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lilimaginebean · 2 months

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jjk men in bridgerton universe (fem!reader)

characters: geto, gojo, nanami, choso, toji, sukuna

Dearest gentle reader, the enchanting season of balls and soirees has once graced us with its presence, and with it comes the ever-present hunt for the most elegible and desirable bachelors. This year, the competition is fiercer than ever, as six distinguished gentlemen have captured the hearts of many a lady and become the talk of the town. Their charm and refinement have set the social scene ablaze, leaving many a heart affluter. Join me as we delve into the charms and virtues of these gallant suitors.Yours sincerely, Lady Whistledown

suguru geto was raised alongside the prince gojo satoru. he inherited his title (duke) from his father, a humble doctor who earned his nobility by saving the king's life. suguru arrived in London at the request of satoru, who sought his loyal friend's support in the quest for a suitable bride

he wasn't in search of a wife; his primary purpose for being there was to assist his best friend prince!satoru

he met you in the first ball of the season, where he witnessed one of your suitors behaving disrespectfully; so he rescued you from him

after that memorable everning, where you spent hours engrossed in conversation, duke!suguru began to reconsider his stance on marriage

he courted you with thoughtful yet extravagant gifts—limited edition books with author's notes, flowers not commonly found in London, and equisite dresses crafted from the finest materials

long, leisurely promenades during mornings and enjoyable dances at the balls during nights

on evenings without balls, you would share your dreams, secrets, and intimate thoughts under the soft glow of the moonlight

he gathered the courage to propose, and upon receiving your "yes", he sought for family's blessing for your hand in marriage

private but enchanting wedding, attended by your family, his mother, and prince!satoru

as a token of his love, duke!suguru gave you the ring that had been worn by his grandma and mama during their marriages.

he purchased a charming house next to the castle, so both of you could live there happily

you had three kids, two boys and one girl

“It has always been you and i cannot do nothing but offer you all what i possess, including myself”

satoru gojo who considered suguru to be both his brother and trusted advisor, often seeks his counseld and important matters. he is widely recognized for his charismatic and charming Casanova-like personality, having lots of affairs. As the heir of the United Kingdom he embarked on a journey to London with the singular goal of finding a suitable wife.

his aim was to marry the diamond of the season, yet sadly, she showed no interest in him at all

fate itervened when he encountered you in the royal gardens, where you were gazing at the stars and engaged in an animated conversation with your suitor. finding your enthusiasm amusing, he felt drawn to your charm

he asked suguru to gather information about you. it turned out you belonged to one of London's wealthiest families

recognizing your humility and profund influence your family had in the kingdom and in other kingdoms, satoru made the bold decision to seek your father's permission for your hand in marriage

despite the fact you did not know him at all, you found yourself abroad a trip bound for your new home

extravagant and luxurious wedding, featuring an abudance of guests that lasted an entire week. unfortunately, the celebration became awkward, as you had yet to truly interact with prince!satoru

satoru chose to end his love affairs the moment he married you

at first, interactions were solely focused on the purpose of ensuring a royal heir for the Gojo family through pregnancy

as time went on, he felt guilty for leaving you alone in the castle all day. he began inviting you to join him in his tasks, discovering your passion for astronomy and realizing you were more than just a pretty face from a wealthy family

within just a month, you had transformed into a pair of lovebirds who could scarcely bear to be apart

satoru is delighted in bringing you thoughtful gifts from his travels, each one intricately connected to your passion for astronomy

you had five kids, three boys and two girls

“maybe the stars were the reason why we met, but i am going to be the reason for you to stay”

kento nanami whose family is highly respected throughout London. He is a viscount who enjoyed a long standing connection with the royal family, being even close friend to prince!satoru and duke!suguru. As a result, he is often seen at all significant events. At the age of twenty-eight, prompted by his father's wishes, viscount!nanami decided it was time to find a wife.

had a notebook with the names of ladies he thought he might have a chance with

he was taken aback when he discovered that one of his childhood friends—yourself—had emerged as a debutante. he almost had a heart attack when he knew you were the diamond of the season

with the intention of reconnecting rather than courting, nanami approached you for a brief conversation

you confided in him about exhausting pressure of having numerous suitors vying for your attention.

in a moment of genuine kindness nanami offered to court you, suggesting that it would provide you with an opportunity to realx from the encounters of the other suitors

what began as three leisurely promenades a week quickly transformed into a daily ritual

every suitor you had gradually withdrew, as your connection with viscount!nanami deepened

the undeniable chemistry and bond between you were simply too intense to ignore even for both of you. with the season drawing to a close, he formally asked for your hand in marriage

the wedding was a momentous occasion, capturing the attention of London. even prince!satoru attended this grand event with his wife, who was carrying the heir of the kingdom

you had four kids, three boys and one girl

“darling, you have nothing to envy to diamonds. you worth more than all diamonds in the world”

choso is a baron hailed from a modest family but well-respect family withing their country. as the eldest son of nine, he carried the responsibility of taking care of his family. In pursuit of expanding the family business baron!choso traveled to London to sought new partners.

one of his potential business associate informed him about the prestigious opening ball, and with little else on his agenda, he decided to attended

his sweet, gently and polite demeanor quickly capitvated everyone he met. in the span of a single night, choso trasformed into one of the most sought-after suitors in the room

one morning, while strolling through the park and trying to evade the eager mamas and their daughters, he inadvertently collided with you, causing you to tumble to the pavement

concerned for your well-being, he chose to remain by your side for the rest of the day. his frequent visits during your recovery turned into cherised moments, and love began to blossom

he admitted his main goal was to increase the company's earnings enough that his family would no longer worry about financial issues

you shared your desire to travel the globe, having had fragile health and being rarely allowed outside by your parents

eventually, he mustered the courage to ask for your hand in marriage, promising to fulfill your dream of traveling the world together

wedding was a modest affair, attended only by close family members

in the first three years of your marriage, you and baron!choso traveled around the globe; allowing him to expand his business internationally while you explored the amazing world you had always longed to see

by the fifth year, choso purchased a charming house in the wealthiest street in London; where you both settled down to start a family

you had seven kids, four boys and three girls

“you will make me the most fortunate man if you let me make your dreams come true”

toji fushigiro is the most esteemed warrior in the United Kingdom's army. He escaped his abusive family by enlisting, quickly gaining notoriety for his reckless and individualistic battle style. He ascended to colonel in just a year. After sustaining injuries in combat, toji arrived in London.

he crossed paths with you in the red light district. emerging for a cabaret, he spotted you as you passed by, searching for him. knowing his past as a hitman, you approached to him with a mission, help you find your sister. he accepted the mission

your sister and you were bastards, leading your father to deny both of you, and your mother sold you. fortunately, you were taken in by a kind farmer

now an adult you had decided to spend your savings to travel to London in hopes of reuniting with your sister

toji and you moved together into a humble apartment, to make the search easier

as your shared late-night drinks, a unique friendship began to blossoms, with both of you opening up about your pasts

eventually, you and him discovered that your sister had managed to escape with a painter two years prior. on the same night of this relevation, he received a call to defend the kingdom

for the first time, toji felt genuine empathy for your plight, as you were left with no money and without your sister. in a moment of compassion, he proposed marriage, knowing that this would elevate your status and provide you with a modest home on the outskirts of town

his benevolent gesture made you fall in love with him

after two years of war, he returned home with two children, a boy and a girl. you embraced them as your own

your kindness and nuturing spirit towards both the children and him made him realize what a remarkable partner you were.

you fell in love first but he fell harder

you had three kids, two girls and one boy

“i won’t be able to thank your sister enough, if it wasn’t for her, i wouldn’t have the chance to met you and call you mine”

sukuna rules the Ottoman Empire with a reputation of his cold-hearted yet rational approach to governance. Despite his stern demeanor, he commands respect from other kingdoms and empires. Determined to secure a worthy wife to bear him respected heirs, he travels to London on a quest for a suitable partner.

you first encountered him as he was stepping out of the first ball, visibly defeated by his failure to find anyone worth of his stature. just then, you were defending a debutante from an inappropiate suitor

sukuna intervened before the man could lay a hand on you

grateful for his chivalry, you thanked him but insisted you could have handled the situation on your own

he found your attitude cocky and thought you would need a punishment to know who you were talking to

after investigating you, he discovered that you found the process of courting and being a debutante frustrating and pointless. your deep annoyance with the system often made you feel ill whenever a gentlemen attempted to court you

he decided to punish you by courting you. you recognized his playfull intentions and decided to match his wit by accepting his expensive gifts while demanding even greater offerings in return

dynamic of enemies to lovers

sukuna soon realized you were everything he sought in a partner, a powefull lady excelling in various disciplines. music? you mastered five instruments effortlesly. art? your hiperrealism paintings left onlookers in awe. manners? everyone envy your poise, grafecul expressions and sharp wit

you began to see him in a new light. he was a wealthy man who wasn't uncomfortable with your honest opinions or strong personality

he demanded you to marry him, you demanded him to ask it in a nicer way

greatest wedding of the century, a lavish celebration where he proudly displayed his new bride to every kingdom and empire

you had one kid, a boy

“do you know what’s better than a king and his empire? a king with his powerful queen”

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines #geto x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #choso x reader #toji x reader #sukuna x reader

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loversatthegreatdivide · 4 months

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Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 3

Masterlist // Continue Reading

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2.3k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: CanNOT believe I'm updating a third time in as many days. This whole chapter is just dialog. All 2,300 words of it. I am deceased. I love writing dialog, but there is a limit. Also, tumblr is held together with old gum and scotch tape, so currently I can't reply to comments on posts. Until they fix it just know I do see them all, even though I can't respond at the moment. For now, if you want a direct response you'll need to send an ask!

Benedict was quite certain he must be dreaming.

He stood outside his home, in the low light of evening, with the girl he had been searching for.

She had come to him all on her own; and now he knew her name.

Beatrice.

"A lovely name indeed," he praised, "But it would perhaps be more proper for me to address you by your surname." Even Benedict, with his distaste for the rigid etiquette of the aristocracy, would feel a certain level of unease referring to a young lady of rank by her given name.

Beatrice looked back at him nervously, "No no, I think Beatrice will do just fine."

"You do have a surname?" Benedict joked.

"Naturally," she lied. While her full name was rather long, it did not include a surname. As was the case with all members of the royal family.

Benedict raised a brow curiously, "It would seem you do not wish to tell me."

"Well...no, I would rather not."

"How intriguing; why ever not? Is your family embroiled in some sort of scandal?" he asked.

"It is nothing like that," she replied, her eyes moving to avoid his gaze, "It is only...well, truthfully I fear once you learn of my lineage, obligation will keep you from speaking honestly with me."

Beatrice knew she was dancing close to the edge. While she had not directly told Benedict her true identity, the more he knew, the more likely he was to put the pieces together. All but telling him her family was of a high rank was a risk, but she wanted to be as honest as she could be with him. She did not enjoy the thought of deceiving him any more than was absolutely necessary.

There was a small smile on his face as he examined her worried expression. He could see this was quite important to her, so decided to leave it be.

"My, your family must be quite important," he commented, "But I shall ask no more. I believe we are all entitled to a secret or two--and of course, I would also enjoy continuing to speak freely with one another." He smiled reassuringly at her as she stared back in surprise, "Beatrice it is."

She felt her face flush at the sound of her name. While it had been at her insistence, it still felt strange to be addressed so casually by anyone outside of her family.

"Thank you," Beatrice replied with a grateful smile.

"However, there is a condition," Benedict continued, "If I am to address you by your given name, I must insist you address me by mine."

"Oh." Beatrice hadn't considered it, but then again it did seem only fair, "I suppose that would be alright...Benedict."

She knew her cheeks were red, but she took some comfort in the fact that he seemed similarly effected.

He looked away, attempting to regain his composure, "Good. Yes, alright then," he cleared his throat, "Now that we've gotten all of that settled, perhaps you would do me the pleasure of an evening promenade?"

He seemed apprehensive, perhaps worried she would decline; Beatrice found it rather endearing.

"That sounds lovely," she answered. He looked back at her, clearly relieved by her answer, "Oh, but before we go," she pointed to his cheek, "you have a bit of charcoal on you face, just there." Benedict's hand instantly flew to to his face.

"How humiliating! And you said nothing as I stood here looking like a chimney sweep?" he joked through his embarrassment.

Beatrice laughed, "Well, there never seemed to be a good time to tell you--and if your were secretly in the business of cleaning chimneys, I would certainly have hated to embarrass you by pointing it out."

"Well then perhaps I should be thanking you for your discretion," he smirked, his hand moving to wipe his face in an attempt to remove the dust.

"No no, don't do that! You'll only smudge it more," she said, batting at the air near his arm in protest. He stopped, lowering his hand as instructed. "Here, allow me."

