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fayes-fics · 1 month

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Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers.

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer.

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered.

“Are you sure?”

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him.

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict.

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room.

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby.

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you.

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?”

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later.

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse.

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank.

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours. “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome.

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot.

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is.

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body.

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area.

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.” His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise.

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you.

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time.

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly.

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does.

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone.

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage.

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm.

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world.

Which to you both, they are.

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bitterkarella · 8 months

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JK Rowling: hello children Rowling: i want you to sssay hello to Rowling: graham lineham Lineham: [wearing foil hat] free masons run the country Rowling: he'sss got sssome great ideasss you should hear

Poe: joanne you don't need to bring him here Poe: like, you really don't Rowling: he hass thingsss to sssay and you're ALL going to hear them Poe: this is really kind of off topic for us here Rowling: EVERYONE will hear them

Rowling: ssssee, yearsss ago i disssmisssed graham lineham'ssss babble as the bad opticsss ravingsss of a lunatic Rowling: but now that the overton window hass sshifted Rowling: i'm proud to sssay thessse bad opticsss ravingsss are quite good actually!

Rowling: go ahead, graham, tell them what you told me Lineham: trans people produce no great films, no music, no art Lineham: they're incapable of doing this basic human thing because they're subhuman Lineham: untermensch, if you will Rowling: isssn't he great?

Lineham: trans books are always universally panned because of their incoherence Billy Martin: Hailey Piper: Eve Harms: Gretchen Felker-Martin: Joe Koch: M. Lopes da Silva: Arden Powell: Lor Gislason: Julya Oui: LC von Hessen: GE Woods: Michelle Belanger: Rain Corbyn: SA Chant:

FT Catulla: Viktor Athelstan: Meagan Hotz: Ziggy Schutz: Rose Sable: WN Derring-Judith: Charles Maria Tor: Devaki Devay: Dayna Ingram: Ori Jay: Ai Burton: Gabriel Valentine: Cosmin-Mihai Birsan: Jei D Marcade: Rhiannon Rasmussen: Max Turner: Taylor J Pitts: Vincent Endwell:

Bri Crozier: Theo Hendrie: Derek des Anges: Briar Ripley Page: Winter Holmes: gaast: Maya Deane: Charles-Elizabeth Boyles: Layne van Rensburg: Amanda M Blake: May Leitz: Alison Rumfitt: Rivers Solomon: Lillian Boyd: Torrey Peters: Taliesin Neith: Daniel M. Lavery: Joss Lake: Aubrey Wood: Jonah Wu:

Daphne du Maurier: Patricia Highsmith: Franz Kafka: Kafka: wait Kafka: why did the camera pan to me

Barker: oh you know why haha Poe: clive Kafka: why Kafka: [hugging blåhaj] i don't know what you mean

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ghostlychief · 1 year

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Hi, your articles about Simon ghost are interesting. Can I also make a request, please? How does he react to a reader with a big dog? The dog is very protective and affectionate towards the reader. and the dog's eyes are different colors. I will send you a photo of the dog.

HELLO!! First of all, thank you for reading my Ghost fics, that means so much <3 Secondly, i love this request because one, i love dogs, and TWOOO i love big big dogs. I hope you enjoy what i threw together, and take care <3

That Makes Two of Us

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x reader (can read as fem, gn, or male really)

wc: 900+

warnings: none

A/N: I apologize for any grammar/spelling mistakes lol pls forgive me

You can’t remember a time when you didn’t have a dog. Growing up, you were always surrounded by dogs, and had one by the time you were age five. Later, in your early teenage years, your family got another one. Needless to say, it wasn’t a surprise when you bought a dog of your own, after you graduated and got a full-time job.

When you saw your new puppy for the first time, she was already perfect in your eyes. She had mismatched eyes- one blue and one brown. Her fur was as dark as a raven’s feather, and shiny too. You decided to name her Daphne, after a character from one of your favorite TV shows.

You could already tell she was going to be a big dog, just by the size of her paws when she was a puppy. And your assumption was right, because she turned out to be about 65 pounds, paws almost as big as your palm.

You guys became two peas in a pod, and you trained her well. She was smart, loyal and very affectionate with you. It’s all you ever could have wanted in a dog, a companion.

While Daphne was lovey and affectionate towards you, her loyalty showed when she met strangers. She was mostly weary with men she didn’t know. Sure, your dad and close guy friends were no issue for her, she trusted them and therefore she trusted them around you.

However, newer men she didn’t recognize the scent of, or strangers on the sidewalk (strange men), she immediately became alert, ready to do anything for you, anything to protect you. This personality trait of hers was always difficult when in came to dating. Because more often than not, your fling with a guy didn’t last long. It was a cycle of introducing Daphne to a new man, which took her some time to getting used to, to that man completely disappearing from your life, all for it to start again.

It wasn’t until you met Simon aka “Ghost” for things to level out, be “steady” so to say. You and Simon have been dating for about three and a half months at this point. You both went on countless dinner dates, occasionally got drinks, and enjoyed the city where you both lived. All which required him not to see Daphne, or meet her, nonetheless. Sure, you showed him pictures of your baby, and babbled on about her when you guys hung out, but he hasn’t had the pleasure of meeting her.

You decided that after the fourth failed fling/thing with a guy, you would wait until you were seeing a guy for about 4-5 months until you introduced them to your dog. Not wanting to continue to confuse her, by having her meet strangers, and people that wouldn’t be in your life for a long time.

With Simon though, you guys instantly hit it off. He was a little bit quirky, with a dry sense of humor that matched your sarcasm. He was fun to be around and brought out a side of you, you haven’t seen in quite a long time. You were happy, and you trusted him. You only wished that Daphne would trust him as much, because deep-deep down in the pits of your heart, you were starting to fall in love with Simon.

It was after you guys went to dinner one night, that you brought Simon over to your place for the first time. You were a little bit nervous. One, because you were bringing home a devastatingly handsome and tall man, and two, because you weren’t sure how Daphne would react.

You quietly unlocked your door and ushered Simon inside. After you turned on the lights, you could hear Daphne’s paws patter on your floor, signaling to you that she woke up, and was coming to greet you. Though, when she saw Simon standing next to you, she instantly stopped in her tracks, and quirked her head to the side, her ears perked. Not expecting a guest to be with you.

She immediately started barking, her low, powerful bark resonating off the walls of your home.

“I take it she doesn’t like strangers?” Simon remains next to you, but doesn’t show any signs that he’s afraid of your giant black dog barking four feet away from him.

“Well…she’s a little protective of me.” You turn to look at Simon, with a sheepish smile on your pretty face.

“That makes two of us, then.” You try not to let Simon’s deep voice and confession get to you too much, but it’s hard and you find your cheeks warming.

You just laugh at his statement, and make your ways towards Daphne, to try and console her. Once you’ve got her calmed down, you usher Simon over.

“Ok, just approach her on the side, but don’t turn towards her, keep your body perpendicular to hers. And stick your hand out for her to sniff. This will let her know that you’re no threat.”

He does just that, and effortlessly, which you’re not surprised about. You’re certain he’s often around military trained dogs due to his job.

Daphne reluctantly sniffs Simon’s hand, but you can tell he won her over because she starts to lick him, and then lets him pet her on the head. Her tail starts to wag vigorously, and now her barks are lighter, more playful as she greets your new friend.

With a smirk coating his lips, Simon asks her, “See, I’m not too bad, am I?”

Hope you enjoyed!

masterlist

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eljeebee · 25 days

Text

I could be a good mother.

The faucet squeaked close. Priscilla returned to the living room, and watched her daughter play in her playpen for a moment. She reached down, smiling, “Claire, are you having fun?”

“Dada dada dada dadadaaaaa!” Clara babbled. Kissing the top of her daughter’s head, Priscilla said, “Daddy went to the grocery store to pick up some stuff. He’ll be back, don’t worry.”

She went ahead and placed her down on the stroller. “Let’s get you some fresh air.”

Priscilla walked down the block, her daughter in her stroller. Annalise giggled. The air was crisp. Felt clean.

They returned home. Priscilla gently placed her daughter on the walker.

And as soon as Annabeth moved to practice walking, Tony had arrived. “Hello ladies,” he greeted. Priscilla smiled at him, going straight to his open arms, accepting his warm embrace. He kissed her.

“Hello to you too,” Priscilla finally said after pulling away from the kiss. Tony chuckled, and left another kiss on her forehead, before approaching their daughter. Priscilla went to the kitchen.

“Hello little lass,” he said, picking her up from the walker.

“Hey, I’ve just put her there,” Priscilla smiled.

“Oh you, let me get some huggy wuggy from my little lass,” Tony pouted teasingly.

Her shoulders shook as she giggled. “Okay. What do you want for dinner?”

“Something hot.”

“Soup? Okay.”

Priscilla turned her back and went to prepare their dinner. She washed her hands. The faucet squeaked close. Priscilla glanced to her back, and Tony and Daphne were gone. “Walking her outside?” she asked aloud, returning to her cooking.

She blinked. The faucet squeaked close.

“Tony?” She called.

There’s no sight of them in the living room either. Suddenly, her heart sank. Her stomach twisted in an ugly manner. She felt nervous. Scared. Something’s amiss.

“Tony!” she called again, voice louder, this time with firmness, akin to a mother scolding a child. When she heard no answer, she ran upstairs.

Their bedroom was empty.

Their baby isn’t in the crib either.

She blinked.

The faucet squeaked close.

“What – What’s happening? Tony, darling, where are you? Diana?” her voice and lips trembled, hands shaking. She got out of the kitchen – wait – why was she in the kitchen again? She was in the bedroom earlier…which she’s trying to get to, but she blinked.

The faucet squeaked close.

Priscilla let out a sob, tears welling up, “Tony!”

She ran out of the kitchen. This time, she ran to the front porch. The stroller was there in the entryway.

The car was parked outside.

Everything is silent. No cars passing by. No crickets. The world seemed…empty. No distant sounds from the town…empty. She’s all alone.

“No, no, no, no,” Priscilla breathed heavily. Her knees shook.

Her sobs were big – sobs a child let out when crying. “No no, no! Tony. Tony! Where are you? Where’s the baby – where’s – ”

She paused.

“No. No…!” Priscilla ran to the sidewalk. “What’s – what’s her name?”

Her mouth opened, attempting to call for Tony and…who? Who is he with? She blinked.

The faucet squeaked close. She was crying. This time, she went straight outside the house. She ran, and ran, and ran.

She babbled, “Who is she? What’s her name? Tony, where are you? My baby. She’s my baby. Where is she?”

“Bring me my baby back! Bring me back – ”

As she covered her face, as she closed her eyes…

The faucet squeaked close.

Priscilla let out an inaudible gasp. She blinked her golden eyes open. Her surroundings were blurry. Her cheeks felt wet. Was she crying? Why?

She sat up.

Her tears kept rolling down her cheeks. Where is she?

Oh. This is the reality. This is her awake. This is her in Bridgeport. This is her, sitting on her bed – and her husband’s bed. He was sleeping soundly. No crib in front of her. Only a fireplace.

She made her way to the bathroom, her footsteps silent, muted by her power.

It wasn’t real. A dream.

#angst #i could be a good mother #LOC:Priscilla Wuest #LOC:Priscilla Wuest-Harrison #LOC:Anthony Harrison #the sims 3 #sims 3 #sims 3 story #ts3 #ts3 story #simblr #the last picture is lethal #i'm so sorry priscilla #i'm so sorry

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cxhleel108 · 6 months

Text

S7 Thots for this week: I’ve had enough…

• Here go this bitch🙄🙄🙄

• The new bed outfits were kinda meh but that purple and gold number was cuuuuuute.

• Lame ass sex scene on the daybeds yayyyy.

• Yes Willow we had a VERY nice evening. Did you have fun with the “him-shaped space” in your bed?😁

• Aw Bonnie and Vicky are sad that I made love with Bryson? That’s awful, I really don’t give a fuck tho.

• Snog, Marry, Pie day is here😍😍😍

• Oh don’t worry bitch I got somebody in mind too!

• Daphne immediately going to snog Evan like she’s so real I’m sorry.

• The fact we get to dodge the pie getting thrown at us LMAOOOOO Willow you’re never gonna win bookie.

• The fact everyone wants to marry Tanya (my MC for clarification) oooohhh she’s mother!

• Bryson you really coulda just snogged me babe but Imma look past it cuz you still made sure to put a ring on it😁

• Willow I know YOU of all people are not tryna call ME predictable.

•🫵🏽🤣

• Not Rafael coming to kiss us??? Sorry Daph🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️🤷🏽‍♀️

• Why I actually got upset cuz he ain’t choose us?

• Oh ok nvm I’m good now🤭

• 🫵🏽🤣

• Why did Vicky emphasize that she had to tell us stuff about our LI and the other boys and then we proceeded to pay 29 gems just for her to not tell us anything about our LI…Fusebox somebody is gon sue y’all niggas one day while y’all keep playing.

• BYE WILLOW!

• Oh Bryson you are so shady for saying last to come should be the first to go, aka Vicky and Travis needa pack they mf bags. I’ve taught him so well🤩

• I don’t wanna go talk to these people about “where their heads are at” I DON'T CAREEE.

• Evan asking me who I think the most annoying couple is omg? Why are y’all so messssyyyyy??? (I love it)

• Oh that's cool, we really don't give a fuck tho!

• Oop it's date time so you know what that means girlies...outfit reviews🤩🤩🤩

• Don't get me wrong these are both cute but there are certain details on both of the tops that's fucking them up.

• The date was cute. Not much else to comment on.

• OH-

• I'm crying how #Raphne get destroyed just after they was pledging to leave the villa for each other😭😭😭

• Honestly real asf.

• Ok my whole thing is...Uma...If y'all just made up and had a wonderful lil freak session then why after a very small, I mean MINISCULE, disagreement about not talking so quickly about the future are you gonna just go out and try to make a move on another bitch's man? Niece I can only keep defending you for so long like...

• But at the same time Alex lowkey deserve it cuz he pissing me off with all this hypocritical whiny ass lil baby shit.

• Omg Bryson finna ask us to be his girlfriend soon oooo #Raphne watch out cuz #Tyson is gonna take your spot😘

• LIKE WHAT IS SHE BABBLING ABOUT???????

• Uma you may be immature and a lil slow at times but you still a real ass bitch, I can't hate you💯

• Outfit time again🤩

• Omg omg omg these both eat thank god I was so scared.

• Don’t say what I think you're about to say...

• Oh ok you did it anyway lol🙂

• Willow if you know what's good for you, you will keep your mouth SHUT!

• So Willow gets to stay and now Evan's gone...ok.

• So what I'm gathering from this confession about Raf (I literally couldn't be any less shocked) is that every man that has met Tanya in here has wanted her...she's literally queen of the villa like all you hoes are peasants at this point🤣🤣🤣

• GIRL DON'T CLOCK JAKE WILSON LIKE THAT-

• Willow...don't get fucked up😄

• Willow...don't. get. fucked. UP.

• ...

#im about to beat this bitch up #also why did two people get dumped and not two couples tf?#litg #love island the game #litg s7 #litg season 7 #litg stick or twist #litg mc #litg bryson #litg willow #litg uma #litg bonnie #litg vicky #litg evan #litg rafael #litg daphne #litg alex #litg travis #litg joyo

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flauberries · 1 year

Text

home | sebastian sallow x f!player character

He’d very much like to savor the feeling of her body so close, in this room that he can only describe as home. It is, as they say, where the heart is. And this heart in his arms has stood by his side since the very beginning.

Of all the common rooms throughout the castle, the loungers in Slytherin’s must surely be among the most uncomfortable seatings. Remarkably, when one spends his time upon the emerald-green chaise whilst babbling with a classmate about the injustices of weekend assignments and scrolls – or perhaps whilst thumbing through a book plucked fresh from the deepest bowels of the restricted section – Sebastian Sallow finds the arrangement plenty plush and aptly accommodating to his needs for rest and respite. When lost in his mind and the thoughts confined within, which yearn to burst from his tongue during the frequent nights wherein sleep does not come to him, the lounger beneath him is a bed of nails; sharp, and twisting into the nerves of his spine.

In spite of the heaviness behind his eyes, his body positively throbs with an unspent energy that would have been welcomed greatly during this morning’s potion class. Sebastian counts the crackling of oak splinters in the fireplace. His face grows hotter with each passing moment spent before the blaze. A cacophony of girlish laughter reverberates from the dormitories up the stairs. A door opens moments thereafter, and a set of uneven footsteps echo from the tunnel-like walls, against the grating of the bridge. They do not belong to Imelda Reyes – she doesn’t wear those buckled heel shoes. It could be Nerida Roberts, Sebastian decides, or even Violet McDowell. Certainly not a first year. Whoever it is does not carry herself with such grace.

Oh, he had forgotten about Grace Pinch-Smedley.

