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fayes-fics · 2 years ago

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Lessons in Breeding

Lessons Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: Fifth story in the Regency Lessons series and it's time-jump time. Things have progressed with our throuple and the Bridgerton Bros are in a race to impregnate their lady…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, MMF threesome, BREEDING KINK off the bloody charts, pregnancy kink, dirty talk, oral sex (m to f), light bondage, filthy baby-making vaginal sex, dom/sub dynamics. Emotions, talk of marriages, established throuple dynamics.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: This is set in Lessons universe, but at least a year after the previous instalment. If pregnancy or babymaking isn't your thing, please don't read this. This is a very belated birthday request fill for @iboopedyournose. I hope you like the way I've interpreted your request for breeding kink threesome with bondage. Thanks to @colettebronte and @chaoticcalzoneranchsports for betaing. Enjoy! <3

You pause in front of the portrait of a naked pregnant woman, taking a sip of your champagne. The intimate parts of her are mostly obscured behind translucent silks. Her pregnant belly is bare as she cradles it proudly, her skin glowing; everything about her looks almost ethereal yet so earthy and powerful. It is such a provocative piece you can understand why it is only being shown at private parties such as this one, hosted by Mr Granville.

“Like what you see?” the dusky voice suddenly at your right ear asks.

You inhale sharply, instantly responding to the mere sound of his voice, something very Pavlovian in it. “Yes, I think she looks beautiful,” you reply quietly, tamping down your need to throw yourself into him, begging for his fingers in your mouth.

“She does indeed,” he is standing so close behind you can feel the heat radiating off him through his shirt. “Would you like to look like that? Swollen so beautifully with a baby?”

It's not something you have thought about much beyond the abstract idea that you wish for children someday. But then, so many things in your life are about to change, and this could be one.

“Maybe,” you deflect.

Large hands encircle your waist. “Mmm, just imagine,” he begins, his chest pressing warm on your spine. “How beautiful you would look, your belly all rounded,” his hands slide up and cup your chest as you moan lightly. “Your breasts so full, and oh gosh,” one hand slides down to the apex of your thighs, cradling it through your dress, “the smell and taste of you, so ripe, so juicy. You would be divine,” he assures.

“Stop,” you scold gently, but it's too breathy, the carnal images he so easily paints with his words haunting you as you rock in his arms.

“Would you like me to impregnate you, my darling?” he murmurs, his teeth pulling at your earlobe. “I could fuck you so hard and deep and leave my seed inside you. Over and over. And you know my brother would do the same in a heartbeat.”

Your breath quickens at the thought. They have always been careful to ensure they do not release inside you; it's a strict pact you have in place that they have always respected and obeyed. But perhaps that may change with what is impending.

“My husband-to-be, you mean,” your eyes cut sideways, and he stiffens.

“Yes, of course, I sometimes forget you are soon to be the Viscountess,” he bows his head, a flare of something in his eyes you know is jealousy.

“Benedict…” you sigh, sensing he needs reassurance; you pull him into a quiet alcove. “You know this is the only way the three of us can be together, for always. I love you just as much,” you vow quietly, touching his cheek. “But you know well I cannot marry you both, at least not in the eyes of the law. There would be many questions if Anthony were to remain unwed much longer. You know it is much easier for you to live with us as an apparent bachelor at Aubrey Hall than any other arrangement.”

All the facts you lay out, well known to you both, don’t stop the imploring look he gives you.

“I will marry you symbolically in a ceremony in the woods, down by the lake,” you whisper, appealing to his bohemian romantic side. “I will wear your ring proudly, too,” you promise. “I am as much yours as I am his. And always will be. I cannot be without either of you.”

He beams and crowds into you, sliding his lips down your neck.

“And yes, I will bear your children, my love,” you sigh as his actions make you pliant in his hands, as they always do. You grab his face to ensure he meets your gaze, his eyes dancing. “Nothing would make me prouder than bearing both of your babies, so yes, my love, the answer is yes.”

You moan gently as he kisses fire across your skin, and your eyes drift back to the painting, the idea of being fertile, ripe, burgeoning with life somehow suddenly so alluring.

——

“Anthony…” you call, but he does not respond; he probably cannot hear you above the whirlwind of activity around him. “ANTHONY!” you repeat, raising your voice, and suddenly, the hubbub of movement and noise in the room ceases.

His eyes meet yours and flash. “Everyone leave the room at once,” he orders to the hordes of people doing god knows what, “my fiancee wishes to speak with me.”

You watch as all the people scurry from the room as if burned.

“There was no need to send them away quite so abruptly, my love,” you state gently.

“Is this not an occasion where you wish me to throw you upon my desk and rut you so hard you scream?” he flirts outrageously.

“For once,” you respond airily, “it is not.”

“Tis a pity,” he smirks, then perches against the desk, crossing his legs and arms. “Then what can I do for you, my love?”

“I want you to make me with child,” you just go straight to the point. He usually appreciates bluntness.

He drops the heavy accounts ledger he is holding, and it slams to the ground with an echoing thump.

“Correction, I want you AND Benedict to make me with child,” you amend.

“What on earth brought this on?” his tone warm but intrigued, ignoring the ledger completely.

“That art party we went to last night?” you offer casually. “There was a scandalous but beautiful portrait of a pregnant naked woman.”

“Did he fuck you in front of it and give you some ideas?” Anthony sighs with fond exasperation.

“No,” you giggle, “for once, he did not.”

“But Tuesday is your night alone together?” Anthony frowns. “Don’t tell me he shirked his duty? I am his older brother. I can have words….”

“Oh, he more than performed his duty, just not in front of the painting,” you clarify.

“In front of one of his paintings, then?” Anthony guesses.

And you giggle again. “Carriage, on the way home.”

“Figures,” Anthony rolls his eyes, “does he ever do it in a bed?”

“Not if he can help it,” you wink, and he laughs.

Then schools his face more serious. “So you want a baby?”

“I want both of your babies. I’d certainly be open to us all getting some good practice in tomorrow,” you shrug playfully.

“I have absolutely no problem with that,” his voice drops low as he raises a sultry eyebrow. “And the desk offer still stands if you want a warm-up?” he concludes, breaking into a handsome smirk.

“It’s Wednesday, our rest day; I have dinner plans with my dear friend Lady Eleanor,” you shake your head fondly. “Plus, I cannot give you a head start, darling; that wouldn’t be fair to Benedict,” you tease. “You can sort it out between yourselves for tomorrow.”

“Why do we have a rest day?” he pouts.

“You know full well, with three people, it is much easier to schedule around six days. I can go one day without either of you, you know,” rolling your eyes lovingly.

“Such a pity,” he sighs in mock annoyance.

“It is just for today, darling, and tomorrow you may complete inside me, so there’s that to look forward to…” and you breeze out of the room, blowing him a kiss.

——

Thursday night is one of your two nights a week with both of your wonderful men.

You spend the early evening bathing in luxury soaps with your favourite scents, readying yourself for a night of untold pleasures. Sometimes you all meet in the bedroom, sometimes in the blue room, and other times, like tonight, you agree to al fresco. You cannot wait to play by the lake under the mid-summer moonlight.

You slip on an ivory silk robe and nothing else except the lariat body chains they each gave you. Dainty gold chains with their initials that wrap around your waist, the A and B matching charms hanging low over your belly, grazing your thatch of hair below—a secret you wear every day unseen beneath your usual clothing.

It’s a balmy evening as you approach the water's edge. There is already a soft blanket laid out and a decanter of brandy with three glasses—Anthony has ensured the staff have prepared for the evening. But neither man is to be seen yet. You settle on the blanket and pour yourself a snifter, enjoying the gentle roar of oil lantern flames dancing in the breeze set out on surrounding stakes.

This evening will be a first, letting them both leave their seed within you. Even though you have been together as a threesome for more than a year and done countless wonderful sensual things together, this is a huge step towards something new. You don’t expect to get pregnant on this first attempt, but the idea is beguiling nonetheless.

You pull open your robe and massage your as-yet-empty belly. Running your hands in swirls, imagining what it might be like to watch it grow and swell with a child—the ability to bring life into the world something so elemental and heavenly all at once. To sustain life through the wonder of your body swirls in your mind as you untie your robe and grab your breasts.

“I see someone started the party already, brother,” a familiar silky voice rings out, and your eyes pop open to see both of them standing there, watching you lasciviously. They are shirtless and only wear britches slung low around their hips, acres of lithe muscle and supple skin.

“Is that not our job, darling?” Anthony chimes in after his brother, already unbuttoning.

“Not that we aren’t enjoying the show,” Benedict adds pointedly, nudging Anthony as if to shut him up, and follows suit, removing his trousers.

When they both let their britches fall to the ground, you moan, seeing them both in all their resplendent naked glory, already half hard and looking so utterly delicious part of you wants to get on your knees and take them into your mouths. You go to crawl towards them, but Antony holds up a halting hand.

“Stay right where you are, lay back; tonight is about your pleasure, darling,” he practically purrs.

Your eyes flash with desire, and you do as told, removing your robe and laying back again, fully nude, running fingertips down the centre line of your torso, fingers playing with their jewelled charms that rest atop your lower belly.

“Then get down here,” you exhale, knowing their gaze is locked on your fingers as you slip them between your thighs.

They drop onto the blanket with you, the light breeze ruffling their chestnut locks. Both are so achingly beautiful with those strong Bridgerton genes. You can’t wait to bear a baby, babies, that look just like them.

They exchange a glance, and it’s their shorthand again—where they silently communicate how they will destroy you masterfully moment by moment. Benedict surges up and captures your lips in a passionate all-consuming kiss as Anthony slips between your legs, pulling your hand away and throwing your feet over his shoulders. Forcing your legs out wide, he laps a determined, deep plough of tongue all the way from the base of your slit up to your pulsing clit. It has you calling loudly into his brother's mouth.

“You taste fertile, my darling wife-to-be,” Anthony groans lewdly and pointedly, and you can’t help but giggle across Benedict’s lips.

“I am certain he is right,” Benedict smiles affectionately, swallowing your noises. “I swear I can smell the difference when you are ripe for us. Your scent is just a little headier, muskier; it makes my cock even harder than normal,” he ponders, kissing across your face as he utters his trademark filth. He knows just a few choice words can have you ready for him—every single damn time.

Anthony’s hand strays up to play with your belly charms as his tongue unfurls its magic. It doesn’t matter that you are with these two men, individually and together, multiple times a week; they never fail to arouse you to the point of aching with just a few expertly deployed moves. Their tongues, whether talking dirty or teasing your body, are your favourite part of them. Benedict shuffles lower and sucks one of your nipples into his mouth. Oh god, yes, it’s definitely their tongues.

“Darling, are we playing tonight, or are we just us?” Benedict asks, looking up from your chest with gentle eyes. Sometimes you like to play with your power dynamic and use your titles, other times since you have grown closer, you are just yourselves, no masks, no games, just you, Ant and Ben, your affectionate shortened names for them.

You stop Anthony’s ministrations between your legs with a tap on his shoulder, wanting his full attention on this question that Benedict poses.

“What would you prefer, my loves?” You ask them, ruffling Benedict's hair, enjoying the feel of its thickness running between your fingers and squeezing Anthony’s shoulder lovingly.

“I want to be Ben, just your husband-to-be,” Benedict says quietly, and you can’t help the little smile that breaks out. “This is where we will get married,” he asserts, looking around, “under the stars, just like this.”

“Yes, my darling,” you confirm happily, “I want that.”

“How about you, Ant, my love? Would you like to be you, or perhaps my lord or my beautiful boy?” you inquire.

“I want to be Ant, your fiancé,” he nods in agreement with Benedict’s idea. “Tonight, my darling wife-to-be, the only lesson is how to breed you like the wondrous Bridgerton you are about to become.”

“Breed me?” You inhale, wanting to be insulted by the term but finding it makes your clit burn hot.

“Oh yes,” Benedict chimes in, “we are going to breed you, darling. You will sire a whole house of Bridgertons. You will never be without our seed—it will be dripping from you every day.”

“Ben,” you stutter, grabbing his bicep as your whole cunt is suddenly slick and pulsing at his crude language. “Tell me more.”

His responding grin is predatory as Anthony chuckles and slinks back between your legs.

“Do you know how many bedrooms there are in Aubrey Hall?” Benedict’s voice is a gentle tease as his nose runs teasing patterns over the swell of your breast.

“I don’t,” you admit, honestly.

“Twenty-four,” Anthony answers for you from between your thighs as he sucks a line down from your inner knee.

“Even with all of our siblings and their future children visiting, that still leaves at least, hmm, twelve bedrooms just going to waste. Until we fill them with our little brood.”

“Benedict, I am not birthing twelve children,” you gasp, half in shock at the very thought, half because Anthony’s tongue curls rough around your clit.

“Maybe not,” he admits, kissing across to your other breast, “but I think we should at least try….”

“Six each, brother?” Anthony chuckles, joining in, lifting his head and resting his chin on your pubic hair, shooting a killer smile.

“Get back there. Have you not heard that female pleasure aids conception?” you challenge, raising an eyebrow.

“Then we will have to make you come at least twice tonight; ‘tis the most prudent path to double our chances,” Anthony retorts with a wink sinking down with a devilish look on his face before his tongue makes you cry out, and Benedict's teeth graze over your nipple, making you cant up into his mouth.

“You’ll have to carry me all the way back to the house if I have many more than that, remember,” you warn, bemused.

“Darling, I would carry you to the ends of the earth and back,” Benedict pledges, the romantic poetry just pouring from him as he surges up and kisses your lips, plundering your mouth with his tongue. “You have bewitched me. Since that very first day in my brother's study, I have been yours.”

Benedict is always more emotional and partial to declarations of love than his brother, whose feelings run just as deep but does not effuse about it so openly—preferring to express his adoration privately and through beautiful, thoughtful gifts.