She lifted her arm, her free hand grabbing the reticle around her wrist. She adjusted it until she was able to reach inside, pulling out a handkerchief. It was lovely: Pure white, with intricate floral embroidery and a lace trim. She raised the handkerchief towards his face, and he instinctively leaned back.

"No ah, well, that is..." he sputtered, "You'll ruin your handkerchief," he finally managed to say.

In truth he was simply startled by her sudden action. She had been so casual in reaching out to touch him, as if it hadn't occurred to her how it might look. Benedict found himself once again surprised by her. So often she seemed to try to conform to the expectations of society, even when it clearly caused her discomfort. Then she would do something like this, and she hardly seemed to care what others might think of it.

"It is only a handkerchief, it can be cleaned you know," she replied, her hand moving once more. Benedict didn't shy away this time, and soon felt the soft fabric rest against his skin. His heart began to race at the simple gesture.

He suddenly found himself unable to look her in the eye.

Beatrice was gentle as she began wiping the charcoal away, seeming completely unaffected by the action or his reaction to it. It lasted only a few moments, but to Benedict it seemed far longer.

"There, much better," she said, removing her hand and smiling at her work. Benedict blushed.

"Yes, thank you," he replied nervously.

"It was no trouble," she assured him, moving to place the handkerchief, now stained with black, back inside her reticle, "Though, I believe I can offer little help for your gloves."

Benedict looked down, his white gloves covered with splotchy, black fingerprints. His hands must have been covered in charcoal when he left his room, and he simply hadn't noticed.

Had he truly been so distracted?

"Forgive me, I am truly a mess this evening."

"Not at all," she replied, before grinning, "It seems you were dealing with quite the begrimed chimney."

He smiled gratefully, "Surely they must keep their fire going year round, to build up such an impressive level of soot."

With that, he offered her his arm.

"Now that you will feel marginally less mortified to be seen with me, perhaps we can be off?" She smiled shyly, pulling at the edge of her hood.

"Yes, I would like that," she answered, her hand moving to entwine her arm with his. They set off down the street, strolling to nowhere in particular at a leisurely pace.

"So," Beatrice was the first to speak, "You are an artist then?"

"And what makes you say so? There could be any number of reasons for a man to have charcoal on his hands...and his face," Benedict quipped.

Beatrice smiled, "No, I believe I am right. You certainly behave like one passionate about the arts."

"Oh? And how is it I behave exactly?"

"Well, my grandmother would say you are rather...bohemian," Beatrice replied.

"Bohemian? And I suppose your grandmother would not mean that to be complimentary?" Benedict asked.

"Indeed she would not," Beatrice laughed, "Though as a rule she is simply not one for compliments. She is, above all things, proper, and can be rather terse at times."

Benedict nodded in understanding, "Ah yes. I have only a few childhood memories of my own grandmother, but she seemed much the same."

"Please don't misunderstand--I am actually quite fond of her," Beatrice corrected, "She is simply not an overly affectionate person."

"I see. So do you spend much time with your grandmother then?" he asked.

"As much as I am able, though my father is quite strict and doesn't like me away from home for too long. I am quite lucky he allowed me to stay with her for the season," she replied.

"Ah, an overbearing father. That makes sense," he commented, smirking at her as she pouted at him.

"Oh? And what about you? I can't imagine your parents restricted you much, given your proclivity for breaking with societal expectations."

Benedict laughed, "This from the girl who has clearly left home without permission to meet a man unchaperoned." She blushed in surprise, turning her face away.

"Well, that is..." She struggled to find a believable justification for her actions.

"Not that I judge you. If anything I'm glad you decided to break a few rules," he smiled as she continued avoiding his gaze, "And for what it's worth, you are correct; I am guilty of being raised by kind, loving parents who supported my interest in the arts and allowed me plenty of freedom."

"I knew it." Beatrice turned back, smirking at him triumphantly, "About you upbringing and being an artist, it would seem."

Benedict laughed, "Oh please, do congratulation yourself more."

"Perhaps I will," she joked.

Soon, her face fell into a thoughtful smile, "You're parents, did they love each other?"

That seemed an interesting turn in conversation.

Benedict nodded, "Yes, from what I remember they were quite mad for one another. My mother talks about it often, particularly mow that so many of her children have come of age. She is constantly encouraging us to find love matches for ourselves."

"You're all lucky to have such a caring mother. Not many would prioritize their children's happiness over their obligation to secure a good match," Beatrice replied.

"You're right, we have been very fortunate," Benedict smiled affectionately, "And so far my mother has gotten her wish: Both my brother and my sister have found love matches for themselves, though it is less certain that the rest of my siblings will follow suite."

"And you?" Beatrice asked without thinking.

"Me?" Benedict repeated, "Well, I'm not sure I shall ever marry."

In spite of herself, Beatrice could not help but look somewhat disappointed, "Oh, I see."

"Though," he continued, "I suppose love may be the one thing to entice me into such an arrangement, should I ever find it."

He couldn't help noticing how the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly as he spoke.

"And what of you? Are you hoping to marry for love?" It was little business of his, but he had to admit he was more curious about her answer than he aught to have been.

"I," she hesitated, her head falling as her gaze fell to the ground, "I would certainly like to, but I'm afraid it's rather unlikely. At best, I can hope my future husband is someone I don't utterly dislike."

"Ah, right--you mentioned your father was strict. Will he be choosing for you?" Benedict asked sympathetically.

"Yes," she confirmed, trying to hold fast to her smile, "My mother and father's marriage was arranged, and now the two despise each other. I suppose so long as my marriage is at all better than theirs I can count myself lucky."

"That must have been a difficult way to grow up," he commented, not know what else he could say.

"I suppose, though it could have been worse. My mother hasn't lived with us since before I was born. When they are forced to around one another, it is an unpleasant affair for all involved; so perhaps it's for the best."

"That's...quite an unusual situation," Benedict noted.

"Perhaps it is, but it is mine," she replied, glancing up at him, "But now it is I who has made you uncomfortable. Perhaps we should move to a lighter subject?"

"Of course," Benedict agreed.l

He wanted to comfort her in some way, but he wasn't sure how he could. He certainly had no idea what it was like to grow up the way she had, or what it was to know that inevitably your future would be chosen for you. There had been a certain level of expectation placed on him as the second son, but he still enjoyed immense freedom. He felt any attempt at comfort may come off as disingenuous, or perhaps even patronizing. He wanted her to know he was sincere.

"Are you attending the next ball?" she asked him after a long moment of walking in silence.

"Hmm? Oh, yes. This is my sister Francesca's first year out, and the second year for my sister Eloise. My brothers and I typically accompany our mother to help keep an eye on them."

"What thoughtful brothers you are," she replied, her tone somewhat teasing.

"Well yes, I suppose we are rather good brothers--the best, even. Our sisters are quite lucky to have such devoted elder brothers looking out for them," Benedict joked back. Beatrice smiled at that, turning her head so he wouldn't see.

Benedict cleared his throat, "Will you also be attending?" he asked as casually as he was able.

It was unlike him, but even the chance he may be able to dance with her was enough to entice him into attending every event for the rest of the season.

"I believe so," she answered.

"So we will see each other again soon?" He asked, hope clear in his voice.

"Yes, though..." she looked up at him nervously, "before that, perhaps I might visit you again?"

"You mean sneak out and see me at Bridgerton House?" She nodded in response, "Hmm...you're not going to throw more rocks at me, are you?"

Beatrice laughed, "I won't so long as you're paying attention."

"Well then, how could I say no?" He smirked.m, and she smiled back at him shyly.

At that moment, they stopped. Benedict looked around, surprised to see it had gotten quite dark. He realized they had walked farther than he had intended to go.

"As much as I loathe to suggest it, perhaps we should be heading back?" he asked.

"Oh, yes. Of course," Beatrice agreed, "Though, I believe I am closer to home here than back the other way."

"Well then, allow me to walk you home," he offered.

"No!" she answered quickly, "Thank you, but I am quite alright getting back on my own."

He nodded, "Ah yes of course--your secret. Well, so long as you're certain you'll be alright alone?"

"I will," she looked away, looking pleased, "Thank you for understanding."

She unwound her arm from his, "Well, I suppose I should be off, it was truly a pleasure to see you again, Benedict."

He smiled, reaching forward, grabbing her hand and holding it in his.

"The pleasure was all mine, Beatrice," he replied, kissing the back of her gloved hand gently. She felt her cheeks burn. He released her from his grip, and Beatrice held her freed hand tightly against her chest.

"Yes, well...I'll be going then," she replied, quickly turning and making her way down the lamplit street. She glanced back only once, and he lifted his hand to give her a small wave.

Benedict continued watching her until her silhouette finally disappeared into the night.

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Tags: @empressnatsume @sarahskywalker-amidala @may-and-lay @lovelyxjanett @asterizee @g4ns3y

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x oc #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #heavy lies the heart #my writing

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jimblejamblewritings · 3 months

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love letters and second sons | part 5.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Warnings for this part: smut, lowkey just smut

Word Count: 5.0k

Previous Part | Series Masterlist

The next place your cousin took you out to was a museum sponsored by the palace. Which was technically just seeing another part of the palace that you’ve seen before but you were still plenty excited. Museums were low stress with lots of light. The shadows couldn’t get you. No one could get you. And you wouldn’t have to be chaperoned the entire time.

Your eyes went wide as a horde of women surrounded you. Of course, Friedrich was the object of their desires but you were next to him which meant you were also being thrown to the wolves. You were glad to be wearing a full mask with no mouth opening. Talking to people wasn’t exactly what you wanted to do on this day out. All you wanted was the outside. You didn’t even notice when your cousin grabbed your hand and left the crowd of women to go inside.

The already quiet museum was plunged into silence as you entered with Friedrich. He held on tightly to your hand, letting go once you met up with Lady Danbury. She was probably the only non-member of the royal family or staff that had seen your face before.

She was one of your mother’s only true friends. Of course she knew what you looked like. It was always a small concern in the back of your head that you might run into her while out in the ton. Maybe she could be plead with to keep your secret but you didn’t want to test those waters and have to find out.

You tried not to give anything away as you spotted the Bridgertons. Hyacinth was the first to notice. She laughed and nodded her head as you gave her and Gregory a small wave before putting a finger to the lips painted on the mask.

Behind the two youngest were Daphne and Benedict. It took everything in you to not react to your friend and… friendly acquaintance. Instead, you just let Lady Danbury lead you around the place. You spotted Penelope and Marina shortly after, cringing at the sight of the old man they were talking to. A sinking feeling in your stomach made you want to throw up. Lady Featherington couldn’t possibly be imagining marrying Marina off to a disgusting old man. You only exhaled when you spotted Penelope running up to her.

You had absolutely no idea where Lady Danbury was going but you stayed with her as she told you all the gossip of the ton. The most exciting gossip — that she was hiding from your mother — was a letter she received the other day. A guest might come to the ton. You so hoped that it would happen. A new face was always fun.

At a bench was a man you thought you might have recognized. He could be one of the artists that came to the palace for portraits or to give the artwork the palace bought. Lady Danbury didn’t have to introduce you to Henry Granville. You knew him pretty well. The artist accompanied the two of you as you continued your promenade.

Your legato stroll brought the three of you in front of Benedict. Careful not to show that you knew him, you led your companions over to where the man was. He was very handsome when he wasn’t paying attention to anything but his own thoughts. You recognized the portrait of the woman he was looking at.

It was one Granville painted that he, you, and the rest of the palace staff didn’t like. But it brought him a lot of notice. For some reason stuffy nobles also like it. You preferred Granville’s other paintings, the ones he occasionally brought to display in your conservatory for you because you couldn’t go see them since his studio wasn’t exactly a place for a princess.

Benedict gave a small bow to Lady Danbury and Granville before giving a large one to you. You finally relaxed, no longer afraid to mindlessly stare at the man in front of you. Ever since it happened, you were looking forward to another fencing match. Especially since you would be the one playing this time. How would it happen? Where exactly? Would he pleasure you the same way you pleasured him?

You let your mind wander through scandalous scenarios, only coming back to reality when you heard your friend insult Granville’s paintings. Of course, you wanted him to speak his mind… when it was just you and Lady Danbury around to hear him.

There was nothing you could do but watch Benedict dig himself into a deeper hole as he kept talking. He wasn’t wrong. The painting was boring and cold with no sense of life or feeling but he didn’t need to say it. Not at the moment. Lady Danbury slipped her hand from the crook in your arm to pat Benedict on the shoulder.

“Interesting. Perhaps we should ask the artist about his work?”