“Sebastian?”

He turns quickly. While it goes against no rules nor prohibitions to invite members of the other houses into the common room (albeit a taboo to be sure), the sight of Daphne takes him by the upmost surprise. Her hair has, at some point during the night, fallen from its patented bun at the base of her neck; he never knew her mane was so long, so abundant. Parted down the center now – wild and creased from bondage – her blonde hair radiates in the fireplace’s glow and takes on a copper twinge. The red hue of her cheeks bleeds beneath the worn powder pressed upon her skin. Her white uniform blouse has been unbuttoned twice from the top and remains barely tucked into the belt of her pleated skirt – no necktie nor quilted vest to be seen. The buckles of her shoes are undone because she hastened to slip them on in making her escape from Imelda’s bed.

“Well, well,” Sebastian starts as he beckons her to join him. She takes the cushion without hesitation; she reeks heavily of wine, but not unpleasantly so.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?”

She beams brightly and reaches to pull him beside her. A pocket of dried burgundy pools in the cracks of her lower lip. He could very well wipe it away with the flesh of his thumb. As if she can feel his stare, Daphne brings the back of her hand to her mouth.

“Imelda and the girls invited me to spend the evening with them,” she explains.

She is trying far too hard to sound straight.

“To . . .” she trails off in some sphere of contemplation, “alleviate our compatriotic stress, you know.”

“I see. And does this ‘alleviation of compatriotic stress,’ as you put it, involve some forbidden indulgences?”

Only then does she shy away.

“I’m sorry,” she sighs. “I must look horrible, don’t I?”

“Not at all,” Sebastian insists. “You simply look like a young woman who has earned the right to some fun and frivolity.”

Satisfied with his answer, and a hum tickling her teeth, Daphne slackens against the backing of the lounger. There is a stain upon her bosom, and it matches the color of her lips. Her right knee bounces up and down, her heel abandoning its shoe underfoot; her skirt jostles and rides up her bloomer-clad thigh, inching closer and closer to the place where her legs meet. She must not realize what she is doing, and heavens, her garters are slipping. Beneath the odor of wine, there is an inkling of jasmine. She observes the fire and puffs her cheeks to stifle a belch. He knows he ought not marvel at her, and yet he finds that he cannot help himself. Never, Sebastian realizes, has he seen her in such a state. So pedestrian. So shambled.

So perfectly imperfect.

“I’ve not been sleeping,” she confesses suddenly, and her knee stills. There is a silence now, in the absence of her ruffling.

“I’ve counted sheep and paced my dormitory for hours. Tried to think myself into exhaustion, held my breath, gorged myself . . . At this point, the only thing I’ve yet to try is a sleeping draught. Professor Sharp cautioned me, but what have I left to lose?”

Sebastian frowns.

“That’s why I came here tonight,” Daphne continues. “Imelda assured me that a bottle of wine would do the trick. Lull me right to sleep, she said.”

“But you’re wide awake,” Sebastian counters.

“Absolutely wired.”

A string of deep voices sound from the central stairwell. Sebastian reaches to pull her skirt back over her knee; she doesn’t protest, though she jolts when his pinkie grazes the hot flesh of her knee (truly, however, she cannot feel his touch through her stockings). A group of older boys, who come about as seemingly unaware of the pair (or they simply care little to bother acknowledging them), descend and make their way to the dormitories.

“For what it’s worth,” he says once the boys are no longer within earshot, “I’ve not been sleeping either.”

“I’m sorry, Sebastian.” And she means it – else, she wouldn’t say otherwise. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

“Don’t say that.”

It comes a bit terser than he intends. He takes a moment to collect himself as Daphne flinches; his belly falls, and suddenly, there are two fingers against his temples. Phantom limbs, but pressing all the same.

“You’ve likewise suffered demons,” Sebastian clarifies. “You needn’t make light of your situation. It isn’t good for the spirit.”

She nods.

Daphne has, for as long as he has known her, always been this sort of individual – the kind to toss her troubles beyond and below, as if nothing. Always the sort to drop anything, and quite possibly everything, if only to appease another. Why else would she delay her first sojourn beneath the clock tower for dueling practice (how restive he felt as he waited for her), if not to retrieve the tempestuous Zenobia Noke’s blasted gobstone collection? It had taken Imelda a fortnight to hide them all. What of the bells in the tower above the music classrooms? Or that damned over-sized tentacula leaf for Puffskein Dunskein? Yes, it was quite a clever nickname, thank you very much. There was the matter of that mermaid artifact for Nerida; the Slytherin girl was rather eager to present the necklace to her peers, and although not so keen on confessing her ineptitude for swimming, she spoke of Daphne’s altruistic propensity with the upmost regard. Never mind that the necklace would have looked much better draped around her neck, Sebastian thought, when Nerida dangled it before him. He shan’t forget the way the aquamarine pendant sparkled beneath the light.

He shan’t forget the time she dove into the lake to retrieve that wretched astrolabe for Grace, either. Daphne returned to the castle a soaking, shivering mess. And she hadn’t the decency to ask for a damned thing in return.

“Sebastian?” she calls, tearing her gaze from the fireplace and staring him down; intent, keen, and fully serious. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to show you. Or, somewhere, I should specify.”

There is a lump in his throat that he does not feel until he swallows.

“It’s getting late,” he says, atypically cautious and certainly unlike himself. “Wouldn’t want to get caught by a prefect in your current condition, would you?”

“In my current condition?” Daphne asks. “What about you? Are you sure you’re feeling alright? You sound a bit like Ominis, and it doesn’t suit you.”

The brunet boy gawks at her. Sounding like Ominis? Sebastian Sallow? Never.

“Besides . . .”

She pushes herself from the lounger, sways, and buckles forth into the tea table. Sebastian jumps to his feet as his arms move to brace her – one beneath the crook of her farthest, and the other falling upon the bent elbow that hovers above a ruined game of chess. The ceramic pieces knock against each other. Her blouse is soft and unpilled, and the flesh beneath blisters.

“There’s no time like the present.”

He must imagine the flash of green upon her eyes. A trick of the light, and nothing more. Daphne straightens herself and steps around the table.

“Give me your hand, will you?”

Wordless, Sebastian takes her waiting fingers, and his palm finds purchase with hers. The faintest of callouses mar the thickest parts of her hand (she wears her leather gloves for trysts of wand mastery); whatever balm she uses preserves her skin well, he thinks, for she is smooth like a fanciful of bed linens and lovely silk dresses. Their bearing is not quite enough until she traps his fingers with his own and tugs him forward. The stack of demitasses atop the table rattles.

Properly disillusioned, she leads him from the spiraling staircase of the Slytherin common room to the landing just below the highest peak of the astronomy tower, their hands only departing from the other when Sebastian hastened to flip his wand towards a poorly placed pile of books to distract a wayward prefect who was absolutely certain that he had caught a glimpse of blonde hair below the trickling of moonlight from the tower windows. Their excursion must have been sobering enough, if not for the practical drowning in the girls’ bathroom when Daphne insisted that she was simply too parched to carry on. Sebastian didn’t mind holding her hair back as she cupped her hands beneath the running faucets and lifted the spilled water to her stained lips. Her pomade smelled of bergamot and black tea. And, as always, jasmine.

Now, in the astronomy tower, Daphne ushers Sebastian to turn around to face the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, who proudly dons his robin’s egg ensemble and wields his ivory baton towards the trolls he means to teach ballet.

“This is what you wanted to show me?” Sebastian asks. “It’s quite silly, I suppose, but impossible to miss on your way to astronomy. It’s hardly much of a secret.”

“No, I didn’t drag you here to show you a tapestry,” Daphne huffs. “Just stay there for a moment, and don’t turn around.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

And so, arms crossed and admittedly feeling a bit indignant, he stares at the tapestry. He memorizes the pattern because there is not much else for him to do. First, the troll in the back left attempts what Sebastian imagines is a plie, and then the plie-esque troll’s neighbor throws his weight forwards and his arms above his head. Not quite graceful, though not quite gauche, either. The third troll, the closest to Barnabas, scratches his chest before bringing his club down atop the man. Barnabas rises, unphased and hardly discouraged; only a moment later, however, and the fourth troll likewise crushes him with a bone that must have come from a dragon’s femur. In the background, just beyond the tree line and the mountain ridge, is Hogwarts.

Barnabas stands, conducting away, and the first troll plies again.

Stone grinds behind Sebastian. He isn’t surprised in the least bit to learn that Daphne has discovered the Room. It’s nothing more than a hovel for bits and pieces, and the ordinary rubbish of a well-spent domesticated life. He had fooled himself once in believing he might happen upon a cure for Anne inside. No matter of wailing, browbeating, nor cursing could persuade the ceaseless Room to grant him the answer that he so tirelessly chased; or, rather, the solution to the utterly inconceivable problem that has rendered his sister a shell. There were no tomes filled with lost tonic recipes to dispel a curse derivative of the darkest arts, and certainly he found no vials filled to save him the trouble of reading – as if anything came so easily in life. At least there is comfort in knowing where to find a spare chair.

Sebastian turns. Daphne smiles at him, absolutely giddy and still under the influence of whatever cursed wine Imelda procured for the girls. Stolen from the kitchens, no doubt. He doesn’t mind looking after the Hufflepuff girl in this state, not really. Next time, he promises himself, he’ll join in her silly indulgence.

He could make a quip about the Room. However, when Daphne takes his hand for the hundredth time tonight and leads him to the door, he knows he won’t. He can’t bear to see that smile falter. Can’t bear to be the reason why.

“You and Ominis have your Undercroft,” she tells him, her fingers dancing just above the bronze door handle. “But this . . . This belongs to me.”

And it is nothing of a hovel at all, Sebastian realizes, as she pilots him into the moonlit aura of the great room. The floor is a brilliantly ornate marble – the walls a deep walnut and lacquered in gothic, emerald papering and filled with bookshelves and cabinets. The ceiling above is a glass dome and just beyond that is a reflection of the night sky – a perpetual full moon and its stars. White drapes cascade along the marble arches above their heads. He won’t ask her where those strange, illuminated doorways lead to; a coastal castle, or a swamp perhaps – they are but questions for another time.

“Well?” Daphne prompts. She falls upon a lounger tucked into a corner next to the entrance. Beneath the lounger is a botanical rug and above that, a tea table cluttered with a skull, a wayward tonic, and a set of quills.

“What do you think?”

“I think this reeks of favoritism,” Sebastian admits. “I had written this place off a while ago.”

He joins her now and finally, he has found somewhere to rest in earnest. The cushioning is soft and plush – well loved, unquestionably cared for, and tender.

“You’re probably right about that,” she acquiesces. “Professor Weasley thought the Room would be a fine place to catch up on my schoolwork. I suppose she didn’t approve of my extracurriculars.”

“I’m not surprised that this was her doing. She speaks fondly of you. Not to mention, we have her to thank for our foray into Hogsmeade at the start of the year.”

“Yes, and if not for her, you’d have been stuck in detention with Madam Scribner that day instead.”

It is Sebastian’s turn to grin.

“Despite the mess with those trolls and Rookwood, it was a grand trip,” he says. “Aside from Ominis or Anne, I can’t imagine that I’d take a lout’s bludgeoning for anyone else. If it were Leander with me, I’d probably take up arms with the trolls.”

He pauses.

“I think this room is wonderful, Daphne. Not becoming for a Hufflepuff, per se, and yet it fits you all the same.”

She cups her own cheeks to hide her blush. It could be that their journey has worn him into a proper weariness, or it may be that the lounger is commanding it of him, but Sebastian knows that if he only closes his eyes right now, he might doze off – next to his confidant and charge, who gazes upon him in such a way that inspires his want to pull her close and let her sleep in his arms.

He won’t do either.

“Will you stay here with me?” Daphne asks. “I know you’ve your own bed, and it’s selfish of me to say. I just don’t want you to go.”

She tugs on his arm, her bottom lip pouting just so. There isn’t much wine left in the crack of it.

“Now, now,” Sebastian begins, “who said I was leaving?”

“Stay with me. Please.”

Against his better judgment – and all semblance of self-control, for however much of it is left – he leans forward and brushes his lips against the crown of her head. He doesn’t catch the way her eyes flutter shut, nor the soft peak of her smile. Her fingers curl into her palm, perhaps to keep herself from tethering them against the lapels of his sleeping robe.

“I’ll stay here forever, if that’s what you want,” he mumbles against her hair. “I’ll always be here for you. Always.”

As you have been for me, in the brief time I’ve known you.

Sebastian decides that he could very well stay here forever. In this degree that can only be peace, pressed against the nook of the lounger with a lovely girl molded against his chest at last and her hair tickling the hair of his nose. Anne used to pester him ceaselessly about his snoring. If the universe is a fair maiden after all, then Daphne won’t mind. The truth is one that he knows all too well – he’ll just have to make sure she falls asleep first.

Amidst his thoughts, the Room begins the quake. Sebastian sits upright, his grip around Daphne growing tighter.

“What’s happening?” Sebastian asks, hiding his panic all too well. “Should we leave?”

“No,” Daphne insists, wide-eyed and alert. “The Room . . . It’s changing.”

The thunder comes from up the stairs, just past the windowed stretch of a reading nook.

“What do you mean, it’s ‘changing’?”

“I’m not entirely sure,” she confesses. “Shall we go find out? I’m almost certain it’s nothing dangerous.”

Though Sebastian insists he ought to take the lead, Daphne marches ahead and ascends to the balcony; helpless to do nothing more, Sebastian clammers after whilst gripping his wand terribly close. In an alcove nestled between the peaks of the twin stairs is a hallway and within that passage appears a doorway bearing the same adornments, engravings, and talismans as the entry.

“Unless you were thinking about inflicting pain on either of us,” Daphne says, arms crossed, “you ought to put your wand away.”

“Why does it matter what I was thinking?” Sebastian questions.

“I can manipulate the Room and shape it into the very design I wish, just by anticipating it hard enough. I made a loo appear once when I nearly . . . Well, I won’t finish that, but just take my word for it.”

Sebastian slips his wand away.

“You should do the honors,” she tells him. “Go ahead. Open the door.”

And so, he does. Beyond the creaking door is an oaken floor laden with a threadbare rug decorated with embroidered flowers. There is a fireplace against the furthest wall, and its orange hue casts the only light upon the furniture in the new room – a dresser with bronze knobs, a pair of mismatched nightstands (one yew and the other painted green), a porcelain wash sink with a ceramic carafe, and lastly, a wrought-iron bed topped with thick pillows and a diamond-crossed quilt. The glass of the windows is frosted around the panes, and he can see the quidditch pitch in the distance where it stands out brilliantly against the beating snow. A clever illusion to cure the springtime blues; it hasn’t snowed in nearly three weeks. He has always loved winter.

Daphne looms over his shoulder, a strange grin upon her face; as for Sebastian, he feels utter mortification. Implications be damned – she must think him to be a wretched fiend of the highest perversions.

“I wasn’t expecting this, Sebastian.” He can feel her jaw pop against his shoulder. “Dare I ask why you’ve summoned a bedroom in myRoom?”

If ever there was a moment more opportune to be choked by his own tongue, now would be the time.

“I was just thinking about how tired I was,” he confesses. “How easily I could have fallen asleep on the lounger out there. I promise, I . . .”

He rubs his neck and prays that she cannot see the blush of his cheeks in the firelight, or the ring of perspiration at his hairline.

“It’s not that I don’t find you attractive –” slow down, “but I really am exhausted.”

He can feel Daphne her firm hands against his shoulder blades just as she pushes herself backwards. She is fidgeting with the beds of her fingernails, and she refuses to look at him.

“Well, go on then,” she says. “The Room knows what you need.”

Sebastian gazes around the bedroom again. There are a few paintings along the walls: an aged woman cradling a niffler, which bats about at the golden pendant draped about her neck; a landscape of a village, which can only be Feldcroft, turned golden with the kiss of autumn; and, to his chagrin, a shrunken version of the tapestry of Barnabas, although this one has taken the medium of a framed canvas. Sebastian detects the smell of tobacco and balsam from the fireplace, and the fragrance of vanilla and patchouli from the steadfast candle above the mantle.

He swears it is what his mother and his father smelled of – an unmerciful reminder of what has been stolen from the brevity of the life he has. He hardly remembers their faces. He won’t confess it.

As he approaches the bed, he notices a set of two teacups atop the closest nightstand. Steam rises from the cups, and a bowl of sugar with a silver spoon has been set down between them. Chamomile, he realizes, when he lifts the first cup to his face. He wasn’t meant to drink both.

Holding the second saucer out to the girl standing in the doorway, he speaks: “Will you join me?”

“In the bed?” she asks.

He nods.

“It wouldn’t be proper, Sebastian.”

“I’m not asking you to lie with me because I wish to spoil your virtue. I’m asking you to share the bed with me because I do not wish to sleep alone. You’ve asked me to stay tonight – this is where you’ll find me.”

