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murdockparker · 8 months ago

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Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say.

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed.

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. “There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by.

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise.

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?”

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?”

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion.

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.”

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more.

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct.

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.”

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room.

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it.

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process.

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze.

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.”

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal.

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display.

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter.

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door.

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon.

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—”

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask.

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say.

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish.

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly.

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered.

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck.

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water.

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face.

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out.

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward.

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed.

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above.

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said.

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—”

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother.

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—”

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?”

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain.

Rain.

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting.

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in.

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise.

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…”

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely.

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—”

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified.

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience.

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this.

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him.

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again.

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while.

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter.

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray.

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have.

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #this is a doozy and i am sorry #but only a little bit!!!

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cxrrodedcoffin · 2 months ago

Text

✟ 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫 ✟

Kinktober fic 2: Charlie Mayhew ✟ Blasphemy + Church Sex

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠!

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dom!charlie, priest!charlie (duh), aspiring nun!reader, tattooed!reader, religious themes (obvi), catholicism, extremely blasphemous activities, mentions of mental health facilities and sobriety, mild religious trauma mention, baptism, submersion in holy water, semi-public sex, oral sex (fem receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, sex in water + in a church, fem + afab reader, breath play, hickeys, nipple play, cream pie, mentions of scars, use of “father” as an honorific in both a professional context and sexual context.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k

When you first visited the church to inquire about taking your vows as a nun, you weren’t sure what to expect. It had been so long since the last time you’d set foot in a church, but the moment you crossed that holy threshold a childhood full of memories came rushing back to you.

The church was not a place you ever thought you’d consider your home again once you reached adolescence, but now, after a decade of poor decisions and enough casual sex to put an end to global inceldom if you so wished, you found yourself back in a house of worship for the first time since childhood.

A six month-long stint in an in-patient psychiatric treatment center had been the catalyst, your first extended period of time being both sober and celibate since your teen years forcing you to face some hard truths about the way you’d been living your life.

You decided to see if there was any ounce of the faith you blindly held as a child still left somewhere deep in your subconscious, seeking out the nearest convent you could only a few weeks after your discharge from the facility.

Each step you took down the arched corridor to the church administrator’s office brought back flashes of the past, both bitter and sweet, the kaleidoscope of colors fanning in from the stained glass windows drawing a familiar sense of melancholy you had half-expected to reappear.

One thing you certainly were not expecting out of this visit was to meet one Father Charlie Mayhew. The curve of his jaw was the first thing you caught a glimpse of as he stepped out of the administrator’s office, the striking momentary glimpse of his side profile nearly knocking the wind out of you.

You squeaked out a faint “Sorry!” as you took a step back, your eyes locking with his. His cheeks creased in a charming smile, the black fabric of his clerical shirt pulling taut over his muscular forearm as he held the office door open for you. Your mind finally registered the flash of his white tab collar at his neck, prompting you to straighten up as a sign of respect.

“Thank you, Father-”

“Mayhew.” He finished, giving you a gentle nod as you returned the smile and slipped past him through the door frame. It was a small encounter, mere seconds of interaction, and yet you couldn’t shake the image of his smile from your mind for the rest of the day.

That was six months ago, and in the time since, every interaction you’d had with him had only worsened your attraction to him. He was equal parts charismatic and enigmatic, sharing fascinating details of his hobbies and interests and how they brought him closer to God, yet remaining at an arm’s length, keeping parts of himself closed off from you as well as the rest of the clergy.

Today was the day you were to begin your official commitment to your religious journey, ready to begin the years-long journey to take your vows. There was one final requirement you had to complete, needing to amend the oversight your parents had made in never getting around to having you baptized as a child.

You’d spent the majority of the day working on your studies, doing everything you could to distract yourself from the nerves growing in your tummy over your baptism ceremony. You weren’t nervous about the ceremony itself, it was a private ritual to be held before only God, you, and the priest performing it at an hour late enough that most of the convent would be fast asleep. The only problem was that the priest performing your baptism was none other than the man you’d become desperate for, Father Mayhew.

You had completed your post-dinner stroll around the campus, the sun set well below the horizon as the moon rose high in the sky. It was almost time, and when you returned to your dormitory, you stripped from your robes and hopped into a cold shower the moment the door shut behind you. Cleanliness was next to Godliness afterall, and the heat in your cheeks caused by your wandering mind needed to be quelled before facing the man at the center of your wildest fantasies.

When you had finally calmed yourself to a manageable level you stepped out of the shower, quickly wicking the water droplets off of your skin before pulling the flowy cotton nightgown over your bare body. You didn’t bother with undergarments, knowing they’d be just another layer of soaking wet fabric you’d have to peel from your shivering body in likely less than an hour.

You made your way down the hallway of the dormitory, your simple black ballet flats clicking gently against the sleek tile floor. After what felt like forever, you finally arrived at the connecting door of the chappel, pausing momentarily to gather your nerves one last time. The large wooden door creaked as you slowly pushed it open, moonlight shining through the tall stained glass portraits lining the walls of the hall. The flicker of candlelight pulled your eye to the baptismal font, flames dancing in the reflection of the pool.

Charlie stood tall, his hands folded behind his back as you slowly closed the space between you, stopping when there remained only a foot of space.

“Good evening, Father.” You greeted, barely above a whisper. He returned the greeting and you couldn’t help but notice the way his eyes lingered on your damp hair. You realized it was the first time he’d seen it completely uncovered since that first day you met six months ago, and you had to fight the urge to attempt to cover yourself. You were supposed to be in as natural of a state as possible in order to properly cover yourself in God’s protection, that was why you agreed to a full immersion baptism in the first place. There was no need to hide yourself from him tonight.

“Let’s begin.” He extended his hand to you, giving a reassuring smile as he guided you to the edge of the basin, taking each step into the lukewarm water. When you reached the center of the small pool, you observed the way the water level barely reached his knee but was fully up to your upper thigh, making your height difference glaringly obvious. You shivered, not only from the slight temperature of the holy water around you, but also the intimidation that his stature brought as he looked down at you.

“Cross your arms over your chest, please.” He instructed, taking a step closer to you so his torso was mere millimeters from being flush with yours, his right arm wrapping around your waist to cradle your lower back just above your tailbone.

“I’m going to do a short reading, then guide you to fall back into the water. You’ll only be under for a second, and I’ll pull you back out.” His voice was low, dulcet tones pairing beautifully with the atmosphere the dim lighting of the room created and you felt that familiar sin rising between your thighs, unable to remove your gaze from his immaculately sculpted facial features. You nodded in understanding, holding your arms across your heaving chest, hoping they disguised the evidence of your rapid heart rate and increasingly labored breaths.

“The Lord will cleanse the baptized from their impurities and idols, and give them a new heart and spirit. Through faith in Christ's death, God makes the baptized one with himself. May our sister lead a life worthy of her vocation, and preserve the unity of the Spirit.” He chanted, executing the sign of the cross before his free hand wrapped behind your shoulder to cradle you, exchanging a slight nod before you shut your eyes and allowed your body to fall back, holy water engulfing every inch of you for only a moment.

His strong arms lifted you out back out of the water, helping you find your footing on shaky knees, all the while your eyes remained shut. You hadn’t anticipated how sheer your shroud would become once it had taken on water, the lightweight linen clinging to every curve and contour of your body. Your whole frame shivered, painfully aware of the fact that your nipples were glaringly pert against the soaked fabric.

“You can open your eyes.” His hands remained around your waist, squeezing slightly with the lighthearted words as he waited for your response to finally being cleansed and fully protected.

Charlie couldn’t deny that his natural desires were running rampant at the sight of you, all wet and shivering on trembling legs like a fawn who’d slipped through the ice of a frozen lake, barely making it back to shore. Your nightgown was exceedingly translucent as it clung to your most intimate parts, the dark outline of your tattoos being what shocked him the most despite the allure of your breasts.

He hadn’t anticipated a girl with a face as angelic as yours could possibly be hiding markings such as these beneath the long sleeves he’d only ever seen you in. But then again, he doubted you’d ever anticipate the deep scars that adorned his back either. You weren’t the girl who had chosen to get those tattoos anymore, but he wondered if the girl you were now still had such a strong penchant for pain.

When you finally opened your eyes, ready to face the embarrassment of your exposed chest, you were surprised to find Father Mathew’s gaze not fixated on your breast, but rather your arms. You were so used to your tattoos, they barely even registered in your mind when you saw your reflection in the mirror each morning, so you had completely overlooked the fact that no one in the parish knew about them.

“I-I was a very different person when I got them.” You stumbled over your words, feeling a strong sense of insecurity about the way you’d dishonored your body in the eyes of the church.