“Save it for your individual days, brother,” Anthony hums drolly over your flesh. “We have a very special job to do tonight.”

“Indeed we do,” Benedict concurs, picking up one of your hands and entwining your fingers with his.

Then their efforts become more focussed as Anthony sucks your engorged nub deep into his mouth, moans vibrating your sensitive bud as Benedict bites your nipple in just that way you like—an insistent suckling hold that pulls your skin taunt and is a line right down to your throbbing clit being so utterly wrecked by Anthony.

It always stuns you how quickly these two, working in tandem, can rocket you so high, so dizzyingly fast. You are vaguely aware your hands are in both of their hair as you climb so high. Eyes screwed shut as they both mouth filthy encouragements into your skin.

“Come on, darling,” Anthony pleads, “I want to feel you drench my face.”

“Do not stop,” you chant repeatedly, twisting luscious strands of chestnut locks around your fingers.

Benedict’s lips are hot on your ear, biting the lobe as he senses you are so close. “Break for him,” he breathes, “come on, my love, give him that sweet nectar to drink.”

The filthy poet never fails to give you that extra nudge, and sure enough, with a staccato of breaths, they have to hold you down as you fight to buck against the convulsions deep inside.

Anthony growls at you to stay still, even though you know he loves it when you writhe over his face, his jaw clamped hard between your spasming thighs.

“Does that feel so good?” Benedict’s silky voice vibrates your ear.

“Yes, oh god, I need one of you inside me, please,” you twist to look into his face as beseeching as you can, still flushed and mindless from your orgasm. “But please tie my hands first,” you stutter breathlessly, offering your wrists up to him, pressed together. “Above my head.”

“I thought we were not playing tonight?” Anthony says quietly as he lands on the blanket beside you, his face shining with your juices.

“Please, just, please,” you beg, turning to him, “I need it. Use your chains.”

As they flank your body, both of them make a low noise at the idea of binding your hands with your golden chains that bear their initials.

Benedict’s large hand slides down your dewy torso and into your thatch of hair. Then slowly, while you pant lightly and keep your eyes locked on Anthony’s intense stare, Benefict unhooks one chain and tugs it gently from around the dip of your waist.

“Your turn,” he says quietly to Anthony, and you realise they are removing their own chains. Somehow that choice makes you burn even hotter for them, squirming slightly.

Anthony’s hand follows the same path as you breath heavy and hold Benedict’s gaze this time as Anthony unhooks the chain with the A charm and drags it up along your skin, a corner of the letter scraping gently over your flesh, catching your nipple as you gasp.

Then they take an arm each, raising them above your head. Both then bind your wrists as your gaze flits between them, watching their handsome faces.

“Thank you,” your murmur reverential, testing the hold and feeling the precious metal bite into your flesh as they both dive in for a heated kiss, Anthony reaching you first and Benedict settling on your neck until they can swap positions. It’s a deep kiss that is musky and sweet with the taste and scent of your climax.

“Who gets the privilege of being first, my love?” Benedict asks silkily.

“You do, Ben,” you whisper, and his whole face lights up. So often used to being second.

You turn to Anthony as Benedict shifts to lay between your legs. “Thank you, my darling Ant, for my wonderful orgasm,” you compliment and watch as his face turns boyish with pride.

You cry out as Benedict spears into you, splitting your open, causing the gentle ripples of your orgasm to flare again, and he drops his head onto your breastbone.

“Christ, there is nothing like your little fluttering cunt is there?” he groans into your flesh.

“Give it to me, Ben,” you twist from kissing Anthony to declare. Then turn back, desperate for more hot kisses.

His tip feels somehow harsher than normal, a hot spike as he begins to move, your walls clinging to him almost vice-like. It feels so good your eyes roll, and your mouth goes slack against Anthony’s.

He brushes a gentle hand through your hair, watching you through hooded eyes, gently murmuring praise and compliments as you take Benedict's hard thrusts.

“We will plant our seeds, darling, deep in here,” Anthony breathes, a hand sliding down to your belly just above where Benedict’s body meets yours as he surges into you. “Do you want that?”

“Yess,” you hiss, mesmerised, fingers twirling in your own hair, “please.”

“Oh, our perfect little broodmare,” Anthony exhales shakily, surging his leaking cock against the hip he holds open for his little brother, who now curls down over you, biting a nipple. “Do you know how proud we will be? Making your beautiful body swell, your breasts growing so large and sensitive, your belly growing round. With our baby. A little Bridgerton. Or maybe more. We want to plant you with two babies right now, one for me and one for my little brother. Can you do that, darling, for us? Take our seed so good?”

“Yes, Anthony,” you pant, utterly enthralled by his filthy talk. That is usually the expertise of the man now biting your nipples and growling as he fucks you so harshly that your body jerks on the cotton blanket you lay on.

“Let him,” Anthony continues with slightly gritted teeth, “let him fuck you harder than he ever has before.”

“Yes, my lord,” you answer, under his spell, and his nostrils flare as you use the title you call him in play.

He curses, then grabs one of your chain-bound wrists above your head, fingers sliding possessively between yours and forcing the back of your hand down onto the ground.

“Yes, that's it, do as you are told, little one,” he growls through clenched teeth.

And you feel a frisson of something frantic, like you all need something with a little edge. A gust of breeze flutters over your skin and leaves quiver on the trees around you.

“Fuck her harder, brother,” Anthony orders into your clavicle, and you feel it buzz into your bones.

Benedict growls in response and hooks the leg, not being held by Anthony over his flexed forearm. Pulling you open more, feeling so vulnerable, your hands bound, your legs held obscenely wide open by each.

Suddenly the moment feels charged as Benedict snaps his hips so forcefully that you whimper on every stroke, revelling in the sweat splashing from his damp forehead curls onto your breasts. Anthony is sucking on your neck with almost painful intensity as Benedict drops down and bites your flesh over your tricep, making you writhe and call his name. The gold chains binding your wrists dig into your flesh as you move, bringing an edge that just pushes you higher.

You encourage him, calling him sir, begging for more, squeezing his cock with your pelvic muscles as he pounds into you mercilessly. And that constriction is the catalyst he needs. He curses long and low, feeling huge as he spears so deep he nudges your hilt, and you sense a change in him that usually signals his withdrawal. This time his eyes fly open, pupils blown, and expression wild as he grabs your jaw firmly.

“Are you ready?” He barks possessively.

“Yes,” you hiss, realising he is going to climax without waiting for you.

His last few hot desperate thrusts are so harsh your whole insides feel rearranged. Then he stills, and for the first time, you hear that guttural groan right into your ear as he begins to spill inside you, a hot wave that blooms deep inside, feeling like so much more than he has ever come before. It’s a new sensation and feels just wonderful.

“Yes, take it all, my darling girl,” he shudders, and that gravelly tone pulls you over a small edge, you clamping down on his spurting cock as he groans and spasms into you some more, hipbones digging into your inner thighs. His weight is almost crushing as he becomes motionless, your thighs burning from the stretch.

“That’s it,” Anthony whispers against your temple, “lay still and open, darling, let his seed into your womb.”

Those words echo drowsily in your head as you feel Benedict’s cock gradually soften inside you, and he slips out slowly with a slick tide of juices that run down over your bottom cheeks.

“Fucking babies into you is my new favourite thing. Do you have any idea how exquisite it is to come inside you? Fill you up? I never want to come anywhere else ever again.” Benedict gusts as he falls to one side of you, still breathing heavily, and you realise it's a novel experience for him too. “God, I love you,” he admits shakily, landing a kiss on your cheek.

“I love you too. Thank you for my baby Benedict,” you nuzzle his face and kiss him sweetly as his body relaxes, utterly spent.

You twist to look at Anthony, and his eyes sparkle as he climbs between your legs, his cock hard, glistening, and leaking in his fist. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, my lord,” you answer.

He thrusts into your soaking cunt, still leaking profusely from Benedict. He feels even larger and harsher somehow too, and on reflex, you clench around the invasion, feeling the verdant earth beneath your bottom and shoulder blades softened slightly by the blanket.

“My darling girl,” his voice ragged, broken. “You are so exquisitely puffy and swollen. That was quite the mounting you got, wasn’t it? Are you ready for more?”

You croak your assent, and then he begins to move. He isn’t slow. In fact, he starts pounding so hard you gasp, the sensation almost too much, and Benedict's hand slides into your hair, over your bound hands, and you clutch it as he rolls closer, nuzzling your face.

“Feel it all, my darling girl,” Benedict rumbles.

“I am, sir,” you nod and bite your lip. “I can even feel your seed inside me still,” you add with a moan, the chains on your wrist abraiding your skin, leaving marks.

“Good,” he gusts drowsily and warmly in your ear, a hand swirling patterns on your hip. “Let it in, darling, all the way in.”

As a cloud clears the moon, the atmosphere feels softer again, the frantic moment of before ebbing into something more profound; even as Anthony takes you hard, it’s more in an undulating wave, hitting your hilt with a rhythm that feels hypnotic, your cunt clinging to him like a glove, as Benedict's sonorous voice is back at your ear.

“That’s right, get ready, darling girl. We need you to keep this line going. In your belly, you will grow the next viscount. You will bare the heirs of this family. Just you, my wonderful wife-to-be.”

“I want all of your babies too, Benedict,” you breathe as Anthony ploughs on. “I want to give the world more like you. Talented creative, empathetic, loving souls who bring joy to every room.”

His eyes mist over as you declare your truth. “I love you so much it hurts,” he murmurs into your cheek, voice thick with emotion.

“I love you too,” you want to grab his face but can’t; instead, you seal your pact with a sweet, almost chaste kiss filled with affection; even as Anthony takes you towards a big blissful moment, you hope you will hit together.

“Now declare your love to him too,” Benedict orders softly, “you know he needs to hear it, maybe even more than me.”

You nod and turn all of your attention and heart to the Viscount. Still holding Benedict’s hand tangled in your hair, not wanting either to feel left out on this momentous night.

“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton,” you use his title and full name, your pleading tone making his eyes bore into yours. “I love you so much, my lord, my husband,” you state categorically.

He groans and falls over your body, covering you, his scent and heat all-encompassing.

“Darling darling wife, my Viscountess,” he exhales over your lips, his thrusts turning slow and languid, his hands grasping your thighs and pulling your legs up and out, utterly under his command, pinned. “I love you so much,” he sounds almost choked with emotion, and part of you wishes you had your hands to hold him to you.

“Do you want to be freed, my love?” Benedict asks softly, always seemingly able to intuit your needs before you even articulate them.

“Please,” you request, turning to give him a grateful peck as he reaches up and loosens both chains, leaving one delicately but loosely wrapped around each forearm, your wrists pulsing mildly as they are freed.

Instantly you move your arms, wrapping one around Anthony’s back, your nails and the gold chain scraping down his skin as your other hand rounds Benedict's shoulder and into his hair, stroking and petting.

Your hand sliding down, mapping his contours, over the swell of his muscular bottom makes Anthony groan and bite your neck, spearing deep into you as your nails dig in, tilting your pelvis and rocking him deeper into you until you feel that ache so far inside.

Then he pushes up onto his hands and thrusts hard, setting a punishing pace. Every fibre of your being wants this, ratcheting high and fast as each stroke crushes your clit into your frame. Unable to form words except to curse and babble mindlessly. You feel your whole body tense, a release so imminent you grit your teeth and chase it hard.

“That’s it darling, come for me, milk me,” Antony commands, flicking a thumb over your clit, and you are gone.

Yelling and screaming as his cock is the solid mass you convulse around, your entire being spasming, and you feel Benedict’s firm grip, holding you down with a knee and large hands. Making you orgasm hard, entirely still, unable to writhe, all the sensation concentrated on where Anthony’s cock spears you open.

As the blood rushes in your ears, his teeth are biting on the cord of your neck, and with a few pumps, he releases with a throaty whine, pushing the deepest he has ever been, feeling like he piercing through your hilt.

He curses long, low guttural and again there is that bloom of viscous heat inside as he spills all his seed.

“Yes, my darling girl,” he slurs, “stay down, take it all,”

You cry out, and your instinct is to move, but both of them hold you down, so your fingers dig into flesh, and your toes curl as your body is thwarted from its shakes and shudders. Anthony’s weight is upon you as he recovers his breath, feeling even heavier than Benedict as he slumps,, panting into your neck.

“I understand what you mean now, brother,” his tone almost wonderous. “I do not wish to leave my seed anywhere else either, dear god; that was exquisite.” Delicately he pulls backwards so his softening cock slips out of your body, and you groan at the sensation, flopping your head blissfully on the blanket as he falls to your other side.

The gentle sounds of nocturnal nature around you fill your ears as it is just your joint breathing, soothing hands running over you, soft kisses and little intimate moments where you whisper to both of your boys.

“We may have made a baby tonight, my darling husbands,” you murmur.

The look they both give you is brimming with love and appreciation as you curl into both, taking a hand from each of them and placing them over your heart as you drift to sleep, cocooned in their safe embrace.

Your boys. Forever, your boys.

Anthony & Benedict taglists: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms

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synchodai · 3 months ago

Note

for those not familiar with jacegan and fan theories, could you elaborate on what you think happened when jace and cregan met, the pact they made, the whole issue of baela and sara snow, jace’s death, black aly, etc?