Without another word, she steps forward to take the chamomile; too bashful to say yes, and too galvanized to say no. Sebastian has the bowl of sugar ready before she has the chance to ask for it. He knows how she takes it; two teaspoons and a rigorous stir. She drinks the sweetened hot tea, and the sentiment lingers in her brain. Her shoulders fall as she hurries to finish it. Satisfied, she sets the emptied saucer back down, and Sebastian’s is soon to follow.

“I feel overdressed,” Daphne admits. “Would you mind if I made myself a bit more comfortable?”

Her shoes have already been tossed across the floor.

“Not at all.”

She slips out of her pleated skirt and slips her loosened blouse from her arms. Her garments lay precisely where they fall. She unfastens her garters next and rolls her stockings down. With a few frustrated tugs, the metal clasps along the front of her corset come undone. She stands now only in her bloomers and her chemise.

“I haven’t a gown,” she says.

“Then sleep as you are,” Sebastian insists.

He drapes his sleeping robe over the foot of the iron bedframe. A few bruises in various stages of healing mar the bare skin of her arms and her legs – some of them a deep purple, one yellow, and others brown. Along her clavicle is the worst one; it looks to be the size of an outstretched hand, and it is the darkest of them all. Sebastian’s palm lingers above it.

“What happened here?” he asks.

She watches his hand.

“An Ashwinder,” she says.

“Did it hurt?”

What a stupid thing to ask.

“Yes.”

“Did you kill him?”

There’s that flash of green again.

“I did.”

His arm falls back to his side. Of course, the Ashwinder was dead. Otherwise, she’d not be here to speak of him. Sebastian ought to feel anger towards the one who inflicted such injury upon her, and yet he takes solace in knowing her capabilities. He knows better than to fear for her – one more trouble to keep him up at night.

He knows better, because he taught her how to be brave.

“It looks worse than it feels,” she insists, wincing, as she traces the outline of the nasty bruise. “It’s tender.”

Just when he believes she is sobering again, her knees buckle.

“Here, sit down,” Sebastian tells her as he pulls her towards the bed; he yanks back the quilt for her to slip beneath.

“I’m just a bit dizzy is all,” Daphne claims whilst settling against the pillow. “I think it’s the wine.”

“All the more reason for you to rest.”

He tries not to acknowledge the sudden warmth pooling in his belly as he slides in next to her and casts the blanket atop their bodies – hers considerably less clad. He has no right, he thinks, to see her in such a way. Satisfied on his back, Sebastian turns his head to look to the window just past Daphne. The conditions of the blizzard have shrouded the quidditch pitch now. In the next room, the windows portray an unclouded, starry night sky. The bedroom may as well exist in its own realm.

Daphne shifts beside him. Her head falls upon his chest, and her left arm drapes over his torso. Unprompted, but absolutely sure that it is the right move, Sebastian lifts the leg closest to her. She threads both of hers around the appendage and pulls him close. His tongue sticks to the roof of his dry mouth – his ears ring and crackle when he tries to swallow the nothingness at the back of his throat. The heat is almost unbearable now; perhaps he ought to clamber through the window and burrow himself in the snow just outside and hibernate away forever.

He'd much rather tuck his arm beneath her head and rest his hand on her bare shoulder. His other hand, he decides, feels better threaded with the one across his stomach. She squeezes his fingers and sighs.

“Thank you,” she mumbles against the linen of his nightshirt. “You smell nice.”

“Do I?”

“Mm-hmm. Like the forest.”

She closes her eyes now, willing herself to drift off. Sebastian will not follow – not until she has first, just as he promised to no one other than himself. Truly, though, he doesn’t mind the wait. He’d very much like to savor the feeling of her body so close, in this room that he can only describe as home. It is, as they say, where the heart is. And this heart in his arms stood by his side from the very beginning, even when he feared that he had surely lost her for good. Just as he lost his sister (the grave of his uncle can attest to that) and now Ominis is becoming nothing more than a scent on the breeze and an occasional salutation.

Perhaps he can chalk it up to the dramatism of youth and the perpetual exaggeration of a boy’s emotions, or perhaps it is the sincerity of his spirit – Sebastian is not sure which it is – but he can say with absolute certainty that a life without Daphne is simply no longer one that he has any interest in. As friends, as lovers, it matters not; so long as she is a part of him for the remainder of his days. And this bedroom will only feel like home so long as she shares it too.

She shudders. Her breathing grows heavy and her lips part. Her grasp of his hand slackens. She is asleep at last. Sebastian closes his eyes now, with something of a smile frozen upon his face.

If only such a moment could last forever.

part one of four

#sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow x you #sebastian sallow x player character #slytherin x hufflepuff #sebastian sallow #hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt #harry potter

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ginkgo-phyta · 2 months

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writing this dom!spencer fic* is proving more difficult than anticipated...it's feeling quite ooc but imma continue to push through for y'all!! however...been mulling over a quick sorta-sub!spencer piece i think i want to write out quickly :P so keep your eyes peeled if you're into that

(*also sorry for not having it out yet, i keep coming home from work absolutely exhausted hahahaha)

#daphne babbles #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid smut

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buckysgrace · 1 month

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29. Linda

Part 29 to Every Little Thing!

The next day was smoother. He ignored his phone and was pleasantly surprised that he didn’t have Roy breaking his door down. Things felt a little smoother, like things were finally going to get better.

He pushed the stroller around while Daphne searched through her list on her phone, marking off the various things that she needed. Grocery shopping wasn’t the most extravagant thing, but he liked doing it with her. He liked to watch her, how she’d wrinkle her eyebrows together in concentration and squint her eyes as she tried to examine which brand she wanted.

“C’mere,” He grinned as he picked up a fussy Knox, “Oh is that better?” He laughed, watching the way he stretched his little limbs out. He rubbed his fists against his eyes, roughly brushing the sleep away before he yawned widely.

“Do you want to get diapers?” Daphne asked him suddenly, turning to face him as she gripped their very full cart. He kept his features stoic, doing his best not to laugh. He knew why she was trying to get rid of him. She liked to explore the store on her own. He was sure he’d be hunting her down in a few minutes.

“We can’t get it together?” He asked her curiously, bouncing Knox as he began to coo. He had apparently found his voice while he was sleeping last night. He kept making little sounds, shrilling loudly in excitement.

“It’s all the way in the back,” Daphne laughed as she leaned over the shopping cart, “Please. There’s nothing else we need over there. I just need to get the vegetables and we’re done.” She smiled sweetly, her expression like honey as she batted her eyelashes at him.

“Yeah, yeah,” He answered a second later, “Leaving us with the dirty job, huh?” He teased Knox, tickling his little tummy before he headed towards the back of the store. It was fairly busy despite being so early in the morning.

Knox babbled along, cooing loudly as Gator searched for the right brand of diapers. He nodded his head along, answering to Knox’s sounds before he picked out the right one. He balanced the diapers in his free hand, grinning at the way Knox had successfully gripped his sunglasses.

He furrowed his eyebrows together and blew little bubbles from between his lips as he delicately balanced the sunglasses in his little fists. Gator was a little worried he’d toss them on the floor, but he did a good job of holding onto them tightly. Gator held him a little closer, suddenly aware of how fast he was growing.

“You alright?” He asked as he approached Daphne again, noticing how she was slightly paler than usual. He almost wondered if she was having another wave of morning sickness until he noticed how tightly her features were knitted together.

“Yeah,” She responded as she looked over her shoulder, “Some guy just came up. He asked about you?” She questioned him as she held her thumb over her shoulder, looking confused as she shook her head gently.

“Oh yeah?” He asked softly as he wiped away the drool from Knox’s mouth. Knox giggled again, bouncing in his arms and shaking his sunglasses around in his free hand.

“He talked funny,” She said a second later, making him freeze, “Kind of like in riddles.” She said a little slower, looking over again as if she was trying to find him. He stopped bouncing Knox as his heart began to hammer roughly inside of his chest.

“What did he say?” He asked gently, feeling his fingers twitch. He had his gun tucked in behind his pants, hidden away for safety. He had an urge to reach for it, to grab her and rush her out of the store.

“Just basically said he knew you,” She said as she knitted her eyebrows together, “I think.” She shook her head, still looking confused as she reached her hands out for Knox, who had begun to squirm.

“You didn’t catch what he said?” He tried to sound as casual as he could as he handed over Knox to her. She kissed his head gently, bouncing the little boy as she shrugged her shoulders gently.

“He was hard to understand,” She mumbled, “And I’m awful at riddles. You know this.” She laughed like it was funny, but all he could feel was the large hole slowly dragging him further down. He was fucked. It hadn’t been Munch he killed the other night, it had been someone else.

He felt the air in his lungs turn to ice as he suddenly came to the horrible realization that Munch knew who Daphne was. Which meant he probably knew about the twins and where they left. He exhaled roughly, suddenly feeling like he might get sick.

“What’s wrong?” She asked him gently, tilting her head as her expression blossomed into worry. He shook his head quickly, not wanting to scare her. She was delicate at the moment. She didn’t need to worry about anything else.

“Nothing,” He replied, “I was just thinking about who it might be.” He smiled softly, doing his best to remain calm as he felt his heart beating roughly inside of his chest. He quickly grabbed the cart, ushering her along as she pushed the stroller behind him. He looked around carefully, moving slowly just to be safe.

“Is he some new friend?” She asked him a second later, moving a little faster to keep up with him. He started to unload the cart quickly, wanting to get out of here as quickly as possible. He knew the house would no longer be safe. He didn’t know where to go. If he told Roy, he’d be pissed. This was his own fault.

“No,” He answered quickly, “Nothing like that.” He stacked it all on the belt, his hands shaking as he tried to get his nerves to settle down. They were okay. For just right now they were fine.

He worked fast to take the bags out, not really caring where they landed as he tossed them inside. Daphne looked at him in confusion but he ignored all of her questions. Out. They needed to get out.

“We’re not going home?” She asked him a few minutes later, glancing out the window as he pulled into her parents house. He’d made his mind up on the way there. It wasn’t safe to go back to the house. Not yet.

“Not yet,” He said quickly, “In a few minutes. I have a surprise.” He tried to make it sound better than it was. He didn’t want to tell her that someone was out for them, for him. He had a feeling Munch wouldn’t care how he hurt him.

“Oh?” She blinked, looking at him in confusion as he unlocked the car. He had plans to toss all of the groceries inside of her parents house, then leave her and the twins there while he got their bags ready. It was too dangerous for her to follow him.

“I thought we could go ahead and take a vacation,” He mumbled underneath his breath, “Somewhere warm, yeah? Doesn’t that sound nice?” He asked her, turning to face her in hopes that she took the bait. She drifted her eyes across his features as she slowly nodded her head in agreement.

“Okay,” She replied gently, “So soon? I mean, like right now?” She shook her head in concern, looking like she couldn’t make sense of what was happening. He squeezed her hands gently.

“Right now.” He told her seriously, nodding his head before he hopped out of the truck. He scooped all of the bags up in both of his hands before he walked up the porch, moving quickly as he brought everything inside.

“Oh,” Ruby smiled as she looked at him bewildered, “I didn’t need any groceries.” She said at last, still smiling as she watched him drop them off.

“We don’t need them,” He said softly, “Well, except for the baby stuff. We’re going to go on a little vacation.” He explained as quickly as he could, still having no idea where they would go. He could figure it out on the drive there. They just needed to get out of here for a while.

“A vacation?” Bruce looked at him curiously as he wrinkled his eyebrows together, “Does Roy know?” He asked a second later, though Gator was fairly certain he knew the answer. He pulled a stiff smile to his lips before he shook his head no.

“Heat of the moment,” He said at last, “Do you care to keep Daphne and the twins busy?” He asked, glancing out the window to notice her struggling to get the diaper bag out. Ruby perked up at that.

“No, we don’t mind,” She answered eagerly as she put her jacket on, “I’ll go help.” She said quickly, sounding excited as she left to help. Bruce lingered for a moment before he slid his coat on.

“What’s with the rush?” He asked finally, his features relaxed as if he knew enough to not get mad. Gator chewed on his bottom lip, not wanting anyone else to get hurt.

“She just deserves it.” He answered simply as he walked out the door. His hands were still shaking so he shoved them into the pockets of his leather jacket. Daphne looked towards him, her eyes softening as he approached.

“Where are you going?” She asked gently, leaning against him slowly. He pressed himself closer against her, soaking in her warmth as he thought about how screwed up the situation was. He had fucked up. He was scared. He just didn’t want her to know that yet. He’d have more than enough time to explain himself on the road.

“I��ll be back,” He responded, looking in at where Ruby and Bruce were taking the kids out of their car seats, “I need to talk to my dad.” He said truthfully. He needed to explain what had happened, why he needed to be gone for some time.

“About the case?” She asked him gently, “Is he mad?” She looked at him worried, wrinkling her eyebrows together as she brushed her fingertips over his jacket. He exhaled roughly.

“No, no,” He shook his head as he lied, “It’s nothing about that. He mentioned something about the barn being in bad shape. I was gonna work on it with him.” He replied instead, hoping that she would believe at least one more lie. He felt terrible lying to her, but it was for her own good.

“Oh,” She replied, “It’s going to collapse?” She looked up at him softly, her blue eyes bright and gleaming as she took him in. He hated himself suddenly. He didn’t want anything to happen to her.

“He thinks so,” He told her softly, “So don’t go around there. I don’t want you to get hurt.” He replied gently, hoping that she knew just how much he was in love with her. It pained him to think about something bad happening to them.

“I don’t want you to get hurt either.” She told him gently as she reached a hand inside of his pocket, then squeezed at his fingers. He nodded his head, feeling a little more reassured at the feeling of her skin against his own.

“I won’t,” He promised her gently, “I’ll be right back. Wait for me here.” He told her instead of asking, fearing what might happen if she went to the house on her own. He exhaled, thinking about how he’d need to get Birdie too.

He walked over towards the ranch, inhaling the brisk cold as it settled inside of his bones. He felt paranoid at the way he kept glancing around, but he was sure something was wrong. Munch had only ever left a symbol before, but that didn’t mean he’d do worse this time around.

He thought that Daphne and the twins would at least be safe around Bruce. Perhaps Munch didn’t know about her family. That could buy him some time. He walked around his cruiser, preferring to keep it parked on the ranch so Daphne wouldn’t have to see when he came and went on his little trips. It was wrong of him.

“Where’s Roy?” He asked Bowman once he approached the property, confused at the lack of people around the property. Bowman leaned against the side of the railing, looking unimpressed as he looked down at him.

“Today’s the debate,” He drew out slowly, “He got Nadine. Out in the barn.” He jerked his head in that direction, making Gator’s mouth go a little slack. He didn’t recall locking her in the barn to be part of their plan.

“Thanks,” He said, inhaling deeply as he shook his head, “Can you have him call me when he gets back?” He asked him, knowing that by the time Roy returned he’d be long gone. He glanced around, wondering if he should take another vehicle to be safe.

“Of course,” Bowman replied, “You look troubled.” He commented, looking like he knew all as Gator scoffed underneath his breath.

“I’m not,” Gator defended himself, “Daphne’s just been sick.” It wasn’t a complete lie. She did have bad morning sickness. He looked away again, feeling like he was wasting time by standing here.

“Maybe she wouldn’t be if you’d stay off of her.” Bowman laughed, looking amused at his own joke as Gator felt his face flush. He rolled his eyes, shaking his head but still a little grateful that Bowman had never said anything about him and Daphne. Bowman had been unlucky enough to catch Gator and Daphne in a very compromising situation a long time ago.

“Thanks,” He mumbled as he rubbed his thumb against his chin, “Is the barn locked? I wanna drop in real quick.”

He could tell by the sounds and the expression on her face that she’d been meddling with something, or trying to at least.

“Shouldn’t you be at the debate?”

“Dad wanted me to hang back,” He mumbled as he approached her, confirming that the chain was in place before he stood in front of her, “What did you tell the FBI?”

“Me? Nothing.”

“I saw you,” He replied quickly, “With those two agents at the hospital.”

“That is a thousand percent on you,” She piped back, “They came to me.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re sloppy as shit,” She answered, sounding more angry as the seconds went on, “And that leaves folks asking questions.”

He stood

“Why were you kidnapped? Why did your house burn down?” She questioned him, “I never told anyone.” She told him, her voice soft as she continued to hold his gaze. He stared at her eyes, feeling like she was being truthful.

He nodded his head in agreement, feeling a little awkward at how he felt like he needed to thank her. He didn’t need the FBI on his case next, not when he was sure Munch was close by. An awkward tension lingered between them as he thought of why he’d come here in the first place.

“Gator, I saw your mom.” She changed the subject first, almost making him feel as if he’d been hit as she chose her topic. He drew his eyes back down to her, shaking his head as he tried to process her words.