You tried not to laugh as Benedict stuttered through multiple apologies. Granville didn’t seem to mind but the moment was still awkward. Saving everyone from anymore embarrassment, you removed yourself from the artist’s arm and took Benedict’s elbow instead.

“I should like to promenade further than my companions. Do accompany me in a moment, Lord Bridgerton.”

Granville smiled. “I should be getting to my wife anyway.”

You and Lady Danbury couldn’t stop laughing. Benedict, forgetting he was in the company of the princess, began to argue with the old woman in front of him. You let it happen, being in no rush to go anywhere. You tried to cheer him up as the two of you began your promenade. So many thoughts ran through your head.

The main one was wondering if you should share your secret or not. He would find out eventually so why not now? But that was dangerous. Even one more person knowing was one more mouth about to spill a secret. Maybe if you planned on marrying Benedict. But he was a second son with no land, no real title, no prestige. That wasn’t the match you were supposed to be with.

Unlike Anthony, the second Bridgerton brother spoke much smoother when he was talking to the princess. You let him prattle on, enjoying his company. Surprisingly, he didn’t talk solely about himself but actually asked you questions. You sighed as he escorted you outside and towards your carriage.

“You might think the anonymity comfortable but I cannot wait to take off this damn mask and see the ton,” you said as Benedict helped you into the carriage.

He kissed your hand once, not lingering nearly as long as Anthony did. “Will we see you again before your introduction?”

“Perhaps, if my cousin doesn’t tire of me accompanying him everywhere.”

Benedict closed the door to your carriage. You watched him go back inside the museum before the carriage pulled off.

You woke up to several letters on your face and the cacophony of the palace outside your chamber door. Apparently Friedrich was starting to call upon some ladies. Naturally, they had to come to the palace instead of him going to their house.

Pandora made swift work of opening all the curtains before you opened your eyes and noticed something in the shadows. As you settled into the bath, keeping your arms above the water so you could read all the sheets of paper written to you. They were actually all addressed to Bergamot Keaton, not to the princess. Even if you couldn’t be there physically, you were glad that your friends decided to include you in their lives.

You didn’t believe what Daphne wrote. You saw the way Simon looked at her. It must’ve been a misunderstanding. It couldn’t have been a ruse. The duke would certainly be getting a piece of your mind once you were out again. But at the same time, if Daphne married Friedrich then you would be family. You could see her all the time. Maybe you should let her pursue Friedrich.

You tore through the other letters. The one from Marina concerned you the most. On the one hand, she was starting to really like Colin. But on the other hand, there was nothing she could do with a baby coming and the threat of marrying that old man. You handed it over to Pandora.

“Ask Kew to find this Sir George or any kin. If he loves her then he must come for her. If he doesn’t, then he must come take responsibility and marry her anyway. Tell him I will arrange a fake death, a new name, whatever he wants but Miss Thompson must be taken care of by him in the public eye first.”

The last letter surprised you. It was addressed to the princess, not your Beckett persona. And as if they didn’t care who would see, the name Benedict Bridgerton was signed in the corner on the envelope itself. You opened it up tentatively in case he somehow figured out your identity.

Dear Princess Y/N Kew,

I hope you do not find this message too disrespectful or forward. I had debated sending my correspondence straight to Miss Beckett but her work keeps her so busy that I simply had to talk to her boss. First, I’d like to apologize for this letter after having just met you. I would also like to apologize for being a genuine fool in front of your artist friend. On the positive side, I have been invited to Sir Granville’s studio. I shall be going this weekend and the weekend after that. Please allow Miss Beckett those days off. If not the day then the night. Granville hosts lessons as well. She might find that enjoyable as well. Whatever time is most convenient for Your Highness.

Forever in your debt for this offer,

Benedict Bridgerton

Of course you were going to give yourself permission to go. You desperately wanted to see what he was hiding in his elusive studio. Daphne’s conflict with Simon — as sad as it was — provided you some amazing cover. Your mother was obsessed with securing Friedrich’s match and confirming he is in love.

You were sure that you could have walked out the front door in the middle of the day and she wouldn’t notice. You weren’t going to press that luck but you were sure that you could. Selfishly, you weren’t going to help Daphne until after seeing Granville’s studio.

The carriage pulled up to a corner street where you agreed to meet Benedict. He stood up from where he was sitting on the small stone ledge of someone’s front garden. You turned to tell your carriage driver when to return before quickly scurrying over to where Benedict was. Swallowing thickly, you tried to give him a smile.

“Are you afraid of the dark?”

“Something of sorts. Can we please just go to the studio?”

Granville’s studio, or at least the address on the card, wasn’t too far from where you two were. It was strange to see him in more relaxed clothes and with a glass of wine in his hand. He refused every glass of wine when at the palace.

“Mr. Bridgerton and…”

“Miss Beckett.”

“Lovely. Come in, please.”

You descended the stairs going to what you assumed was a basement classroom. A sigh of relief left you as more and more candles graced your presence. You wondered what the class would be like. The sound of your heels against the squeaky floor echoed in your head. Painting wasn’t exactly a strength of yours. It just wasn’t something you had the time for when you were younger.

Painting was George and Augusta’s forte. You took up another instrument when four of your siblings decided against the pianoforte all together. And even your other free lessons were dedicated to writing or botany or astronomy once you proved that you weren’t going to go yelling to Venus like your father. What would you even sket—

“Woah,” you whispered at the sight of naked women in the middle of the room.

“A model or an artist?” someone called out.

The entire group chuckled when you finally tore your eyes away from the naked woman and answered with a confused ‘huh’ and constant blinking. Granville poured you a glass of red wine and just stood in the center of the room, hand extended and head tilted.

“That is a very good question, Mary. Well, are you a model or an artist?”

“Oh, oh. Artist, sort of. I have never sketched before. I just agreed to accompany Mr. Bridgerton for a moment.”

Benedict laughed as he took the glass of wine and handed it to you. “I don’t think the princess’ valet would be allowed to model.”

They all stood up for a moment, giving you a bow.

You hit his arm. “You don’t have to tell everybody who I work for. Please, go back to what you all were doing.”

While Granville helped Benedict set up his art station, you decided to take a look around at what everybody else was doing. Their drawings were very nice. It was incredible how the women could sit or stand so still for who knows how long just so they could be drawn. You continued moving around, stopping as you heard two of the artists complain about the crown. They stopped talking about Whistledown being a distraction when they noticed you were so close.

“No, no, please keep talking,” you said as you grabbed a random scrap of paper and a worn down charcoal pencil. “The princess would like to hear what the people need. I will warn you though, she cannot make her brother George listen. He barely listens to anyone if we’re honest. But still, there are the odd moments of respect.”

“A-are you sure?”

“Yes.”

You folded up the square parchment of their complaints and unceremoniously tucked it into your short stays, not caring that you were shoving a hand underneath your clothes in front of everyone. You went over to where Benedict was sitting next to a blonde woman smoking, taking a seat on the chaise lounge behind him. The woman offered you the cigar but you shook your head. The alcohol was already starting to make you a little dizzy and happy. Using the warm happiness of the alcohol, you watched Benedict sketch and tried to calm your mind.

After a while you got your own clipboard full of paper. Stories for Mercutio Quick of York floated through your head just begging to be written. Not another scandalous love story like last time but a thriller.

The clinking of metal against glass garnered everyone’s attention. You were starting to slump in the chaise, wine of glass constantly hitting against your silver bracelets. Benedict rushed over to take the glass before it spilled. He picked the clipboard full of paper, amazed at the amount you had written in such a short time. His eyes narrowed when he noticed the character’s names. The characters belonged to Mercutio Quick of York.

Setting the clipboard face down by you, Benedict started to wonder if you were the author. A princess’ valet would have plenty of free time and no want of money to write. He would mention it to you later. If you were Mercutio then you were only hiding it because you were a woman. That wasn’t something he would out in the presence of strangers. You stirred ever so slightly as Benedict’s coat was laid over you.

“I shall wake you when it’s time to leave.”

Every now and then Benedict looked behind him to check on you but you didn’t wake again at all. Despite being in a basement on only a futon, you felt very well rested. You were grateful to be invited back to the studio. Especially so soon. You weren’t sure if you’d be able to sneak out again but you could probably ask to go back to Kew and be granted that for a few days. It was worth a shot to ask.

Brimsley knocked twice, breaking you from your packing, before just going in when you didn’t raise any complaints. “Your letters.”

“Thank you.”

“Now, I must return to your mother. Whistledown just came in.”

“Good luck,” you whispered to him.

“Thank you,” he whispered back.

Your eyes scanned over the Whistledown copy. Your mother wasn’t going to be happy. You wondered how the Bridgertons were feeling. There’d be time to ask Benedict that evening. Laying out your best dress, you went to your vanity to pick some makeup as well.

With a bit of confidence and absolutely no shame since your secret was not a secret amongst your personal staff, you handed your papers to Reynolds so he could take another Mercutio Quick story to the printing press. You met Benedict on the same corner as last time. He scrunched his eyebrows in question at the masquerade mask on your face.

“I can’t let everyone know who I am,” you said simply. The people at the art studio might not reveal your secret but you had no clue who would be at the party. It wasn’t smart to risk everything. “It wouldn’t be a good look for the princess.”

“I didn’t think about that. Are you sure you want to go?”

“Yes. If the mask gets too stuffy, I’ll just take it off in an empty room.”

Taking his arm, you went to Granville’s studio. The artist opened the door.

“Another one? I quite liked the valet.”

You discreetly pinched Benedict’s side and he gave the artist a chuckle. “She wouldn’t risk it.”

Granville nodded and ushered the two of you inside. What you weren’t expecting as you headed inside was a full blown party with models and everything. Not letting go of Benedict, you followed him around. He stopped in front of a room where they were sketching a naked man.

“What are you doing here?”

You and Benedict both turned to see the dressmaker, Genevieve. You were unsure what to do. Of course you wanted to let him flirt and meet whoever but you didn’t want to be separated at a crowded party like that. And if he was with the dressmaker then you could comfortably be around her as Miss Beckett. Genevieve seemed to understand your struggle, making out with Benedict right then and there as if to tell you that she didn’t care if you stayed or not. She led the man — and subsequently you — through the house and to an open room, picking up another woman on the way.

It seemed nice enough despite not being an obviously used chamber of Granville’s daily occurrence. The bed had sheets, there were armchairs, the fireplace could work and had been recently used. And there was a bookshelf. You took a book and sat in one of the oversized chairs. Finally, you could pull your stifling mask off.

At first, the three people in the room with you had been easy to ignore but their breathing grew louder and their kisses sounded desperate. You tried to discreetly rub your thighs together as you turned another page.

“Are you going to join us or work yourself up with nothing?” The other woman whose name you still didn’t know asked.

You set the book down before wringing out your hands as you tried to come up with a reason to not join them that wasn’t the truth. “I’ve never…”

“You’re a virgin?” Benedict asked.

“Is there a problem with that?”

He stuttered through various types of no before making his way over to your chair. You let Benedict grab your hands gently and guide you towards the center of the room. He looked at Genevieve and the other woman.

“Do you mind a different room? Just for a moment?”

“No, they can stay,” you said. “I’d feel more comfortable, maybe, with more women in the room.”

While that was partially true, you also knew they would have sex with each other while Benedict was busy with you. They were the only two at the party who had seen you without a mask. You would never rat out Brimsley or Reynolds but you weren’t above ratting out others if necessary. They would never dare say they saw you here if you could say you saw them here and together. The two women kissed you hard before moving towards the upper half of the bed. You went back to looking at Benedict. He began to bunch up the skirt of your dress in his hand.

“I believe I do owe you another round of fencing.”

You knew that you shouldn’t be doing this, let alone with him. You had just heard him with two other women. But it wasn’t about Benedict. You wanted to know what it felt like before marriage and before you had a husband that didn’t think to service your pleasure in any way.

“Have you ever touched yourself before?”

You nodded. Benedict sat you on the edge of the bed, pulling your dress off completely. He stared at your breasts being pushed up by your corset. A shiver went down your spine as his fingers gently drummed against them. The short stays worn daily were definitely preferable but you had worn the corset for the party. Now you were glad you did.

He pulled off your underdrawers and breathed them in for a moment before getting so you could feel his breath on your skin. Without any notice, his hands scoop underneath you to pull your cunt closer to his mouth.

Your hand flew to his hair as he continued. Benedict moaned when you pulled his hair a bit. You tried to stay silent on the off chance palace staff attended Granville’s parties too and were encouraged by the sounds of more than two people — a task that proved to be harder and harder with how much vigor Benedict put into lapping you up like he needed to taste you to breathe. His chin was wet when he finally came up. Undoing the ties of your corset, he could do nothing but stare at your completely naked body. He gently pushed your shoulders until you were laying on the bed.