Well, I did write a series about this, but time to bring back the conspiracy board...

the pact of ice and fire

Cregan and Jacaerys took a liking to each other, for the boy prince reminded the Lord of Winterfell of his own younger brother, who had died ten years before. They drank together, hunted together, trained together, and swore an oath of brotherhood, sealed in blood [...] Cregan Stark and Jacaerys Velaryon reached an accord, and signed and sealed the agreement that Grand Maester Munkun calls “the Pact of Ice and Fire” in his True Telling. - F&B

Note that Munkun is basing "the pact of ice of fire" around what he knows from Orwyle's testimony and rumors, meaning that out of the three primary sources in the book (Orwyle, Mushroom, Eustace), none of them were there to actually witness what Jace did in the Vale and the North. That being said, Cregan seemed to ally with the blacks based on three things:

The oath sworn by his late father, Rickon Stark,

A promise of marriage between his heir and Jace's firstborn daughter,

And that he just really grew a liking to Jace.

The first one suffices for a lot of readers as reason for Cregan Stark to throw his lot in with the blacks. He named his firstborn after his father, so it's a logical conclusion that he wants to honor his vows.

The second one is a bit iffy since betrothals to daughters who don't exist from a guy who isn't even married yet sounds like a bad trade-off, but some have excused this by saying that Cregan Stark really wanted dragonriding blood in his lineage for some reason.

And the third one is what the shippers latch onto to, and which I believe may have weighed more in his decision-making process than #1 and #2. The reason for that being Cregan Stark himself deciding to lead an army of men whose goal was pretty much to die in battle. He had every reason not to take up command and march south:

Winter had arrived and those days were crucial for bringing in the last harvests. Cregan amassing his host and marching as he did arguably may have partially resulted in the famine in the North that we see in Aegon III's regency.

His only heir was three-years-old at the time, so if he dies in battle, the only Stark in Winterfell would be a toddler.

And it must needs be said again, the northern army was looking to die. Cregan seemed to be on the same suicidal warpath because his plan was to recklessly go scorched earth.

Others had started this war, Lord Cregan was heard to say, but he meant to finish it, to continue south and destroy all that remained of the greens who had placed Aegon II on the Iron Throne and fought to keep him there. He would reduce Storm’s End first, then cross the Reach to take Oldtown. Once the Hightower had fallen, he would take his wolves north along the shores of the Sunset Sea to visit Casterly Rock. [...] When Kermit Tully pointed out that Storm’s End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock were as strong as Stark’s own Winterfell (if not stronger) and would not fall easily (if at all), and young Ben Blackwood echoed him and said, “Half your men will die, Lord Stark,” the grey-eyed Wolf of Winterfell replied, “They died the day we marched, boy.”

The non-shipping interpretation here is that Cregan Stark is a paranoid opportunist who wants to thin the herd, so to speak, and trusts no one because of his own childhood trauma of being betrayed by his uncle. But this can also be read as Cregan Stark as having a deathwish himself. But for what reason? He's twenty-three with a child and a whole realm to govern. Why is he so openly hostile to the blacks like Corlys who are supposedly his allies for "failing to protect the king"? You know, the same king that Cregan was ostensibly looking to kill himself?

Unless, the king he's thinking about isn't Aegon II. Maybe it was a black king instead of a green king that Corlys failed. Cregan's actions just make more sense if they're driven by vengeance than a need to "end the war" when the war is already ending and he's the one ramping it up.

Let's look at additional evidence that supports this reading.

the sara snow question

But we turn to Mushroom to find the tales other chronicles omit, nor does he fail us now. His account introduces a young maiden, or “wolf girl” as he dubs her, with the name of Sara Snow. So smitten was Prince Jacaerys with this creature, a bastard daughter of the late Lord Rickon Stark, that he lay with her of a night. On learning that his guest had claimed the maidenhead of his bastard sister, Lord Cregan became most wroth, and only softened when Sara Snow told him that the prince had taken her for his wife. They had spoken their vows in Winterfell’s own godswood before a heart tree, and only then had she given herself to him, wrapped in furs amidst the snows as the old gods looked on.

The book itself tells us to take Mushroom's account with a giant block of salt, so most people just tend to dismiss Sara Snow entirely. The readers who do like to think that she existed do so because they like that it complicates Jace's relationship with Baela and how she could possibly have allowed Jace to explore or confront his issues with his bastardy.

However, if she did exist, it raises some questions like:

Why is she a non-entity, being only mentioned twice in the book? While not the focus of F&B, we still get updates on Cregan and the North post-Dance but Sara Snow is never mentioned in any of them. She wasn't even mentioned attending Cregan's eventual wedding to Black Aly.

Why did Cregan never bring her up during his time in King's Landing? If Jace did marry his sister and she got pregnant with his child, that would explain his zeal to secure the throne for his nephew who has a claim to it, but Cregan just never mentions the marriage at all.

Why would he still be friends and so loyal to someone who deflowered his sister under his roof? Doesn't seem like a very bro thing for Jace to do.

So we split the difference between Sara Snow existing and not existing by assuming that the person Jace slept with was actually Cregan Stark.

delaying the marriage to baela

Though Baela also announced her intent to marry Jace at once, no wedding was ever held. Munkun says the prince did not wish to wed until the war was over, whilst Mushroom claims Jacaerys was already married to Sara Snow, the mysterious bastard girl from Winterfell.

This is the second and last time Sara Snow is mentioned. Admittedly, there are plenty of practical reasons Jace and Baela's wedding was postponed — foremost being that consummating their union meant getting Baela pregnant and losing an active dragonrider.

However, we add this to the conspiracy board because GRRM didn't have to include this detail. No one reading the book would have questioned why Jace and Baela never wed, but he called attention to it anyway, so it must mean something beyond being distracted by the ongoing war. Even more interesting is how this passage specifies that Baela wanted to get married at once, heavily implying that it was specifically Jace who delayed it.

It's also interesting that what comes after this is...

the gay abandon

Their father, Prince Daemon, had made many friends in the Free City of Pentos during his visits there, so Jacaerys reached across the narrow sea to the prince of that city, who agreed to foster the two boys until Rhaenyra had secured the Iron Throne. In the waning days of 129 AC, the young princes boarded the cog Gay Abandon—Aegon with Stormcloud, Viserys clutching his egg—to set sail for Essos.

I grant you that this my farthest and most tinfoil take, but mentioning delaying Jace and Baela's wedding and following it up with Jace arranging for a ship called the Gay Abandon? Wow, to be abandoned by a gay, huh?

baela targaryen

“Not even the tears of a dragon could melt the frozen heart of Cregan Stark, men said rightly,” Mushroom tells us, “but when Lady Baela brandished a sword and declared that she would cut off the hand of any man who sought to harm the men who had saved her, the Wolf of Winterfell smiled for all to see, and allowed that if her ladyship was so fond of these dogs, he would permit her to keep them.”

This is Cregan and Baela's one interaction in the book — her threatening him and him being impressed enough to back off. Prior to this interaction, other men and women have pleaded with and threatened him, but Baela is one of two people who actually get him to spare someone from getting sentenced and executed. This could just mean that Baela is a badass, which she is, but combine that with the other person who does this feat and we may see a bit of a pattern.

black aly

“A lean tall creature was this wench,” says the dwarf, “thin as a whip and flat-chested as a boy, but long of leg and strong of arm, with a mane of thick black curls that tumbled down past her waist when loosed.” [...] Though Black Aly was no man’s queen of love and beauty, her fearlessness, stubborn strength, and bawdy tongue struck a chord for the Lord of Winterfell, who soon began to seek out her company in hall and yard. “She smells of woodsmoke, not of flowers,” Stark told Lord Cerwyn, said to be his closest friend.

This is the woman Cregan eventually marries and ends his scorched earth campaign. Now, Baela's connection to Jace is obvious — she's his cousin/step-sibling/betrothed. But I argue that Black Aly may remind Cregan of Jace even more strongly than Baela did. Here are their similarities:

They are of the same age. Black Aly is 16. Jace was 15 when he arrived at Winterfell and would jave been 16-17 by the time Cregan arrived in King's Landing.

She looks like a boy.

She has thick, black curls and dark eyes.

She is the eldest sibling who is acting as de facto head of their House.

She loves riding and smells of smoke. You know...maybe like a dragonrider.

Cregan's desire to enact "justice" seems to be quenched once he secures a marriage with her — which makes little sense if his initial motivations were to get dragonriding blood into his line, to "clean up the mess" of the war, or to kill off his men and grab the spoils of war. However, if the driving force behind all of this had been grief over a love lost too soon, then it suddenly makes sense that he calms down when someone else makes him experience love anew, yes?

Anyways, Cregan is a himbo bi-icon and Brokeback Winterfell happened — it just makes sense.

(Art by Yanh Hyung on X)

#jacegan #jacaerys velaryon #cregan stark #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd spoilers #asks #long post #jace x cregan #brokeback winterfell #messy bisexual Cregan Stark

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starryevermore · 5 months ago

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the house of snow (25) ✧ coriolanus snow

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

pairing: king!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

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

chapter summary: coriolanus’s obsession brings distance, and you are not sure you can handle such a thing.

word count: 2,334

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

chapter warnings?: angst angst angst, pet name (petal), not proofread

Your work with Coryo had slowed rather drastically. Though there were days you had the energy to join him in the office, you had primarily distracted yourself with reading or the occasional nap. Much of your time, however, had been spent making arrangements for your babe’s nursery. It was one of the few times Coryo did not protest you doing any sort of work. If it was because this work only involved you flipping through catalogues, neither of you made a comment.

Things were…strange between yourself and Coryo. Ever since you had asked if you could give birth at the cottage, he had grown…distant. In the early days, you pretended you did not notice. But as time wore on, it became increasingly difficult to ignore.

Even now, as you sat across the table at him during breakfast, Coryo might have been stationed on a Peacekeeper’s base on the outskirts of Panem. When he might have stared at you as if you hung the stars in the sky, he kept his gaze to the newspapers brought to him. You had long since stopped eating, but he had yet to notice.

Where he might have once been asking you of your plans for the day, you found yourself being the one inquiring so.

Coryo finally spared you a glance. “Primarily answering demands for the Crown’s assistance, scheduling meetings with the Electors. And, of course, we have the ball we are attending this evening.”

You waited for him to ask if you were going to join him in the office, or if you are still well enough to attend the ball. He did not. You stirred your spoon around in your tea cup, the metal clanging against the porcelain. “Sounds eventful. I shall spent the morning, then, in the library.”

When you rose from your seat, you expected Coryo to rise after you. To pull in for a searing kiss before letting you escape to the library. In your mind, you imagined him chasing after you minutes later, demanding that you not leave his side for a long while. But as you watched him remain at the table, back to glancing at the papers, you knew he would not.

“I love you, Coryo.”

He looked up at you again. He smiled, but it did not quite reach his eyes. “And I you, petal.”

Ordinarily, such a response would send butterflies aflutter in your tummy. Yet, as he refused to say the word love, only bile began to rise from your stomach. You turned, and you did not wish him a good bye.

You never felt smaller than you did as you traversed down the halls of the palace. It no longer quite felt like a home to you. A part of you, the part that once thought that this marriage would be a loveless trap, wanted to run away to the cottage—Coryo be damned. If this was the manner in he was to conduct himself, you would stoop even lower. There was no one, after all, that could hit Coryo where it hurts harder than you. But the part that loved him still, the part that wanted him to stop whatever nonsense this was, desired to stay. For better or for worse, or however the vows went.

That did not mean, of course, that you could not make him squirm.

You passed the library and continued all the way down to the servant’s quarters, ignoring the strange stares you received. A passing maid gave you directions to the housekeeper’s chambers, and you entered without knocking. The woman jumped upon seeing you, quickly rising from her bed and sinking into a low curtsy.

“My apologies, Your Majesty. If I had known you were looking for me, I would have come to you with great haste.”

“If things do not improve between myself and the King by the end of the week,” you said, “you shall have my belongings moved to my personal chambers.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

“But not the ones across the King’s chambers. I think I would like to take up residence on the other side of the palace. And, of course, should I make this move, the babe’s nursery shall follow.”

The housekeeper fidgeted, but still maintains eye contact with you. A braver woman than the King, you mused. “Shall I inform the King of this move?”

“No. Let him come to his senses on his own, or else let him retire to his chambers without me by his side. Whatever shall happen shall be his decision alone.”

“How do you fare this evening, Your Majesty?” a lord, whose name you couldn’t be bothered to remember at the moment, asked as Coryo stepped away to fetch you a refreshment. He avoided looking you in the eyes—either out of fear of the King’s ire should anyone look at you too long for his liking or out of discomfort at your so-called “condition.” You knew the ton was not accustomed to pregnant women maintaining an active role in society. Though they could not ostracize you the way they could anyone else, you also knew they were waiting for a moment to whisper scandalized words about how a Queen should not conduct themselves in such a manner.

Your hand came to rest on your barely-there bump. In just your fourth month, much had already begun to change. Perhaps not physically yet, but things were changing between yourself and Coryo. He still worshipped the ground you walked on, to be sure, but there was an odd look in his eyes whenever he would gaze upon you. As though he was already trying to go accustomed to a life in which he loses you.

“I am quite well, thank you,” you said. Since the lord would not look you in the eyes, you took the time to glance around the ballroom. It was a standard ball, nothing out of the ordinary. Except for, of course, you. Bile rose in your throat at the looks people sent you when they didn’t think you were looking. You took a breath and, unable to hold your tongue, said, “Or at least I had been before I came to this sorry excuse of a ball. A shame, I think, that your wife is so uninspired by your love for her, or rather the lack thereof, to throw together anything worthy of my time.”

His eyes snapped to yours. “I beg your pardon?”

“You must be so unaccustomed to begging,” you said. You turned away from him. “I only mean that, if a woman felt the love of a man, she would be inspired to ensure that every aspect of their lives would be safe from tarnishment.”

“As if you have done anything but tarnish the Crown,” the lord scoffed. When your head snapped to look at him, he at least had the good sense to lose all color in his face. “What I mean is—”

“That you have chosen to disrespect the King and, more importantly, his Queen,” you said. You squared your shoulders and, though he was much taller than you, you looked your nose as though he was an ant beneath your shoe. “The Crown shall not forget.”