“What?” He asked her, sure that he had heard her wrong as he felt his eyebrows furrowing further down on his forehead. There was no way she’d seen his mom. No way. She was gone, long gone.

“Linda. I saw Linda. She’s safe,” Nadine answered quickly, “She didn’t want to leave you. She wouldn’t. If she had the choice. Understand?” She whispered this time around, like it was a secret between the two of them.

He felt his features relaxing for a moment, then hardening back together as he thought over her words. If Linda was nearby, they would’ve heard something from her. She was gone. He didn’t know why, but he was sure that she was gone. Never to return. Nadine was taking him as some sort of fool.

“He was going to kill her, “ She continued on as he looked around the room in disbelief at her words. She had to know that it wasn’t true, “So she had to go to save herself. But she was coming back for you. I was bringing her back.” He kept blinking, kept shaking his head as it became too overwhelming for him.

“Just-,” He shook his head, his tongue feeling numb in his mouth, “What the fuck are you talking about?” His arms felt like they weighed a hundred tons as she leaned forward to clasp her hands around his left wrist. He took a few steps forward, leaning down closer to her despite his own protests. He felt like he was a teenager again, sitting by his window and hoping that he’d see his mom come strolling down their driveway.

“I’m saying, your mom, she made it. She got away and she’s safe and I can take you there, if you help me,” She told him quickly, desperately, “But we have to go right now.” He stared down at her, feeling a rush of emotions hitting him. Nadine seemed genuine, but perhaps that was the worst part of it. She was putting on an act, trying to knock him down a few pegs to make him weak again. He wasn’t weak. He knew better.

“You’re such a liar,” He told her, “You never told the truth, not once in your life.” He spat out, reminding her of just how badly she’d lied to him. She had lied about taking him with her, just as she was lying now.

“I swear I can take you to her.” Her eyes were glossy, glazed over as she continued to dig her fingers into his flesh. She was hanging on to the hope that he would give in, that he would betray his dad. He had no reason to believe her.

He ripped his hand free, feeling even more on edge suddenly, “No. You’re not going anywhere.” He was going to leave her here to rot, just like she had done to him. He turned away, moving back towards the door. It had been a bad idea to come here.

“I have to get to my daughter,” She said at last, sounding more desperate than before, “You can’t understand that because you don’t have one, but she needs me.” She looked like she was close to tears this time.

“I have a daughter,” He said finally as he looked back at her, “And I’m sure your kid would be better off without you anyways.” He was still angry with her, still bitter after all these years. She deserved what she got, just as he had deserved all the punishments from Roy while she was gone. It was only fair.

“Did you ever wonder why you’re not named Roy?” Her question came out loud as she moved to her side on the bed, staring at him expectantly with flames in her eyes. He lingered, even though he knew he should move on, “Huh? You’re the fifth boy in a long line of first-born Roys. Your name’s supposed to be Roy, but your dad said he took one look at you in the hospital; this pale, puny lizard and he knew you’d be a loser for life.”

He stood there, exhaling harshly as he absorbed all of the information. It hurt to think about, but deep down he knew it was true. His dad never explained to him why his name was different, only that it had fit him. His heart began to beat slowly inside of his chest as he felt his blood heating up in a fresh wave of anger.

“He said he’d rather have his name die out than have you carry it,” She carried on with venom in her voice, “Ask him.” She challenged, fully knowing that he wouldn’t be able to do it. He didn’t want to know. If he asked, he was sure that Roy would be honest. He hadn’t proved himself to be a good son yet and now here he was, running off with his family as soon as his mistakes caught up to him. It was pathetic.

“Hope you die in here, Nadine,” He told her, staring ahead where he could make the snow from the wooden planks of the door, “Never see your daughter again.” He spat back, feeling the venom curling inside of his own chest. It was always the same with them, even when they were younger. They aimed to kill.

“No you don’t.” She said softly, her features and gaze softening as she watched him. He didn’t mean it because he wouldn’t want to be in her position. He didn’t want to lose his kids either, but he kept his tongue still from rolling the remorses free. She didn’t have to know how he felt.

The door slammed open, taking them both by surprise as he jolted back. Daphne’s features were wrinkled tightly together in anger, her eyes flashing as she parted her lips to say something as he felt his heart slowly coming to a stop.

She met his widened brown eyes, his hands coming forward to stop her as she stepped inside. The angry look on her features faded into shock as she looked around. Nadine sat forward quickly, shouting something out as Gator quickly gripped Daphne’s bicep and dragged her across the wooden floor.

“That’s-,” Daphne paused, her feet dragging as Gator pushed her out of the door, “Was that Nadine?” She breathed out, looking taken aback as she blinked her eyes quickly. She stared up at Gator, her jaw going slack as she watched him lock the door.

“What are you doing here?” He hissed in response, dragging her far away so she couldn’t listen to Nadine from inside the barn. He closed his eyes, knowing how badly this would be. She had seen her.

“Gator,” She breathed in deeply, “Was that Nadine? Chained up?” She continued to shake her head, staring back at the barn as if she had imagined it all. He wished she had.

“C’mon,” He pulled her forward, “It’s not important.” He tried to dismiss her worries, at least for right now as he pulled the cruiser door open for her.

“You said you weren’t going to get her.” She stared up at him in alarm, her blue eyes wide like she was begging him to tell her otherwise. He looked back at her, feeling at a loss of where to go from this. It was bad. This was all bad.

“I never said that.” He dismissed her, shaking his head as the frustration grew inside of him. This wasn’t how he wanted her to find out. He glanced around, feeling like it was even more urgent for them to leave.

“Oh my God,” She breathed in deeply, looking like she was beginning to break down again, “Oh my God. What do we do? We have to free her. Maybe if we let her go she won’t talk about you. She’ll act like this never happened.” She held her hands up to her head as she spoke, her eyes glazed over as she shook her head back and forth.

“Daphne-,” Gator sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he quickly shook his head in frustration, “Just get in the car.” He told her quickly, begging her so they could go. There was too much to explain to her right now. They just needed to leave.

“What’s going on?” She asked him seriously, her voice shaking as he shook his head once again. He rubbed at his jaw.

“Get in the car.” He told her firmly this time, watching as she quickly ducked inside. He exhaled, making sure that she was safely inside before he shut the door behind her.

“Oh Jesus,” She breathed out as she sat down, covering her face with her hands, “What are you doing?” She turned towards him, her eyes bright as the tears strolled down his cheeks. He looked at her, dumbfounded with himself. He didn’t want to make her upset.

He stared ahead for a moment, really not sure what he was doing. All of the lines had become blurred, mixed as one as he took a deep inhale. He wished he could take it all back suddenly. He didn’t want her to get mixed up into this mess. It was too late now.

“Gator,” She turned towards him, looking at him seriously, “Do you realize what could happen? Have you thought about what you’re bringing our kids into?” She shook her head, wrinkling her eyebrows together as she watched him. He rested against the seat, feeling at a loss.

“I’m not bringing them into anything.” He responded, mumbling underneath his breath as he wished it to be true. Everything was fucked. They needed to leave. Right now.

“They need you,” She told him sternly, “And I can’t be a part of whatever this is.” She moved her hands about, still stressed out as he drove back down the driveway. It was close enough to walk, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to try and trudge her through the snow in this state. “What does that mean?” He asked her softly, feeling a little worried at her words. He didn’t do all of this just to lose her.

“Whose that?” She asked him instead, sniffling as she faced forward. He pulled into the front of the ranch slowly, feeling irritated before he hopped out of the car. He slammed the door behind him, feeling irritated as his anger swam inside of him.

“You need to drive away,” Gator huffed out as he walked with meaning towards the front of the gate, “I’m going to shoot you for trespassin’.” He warned, still feeling the feelings of anger from his previous conversation with Nadine.

“Not until I talk to Mrs. Lyon.” Witt answered, looking determined as he balanced awkwardly on his sore leg. Gator honestly didn’t know what he was thinking coming out here on his own. Did he not know what Roy could do?

He took it upon himself, shooting his next warning into the middle of Witt’s windshield. Witt jumped, scattering back as Gator lazily pointed his gun towards him next. He didn’t think about Daphne in the car, knowing that there was no going back now. She would see who he really was.

“Next one goes in your head.” He said gruffly, watching the way Witt slowly gathered his senses and pulled his car door open. Gator waited, needing him to leave before he did something stupid. He was too on edge at the moment.

“I know you don’t think they’re coming, consequences, they’re almost here.” Witt spoke up again, breathing out his own little warning before he settled into his seat. It was enough to make Gator scoff. He was already fucked. He knew that. He didn’t care about what the law was at the moment. It was just about putting as much distance as possible between his family and Munch.

“Bye bye,” He mocked, ensuring that Witt got in his car before he turned around, “You see him again you shoot on sight.” He told the two men that were waiting, looking rather dumb at the tight way they clutched their rifles to their chest. Sometimes, Gator didn’t understand the point of Roy’s security. It was clear some of them had never shot a gun before.

He got into the car, taking off quickly after Witt’s car. He turned in the other direction, heading towards the William’s farm as Daphne’s quick breaths filled the silent car. He gripped his fingers around the steering wheel, knowing that she wouldn’t look at him the same again.

“You just shot at his car!” She replied in horror, her eyes wide as she stared at him, “Why would you do that?” She asked him curiously, making him shrug as he brought the vape up to his lips. He drove down towards their house, wondering if she’d even want him to go with her now. He wouldn’t blame her.

“He’s on private property.” He said at last, though his voice went raw for a few seconds. He kept his gaze straight ahead, too afraid to turn towards her in case he broke down. He couldn’t. Not just yet. There was no point in crying. It would all be over soon.

He left the car first, leaving her to stumble behind him as he unlocked the front door and went inside. He raced up the steps, feeling like he might collapse if he stopped moving. The anger was fading away, the adrenaline as all he was suddenly left with was Roy’s voice nagging in the back of his mind.

“What are we doing?” She asked him softly, watching as he shoved various baby clothes into the many diaper bags that they had. He wasn’t sure how they’d bring everything, but he’d figure it out. He reminded himself of the money, knowing that could get them fairly far as well.

“We’re leaving.” He hated the way his voice shook, how he had to clear it and blink away the blurry gaze in his eyes. He feared that she would change her mind, to say that she wouldn’t go with him.

“Leaving?” She asked him incredulously, “But we need to help-,”

“Daphne,” He snapped, not meaning to but fully overwhelmed, “Please. Just-,” He inhaled deeply, “Help me out. I’ll explain everything after. Please.” He told her seriously, feeling a little sick as he stared at her. She parted her lips, nodding her head softly as she moved to help him.

She took his hands, squeezing them tightly as he continued to will himself to stop shaking. He closed his eyes, counting his breathing as he tried to ignore how overwhelmed he was. He was going to be fine. They were going to be fine.

“We can leave,” She said softly as she moved a hand up to cup his face, “But you know you need to free Nadine. You know what’s right.” She told him gently, bringing his chin up towards him as he slowly nodded his head in agreement. He knew what was right.

“Do you hate me?” He asked her, worried about what she might say. She looked at him for the longest time as he searched for the disappointment in her eyes. He didn’t see any, just concern.

“No,” She said softly as she looked at him, “I don’t hate you, but you need to fix this first. Then we leave.” She nodded her head, giving him a reassuring squeeze before she helped him finish packing. He lingered against her touch, wondering how he could be so stupid.

“I’ll take this out,” He mumbled softly as he took the bags, “Do you want to start on our stuff?” He asked her, watching the way she held eye contact with him. She brushed her hands against one of the quilts on the back of the rocking chair.

“Only if you promise that you’ll tell me everything once we leave.” She said softer, watching intensely as he nodded his head in agreement. He had plans to do so anyway, but he could promise this one thing for her.

“I will,” He told her as he kissed the side of her cheek, “I’ll be right back.” He carried their things down, pausing for a second before he headed to the basement. He swooped up the bag of money, then the guns that he had hidden away. He figured that he’d need both of them.

He walked outside, enjoying the cool breeze against his warm skin as he carefully set everything outside on the porch. He stared at the keys in his hands, then turned towards the barn that seemed very far away suddenly. Nadine didn’t deserve to suffer. He would free her. She deserved to see her daughter, even if she didn’t keep her promise to him.

He cursed underneath his breath as he slid down their few steps, almost falling onto the ground before he balanced himself again. He barely had time to stand up straight before he felt something crash against his face, the pain spreading through his body before everything went black.

#Gator Tillman #Gator TIllman x oc #Gator Tillman x fem!oc #Gator Tillman x original character #Gator Tillman x female original character #Gator Tillman series #Gator Tillman fluff #Gator Tillman angst #Gator Tillman smut #Dad!Gator Tillman

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stars-of-kyber · 10 months

Note

Oh how I absolutely loved the Kanthony + 38 prompt. Thank you thank you thank you!!!

Just one request pls pls pls - can we see this same prompt but with a role reversal I.e., with Kate being the one fainting and after they’re dating? Pls - it would make my whole year 🥹🤌🫶

Hello anon!

Thank you very much! I'm so glad you liked it!

Just lemme say that this got a bit out of hand... But I think it's cute so I hope you like it! I called it This Time We're Falling Together

This is a kind of Sequel to This story! It's better if you read that and then this, but it can be read as a standalone as well!

Enjoy this mess!

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Kathani Sharma’s fiancé was annoying and overprotective. And a hoverer. And a bloody hypocrite.

She loved the man with all her heart, really did, but by God, sometimes he did his damnedest to irritate her!

She had a nasty stomach bug, courtesy of little Augie Basset. Simon had been really sick and Daphne called Kate desperately, begging her soon-to-be sister-in-law to watch the baby as she took her husband to the A&E. The younger woman was aware that Kate was home from the gallery and she knew Kate wanted to rest and see some details about her upcoming wedding. Daph would never bother Kate on her free day if there was another option but her mother was also down with something and Augie's usual sitter was out of the country on holiday. It was down to her or Eloise by this point.

Kate really didn't mind. She loved her soon-to-be nibbling and Augie was a delightful little thing. At 10 months old, he was trying to stand on his feet and he was starting to try and form words. She secretly rejoiced the chance to have some one-on-one time to try and get the boy to say something similar to "Auntie Katie" before he said "Uncle Ant". She was already at a disadvantage since her fiancé's name was already much easier for a baby to babble than hers. She needed all the time she could get.

Newton was always excited when Augie was around. The first time she took him to Violet's for family brunch after Augie had been born, Kate was a bit scared the dog and the baby might not mingle well. Newton could be rough when he was excited and the puppy could feel left out with much of the attention on the new baby.

Turns out her worries were for nothing. Newton had wiggled his little chubby butt all the way to where the four-month-old was resting in his carrier. Kate held on tight to the leash, in case her dog did something that might hurt Auggie and Simon was standing close as he told her to let him take a sniff. And so Newton did. He smelled the baby curiously for a few moments before realising it was friendly and giving it a nice sloppy lick to the head, to little Augie's delight. And that had been that.

Unfortunately, Augie was fussy the entire afternoon. He cried whenever Kate tried to set him down, clinging to her T-shirt with little chubby fingers, and he hadn't taken much of the bottle she had tried to feed him. Her sister-in-law had informed Kate he had been sickly the past week but he had been to his paediatrician and was slowly getting better, so Kate hadn't been much phased.

Anthony had come home that day to find his fiancée on the couch with his nephew cuddling into her chest, both of them as asleep as it would get, Newton had wiggled himself at the crook of her arm, his snout pressed against the baby's side as he wagged his tail to Anthony.

In the end, Simon had a stomach bug, Daphne had thanked her profusely for watching Augie all afternoon and Anthony had sent a photo of Kate, Augie and Newton to the family group chat with the caption 'Who's babysitting who?', which had prompted a long discussion on how clearly the corgi was the one true nanny in the pic. It had been a lovely afternoon.

A few days later, Kate woke up with a sore body, a dry mouth and nausea rolling over her in waves. She bolted from bed, the world threatening to collapse under her wobbly legs, and emptied the meagre content of her stomach into the toilet, Anthony following behind her with a worried frown already twisting his face.

Apparently, the stomach bug Augie Basset had passed to his father and grandmother and had gotten Kate too. She and all of the inhabitants of Bridgerton House but Hyacinth, although Anthony assured her his baby sister almost never got sick at all. She hadn't gotten chickenpox the summer three of her siblings had it and she was the only member of the family who had never been down with the flu. Apparently, the only health-related issues Hyacinth Bridgerton was capable of having were self-inflicted ones, such as a broken arm and some stitches to the head.

According to Violet, Eloise had taken control of the upstairs bathroom, Greg was curled into a ball under his comforter with stomach cramps, and Frannie was running a temperature and couldn't keep any food down. Hyacinth had already called her big brother to take her out to eat because she couldn't stand living off chicken soup and crackers anymore and Violed did not allow the 10-year-old to run the cooker without adult supervision, and no one close to adulthood was in any condition of doing so.