“How do you want me?” he asked, still kneeling and with his head resting on your knees

“Everything off.”

“Ask me nicely.”

“Please take everything off.”

Benedict leaned over you, capturing your lips with his. You felt yourself continuing to lean back until you were flat against the bed. You kissed once more before he got up to remove his clothes. He wanted to shrink in on himself as you watched him take off his pants, not looking at anything else. Before removing his coat, vest, and shirt, he dug through all of their pockets. You looked down at the small unsealed envelope now resting in your lap.

The eldest three Bridgerton brothers — much like other young men in the ton — would never admit to owning even a small cigar box of lambskin condoms but they were quite effective if one didn’t want to get the brothel workers pregnant. Somehow that didn’t stop the natural nervousness with a hint of embarrassment making itself known as Benedict’s face turned red when you carefully plucked the lambskin out of the envelope and held it between your thumb and forefinger.

He swallowed when you beckoned him to come closer. Grabbing his cock, you slid the condom onto it before tying the string at the end to keep it on. His hand caressed the side of your face as he just stared for a moment.

“If it is too much, just tell me. I will stop.”

“I will.”

Benedict leaned over you again, one hand resting beside your head the other one guiding himself into you. He kissed up your neck, muttering words to try and get you to relax. You let him in some more when he began to grope your breast. Your mouth dropped open as he started to pump in and out. You traced every part of his body that you could touch, finally resting them on his shoulders.

Benedict’s face was pretty to stare at. Your breath hitched when you felt something scratch your leg. You tried to focus back on Benedict and how he was making you feel. Reaching up a little bit, you kissed him to try and distract from the spider that you knew wasn’t real but still felt like it was crawling over your foot. His lips were very soft against yours but it didn’t stop the shadows like you wanted.

He grunted a bit when you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down until most of his weight was on you. You sighed in a bit of relief. Benedict’s hips stuttered for a moment and you felt his cock twitch.

“Are you close?”

He smiled as he nodded. It was easy to forget that you actually knew what sex was despite being a virgin and a woman. His smile faltered a bit when he opened his eyes again..

“Are you not comfortable? I can stop.”

You shook your head and mentally cursed that he noticed you having a moment. “I am enjoying it just… maybe another position?”

“Can I turn you over?”

You relaxed even more. Benedict could comfortably lay on top of you and his weight grounded you. The feeling of his chest against your back, no clothes between either of you, helped keep you present. You gripped the sheets as you shuddered a bit. Benedict’s hand covered yours and he kept thrusting. Kissing the side of your face, he murmured sweet nothings until you were laughing, having completely forgotten the shadows. He stilled inside you after a few more thrusts. You put his hand that held yours to your lips, giving it a small peck.

“Just stay like this for a little bit, please.”

“This isn’t crushing you?”

“I like it.”

He obliged and laid on top of you, still careful not to place his entire weight on you. You played with his hand while he stroked the back of your neck with his thumb. He began speaking with the other two ladies. You just listened to them. Satisfied was an understatement. You almost considered leaving royal life just to drink and sketch and have sex. You shook your head. For a moment you were starting to sound like your older brothers. Benedict looked down when you chuckled, kissing your temple.

“What is so funny?”

“Nothing, will you be staying much longer at Mr. Granville’s? My carriage driver wouldn’t mind a second stop?”

“Valets have their own carriage driver?” Genevieve asked.

You and Benedict laughed. He finally pulled out so you could both sit up. Benedict’s hand rested on your waist as he bent over the bed to find all your garments.

“I don’t pay for the driver. The princess gives us use of all her luxuries.”

The two women looked at each other. “Give me that job then.”

You lifted your arms ever so slightly so Benedict could put on and tie up your corset. He started kissing your neck again, making you turn to look at him. You let him kiss you once more before you pulled away.

“I have to go. The Queen is preparing for a wedding which means I might have to get up early tomorrow.”

“And if you don’t?” His hand began to go into your underdrawers.

You left the bed to put on your dress. “Benedict, I have to go. I’m sure you have no problems finding someone else but I must leave.”

He was going to say something else but stopped as Genevieve put a hand on his shoulder. You gave him a smile as you put on your mask.

“I’ll see you tomorrow… or the day after, yeah.”

The three of them bid you a final goodbye before you disappeared completely from Granville’s studio. The smile on your face never left as the carriage driver began to pull off. Your request to stay at Kew had been granted since the palace was going to be too full and too busy with Friedrich and Daphne’s wedding to properly accommodate you like Kew could.

Pandora was the only one still up when you arrived home, having waited to make sure that you were both safe and well-fed. She filled the tub with water that had been warming for quite awhile. You let her take off your dress and clothes so she could have them washed. Pandora paused when she reached your corset.

“It wasn’t tied like this earlier.”

“Hmm?” You looked down to see the corset wasn’t tied in the front where you did it but tied in the back.

Something that could only be accomplished by someone else. You rushed to cover Pandora’s mouth before her gasp alerted the entirety of Kew. You had planned on telling her but not right after it happened. The corset strings hadn’t even crossed your mind.

“I know what you are going to say but know that I was very safe about it,” you said as you sank below the water for a moment.

“Safe? Who were you with? Anyone could tell on y—”

“Benedict Bridgerton.”

Pandora pulled the stool away from the vanity so she could sit on it. “Benedict Bridgerton? Are you serious? Isn’t he a rake?”

“Isn’t every man a rake in this ton? Yes, I am serious… We used lambskin, before you begin to harass me again.”

“It is my duty, Princess, to ensure that you know that…”

“I have to keep my virtue together, I know. But I wanted to know what it was like and I was very careful. We were in private,” you lied.

“How was it?”

“He is very resourceful with his tongue.”

You both began laughing hysterically.

(part 6)

THIS FIC TAGLIST:

@fredsbetch @cherrylovers-world @chrystinaamanda @grassclippers @flyestvenustrap @spookystitchery @lovelyygirl8 @ben-has-arrived @tragically-hipp @cherrysxuya @alowint @jackierose902109 @boojaynaqueen @thesparkling-diamond27 @intothesoul @tremendousstarlighttragedy @rosewritesitout @briskesby @tulipatheticee @intothesoul @bdudette @luna-loves08

@godofstory @thatobsessedreader @ellie-x0xo @jess4rush

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#benedict fluff #benedict x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton smut

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starryevermore · 8 months

Text

the house of snow (2) ✧ coriolanus snow

the house of snow ✧ a royal coryo au | pinterest board | ao3

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

series summary: the king of panem is in search of a bride. and, for reasons you can never understand, coriolanus snow has set his sights on you. it would never be a happy marriage, you’re sure of that. but none of that matters, because when snow decides he wants something, he will do everything in his power to ensure it is his.

chapter summary: though you want nothing less than to marry coriolanus snow, he seems intent on finding you a reason to comply.

word count: 2,621

series warnings?: 18+ MINORS DNI, royal au, regency au, arranged marriage, rivals to lovers, obsessive!coryo, jealous!coryo, protective!coryo, eventual smut, eventual pregnancy, more tags to be added later

chapter warnings?: no use of y/n, manipulative!coryo, not proofread

Coriolanus Snow’s courtship with you was the talk of the ton. After he was seen promenading with you, it seemed like all anyone could talk about was your impending nuptials. It infuriated you to no end. He hadn’t even proposed and people were already treating you like you were his property! What would people do if you actually married him? When you married him. It was an inevitability at this point. He had been at your family home every day for the past week. No other man dared to speak to you, save for Sejanus. They all knew better than to attempt to take you from Snow.

Your only solace was when you would go to the modiste with your mother. She was often distracted by the fabrics on display, trying to figure out what you might look best in. It gave you the time to talk to Tigris, albeit in hushed whispers. When Snow had been crowned king, you learned that Tigris had grown estranged from her cousin. She never said much about it publicly, but at least she would listen to you vent about the man ever since he decided he was going to torment you with marriage.

“I do not understand why he’s doing this,” you said to Tigris as she helping you into a grown. “He has always despised me, I’m sure of it. I do not care what Lord Plinth says. We would be miserable together.”

Tigris hummed. “It would not serve you well to try to understand Coriolanus’s mind. Even when you think you understand him, he will have another motive entirely unknown to you.”

You chewed on your lip. You were grateful your mother was too distracted to notice. She always hated that habit of yours. That is not very ladylike! she would hiss and grab you by the arm, dragging you away from whatever social engagement you were participating in. Nor is acting like a crazed banshee, you would think. Heaven forbid you show any signs of nervousness.

It did ease your nerves ever so slightly, though, to learn that Tigris was as confounded by Snow’s behavior as you were. While it would have been easier to believe Sejanus, to think that Snow secretly held a flame for you all these years, you had enough personal experience with the man to know that, that was the furthest from the truth. Hell, even Snow’s own words—that he wanted a wife that he could keep in line—did not feel entirely honest. He was up to something. You just weren’t sure what.

“Will you be joining us for dinner at the palace on Friday?” you asked, trying to pull yourself from the spiral before you could fall too deep into it.

Tigris looked up, her brows furrowed together. “Coriolanus has not told me about the dinner.”

Your shoulders fell. Oh, you had been hoping she would be there. It would have certainly been a solace for you, to have at least one person in the room who you could talk to and not want to scream. Though, you supposed Snow had done that on purpose. If he was intent on torturing you, this would certainly be the way to go.

“What a shame.”

“What’s a shame?” your mother asked, her attention finally torn away from the fabrics.

Tigris answered for you. “We were talking about the dinner with Coriolanus. I was saying that I would not be able to come.”

“Ah. Well, that is a shame. But not to worry, there will be plenty of time to talk once they are married.”

Tigris offered a tight-lipped smile. She spared a glance at you, as if to gauge your reaction to the mention of your impending nuptials. “Of course. I look forward to someone as kind as your daughter being part of the family.”

A satisfied smile curled across your mother’s face. She stood a little taller, shoulders held back, at the idea that one of Snow’s family members also approved the marriage. In her mind, it probably meant that the marriage was sure to happen. Little did she know that Tigris and Snow’s relationship had become strained over the years. If anything, Tigris’s approval might have meant that Snow would suddenly become uninterested in you.

At least, you would hope that. At this point, however, Snow had decided that you were to be bride. There would be little that could stand in his way. A scandal, perhaps, because he cared so much for his personal image. But a scandal could ruin you, and that would leave you right where you started—without a single chance for happiness.

“Then I hope you would not mind making her wedding gown?” your mother asked.

“I have already begun working on designs.”

Oh, you hated how your fate was already sealed.

“The palace is quite beautiful, is it not?” your mother remarked as the butler led you and your parents to the dining room.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, though you could not stop yourself from saying, “You act as if you have never been here before.”

If you were at your own home, your mother might have snapped at you for your remark. But here, in the palace, the home of the King, where he could be lurking behind any corner, she held her tongue. “Yes, well, one sees the palace in a new light when learning that it could be their daughter’s future home.”

Your gaze swept over the palace. In truth, the building was exquisite. A testament to how talented the people of Panem are to create a place that housed only the best of the best. Well-crafted furniture, stunning paintings, marble statutes that almost looked like a person had been encased in the rock. But it was the home of Snow, and you hated anything to do with him.

“The decorations are rather tasteless.”

This time, your mother could not hold her tongue. She stopped in her tracks, snatching you by the arm. For a moment, you wondered if you had gone too far. If you had crossed a line. “You will lose the attitude at once—”

“I have to admit, I do agree with her.”

Does Snow have trap doors all throughout Panem so that he can appear anywhere at a moment’s notice?

Your mother dropped your arm. She cleared her throat, as if that might dispel the rage hanging in her voice. “Your Majesty—”

“I have not yet had time to update the decor to my tastes. Ruling a country, it turns out, takes up quite a bit of one’s time. Though, I hope that your daughter shall soon help me with making this palace more of a home.” He took a step close to your mother. His pale blue eyes were uncharacteristically dark. His voice dropped low as he continued, “But do not be mistaken. I will not stand for anyone speaking to her like that, even her own mother. Do you understand?”

Your mother could only bare to nod.

Snow’s gaze slid over to you. His eyes softened. You never seen him look like that before. For a moment, you wondered if Sejanus was right about Snow harboring feelings for you. But then you remember how cold he just was to your mother. Even if she deserved it, a chill ran down your spine as you wondered how cruel he would be towards you. He held out his arm towards you. “Dinner will not be ready for a while. In the mean time, I could show you the library? I remember how you always had your nose in a book at the Academy.”

Between dealing with your mother’s embarrassment and rage or dealing with whatever torment Snow had in store for you, you would rather be with Snow. If only because you weren’t sure what your mother might do when the King’s eyes were not on her. She needed a moment to calm, and perhaps playing nice with Snow might aid in that. You slipped your hand around his bicep. “That would be lovely.”