A cold glass was pressed into your hand. You did not have to look to know if your Coryo who had returned. Nor did you have to look to see the grin on his face as you threw the drink in the lord’s face. Gasps erupted around you, heads swiveling to see who had the poor sense to offend you. In the distance, you could see the lord’s wife pushing her way through the crowd. You turned to her as the lady reached you and held up your hand. She stopped in your tracks.

“Don’t,” you said. “I have no issue with you. Your husband, however, is daft and unworthy of a woman such as yourself. If he took offense of my recognition of such, then that is his burden to bear. If he decided to take that offense and hurl it into an insult at me, then he is only to blame for the consequences that followed.”

“I am so deeply sorry, Your Majesty—” the lady tried.

You raised your hand again, and she stopped. “It is not you I take issue with. I will, however, soon take issue if you don’t direct the band to begin playing again. I should like to dance with a man worthy of my breath.”

She gave a small nod and hurried off to the band. Slowly, the ton began to return to their own conversations, though their eyes still remained on you. You fought the urge to snarl at them.

“She provoked me,” the lord hissed to Coryo. If he thought your husband would take his side, speak to him man-to-man, he was sorely mistaken.

“And you must be so simple so as to take the bait,” Coryo said. He plucked the now empty glass from your hands and passed it off on a passing server’s tray. His fingers interlaced your own. “And simpler still if you think I would do anything but wholeheartedly support her in her scathing review of your character.”

The lord sputtered, but Coryo was too occupied letting you lead him onto the dance floor to care.

The two of you fell into an easy waltz as Coryo spun you around the floor. Finally, finally, the eyes of the ton melted away. You felt yourself relax in Coryo’s arms.

“Pregnancy has made you combative,” Coryo said, holding your body closer against his.

“I do not like the way the ton looks down upon me for being out, for showing that the love between us is culminating into beautiful life,” you said. You spared a glance out at the crowd. “The night of our wedding, I recall your ire at the lack of respect the ton showed me. It did not bother me so much then, when I thought our marriage would be a loveless affair. But now that I know your love, that you would do anything for me, it stokes this fire inside me to see the ton think I am the ruination of the Crown.”

Coryo smiled, the kind of smile that would look wicked to anyone else but so clearly reflected his love for you as you gazed upon it. You had missed this look. Why did you have to cause a scene to receive it? “I take this to mean you will allow me to force the ton to bow before you?”

You leaned in, pressed a kiss to the corner of his lips and ignored the increase of whispers around you. “Bring them to their knees.”

And yet, even still, as Coryo undid the fastenings of your gown in the comfort of your shared chambers, the ire still stoked a fire inside you. While your gown pooled at your feet, you found yourself pushing Coryo’s hands away from you. You stepped behind a privacy screen and finished undressing before slipping on a nightshift and climbing into bed. Coryo followed soon after.

When he reached for you, you pushed his hands away again and turned on your side, facing the wall. You could very nearly see his frown in your mind’s eye. Coryo shuffled closer to you. You moved closer to the edge.

“Alright, what is the matter? I did as you asked, my petal. I reminded the ton of the might of the Crown.” He reached out and ran his fingers through the ends of your hair. A shiver ran through you. “Did I misunderstand you?”

You swallowed thickly. “I fear I might be the one who misunderstands. Coryo, you said this was to be a marriage of equals, did you not?”

He was silent for a moment, as if trying to determine if you had any riddles hidden in your words. “I did, yes.”

“And you meant that, did you not?”

“I did.”

You rolled over. He was so close to you now that your noses brushed against each other. “Then why, I beg of you, have you treated me like a fragile little thing ever since we learned I was with child?”

Coryo’s jaw clenched and unclenched. “You know why.”

“History shall not repeat itself. And even if that should be my fate, why do you regard me as though I am already gone? If I am to die during childbirth—”

“—don’t say that. Please, don’t—”

“—then at least let me feel my husband’s love in whole. Do not deprive me of that. Do not make me beg for that.” You wiped your cheeks with the back of your hand, feeling the wetness upon them. “And do not say that you have been giving me such love. I know you, Coryo. I know how you loved me so fiercely at the cottage, and before, and after. You have seldom left my side, but you have never been more distant.”

“Petal…”

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the tears fall freely. You flinched away as his thumb stroked across your cheek, wiping them away. “I told the housekeeper to have my belongings moved to other side of the palace by the end of the week. In the morning, I shall tell her to hasten the move. And, at the beginning of my eighth month, I shall make the move to the cottage.”

Coryo sat up. When you looked at him, his eyes held more emotion than they had in weeks. Your heart ached, but you could not back down now. “Please, don’t.”

“I should like some space. Of course, it shall not be so different than how it already has been the last few weeks.” You rolled back over to your other side and faced the wall once more. “If you should choose to join me at the cottage, you may. I will not deprive you of that.”

“Petal, I do love you.”

“Then why can’t I feel it any longer?”

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

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panakinthedisco · 5 months ago

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❀ #USERANJ | AO3 | OTHER SOCIALS | NAVIGATION | ANJ'S HALL OF FAME ❀

ALL TOO WELL ― Javier Peña | it had been two years since the last time you've seen Peña and you only wanted to reach out as a friend.

TICKET TO RIDE mini-series — Joel Miller AU | you're the new science teacher and adviser in Sarah Miller’s class and of course, her dad couldn’t keep his eyes to his daughter’s new teacher.

MISERABLE WITH YOU — Joel Miller | joel miller knew he's a lost cause — a lot of sins to repay and a past that kept haunting him like a plague. but you came to his life, an angel that he desired, and he knew that he doesn't deserve you.

HEAVEN mini-series — Marcus Acacius | acacius' mother forged a blood pact with the goddess of love, vowing to safeguard and elevate her son, while dedicating her life as a delphi in return. through all general acacius' triumphs, you as the daughter of venus deftly orchestrated his victory as promised but then gradually nurturing a forbidden attachment.

AS THE WORLD FALLS DOWN mini-series — Regency Era!Marcus Acacius | love has never been a fair game for you, as the men in society are often dull or dimwitted. however, a particular duke challenges you with a battle of tension and wits. naturally, you are too stubborn to let him win.

MISTY ― Joel Miller | it all started at a station stop, a conversation about your beloved country, and somehow, in that moment, joel miller became utterly captivated by you.

COLLATERAL DAMAGE ― Joel Miller x Kannika Neuman

ITERUM ― Din Djarin x Amalthea Romée

SAUDADE ― Luke Skywalker x Kaileen Kenobi - Gozen

SPECTRUM ― Anakin Skywalker x Cairistonia Vassatten

PAAGI ― Paul Atreides x Idiyanale Lalahon

LIKE REAL PEOPLE DO ― Paul McCartney x Juliette Baker

GRAPHIC ARCHIVE ( all are created by me unless stated)

#JOELNIKA

#DINTHEA

#KAILUKE

#ELANI

#MCBAKER

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royallyprincesslilly · 2 years ago

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Title: Pleasing The Duke {6}*

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Historical Piece, Angst, SLOW BURN,

Words: 5.3k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way your and the duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Glossary of terms at the end of the chapter for period-specific words/items for greater comprehension.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton.

I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 |

Chapter Six: A Gentle Hand

Cold air raced up your spine, but a warmth was settled in your gut. The combination sent a shiver through your body. Moaning, you moved closer to the solid frame you felt against you. The warmth you found there was searing—comforting. Again, you moaned and tried to get closer. You wanted to be so close that the warmth was all your own. You draped a leg over the solid frame and settled falling back into a slumber. However, it was not restful. Your mind was plagued with visions of a storm. Raging winds wracked your person sending you this and that way. Thick, cold mud clung to you, almost pulling you deeper into the earth.

When your visions calmed, you were met with hypnotizing eyes, full lips, and strong hands. Those hands touched you so possessively, so urgently. The face that came with those features was Simon’s. You could not make much out, but his words came to you in disorganized speech that was difficult to comprehend. When you thought you could make something out, the images changed. His lips remained and they were pressed to yours.

Slowly, your eyes batted open. It took several moments for your vision to clear and steady. Once it did, you recognized your bedchambers. All was silent, only the soft crackle and pop of a fire could be heard. Early mornings were usually your favorite time of day. Everything was quiet, but you knew that everyone was on the move preparing for the start of the day. You liked to laze around in your bed listening to the birds chirp and watch the sunshine dance across your bed.

You could hear the sounds of the chirping birds but though the sun brightly beamed through the windowpanes, it did not dance across the bed. Instead, you took notice of something else in your bed—or someone. You trailed your eyes up from the midsection of a body up, up, up until the bare chest of a man peeked from under the bed sheets—a very well-defined bare chest. Your breath caught then your throat tightened. Bringing your eyes higher, you found Simon’s glued on you. He did not move or speak, matter of fact, he seemed to be staring through you rather than at you.

It took only a few seconds to realize he hadn’t realized you were awake. You glanced around again trying to understand what in the world had happened. On the floor beside the bed, you saw discarded clothes and your imagination went into hyperactivity. Again, you glanced up into Simon’s eyes. They were bloodshot with dark circles around them. He looked downright exhausted. Had he not slept?

Just then, you recalled the storm and it slowly dawned on you that it had not been a dream, but a memory. Were you ill? Simon sucked in a breath then his body tensed.

“Jamilla,” he breathed reaching over to you to press his hand to your forehead.

The touch felt foreign but familiar. An image of him doing the same before filled your mind. Had he done it before? Simon continued to assess you with concerned eyes.

“Someone come forth! Quickly!”

You caught his eyes and noticed they looked tear filled. Simon avoided your eyes looking every which way. He tucked you tightly, so you now shared deep resemblance to a log in a lake. The doors opened and in came Mrs. Butler with your maids.

“My lady,” Leesil began on a shriek. “Thank heavens we all were so worried.”

Worried, you thought. Had things really been that bad? It was after all, just rain. You’d been caught in plenty of rainstorms. You looked to Simon again, but he still avoided your eyes.

“My lord, the doctor has come,” Bridget announced as a tall man dressed in plain clothes entered the room.

“Good. Come doctor, see to my wife.”