“I find them to be an exquisite decoration of the temple that is your body, you know I don’t believe in the enforcement of many of the strict rules of the old church. You don’t have to justify yourself to me.” His right hand left your hip, finding your arm and lifting it to his mouth, plush lips placing firm kisses over the prominent vein at the base of your wrist before making his way further up, following the trail of your tattoos.

You mewled like a frightened kitten, so incredibly touch starved after a year of celibacy that you thought you might cum just from the heat of his mouth against your sensitive skin. As he pushed the sopping wet fabric of the bell sleeve further up your arm, your eyes fluttered shut, knees going weak again. You couldn’t believe he was touching you this way, even just chaste kisses along your limbs forcing the heat in your core to reach a boiling point. You couldn’t do this.

“Father, stop.” You tried to be as stern as possible but it came out as nothing more than a halfhearted sigh of defeat, your eyes pulled into a desperate plead. You wanted more, needed him so deep inside you that he might fill the God-shaped hole in your heart, but you were preparing to take a vow. That was the whole point of this, the very reason you were here with him in the first place.

“Now that you’ve been baptized, you are cleansed of your past sins and will be forgiven for those you commit going forward. We are and always will be sinners.” The look in his eyes was nothing but carnal, all reservations you held melting away with his insight.

“Fuck it.” You replied, a bit of the old you peeking through for a split second. Hearing that filthy word leave your cherubic lips set something off in him, causing him to drop your wrist and use his strong grip to pull you by your waist until you were completely flush with him, his mouth quickly finding yours in a kiss so forceful you wondered if your lip would bruise.

His hands were everywhere, squeezing and groping at your tender flesh through the fabric, almost fighting with the garment as it clung to your skin. You quickly grabbed for the hem still floating against your thighs in the water, peeling it as high up as you could before being forced to break away from him to pull it over your head. The sheer weight of the soaked gown was almost too much for you to lift, your arms shaking as you attempted to move it over your head.

Charlie took the bunched fabric from you, lifting it the rest of the way so you were finally free, completely nude in front of his still fully dressed state. You felt more vulnerable than ever before, so exposed in such a holy place, all the while he still held all of his modesty beneath his sleek black clerical shirt and slacks, barely saturated by the low water level.

“Good lord, you’re straight out of a renaissance painting.” He eyed you up and down, admiring every detail of your trembling body before his eyes settled on your breasts. His mouth began to water, the need to have his mouth on you again overwhelming his every thought. He closed the space between you once more, pushing you until your back hit the side of the pool.

“Up.” He mumbled against your neck, slender fingers gripping into the flesh of your hips as you jumped, his firm hold guiding your ass up onto the ledge, your feet dangling in the water. He pushed your thighs apart and pulled you to the very edge, just teetering on the slick tile. He took a step back, ripping the tab collar from his neck and starting to undo the buttons of his shirt. You instinctively began to close your legs, his eyes boring into you like a beam of sunlight.

“Keep them open.” His tone was more stern, hand reaching out to push your knee to its previous position.

“You hold heaven’s gate between your thighs, angel. Give me a chance to take it all in.” His voice was like smoked honey, smooth and intoxicating simultaneously, his nimble fingers expertly undoing the last of the buttons on his shirt before peeling it off of his toned arms. He made quick work of undoing his slacks, pushing them along with his underwear down his thighs, his hard cock slapping against his lower stomach before bobbing teasingly between his muscular thigh.

You had to fight your jaw from dropping at the sight, his cock just as mesmerizing as the rest of him, all flushed pink and dripping, his shaft taking a slight curve to the right, prominent vein running down the entire length of the left side, and the blushed tip glistening with precum. He nearly laughed at the look on your face, pushing the sound down in his throat to prevent any misinterpretation of his amusement.

He was enamored by you, this anomaly of a woman, equal parts innocent and sinful, all wrapped up in a package he couldn’t resist any longer. He sank to his knees, creating a wave in the water around him as he crawled those last few steps to you, still barely submerged up to his waist.

He placed an open-mouthed kiss to your inner thigh, sucking hungrily on the plush skin in a trail leading straight to your pussy, blushed purple and red bruises blooming in his wake.

When he reached your cunt, he took a deep breath and exhaled a slow stream of air over your labia, observing the way your breath hitched and your stomach muscles tightened, reactive like a born again virgin.

He gave no warning, practically diving into your folds, tongue lapping hungrily at the nectar dripping from your entrance, like Samson drinking from the rock basin after nearly dying of thirst.

His large hands held your thighs apart with a determination you’d never felt, the pads of his manicured fingers digging into your skin hard enough to bruise. Your hands moved to his perfectly quaffed hair, undoing the gelled style with the run of your dainty fingers through it, finding the tresses at the nape of his neck and pushing his face closer still to your cunt.

He was relentless, alternating in broad strokes and pointed flicks against your clit until your thighs shook, teetering dangerously close to both the edge of the pool and your first outsourced orgasm in over a year.

He replaced his right hand with his shoulder against your thigh to keep you spread wide open, his index and middle fingers broaching your entrance only to be quickly wrapped in your tight warmth, your neglected walls clinging to any stimulation they could get. One, two, three curls of his fingers against the velvety soft patch inside of you had you riding his face without inhibition, your cries of pleasure dulled only by your own hand clamped over your open mouth.

You couldn’t remember the last time you had cum that quickly, his actions drawing an unceremoniously fast reaction from you and you almost felt betrayed by your own body, unable to control your own sober actions for the first time in God knows how long.

“Need to feel your perfect cunt around my cock.” He panted through labored breaths as he finally pulled away from your overly sensitive clit, the bottom half of his face glistening just the same as your cunt.

He rose to his feet, taking you by the hips again and helping you back into the water, a chill running up your spine at the change in temperature. Your feet had barely touched the tile at the bottom before he was hauling you to the steps, gently pushing down on your shoulder to sit on the middle step.

“I want to see your angelic face while I ruin you.” He took your ankles in his grip, forcing your legs up to your chest as he knelt on the step below yours, aligning the head of his shaft with your weeping entrance. He brought his right hand up to the side of your face, thumb brushing along your jawline before dipping lower, his fingers wrapping firmly around your throat as he entered you fully with a single thrust. You gasped, the corners of your mouth pulling into a devilish smile at the sudden show of control, reveling in the feeling of his thick cock stretching your tight walls.

The holy water around you splashed with every rock of your connected hips, surrounding the place you were intertwined most intimately. Charlie dipped his head down to your chest, taking advantage of the way your back arched away from the edge of the step to take your pert nipple in his mouth, sucking gently at first until it devolved into hungry grazes of teeth and flicks of his expertly trained tongue. His grip on your throat tightened, his forearm pressing down on your other breast as he braced himself against the tile with his free hand.

You threw your head back, crying out in soft whimpers as he moaned against your breast, the upward angle of his thrusts causing the head of his cock to repeatedly hit the soft, sensitive spot deep inside of you, bringing you hurtling toward another orgasm.

“Come on, angel, show God how good this carnal sin feels.” He pulled away from your nipple just long enough to groan out the most blasphemous sentence you’d ever heard in your life, and you almost screamed from how hard he thrust up into you, swearing he had hit your cervix.

“Please, Father!” You moaned, pawing at his back, feeling the raised skin of his scars against your gentle fingertips. You made a mental note to inquire about them after, too lost in the feeling of him drawing you closer and closer to your orgasm to ask questions in the moment.

He rose back up from your chest, an animalistic open-mouth smirk on his face as he squeezed the sides of your neck tighter still, the lack of blood flow to your brain giving you a high you hadn’t quite experienced before. His eyes burned into yours, locked in a gaze you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to break as he gave a few more brutal thrusts into your aching cunt, finally reaching that euphoria you’d been craving from the moment you met him.

“Oh, God!” You cried out, watching the flicker of satisfaction in his eyes as you clamped down around him, forcing him to slow his pace inside of you. His hips began to falter, your cunt milking him relentlessly until the coil snapped, spilling his warm load deep inside of you. Watching the way the vein in his temple strained as he groaned above you gave you the same sense of satisfaction, knowing you could bring him to such a vulnerable state before the God you both served.

When you’d both caught your breath he pulled out of you, milky white cum swirling into the water. You’d almost feel ashamed if it weren’t for the afterglow you resided in, head still spinning from the deliciously pleasurable acts you’d just participated in.

“I have to drain the pool and refill it for tomorrow’s morning Mass, and you need to be back in your dorm before Mother Superior wakes up.” He stated matter-of-factly as he took your hand and helped you out of the pool, still shivering in the cold night air.

“Can we do this again?” You questioned meekly, apprehension setting in as you felt him pulling away from you.

“I’ll come by the dorms tomorrow during your lunch hour.” He squeezed your hand, giving a final reassuring smile as he handed you your now partially dried gown, nodding toward the door before you exchanged goodnights. You spent the rest of your night laying in your bed, slipping in and out of sleep, too distracted by your anticipation for what was to come to ever slip into a proper slumber.