Kate could relate. The idea of a nice meal that wasn't clear broth or toast seemed wonderful in her head, although her stomach protested at the thought. She'd taken some sick days, to Benedict's most utter delight. But she'd only done it because apparently whatever Augie gave her spread pretty easily and she couldn't risk contaminating other people but Anthony's brother would not hear of it.

"First, the two of you are using all your holiday leave and now Kate's even taking sick days!" He had laughed through the call. "Love really can perform miracles, I guess."

The day Benedict discovered Kate and Anthony were planning to travel abroad for their honeymoon, he'd stared at her as if they'd told him they had decided to quit their jobs and move to Antarctica.

"What?" She asked with a raised eyebrow as Ben stared open-mouthed.

"I'm sorry, did you just say you talked to Mr Griphins about using your holiday leave after the wedding?"

"I'm going on my honeymoon." She scoffed, turning back to the planner in front of her. "We're going to travel."

"Willingly?!" Kate blinked at her future brother-in-law as if he had gone crazy. "Both you and Anthony are willingly using all your holiday leave?"

"I'm not that bad!"

"When was the last time you took a holiday?" Ben interrupted before she could reply. "That wasn't either mandatory or an emergency?" Suddenly, her shoes became quite interesting and Benedict couldn't even decipher what was her reply. "Come again?"

"I haven't, alright?!" She rolled her eyes, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "But we are going. We're taking a tour around Italy, all the way from Piemonte to Sicily. We're going skiing and wine-tasting and seeing beautiful art and eating great food."

"That sounds fishy. Does Anthony know that?"

"He suggested it."

"He what?!"

Kate's boss had also been shocked when he got a call from her saying she needed to use up some of her sick days. Was everything okay? Was she in the hospital? Did someone die?

Kate might be a bit too hard on herself, but she refused to be a health hazard. So she stayed curled in bed, feeling her body begin building up a temperature but too tired and aching to actually get up and check. Her stomach was in knots and only taking toast with a little smear of marmalade and a very softened version of Mary's Chicken noodles soup.

Anthony had worked from home the first day Kate came down with her stomach bug and he had tried to take some days off to take care of her, but his fiancée had categorically refused. There was very little he'd be able to do from home. The doctors had told both Simon and Violet during their visits to the A&E that it was viral and the way to treat it was to rest, have plenty of fluids, some rest, some vitamin C, and rest and try to eat as much as you could and rest. Did she mention rest? Because her body seemed like it had been run over by a truck and she was exhausted.

There was no logical reason for Anthony to miss work. She'd probably just sleep all day long, getting up to go to the loo before rushing back to the comfort of the bed and the less contact between them, the better, before Anthony ended up sick himself. Kate had promised she'd call him in case there was anything wrong, which they both knew she wouldn't do unless she was actually really close to dying.

So Anthony had gone to work after forcing her to take the vitamin tablet and leaving a big bottle of Pedialyte on the nightstand, telling her that bottle better be empty when he called to check on her around lunchtime and that she was supposed to check in as often as she could. Behind her back, he had scheduled with Mary to come to the flat to make sure Kate was alive and breathing, refill her water and try to get her to eat. Maybe it was vengeance from when she had forced him to call a family member after their disastrous first date.

He would pay for that. Not right at that moment, but when she had enough energy to get out of bed, she'd definitely make him pay.

The first few days went by in a blur of exhausted sleep, constant trips to the toilet and stomach pain, but by the 6th day, things were slowly but surely starting to come back to normal.

Despite this, she was still barely keeping anything down and she was still tired, sometimes dizzy, but she could spend more time awake and walk around the house without feeling like she'd walked all the way to India and back when she reached the sofa.

And that's how she found herself alongside Anthony as he took Newton for a short walk on a Saturday morning. Her fiancé, as overprotective as always, had tried to talk her into staying home.

"I need fresh air, Anthony!" She complained, groaning as she leaned down to fit her trainers into her feet. "I've been cooped up here all week, I'm losing my mind! I want to see the sky."

"The sky is as cloudy and grey as always, you can see it from the window." Anthony scoffed. "And we live in London, there's no such thing as fresh air."

Still, Kate was bundled up in her jacket next to him as they strolled down the sideway, her hand tugged into his arm, Newton's leash around his hand, the chubby little pup wiggling his butt as he stopped to sniff every single plant and lamppost he found.

"I'm going back to work on Monday." She told him decisively.

"Are you sure you're well enough for that?" He asked, his face twisted in concern. Kate knew Anthony worried about her just as much as she worried about him. They were both workaholics who tended to ignore their own bodies' needs and demands until they actively broke down, too sick to actually keep going. And because she knew that, she knew her fiancé was just as bad as she was when sick. "You need to rest."

"You wanted to work three days after getting your appendix removed, Anthony." She rolled her eyes at him. "You're the last person who can lecture me on this."

"You're still barely being able to keep anything down." Anthony continued as if she hadn't said anything. "And don't think I don't know you're still feeling some pain in your stomach."

"I'm much better now."

"You've been living on toast and marmalade for a week." He raised his eyebrow, offering his fiancée a pointed look.

"That's not true." She scoffed. "I managed to eat strawberry jam instead of marmalade yesterday and I didn't throw up."

"Oh, alright, now you're so much better!" He rolled his eyes, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "I don't know why I was worried at all."

"I'll be fine, okay?" She pulled herself closer to his side, enjoying the way he wrapped his arm around her shoulder. "I'm already feeling much better." It wasn't a straight-out lie, she did feel better. The much more part was a big exaggeration, though, and she knew her fiancé could see it as well.

"I'm just worried about you," Anthony said, kissing the top of her head gently. "I can't stand the thought of anything happening to you."

"Nothing's going to happen to me, you silly man." Kate laughed as she kissed his cheek and pulled away, bending down to help Newton, who had managed to tangle his lead on his little legs in his excitement to chase after some pigeons. "You're not getting rid of us that easily, Mr Bridgerton. We're here to stay, isn't that right, Newty?" The corgi barked at the sound of his name as if agreeing to what his owner said.

"Good, I put that ring on your finger for a reason." Anthony extended his hand and Kate took it, letting him pull her to her feet.

Nope, big mistake, Kate thought as the edges of her vision faded. She rose way too quickly and her vision turned even darker the moment she was standing on her own two feet. She clutched at Anthony, who, by the look on his face, had noticed something was wrong.

"Kate?" His voice sounded way too far away from her ears as she tried to blink back the spots that were swarming her sight. "Kate!”

And then everything went black.

Kate came back to herself slowly, dizzy and a little nauseous, with a throbbing pain burning against her temple. She was laying on the hard, cobblestone floor of the park. The flaps of her coat, which had been previously quite snug across her chest, were zipped open, making Kate shiver with the wind. Newton was next to her face, sniffing at her and licking the skin of her cheek.

"Stop..." Her voice was weak as she tried to move her hand to push the dog away from her only to find out that her wrist was securely in her fiancé's hand as he murmured something she couldn't really understand under his breath. Her poor, stressed-out fiancé looked like he was very close to having a panic attack. His eyes were wide, and all blood seemed to have left his face. Kate could feel the way his hands were shaking as he tried to feel her pulse. "Anthony..."

"Kate! Kate, are you listening to me?" He came closer to her face, his hands feeling her cheeks. "Kate, please..."

"Newton's licking me." She whined in a weak tone, closing her eyes again. Her head just hurt so bad. But, at least, the dog’s attention stopped. "What happened?"

"You fainted." He told her sternly, the words hitching with fear. "You were fine one moment and the next you went pale and the next thing I knew you collapsed against me." Kate tried to move, to push her body upwards towards a sitting position but Anthony just pushed her shoulders right back. "Stay down."

"M'fine." She grumbled but laid her head back on the concrete anyway, licking her dry lips.

"Yeah, sorry for not believing that at the moment since you said that and then you fainted right after." Anthony scoffed, reaching for his phone. "You're going to lay there until I get the ambulance here."

"No, Anthony!" She reached for the phone in his shaking hands with sluggish moves and clammy fingers. "No ambulance."

"Will you just stay down, please?" His tone was at least an octave higher as he held her down. "You fainted, I'm pretty sure that calls for an ambulance."

"My blood pressure just dropped." Kate closed her eyes, breathing deeply, feeling the dizziness slowly start to ebb away. "No need for an ambulance for that." Kate opened her eyes to see him still with the phone in his hand. "Oh, for God's sake, Anthony. I'll let you take me to the hospital, just put that phone away!"

"You'll go without complaint?" He asked her with a raised eyebrow, his thumb hovering over the call button. "You're not going to get home and tell me you're fine and refuse to go?"

"I promise." Anthony studied her face for a moment, trying to see if she was being honest, and seemed satisfied with what he saw there. His hand drew back from the button, locking his phone and shoving it back into the front pocket of his trousers. "Can I sit up now?"

"No, staying lying down just a bit longer."

Anthony didn't even allow her to go up their flat when they returned from the park, his arm placed carefully around her for support in case she were to feel dizzy again. He just unlocked the car and told her to wait inside while he dropped Newton upstairs and picked up her bag and some water for her parched mouth.

The A&E was as loud and busy as ever, but it did not take that long for them to be sitting in front of an older man with greying hair and heavy-rimmed speckles resting on his nose.

"How can I help you today, Miss..." He looked at the computer screen on his table. "Sharma?"

"I have a stomach bug." She told the doctor with a humourless smile. The man just raised an eyebrow at her. "I've been having some symptoms for about a week and..."

"She fainted in the park." Anthony interrupted her, making her roll her eyes, the doctor looking between the two of them.

"I was getting to that, thank you, Anthony." She huffed. "My blood pressure dropped when I got up too fast. But my fiancé is worried, so now we're here."

"Alright..." The man blinked, his gaze flickering between the two of them for a moment before clearing his throat. "You said your symptoms began last week?"

"About Monday, yes." Kate nodded. "I was babysitting our nephew on Friday and he had a stomach bug, passed it around for half the family."

"Yes, kids are usually the best vectors for these things." He typed something down before looking back at her. "And apart from dizziness, any other symptoms?"

"I mean, just the usual. Some stomachache, my body hurts and I've been really tired. And the nausea, I've thrown up a bit." Anthony scoffed and Kate glared at him. "Would you like to do my medical consultation for me, Anthony?"

"She hasn't been able to keep anything other than toast for a week." He told the doctor, who went back to his typing.

"And chicken noodle soup," Kate added, but the doctor didn't exactly look impressed at that.

"And you fainted."

"Yes."

"Was it a strong dizziness or did you lose consciousness?"

"I... um... I blacked out for a bit, yes." The doctor wrote some more into his computer.

"And for how long were you unconscious?" Kate opened her mouth to reply, closed it and turned to Anthony.

"For about a minute." He told the doctor.

"Right." The doctor pulled away from the table and stood. "If you could hop onto the exam table..."

The doctor listened to her chest, checked her eyes and mouth, and palpated her abdomen, asking Kate to tell him if it hurt. Throughout all of it, Anthony was staring at her, a worried little frown carved into his features and it did not ease once Kate was down from the table, sitting back next to him, her hand reaching out to grab his with a gentle squeeze.

"All the symptoms would match a stomach bug, but I'd like to run a few tests, just to be safe." The man pushed his glasses up his nose. "You're a bit dehydrated so I asked for IV fluids and something for the nausea. Just go down to the nurses' station, they'll take you to get your labs done and then start on your IV while we wait for the results."

Nausea IV meds were, in Kate's humble opinion, one of the best things invented by mankind. Within 30 minutes, Kate was feeling better than she had all week and Anthony had even managed to convince her to eat a bit of a chicken sandwich he managed to get in the hospital's food stall. Her mouth didn't feel as dry and her stomach didn't feel like it was ready to push every single drop of its content out at any second.

Despite the two hours sitting in the waiting room, Kate was in almost a good mood when the doctor called them back into his small exam room. She was ready for the man to tell her fiancé she was just going through a nasty stomach bug, then hopefully prescribe her some more of that nice nausea medication she could take at home so she could just slowly go back to her normal life.

"So your labs came back and there's nothing here that indicates any type of a severe infection..."

"See?!" Kate turned to Anthony with a triumphant smile. If she had to sit through being poked around with needles and sitting in a waiting room for hours, at least she could have the satisfaction of rubbing at her fiancé's face that she was right all along. "I told you it was just a stomach bug!"

"Not quite..." Both Kate and Anthony turned so quickly to face the doctor that it was a wonder their necks hadn't snapped.

"I'm sorry, what do you mean by not quite?"

"It's possible you actually have a stomach bug since many people in your family seem to be presenting similar symptoms, but I believe some of these symptoms you have been experiencing might actually be because of... a hormonal imbalance you're going through now."

"Excuse me, a what?!" Anthony reached out, lacing his fingers with Kate's, his thumb running circles over the back of her hand.

"You see, your body is going through a mass production of this hormone called human chorionic gonadotropin which is...."

"Doc, please." Kate interrupted the man with a raise of her hand, her patience running a bit short. She hated when doctors talked to her in a way she couldn't really follow. "I have a degree in Fine Arts. He's an accountant. Between the two of us, we speak about 5 different languages and none of them is the one you're using right now. We're gonna need you to be a bit more clear here please because I didn't understand half of what you just said."

The doctor looked at the two of them across the desk before taking a deep breath.

"You're pregnant."

It took a moment for Kate to process the words that had just come out of the older man's mouth and when they finally settled in her brain, she just let out a loud disbelieving laugh.

"No, no, that can't be right." She shook her head with a chuckle. Anthony's hand had gone lax around hers, his palm resting against her leg. It seemed he still needed a moment to process the words. "I can't be pregnant I..." Kate choked on the words, the laughter dying in her mouth. "We weren't trying and... I mean... I can't be, can I...?"

Kate turned to Anthony, expecting some sort of answer, either in agreement or disagreement, but he was just staring at her with wide, surprised eyes.

They had discussed the idea of children, of course, they had. It would be stupid walking into a life together without discussing what expectations each of them had of what this life would be. They both had believed for a long time that love and a family would never be in the cards for them, but then they met and Kate could not imagine not wanting a little human that was half her, half him. She had seen him with Hyacinth and Greg and baby Augie and she knew it was something she needed in her life.

But it was something they agreed on for the future. They'd wanted to settle into their married life and enjoy each other as a newlywed couple before beginning to plan for a baby. They had time. Or so they thought.

"When did you have your last period?" Kate furrowed her eyebrows at the question. When had it been? She… Why, she couldn't really remember!

"I don't know… I..." She wracked her brain for the last time she had to reach for the tampon box she kept under their master bathroom sink. "I have a really irregular period because of my erratic work schedule so I..."

"It was at brunch at Mum's," Anthony spoke up suddenly, turning to Kate. "Before her birthday, on the 18th. You asked Daph for tampons because you didn't have any but she didn't have any either so you had to get pads with Frannie..."

"Because Eloise uses a cup, yes!" Kate nodded. "So, what, almost... oh." The doctor raised an eyebrow at her.

"That was almost three months ago." Anthony finished for her.

"That would put you between 8 to 10 weeks, I suppose." The doctor told her patiently. “The usual calculation is from the last period. But an ultrasound can give you a better estimate.”

"Holy shit," Kate whispered, tugging on her hair. A baby? She was pregnant? They were having a baby? God, she hoped they had Anthony's hair.

"I guess we're not going wine-tasting in Italy anymore."

The entire ride home from the hospital was quiet, both of them absorbed in their own thoughts. The doctor had sent her home with a prescription for nausea medication, a few vitamins and a reminder for her to schedule a visit to her OB/GYN, as soon as possible. And if she was back to being unable to keep food or fluids down, she was to come back to the hospital at once to be admitted.

They were having a baby. Kate was growing a human being inside her… Hers and Anthony's little human being. It didn't really feel real yet. She barely knew what to feel at all.

Anthony hadn’t spoken a word on the way home, but his hand hadn't left Kate for a single moment since they had stepped out of the little exam room in a daze. He kept continuously in contact with her, either with his fingers on her lower back as they walked to the parked car or his palm on her thigh as he drove. Or how he offered her his hand to help her out of the car as he always did.

Kate toed her trainers off by the side of the door before collapsing into the sofa with a deep, tired sigh. Anthony dropped down next to her while Newton climbed up after him, wiggling himself between them.

"So…," he started, but the sound trailed off and no other word followed. Kate understood the feeling. She didn't know what to say either.

"Yeah, so..." She turned to the side to see Anthony's eyes studying her face and they held their gaze. It was quiet for a few moments while they looked deep into each other's eyes before both of them burst out laughing. It was a strange laugh, something between wonder and surprise and nerves. Kate herself wasn’t exactly sure why she was laughing at all, she just knew she couldn't really stop. Perhaps the shock of the news, added to the past two weeks of nausea and exhaustion had finally made her brain short-circuit.