With those words, Simon slipped from the bed whilst grabbing a discarded blanket that rested at the foot of the bed. He used the material to wrap himself from the waist down which told you he was very much nude while he was lying beside you. Oh my, you thought. While the doctor slinked to the side of the bed to tend to you, your eyes roamed Simon’s frame for a few moments taking in every inch of skin that was on display for you. Before long, Simon sprang into motion, excusing himself from the room entirely on some hushed whisper. What in the world was the matter with him?

~~~~~

-Simon-

Blast it!

The anger he felt was leagues past mere anger. He was fuming. This was all his fault. After hearing a detailed account of the events leading up to your disappearance, he’d learned just how at fault he truly was. If only he’d been more attentive, more accommodating rather than avoiding you. If only he’d been warmer perhaps there wouldn’t have been quite so many misunderstandings. Your words from your drunken delirium in the rain came back to him.

“Th—they must all la—laugh at—at—m-me seeing you ca—cann—cannot stand to b—be near m—me.”

Taking the steps two at a time he dashed down them needing to feel the cold morning air whipping against his flesh.

“Do you not. You have said such in every way since I stepped beside you in that church. You have said such in every move you make, every word you speak no matter how nondescript. In every breath you breathe you wish me gone.”

His chest hurt from the rapid beating of his heart and no matter what he did to hold the air in his lungs it never worked. He ended up feeling as if he hadn’t gotten any at all. Seeing the door across the stone lobby, he sped his steps.

“You already hate me so this should be a blessing for you. Wifeless, free to resume your rakish ways.”

Once the ornate metal doorknobs were tightly clasped in his hands, he yanked them open thrusting himself out into the elements. As soon as he stepped out, the crisp morning air slapped him in the face like a welcomed awakening to the new day. Taking gulp after gulp of the air he forced it into his lungs hoping that chased away the panic surging through his body.

It did not take long to realize this would not be enough.

“Horse! F----F--Fe--Fetch—my hor--horse!”

“Yes, my lord.”

He did not know who’d said it, he could hardly focus on breathing let alone whose voice he’d heard. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the tips of the doctor from his childhood. He had not had a bout of hysteria since he was one and six, He thought he was long past this stage especially having faced his father regarding his abandonment. Apparently not, he thought.

Before long, a footman approached with his horse, Zeus. Not waiting for the horse to stop he took quick steps and leapt up swinging himself onto his trusted steed.

With the reins in hand he shouted, “Hiyah!”

Zeus took off into the open greenery much like a fast-traveling lightning bolt as it split the sky before rainfall. The breeze was now whipping around him sending his banyan flapping behind him. Lightly he flicked Zeus’ reins prompting him to go faster. For as far as he could see it was open land—his land and he had not one worry.

“Then why have you abandoned me? You hate me so much you would rather not eat with me, not sleep beside me, nor see my face. Just admit it.”

He clenched his jaw thinking of that word. Abandoned. He wanted to throw himself off the horse. Never in his plans had he wanted to ever make someone feel the way he’d felt his entire life. Discarded, neglected, repulsed, abandoned. You felt abandoned by him because of his actions.

“Hiyah!”

Turning Zeus toward the dense tree grove, he steered him through the dangerous low hanging branches and broken wood. He only had seconds to make the right decision to keep his head firmly attached to his shoulders and it was what he enjoyed. He had learned long ago that he was somewhat of an adventure seeker. It was evident in his travels to exotic and distant lands and even his interest in boxing, fencing, archery, hunting and a few others. Many of his friends suspected he had a death wish and liked to see which sport would claim his life. Perhaps they were right.

Giving Zeus a heel to the abdomen, he signaled him to jump over the coming fallen branches. Seconds later he had to duck to avoid his cause of death being beheading by wood. No matter the speed he was going or the danger he was thrusting himself into he still was not going fast enough to outrun your voice or the pain he saw in your eyes.

He could not believe you did not know. It was in this moment as he ducked and from doom and leapt into the air from danger that he realized just how innocent you were. He had never entrained an innocent, never bothered, or dared to even attempt to. He knew he was far to damaged to be trusted to not twist and morph another to mirror himself. Horror filled his heart, but it was not from the shattered tree trunk that was in his path fiving him no way to avoid it.

As Zeus’ impulses took hold skidding himself to a stop, he went flying through the air, over the broken wood and flat on his back several feet away. The collision knocked the wind right out of him making him see spots and fog. By the time his vision cleared he was leaned against the tree taking steady breaths.

“Blazing Devils!”

Flinging his head back he groaned as it collided with the tree which sent another torrent of curses from his lips. He deserved the pain; he deserved the agony he was in right now. Your face came to mind as did the memory of your body pressed against his all through the night. The ache coursing through him died down and was replaced with the fire of his desire for you. Gods help him he desired you more than he had ever desired any other woman. It baffled him beyond measure.

Sitting there he slowly went over every detail of the night before, every feeling, every fear and came to terms with them. He was at fault in this situation, and he had to rectify it. He knew his mother would be ashamed of him and how he’s behaved around you. He also knew his father would probably be proud seeing his own coldness and aloofness in him. Perhaps he would finally accept him then.

“Sod it all,” he mumbled.

“You must conquer the past Simon, either you conquer it or it will make a fool of you in your present and all the days of your future.”

Lady Danbury’s words never went too far from his mind. He had heard them echo all through his childhood at the most inconvenient of times. It was as if she knew way back then the struggles he would continue to have well into adulthood. Turning his head upward he caught sight of the sun that was now beaming down on him through the branches of the trees he was surrounded by.

With the intense glare, more of Lady Danbury’s words flitted to his mind. These words she had uttered on the day you had wed.

“She hath a kind and quaint heart, tread carefully and be gentle with her. Do not snuff her light out, let it in.”

She was the closest to a mother he’d had, and he loved her dearly. She had often teased him asking how he could love her but swear to never love anyone. She understood the difference but enjoyed teasing him by pointing out he was capable of the emotion. He still needed proof and if the last few weeks were to be it, only one thing was clear, he was more capable of destruction than love. Something deep inside wished of him to be proven wrong. It was a wish he had never allowed to see the light of day. It lived in the darkest alcoves of his heart.

After returning to the estate, he had a better hold of his emotions and thoughts. The guilt still wracked him, but it was easier to hold it at bay. As he jumped off his horse, his steward informed him of the doctor waiting in the drawing room to discuss your health. With haste he found the man in the midst of a cup of tea admiring the roses.

“My lord.”

“Please, no need for formalities doctor. Thank you for coming with such haste.”

“Tis a pleasure to serve the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.”

“Please continue your tea,” he said as he sat across from the man and allowed him to take another sip of tea.

“To your liking?”

“Very much, my lord.”

“Good. How is she?”

The doctor cleared his throat then set his cup and saucer down before he began.

“The duchess’ breathing is quite labored, quite too labored if you ask me. I am inclined to believe she has some pulmonary infliction, and a minor draft. She has coughing bouts which is slight worrisome for me. If this is left untreated it could lead to more serious conditions.”

“Will she recover?”

“I believe she will. my advice is to keep her warm, ensure she gets plenty of rest, I have written the recipe for an herbal tincture that I wish to be made into tea for her to drink three times a day for sennight. Sun will also do her good. With this there is no reason the duchess will not recover.”

The relief he felt must have been evident. The doctor smiled.

“Tis refreshing to see a man who loves his wife so.”

He nodded but did not reply. “I assure I will bring the duchess back to good health.”

“Happy to hear it, my lord!”

After allowing the doctor to finish his cup of tea he relayed the orders to the house instructing them on the proper way to care for Jamilla. Once that was squared away, he retired to his chambers to clean himself up from his impromptu ride.

~~~~~

-Jamilla-

“My lady.”

Snapping your head to the right you found Brigit and Leesil both standing there with concerned looks on their faces.

“Y—Yes,” you rasped before clearing your throat ignoring the tightness in your chest.

“Do you feel well? You gave us quite a fright,” Bridget added.

“I am sorry to have worried you. But surly it was not that bad.”

Leesil’s eyes widened even further. “Ma’am, it was a horror. You were unconscious, shivering cold one moment, hotter than a flame the next, your lips were quite blue. Mrs. Butler was certain the estate would have claimed another Duchess of Hastings.”

Your curiosity piqued then. “An—,” A cough wracked your body that quickly escalated into a bout lasting longer than you liked. Both Bridget and Leesil approached you attempting to sooth and assist you any way they could. When the coughing finally passed you took the glass of water that Leesil held out for you.

“Goodness.”

You fanned your face and hoped that the burn in your chest would subside sooner rather than later. When it finally dwindled to a slight ache, you looked at Leesil needing to know more.

“What do you mean the estate would have claimed another?”

Leesil looked to Bridget hesitantly before she looked back to you. “Leesil please,” you urged.

“Do you not know of the history of this estate or the Hastings’?”

“I have heard the basics. The Duke and Duchess married and eventually had a child, but the duchess passed away.”

“The previous Duchess did expire—shortly after she delivered the duke, in this estate in a room that has been blocked off for decades.”

You’d heard that his mother passed on, but you did not know it was during childbirth.

“She passed on alone, save for Lady Danbury,” Leesil finished.

Your eyes widened. “Alone? Why? What of the Duke? Where was he?”

Leesil’s face twisted into a scowl of disgust. “Flaunting his long awaited, newborn son to anyone with eyes. He cared not for the wellbeing of the Duchess. Quite shameful! Me mum loved the Duchess and has never forgiven the man for how her last moments went.”

Your heart broke hearing the accounts of the past. The late duke sounded like a heartless man. Part of you wondered if that was who Simon aspired to be. Was the way he treated you the way his father had treated his mother? Suddenly a flash of a memory came to mind. It was a memory of Simon treating you completely different than he had for the last several days.

“Is something the matter?”

“Was—Was I alone while I was ill?”

Again, Leesil and Bridget glanced at each other before they turned back to you.

“No ma’am. The duke accompanied you,” Bridget informed.

“All night,” Leesil added.

Your eyes widened again as another image came to mind. Simon’s arms were wrapped around your body pulling you against his very much nude one.

“The entire night?”

“Yes, my lady,” they answered in unison.

You squinted your eyes trying to press the edges of your mind to give you more memories. The more they came the more you did not understand. None of what you imagined made sense because none of it revealed more than flashes. Hands on your body, chest pressed to yours, your face buried in a neck, lips, fabric, and heat, plenty of heat.

“I would say the duke must possess healing powers to have revived you within one night,” Leesil teased making Bridget giggle.

Before you could reply, the door opened and in walked Simon like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy morning. Your eyes could not help but follow him as he walked in and around the four-post bed to you. Everything and everyone else faded.

“Bridget, Leesil I will take it from here.”

“Yes, my lord,” they replied in unison reminding you that they were there in the first place.

Once the door closed behind them, you looked back to Simon who was now seated on the side of the bed he’d gotten out earlier in the morning. His eyes were on you as he was trying to read every hidden emotion or thought behind your eyes.

“Are you well?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

Simon pressed the back of his hand to your forehead then hummed. “You are not as hot as you were in the night. That is a bit of good news. I have brought your breakfast and medicine. Would you be interested in eating?”

Slowly you nodded. Simon began uncovering the dishes and bowls on the trey that was now on the bed. As he revealed the food your hunger awoke reminding you that you had not eaten since the previous day.

“What shall we begin with? Perhaps a spot of tea?”

Again, you nodded. As you moved for the teacup, Simon beat you to it and lifted the porcelain to your lips. You hesitated for a moment but took a sip from the cup and rejoiced inside as the fruit and floral notes hit your senses.

“I found it a delightful surprise hearing you add rose and mulberries to your tea.”

“It gives it sweetness and turns it--.”

“Delicate,” Simon finished.

Your eyes lingered for a few moments before he lowered the cup back to the trey. A soft scoff escaped him, “It suits you.”

Bit by bit Simon raised fork and spoonfuls of food to your lips, taking care to not give you too much at once and to keep your face clean. You were practically beside yourself seeing this side of him. It was so unlike anything you’d seen from him before. Surly when you’d first met you’d made up your mind of him labeling him as a rake, then it slowly transitioned into him being a libertine. There is where it remained no matter how quickly you found yourself becoming mesmerized by his charm and alluring maleness. He was so unlike any other man you’d met before, so delectably unique. The more you learned of him, the more traits he begrudgingly revealed of himself you found him bearable and quite tortured. Along the way you got it into your mind that perhaps all he needed was a true friend, or someone to heal whatever tortured him so. Was it silly? Perhaps.

Over the last weeks, his distance, aloofness, and complete avoidance of you of course changed your perspective of him entirely. You had begun to see how silly you were during those weeks of the season where you paraded around with him in hopes of steering prospective suitors away from the both of you. It was clear he was suffering from the ghosts he carried with him, and no one could save any man from that torment, he himself would have to best them.

Here he was though, sitting across from you taking care of you with such gentleness it made your heart ache. His actions were not hurried, they were the opposite, it seemed as if he wished this moment to stretch on for as long as possible. Even the way he spoke telling you news from the residents of the acreage, well wishes for your health and the distinction between what the residents did for the land was different.

His tone was softer, there seemed to be a calm melody to his words that relaxed you. It had been weeks since you felt this at ease with him. It was an ease that you did not worry what he was thinking of you or if he disliked you. In this moment you could read him clearly. He was behaving like a man who actually cared about his wife. You would be lying if you said having him there didn’t make you happier.

Once breakfast and your medicine were finished you rang the bell for your maids, wishing for a bath.

“Open water is forbidden while recovering.”

You sighed at Simon’s words dropping your shoulders in disappointment. You’d gained an affinity to regular bathing. There was something peaceful of sitting in scented warm water and being left alone with your thoughts and the sunlight.

“Yes, my lord, my lady?”

“Worry not, Mrs. Butler,” you informed.

“Mrs. Bulter, please begin preparations for the duchess’ evening medicine.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Also, warm a basin of water and bring it here please.”

“Yes, sir.”

You were curious what he needed the water for but did not question him. He held up two books before you with a smile on his face.

“Idealistic poetry or swashbuckling tales of adventure?”

You smiled and leaned against the wooden headboard. “Only if this swashbuckling adventure you speak of is of a heroine and not a hero.”

Simon chuckled. “I dare say I have learned my lesson and have steadfastly filled the library with plenty of tales of heroines thrust into in a variety of adventure, some more lewd that genteel company would not dare speak of.”

Your eyes widened as you gently swat at his arm. “Simon!”

Again, he chuckled. “Forgive me my lady, a swashbuckling adventure it is. Are you comfortable?”

“Quite.”

“Then we begin. “Ahoy, who goes there,” Lady Philomena Vanquest shouted with her sword in hand.”

You sighed watched him as he read to you. Within the first few pages your eyes closed and you envisioned the story playing out before you. His voice serving as the perfect tool to bring everything to life. His voice was easily your favorite thing about him. He had a voice that could work magic on a lady in the dark pressed against a wall--the voice that could seduce even the most unwilling bedfellow. His voice easily conjured feelings of lust and desire and it had been this way from the very beginning.

“Jamilla? Jamilla.”

Your eyes fluttered open and there he was peering at you with concern. The sun that was once beaming in the room was slowly disappearing.

“Are you well?”

You moaned then sat up. “I fell asleep.”

“You did. I did not know my voice bored you so to catapult you into unconsciousness,” Simon teased.

“I promise it does not.”

“No?”

Your eyes met and locked. “No,” you whispered.

Simon smiled then nodded. “Good to hear.”

A knock at the door brought both of your heads to watch Mrs. Butler, Bridget and Leesil walk in, each carrying different things. Mrs. Butler carried a trey of clothes, Bridget a basin, and Leesil a stack of fresh clothing and small glass bottles.

“What is this?”

“While I cannot in good faith allow you to submerge yourself into water, I can offer a compromise,” Simon said motioning for the items to be put down.

The steam from the large basin told you it was freshly heated. Across the surface of the water rose, daisy, peony, lilac, sweet briar petals danced while filling the room with the aroma of the garden you loved to spend your time in.

“My lady, I have also added the honeysuckle and jasmine oils you enjoy,” Bridget added.

A smile spread across your face as your heart warmed. “Thank you.”

“I take it this option is to your liking?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“Good. Thank you everyone, you may leave.”

Alarm rushed through you at the meaning of his words. Did he intend to stay as you did it yourself or would he do it himself?

“Seeing as this terrible predicament is my fault entirely, I offer my services. Tisn’t been a fortnight since we married and already you are battling illness. I fear your mother and brothers would skin me alive.”

“Twas I who--,” you began only for Simon to cut you off, claiming the blame for himself once again. Accepting defeat, you nodded.

“Thank you for your consideration.”

“Bridget you may stay to assist.”

“My lord,” Bridget replied.

You watched Simon roll the sleeves of his half unbuttons white shirt and dip his hand into the basin to swirl the water around. He did it so slowly that your eyes could not look away. When he dipped a clean cloth into the water, the flower petals clung to it. Once he’d wrung the water out, he came closer and brought the cloth to slowly wipe your face with gentle strokes.

Your senses elated from the smells enveloping you. They should have calmed you, made you feel at ease but the way your heart was rapidly thudding in your chest said they were doing the opposite. However, you believed the culprit this time was not the flowers but the nearness of your husband as he for the first time assisted you with something so intimate as a wipe down.