—

tagging my maywhores <3 (i just came up with that what do we think??): @xxbimbobunnyxx @babygorewhore

please comment or message me if you’d like to be tagged in my charlie mayhew fics going forward!!

#father charlie mayhew #dividers by cxrrodedcoffin #charlie mayhew #grotesquerie #nicholas chavez #nicholas alexander chavez #charlie mayhew smut #father charlie x reader #father charlie smut #father charlie mayhew smut #mine #my writing #my dividers #1k

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sturnsdarling · 3 months ago

Text

I don't know how to forget you

matt and y/n have been best friends their whole life, but after a drunken kiss and a night of tangled limbs, everything is changing.

vibe check: smut throughout (pretty equal sex dynamic, softdombutneedy!matt / subbutdeviant!reader), fluff, (resolved) angst, childhood best friends to idiots to idiots in love, y/n is scared of love (aren't we all), soft!matt, depressed!matt/reader, soppy confessions of love

this is a long one, kids: 12k words.

A/N: I LOVE THEM!! anyways this whole thing is based on one of my favourite songs of all time so if you don't know then get to know. I had so much fun writing this so I hope you love it as much as I do. IDIOTS IN LOVE SUPREMACY🗣 also tysm for over 200 followers you guys are insane

moodboards for this fic

love and cigs, merc

You burst into the house back first, Matts hands clawing at your waist and his lips moving against yours in a clash of teeth and tongues, your arms draped over his shoulders as your hands desperately clung to his messy brown hair.

He kicked the door shut with his foot, one hand coming to your jaw to pull you into him deeper. You both clumsily walked towards his bedroom, Matt leading you backwards with closed eyes, just about missing the couch. Your hands left his hair and found the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it up over his head with vigour, breaking the kiss for a brief moment before crashing back into each other. Heavy breathing and small moans were the only sound in his house as he attempted to unbutton your shirt, not yet breaking the kiss and fumbling at the tiny circles that kept your body from him. He groaned into the kiss in frustration, biting your lip slightly before tearing your shirt open in one fowl rip. You chuckled into the kiss, Matt followed suit and your back hit the hard wood of his bedroom door, your arm frantically finding the door handle behind you.

When you finally gained entrance, still locked in an all consuming make out session with Matt, you slipped your hands between your bodies and began to untie the knot in his joggers, his whole body twitching at the sensation. Matt broke the kiss, panting, his forehead leaning on yours.

“I thought you said we weren’t gonna do this anymore” He said through frantic breaths, his lips still brushing yours.

“I know what I said” you muttered, finally undoing the bow that acted as the gatekeeper between your hand and his aching length, the swift insertion of your cold hand into his warm boxers acting as a mic drop to your statement as you pulled him into you once more.

“So” Matt pulled away for a brief moment, missing the heat from your plump lips and kissing you before he spoke again, “what’re we doin” he panted.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Matt” you shook your head, wrapping your hand round the back of his head, nearly giving him whiplash at the speed you pull his lips back to yours.

One month earlier

You and Matt had been seeing each other for about six months, it all started as an innocent drunken kiss at a birthday party, that same night ending with you underneath him on his satin sheets, getting pounded into at a rapid rate. You had both decided that, as two consenting adults (your exact words when you propositioned him the idea) you should start sleeping with each other on a regular basis. What was the harm right? The sex was good, you knew each other inside and out, having been friends for basically your whole lives, and you knew that no matter what happened, you’d always love each other unconditionally.

At first it was amazing, the sex was obviously incredible and, outside of the bedroom, basically nothing changed. No one had even noticed a difference between you two, your dynamic already being touchy and somewhat flirty prior to your decision to hook up every so often.

Despite the occasional stolen glance and white knuckled night out from being forced to watch one another get hit on by random strangers at bars, it was honestly really normal, at least it felt that way.

Being with Matt was easy, he was kind and caring, being around him was like being with yourself, there was no bullshit and no expectations. You just, saw each other, truly and completely.

As time went on, the sex became something more, it stopped being about simply acting on an urge and started being about the closeness. The intimacy of it all. You craved him, and he was addicted to you. He stopped flirting back with the girls that pushed themselves against him at bars, and you stopped entertaining the boys that bent over backwards to get your attention. Neither of you had noticed it at first but, no one was interesting anymore. No one understood you like the two of you did, no one even came close. No one could make you laugh like he did, and no one could bring him out of his own head like you could. No one knew your body like him, and vice versa, and soon enough, the sex started to change the way you saw each other.

Instead of seeing Matt, your childhood best friend and the kid that accidentally broke your arm by landing on you at the bottom of a snowy hill when you were kids; you saw Matt, a lingering presence of safety in a crowed room and a blissful night of endless orgasms. Instead of seeing you, the fourth wheel in his little family and the girl that bullied him for being five foot nothing until he was sixteen, he saw you, a beaming ray of light in his life and the sexiest woman he’d ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.

The shift didn’t seem to matter, as far as you were both aware, nothing had changed. That was until one night when you were hanging out with Matt as you always did:

You and Matt were half naked, tangled up in one another on his bed, watching gravity falls for the billionth time and enjoying each others company.

You were rested against his headboard, clad in his t-shirt and your underwear, and he was rested in-between your legs, his bare back comfortably wedged between your thighs as his long, plaid pyjama pant covered legs spread over the length of his bed. Matt turned his head to the side, peppering a small kiss on the side of your leg before shifting to lift himself up off his bed, the loss of his warm pressure against you almost painful.

“m’gonna go get a drink, baby, y’want anything?” He said, standing up and hovering next to the bed.

You shook your head, looking up at him, “I’m good, thank you”.

“Okay” he leant down, the weight of his arms making the bed shift under you as he placed a tender kiss on your lips, your mouths slotting together effortlessly.

He walked out the room and the door clicked shut. In your momentary solitude, the game changing realisation infiltrated your brain.

He just called you baby, and not when you were fucking, he called you baby like, like it was your name, like it was the easiest thing to call you in that moment, like it felt right to him so he did it, or even worse, that he didn’t even think about it, like that’s who you are to him.

A sudden wave of panic came over you, the events of the last however many months flashing through your brain. The longing looks, the small jealous comments that went over your head, the lingering touches when you were with your friends, his desperation for you after being apart for any longer than a couple days. All of it started to come together in your mind as one big puzzle of ‘holy fucking shit he has feelings for me, and not just I care about you as a friend but I also wanna fuck you feelings, real feelings’. That wasn’t the scary part though, the scary part was how effortless it felt, to you. How it all just made sense with him, how it was never weird or awkward, how you felt completely safe with him, how you felt genuinely and utterly, loved by him.

Your rapid mind was interrupted by Matt walking back into the room.

“Chris drank all the fuckin’ soda already, kids an addict I swear to god” he said, holding a glass of lemonade.

You chuckled slightly at his remark, your eyes fixated on your fingers as you picked and pulled at the skin of your thumb. Matt fell backwards onto the bed, half his weight on your legs. The pressure suddenly made you uncomfortable and, without really thinking about it, you pulled your legs from under him and tucked them under yourself. The movement made Matt turn up to look at you, finally noticing your weird demeanour. You never pulled away from him, if anything you did the opposite, especially when you were alone. Matts brows furrowed as he turned to lay on his stomach.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked softly, rubbing a gentle finger on your leg.

You shifted under his touch again, which worried him, a lot. He shifted and raised himself up to sit in front of you. He hooked a finger under your chin and lifted your head up.

“What’s the matter?” He questioned, his voice thick with concern.

You shook your head, his baring blue eyes making you feel claustrophobic in your own skin.

“m’fine” you said, attempting to look away from him.

Your energy was jarring, and Matt was utterly confused, what the fuck had happened in the maybe twenty-seconds he had been gone and why were you suddenly acting like you didn’t even want to look at him?

“Y/n/n, I know when you’re lying, what’s wrong?” He said, trying to find your eyes again.

You didn’t reply, only returned to picking at your thumbs. Matt simply stared at you, unable to understand why you were suddenly a tense and anxious ball of energy.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the silence, your voice coming out in a choked strain.

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Matt” your eyes didn’t leave your skin.

Those nine words hit matt like a bus, knocking the wind out of him as his mouth parted in a feeling he could only describe as agony.

“Do what? As in, do this” he said, gesturing to himself and then to you.

You finally raised your head to look at him, a deep sadness hiding behind your emotionless face. “I don’t think it's a good idea, it’s gone on for way longer than either of us expected, and—“ you huffed, “I just can’t do it anymore” you tore your gaze from him, incapable of the decency it took to look him in the eye as you tore his heart from his chest.

“wh—“ Matt muttered, “where the fuck has this come from?” He shook his head, eyes squinting and brows scrunching together.

You didn’t reply, only shifted in your own skin. Your aloofness was like sand paper against Matts skin, he barely recognised you. His mind raced with the endless mind boggling possibilities as to why you didn’t want to be with him anymore, but they all centred into one crippling thought.