They laughed together for a full minute, unable to contain it, until it slowly dwindled to a stop. Kate was out of breath, her chest heaving up and down with the effort to breathe regularly, but the smile on her lips refused to go away. She didn't even want it to. Next to her, Anthony's shoulders were slowly stopping to shake, his head thrown back, his hands raking through his hair as he always did when he didn't know what to do with them.

He really was the most handsome man she'd ever seen, wasn't he? Their child would be spectacular.

"God..." Kate's head lulled to the side, resting against her fiancé's shoulder, his fingers reaching out to twist themselves with hers. "A baby..."

"Yeah..." Anthony's mouth brushed against the top of her head, sounding awed. "What now?"

"Do you think we can get a refund on the ski park?" Kate could feel the rumble of his chuckle as his arms wrapped around her tightly. "Oh God, and the winery tour..."

"I can't believe that's what you're thinking about right now."

"I don't..." Kate shook her head, turning to bury her nose against his neck. "I don't even know what to think, at the moment."

"I get that." Silence took over for a couple of moments before Kate shifted, turning to watch her fiancé, worrying her lower lip between her teeth.

"Is this..." She breathed in deeply, steadying herself. "Do you... Do you want to do this?"

"What? Have a baby with you?" Anthony turned to look at her as if she had gone insane. "I thought we had agreed on three kids."

"Yeah, but one day in the future, not like in about 7 months' time!"

"Is this not something you want to do now? Because we..." The quiet worried tone of his voice had Kate close to shaking.

"No! No, I..." She grabbed into his arms, her fingers digging into his flesh with more strength than necessary. "I mean, yes, I do, I want to, I want this…it's just... Ugh!" Kate shook her head desperately, unable to get her head put the words together properly. "This wasn't the plan! We had decided on something and that’s not it. The wedding and the trip are..."

"Kate! Kate, look at me." Anthony's hands cupped her cheeks on either side of her face, tilting her face gently towards his. "Fuck the plan!" Kate chuckled, her eyes filling with tears. "I want everything with you. I love our house, our things next to each other in the closet, your mess of paint boxes in the office next to my books and even your stupid dog.” Newton looked up as if aware he was being mentioned, his tail wagging and his tongue hanging outside his mouth happily. “I want everything you're willing to give me. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and start a family with you. Yeah, sure the timing isn't exactly perfect..."

"I'm going to have to have my dress altered." Kate moaned, making Anthony chuckle.

"You still have three dress fittings before the wedding." He kissed her forehead and then the tip of her nose. "Sure I would have preferred to have planned this in advance, and not have it sprung on us two months before our wedding, but still." His lips found hers in a sweet, gentle kiss. "All the way here I couldn't stop thinking what our child would be like."

"What, like a stubborn workaholic?" Kate asked, a cheeky smile blooming between the tears running down her face. God, she loved that man so much it was ridiculous.

"I mean... It's really very possible." Anthony snorted, running his fingers through his hair. "We're going to have to work on that, won't we?"

"Well, I guess the forgetting to eat and skipping meals thing will have to be out of the cards, at least for me." Kate sighed, enjoying the feel of her fiancé's arms around her, joking together, just the two of them. Well, three with Newton still happily stuffed between them on the sofa. And four, if you counted the baby. Their baby. The idea brought tears back to Kate's eyes. That hormonal, emotional thing had barely started and she already hated it.

"On the other hand, you and I are very skilled at erratic sleep schedules."

"I suppose we'll be putting your insomnia to the test really soon, huh?" She hummed.

"Why do you think I used to stay up until the early hours of the morning with Hyacinth when she was little?"

"That's true." Kate nodded pensively. "At least one of us will have some idea of what they're doing."

"Kate." Anthony pulled away from her, tugging on her arms until she was sitting on his lap, her legs bracketing either side of his thighs, and they were face to face. Newton huffed in annoyance at the sudden jostling before curling himself into a ball next to them. "You're going to be the most amazing mother I've ever seen. You're loving, caring and compassionate..."

"I also have no idea what I'm doing." She sighed dejectedly, biting the inside of her lips to keep from spilling the tears pooling in her eyes. She wanted this, their little family, so, so much, and yet there was this stupid voice inside her head telling her she could barely remind herself to stop working and eat or rest, how was she supposed to take care of a baby?

"No one knows what they're doing when they have a baby. My dad once told me, after Greg was born, that no one is ever ready to be a parent. It doesn't matter how many times you do it." Anthony told her gently, his knuckles brushing away the spaced tear from her cheek. "I was so scared I'd fuck up Hyacinth for good when she was little. Sometimes I still am sometimes and she’s not even my kid. Hell, even Daphne, who was born to be a mother, was terrified about it." Daphne was the type of nurturing person who everyone knew would be the most gentle, loving of mothers. She dreamed of having a baby since she was a girl if the stories were to be believed. There was no way she was scared.

"You don't have to say things to make me feel better, love." Anthony tutted at the way Kate rolled her eyes at him.

"I would never. Ask her about it if you don't believe me!" He scoffed. "A couple of months before Augie was born, you remember I took Daph to get groceries while you, Ben and Simon were painting the nursery?"

"The smell of the paint was making her sick." Kate nodded. She remembered the day rather well. Anthony's sister had asked them to help decorate Augie's nursery. They were going with an underwater theme and Kate and Ben had spent the entire afternoon painting bubbles and little octopuses and brightly coloured fish under Simon's careful instructions. Anthony, who was absolutely no help in the art department and was mostly there for moral support, had dragged sister, who was quickly turning three different shades of green, away before she threw up on the floor.

"Daphne realised she got the wrong shampoo for Simon on the way back home. And then she sat in my car crying for almost twenty whole minutes. Crying. Full-blown ugly sobbing with a runny nose and tear-stained cheeks, about how she'd be a terrible mother if she couldn't even remember the correct type of shampoo to buy, how would Simon trust her with their child? She'd end up being one of those horrible mums who forgot her kid in the car."

"You're fucking with me." Kate couldn't help but laugh. "There's no way Daphne would have said that."

"Cross my heart and hope to die, I'm not." Anthony chuckled. "Ask her if you don't believe me."

"How can you not be scared about this?" Kate asked, leaning her forehead against his and closing her eyes, just enjoying the delicious feel of her fiancé all around her, with his arms wrapped around her waist, holding her close to him.

"I am scared." He confided in her with a whisper, pressing their lips together in a quick kiss. "I'm absolutely terrified, actually." Another soft kiss. "But at the same time I think about our baby growing inside you and I'm so fucking happy that, Kate, I can barely breathe."

"Yeah..." Kate's smile was tentative at first, growing in proportion as she looked at Anthony's glowing face so close to hers. His hands were firmly on her waist, his thumbs brushing circles over the slip of bare skin between her shirt and trousers. "I'm really fucking happy as well."

"There's absolutely no one else I'd ever want to do this with." He told her, her eyes staring deep into hers. "I love you so, so much and I can't wait to do this with you. All of this, the wedding, marriage, our baby..."

"Our baby." Anthony's hand drifted from her waist, brushing against the little bit of exposed skin until it was resting over her still-flat stomach. Kate laughed and tears spilt down her cheeks without her consent, Anthony's free palm cupping her cheek, using his thumb to brush away her stray tears, while completely ignoring his own. This man, this stupid, ridiculous, wonderful man that had come into her life, fainted into her arms on their first date and then proceeded to turn her entire world upside down. This fool, who was too hard on himself and loved so fiercely, although he had declared love not to be in the cards for him for so long.

Kate used to tell herself she was perfectly happy with life the way it was before. That she loved her job and her art, that being there for her sister and stepmother was enough for her, and that she didn't need anything more than that. God, what an idiot she had been!

Love had sneaked up on her quietly in a hospital room and by the time she walked into that restaurant for their second first date, Kate Sharma knew she was meant to spend the rest of her life with Anthony Bridgerton. Sure, he was infuriating sometimes, so stubborn it hurt and so, so cocky. Sometimes he worked his damndest to be his poshest self in order to annoy her, she was certain of it.

Yet, at the same time, he was the kindest, most caring and gentle man she'd ever met. He listened to what she had to say and valued her opinion on things, even if they bickered endlessly when they disagreed. He took his time to learn what she liked and what she didn't. Kate had never felt so comfortable and understood as she did when she was with him.

Anthony Bridgerton would be a lovely father. He was excellent at taking care of every single person he cared about. Well, everyone but himself. But that wasn't a problem. Kate knew a thing or two about being way too hard on yourself while being 110% there for the people you loved. They could have each other's backs. She'd take care of him and he'd take care of her. And they'd take care of their child, together.

"I love you so much it's actually a little ridiculous." Kate sniffed, laying her hand over his across where their child was nested and turning her face to place a soft kiss on his wet palm. "And I'm really excited to have our little family as well."

"Even if it means you'll have to get your dress altered?"

"I'll live." She shrugged, making Anthony chuckle a little watery.

"I heard your fiancé is loaded, I'm sure he'll pay for any alteration you need to get done." He offered, replacing his hand with a soft brush of the tip of his nose against her cheek. "He'll even buy you a whole new wedding dress if you want. Or three."

"I can pay for my own dress alterations, Anthony." She scoffed.

"Shh, stop fighting me on this." His lips brushed against her cheek before settling against her mouth in a sweet, deep kiss. "It's kinda my fault alterations might be necessary anyway."

"I'm pretty sure it takes two to make a baby, love." Kate laughed. "And I think you'd find I was a very willing participant in the actions that led to this moment."

"That you most definitely were." He hummed against her mouth. "But you'll end up doing most of the hard work in the end. It's only logical for me to pay for the alteration costs."

"Logical only in your posh little ri..."

"Besides that," Anthony interrupted her loudly before she could continue her rant. "What is mine is yours and all of that. Or it will be soon."

"You're gonna do it whether I agree to it or not, won't you?" Kate pushed away from him just enough so she could look her fiancé in the eye as she raised an eyebrow at him.

"I mean, yeah, probably." He shrugged, not really ashamed of admitting it.

"You know what, alright." It was Anthony's turn to be caught by surprise by her easy acceptance. She'd always agree to it, and if she didn't, he'd probably go to Edwina and plot behind her back to pay for it himself. In the beginning, Kate had thought he was trying to buy her love and as a fiercely independent person, she had tried to rebel against it. And then she slowly started to understand that paying for things and giving presents was Anthony's weird way of expressing his affection, apparently, since words were not always his forte. Bit by bit, she started to accept it. Not without a bit of a brawl, though. She'd never go down without a fight. Or almost never, anyway. "I'm a bit too tired to bicker about it, really."

"Are you feeling alright?" It was almost funny how quickly his expression changed from surprise to smugness to worry as he studied her with his soft brown eyes. If she knew Anthony at all, which she liked to believe she did rather well, he was already considering if he should just drag her back to the hospital for admission.

"I just need a nap, Anthony." She rolled her eyes good-naturedly at her overprotective man. "It seems our little bug takes up a lot of my energy."

"Don't call our child a bug." Anthony rolled his eyes, but he was getting up from the sofa, Kate scrambling to wrap her legs around his waist to steady herself. "And you're going to drink some water before sleeping."

"Whatever you say, Mr. Bridgerton, as long as you nap with me."

And five minutes later, Kate fell asleep with a smile on her lips, wrapped safely in her fiancé's arms, their legs tangled together and their child between them.

The closer to the wedding it got, the more stuff appeared on Kate's already unending list of things to do. She needed to wrap up all her work in the gallery before she took her holiday, there were doctors appointments to go to and last-minute decisions to make, a rehearsal wedding and dinner to plan. Her last dress fitting was coming up and she desperately needed to find a way to tell their family she was pregnant.

Anthony had assured her no one on his side of the family would be anything but delighted at the news. His mother most certainly wouldn't have any grounds to judge them too harshly, since apparently her wedding had taken place in late February and Anthony was born in September of the same year. Plus, there were very few things that were considered as going too far for Violet Bridgerton in order to get her the precious grandchildren she so desperately wanted. And although Mary would not go the same length as her mother-in-law, Kate knew her stepmother was also desperate for a grandbaby of her own.

Kate had been the one to insist they find a good moment to share the news. She was pretty sure that, if it was Anthony’s decision alone, he'd have walked into family brunch the day after they had their first OBGYN appointment, shouting at the top of his lungs that they were having a baby, ready to show every single member of their family the blurry ultrasound picture he had taken to carrying around in his wallet.

At first, Kate had wanted to keep the news to themselves for a bit longer, to be able to fully wrap her head around the fact that yes, there was a baby coming in approximately 6 to 7 months. They deserved time to enjoy it for themselves for a while. And then that time passed and she had wanted the moment to feel right. Anthony respected her decision and allowed her to take the lead on how to tell everyone about their baby. Unfortunately, the right moment never seemed to come.

And that's how Kate found herself sitting in Violet Bridgerton's living room, three weeks before their wedding, surrounded by their still blissfully-unaware family. Her mind was working overtime as she tried to find either a very good explanation as to why she wouldn't be drinking at the bachelorette party her sister and sisters-in-law (the ones legally allowed to drink, anyway) were throwing on the following weekend and why she didn't want her mother and mother-in-law at her final dress fitting, since she had started to show the week prior and taking in her clothes in front of the two women would certainly give her away.

In the end, the situation presented itself rather clumsily and Kate just took it.

Violet, Daphne and Mary were deep into a discussion over seating arrangements for the ceremony and the reception while Anthony had been dragged to a corner by Simon and Ben and they were now locked into a quiet debate over... Kate wouldn't even venture a guess. Anthony would probably tell her about it on the way home anyway. Eloise was sitting with her nose buried in a book, Colin was giving a plate of pudding his entire, undivided attention and Fran was focused on her phone.

And that's how Kate found herself sitting with Augie rather comfortably on the sofa, her nephew bouncing excitedly in her lap as she watched Hyacinth and Greg squabble over a game that was similar to marbles, but not exactly so. The baby squeaked loudly, trying to wrap his chubby little hands around Kate's loose hair while his aunt valiantly fought the attempts.

"Kate," she lifted her eyes to find Hyacinth staring at her with pensive eyes, two marble balls clutched to her fingers. "Will you and Anthony have a baby of your own?"

It was rather impressive how the entire room's attention focused on Kate after the girl's question, all types of side talk were put on hold to hear what her reply would be.

"Yes, we will, Hy." Kate nodded, smiling gently at the little sister that was almost as close as a daughter to her soon-to-be husband.

"Yes, but when?" Hyacinth continued to probe. Violet seemed ready to scold her youngest child for inappropriate questioning when Kate cleared her throat.

"Around mid to late November, I'd reckon." Kate had been attending weekly brunches at Bridgerton house for about a year and a half at this point, and she had never seen any room in that house go as quiet as now, right after her answer. She could feel Anthony's eyes stuck to her, half in questioning, half in encouragement. The rest of the gazes were shifting quickly between her and her fiancé, trying to determine if it was some sort of joke or not. Not even Hyacinth dared to speak. The only sound ringing around was the delighted giggles coming from Augie as his aunt bounced him on her knees.

It was Eloise who dared to break the silence, clearing her throat loudly after a full minute of stunned silence.

"When you say November..." Anthony's second sister turned to look at Kate with a frown. "You mean like a hypothetical November because you want a winter baby or....?"

"Not hypothe... Ought dear, careful!" Augie had managed to grab a fistful of Kate's dark hair and was tugging at it with all his baby might. "I don't mean it like that."

"So you mean like, this November." It wasn't exactly a question but Kate nodded anyway.

"Yes."

"In six months."

"Give or take, yeah." Kate could feel the eyes of the entire room glued to her, their expressions ranging from confusion, to surprise to disbelief. Even Colin's pudding was forgotten at the centre table.

"And just to be very clear," Eloise clasped her hands together in front of her, her body leaning forwards. The book on her lap fell to the floor but no one even jumped in surprise at the noise. "You are aware that it takes about 9 months to... grow a baby, yes?"

"Around 40 weeks, according to my doctor, yes," Kate confirmed. Eloise just nodded her head slowly, looking completely taken aback.

"Katie..." There were tears running down Mary's cheeks when Kate turned to look at her stepmother, who seemed like words had escaped her after she whispered her child's name.

"Wait," Gregory, bless him, had been one of the most confused faces during the entire exchange and only at that moment, understanding seemed to be drawing in his mind. "That means you're pregnant?"

"Yes, Greggy." Kate smiled, her eyes already turning wet. Stupid hormones, she barely could say anything without having to fight back tears. It was worse than PMS. "I am."

It seemed like the confirmation lifted the invisible barrier that was holding the people in the room in place, because everyone seemingly burst into action from all around her, blurting out questions and letting out little happy exclamations or excited squeaks. The noise was so sudden and so loud, the family all moving at the same time to reach Kate that her nephew got frightened, letting out a loud, wailing cry.