Snow smiled—a rarity that was becoming more frequent. If he was playing the part of an interested man just so he could spend the rest of your life torturing you, he almost had you fooled. “Wonderful. The library is just down the hall here.”

He began to lead you down the hall, but he did not get far when he stopped. You were forced to stop as well, confused by his actions. What was he doing? Then he turned, his cold eyes focused on your mother. She stood just a few feet behind you and Snow. She cowered under Snow’s gaze.

“Is everything alright, Your Majesty?” she asked.

“I do not recall inviting you to the library.”

You looked between your mother and Snow. A battle of prides, it seemed. No sane Mama would allow her eligible daughter to be alone with a man. It would be a scandal if word ever got out. Of course, this was the palace and this was King. Nothing ever left the palace walls that Snow did not want out into the kingdom. Even if this was something that would ruin your reputation otherwise, Snow might not let that happen. Unless, of course, that was his plan all along. To ruin you for anyone else.

“That is hardly appropriate!” your mother protested.

Snow took a breath. He looked down at you, then back to your mother. “Allow me to make myself clear. While we have not yet gone through all the formalities of a proposal, I fully intend to make your daughter my bride. I have only publicly moved at the pace I have so that no one would think ill of her, and in turn, me. Now, there is no one here that could harm her reputation. So, if I would like to go to the library alone with my future bride, I do not see how the mere wife of a Lord could stop me.”

Your mother looked to you, as if daring you to follow him. To do so would be an insult to her. But to deny Snow might be your demise. Granted, you did not know if he was capable of such things. But a man with this amount of power was capable of anything. When you looked to Snow, he was already looking down at you, as if trying to gauge whether you would start a fight or comply. You looked back to your mother. “It will only be a moment, Mama. Nothing untoward will happen.”

She sucked in a breath, seemingly ready to protest. Yet, when Snow turned his glare back to her, she fell silent. A nod was her only signal that she would not fight him further on the matter.

With that, Snow began to lead you to the library; this time, alone. You expected the walk to be silent, though that might have only been because you had nothing to say to Snow. However, when you were out of your mother’s earshot, Snow said, “See? Isn’t this much easier when you don’t fight me?”

It would have been smarter for you to hold your tongue. But you were not the sort of woman Snow wanted you to be. “When confronted with two evils, it is easier to choose the lesser.”

Snow raised a brow. “You think I am lesser?”

You looked over your shoulder to your mother. Though she was far away, you could still see the way rage overtook her and felt pity for the butler who was attempting to placate her with a tray of tea and cakes. “I do not know what to expect of you,” you admitted.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nor do I know what to expect of you.”

Turning your gaze back to him, you said, “You should expect one thing of me, Your Majesty. I will not be the meek bride you want me to be. I will never fall in line for the sake of falling in line. I do not wish to marry you. I only will because you have removed every other choice I have.”

Snow stopped in front of a large pair of oak doors. He stared at them for a while, perhaps considering whether he should distract you with the arrival at the library or respond to what you have said. Finally, he asked, “Is it true you wished to marry Sejanus?”

How could he have known that, you wondered. The only people you had ever voiced that to were your parents, and only in an attempt to persuade them to let you consider anyone but Snow as a potential match. The question itched at you, and so you had to ask.

“It does not matter where I heard it from. What matters is your answer.”

You frowned, trying to sort through your options. You weren’t sure how much Snow was a jealous man or vengeful one. You would hate to see Sejanus harmed because you had said the wrong thing. You took a breath. “I always wanted to marry for love, but my parents made clear that that was not an option. It is no secret that I do not wish to marry you despite my parents urging. I had once expressed that, if they wanted to marry me off to a man of higher social standing, that I would comply with a match with Lord Plinth. I did not, and I do not, love him. But he is an easy man to love. If I was forced to marry anyone, I would protest the least with him.”

“He cannot give you what I can.”

“Perhaps. But I value my happiness over all else. How could I ever be happy with a man that so openly stated he only wanted a wife that would provide him a child and be otherwise complacent? We are too different. We always have been.”

Instead of acknowledging you said anything, Snow reached out with his free hand and opened the door to the library. He pushed it open, leading you into the expansive room. Though you wanted him to respond to you, you found yourself dropping your hand from his arm, turning slowly to take in the rows and rows and rows of shelves. The entire room took over two floors, books as far as the eye could see. You could spend every day there and still not have read any books.

You stepped toward one of the shelves, pulling a book at random, thumbing through it. “I have never seen this many books before. Mama always hated that I was well-read,” you confessed. You weren’t sure why you were saying it. Something about Snow just made you want to confess things today, it seemed. “She would have preferred it if I filled my time with hobbies that would have made me more desirable to my future husband. Needlework, piano…She always said that men do not want women who have ideas. I always told her that that was a relic of the past, that the times have changed. She would say that all men are the same, even if they pretend otherwise.”

A hand reached out, pushing the book down. You looked up at Snow. He looked…odd. You couldn’t begin to describe how he looked. Something caught between pained and…admiration? No, that couldn’t be. Snow cared for you as little as you cared for him. He was only doing this for his public image. Nothing more, nothing less.

And yet, when he said, “The library is all yours if you will be a good wife for me,” for a moment, you considered agreeing.

#the house of snow: a royal coryo au #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x fem!reader #coriolanus snow x female reader #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x y/n #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus snow fan fiction #coriolanus snow fan fic #coriolanus snow fanfic #coriolanus snow fic #starrywrites #starryevermore

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copperbadge · 8 months

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I've been a little stymied and thus somewhat putting off work on the new novel, Simon's chef novel, not so much because I'm blocked but more because I wanted to get Royals/Ramblers put to bed and also I was struggling a little to determine the love interest for the story.

While I often tell the Shivadh stories from dual points of view, there's usually a character I think of as the protagonist and one as the love interest -- like in Infinite Jes we knew Michaelis but I had to build Jes (my initial conception of Jes was a trans woman but I had to shift that a bit for various reasons). I've been talking to you guys about this story for a while so I had a bit of market research I guess, which started fitting things into place, but last night was the first time I sat down and just kind of thought about it for a while, so I think I'm finally starting to get her built.

Someone had mentioned they'd love to see what I believe they phrased as "a salt-and-pepper butch" which I liked, and I've been meaning to introduce more characters of color, but I also knew I wanted her to be native Shivadh, so mostly I needed to work out how to navigate her heritage. I'm going to do a bit more research as I write, but I think I've established her as a Sephardic Jew of African heritage, her family having immigrated from Tangier sometime in the 19th century and still having familial links back to Morocco. She's a chef specializing in Moroccan-Sephardic cuisine opening a restaurant on the Promenade, a she/her butch around Simon's age (mid-fifties) who has basically worked in restaurants her entire life and is now finally getting to open her own. I really like the idea of her using fem pronouns but a male name, so I've been doing some research and I think it's going to be either Jacob or Elias -- I like Elias better but there's already Eddie and Ephraim, and I'm trying not to use the same letters for names over and over (M, G, and C are ruled out, too many of them already). I suppose I could go with the unorthodox spelling Ilias, but that looks odd especially with a sans-serif font.

Anyway, now the research fun begins! Time to come up with an appropriate name for her restaurant and then get cracking on the Meet Ugly (they meet when he accosts her for her ricotta and she tells him to get bent).

#shivadhverse #writing

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thiziri · 5 months

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Princess Anne as Royal Patron of the National Costwatch Institution, visiting Fleetwood Station on the Outer Promenade in Lancashire, on 16 April 2024.

#LOOK AT HER #😭😭😭#smiley princess #sweetest princess #princess anne #princess royal #brf #british royal family #workanne

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pinkkittysaw · 7 months

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CHAPTER II

- MAY I HAVE THIS DANCE?

← chapter one

series master-list can be found here!

summary: the night of your brother’s annual birthday ball takes an unexpected turn

paring: knight! clive rosfield x princess! reader

word count: 9,613

content: NSFW (minors + ageless blogs DNI! you will be BLOCKED!) heavy plot, oral (f! receiving), fingering (f! receiving) handjob, power imbalance, dirty talk, spit, slight humiliation kink, parental loss.

disclaimer(s): although this series is inspired by the medieval and regency time periods, they are not 1:1 representations. although i will always do my best to represent both as accurately as possible, there may be some minor changes.

some of the plot points in the original game story have been altered or taken out to fit this au better. there are no eikons

a/n: i want to dedicate this chapter to my AMAZING friend, and fellow writer, jordy (@cryptictongues) who not only let me bounce ideas off her constantly, but also beta read some of this chapter as well. thank you for everything!!!!!! 🫶🏻🫶🏻

dividers by @/saradika-graphics and art is by edmund blair leighton

A month or so passed since your last tryst with Clive, leaving the relationship between the two of you to be strained with pent-up tension. In light of the momentary heat of passion, you both agreed that such conduct would be better kept private, in places where no wandering eyes could intrude, so as to not arouse any more suspicion. There were to be absolutely no dubious behaviors in public, which proved to be undoubtedly difficult.

With every promenade you'd take around the castle grounds, you'd see him training, all sweaty and flush in his fit form, and all you'd be able to think about was mounting him then and there, riding him until you were both run ragged.

Your confidants and lady's maid have caught your prolonged glances during your strolls in the sunshine, but you've always met their accusations with a dismissive flap of your hand fan, stating that you were "simply curious about the training regiment that the knights were conducting," even if your eyes always lingered on one knight in particular. Baddies

There was talk around the palace for a while about the sudden disappearance of a certain scullery maid, but seeing as the crown had more pressing matters to deal with than the loss of a single maid, one who could easily be replaced, any investigation resulted in the conclusion that she had simply "fleed her duties," and it was left at that.

In reality, though, you had visited her late in the night after your passionate affair with Clive many moons ago, offering to pay off her debts and then some if she swore to secrecy that nothing she saw that night would make its way into the ears of the public.

The amount of gil being offered was unlike anything she could have ever imagined. Seeing as your father amassed insurmountable fortunes during his reign, idle gossip wasn't worth the consequences if she were to be found out as the source of the rumor, so she took the small fortune and fled the palace walls that very same night.

Now you find yourself sitting in another store room, one that's presumed to be in less use than the previous one, perched upon an old barrel.

A royal ball was in attendance, and all nobility within the realm were invited. The occasion? Your younger brother and future heir to the throne's birthday. He reached the tender age of one and twenty, which just so happens to be the legal age of marriage in your country, so, of course, your father invited all the reputable debutantes in the realm in hopes that your brother would secure a future queen, though he'd never admit to such schemes out loud.

You were hoping that tonight would be another secret rendezvous with your lover, but you haven't so much as gotten a single word with him all evening.

All you had thought about during the preparation was how you were going to tease him throughout the night. The gown you had selected to wear was chosen with him in mind. The silhouette hugged your figure to perfection, and your cleavage was heavily accentuated in the lavender muslin. The hem was detailed with a layer of tulle tulips, and crystals of various sizes decorated the bustline. Put simply, you looked ravishing—the epitome of the most elegantly cut diamond.

Your father would spare no expense when it came to his son's birthday ball, so you were in luck to some degree, but the only man whose eyes you wanted on you was nowhere to be found.

The ball was supposed to provide perfect cover. All the orderly staff would be at your father's beck and call all evening, and he'd be too busy showing off your brother like a prized chocobo to notice your disappearance, leaving you to your own devices after a certain amount of time.

You and Clive would be able to sneak off without a trace or care in the world, but for some reason, every man of nobility just happened to be extremely insistent upon getting in at least one dance with you, all whilst having meaningless conversations regarding topics you couldn't bother yourself with caring about.

The ball started off well enough. You knew you couldn't immediately disappear into the shadows; you owed both your father and brother a dance to start the evening, as was tradition for the royal balls in your country.

The three of you walked out into the ballroom together. Your father went first, then you and your brother in succession.

The room was lavish, as it often was whenever such events were hosted in your kingdom. Multiple chandeliers holding long wax candles filled the ceiling, and the light reflecting off the gems on your gown made you shine beautifully. A golden hue encapsulates the entire room, casting wispy shadows and twinkling shapes on the hardwood floor. Your family emblem was painted in stark white chalk at the center of it. Various flowers from the royal gardens hung in sconces around the perimeter of the room, with vines filling out the empty space in between. Fine fabric in your kingdom's colors was draped over the windows in high arch shapes.

Scanning the room, you look for where to make your grand escape. After a few dances and perhaps some intermingling at the refreshments table, you'd be skittering along the ballroom walls, hiding in the shadows, before making your exit.

There was still a short amount of time before the guests started to file in, so after the final touches were made to the decorations, you took your place on the dais next to your family, with your father in the center and your brother to your right.