“Is there someone else?” He said, his voice dropping an octave.

“No” you said immediately, the ‘there could never be anyone else’ staying tucked between your teeth as your head shot up to look at him.

“So what is then? Did I— did I do something?” His tone faltered, coming out as almost apologetic.

You shook your head, gnawing at the inside of your cheeks, “I just — you — I — ” you couldn’t find the words to make it make sense, because it didn’t, it didn’t make sense, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of the walls closing in around you.

“Y/n/n” your name rolled off his tongue like honey, his head shifting on his shoulders towards you slightly, his brows still knit firmly together in confusion that looked a lot like sadness.

“I have to go” you said, unable to look at him for a second longer in fear of bursting into tears.

“Wait—” he said, reaching out for you as you climbed off the bed and picked up your jeans that were sprawled across the floor.

“Matt, I have to go” you cut him off, picking up your things and hurrying out the door, not looking at him for even a split second.

You shut the door behind you and he opened it almost immediately, following you out into his kitchen, watching as you raced down the stairs.

“Y/n” he called out your name, but your pace didn’t falter, and in a flash and a slam of his front door, you were gone.

He stood at the top of the stairs, blinking at the closed door a head of him.

On the sofa, Chris and Nick were staring at him, waiting for him to say something and sharing flitting glances back and forth with one another.

“What the fuck was that about?” Chris said, breaking the deafening silence.

“Is she okay?” Nick followed his brothers questioning.

“I have no idea” Matt said, that simple fact being the only thing he did know.

You threw yourself into your car, slamming the door shut. The sound rang through your ears and the silence that filled the vehicle after was enough to send you tumbling into your sadness. Tears brimmed at your eyes as heavy, fast pants rapidly escaped your nose, you felt awful, you had no idea what you were doing, why did you leave like that? Why didn’t you just talk to him, he’s your best friend, why didn’t you just say something? Anything? What would you even say? I think you’re in love with me and I’m terrified that I love you too? Being with you like this has been the best six months of my life? the thought of losing you makes me feel like I'm dying? Any attempt to try and put how you felt into words made you spiral, and after a pent up moment of burning holes into the black leather of your steering wheel, the flood gates opened.

“Fuck!” you screamed, tears cascading down your face and you hit the wheel with the palm of your hands over and over again.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you were drowning in your own mind and had no way of coming to the surface. Your relentless mind was exhausting, and when your hands started to sting from your merciless slaps against the brittle leather, you clutched the wheel, resting your forehead against the material with closed eyes.

“What the fuck is wrong with me” you whispered to yourself, shaking your head against the wheel.

You pulled one hand off the wheel and turned the key in the exhaust, starting the car as you lifted your head, taking a deep, calming inhale.

You gripped the wheel once more, turning your head and looking to Matts house, all you wanted was to go back inside, tell him that you’re scared, absolutely fucking terrified of how you feel about him, but you didn't, instead, you clenched your jaw, ripped your gaze from the house and pulled out into the street.

On your drive home through the nearly empty LA highways, your mind raced with the events of the last six months, the orange streetlights periodically illuminating your car. Your playlist blared through the speakers on full volume as your unsuccessful attempt to drown out the sound of your own thoughts was brought to fruition, ‘sex’ by eden started to play, the drums and claps filling your senses as the piano melody took your mind to the last six months.

The longing looks;

You were wrapped in a fluffy towel, your wet hair cascading down your shoulders as you lazily rubbed moisturiser over your clean face in Matts bathroom mirror. The door clicked open, and Matt softly padded into the damp steamy room, cold air following him in. His presence didn’t disturb you, you continued to do your skincare routine as he came up behind you, resting his chin on your shoulder and sneaking his long tattooed arms around your waist. Neither of you said anything, you didn’t even look at him. In that moment, his presence was simply an extension of your existence.

As you softly massaged a hydrating serum into your soft skin, Matt couldn’t help but stare at you in the reflection. He loved you like this, your most pure and natural self, skin still littered with drops of water from the shower and your hair forming loose curls as it dried messily over your shoulders.

He watched you intently from his perched position just beside the curve of your neck. He thought you were the most beautiful person he’d ever seen, and he could never get tired of looking at you. His gaze was heavy on your face, and once you’d finished applying all of your products, you let your eyes flit to his in the mirror, finally locking eyes with him. His mouth instantly curling up into a smile when you shot him a small grin.

“You’re so beautiful” he said, his eye contact never wavering.

Your smile grew and you dropped your head slightly, shaking it with an embarrassed chuckle.

Matt squeezed you tighter to gain your attention again, missing the piercing warmth your eyes gave him. He picked his head up slightly and began to pepper short pecks on your damp, vanilla scented skin. The pecks slowly turned to small open mouth kisses, the warmth of his tongue against your skin sending shivers up your spine and encouraging a pool of wetness to collect between your legs. You let your head hang to the side slightly as he moved his kisses up your neck, stopping as he reached just below your ear. You whined as he pulled away and he laughed slightly, moving his hands to your waist and turning you round to face him.

The base of your spine was pressed against the marble counter top and Matt stared down into you, his hands absentmindedly rubbing circles against the towel that covered you. He effortlessly lifted you up and placed you on the sink, his hands finding your jaw once you landed the short jump.

“I mean it, y’know, I think you might be the prettiest girl in the entire universe” his thumbs pressing into your cheeks as his slender fingers wrapped around the nape of your neck.

His eyes were baring into yours, flitting between the left and right as an uncontrollable smile engulfed your face as you batted your lashes at him, returning his stare with doe eyes that almost made his knees buckle.

“That’s a pretty damning statement, Matthew, I’m not sure I can live up to that title” You quipped, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him against you, aching for friction as you throbbed at his words.

“There’s no question about it, pretty girl, no one even comes close” he said, pushing his jogger clad, growing bulge against your desperate core and pulling your impossibly close to him.

“Let me show you how beautiful you are” he said, just before pulling you into a wet and tender kiss.

You moaned against his lips as Matt ground his hips into yours, his fingers digging into the nape of your neck. He moved his kisses down your jaw, his tongue flat against the bone as he worked his way down your neck and along the top of the white towel that separated his mouth from his favourite part of you. A soft hand came up to the fold in the fabric and tugged at it, causing it to drop from your body and fall onto the cold marble beneath you. The sudden exposure made all the tiny hairs on your body stand on edge as Matt ogled your body, taking you in like it was the first time he was seeing you bare like that, not the hundredth.

"you're so fuckin' sexy" he uttered, shaking his head in disbelief at the sight of your still slightly wet skin glistening for him.

You rested back on the palms of your hands and spread your legs wider for him, giving him a full view of your pretty pussy that was already slick to the touch. A hungry grunt left his throat at the sight of you baring yourself to him, and without hesitation, Matt dropped to his knees and hooked your legs over his shoulders, pressing bruises into the soft, squishy skin.

You squealed slightly as he tugged at your thighs, bringing your throbbing core only centimetres away from his face. He licked his lips like an animal spotting its prey and leaned forward, pressing a soft and sloppy kiss onto your clit. your back arched into the pressure of his tongue against you as he started lapping at your soaked core, moaning at the taste of you on his lips. Your fingers raked through his hair and tugged at the root, pushing him further into you as your hips involuntarily bucked into his face, grinding against his mouth as he worked his tongue over your weeping pussy.

His hand snaked its way down your leg, his blunt fingernails scratching down your skin as he brought his digits to to just below his chin, rubbing small circles at your entrance with the tip of his long finger, teasing your walls as they clenched around nothing, desperate for him to give you what he knows you want.

"mhph, Matt, please" you whined with furrowed brows, hips slowly grinding against his face.

Matt looked up at you with smiling, prideful eyes, dipping his middle finger into your soaked hole just enough to elicit a broken moan from your throat. As your walls loosened their grip around his finger, he slipped his ring finger inside, pushing them both in to the knuckle as he sucked on your clit, eyes still baring up into you as your head hung loose on your neck.

He pumped his fingers in and out of you at a steady pace, but his pace on your clit was fierce, as if he was attempting to suck the air from your lungs out from of your pussy.

Your high was fast approaching, and your whole body began to tense above him, your legs unintentionally closing shut around his head. Matt didn't care, he wanted you to close him in, keep him there for the rest of time so he could make you cum all over his face over and over again until you felt as if you could pass out from exhaustion.

His fingers began to curl up into that blissful sweet spot, your stomach tensed in response and he knew you were close to coming undone. He slurped and lapped at your folds, his tongue dipping between them to catch the very centre of your clit, toying with the nub as he relentlessly filled your walls with his long fingers.

"Oh, fuck, Matt" the pressure of his tongue against you was euphoric, and a wave of tingles covered every inch of your body.