"Alright, just a moment, excuse me, please. Coming through, thank you." Simon barreled his way through the crowd of people all speaking one over the other, pulling Anthony behind him by the shirt. "I believe this is mine," he said, picking up his scared son, who burrowed quickly into his father's chest, his tears drying immediately. "And this here is yours." He sat Anthony on the empty space at the loveseat with a cheeky grin. Kate's future husband seemed perfectly content to have been pushed around the room and quickly wrapped his arm around her, his hand resting at the side of her quickly rounding stomach, just as he had taken to doing for the past month. Since they'd gotten together, Anthony was always touching her in one way or another. A brush of his fingers to push her hair from her face, a hand on her waist, a soft touch at the back of her neck. But since they had found out about their baby, Anthony's hand was always on her. "I am really happy for the two of you, you'll be excellent parents."

"Thank you, Si." Kate smiled as he bent down to press a quick kiss to her cheek, urging his son to do the same.

"Now if you'll excuse me, Augie and I are going into hiding." He told them, fixing the baby on his hip with a smirk. "I'll leave you to them. Really happy and all. Good luck."

He was gone through the sea of people around them before any other words could be exchanged, leaving the soon-to-be newlyweds and parents-to-be in the clutches of their loving family and their gleeful, excited questions.

Kate and Anthony Bridgerton had lied to their family before leaving on their honeymoon, and they were feeling only partially guilty for it.

You see, they were not the type of people who enjoyed surprises. Both Kate and Anthony were planners and thrived on having all the possible, available information on their hands in order to make the most of the situation with as fewer issues as possible. This applied to their work lives, to simple things in their daily routines and to talks about the future. So when their OBGYN asked if they wanted to know the gender of their baby they agreed on the spot. And so she told them.

But when their mothers and siblings questioned them about it, they said it wasn't possible to see it yet and that they'd probably find out in their next appointment, after they returned from the trip.

There was a reason for that, of course. They had planned a nice little surprise to announce, not only the gender but also the name of their child. Anthony and Kate had agreed on names both for a boy and for a girl very quickly, although they had kept that to themselves as well.

So roughly a week after finding out their child would be a boy, Kate and Anthon boarded a plane to Piemonte, Italy, with a whole scheme set up for their little surprise gender reveal. For everyone else, they'd be posting a bunch of photos showing Kate's bump around Italian museums and monuments saying "Baby's first trip. Of course, he'd be into art." But their family deserved a bit more than an Instagram post with a funny caption.

Kate spent the entire week hand-painting wooden boxes in black and gold and had copies of their ultrasound pictures made. Kate had sent her husband out for art supplies, password padlocks and t-shirts she could paint on and take out while she worked and he obliged her every single whim while reminding her to eat, drink some water and take a couple of breaks. And then the little chest had been finished, safely locked and left in possession of a few trusted friends. Agatha Danbury was responsible for handing Mary, Violet and Simon and Daphne's boxes. Penelope Featherington would give Colin, Eloise and Edwina theirs and Henry, their friend from the Galery, would be responsible for Ben's. Frannie would be responsible for her own box, as well as Hy and Greg's since she had pinky promised Anthony she wouldn't tell a soul. Francesca was the only one they trusted to do this.

Early in the morning of the day they had agreed to the surprise, Anthony sent a text to their family group, telling them they'd be receiving a small present for them and that, under no circumstances, they were to open the boxes before their group call at 1 PM.

Anthony and Kate were bickering in a quiet corner of a Fiorentinian cantina when the time of the call came. One of the best things about entering her second trimester was that the morning sickness had faded. On the other hand, her cravings had been getting progressively stronger and she would randomly have a desperate need for a specific dish or ingredient while other things she had previously excited to have looked like the most unappetizing thing in the world.

That was what had fueled their current bickering. Kate had ordered a Pappardelle al ragù di cinghiale, which was a flat pasta with some boar meat sauce while Anthony had chosen a Gnocchi alla Sorrentina, which was just the little round pasta with tomato and mozzarella sauce. Unfortunately, the moment the food was placed in front of them, Kate knew with absolute certainty she wouldn't be able to eat hers, while Anthony's looked exactly like her gastronomic dream come true.

"You have your own food, you know?" He had asked with a raised eyebrow the moment she reached for his plate with her fork, hers going completely ignored.

"Bug wants the gnocchi, Anthony." She shrugged, scooping some of the potato dough and sauce into her fork. "It's not my fault."

"Couldn't you have ordered gnocchi for you, then?" Her husband rolled his eyes, but he was already swapping the plates between them.

"I don't know what to tell you, love." A huge smile broke into her face as he placed the pasta in front of her. "He's the boss, not me. And I didn't know he wanted the gnocchi until I saw it." Kate couldn't hold back the moan when she shoved a forkful of the food into her mouth. God, that was the best thing she'd ever eaten in her life. She could spend the rest of her life eating just that.

Anthony just eyed the way her mouth closed around the fork for a few moments, a different type of hunger burning in his eyes, before he cleared his throat loudly.

"I'm joining the call," He warned. "Please stop being indecent with your food."

"You love it." She scoffed, licking her lips a bit more seductively than she would normally have.

"I really, really do." He agreed, with his gaze following the path of her tongue. "But I don't think our mothers and siblings need to see it."

Kate just stuck her tongue out at him as the call connected. They were bombarded with questions the moment the sound came in. They could see Mary and Edwina in their living room, with Newton at Kate's sister's lap. Violet had the children and Francesca on the dinner table, each of them sitting in front of their own box, their names shining on top of it in golden ink. Daph and Simon were sitting in their bed, little Augie on his father’s lap, his own box between his parents’. Ben, Colin and Eloise were sitting all clutched together in what seemed to be Ben's living room floor.

"What's going on?"

"Oh finally, I've been itching all morning!"

"Would you two care to explain...?"

"CAN WE OPEN IT NOW?!"

"Kate, did you paint those yourself?"

"Why was Frannie aware of this and I wasn't?"

"Wait, Francesca knew it?!"

"Are you kidding me?!"

"I'm muting everyone if you start at this," Anthony told them, strictly.

"I'd like to see you try." Colin taunted and his brother instantly silenced their line.

"Anyone else?" Little mumbles of no and shaking of heads followed his question. "Thank you. So, Kate and I had some interesting news at our last ultrasound and..."

"Is it twins?" Daphne interrupted, with wide eyes. "Because if it is, I'm going to have to sit down for this."

"Not twins," Kate assured her with a laugh. "Only one little bug here, I promise."

You’re already sitting. Eloise wrote in the group chat. Please unmute us, Colin promises he will behave.

"Guys, just get on with this, Mama's going insane here," Ediwna begged, looking way closer to hysterics than her mother was.

"You're all so impatient," Kate giggled, wrinkling her nose. “Suppose we should let them open it now, yeah?”

“Maybe we could let them wait for a little longer?” Anthony suggested, a teasing smirk on his lips.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“Don’t you dare!”

“I’m smashing this open now if you don’t give us the code.”

“Alright, alright!” He laughed. “Go on then, the password is 1811.”

There was the heavy sound of metal clicking and hurried hands against the wood before they were replaced by whoops of triumph as each of their family members managed to open the lock.

"Oh my God, you two, I'm shaking here." Violet let out a quiet little laugh. "We can open it, right?"

"Please do, but don't do anything else yet." Kate nodded, her husband's hand finding hers under the table. Christ, she was already on the brink of tears. At least this time, her husband look as right about to cry as she did. Across the screen, ohs and ahs were filling the air.

"Maybe someone..." Anthony cleared his throat, trying to keep his voice steady. "could read it aloud?"

"Me, me, me, me!" Hyacinth was jumping up and down in her chair. "I'll do it, let me." She barely allowed her brother to nod before she started reading the words painted in loopy cursive at the top lid. "Hi, family. This is me. Oh, look there is a little arrow pointing to the ultrasound. That's really cute."

"Hyacinth, on with it, focus!" Ben snapped.

"Right, sorry." The youngest Bridgerton giggled. "This is me. I know that all of you already love me very much and I can't wait to meet all of you in November. But that's a long time from now so I thought I could introduce myself. Nice to meet you, I'm..."

Hyacinth looked up from the lid, blinking at them with big, green eyes filled with expectation.

"You can open the wrapped thing now," Kate instructed and they were all tearing at the thin paper, tugging on bows until they unwrapped a shirt.

"Oh, guys...!" Daphne choked on her words with a watery sniff. "Ned's Auntie Daph." Kate had decorated each shirt by hand, each of them reading Ned's and the person's title. There was Ned's Granny Mary and Grandma Violet, a bunch of Uncles and Aunties. Augie's read 'Ned's big cousin/best friend Augie.' "I love this so much."

"Ned?" Violet asked softly, tears running down her face.

"It's a boy?!" Greg cried out in excitement.

"I'm going to be his godmother?!" Edwina squeaked, her hands shaking so hard she could barely hold the fabric up. "Look, Ned's Godmother Eddie! The shirt says it, you can't take it back now! I have proof!"

"I'm going to spoil my godson so bad," Ben commented, a laugh mingling with his crying as he held the shirt to his chest. "I'll be unbearable, you're going to regret this choice so hard."

"Katie!" Mary cried out, calling attention to herself. "Is this...?"

Kate had been crying since Hyacinth had started reading the message out loud and all she could do was nod at her teary stepmother across the screen.

"What, what is it?" Edwina was basically climbing over her mother to see what she had seen. "Is this what?"

"It's his name," Mary commented, her fingers tracing the name they had settled for the baby the week after they found out he existed and that Kate had painted on the bottom of the box with golden ink.

Edmund Arjun Bridgerton.

"Oh, Anthony..." Whatever Violet was planning to say next was muffled by her own sobs. There wasn't one person with dry eyes in the entire call apparently. Daphne had her face hidden in her husband's shoulder. There were wet tracks over all their siblings' cheeks, even Eloise was trying to brush hers away without much success.

"I hope this is alright..." Anthony cleaned his face with his free hand with a sniff. "We wanted to name them after our fathers and..."

"Your dad would be so proud of you, my boy," Violet told him, smiling softly at her son and daughter-in-law over the camera, her shoulders still shaking. "All he wanted... All both of us wanted was for our children to be so incredibly happy, and look at you now..."

"Thank you, Mum." Kate squeezed her husband's hand lovingly before turning to her own stepmother's little image on the screen. Mary was still staring at the box in awe, tracing the letters with the tip of her fingers.

"Mama?" Kate's voice was just a tiny thing as she called the woman who had raised her. "Is it alright?"

"It's more than alright, dearest." Mary looked up to Kate with bright, teary eyes and the biggest, softest smile lighting up her own face. "It's perfect. Appa would have loved it so much."

"You think so?" Kate missed her father so much and she desperately wanted her son to have a little bit of her father, even if they'd never have the chance to meet in this life. But when Anthony asked her about naming their son after their fathers, the idea of hearing her beloved Appa's name whenever someone called her child made her chest hurt. She had been slowly and steadily healing from her loss, but it was still too fresh for her. And then her husband had suggested having it as a middle name, just a bit of the man that had created Kate for their baby to always quietly carry with him and…. Yes, that could work. She liked it like that. It was a bit of both the men that had shaped his parents into the people they were and the men they hoped their child would be like.

"I know so, Beta." She laughed gently. "He'd probably be here dancing around the room and calling every single member of the family back in India to tell them about his grandson."

Kate choked back on a snort and next to Mary, Edwina threw her head back in laughter. It was exactly what their Appa would do. He'd probably be humming a song as well as he did so.

"Now that we all asserted it was an amazing name, which it is, really brilliant by the way, it’s great, Dad would really have loved it," Colin spoke up. "Why is Ben the Godfather? I mean, I expected Simon, but Ben?!"

"There wouldn't even be a Ned if it weren't for me." Benedict scoffed, looking downright offended. "I introduced the two of them!"

"You cannot keep rubbing that on everyone's faces forever."

"I believe I most certainly deserve being my brother's first child's godfather for that, thank you very much."

"I completely understand having Ben and Edwina as godparents." Daphne chimed in with a little self-satisfied smirk as Simon was putting Augie's new shirt on him.

"Thank you, Daph."

"And as am a very graceful person, I don't mind not being the godmother of their first child. I'll love my little nephew either way." She said. "We can be the godparents of their second, I'm patient, I can wait and..."

"I'm sorry, Anthony has other sisters, you know?" Francesca interrupted.

"Yeah, why would he pick you?" Eloise rolled her eyes.

"He could pick me." Hyacinth agreed, her three sisters turning to look at her.

"He can't pick you."

"Yeah, you're too little. And you're already his baby. It wouldn't even be fair." Hyacinth stuck her tongue at the camera.

"I mean he could totally..." Anthony just clicked on the end call button before Daphne could drone on about their hypothetical second child and said child's possible godparents.

"Anthony!" Kate tried to scold him, but she couldn't even stop laughing to do so. "That was rude!"

"We did what we were going to do." He told her matter-of-factly, picking up his fork. "They can keep that argument on without us there, we're having lunch." He eyed the empty plate in front of her. "Or at least I am...?"

"It was really good," Kate told him, looking down miserably at the plate.

"Do you want another one?" He asked with a sigh, already calling their waiter over without even waiting for the answer he knew he would get.

"And maybe some bread too?" Anthony rolled his eyes with no heat behind them, ordering the food in his broken Italian and she was smiling brightly when he turned back to her. "You know..." She mumbled, her hand coming up to brush his hair from his forehead tenderly. "I think you fainting in that restaurant was the best thing that's ever happened to me."

Her husband let out a loud, sonorous laugh before leaning in, pressing their lips together in a deep kiss. "If I'd known having emergency surgery would end up with me married to the love of my life who's expecting our baby, I'd probably have done it much sooner."

"You're so stupid." She giggled against his lips.

"Well, I guess that's what makes us so well-matched, isn't it?" He kissed the side of her mouth and then the tip of her nose, making her giggle again. Kate didn't know happiness like this even existed much less imagined she would one day have it. "Since we're one and the same and all that."

"I suppose you're right." She said with a fake pensive pout, which Anthony couldn't resist kissing.

"My, my, wife." He shook his head, sending a shiver down Kate's spine. "Admitting I'm right? Marriage sure has changed you, hasn’t it?."

"It's the pregnancy hormones, husband." She mumbled back. "Don't get used to it. "

"I wouldn't dream of it."

Kate knew she was still in the very beginning of her path through motherhood and, all things considered, she still had a lot to go through in life at only 27 years of age. But, still, she could tell with absolute certainty childbirth was one of the worst experiences she'd ever been through, and it would not be easy to find something to rival it.

Pregnancy had been a rollercoaster. Her back hurt, her feet swell, her boobs were sore and she looked like a puffy, waddling blowfish. Some food she loved dearly now gave her heartburn and she desperately needed to pee approximately every two hours. By her third trimester, she was moody and uncomfortable the majority of the time. And she was having to learn her life did not belong only to herself anymore, which was turning out to be a bit of a struggle and a point of contention between her and Anthony, who was constantly hovering over her, reminding her to slow down.

But the good moments? The feel of her child moving inside her for the first time? The wonder in Anthony's eyes when he first felt it too? The excitement that brought tears to her eyes wherever she heard Ned's heartbeat, always strong and steady through the ultrasound? The way their family just loved her and her baby so openly and limitlessly? The way their son would dance inside her stomach whenever Anthony was speaking around her? The hours awake in bed together, imagining what their baby would be like when he was finally here? That completely compensated for the bad times.

Pregnancy had been a mostly positive experience for her. Childbirth, on the other hand? She couldn't see a single positive aspect of it.

She'd been in what her doctor had called active labour for over six hours, feeling horrible shooting bouts of pain through her entire body that were quickly getting longer and stronger, which her doctor told her was a good thing?! Because it meant the baby was coming?!

No, no, no. Ned could stay inside her. It would be safer this way anyway. Kate could protect him like that.

She had moved up and down around the room, shuffled around in bed, moaning and groaning and probably cursed her husband a thousand times until her doctor had checked her dilation and vitals and cheerily announced everything was running smooth and it was time to start pushing. She hated the woman right at that moment.

Anthony was there, holding her hand, letting her squeeze it until she all but broke his fingers every time the doctor instructed her to push and, apart from a grunt or a groan, he hadn't complained a pip about it. Even if she seemed ready to bite his head off and swore she'd never allow him to touch her again, he had remained steady, whipping her sweaty brow, giving her sips of water, going through the breathing exercises with her and whispering comforting and reassuring words of encouragement in her ear that had her almost crying every damn time. You're doing great, sweetheart. You're so strong, so brave. I'm in awe of you. I love you so much. You can do it. We'll have Bug here soon.

Her husband had been an absolute champ throughout the whole pregnancy process, even if he had been an annoying overprotective hooverer the entire time. He didn't miss an appointment, catered to her cravings, rubbed her sore back and feet whenever she asked and helped her through her sour moods and panic attacks. He stayed up with her when she couldn't sleep and spoke soothingly to their son until he calmed when he was wracking havoc inside her.

