careful on cases," Lockwood says.
"Tell that to George. He's the one who bumped into me." Then, you shrug. "I suppose I shouldn't have gone when I've got the worst head cold I've had in yonks."
A breathy laugh escapes his lips, and you notice how he's looking down at your hand.
It's a bold move, completely unlike you, but you reach for his hand, looping your fingers through his. His hand is warm and, yes, that's definitely your erratic pulse.
It takes a lot to catch Lockwood off guard, but that does the trick. For a moment, it's like he can't decide whether or not to look at your linked hands or at you, and you laugh at the sight of it.
"This is wholly inappropriate," he jokes. "Doctors and patients shouldn't do anything remotely like this."
You must be out of your mind entirely because you lean over and press a kiss to his knuckles. "What about that?"
The expression on his face reminds you of when the TV signal has gotten busted, and the four-person-army of Lockwood and Co, plus a glowing and crude Skull, are sitting around it angrily waiting for it to stop buffering. When the picture freezes, glitches a little bit, and buffers for even longer. You can almost see the buttons and wires in his mind, struggling to compute what you just did.
That's not to say you aren't the complete same. Truthfully, you shocked yourself with the kiss, and you sit here now, staring at the spot where your lips touched his skin.
You're ill, you remind yourself. Maybe he'll pass it off as delusion.
"Would you mind if I weren't your doctor for a little?"
Frowning a little, confused, you say, "No...?"
You've never seen a person move as fast as Lockwood does then. Before you know it, he's leaning over your entwined hands and his lips are brushing yours so softly, giving you room to move if it's something you don't want. But you do. You want it more than anything.
Everything seems to melt away at the moment you press your lips firmly onto his. The library, the fireplace filled with dancing orange flames, your horrible cold, the sting of anti-septic cream on your fresh cut. You're aware only of his lips on yours, his fingers twisted in yours, the warmth of his hand. Every nerve in your body feels as though it's about to combust. Your heart is practically beating through your chest. God, your hands are awfully sweaty.
Only a moment later, he pulls away, but his face stays so close to yours that you can feel his breath on your cheek.
You want to say something romantic, maybe something smart or snarky like you usually would, but all you can think of is, "You're going to get a cold now."
"It's just as well we have Skull, then, huh?" His laugh is soft and airy, and you could catch it between your lips if you so wished. "I'm sure I'll be fine."
His gaze flickers between your eyes and lips, and you're positive that if he weren't holding your hand right now, you'd implode in a burst of sparks and fireworks.
"Well, if you're so sure -"
Knowing where the sentence is going, he presses his lips to yours once more, and it's perfect.
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