Your walls were a vice around his fingers and, with a tantalising suck on your sensitive nub, you released warm cum all over his hand. You shook above him, your vision going blurry as he continued to devour you, bringing you to a white hot level of ecstasy that left you a blubbering, whimpering mess on the bathroom counter.

When your legs stopped tensing and hung lazily over his shoulders, Matt pulled his fingers from you, licking them clean just before placing a soft peck on your puffy clit. The feeling made you jolt and he chuckled, his warm breath acting as a soothing wind to your sensitive pussy.

Matt got to his feet, his hands instantly gripping at your thighs to wrap you around him once again. He kissed you like he was a man eating his last meal, the taste of yourself still heavy on his tongue as it pressed and pushed against yours.

"taste that, pretty girl? you're beautiful even down to the sweetness of your perfect pussy" He pulled away from you, to say just before biting down on your parted bottom lip

The small, jealous comments that went over your head;

You, the boys and a few of your mutual friends were in a bar somewhere in downtown LA. Your hands were pressed against the wood of the bar as you waited to be served, the crowds of people surrounding you making you somewhat invisible to the bartender who, famously served all the influencers first and annoyingly ignored anyone who didn’t have a brand deal or over a million followers.

“Hey gorgeous” an unfamiliar voice disturbed your failed attempt to order a round for your table.

You looked to the side, and were met with the glaring stare and bitten lip of yet another guy who wanted to buy you a drink and disappoint you sexually.

“Hi” you said, turning your attention away from him just as fast as he caught it.

“Can I just say, you’re the hottest chick in this whole bar” he rested a sweaty hand on your shoulder.

You shrugged off his touch and looked back to him, “thanks” you said quickly, instantly skeeved out by the feeling of his hand on your skin.

“Let me buy you a drink” he said in what seemed like his attempt at a seductive tone, bringing his hand back up to you and pushing your hair off your shoulder, letting it fall down your back.

“I’m good, dude, I’m just trying to get a round for me and my friends” you shifted away from him.

He edged closer to you, running his fingers down your arm and grasping at your hand,

“I can get the round, I’ve got money like that, baby”

The name made you feel physically sick, and before you could open your mouth to tell him to kindly fuck off, the comforting sound of Matts voice rang through your ears.

“You good, y/n/n?” He said, coming up next to you and wrapping a tight hand around your waist, pulling you into him, his eyes never leaving the meathead trying to touch his girl.

“Who the fuck are you?” The guy said, instantly squaring up to Matt.

“S’not important, dude, jus’ leave her alone, yeah?” He said, shifting slightly towards the guy, his hand never leaving your waist.

“What are you, her boyfriend or something?” He laughed, pressing firm fingers into Matts shoulder.

Matt chucked at the attempt to rile him up, pulling his arm from your waist and planting himself directly in front of the dickhead that just pushed his shoulder.

Your hand pressed against his chest, bringing him back down to reality as he looked down into your soft, sparkle covered eyes.

“Don’t” you said, applying a warm pressure to his sternum.

His jaw clenched as his heart rate slowed, the feeling of your hand against his chest a soothing balm to the burning rage that had ignited in him.

“Fuck off, dude, m’not interested in whatever you think you’re gonna get out of this” you said, pushing Matt behind you and giving the creep the dirtiest look you could muster up.

He scoffed and rolled his eyes, “whatever, bitch, you’re ugly as fuck anyway” he said as he sulked away.

“Oh, I’m gonna break his fuckin’ jaw” Matt said, attempting to slip out from behind you and follow the guy through the bar.

“Matt” you said, grabbing his hand, “leave it” you said, pulling him back to you, catching his eye-line, “I’m fine, okay? He’s irrelevant”.

He stood a few feet away from you with a clenched jaw, his hand still in yours as you glared at him. He rolled his eyes and returned to your side.

“Kids just asking to get his shit rocked” he huffed, resting a protective hand on the base of your spine.

“I'm sure someone will knock him out at some point” you said, a smirk forming on your face as you returned your attention to the bar tender.

“I could have blinded him just for talking to you” he muttered, watching as the same guy sauntered over to other helpless victim.

“Fuckin’ idiot thinks he has a chance in hell, tryna hold your hand and shit” he scoffed, “dickhead” Matt spat, finally tearing his eyes off the guy.

You peered up at Matt and he met your gaze, a soft smile forming on his lips at the sight of you. You chuckled and shook your head, and just as you were about to tell him how sexy he is when he’s angry, you were interrupted by the bartender.

“What can I get for you?”

The lingering touches when you were with your friends;

You were all hanging out at the boys’ house, watching films and talking about nothing, and everything. You were perched on the sofa, both of your legs tucked under yourself as you lazily scrolled on your phone. Matt was next to you, his legs in a wide man-spread as his back rested against the plush sofa cushions. His arm was rested against the back of the couch behind you, a comfortable warmth engulfing you just enough to not rouse any suspicion.

His fingers absentmindedly traced he curve of your bare shoulder as he joked with Nate and Chris, all three of them laughing about something you weren’t listening to.

“Y/n/n” Nick said from the kitchen, bringing your attention away from your phone, “can you come help me with this, I’m so fucking confused” he said, holding a cookie ingredient box in his hands, reading the back with furrowed brows.

You looked over Matts shoulder towards the kitchen and let out a short chuckle, “Yeah, sure”. You shifted, and placed your feet on the floor, using Matts leg to help you up from your comfortable position on the sofa.

The pressure of your hand against his leg went straight to his crotch, and as if on instinct, his hand met yours on his thigh for a moment as you pushed yourself up. You turned to look down at him over your shoulder as your hand slipped from under his, he looked at you like you were the only person in the room and you returned the favour, padding away from him and facing your attention towards Nick, who was standing, baffled in the kitchen over the instructions that ‘made no fucking sense’.

His desperation for you after being apart for any longer than a couple days;

“Fuck, angel, I missed your pussy so fuckin’ much” Matt grunted into your neck as he pounded into you, slow and hard, sucking on the curve of your jaw and occasionally biting down on your soft skin.

Your moaned at his words, legs wrapped tight around him with your feet locked at his waist, your hands clawed at his back as he stretched you out, the sensation of him relentlessly hammering into you completely overwhelming your senses. The weight of his body against yours was blissful, his warm skin pressed against yours as you kissed and sucked at his shoulder, desperate to feel every part of him against every part of you. His hands were pressing bruises into every inch of your skin, the feeling of you clenching around him sending him into ecstasy as he thrust in and out of your sopping pussy.

“Y’so fuckin’ perfect, literally perfect, this pussy was made f’me, made jus’ f’me” he was rambling, desperate to let you know how much he had missed you.

“Mphm, Matt, don’t stop, please, don’t stop” you whined as he hit that gummy spot deep inside you, his dick nestling perfectly inside your slick walls.

“Keep saying my name like that, please baby, say it again f'me” He said, craning his neck up to look down at you, his eyes fluttery at the heavenly feeling of being completely surrounded by you.

“Matt” you moaned, throwing your head back as he thrust deeper inside of you, the soft pressure of the top of his pelvis periodically pressing against your puffy clit.

Matt groaned, dipping his head down to capture your neck in a tingling bite, just before soothing the sting with a warm and flat tongue.

“Ugh, Matt” you whimpered, squeezing your legs tighter round him, your hands finding his sweaty curls.

Matt near enough growled into your skin, picking up his pace as he hungrily fucked you with unwavering force into his bed. The sting of your fingers pulling his hair, coupled with the pulsating heat of your throbbing pussy sent him over the edge. With a loud grunt and stuttering hips, he came harder than he had in weeks, his vision going blurry as he nestled himself further into the crook of your neck, biting down on the fleshy meat of your shoulder. He slowed his pace completely, slowly fucking his cum into you until he felt paralysed by your warmth.

“Jesus Christ” he uttered into your hair.

You peppered kisses along his broad shoulder and up his neck, biting at his earlobe, earning an involuntary buck of his hips into your cum soaked hole. He begrudgingly pulled out of you, his soft dick hanging down between his legs as he fell down on top of you, his crushing body weight making you sink into the mattress. Your hands played with his hair as he caught his breath, head rested on your bare chest and hands rubbing at your boiling skin.

“Take it you missed me then?” You muttered, enamoured with his tired and fucked out frame lazily pressed against you.

He simply nodded against your skin, bringing a large hand up to palm the curve of your breast. “S’much” he said, just before taking your nipple into his mouth and sucking on it with vigour.

You giggled at the sensation, shifting under him slightly as he pressed his already hardening dick against your thigh.

“Matt” You laughed, squirming under his touch.

In one swift movement, he flipped you both over so that you were ontop of him, your wet pussy pressed against the base of his sticky cock.

“Need more, princess, now, please” Matt said, a spread hand coming up your spine and he brought you down to him. His hand gripped the back of your neck as he kissed you like he was starved of your touch.

“m’never gonna get enough a’you” He moaned into the kiss, the feeling of your folds brushing up and down his stiff cock sending him into heavenly overstimulation.