The royal knights line up in front of the small stage, and though Clive is always the pinnacle of orderliness while on duty—excellent posture and great form—you swear that you catch his eye as he files inside the room. He's not so careless as to let his emotions wear on his face while in the presence of others, especially your father and the Lord Commander, but you're certain that the slightest tinge of pink floods his cheeks at the sight of you.

As the knights continue to get into position, your gaze falls upon Clive's shaggy hair, reminiscing about how the thick yet soft tendrils felt between the length of your fingers as he made his presence known between your legs moons prior.

Your father's voice reels you back from your fantasies as you clear your throat slightly and hope that the bright lights of the chandelier won't give way to your previous thoughts.

Nobles from all across the realm begin to file in and make their greetings, some familiar and some new. A part of you is surprised that all these people traveled from their home countries just to visit your brother, but you supposed that none of the nations wanted bad blood between your kingdom and theirs.

After all the introductions were made, your father began his long-winded speech about your brother, the future of the country, and how proud he is of how far his children have come. The smile plastered on your face feels stiff, and your thighs feel as though they're about to collapse from the amount of curtsying you've been forced to do.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you're granted some relief from the spotlight while the band sets up on the stage where you and your family previously resided.

You make your way over to the refreshment table, nodding and curtseying to the fellow noble ladies as you make your way over to procure yourself a glass of iced lemonade.

It was not even three seconds later that your father was introducing you to some nobleman.

"Dearest daughter," he starts. You take a deep breath and settle your princessly smile on your face once more before turning around.

"I'd be pleased to introduce you to the Archduke of Rosaria and his mother." You gaze upon the both of them; this is the first meeting you've had with the current Archduke of Rosaria. You met the previous archduke, Elwin, when you were still of tender age, before your brother was born. You scantly recall the details of the meeting, only that he gifted both you and your mother bouquets of Rosarian wildflowers and that he had a penchant for making you laugh (as later on confirmed by your mother).

It's clear, though, that the man standing before you bears no resemblance to his father, sharing the same icy eyes and pale hair as his mother.

"His Imperial and Royal Highness, Joshua, the Archduke of Rosaria, and her Imperial and Royal Highness, Annabella, the Dowager Archduchess of Rosaria," your father continues, giving you room to make your formal introductions.

"It is an honor, your Highness," you state, giving a swift curtsey to the both of them, and although Annabella merely nods to you in acknowledgment, her son gives a full bow in return.

"Come now, Joshua. There's no need for that," she chastises, as if her son were still a child and not a grown man.

"But mother, how could I not marvel at the beauty bestowed upon me?" He responds in full. At your astonishment at his bold declaration, he takes your gloved hand into his own and presses a delicate kiss to the back of your knuckles.

"Might I say that your gown looks exquisite tonight, my lady? You shine bright like a diamond." Both you and the Dowager Archduchess share a similar look of shock on your faces, and even though you can't see your father's expression from behind you, you're sure that he mirrors both of yours.

Heat floods your face as your eyes meet Joshua's, then his mother's, and although their eyes bear the same shade of cerulean, her gaze pierces through you like daggers of ice, whereas the strawberry blonde beside her carries a lot more warmth.

Time stands still, and you wonder if such flirtations were a product of his father, seeing as his mother held very little kindness or regard in her heart.

You feel your father's hands on your shoulders and realize you've spent the last minute or so gawking at Joshua and his display.

"Please forgive my daughter; she isn't used to such blatant declarations of affection from esteemed gentlemen." It's at your father's statement that your brain kicks back into gear. Your hand is withdrawn, and an immediate curtsey follows in its place.

"My sincerest apologies, Your Highness." As you raise your head, your eyes meet Clive's just across the way from behind Joshua, but he's quick to refocus and march forward in front of him.

"No apology is necessary," the Archduke smiles, "though if you truly wish to win my forgiveness, you'll allow me your hand in a dance."

Before you even get the chance to respond, Annabella interrupts, "Joshua, you mustn't. Think of your health."

"Mother," a domineering smile plasters itself on Joshua's face, "certainly I have enough energy to last me at least one dance with the most elegant princess in all of Valisthea."

Annabella sends another harsh glance toward her son before muttering, "Of course," and taking her leave elsewhere.

Joshua heaves a heavy sigh before extending his hand, silently asking for your dance card. You raise your wrist and allow him to pencil himself in before he gives one final bow, and retreats toward his inconsolable mother.

Your father exhales the breath you were unaware he was holding when the band gets in position for their first song. Both you and your father take place in the center of the ballroom as the first dance of the evening.

You couldn't help but notice as you scanned the faces in the surrounding audience that someone was missing. As the starting notes boomed from the instruments, you whisper to your father, "Papa, where's Dion?"

Prince Dion, next in line to be the Emperor of Sanbreque, had grown to be one of your close friends—well, as close of a friend as a princess could have when confined to castle walls for most of her life. You were close in age, and given that there weren't as many young heirs throughout the realm at the time of your childhood, it was only natural that the two of you would become fast friends.

Rumors quickly spread that you and Dion would become betrothed when you were older, securing an indisputable alliance between both nations, but as the years trickled on and both of you came of age, no such proposals were made. After he became leader of the dragoons, it was apparent that one such proposal would never come, but you weren't deterred; if anything, you were relieved.

You held love for Dion in your heart; you'd known each other since you were children, but the love you held wasn't the type of love fostered between two individuals who were passionate about each other romantically.

Your father's face held a quick grimace before lowering his voice as the two of you prepared to take your first steps in tune together. "Dion is busy preparing for a war effort; he sends his regards."

"What?" You mutter, trying to keep the look of shock from developing on your face.

Though you and Dion couldn't frequently meet in person, the two of you penned missives back and forth. In none of your most recent correspondence with each other, had he mentioned anything in regards to an oncoming war.

Your father wasn't a gossip, but being the ruler of an entire kingdom, one must be well knowledgeable about the state of other nations.

He lowers his voice even further: "It seems that the King of Waloed is insistent on reclaiming his territory from Sanbreque."

"Dion never mentioned anything of the sort in his letters."

Your father gives you a lopsided smile in an attempt to reassure you: "He probably didn't want to worry you unnecessarily, especially with the ball coming up."

Your father was more than likely correct in his assumptions, but you couldn't shake the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"I'm sure Dion will be alright," he adds, brushing his thumb over your hand after noticing the newfound stiffness in your movements.

You nod. Dion was and is strong; he turned the tides for Sanbreque in battle many a time before. This was a fact, but something about him having to go against Waloed's army shakes you to your core.

Your father and the king of Waloed, Barnabas Tharmr, were amiable allies for the most part, but you've heard stories, many in particular when he visited your kingdom after the death of your mother. You were still young then, so you couldn't quite grasp the weight and meaning of the whispers your handmaidens had shared in secrecy upon his arrival.

He visited annually for some years after his initial visit before they died down altogether, though you could never ascertain what the meetings were for besides the first one.

Barnabas was kind enough, as one of his nature could be on his trip, but you could never help the feeling that something more sinister lingered beneath the surface when your young eyes met his.

You did your best to quell the unease in your heart and continued to dance with your father. Although he had gotten up there in years, he still moved swiftly across the ballroom floor, even if you had to slow your steps a bit.

It seemed that just as soon as the dance with your father began, it was over, and you were anxiously anticipating the next dance with your brother. You go hand in hand with him while the band begins to play.

"So, Crown Prince," you begin, filling the air in an attempt to quell your nerves. "Future heir to the throne, how does it feel to be Papa's favorite?" You smile, albeit teasingly.

"Surely you jest, dear sister. For without you, I'd be hopeless."

"Now who's jesting?" Your grin graces your face once more as the two of you glide across the ballroom before a somber expression soon replaces your previous jubilant one. "It pains me to think that this ball may be the last time we see each other like this."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Look at all the people here," you whisper to him, "surely you don't think Father is just merely celebrating your birthday. You're twenty-one years of age now, dear brother; officially legal to be wed."

"You don't truly think he'd see to it that I'd be married right away, do you?

You both twirl around, and your father comes into view, standing next to the royal guard.

"Maybe not right away, but you know how he is. Ever since Mama died, all he's wanted is to see our futures secured, and in your case, our bloodline. If that means marrying us off early, then so be it, I suppose. At least you have the luxury of choices in who you'll marry."

"Then how come you weren't married off as soon as you came of age?"

"Because you still needed me. You had no mother to set an example, so I needed to be in your life to show you how proper noble ladies should act," you snirk as he rolls his eyes. "If I'm speaking honestly, I feel the answer is more sentimental than logical. I don't think Father wanted to lose another member of our family before we were both of breeding age."

"I suppose you're right. It's more than what most fathers would do. Now that I'm able to be wed, do you suppose that'll hasten his plans for your marriage?"

You sigh, the thought has lingered in the back of your mind since your brother grew out of being a child. "I'm not sure, but who knows?"

"Don't look so down," he smirks. "If you reach spinsterdom, you'll always have a place here with me."

You smile kindly. "Thank you."

As the instruments die down, signaling the dance coming to a close, you once again find yourself on the outskirts of the ballroom. You snag a look at your dance card to check where Joshua has penciled himself in. A waltz, of course. He'd undoubtedly use this opportunity of close quarters to flirt with you some more.

His name was listed far enough down the line that you could make a break for the storeroom now, and...

"Your Royal Highness!"

The next hour and a half was filled with nothing but dancing, with only a few minutes of rest provided in between.

You had been skirting along the edges of the ballroom when you just so happened to catch the eyes of an old presiding duke who resides in your kingdom, and it was all downhill from there.

What was supposed to have been a "romantic" evening was turning into a disaster. At every turn, you were swept into the arms of yet another elderly gentleman looking for a younger and more agreeable wife.

As you twirled and spun around the hardwood flooring, you were afforded only mere glances at your lover from afar. Every time you laid your eyes on him, he always appeared to be preoccupied with something else. Not that any of your concurrent dance partners would've noticed your wandering eye, as theirs were doing much of the same.

If there was one thing that all these men had in common, it was the ogling. Some of them "tried" to be more polite about it than others, going for glances at your cleavage in between the minimal required time they had to actually look you in the eye instead of blatantly staring at your chest the whole time.

It was clear, though, that all of them were oblivious to just how obvious they were being with their gaping looks, not realizing that you could tell when people were talking to your chest instead of your face.

Though you're certain that a drink limit was set for this ball, it was becoming quite clear that a majority of the "gentlemen" had imbibed to their pleasure, the smell of port lingering on their breath whenever they'd lean in close.

After a while, you had managed to escape all your suitors and camouflage yourself in a nearby group of gossiping noble ladies, the majority of them being mothers, who were well-equipped with an onslaught of questions about your brother and the future of the kingdom.

After quelling their curiosity, you nestled yourself in a corner, facing the wall of the ballroom, and let out an exasperated sigh, taking a few moments to collect yourself.

You were beyond frustrated, both sexually and mentally. All you desired was to climb between the sheets with your lover and have him pleasure your body until your thoughts were reduced to a mindless fog. To say you were having intense urges was an understatement.

It'd be easier to deal with if Clive wasn't a member of staff that you saw often, like a cook or a coachman, but being your sworn shield, he was in your presence a majority of the time. So close, yet so far.

His touch was often the source of your fantasies at night. Your mind wanders, flitting between thoughts of his scruff against your neck, his breath on your skin, and how his strong hands would grip your body.

You were never able to help but wonder what your first time together would be like. What does he look like when he comes? What does he sound like? Does he moan, grunt, or whimper? Would he be gentle with you? Similar to how he grasps your hand when helping you step down from a carriage, slow, languid thrusts into your heat as he whispers sweet nothings in your ear, both of your bodies clinging onto each other for purchase. Or would he be rough? Similar to how he fights: powerful, unrelenting thrusts into your cunt, overwhelming as he batters into you, stealing the breath from your lungs. You were often unable to decide which scenario you liked better as you reached your climax, whispering his name as you came down.

You know you shouldn't have such intense lust for someone who's working in your service, but knowing that just excites you more.

"Princess!"

You release another deep exhale as you turn around. You're really starting to get irritated at the word "princess."

"Your Highness!" you exclaim with a half gasp. Apparently, Joshua was set on keeping his promise of a dance.

"My sincerest apologies," you curtsey.

He gives a dismissive wave of his hand before extending it toward you. "You owe me no such things, my lady. Are you still willing to accept my dance proposal?"

"Of course, Your Highness," you place your gloved hand in his as he walks you to the dance floor, and you can't help the smile that rises on your face as you take your place together.

"I know it's against propriety for you to deny me a dance, but I'm not so cruel to force a lady when she doesn't want to."