You wondered if he could hear your heart. Could he hear the horse hoofs’ gallops going off inside of you as loudly as you heard them? He dipped the cloth into the water again and repeatedly his actions then brought the cloth to your neck. Everywhere he trailed the cloth, the heat from the water soothed your muscles taking some of the ache of your ordeal away. When you felt him slip to the back of your neck you lowered your head giving him easier access. The feel of his fingertips along the bone at the back of your neck had you gasping and clutching the blankets across your lap.

Simon slowly brought the cloth around and dipped inside the lite material of your shift to your shoulder. As he went over it a few times goosebumps broke out over your flesh.

“Bridget,” Simon uttered, his voice sounded clouded, as if he had to force it out.

You wanted to look at him so badly, wanted to see if his face gave anything away to how he was feeling or what he was thinking, but you could not. Something inside of you prevented it. As Simon busied his hands in the basin again, Bridget came to your side of the bed and began lifting the shift you wore off of your body replacing it with a lite muslin cloth.

It was then your heart beating really took off. You were now nude in front of him for the second time and this time was not any less nerve wracking. Albeit this time you were still covered, even the thin muslin left little to the imagination. suddenly an image of your nude body underneath Simon’s came to mind. His lips were pressed against yours as was every inch of his hard, lean and powerful body. The feel of cool air brought you back to see your lower half exposed to Simon’s sight. The muslin rested atop you, but he brushed it aside revealing one leg. Bringing the heated cloth to your ankle he slowly wiped upward then down only to do it again and again until he wiped all around. Your belly was in flight and your heart was seconds away from bursting. How could one man elicit such a strong reaction?

You watched as the cloth returned to your knee and trail a torturously slow path up your thigh. When Simon’s hand dipped to your inner thigh you noticed a shake. Bringing your eyes to him, you saw the focus on his features. It was as if he were pressing every inch of your skin to memory to revisit later. You could not help but wonder when later he would think of this? In bed perchance?

When his hand made it several inches up your inner thigh he retreated and moved to your other leg. You watched every move he made but not because you did not trust him to respect you, but because you wanted to remember this for your own revisit. You wanted to watch his hands roam across your body as you envisioned the cloth not there.

After Simon finished your lower half a new basin that mirrored the first came. On Bridget’s instruction, you leaned forward revealing your bare back for him to wipe. The chance of his fingers raking down your back made you arch, dipping it inward. A groan escaped Simon then, it was a groan that made a part of you that you’d never knew of awaken. It felt like part of you deep inside your gut had fallen and it ached. Oh, how it ached.

Simon brought the cloth up and again his fingertips made a trail. This time that ache made you moan. Simon sighed out suddenly sending a puff of air across your flesh. Another image came to mind of the same thing happening only along your breast. That made you press your fingertips to your lips. Were these memories? Dreams?

“My lady.”

Looking to your right you met Simon’s eyes, but he did not speak. You saw the action he inquired in his eyes. Consent. Hesitating you took several breaths, none of them worked to slow your heart, none of them helped to calm your nerves. Your governess’ words rang in your head.

“Ones husband is entitled to look upon his wife in any capacity he chooses.”

Before now you’d always wondered just what she meant. Look upon how? Now you understood. Your throat was dryer than barren land in the prime heat of the summer months. You swallowed then slightly cringed hearing a small gulp echo around you. He must think you such a naïve wallflower, you thought. He didn’t budge, he just waited and waited and waited for you to grant him said consent. biting your bottom lip, you chewed at it until you were certine it was raw. Then you released the muslin you grasped so tightly at. The fabric fell to bunch in your lap revealing you in the setting sun’s light to your husband. As it fell you felt his warmed breath brush against your newly exposed breasts.

Before it was candlelight he’d seen you and from a distance. They both afforded you some mystery but now he was inches away from you with ample light. He could look as he willed. You watched Simon’s eyes lower and slowly rake over your bodice. Every second his jaw jumped showing the definition of his jawline. He was handsome from the front but from the side—his profile was a thing of beauty.

As he dipped the cloth into the basin again you heard him mumble a curse, you’d heard plenty a time.

“Blast it.”

When he raised the cloth to your collar you held your breath. It was not intentional but you felt the only way to get through this without leaping off of the bed either into his lap or out the door was to restrict your brain of oxygen so it would decrease its ability to think. It was perfectly logical, you theorized. The folly in your thinking did not occur to you until halfway through when you realized Simon’s movements were so slow, so torturous that he hadn’t even made it past your collar before white spots danced behind your eyes.

“Breathe Jamilla,” Simon whispered.

On command you did just that and that was when you felt the cloth swipe across your breast. Immediately, you felt your nipple pebble as another huff of warm breath skirt across your skin. Simon wiped over, around and under your breast then did the same to the other before dipping the cloth down the center of your body to your stomach.

Alarm rushed through you. Was he really planning on going that far? Your governess had not given you any tips or information about this. Was he going to touch you? The anticipation made you shiver and just when you were certain you would shoot off the bed into the air, Simon’s hand stopped just below your navel. His eyes were squeezed closed, jaw clenched tightly and hand shaking. Seconds later, he pulled away and held the cloth to Bridget.

“You can assist the madam better than I.”

With that, he abruptly stood beside the bed then bowed his head to you.

“I bid you farewell, my lady. I shall return for dinner—if you will have me.”

For far too long the silence stretched in the room when Simon’s eyes met yours and his thick brow shot up you realized you’d been sitting there incapable of speech. A nod was all you could muster. Simon’s eyes dipped to your bare breasts and again his jaw went haywire. He turned then strode to the door leaving you alone with Bridget, a body full of anxious energy and a head full of thoughts definitely not suitable for a woman from genteel society.

One thing was clear, within these images you were having and the current encounter there was one commonality—he had not persisted. He had in fact pulled away from you. He really did not want you at all—in any capacity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glossary:

Term “One and Six”: In Regency Era it was common among some to refer to ages over single digits as both numbers. EX: 16 = one and six. Of course, this isn’t always the case, it would depend on the region and the class of people.

Hysteria: Commonly referenced in Regency time which we in modern times would call panic. Could also be referenced to regency word Vapors which is usually when someone is going through a “panic attack” with the hyperventilating, agitation and or bouts of fainting.

Banyan: A men’s dressing robe usually worn at home. Think of a woman’s robe but for men. Could be elaborately designed, thick, or as thin as preferred.

Sennight: A time lasting one week.

Blazes: Euphemism for hell or the devil.

Blast: Equivalent to the modern terms sh** or damn.

Sod It: Equivalent to the modern statement "F**k it" or "Damn it."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#pleasing the duke fic #bridgerton fanfiction #simon basset #rege jean page #rege jean page fanfiction #simon basset fanfiction #duke of hasting #duke of hastings fanfiction #black fanfiction #regency fanfiction #regency era #regency era fanfiction #black regency fanfiction #historical fanfiction #slow burn fanfic #angst fanfic #historical romance fanfiction #simon basset x reader #the duke of hastings x reader

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meetinginsamarra · 2 years ago

Text

My Fave Sherlock BBC AUs - Historical Era

Around mid-month I’ll do a fic rec list with my fave AU genres or tropes. Summaries are taken from OP on AO3.

Roman Times

“Infamia” by Mr_CSI, thisisforyou

https://archiveofourown.org/works/485828

Ancient Roman AU. After his wife's brutal murder, John Watson shuns society and becomes a gladiator. He didn't expect to catch the attention of the Emperor, Sherlock Holmes himself...

“Guardian” by PoppyAlexander @fuckyeahfightlock

https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381219

In Ancient Rome, Centurion John is hired to act as personal, round-the-clock bodyguard for the mad emperor's hedonistic, philosopher brother (that would be Sherlock). Sparks fly, John peers through a partly-open door, arrows fly, and Sherlock learns the very apt name given to John's 22-inch sword. No, his *actual* sword. He's a Roman solider, remember. What you were thinking would be. . .just, no.

“Of Chaos and Calculation” by i_ship_an_armada @i-ship-an-armada

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1670600

When John is captured and brought to Rome, he's sold to the most noted ludus in The Eternal City, the emperor's. There, he meets Sherlock, auctorati, enigma, a perfect partner in the arena. And out. Sherlock is investigating the murders of several gladiators, but has secrets of his own that could be more destructive than a defeat on the sands.

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

Regency/Victorian-ish Times

“The frost is all over” by Chryse

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1614890

John was brave and clever and loyal, a commoner who longed for an exciting life. Sherlock was dashing and brilliant and passionate, an Earl’s son who longed to solve crimes. Being a Tale of Glorious Adventures, Love Letters, Treachery, Longing, Secret Identities, Deathbed Confessions, First Kisses, Daring Escapes, and True Love.

“Vows made in wine” by love_in_mind_palace (mysleepyhead)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063517

John Watson, a low born young man from the slums of London appears in the farthest corner of country to work as a valet for the young master living in the secluded mansion. Secrets, betrayal, conspiracy. A love blossoming in the most unfortunate circumstances.

“The Courtesan” by delightful_fear @delightful-fear-sherlock

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9195437

Desperate times call for desperate measures. John takes a job as a live-in doctor in the most exclusive brothel in London, never thinking he would fall under the spell of it's most infamous consort, Sherlock Holmes.

An AU set in 1860's Victorian England.

“Human Nature” by delightful_fear

https://archiveofourown.org/works/10907847

Rich and spoiled Sherlock makes a wager with his older brother that he can take a penniless man and make him presentable in high society.

An AU set in Regency London (1819).

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

Wild West Times

“Unbranded Air” by suitesamba

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1804084

John Watson, widower, tried to leave medicine behind when he left England and came to America. Sherlock Holmes, trying to avoid the marriage his family insisted on, was sent to America after embarrassing his mother and damaging his family's social reputation. Hired to help solve a cattle rustling ring with his unbelievable deductive skills and knowledge of soils, Sherlock is injured and taken to John's ranch. He holes up there while his broken leg heals and pulls John into the investigation, and the two find common ground in more ways than either expected. An AU set in the Wyoming Territory in the 1890s, with John as an army doctor/Afghanistan veteran who wants to start over and Sherlock as a detective without a mobile phone and only John to ease his boredom.

“Buckaroo Fringe” -series (9 fics) by ponderinfrustration

https://archiveofourown.org/series/152033

The Varied Western Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and John Watson

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

World War I&II Times

“Enigma” by khorazir and “Silent Night” sequel @khorazir

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1991325

It’s the autumn of 1941, war is raging in Europe, German U-boats are raiding Allied convoys in the Atlantic, the Luftwaffe is bombing English cities, and the cryptographers at Bletchley Park are working feverishly to decode their enemies' encrypted communications. One should consider this challenge and distraction enough for capricious codebreaker Sherlock Holmes. But the true enigmas are yet waiting to be deciphered: an unbreakable code, a strange murder, and the arrival of Surgeon Captain John H. Watson of the Royal Navy.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17313302

It’s Christmas Eve 1944, and Sherlock Holmes has received his most precious gift already: after a long, dangerous deployment, Surgeon Captain John Watson of the Royal Navy has unexpectedly returned from the front. As if this weren’t enough, there’s a case. Both events make for a night full of promise, excitement, and the difficult task of getting reacquainted with the man Sherlock hasn’t seen in three years and feared he’d lost forever.

“The secret patient” by PlainJane

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1953210

WWII, the Italian campaign. Dr. John Watson is left behind at a lonely chapel with a mysterious patient who cannot be evacuated with the rest of the field hospital, due to his injuries. John is fascinated by the man and his tales...or perhaps there is more to it than that.

“Rosethorne” by suitesamba

https://archiveofourown.org/works/7365160

John Watson, WWII army doctor, is injured in the line of duty and can no longer wield a scalpel. Sherlock Holmes, Britain's best code-breaker, is side-lined by his own devastating injury. In a work inspired by Frances Hodgson Burnett's "The Secret Garden," the two men must find meaning and purpose in a world which seems to have taken away all they hold most dear. But of course, it really hasn't.

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

1950′s Greaser Times

“Still of the Night” by michi_thekiller

https://archiveofourown.org/works/9647849

1.) Curfew must be obeyed. 2.) Streets must be clear by sundown. 3.) If you find yourself out after curfew, seek shelter at the home of a friend, relative, or neighbor whom you know and trust. 4.) Under NO CIRCUMSTANCES should any unknown persons be allowed into the home after curfew.

It's a vampire greaserlock kids!

“You give me fever” by michi_thekiller

https://archiveofourown.org/works/785061

Thou givest fever when we kisseth, fever with thy flaming youth Fever I'm afire; fever, yea, I burn forsooth "He's the kind of boy you want to take apart."

“Go to the Devil” by JeanElizabeth

https://archiveofourown.org/works/4323648

unfinished but still worth a read imo

“I’m going to kiss you. You have the choice to push me away at any moment and I will pursue no further. But I want to kiss you. Ever since you walked into that room with that cocky attitude and charming smile. You are all too perfect John Watson. Just push me away.”

John Watson is an All-American Boy; Star of the football team and straight A student. Sherlock Holmes is a dangerous dropout who gets his kicks from fast cars and cheap cigarettes. John struggles with his attraction to this greased up vagrant, who seems to take no shame in their sinful acts.

#my fanfic recs #Historical Era AUs

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saythenametotheworld · 1 year ago

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Hi, I'm Cal!

This blog is for NCT and SEVENTEEN and I'm a Swiftie so you might notice me using a lot of her songs as titles. Here's a list of my works and WIP! Thanks! ily mwah

Invisible String [Part 2] - Na Jaemin x Reader | Friends to Lovers | f

Na Jaemin was an old friend who never became anything else other than that—a friend. But after a series of life decisions that led you to move from your small town to the big city, you slowly find out that maybe, after all these years, Jaemin was never just a friend.