The final beat of the song brought you back to reality,

and before you realised it, you were back at your apartment, pulling into your parking lot and making your way up to your empty home.

Your apartment was covered with Matt; a spare pair of his dirty, beat up airforces sat next to your messy array shoes by the front door, dried out flowers in jars were scattered around your whole apartment, all ones he had gotten you for birthdays or special achievements, or just because he saw them and thought of you. His jackets were hung up on your hooks, and his shirts were thrown lazily into your laundry baskets. Cards and notes were littered on your fridge and window sills, all just little messages he’d leave you throughout your entire friendship, even before you started sleeping together.

You kicked off your shoes and padded over to the fridge to get some water, old photos and memories stared back at you. Your fingers wrapped around the handle of the door, but your arm didn’t budge, your attention was fixated on the array of photos stuck to the fridge.

You had a photo of you and the boys when you were younger, your mum had found it when she was clearing out some old stuff and you simply had to steal it from her albums. There was another photo that Nick had taken at some party you don’t really remember and then there were two photos of you and Matt. One of them was a photo booth picture from some influencer thing he dragged you to, and the other was from your birthday last year. Just below the pictures, Matt had stuck a note under the floral magnet, you had no idea when he did it and honestly didn’t even notice it until that very moment. The note read, ‘hi, you’re pretty, have a nice day’ in what looked like his best attempt to have neat hand writing.

You glanced over the photo from your birthday, it was just after you guys had started seeing each other, and the boys had decided celebrating your birthday away from LA was non negotiable, so you all went home to Boston and had a proper family birthday. It was perfect, and for that short week, everything in your life felt like it was finally falling into place. Tears began to prick at your puffy eyes once more as you stared at the picture, his strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, a cheesy grin spread across your face as he made one of his usual silly faces for the lens of Nicks camera.

Your heart sunk in your chest, and for the first time since you met Matt all those years ago, you felt completely alone. You had done the one thing you were the most afraid of being done to you; you had walked out on him, without even stopping to tell him why. You had acted like everything you hated, and the shame you felt, coupled with a deep sadness and a looming feeling of heavy regret were all only exacerbated by the fact that, the only person you wanted to speak to about how you were feeling, was Matt.

Back at his house, Matt was in his living room, sat across from his brothers, his elbows rested on his wide knees as his head hung on his neck, resting in his palms.

“You and y/n have been… fucking?” Chris said, fully spread across the sofa as he stared at Matt in bewilderment.

“Don’t say it like that, Chris” Nick hit Chris on the chest, turning back to Matt and perching his head on his hand, looking at him with soft features that reassured Matt that he was listening, “carry on, Matt” he said.

“It um— it started about six months ago, after Quens’ birthday party, d’you remember?” He said, brushing his hair out his face with a huff.

“Oh, yeah, I remember that, you guys ended up kissing during that weird card game, right?” Nick said, recounting his hazy memories from the party.

Matt nodded, rubbing the back of his neck, “We ended up sleeping together that night, I brought her back here and she snuck out in the morning before you guys woke up”

“You sneaky motherfucker, if this whole situation wasn’t depressing as fuck I’d be so proud of you dude.” Chris leant forward and grabbed Matts shoulder, shaking him slightly and beaming at him, trying to coax a smile out of him.

A lazy smile creeped its way onto Matts face as Chris patted his back, that alone was enough to let him know that behind his sad eyes, Matt was still in there somewhere.

“Wait, so, what happened? Why did she suddenly decide that she doesn’t want to see you anymore?” Nick pushed, just as confused as his younger brother.

“I’ve got no fuckin’ idea, one minute we were fine, just chilling and watching gravity falls, and the next, she won’t even look at me” Matt sighed, his voice cracking as he spoke. He threw himself back onto the sofa and rubbed his eyes with the balls of his hands, groaning and trying not to cry.

Chris and Nick shared a worried look, furrowed brows and concerned eyes pouring into each other as they both returned their attention to Matt, who was still shifting in his skin, the most worked up they’ve seen him in, well, in six months actually.

“Hey, kid, it’s gonna be okay, okay?” Chris placed a comforting hand on Matts knee, squeezing it slightly, “we’ve known her for like literally forever, whatever it is, I’m sure she’ll figure it out and come back”

“Yeah” Nick said, moving to sit on the other side of Matt, “maybe she’s just having a moment or something? You know how she gets sometimes” he reassured Matt with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“I’m just—she jus’—I just don’t understand” Matt shook his head, hands raking down his face as frustrated tears pricked at the corners of his eyes.

“Hey” Chris said gently, his voice wavering at the sight of Matt nearly crying, “Its okay, bro, you’ll figure it out, and besides even if you never get to fuck her again, I’m sure you’ll always be best friends”

“Chris” Nick said quietly through gritted teeth, his hand gently rubbing Matts shoulder as he shot Chris a glaring look.

“What?” Chris replied, innocently, not understanding what he said wrong.

Matts head rolled against the back of the sofa, he let out a small chuckle and shook his head, a groan slipping from his lips, “I don’t care if I never get to sleep with her again dude, I jus’—“ he sighed, “I think I’m in love with her” he closed his eyes and squeezed his back teeth together, clenching his jaw as a throttling wave of sadness came over him, “and now I don’t know if I’m ever going to be able to tell her”

In the month between you walking out and you both crashing back into each other,

you didn’t see Matt or the boys once. You completely isolated yourself, refusing to even think about what had happened. The night you came home, after hours of crying in the shower and wanting the world to swallow you hole, you decided that simply forgetting it ever happened was the best plan of action. If it never happened, then it didn’t need to matter. But it did happen, and it did matter and you became a shell of yourself, existing on auto pilot everyday.

All you did was work and sleep, your social life becoming quickly non existent without the boys to coax you into actually leaving the house. You stopped replying to anyones messages in the first week, turning off all notifications and letting the little red bubble get longer and longer as the messages piled up in your phone. Everyday you managed to get yourself out of bed was a miracle, and if you showered and brushed your hair, it should have counted as an eighth wonder of the world. Your life had become an agonising picture coloured by shades of grey, all of the colour being stripped from your world when you slammed the door in your best friends face.

You couldn’t understand why you couldn’t just call him, tell him that you were sorry, that you freaked out and acted like a fucking idiot, and that all you’ve ever wanted is for him to be around forever, in whatever shape that may take. You loved him, you had loved him since you were a child, but having sex with him, and being his in those fleeting moments of passion made you fall in love with him, and the thought of that made you feel like you were driving down the highway on the wrong side, cars flying towards you at a hundred miles per hour as someone blindfolded you and told you to keep driving. But not because of him, he was perfect. He was one of the only people in the world who you really trusted, who you knew you could always rely on no matter what and no questions asked. It was because of you, something inside of you felt broken, and you had no idea how to fix it.

Matt wasn’t doing any better;

Unless he had to film or take a meeting, he barely left his room. He pushed away any attempt from his brothers to talk about you or what had happened since the night he told them about the two of you, not wanting to be reminded of the agonising feeling that had wedged itself between his ribs since the night you left.

His temper was shorter than ever, constantly snapping at one of the boys for tiny things and losing his shit every time a minor inconvenience happened. His parents got word of the fact that you two had stopped talking and tried to be there for him, your mum too, but he pushed everyone away. No one had the ability to crawl inside his brain and plant flowers in his weeds like you did, and he knew that, so he didn’t see the point in letting anyone even try.

After a certain point he stopped talking to everyone, only interacting with Chris or Nick when he really needed to and ignoring all the calls from Nate, his parents or Justin. He just wanted to be left alone, because at least then his reality would reflect how he felt. You had left a gaping hole in his life and slowly but surely, he was falling deeper and deeper into the dark abyss of that hole, letting the heavy sadness consume him with reluctant acceptance.

Despite his temper and moping about, his brothers never stopped trying;

A soft tap rattled his door, and a few seconds after, it creaked open, letting in a slither of light into his dark bedroom.

“Matt? We’re gonna go get wing stop, d’you wanna come?” Chris said softly, peering his head through the crack in the door.

Matt didn’t respond, he was tucked up to his neck in his duvet in his dark room, the only light in the room being that of his low brightness computer screen playing an array of depressing songs on loop and the light that Chris had welcomed in when he opened the door.

“Matt, dude, you haven’t left your room in days, you gotta eat something” Chris sighed, his refusal to accept this new version of Matt apparent.

Matt simply turned away from the door, turning his back to Chris in a silent ‘fuckin’ leave me alone’. Chris huffed, shaking his head and clicking the door shut.

Nothing was working, and they had no idea if he was ever going to be okay again. Normally, he would mope about for a couple days and then be back to his usual silly, kind self. But this was different, he seemed completely void of anything that made Matt, Matt.