"It's a pleasure, Your Highness. I assure you. You're perhaps the most polite man I've danced with thus far, besides my father and brother, of course."

His hand makes its way to the small of your back as more couples fall in toe behind you and the Archduke. Your conversation lulls until the music picks up, your hand delicately resting on his shoulder.

"Although I am most disappointed to hear that these gentlemen would treat a beautiful woman such as yourself with little regard, I can't deny that I'm pleased to be the only one who's seemed to win your affections."

This man.

As much as you try not to fawn over the attention, his words are like silk in your ears, as if they're the most natural sound you've ever heard.

It doesn't register that you're smiling so brightly until he comments on it: "You have one of the most radiant smiles, my lady."

You shake your head from side to side as if trying to regain your composure. Despite all the time you shared with Clive over a month ago, you weren't used to such blatant flirtations in front of so many people at once. Even if they couldn't hear your conversation, the smiles on both your faces single you out from the other couples on the floor. It leaves you feeling exposed, as if a bright light has been shone on both of you.

"Forgive me if I speak out of line, Your Highness," you inhale, "but where on Valisthea did you learn to become so charming?"

He offers a chuckle and a swoop of his strawberry-blonde hair. "I'm quite a fan of the written word. It was often one of the few escapes I truly had as a child, so I may have picked up a few techniques after reading a romance or two."

"Perhaps you could lend your novels to some of the other gentlemen here so they can learn how to properly woo a lady."

"And risk losing being the sole recipient of your affections?"

"Feeling insecure over your abilities?" You cock your head to the side, a small smirk appearing on your lips.

Joshua ponders the question for a moment, putting on a good face of deep thought as if he's truly rolling the question around in his head before responding, "More so like...I don't want to give the poor blokes false hope when I'm sure to come out on top anyway."

"It seems that you're very confident indeed."

The two of you chuckle as he twirls you around, only to be met with the scorn of Annabella's icy gaze after locking eyes with her from the other side of the ballroom. The joy in your expression quickly dies off, and the figurative noose tightens itself around your neck, suffocating the life from your lungs.

With your newfound stillness, Joshua has to guide you back into his arms. He looks off in the direction of your eye line and sighs before speaking once more, "I apologize on behalf of my mother."

"You needn't do so for my sake," you're quick to respond, attempting to reassure him that you were unaffected by Annabella's glare.

"Do you think I can't sense the dread in your eyes?" He smirks, and you offer a strained half-laugh in response while waiting for him to continue.

"I was frequently ill as a child, thus it was very rare to step foot outside the archduchy," he clears his throat, "after my father had passed, it seems that her protective nature only grew."

"I'm sorry about the loss of your father. I've only met him a handful of times, but he was always very kind. My mother once told me that I frequently laughed in his presence." You understood Joshua's pain well, having lost your mother during the birth of your brother years before the former Archduke passed.

A solemn look graces his features before he relaxes once more. "He was a good man, from what I can recall from my memories of him," he pauses, "I can only hope that I can be half the man he was when it comes to ruling the archduchy."

You take a moment to mull over your words before voicing them. "It seems like you've managed to capture his kind and generous spirit. I'm sure you're already well on your way to living up to his name."

"You're very kind," he nods, and a genuine smile fixes itself on his face, unlike the charming one he's graced you with before.

The music slows to a stop, indicating the end of the waltz, and Joshua walks you back to the fray of the ballroom as slowly as possible. "Perhaps this is inappropriate to say given the present company, but I'd love to call upon you some time."

A part of you is surprised, not expecting a courting proposal from someone you could actually tolerate. Being thoroughly charmed, you agree.

"There's a jousting tournament within the next fortnight. It's always an invigorating time. You should attend if you're able."

He takes your gloved hand in his, raising it until your knuckles graze his lips. "I'd be most delighted to attend. Until then, my lady." He releases your hand and turns off in the direction of his mother, who looks all too unhappy with him, and you, by extension.

You sigh, ready to be completely done with the evening. You move toward your father, ready to meander around where he sits near the dais, hoping that any lingering suitors would see him situated nearby and turn the other direction.

Once you've raised your head and made your way toward your father, Clive comes into view. He's moving toward you at a fast pace, and before you can stop yourself, your feet turn to guide you in his direction instead. Momentarily forgetting your place, you call out his name, though it's difficult to hear over the chatter of the ballroom.

At the same time, two overlapping voices call out to you. One is Clive's; the sound of his voice is more familiar to you, but there's another that cuts through the air.

A gruff "princess" is all you're afforded in terms of a greeting.

Both you and Clive come to a halt and turn in the direction of the unknown voice.

The man has a familiar face, though you can't exactly place from where you know him. He's around your father's age, with wrinkles lining his eyes and forehead as well as dashes of grey in his facial hair, so you conclude that your father must be how you've made his acquaintance before.

The man is decently handsome, more so than the other creeps you've had the displeasure of dancing with. He has stark eyes, almost crystalline in nature, which are a sharp contrast to his raven-colored hair.

These traits prove to be startlingly similar to those of your current lover, but you decide it's best to dissect that later.

Clive is the one who breaks the silence. "My sincerest apologies, Your Majesty."

Your majesty?

You offer the man a curtsey in apology while Clive bows, but the stranger pays you no mind, choosing to focus on the knight instead.

"Is something the matter?" Though it's merely a question, his voice carries a wealth of command behind it.

"Nothing that can't wait," Clive begins, his eyes flitting between you and the unknown—at least unknown to you. "Please pardon my intrusion." He bows to the both of you before stalking off toward your father.

You suppose you'll be informed later if it's truly so important.

The silence fills between you and the man again before he asks, "May I have this dance?" His mouth quirks up in a smirk.

“It's only a country dance; nothing too intimate,” you think to yourself.

If you were being honest, the last thing you wanted to do was begrudgingly endure a dance with this gentleman after having more than your fair share of imbeciles indulge themselves in your assets, but propriety comes first. So instead of telling this man to kindly fuck off, you put on your best princessly smile and place your hand in his.

"Of course," you reply, and he leads you toward the floor.

You stand next to each other in between other couples before the band begins to pick up once again. The melody starts slow enough, so you take this time to ask the man exactly who he is, keeping your tone light and polite.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty; it seems that I remember the face but not the name.”

He must've made his entrance later on in the evening after the formal introductions, because you certainly would've remembered him during the greetings.

He offers a light chuckle before muttering, "Barnabas, King of Waloed."

King of Waloed. The very same king who's planning to go toe to toe with one of your closest confidants. He's aged quite a bit in the fifteen-odd years it's been since you've seen him last; it's no wonder you didn't recognize him.

Your body language gives you away despite your best efforts, and his laugh pierces through you. "It seems my reputation proceeds me."

The disdain is thinly veiled in your voice. "Don't you have a battle to prepare for?" you grit, and he laughs again as if the prospect were beneath him.

"I'm not worried," is all he offers in response. His presence must've been what Clive was trying to warn you about.

You take a deep breath, seeing it best not to stir anything up in the public eye.

You get a better look at him when the succession of people in the line with you turns around. He certainly doesn't dress like a king—definitely not one like your father. There are no bells and whistles to his outfit, no ornate capes lined with exotic furs, or gilded crowns.

If anything, it seemed like he'd dressed down for this event, and you can't tell what pisses you off more: his pompous attitude toward heading into battle that may surely send Dion to an all too early grave or his nonchalance in showing up to a royal ball in only a blue tunic and black leathers. It felt like a jab. Though his pompousness in battle may be deserved, this blatant display of disrespect was not.

He gave the impression of a venomous snake, intriguing to look at but ultimately best viewed from a faraway distance.

It takes everything in you not to grind your teeth together and overemphasize the stiffness in your movements.

As if sensing your irritation with him, Barnabas probes, "Are you enjoying yourself?"

No, you're quite simply NOT!

"I've gotten to the age where these sorts of gatherings lose their luster."

It wasn't exactly the truth, but it wasn't a lie either. As you got older and balls became more about finding matches, you started to dread them. You were hoping that it being your brother's birthday would be enough to spare you from marriage prospects, but alas, you were clearly wrong.

"A shame," he mutters, his words lacking enthusiasm.

The group moves along to the beat of the tune when Clive comes into your view, talking to your father.

"Who's that brooding fellow you're staring at?" Barnabas asks, trying to cut off whatever is taking your attention away from him.

The two of you move in succession toward the back of the group when it registers just how much you've been gawking at Clive in Barnabas' presence.

"Him? He's my first shield," you answer nonchalantly, letting no indication of fondness slip into your voice.

Barnabas snickers, "I had no idea noble ladies were so heavily invested in the lives of their shields."

"I know naught of what you mean," you scoff, acting like the princess you are.

His voice rises in volume as he declares, "Why don't you let a real man take care of you?"

Heat floods your body at his words, and you do little to hide your disgust.

"Excuse me?"

"He's nothing but filth," he continues to say, and the rage inside you reaches a boiling point.

"You speak of him as if he's nothing but a lowly street rat."

"He might as well be, compared to us. You could have an entire kingdom of knights protecting you as well as one of the most powerful men in the realm, instead of just one lowly feeble knight."

"Are you always so incorrigible toward those who are beneath you? It's a miracle that your kingdom still stands."

He laughs out loud, beside himself. You were sure he'd have your head. Instead, his volume just gets louder, so those dancing alongside you can hear.

"I've heard rumors that your precious first shield is actually a royal bastard, but from whom he's a descendant, I've no idea. A man of his standing is simply not fit to be in the position of protecting a princess. I'm just looking out for you."

If you were feeling rage before, now you're furious. As much as the people in your dance group tried to be respectful, heads couldn't help but turn at Barnabas' accusations.

Whether Clive being a bastard was true or not didn't matter; you refused for someone who valiantly defended your life to be made a mockery of over such trivial matters in your eyes.

"I was the one who held the sword that knighted Clive!" You start off loud, similar to him, but your voice gets lower as you draw near.

"My father gave him a title under his tutelage. Clive's been protecting me since I was the tender age of twelve years old and is the only man I'd trust with my life outside of my father and brother."

There's a pause before you continue.

"If you wish to win my favor, it'd be wise to watch what you say in regards to him," you grit.

You're not sure when the rest of the group stopped dancing alongside you, but by the time you realize it, all their eyes are on you. Though the people outside of the circle couldn't hear your conversation, the crowd caused those on the fray of the ballroom to turn their attention toward you.

Barnabas only snirks, scanning your face plainly when you turn back to face him. Your glare is prominent as he escorts you back off the dance floor once the music dies down.

He speaks in a low voice, right in your ear, "You're a feisty one, but don't worry, I enjoy a challenge." He smiles menacingly before releasing you.

All the wandering heads seem to return to their original activities upon the group's dispersal. You don't want to cause any more disturbance, something you're sure you'll get a lecture for later on, so you give a curtsey to Barnabas, lowering your head.

"I shall bid you adieu, Your Majesty." The words are choked out, and not a moment later you're turning on your heels and making your exit out of the ballroom.

Which is how you ended up in an old store room, with nothing but your various frustrations and the ebbs n flows of silence to keep you company.

You're not sure how long you've been sitting there, but by the time you hear the door open, you're convinced that it was a servant sent to escort you back to the ballroom, but instead, it's Clive.

There's no hesitation in his movements as he steps toward you, catching your face in his gloved hands as he reads your expression.

"Are you alright?" He asks. Even if there's no threat of physical danger, that doesn't mean emotional scars weren't left after your interaction with the king.

"I tried to warn you...I tried to-"

You cut him off, "I'm okay, Clive. A little embarrassed, but it's nothing I couldn't handle." You smiled softly at him, which he returned in full.

"What were you two talking about?"

Warmth flows throughout your body once more, and you don't want to admit that the cause of the outburst you had was because of him, so you act nonchalant.

"Nothing of importance."

He raises his eyebrows like he doesn't believe what you're saying at all, but he doesn't press you on it, not now at least, and you won't give him the chance to when you ask, "Jealous?"

He smirks, shaking his head back and forth slightly. "Do you enjoy tormenting me, my lady?"

"I beg your pardon."

"Do you enjoy watching my torment? Does it give you pleasure?"

"I'm afraid I know naught of what you mean. Have you perhaps forgotten your place, knight?" You put extra emphasis on the word as you toss a smirk his way.

He backs up from where you're sitting on the barrel. "All those men, dancing with you, ogling you. All the while, I'm forced to stand by and watch them all make a pass at you."

You offer a faux pout. "Aw, come on. They're not all bad."

"Enough of them are."

"Are you truly so jealous of those who're above your peerage?" You can't help but snirk in amusement. This was the first time you'd seen him act like this.

"Yes, no!" He takes a deep breath to collect his thoughts: "The Archduke and that bastard king."