Maybe If - Mark Lee x Reader | Exes Baggage | M

An unprompted college reunion for a friend's wedding had you looking back on the most beautiful relationship you ever had with the most breathtaking boy you've ever known—Mark Lee.

I Can See You - Jung Jaehyun x Reader | Workplace Romance | M

After a wild, unforgettable hookup with Jung Jaehyun, you were convinced you'd never see him again. Apparently, you were wrong because why is he strutting into your office as your newest coworker?

Risk [Part 2]- Lee Jeno x Reader | Crush-at-First-Sight | F

Firmly convinced that Love-at-First-Sight is a hoax, you never expected to be proven wrong when the universe decided to throw you, quite literally, into Lee Jeno's lap.

illicit affairs - Johnny Suh x Reader | A Secret Affair | M

What is it that makes people succumb to the temptation of infidelity? You had no idea either. All you knew was the enchanting charm and bewitching allure of Johnny Suh, and the inevitable heartache that follows all illicit affairs.

Take a Chance with Me - Kim Doyoung x Reader | Regency AU

Amidst London’s glittering social season, you—a debutante—find yourself entangled in an odd rivalry with a proud, haughty, and infuriatingly handsome bachelor, Kim Doyoung.

Campus Confessions - NCT 00 Line x Reader | 5-part Series

College is a whirlwind of unforgettable moments, spontaneous romances, and messy, heart-pounding drama. Through every crush, fling, and heartbreak, you learn what it really means to be young, wild, and in love.

Message in a Bottle [Part 2]- Choi Seungcheol (Scoups) x Reader | Strangers to Lovers

Seungcheol likes his coffee dark and iced. You like yours creamy smooth and searing hot. Your differences bring you close together and it was all fun and games until you fell madly in love with Choi Seungcheol whose heart still belonged to someone else.

'tis the damn season - Kim Mingyu x Reader | Ex and Whys | M

Taking your boyfriend—with whom you recently broke up with—to your family home for the holidays and pretending you're still happily in love? Doesn't sound like the best idea but what could go wrong? Everything.

Closer, Faster [Part 2]- Vernon Chwe x Reader | Summer Love | M

For good reason, you have forbidden yourself to get emotionally attached to temporary people until Vernon comes walking in and wrecks you to your very core.

High Infidelity - Yoon Jeonghan x Reader | Infidelity | M

Marriage, clandestine desires, and betrayals on all sides. You never would have imagined that your marriage with Jeonghan would end disastrously. Torn between vows and longing for passion, you must confront the consequences of your infidelity and decide where your true happiness lies.

Timeless - Jeon Wonwoo x Reader | Shorts, 2.5k words

Heartbreak Hotel - Hiphop Unit x Reader | 4-part Series

Every day is dreadfully boring when working at a hotel in the middle of nowhere. That is until an enigmatic guest arrives, seeking not a room nor directions, but to hear stories about your past relationships.

#svt au #nct au #nct fic recs #seventeen fic recs #svt fic recs #lets be friends im nice hehe

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she-walked-away · 6 months ago

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🔪 and 🐠 (tarlos) for the ls ask game <3

🔪 What character are you defending with your life?

Honestly, both TK and Carlos as individuals.

I relate to Carlos the most, mainly because I have had really bad anxiety and have had it since the ripe age of 5 years old when I'd throw up before school every day because I was so anxious. So- I really really feel like I understand his avoidance tactics.

And TK- my boy. He's such an sunshiny person for someone who has had so much loss and been through a lot of awful things. He loves love and he loves people.

Both of them do dumbass things- like all humans- but they learn and grow from it.

🐠 (tarlos)

I HAVE SO MANY so thank you for indulging me!

Babies freak them both out. They like kids- but mainly when they're potty trained and can talk. Carlos is annoyingly good with babies, but still prefers being around older kids.

When they broke up, both of them still slept on their respective sides of the bed. They would wake up hugging a pillow and it was actually really sad and both felt kind of pathetic about it and vowed to sleep in the middle the next night, but they never followed through because they'd subconsciously move to their side in their sleep.

TK grew up really independent because he was the upper Manhattan version of a latchkey kid since Gwyn and Owen worked a whole lot. He always had a bunch of sitters and a nanny every once in a while, but he did a lot of his own cooking and cleaning once he turned about 11 and stayed by himself more often. However, he lets Carlos take care of him more often than not now because Carlos has always yearned to be able to take care of someone like his mother did his family and TK really got tired of having to do all the adult things at a really young age. They really balance each other out.

Carlos has such a broad range of reading materials. Woodworking, DIY, health books, but also- bodice rippers/regency romances. He grew up in a household with three older women so he would steal their romance novels and read them late at night. He's a big Bridgerton fan and watches the series when TK is usually in bed after a long shift. He woke up one morning when Carlos was watching an episode in the living room and all he heard was moaning and ran out to see if Carlos was in the mood but ended up getting sucked into the show.

TK's big into QVC and infomercials. His elderly neighbor in Owen's apartment building that checked on him a lot growing up got him hooked into it so every few months, TK's got a new shipment of LocknLock containers or a bulk order of shampoo coming in with some new infomercial gadget that he ordered late at night when Carlos was on an overnight shift.

Carlos cleans the most because clutter makes his eyes twitch, but TK is the better deep cleaner. He spent years polishing fire trucks and rigs so when he cleans- he CLEANS. He also does their laundry because he's very particular about the way things are folded since he always pitched in at the 252 when he was a kid- he would make the people at Macy's cry over how organized their drawers are.

Carlos prefers to drive them around more often because TK's a very aggressive driver and often pulls out in front of people and stops at the very last second and it scares the shit out of him while TK just hums along to a song.

#tarlos #911 lone star #this got long but i have a lot of headcanons apparently lol

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pollyssecretlibrary · 11 months ago

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“Second Duke’s the Charm”, by Kate Bateman

I was given an ARC in exchange for my honest opinion

This is the first book in “Her Majesty’s Rebels” series.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

This is a marriage of convenience set in Regency era London and in the country estate property of Justin Thornton, duke of Wansford. Justin is a self made man who got his wealth by doubling the profits of the shipping company he inherited from his father when both of them were living in Canada. He doesn’t want love in his life since he witnessed the deep grief that his mother’s death brought to his father. But as it usually happens in Romance, he is destined to be an English duke after the deaths of several cousins, uncles and his own father. Then he meets a lady at a masquerade, a lady in Scarlet, and he falls in lust with her.

“Scarlet”’s name is actually Tess and she is ironically the dowager duchess of Wansford. When she was only 19 her father forced her to marry the decrepit duke who very kindly died on their wedding night right before consummating their vows. Tess is now an independent woman, she goes to a masquerade and meets a tall dark handsome man named Justin and she decides to have a little adventure. She has a reputation of being a little care free, but the rumors are just that, rumors she spread so nobody would question her. Justin is now the duke and decides that he needs a wife, at least for a while, so given that Tess is already the duchess and that she is his “Scarlet”, he proposes her to a marriage of convenience on equal terms. Of course Justin falls ridiculously in love with her, despite himself. And by ridiculously I really mean that. I recommend you read this book to know how far he went to show Tess that he loves her. Oh, and there’s groveling too. I loved this book so much The passion between them is so hot that it could melt the North Pole. But that’s not everything that this book has to offer. The character development, especially Justin’s, is remarkable, the heroine is fantastic and they are always companions, on equal terms. They complement each other in a way that none of them is above the other or below. There are other subplots and here’s the little problem I found; one of these subplots is resolved off the page in a very convenient way. It felt like the explanations given were insufficient, as it all happened by magic. Overall I had a great time with this book and that’s what matters. It’s a page turner because the writing is so engaging, that’s why I love Kate Bateman so much. For a few hours I had fun and I forgot about my everyday life and struggles, that is priceless.

#Romance Review #Review #Book reviiew #Kate Bateman #Historical Romance #Regency Romance #Regency era #Romance #romance novels #Romance readers #Romancelandia #Romance community

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whimsicaldragonette · 3 months ago

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ARC Review: Hot Earl Summer by Erica Ridley

Order:

Add to Goodreads:

Publication Date: August 6, 2024

Synopsis:

Bold, curvy Elizabeth Wynchester loves cuddling hedgehogs almost as much as she adores vanquishing villains with the sharp blade concealed inside her cane. Despite others’ opinions about her body and gender, nothing will stop her from seeing justice done. When her next mission drops her at the dastardly Earl of Densmore’s castle, she’s prepared to duel like gentlemen—only to be locked inside! Her trusty sword cannot defeat the castle’s hidden traps… or protect her heart from the devilishly handsome rogue guarding the keep. When reclusive inventor Stephen Lenox agreed to impersonate his cousin for a few days, he didn’t expect the earl to vanish altogether. Nor could Stephen predict mounting death threats… or the arrival of a beguiling, blade-wielding spinster who declares herself his new bodyguard. As the earl’s enemies lay siege to the castle, Stephen fights his way past Elizabeth’s defenses. She’ll share his bed, but when the adventure concludes, she vows to sever their affair. Unless he can somehow convince a swashbuckling siren to surrender her heart… Action adventure meets Regency romance in this feminist romp.

My Rating: ★★★★★

*My Review and Favorite Quotes below the cut.

My Review:

I have been waiting for Elizabeth's story since the very first Wynchester book came out and it's finally here! I loved this so much. Elizabeth was everything I wanted. I loved her percentages to calculate how capable her body felt each day. I loved the time she had to devote to stretching and keeping her body as supple as she could manage in order to minimize pain. I loved how her disability left her able to swashbuckle on some days and unable to get out of bed on others. It was so lovingly and carefully written and I just felt so *seen.* I also loved her unapologetic bloodthirstyness and her absolute refusal to have anything to do with children. She doesn't like kids, doesn't want kids, and I respect that. Stephen was so delightfully nerdy, and Elizabeth's unexpected appreciation of that was wonderful. His Rube Goldberg machines were terribly fun, and their banter and interactions were perfection. And his unexpected bloodthirsty side matched Elizabeth's. I also loved the series of clues and puzzles they had to solve to find the will. It was the perfect challenge for the two of them. Everything about this book was perfection and it was such a delight to read it. Every Wynchester book is a delight, but this one perhaps more than most. *Thanks to NetGalley and Forever for providing an early copy for review.

Favorite Quotes:

"Recover the will and testament first," Tommy said quickly. "And then you can unleash Beth the Berserker."

---

Elizabeth hated feeling helpless. She was only of value when she was out swashbuckling, and worthless when lying about motionless. What could be worse than a worthless Wynchester?

---

She nudged a battle-axe into his cravat. "Stop flirting with me." His eyes widened with interest. "You interpret my use of logical reasoning as...flirtation?" "Everyone shows off when they're flirting. If you don't mean for it to be arousing, then cease doing so."

---

He smiled without responding. It was one thing to avoid an inconvenient beheading, and another to take a berserker into one's confidence. Then again, her blades were still at Stephen's throat. Which was perhaps her idea of flirting.

---

"'Beth the Berserker' is Elizabeth Wynchester at sixty-five percent power?" he said in disbelief. "What must you be like at full capacity?" Her eyes glinted deviously. "The world has yet to find out." "I'm not sure anyone is ready to find out. The universe might come apart at the seams." "Destroyer of Worlds," she said dreamily. "It does have a nice ring to it."

---

This hasn't been a traditional courship-" "Duels, dungeons, and catacombs are the best kind of courtship," she assured him.

#best books of 2024 #favorites #shilo reads #arc review #netgalley #book review #romance #erica ridley #hot earl summer #wild wynchesters #historical romance

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a-skirmish-of-wit-and-lit · 4 months ago

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Book Review: Witty In Pink by Erica George

A witty and lighthearted YA historical romcom!

Blythe and Briggs have been nemeses since he pushed her into a pigsty four years ago, an offense she's never forgiven nor forgotten. (She hasn't worn pink since.) However, they are forced to become reluctant allies when they both find themselves in dire straits: Blythe, because she's hoping to stave off eligible suitors and find investors to fund her apiary business. (She's honey with bees, you see.) (Yes, I know that is a horrible pun.) Briggs, because he's in need of a sizable dowry so that he can pay off the debt his father left when he died and save his ancestral home, Mistlethrush Hall.

Naturally, they decide to band together. They figure his society connections will help lift her from obscurity so she can jump start her business, and maybe, just maybe, she will be able to help him woo a shrewish, spiteful heiress with no inclination to marry. Of course, it's all fun and games until real feelings start to get in the way...

All in all, I thought this was a diverting read. Blythe and Briggs have a verbal swordplay type of dynamic where they are jabbing at one another with zinger after zinger, hitting both below the belt and above it, so that makes their dialogue fun and their chemistry palpable. I also liked how it was a cross between Bridgerton and a teenage version of The Regency Vows series. Definitely a good pick for readers looking for a banter-filled regency romance.

Many thanks to NetGalley and Entangled Publishing for the ARC in exchange for my review!

3.5/5 stars

**Follow me on Goodreads

#ashlee bree's book reviews #witty in pink #erica george #arcs #historical fiction #historical romance #regency #romance #recs: ashlee approved!#read july 2024 #published august 2024

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foundtherightwords · 2 years ago

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Love in a Mist - Chapter 8

Pairing: Hellcheer Regency AU or Regency!Eddie Munson x OFC (for more info, see A/N of Chapter 1)

Summary: Christine Conyngham, a young debutante whose marital prospects are less than ideal, believes her happiness is secure when she falls in love with Joshua Craven, the handsome future Duke of Hauxwell. However, after her lack of a fortune prevents her and Joshua from marrying, Christine impulsively accepts the proposal of Edward Munson, the eccentric Baron Hurstfield, who is in need of a wife to obtain an inheritance. But with her heart still pining after Joshua, can Christine learn to love her husband and build a life with him?