Nick was fed up of his behaviour, and despite Chris’ constant battle with him over ‘just giving it time’, Nick knew, as his older brother and best friend, that it had all gone too far. So he took matters into his own hands.

That night, Nick got an uber to your apartment,

knowing it was your day off work and that you were almost definitely in the same position as Matt; not leaving your house or talking to anyone.

The uber pulled up next to your apartment block and he got out the car, striding up the stairs to the entrance and relentlessly pounded against your front door. The sound made you jump in your skin, pulling your attention away from the last episode of season two of gravity falls, a show that hadn’t left your tv in weeks. When you didn’t answer the door to the first round of banging, it started again and you reluctantly pushed yourself off your sofa and walked over to the door as it vibrated on its hinges.

“Okay, okay, m’coming, Jesus Chris” you groaned.

When you opened the door, you were met with a face you hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Nick?” Your face dropped in confusion.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, y/n/n” he started sounding off immediately, pushing himself into your apartment.

“wha—“ you started to speak, but were immediately cut off.

“In what universe is it okay to just go completely ghost on your best fucking friend? What the fuck were you thinking? Matt has been in a shit state since you ran out that night and I’m fuckin’ sick of it! He’s angry at everyone, he’s nearly gotten in actual fights with me and Chris about a thousand times and he’s even stopped talking to our parents. Our parents y/n.” Nicks face was nearly bright red with anger as he paced around your apartment.

“Nick, I—“ you folded your arms over your chest, his words hitting you like bullets of reality.

“No. I’m not finished.” He held his hand up to stop you speaking, “I don’t know what the fuck happened between the two of you, but you need to sort it out, because I can’t sit here and watch this all unfold anymore. I think what you fail to remember, is that despite the fact that you were fucking him, he was also supposed to be your best friend. We all were. When you walked out on him, you also walked out on me and Chris. You left us all high and dry without a single explanation and zero entrance back into your life to try and figure out what the fuck happened.” Nick finished his rant and took a deep inhale, his first real breath since he stepped foot in your apartment.

The apartment was silent for a moment, you not knowing whether or not he was finished. “Can I speak now?”

“G’head” Nick replied, raising a hand, gesturing you to say your part.

“I’m sorry that I walked out.” You said, it being the only thing you could think to say in that moment, “I didn’t know he was going through all of that” you said, averting your gaze to the floor.

Nick chuckled in disbelief, “cut the shit, y/n/n” he said, “you know what he’s like, probably better than anyone. You know because you’re exactly the same, I mean, look at you, you look like shit” he said, not holding back, then again, when did he ever.

You looked back up at him and couldn’t help but chuckle as his insult, “What are you talking about? M’fine” you shrugged.

“Yeah sure you are, kid” Nick rolled his eyes, taking a few steps forward and lingering just in front of you.

“Look, I don’t know what happened between you two, and honestly I don’t really care. But I do care about him, and I care about you, and I know that this is killing you as much as its killing him. so just stop being a fucking idiot and go tell him that you love him, because I’m tired of his stinking fuckin’ attitude and I miss you, I miss my best friend, we all do, Matt more than anyone” he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his warm skin pulling a single brick from the dam that had all your crippling emotions stuffed behind it.

Tears brimmed at your eyes and Nick sighed, bringing you into an all encompassing hug, holding your head against his chest as you sobbed into him. He held you like that for a while, letting you cry in his arms as he cooed and rubbed the back of your head in the gentle embrace you were wrapped in. When you finally stopped shaking, you pulled away from him, wiping your tears and looked up at him through wet lashes.

“What if he hates me?” You sniffled, your voice still shaky.

Nick shook his head with a breathy laugh out his nose, “I don’t think he could hate you even if he wanted to, you’re everything to him”

You and Nick shared another hug before he said he had to go and meet everyone in the city, asking you if you wanted to come and not pressing when you shook your head no, telling him you just needed to be alone. He left and you were alone again, your mind now racing with everything he had said, his words giving you the reality check you needed.

Back at the boys' house,

Matt was padding around the kitchen, he had left his room about ten minutes after he heard the front door click shut and he knew he was alone. As he shuffled around in the cupboards looking for a bowl for his hundredth meal of instant noodles, the front door slammed shut, and a burning annoyance filled his entire body. Chris came bounding up the stairs, seemingly in a hurry, but stopped in his tracks at the sight of Matt, actually out of his bedroom.

“Oh, you’re up, I jus’ came back ‘cause I forgot my wallet” he said, grabbing his wallet off the table.

Matt didn’t respond, he didn’t even acknowledge Chris’ presence.

Chris went to leave, rolling his eyes and not even attempting to bother trying anymore but, in true Chris fashion, he was determined to find his brother inside this strange ghost that had infiltrated his home.

“Look, dude, I know you’re hurting, trust me I get it but, you can’t keep letting this bring you down forever. There has to be a point were you realise that this isn’t healthy” He sighed, walking back to stand next to the table. “I know you love her, and I know that this whole situation is killing you, but maybe if you jus —“ he sighed, “maybe if you jus fuckin’ speak to her then you can sort all of this out, she can come back and everything can be normal again, ‘cause, its hard as fuck seeing you like this man and, even though I don’t love her like you do, I miss her too, she’s been around forever and it feels like we're a table missing a fuckin’ leg or some shit so, jus’ speak to her. what’s the harm in just trying, y’know?”

Matt, with his back still to Chris, shifted where he stood slightly, opening his mouth to reply but swallowed his words.

Chris sighed and shook his head, turning on the balls of his feet and running down the stairs. The slam of the front door echoed through the house, and Matt was soon left with the deafening silence left by Chris’ absence.

His brothers words ran laps around his mind, he knew he was right, this couldn’t go on forever, and he should just speak to you, but how was he even supposed to begin to try? Was he supposed to just show up at your apartment, tell you how he was dying inside, how this past month had been the hardest of his entire life and that he had missed you every single second of every day that passed painstakingly slowly? Was he supposed to just show up at your home, grab you by the face and tell you that he loved you and that he never wanted to be without you ever again? As the rapid thoughts bounced like pinballs against the walls of his skull, he realised that, that was exactly what he was going to do.

He slammed the cupboard door shut and strode over to the table, picking his keys up and near enough sprinting down the stairs, not even stopping to put shoes on as he pulled the front door open and stepped out in front of his house.

As he stepped out into his front yard, his heart fell down into his stomach at the sight of your shadowy frame, standing just a few feet from his front door, arms crossed over your pyjama top clad chest. He was paralysed, he didn’t know if he was dreaming or, if somewhere between the kitchen and the door he fell over and cracked his head open.

“Y/n” he choked out, it being the only thing he could muster up in that moment.

“Hi” you said in a small voice, a shy smile finding your lips at the sound of him saying your name.

Matt couldn’t move, feeling as though the ground had grown hands that had wrapped themselves around his ankles. You made the first move, taking a step into the light, the orange street lamp illuminating your features. His breath hitched in his throat at the sight of you, your beautiful face in his sights again after what felt like an eternity.

You walked closer to him, warmth radiated off him as he stared down at you with a slightly parted mouth. Neither of you spoke, you had no idea what to say, you just stared into each other for that long moment, the world shifting on its axis around you as suddenly, face to face like this, you felt like the only two people in the entire universe. Your eyes flitted between his, your lips periodically getting caught between your teeth as you tried to think of something, anything to say.

Matts eyes explored your face, as if he was memorising every inch of it incase it was the last time he was seeing you, incase this wasn’t real and he was asleep in his dark room. His gaze flitted to your plump lips and it sent a twinge up your spine, and without thinking, you latched your hands round the back of his head and pulled him down into you in a feverish, desperate kiss. He returned the kiss almost immediately, his hands slipping round your waist and pulling you into him in a frenzied attempt to feel you close to him again.

“I thought you said we weren’t gonna do this anymore” He said through frantic breaths, his lips still brushing yours.

“So” Matt pulled away for a brief moment, missing the heat from your plump lips and kissing you before he spoke again, “what’re we doin” he panted.

“Just shut up and kiss me, Matt” you shook your head, wrapping your hand round the back of his head, nearly giving him whiplash at the speed you pull his lips back to yours.

He kissed you back hungrily, groaning into your mouth as he pushed you backwards onto his bed. You hit the bed with a small whimper as his mouth detached from yours, his tongue flattening against your neck, then your chest, then your stomach and then back up the way he came.

Your hands latched onto his curls as your back arched at the sensation of his mouth against you for the first time in what felt like forever. He moaned against your skin, grinding his hard cock into your desperate core, your clothes creating a frustrating amount of friction between the two of you.

He bucked his hips into yours, your legs tightening around his waist with every thrust. You were desperate, and he was starved of you. His large came to your open shirt and pushed it down over your shoulder, his perfect teeth clamping down on your soft skin. His mouth found the curve of your tit, pulling the lacy fabric of your bralette down to expose your hardened nipple to him. With one hand on your waist, and his mouth latched around your nipple, Matt groaned into your skin. Your head rolled back at the sensation of his warm tongue on you, your whole body felt like it was on fire as his touch became feverish.