Your eyebrows rise at his declaration. "You hate them so much that you've forgone proper titles?"

He rolls his eyes at your statement, and you're unable to hold back your giggles. You hop off the barrel and take his face into your hands.

"There is absolutely no affection for that king in my heart, I assure you. As for the Archduke, though he is roguishly charming, I happen to prefer meaner mugs to delicate pretty features like his," you move to press a kiss to his cheek.

His head hangs low in shame. "I cannot deny that jealousy and resentment burn in my heart at the thought of you with another."

"Believe me," you say, stroking his cheek, "I'd much rather spend my time with you than with stiff men who smell of port. I've been looking for an escape practically all evening.“

"They don’t deserve you at all, my lady. Those men don’t deserve to know the softness of your skin,” he lowers his mouth to place delicate kisses on your neck, then moves toward the exposed flesh of your bosom above your gown.

"Clive," you gasp, tangling your fingers in his thick locks.

“They don't deserve to know the sweetness in your voice when you cry out in pleasure," he whispers, pulling away from your skin to trace his thumb along the frame of your face.

“I’ve missed you," he states.

“I’ve missed you too.”

He pulls you into him for a kiss, one full of hunger and desperation, eager to taste each other once more. The kiss is sticky; the clear gloss painted on your lips transfers onto his. He’s licking into your mouth as your lips brush against each other, tongues wrestling each other for dominance.

You're moved backward until you're pressed against the storeroom wall. Clive reaches down, grazing your bum with his palms over the fabric of your skirts before lifting your legs in the air. The back wall holds you steady as he wraps your legs around his waist.

Desperate to get close to him once more, not even wanting to separate for a second, you pull him back into you and kiss him fervently, not wanting to be parted from each other. He angles his hips toward you, teasingly grinding himself into your heat, causing you to whine into the kiss.

“Looks like you did miss me, hm?” He separates from your lips, moving to kiss down your neck once more.

“Let me make it up to you for being so neglectful of your needs.” He continues kissing down your neck, moving over to your décolleté, and then finally down the swell of your breasts.

“Founder, how I wish I could mark these tits,” he murmurs, dropping your legs back down onto the floor so that he can skim your torso and squeeze at your chest through the fabric of your gown.

“You have an intense infatuation with my breasts, don't you?” You giggle, laughing at his awestruck countenance while he continues to knead the fat in his hands.

“You've no idea." He smirks at you, then suddenly kneels before you.

“What are you doing?” You pet his hair softly as he looks up at you.

“I’m just being a good knight, my lady. On my knees for you, like I should be.”

"Oh, really now?"

"Mhm," he mumbles, taking your gloved hand in his. “I truly did miss you, and I plan on showing you just how much.” He reaches towards the hem of your gown, bunching it up over your navel.

"If you'd be so kind as to help hold up your skirts, my lady."

"I suppose I should be so kind." You lift the hem of your dress over your hips as Clive places your leg over his shoulder.

“Now this is how I shall swear fealty to you,” he leans towards your bare mound, planting a few kisses upon your mons before blowing cool air onto your cunt.

“I’ve missed your taste. I dreamt about it for so many nights." His thumbs trace slow circles into the skin near your pelvis as he continues teasing. He trails his tongue where your thigh meets the stark white stocking covering the majority of your leg.

"Fuck." He leans his face into your pussy once more, inhaling the rich scent before finally dipping his tongue into your wetness. He groans into your cunt.

Holding up the skirts of your gown the best you can in one hand, you snake the other into his shaggy locks, taking hold of his roots. Your chest heaves in anticipation.

“Please, please, Clive, don’t tease me," you whine, "it’s been too long.”

“Aw, did my sweet princess miss me?” He goads, sticking his tongue in your entrance and greedily sucking up your arousal on his wet muscle.

“Did her princess pussy miss how good I made her feel?” He kisses up the seam of your cunt until he reaches your clit.

"Did she miss how I made love to her with my mouth?” He spits on your pussy, the glob of saliva sticking to the hairs that cover your mound, some of it dripping to the ground.

He's quick to remove his gloves, tossing them aside before he takes his thumbs and spreads your folds apart, watching as your quivering hole twitches in anticipation.

“She must have missed me, with how much she’s leaking just for me."

All you're able to do is bite your lip and nod, feeling embarrassed as his words generate heat in both your cheeks and core.

He plugs your warm hole with his tongue, not wanting a single morsel of your essence to be wasted.

“It’s alright, princess; I’m right here.” He speaks directly into your cunt, looking at you with a deeply enamored gaze.

"I’ve missed her too, you know," he says, sliding his tongue all around your sopping pussy.

“I’ve missed her wetness, her sweetness, and her warmth. I missed how she clenched around me as I gave her pleasure," he groans.

Making his way to your clit, he gives it sweet kisses and drags the length of his tongue along the entirety of the bundle of nerves before pulling it into his mouth. His teeth graze the nub, causing your hips to jump forward, pressing more of yourself into his face.

Your fingers curl into his shaggy locks, struggling to keep your dress in your hold as you lose yourself in the feeling of pleasure, his pretty face proving to be useful for more than just gazing upon.

His teeth nip at your inner thigh, “getting greedy now, aren’t we princess?” He traces the divots of your thighs with his fingers, enjoying the feeling of your skin.

You don’t say anything, choosing to instead respond with an angry huff and pull his face back into your cunt by his hair.

“Point taken,” he smirks against you before pulling your clit back into his mouth again.

He moves his hand from your thigh and down to your pussy, sliding his middle finger back and forth between your folds, coating it in your slick. He slips to your entrance, circling the quivering hole and waiting, drawing out a whine from you.

“Please,” you exhale, your head rolling back against the wall, desperate to have him deep inside you. Though you’d much prefer squeezing down on his cock, that’d have to wait for another day.

He chuckles, the vibration from his voice moving through you, causing you to keel over slightly. Clive breeches your warm hole, slowly, letting you enjoy the feeling of his thick finger stretching you out.

“Fuck yes,” you whimper.

“That’s it, princess; you’re so wound up. Just take what you need," he coos, murmuring against you, his breath hot on your skin.

He curls his finger into you, the pad of his digit hitting the spongey spot along your walls.

“Looking for another audience? Was the poor maid not enough the first time?” He’s smirking against you now as he begins to pump his finger in and out of your cunt.

“What if your father were to catch you with me, hm? How do you think he’d react to his little girl stuffing her cunt in the face of someone he deigned worthy enough to protect her?"

Your breath is ragged, unable to form words due to the sound of his voice, deep and gravelly as he spews more filth at you.

“Keep moaning like that, and we’ll soon know the answer yet.”

He moves to your clit once more, slurping and sucking at your swollen pussy, desperate to push you over the edge. He fucks his finger into you at a rapid pace now, and his tongue is quick to catch whatever dribbles out onto his fingers, dining on your essence like it’s the finest ambrosia known to man, and to him, it might as well be.

Your head is lulled back against the wall as heat creeps onto your face and into your core. You don’t dare look down at Clive, who's nestling his face further in the hair that covers your cunt, knowing that you’ll surely come undone at the sight.

After the night you’ve had, you more than deserve this a thousand times over, and if it were up to him, he would happily oblige in all your desires.

The tips of your fingers cinch into his scalp, tugging him impossibly closer to your core, your orgasm building rapidly.

Clive pulls no punches, suctioning his lips around your clit and sucking it like a piece of hard candy. His index finger has joined the middle digit, fucking in and out of your cunt.

With practiced strokes, he contorts his fingers until your climax is upon you. Your lips part with a silent scream as your eyes roll into the back of your skull.

Your thighs shake as they try to close around his head, and his steady palms hold them apart as he removes his fingers from your pussy. Every drop of arousal that leaks from your womanhood is lapped up by his tongue til your hands are pushing his face away.

Clive gets the hint, removing your thigh from his shoulder and setting it back down on the floor. You attempt to move away from the wall, but he holds you in position until the jitter in your leg ceases.

He wipes the remnants of your spend from his face onto your inner thighs, and the roughness of his facial hair sends a shiver up your spine.

Once you've settled, he moves to help with fixing the skirts of your gown.

"Do you like it?" You smile brightly. "I wore it with you in mind."

You twirl slowly, your dress billowing slightly, wanting to show off all the detailing. His face warms at the gesture, and he presses a soft kiss on your forehead.

"I think lavender may be my new favorite color."

You allow yourself a moment to indulge in the blissful feeling before Clive speaks up once more.

"We should get moving. The break for supper will be happening soon, and we don't want any whispers of our whereabouts if we're not in attendance."

He moves to make a break for the storeroom door when you grab his forearm.

"Surely you're not going to go out there with your... predisposition," you flit your eyes down to the front of his trousers, where a prominent erection has made itself known.

"I'll take care of it myself, later."

"Let me help you..." There wasn't much time for you to return the favor with your mouth, and any other activities would leave you disheveled in a way that everyone would know of what happened between the two of you, but you could provide relief with your hand.

Despite the time restraint, you wanted to tease Clive a little, putting the tips of your silk gloves into your mouth and pulling them off of each hand slowly with your teeth before setting them aside nearby, so as to not be sullied with bodily fluids.

You wanted to get a good look at what you'd be working with, so you sink to your knees and pull his trousers down to his thighs. You give him a wide-eyed expression as the appendage bobs free, hitting his stomach gently.

His cock looked a lot different than those pictured in the medical texts that you've snuck from the royal library. He had extra skin and hair and garnered a much bigger girth as well.

As tempted as you are to swallow the whole of him into your mouth, you settle for a simple kiss right on the tip, and his cock twitches back at you cutely in appreciation.

You rise to your feet once more with his aid and grasp him in your hand. His fingers are quick to cover your own, the size of them dwarfing yours.

"Are you positive that you want to go through with this? I truly don't mind taking care of myself," he asks.

"And not return the favor?" You chuckle. "I promise, I am doing this out of my own desire." You move to the column of his throat, placing soft and delicate kisses on the skin before moving toward the junction of his jaw.

"Now just relax," you coo, running your fingers delicately up and down his shaft.

He's so pent-up that it won't take long for him to climax, but you do your best to be as teasing as possible. His head lulls back as muffled sounds are delivered from his throat, and you can't help but admire how pretty he looks like this.

Not only does he have an impressive amount of girth, but his length is nothing to scoff at either, with a protruding vein running along the underside of him. The sheer size of him fills up your entire palm as you continue to pump slowly, the softness of your skin akin to silk upon his cock.

"So tell me, Clive, how many nights have you been fucking your fist to the thought of me?" You whisper in his ear, and his eyes shoot wide open as he takes in a gulp of air.

His hips buck lightly against you in response, giving you all the permission you need to continue your questioning.

"Come on, tell me. It can't be that bad." Your kisses continue on his neck as his hips continue to rock.

He takes in another gulp of air before answering.

"E-every night.”

"Every night? How cute," you tease, speeding up your movements on his cock. He bites his lip in an attempt to hide his noises while the rhythm of his hips meets your hand every time.

"I touch myself thinking of you too. Except my fingers are nowhere near as filling as yours," you chuckle to yourself as he groans out.

"Founder, above."

His cock is fully slick now, and at any moment, he looks like he's ready to burst, taking to wrapping his fist around yours and creating a vice-like grip with your fingers. All his movements are hurried and rushed as he chases his release.

For the final blow, you mutter to him, "Fuck my fist like you would fuck my pussy."

Clive full body shudders, tightening his grip once more before thrusting wildly. It's only a few short moments later that he's removing your hand from himself and laying his seed on the floor below, groaning your name in the process.

Afterward, the two of you take a few moments to collect yourselves and tidy your appearance. Old rags were used to wipe off the remnants of Clive from the floor, and you were just about to make your exit when the melody from one of your favorite songs played through the door.

"Clive, may I have this dance?" You extend your hand toward him, giggling to yourself.

From looking at your dance card earlier, this song was the second-to-last song to be played before the break for supper.

"And don't give me the excuse of not having enough time. We'll make it back to the ballroom before everyone's filed out for the evening."

"Even if that is true, my lady, I assure you that I know nothing of ballroom dancing."

"Did I ask you if you knew how?"

There's a momentary pause, one that he fills with a shake of his head. You nod in return.

"No, I did not. I simply asked you to dance with me. I'd still wish to so even if you had two left feet."

There's another pause as you extend your hand toward him again.

"I even saved you a spot on my dance card," you smile, shaking the parchment in front of his face, where the line for this dance is indeed left blank.

In his indecisiveness, you take his hand in your own and press yourselves close together.

"It's just you and me," you whisper, resting your head against his frame, the sound of the music filling the silence. His opposite hand moves to the small of your back, and the two of you end the evening in each other's arms, swaying to the sound of muffled music.

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