Series Warnings: sloooooow burn (it's a fucking novel, I'm sorry), angst, suicide attempt, mentions of domestic abuse, some smut in later chapters. Also, my deepest apologies to the people of Yorkshire for the accent and any other details I might have butchered.

Chapter Warnings: smut, some angst, idiots in love

Chapter word count: 3k

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4 - Chapter 5 - Chapter 6 - Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Christine woke to the banging and clashing of the chambermaid coming up the stairs with her pans and brooms to clean out the hearths and light the fire. She quickly gathered up her nightdress and shawl and stole back to her room before the maid arrived. It was the most natural thing in the world for husband and wife to share a bed, but she felt shy at the thought of the maid walking in on her and Edward, with their naked limbs all tangled up and their clothes strewn haphazardly about the room, all speaking plainly of what they had been up to the previous night.

What had happened between them? Christine went back over the night as she got dressed, her cheeks burning at the memories. Was it simply because it had been over half a year since she last felt a human touch, let alone a passionate one? Now in the cold light of day, away from Edward, she thought about Joshua again, and another feeling, almost like the guilt of being unfaithful, gnawed at her. She knew it was nonsense - Edward was her husband, and if she was unfaithful at all, it would be to him,for thinking of another man. And Joshua was married as well. But she couldn't help feeling she had betrayed, if not Joshua himself, then her love for him.

She opened her jewelry box and found the posy ring she had hidden in its bottom all those months ago. The engraving stood out at her. "My love shall last 'til life be past." She didn't love Edward, she told herself. She had grown fond of him, and after last night, in more ways than one, but when she thought of him, it was never with that ache in her heart as when she thought of Joshua. But what had loving Joshua brought her, except for heartache?

Making up her mind, she slipped the ring into her pocket, put on a cloak, and went outside. The rain had stopped, though the ground was still wet and muddy after the flood, but that didn't stop her. She walked toward the old abbey ruins from which Hurstfield Hall took its stones, where a little stream of the River Ure ran past. It was overflowing now, screaming and foaming over the boulders. As Christine stood on its bank, looking at the water, she made a vow. Something similar to her wedding vows, but it was more to herself than to her husband. Edward was her husband, and he was kind, and he deserved happiness as much as herself. So even though he had not promised her happiness, she would do her best to make both of them happy. And that meant saying goodbye to the memories of Joshua Craven, once and for all.

She took the ring out of her pocket and looked at it one last time. Then, without really knowing why, she tried it on. It hung loosely off her finger, too large. A laugh escaped her. All this time, she had been treasuring it, and it didn't even fit. Perhaps this was a sign.

Christine threw the ring into the stream and walked away without a glance backward.

***

Her heart was so light, it almost gave wings to her feet. She practically flew back to Hurstfield, couldn't wait to find Edward, to take him into her arms and tell him how everything would be different from now on.

But he wasn't in the house by the time she got back. Apparently she had been gone for much longer than she thought, for the maid was clearing up in the breakfast room already.

"Where is his lordship?" she asked Mrs. Wayne, who came in to supervise.

"He's gone, m'lady," replied the housekeeper.

"Gone! Gone where?"

"To th' farms to see how much damage there were. I told him he was in no shape to be goin' out, but he said he'd take th' gig." Turning away, she mumbled, her Yorkshire accent getting broader as her annoyance grew, "An' once that lad got it into his head to do somethin', there's no stoppin' him."

Christine thanked Mrs. Wayne. She felt rather disappointed, but she told herself surely he would not be gone for too long, not after the night they'd had. She spent the morning in the parlor, going over the things she would say to him. But he made no appearance at dinner, and her hopeful anticipation gave way for apprehension, though Mrs. Wayne assured her that the water had gone down and the roads were passable now, so there was no danger.

After dinner, Christine's anxiety overcame her, and she set out for a walk in the faint hope of meeting Edward on the way, and if not, at least she could exercise away some of the nervousness that wouldn't let her sit still. However, the road was so covered with mud that she couldn't get very far and was forced to return, tired, restless, and fretful. Just as she climbed the stone wall surrounding the field at the western end of Hurstfield Hall, she saw the gig rounding the front drive and going through the gate, Edward at the reins. Not caring who might see her, Christine jumped over the wall and chased after it, but it was gone before she could reach the front of the house.

Mrs. Wayne, waiting in the hall, threw up her hands upon seeing Christine. "Master Edward was just here, askin' for you," she said. "He was so vexed when I told him you were gone for your walk, as he had to leave again." The old woman peered at Christine's flushed, downcast face. "I hope I'm not forgettin' my place in sayin' this, m'lady, but Master Edward can be puzzlin' in his ways," she said kindly. "You mun't mind him."

Christine had to smile. "Thank you, Mrs. Wayne. I don't mind." But she did mind. She minded a lot. What was Edward playing at, disappearing for hours when he knew she was waiting for him?

These thoughts plagued her all through the afternoon as she worked in the garden. The conservatory was finished now, and she and Henderson were supervising the moving of plants into it. They couldn't agree on how to arrange the flowers for the best effect. Even as she argued with the old man, Christine's whole body was on alert, listening for any sound of the approaching gig. Dusk had started to fall when she finally heard the familiar crunch of the gravel drive, and she was so flustered that she almost dropped the pot of geranium she was holding. She started for the house.

"But where do you reckon we should put th' pink ones?" Henderson called after her, holding some geraniums of his own. "Not next to th' purple, that'll look a fright."

"Oh, wherever you want," she said irritably. The old man was going to be cross with her, but that would have to wait.

She ran through the parlor and the drawing room and into the study, thinking Edward would be there, but he wasn't. She heard his voice coming in from the hall and rushed out, ready to throw herself into his arms, only to stop dead in her track. Edward wasn't alone. Leaning on a cane, he was showing another man around the hall, a middle-aged gentleman with a shock of red hair and a friendly, freckled face.

"Ah, my dear," Edward said upon seeing her, as if he hadn't been away from home for nearly that whole day without a word to her. Christine's eyes narrowed. He only called her my dear when he had some dissembling up his sleeves. "This is Mr. Mayfield" - indicating the red-haired man - "He's an engineer from Edinburgh, here to survey for a new aqueduct. I was fortunate to run into him in Hurst, he has the most excellent advice on how to repair our roads and bridges damaged by the flood. I've invited him to supper. Mr. Mayfield, my wife."

"Good evening, ma'am," the engineer said. "I hope I'm not imposing on you."

Christine returned his greeting, though she was fuming inside. Used as she was to Edward's penchant of bringing the oddest guest home at all hours, she couldn't believe that he would do such a thing on this day of all days. But there was nothing she could do but to smile her way through supper, while Edward and Mr. Mayfield engaged in an enthusiastic discussion of road and bridge-building. She dreaded that Edward would ask the engineer to spend the night as well, but luckily he had already booked a room at the village inn.

Once Mr. Mayfield was taken back to Hurst in the carriage, Christine thought surely, now, she and Edward would have their talk. But Edward disappeared into his study without a glance at her. Christine was certain now that he was avoiding her. But why? Was he displeased with her still? What had she done? She thought she would give him some space to gather his thoughts, but when the clock struck eleven and he still hadn't repaired to his room, she decided to give him a piece of her mind.

She went into the study without knocking. Edward was sitting behind the desk in a high-backed chair, scribbling some notes on a piece of paper with what she thought was exaggerated concentration. He didn't even look up when she came in.

"Aren't you coming to bed?" she asked.

"No, no, you go ahead," he mumbled, distractedly scratching his chin with the quill.

"What are you doing?"

"Figuring out how best to distribute relief to all the farms affected by the flood," he said.

Christine swallowed the annoyance scratching at her throat. "No, I mean what are you doing to me? Why are you trying to avoid me?"

At that, he finally looked up. "Why do you think I'm trying to avoid you?"

"I don't think it, I know!" she hissed, trying to keep her voice low. "You were gone the whole day, and when you were finally come home, you invited that old windbag..."

"Mr. Mayfield is much respected in his profession."

"I don't care about Mr. Mayfield!" she shouted. "Why were you avoiding me?"

Edward put the quill down. "I could ask you the same thing."

This was too much. He was deliberately provoking her now. "What?! You think I was avoiding you?"

"What was I supposed to think?" he said, scrunching up his nose in what she'd come to recognize as a sign of his anger. "When I woke up, you were gone. I waited for you for hours at breakfast, but you didn't come. At noon, I had to drive out of my way to come back here, and you were gone too. And when I came back with Mr. Mayfield, you were in the garden and didn't come in for ages! What else could it be?"

Christine's anger slowly disappeared when she realized they had simply kept missing each other. Her early morning departure was the trouble. It put them at cross-purposes. It had made Edward think she didn't want to see him, while she had assumed he would know what she wanted. But how could he? She looked at the scowl beneath his fringe of curls and resolved never to expect him to read her mind again.

"I wasn't trying to avoid you, you silly boy," she said, her voice softened. "I was waiting for you."

"You were?" He looked at her in sullen disbelief, but a twinkle in his eyes and a smile at the corner of his lips told her otherwise. "Waiting... to do what?"

"This."

She walked around the desk, took his face in her hands, and kissed him with all the force that her anger and frustration had built up throughout the entire day. He rose from the chair to meet her kiss with such eagerness that she realized he must've been waiting for her all day as well. Then his injured ankle gave way and he ended up pulling her down with him, onto his lap. The sudden move hiked Christine's dress up over her knees. "Mrs. Wayne may still be awake," she said, pretending to be scandalized. "What if she hears us?"

"Not if we're very, very quiet," he murmured, his lips seeking hers again.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, while he placed one hand behind her back, and the other moved under the tangle of skirt and petticoat, finding its way to the top of her stocking. With trembling fingers, he undid the ribbon holding the stocking in place and slowly slipped it down her thigh. She let out a shaky breath. That morning, she had wondered if she responded to him simply because her body was so starved to be touched. But now she knew. It wasn't just any touch she craved. It was his. He had a way of touching her... it was as if there was nothing else in the world for him but her. He wasn't just taking his pleasure from her or pleasuring her so she could return the favor, but bringing her along with him. It wasn't a transaction, but a journey they took together.

As he slid his hand back up her now-naked leg and slipped a little deeper under her petticoat, a ripple of desire crashed through her body before pooling into a throbbing ache at her center, made all the more acute by a growing hardness underneath her. She sat up and swung a leg around so she was straddling him. Edward raised an eyebrow.

"Shall we move to the bedroom?" he asked.

"No," she whispered and unfastened his breeches.

Realizing her intention, he gripped her waist and pulled her to him. She tried to move against him, but he was holding her so tightly she couldn't maneuver. Grabbing his shoulders, she rolled her hips toward him, guiding him, and he arched his hips to match hers. Both gasped as their bodies connected.

"Like this?" he asked on a caught breath.

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes."

They soon found a rhythm, and Christine could no longer tell if the fire between them was hers or his or theirs, only that it was building, electrifying where their bare skin touched, scorching through the thin muslin of her gown and the linen of his shirt, while they moved as one, pulses pounding together, lips brushing against each other, breathing in each other's air, building and building and building until it erupted in a surge of primal pleasure that rocked through them both.

A cry escaped her but was quickly swallowed up in his kiss. Their breathing slowed, and the kiss became gentle, then turned into suppressed giggles. "I think we should definitely move to the bedroom now," Edward said, brushing Christine's hair out of her face. The tenderness of that simple gesture was enough to make her want him all over again.

Much later, as they were lying in bed, spent but sated, Christine said, "Edward?"

"Hmm?" His breath wafted across her hair. He was behind her, his chest to her back, his arm wrapped around her.

"Why didn't you do... any of that... before? On our wedding night?"

"Because you didn't want me to."

"But I thought that husbands would just take from wives what they want. That it was their right to do so."

"Our 'right'?" Edward's voice turned bleak. "I've witnessed my mother suffer at the hands of my father enough. I vowed I would never, ever force myself on a woman."

Christine turned around to look at him. His eyes were dark again, like the day he first told her about his mother. She wanted nothing more than to wipe that look away.

"You are not your father," she said, reaching up a hand to caress his face. He smiled, and some of the darkness faded. "But what about... that second time?" she continued. "When I came to you?"

"Ah, well..." Edward looked uncomfortable. "That was my own fragile ego, I'm afraid," he said, blushing. "You were coming on too strongly and I thought that my... um, lack of experience would be too noticeable."

At this, Christine sat straight up. "That was it?" she said, incredulous. "That was it?! Of all the stupid, idiotic..." All her pain and anger came back in a flash. She wanted to hit him. "Do you have any idea how much I've tortured myself over it? Had you let me stay, I wouldn't have run away, Will wouldn't have been shot, and there would have been none of this misery!"

"I know, I know." He sat up as well, took her hand, and kissed it. "I'm sorry. I blame myself. When I proposed to you, I wasn't thinking what it would mean to be married," he said earnestly. "I just thought it would solve both of our problems. And when you became so miserable, I was frightened. I... I didn't know what to do. I barely knew how to live with another person, let alone a wife. I should have been honest with you. I pride myself on it, yet I was too much of a coward to be honest when it mattered the most." He kissed her hand again. "I can only thank God that you're still here with me, so I can atone for those mistakes."

His kisses soothed her more than she wanted to admit, and she remembered her own fears and self-doubt. Relenting, she laced her fingers through his. "I suppose we both still have a lot to learn about this whole marriage thing, don't we?"

"I think we're doing quite well, considering." He took her into his arms. "And we have the rest of our lives to figure it out."

The last thing Christine thought, as their mouths met again, was that there would be no more running back to her bedroom in the morning. Let the maids see what they see.

Chapter 9

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