"Matt, please, please, I need it, I need you" you whined, you weren't sure what you were begging for but the pleads spilled from your mouth almost on instinct.

Matt removed his mouth from you and tugged at your shirt, you shifted slightly to assist him as he threw it across the room. He palmed the flesh of your half exposed tits, growing frustrated at the sight of the baby blue lace of your bralette that kept him from seeing you completely. With one swift rip, he tore the flimsy fabric open at the seams, leaving it in scraps on his mattress. The vision of your heaving chest incited something animalistic in him and he instantly dove down, latching his mouth around you once more.

The moan that left your throat was guttural, your back arching off the bed as his hand slipped down between the two of you, skipping the teasing and heading straight for your throbbing clit. The tip of his middle finger found your nub instantly and without hesitation, he set an agonising pace, rubbing blissful circles over it as his tongue continued to work your nipple. He moved his hand down, swiping his ring and middle through your sopping wet folds. Your toes curled at the feeling and with that, Matt inserted his long fingers into your tight hole.

The feeling of you clenching around his fingers made his stomach tense, a deep, hungry moan leaving his mouth and vibrating around your tit. Your thighs clenched around his wrist, he brought his knee to yours and pushed your legs open with brute force, pinning you open for him as he made his way down your skin with wet and sloppy kisses. As he moved, he pulled down your pyjama bottoms and panties, the cold air peppering goosebumps all over your skin as he slowly exposed you to him.

You were completely bare, spread out on his bed. He got to his feet, knees resting on the edge of the bed as he gawked down at you, his chest heaving in anticipation at the sight of you like this for him, something he thought he'd never see again.

"are you sure y'wanna do this?" he said, removing his hands from you completely.

"Matt, you're the only thing I've ever been sure about in my entire life" you panted, sitting up, placing your hand on his chest and leaning up into him.

His fingers pressed against your core once more, attaching his lips to yours as you wrapped a hand around the back of his neck.

"I've missed you, so fuckin' much" Matt confessed into the kiss, pushing you further up the bed as he crawled between your open legs.

Your hands came to the waistband of his joggers and pushed them down with desperation, moaning into the messy kiss as he thrust his slender fingers in and out of you at a tormenting pace. You wrapped your hand around his cock and he bucked into your touch, chasing the feeling of you pumping him. He broke the kiss with a breathy whine, head dropping to the crook of your neck as he assisted you in lining his throbbing length up with your sopping hole. He pulled his fingers from you and rubbed small circles over your clit, you pressed his leaking tip against your hole.

Matt moaned your name, the feeling of your wet pussy so close to being around him making his vision go blurry.

His hand came to your face, pressing bruises into your cheek as he shifted you both to lay on your sides, facing each other. He moved his hand down, lifting your leg and hooked it over his waist, pulling you into him with such force that a short squeal left your lips. You continued pumping him, rubbing his tip through your folds, when you brushed him back over your hole, Matt bucked his hips, the sting of him stretching you out for a brief second inciting throaty moans from the both of you.

Once he had a taste, he was lost in it, and Matt pushed himself inside of you again, this time allowing himself to bottom out in your gummy, soaked walls. Your eyes rolled back at the sensation, your forehead pressing against his as he breathed desperate moans into your open mouth.

"Jesus christ you feel so fuckin' good" Matt whined, thrusting into you with one hand tucked between your face and his pillow, and the other on your thigh, the pressure of his touch sure to leave bruises behind.

He was bottoming out completely as your pussy milked him, clenching around his hard cock, and you felt as if you could cum from the sensation of his touches alone. Your whole body was tingling, every inch of your skin on fire with pure bliss as he fucked up into you at a steady pace.

"Matt, go faster, please" You whimpered, clawing at the back of his neck, tugging at the messy curls that gathered there.

He didn't need to be told twice, with a low growl, Matt set a rapid pace, fucking into you like it was the last thing he would ever do. Your moans were pornographic, the sting of his skin slapping against yours, coupled with the blissful stretch of your pussy around his cock sending you into a deep state of euphoria.

Matt grunted repeatedly, moaning your name over and over again as he fucked into you desperately. His moans made your ears ring, you brought a hand down in between you both and collected some of the juices that leaked from your pussy onto his cock, moving your fingers up to rub rapid circles across your puffy clit.

Matt grunted at the sight, his grip on your skin turning to blunt nailed scratches as he hardened his thrusts, pounding into you relentlessly as you worked your clit.

"keep doing that, angel, keep doing that for me, you feel so fucking good clenching around me like this, jesus christ, you're so fucking sexy when you touch yourself for me" he was rambling, completely consumed by the sight of you, the feeling of you milking his cock bringing him closer and closer to his release.

"fuck, Matt, m'gonna cum, m'gonna cum" you cried out, tears pricking at your eyes as he fucked into you at a rapid pace. the sensation of his merciless grip on your skin coupled with the stimulation of your throbbing clit making you see stars.

"cum for me, angel, cum f'me, I'm right there with you, m'right there with you" his words were almost incoherent.

The sound of him telling you to cum was enough to send you tumbling down into ecstasy, and he was right behind you. The vice grip your clenching pussy had around his cock was incredible, and wet sounds of your cum releasing all over his length filled the air as his pace became sloppy, chasing his high as he stuttered inside of you.

"Fuck, Matt" you cried out, and the sound of you crying out his name sent him over the edge.

He released threads of ropy cum into your gaping hole, fucking his seed into you as his movements began to slow.

Your breathless pants filled the room as you both came down from your highs, foreheads pressed against each others, sharing oxygen as your leg remained wrapped around his waist. His hand caressed the side of your face, pushing your hair out the way to look at your pretty, fucked out face.

When you opened your eyes, he was already looking at you and the feeling of his eyes baring into yours made your skin hot.

“Hi” you smiled.

“Hey” He cheesed back, rubbing small circles on your warm cheeks.

After a brief moment of loving stares, reality set in, and you remembered the agonising events that led you to being here, tangled up with him like this. The dark circles around Matts eyes that mimicked your own broke your heart, and in that moment, you couldn't bare the thought of never being away from him ever again.

“I um—I’m really sorry, Matt.” Your smile dropped into a sincere, pleading expression.

“You don’t have to apologise to me, y/n” Matt shook his head against the pillow.

“No, I —“ you sat up, resting on your elbow to look down at him. His hand on your cheek didn’t falter and you pressed your head into his touch with closed eyes, “I do. I’m so fucking sorry, Matt. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I—I just freaked out because you called me baby and I —“ your rambling was cut off by his voice.

“Wait” he said, shifting to rest against his headboard, letting his hand drift down the soft skin of your arm, “all of this, was because I called you baby?” He asked through a short, baffled laugh.

You nodded, some what embarrassed, sitting up completely in front of him, taking his large hand in yours and toying with the rings on his fingers.

“But, I called you baby all the time” Matt chuckled, grasping your hand in his and gaining your attention back to his soft eyes.

“I know, it just— it freaked me out because I think I realised in that moment that I was in love with you and, I just didn’t know how to handle that” you looked away from him again, the weight of your confession making your voice crack.

Matts ears began to ring, “You’re in love with me?” He questioned, thinking his mind was playing tricks on him.

You locked eyes with him again, he looked so soft, his kind eyes almost sparkling with happiness at your words, “yeah, I'm in love you, Matt” you nodded, “I am, and I — I tried to ignore it, I tried to push it down and forget about it but, I couldn’t, I don’t know how to forget you”

Matt didn’t say anything, he felt as though all the words in the English language were ripped from his brain as you told him you loved him for the second time. He simply starred at you in awe, your hand firm in his grip.

“Can you say something, please” you said, your eyes flitting away from his for a second before returning to their prior position.

“Y/n/n, I— I’ve been in love with you since we were ten years old” the words spilled from his mouth, a wave of utter relief washing over him at the feeling of finally admitting a fact he’s known for half his life.

“You have?” Your expression was pleading as your eyes widened at his confession.

“I’ve loved you more and more everyday I’ve known you, I just didn’t realise it until that night when— when we kissed” He said, sitting up and lingering inches away from your face. He brought his hand back up to your face, “You don’t know how to forget me?” He chuckled, “I couldn’t ever forget you, even if I tried, even if I wanted to” his lips brushing over yours softly as you breathed into his parted mouth.

You didn’t respond with words, instead, you pressed your lips against his with such force that it sent him back down to his satin pillow.

You were terrified, and completely enamoured by him. You loved him more than you'd ever thought possible and he loved you just the same. And despite the fact that the idea of being loved, truly loved, scared you beyond belief, you no longer felt like you were drowning. Because you knew that no matter what happened, Matt would always be there to dive into the rocky waters and pull you to the surface.

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