Kate really did love the man more than she could say. She was in just a lot of pain. He certainly understood. And if he didn’t, he could try being the one pushing their baby out.

It had already been dark outside for at least a couple of hours when the doctor told her, "Just a couple more, Mummy. And then we'll be done and your baby will be here."

Kate screamed as she pushed, the contraction wracking through her body until she was almost out of breath, Anthony's knuckles white from the pressure she was putting on them.

"I can see his head." The doctor announced from between her legs.

"I can't do this anymore." She cried, dropping her body against the bed, Anthony's moist washcloth soothing the hot skin on her face. “I can’t, make it stop.”

"Yes, you can. It's almost over, love." He kissed her fingers and Kate lifted her eyes to find her husband looking at her wide-eyed and ashy.

"You look pale." She said hoarsely. "You're not going to faint on me now, are you Mr Bridgerton?" She asked, chuckling weakly at their old joke.

"I might," Anthony said back, his tone just a bit too serious as he looked towards where the doctor was with a nervous frown.

"Anthony, don't you daAaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa!" The pain had her body shooting out of the bed, Anthony's free arm moving behind her to hold her steady as she crushed his hand in her fist, tears streaming down her face. And then when the blinding pain was gone, Kate dropped down back to the bed in exhaustion, and a loud piercing wail rang clear through the room.

"He's here, Kate! You did it!" The doctor cooed, speaking over her son's little cries. Kate desperately tried to sit up, her heart pounding in her chest as she tried to get a glimpse of her baby, but she couldn't.

"Anthony!" Kate tugged on her husband's arm, trying to use him as leverage to host herself upwards despite the ache in her body. "I can't see him! Can you?"

"Yeah, I can." His voice was far away, his gaze glued to the place where the loud wailing was replaced with a soft little whimper. His entire face was frozen in wonder, tears running freely down his face. "Kate, he's..." He blinked, turning to look at her for a moment, his fingers still holding onto her hand, but this time it seemed like he was the one who needed to be held together. "God, Kate... I..."

"Everything seems alright, guys." The doctor assured her and maybe Kate didn't hate the woman all that much after all. "You'll be able to hold him in just a second, as soon as we cut the cord. Daddy, do you want to do it?"

Anthony went even paler, his eyes wide as he stared at the woman who was holding their child as if he hadn't even heard her.

"Anthony," Kate poked his arm with the little strength she had left. "Are you going?"

"Yes, I..." He shook his head, trying to get rid of the fog in his brain, still ignoring his wet eyes. "I want to do it, yeah."

"Don't faint!" Kate ordered as he let go of her hand. She was mostly joking, but he did look a bit unsteady on his feet.

"I won't." He answered, following the nurse who was motioning to him to come forwards, whispering under his breath. "I think..."

Kate let her body drop back into the reclined bed. The thirty seconds that took the medical team and her husband to clip and cut the umbilical seemed like the longest of her life. And then Anthony was back, carrying a little bundle in his arms, his eyes shining with more love and adoration than she'd ever imagined possible. She shuffled in bed to a more sitting position, instantly reaching out to the little baby wrapped in a soft white blanket.

"Here's your Amma, Bug," Anthony whispered lovingly, gently placing their son in her waiting arms and, at that moment, everything else in the world around them disappeared on the spot. Kate could barely breathe, all air appeared to have vanished from her lungs, every thought other than the baby in her arms and the man next to her vanishing from her mind. The moment he deposited their child safely into her arms, Anthony turned to her, pressing a soft kiss to her lips and another to her forehead, tears running freely down his face, dripping from his chin into his medical gown.

"Hey, you," Kate whispered, tracing her fingers over the smooth pink skin of her son's cheek. Oh God, her son! Her Ned! She stared at that little thing that had been living inside her for the most part of the past year, jumping around and not letting her sleep with his tiny feet against her ribcage and he was the most perfect thing in this world. "Oh, look at you..."

Edmund curled against his mother's chest the moment he heard her voice, the whimpering stopping as he lay against the warmth of her chest, his little plump lips smacking together. There was a shocking amount of brown hair at the top of his head, wet and gooey and curling at the tips. His eyes were big and round with that greyish hue all newborns had. His skin was coppery, lighter than hers but darker than Anthony's. He had Anthony's cheekbones and his long, straight nose. Actually, apart from his huge wide eyes and the way his hair curled in itself, Edmund looked so much like her husband it was almost funny. Even just a couple of minutes old, Kate already knew he'd be the spitting image of his father and she absolutely loved it.

"He's perfect," Kate whispered to her husband in awe, her fingers tracing the smooth baby skin of his arm until she reached the tiny hands, his slim little fingers wrapping themselves instantly around her finger.

"He is." Anthony agreed with a wobbly voice, kissing the top of Kate's head again. "Thank you." He whispered into her hair. "Thank you, thank you thank you." Each time, he peppered her with more warm, wet kisses. "Thank you for him and for coming into my life and for absolutely everything."

"Your Papa's being silly, Neddy," Kate told her baby with a chuckle which was mixed with a small sob. "I'm the one who should be thanking him." Kate turned her face, pressing her lips to her husband's wet cheek before looking back to the child they'd made together. "Every day, I think it's impossible to be more happy than I already am, and every day I prove myself wrong."

"I love you two so, so much, Kate." He whispered, his fingers brushing the curls atop their son's head reverently. "I'll do everything I can to be a good father, I promise." He choked at his own words for a moment. "I'm not... I know I'm not perfect but I will do everything I can…."

"You already are more than enough love," Kate told him decisively, her eyesight blurry from all the crying. "Bug and I are really lucky to have you."

"I'm most certainly the lucky one." He kissed Kate's wrinkled nose.

"Now it's not the time to argue with me, mister." She tutted at him. "I just spent over 7 hours pushing your child into this world. Just say ‘yes, ma'am’."

"Yes, ma'am." He laughed. "I'm so happy I could burst." He confessed, caressing the side of their son's face as the baby blinked slowly towards his father's voice. "I barely even know what to do with so much joy."

"I know." Kate let her head fall to Anthony's shoulders with a tired little smile. In her arms, Ned let out a small sigh, his eyes blinking slowly until they were closed. Sitting there with her husband's arms around her and their child curled safely to her chest, Kate felt what absolute bliss was like. "I feel like that too."

Perhaps, she was wrong. Giving birth wasn't even that bad, after all.

#my writing #asks #bridgerton #my fic #kathony #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #writin #Falling For You #This Time We're Falling Together #Falling Series #Modern AU #I'm sorry about this mess #Fluffy #And some more fluff

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newtie-patootie-bootie · 2 years

Text

Masquerade (Chapter 4)

Summary: This is your third season and your aspirations on finding love are dwindling but news on Lady Whistledown’s society pages say that there is to be a foreign royal in attendance to the season. Could this royal dignitary be the one you’ve been waiting for, or could there be a mysterious stranger lurking in the shadows, waiting to pluck your heart for his?

Disclaimer: I do not own Bridgerton nor The Mandalorian- all rights go to the owners and creators of their separate stories.

Warnings: Descriptions of violence and minor blood and wounds- nothing too major. (I tell you, we’re getting into it, I promise!)

|| Please do not repost or plagiarise my work ||

If you’d like to read more of my works, please visit my Masterlist!

Tags: @technicallykawaiisoul @call-me-soap @the-feckless-wonder @elinedjarin @bluevxnus @literallydontlook @sm0l-0ne @1am9root6 @ems-alexandra

A week had passed since your promenade with the Mandalorian King and the town was abuzz with the news from Lady Whistledown’s society pages.

Suitors from all over the town had come to compete with the monarch for your attention, the allure of stealing the coveted gem of the Mandalorian King’s singular affections too appetizing to not take advantage of.

You had attended balls, soiree’s, luncheons and picnics- you had the pick of the eligible bachelors and yet, there was only one suitor you wished would vie for your affection and he was naught to appear.

Perhaps he had seen the other contenders arriving in droves and was discouraged from courting you or perhaps he had read Whistledown’s report and was disinclined to pursue you from the daunting prospect of competing with a king.

You wished he would visit but the week was soon to end and there had been not one sighting of the mysterious man that you had danced with at Lady Danbury’s gathering, you had given Olivia an apt description of his visage and instructions to inform you of his arrival but your maid came to you with negative reports.

You and Mando had been keeping regular correspondence during the time in which his duties kept him from the social functions of the season. It was kind of him to be so dedicated to courting you and managing to do so even without physical appearances. He was sweet- gentle even when looking past the obsidian claymore strapped to his back constantly and the armored plating that covered him but you yearned for your elusive dance partner on the night of the Danbury ball.

At this rate you were beginning to believe he was a dream you'd concocted in your mind.

You sat on the loveseat in the drawing room with your mother and siblings, surrounded by the lavish gifts of all the suitors that had come to visit, each one more pretentious than the last. Even Colin Bridgerton had made an appearance though you knew the boy well, he was not serious in pursuing you and for that you were glad- otherwise he would have to suffer your imminent rejection partly on Penelope’s behalf, nor did you find the boy attractive.

Your younger siblings sat at the table, enjoying their sandwiches and biscuits as they conversed about some game they were going to play later on in the gardens when the weather warmed. Your father had been present for each of the suitors’ meetings but as the week carried on and the prospects began to dwindle in light of the upcoming events, he took advantage of the somewhat slow day to head to the club for the afternoon while Ryder decided to repay Colin Bridgerton's visit with a meeting of his own with Daphne despite the rumors surrounding her and the Duke of Hastings.

It was some kind of playful feud they were taking part in.

Your mother sat close by and was reading through a novel to pass the time while you distantly plucked at the gossamer pink ribbon of a wrapped gift, eyes cast unseeingly upon a landscape painting of a lush forest. A babbling brook wound through evergreen trees while reflecting the setting sun in a wash of apricot and orange hues and the evening sky was warmed with a wash of pale pinks and blues while pale cream clouds dusted the horizon daintily.

The arrival of Olivia in the drawing room door tore you from your disassociated musings, her bubbly figure and bright smile only served to confuse you and you frowned at her excitement. Michael, the head footman leisured in shortly after Olivia’s whirlwind entrance and you turned your attention to him, setting the half-unlaced gift on top of another in the ever-growing pile beside you as the rest of your family also looked to the footman, “a Mr. Din Djarin to see the young Lady Dalton.”

You gasped, bolting upright at the name. Now Olivia’s sudden arrival made sense, you had forgotten your own orders you had directed to her.

Your mother looked to you in question but stood as well just as the mysterious Din Djarin turned the corner, nervous eyes taking in the lavish surroundings of the drawing room, just as rich and refined as the rest of the house he'd observed beforehand. His gaze shifted from Elaine to your younger siblings and finally to you and you bore witness to the soft smile playing upon his lips as he bowed to you in greeting.

“My Lady.” He rasped kindly, straightening up and without missing a beat, he turned to your mother and bowed to her as well, “Your Grace.”

“Ah!” Recognition flitted across Elaine’s features and a smile curled her lips, “you are the gentleman that took my daughter’s attention on the dancefloor!” Din chuckled shyly, scratching his chin.

“You flatter me, Your Grace but the roles are reversed. Your daughter took my attention the moment I met her.” He remained tight-lipped over the peculiar, yet intimate way you became acquainted with one-another and for that you were glad. “And I am indeed very blessed that she allowed me a dance.”

Elaine clasped her hands together, a soft expression curling her features before they widened comically as she remembered herself, “please do come in, Mr. Djarin. May I help you to some fresh biscuits or perhaps a sandwich? A beverage, perhaps?”

“Oh, no, please. I’m perfectly capable of fending for myself. You all must be so exhausted from entertaining so many suitors.” His eyes rested over the piles of unopened gifts and your breath caught in your throat.

“I insist.” You finally found your voice, strong and true and his flustered gaze turned to you, softening somewhat and a gentle smile curled his lips at your confidence. He couldn’t help but see the turn from your promenade with Mando.

“If my Lady insists, who am I to decline her offer?”

“Truer words have never been spoken! How do you like your tea, Mr. Djarin?” Elaine glided toward the small refreshments table and daintily picked up the ceramic kettle and poured a generous amount of the aromatic brew before gesturing toward the milk and sugar in a silent question and Din shook his head.

“Just as it is, thank you.” Dark eyes flicked from the Wintere matriarch to you and your heart clenched as he offered you a kind smile.

You practically beamed with excitement as he came forward, fingers fidgeting with his rumpled waistcoat as he perched beside you on the lounge. "So, not a Lord, hmm?” Your gentle teasing prompted an amused chuckle to rumble past his lips, his expression crinkling with a blinding smile and the lines around his eyes and mouth became more pronounced. He was so handsome. “There's no need to be nervous." You hummed to him quietly, noting the way his fingers clung together, paused in their trembling touch as he looked at you, observing your relaxed posture and leisurely grin.

“I must confess, my Lady. I have never courted a woman in such a capacity before, n-nor have I actually courted someone before.” Your eyebrows raised in pleasant surprise, his nervous countenance endearing you and your smile said as much as your mother served your suitor and she refilled your teacup before retaking her place at the loveseat, returning to her novel but always keeping a watchful eye.

“There is no need to stand on ceremony, Mr. Djarin. I am just relieved you thought to come. I did not think you would.”

“Why the doubt of my interest if I may be so bold to ask, my Lady?” Din watched her, eyes creasing in question.

You hesitated for a moment, resting your joined hands in the lap of your pale lavender dress as you rolled your lips together, "after the Danbury Ball you left so abruptly. I've been operating under the notion that I would never see you again."

Din winced at the memory of the ball.

He had been so overcome with anger that if he hadn't left, he would have done something he would have regretted in front of so many people but it never occurred as to how it may have felt for you.

Did he really make such an impression on you?

You had only danced once, surely there wasn't much to desire if his limited dancing prowess was the deciding factor. He wasn't even dressed appropriately by England's societal standards nor did he attempt to seem like a gentleman at the time- more resembling a homeless individual than a man of good standing. Din was grossly unaccustomed to such a lavish event and acted on habitual impulse to stick to the shadows and remain unseen although that philosophy had been abandoned quite early on when he’d made your acquaintance by nearly trampling over you in an effort to quench his thirst.

You somehow found an old, ragged, world-weary man worthy of your affections?

"I apologise for that, my Lady." Din began, sifting through the appropriate words to convey his thoughts, “as you can tell I’m quite inexperienced with things like this and I handled my feelings rather poorly as you can surmise from my hasty exit from the ball- I apologise sincerely for that. I did not mean to give you the wrong impression.”

You waved away his apologies, “but you returned. You’ve already proved yourself far more considerate than most of the other suitors of this year’s season.” You gestured toward the pile of gifts, “I can accurately guess just what is in all these packages just by looking at the size of each gift- all uninspired and repetitive.” You gestured vaguely to them, "I find your brashness a breath of fresh air in the stuffy, overcrowded room built on rules and societal mannerisms and expectations far outweighing the results.”

"Isn't that considered rude behaviour?"

"Only to those who do not understand that you are different amongst a vast sea of monotony.” Din watched you the soft glimmer in your eyes as your fingers slowly traced the delicate bracelet clasped around your wrist absently.

“Not many women would consider my brashness a reprieve.” Din took a sip of his steaming tea, careful not to burn the roof of his mouth in the process.

“I am aware that I operate under a different assumption than most but then I am also considered to be of the same unruly stock and instead of alienating those that seem different, I enjoy their company and attempt to understand them.”

“Not many people are so honest and they use alternative techniques in an attempt to colour themselves favourably.” Din noted your expression, seeing not a single flicker of a different emotion other than innocence. You truly believed that some people could be as genuine as you.

For someone who has participated in a competition to find a husband, he would have thought you’d have known somewhat more of the rotten nature of those less inclined to understand the warmth of your actions.

“Some will wear a mask to hide their true intentions until they have acquired what they covet.” Din answered bluntly and watched your shoulders roll, back straightening as you looked toward him with increasingly guarded eyes and he slowly set his teacup back on the matching saucer, “from my experience, those that give their all to understand those in whom seem to be contrasting with the norm, their kindness will often be warped to suit the agenda of ill-purposed individuals or those sweet individuals are usually seeking something more than praise.”

“What are you implying, Mr. Djarin?” Your tone was guarded, tinged in frustration as he questioned your motives- your good nature.

“I have seen many things, my Lady.” Din began quietly, crossing his leg over the other as he leaned back into the loveseat, “I have traveled extensively as you could probably discern from my appearance. I am no stranger to the outdoors and find that I prefer them. But along with my travels, I have gained knowledge I would have rather not have had the fortune of realizing.”

“And that is?”

“That some people will take advantage of such innocent generosity and use it for their own selfish gain.” Din watched you deflate somewhat, “I don’t mean to offend you, my Lady. That is far from my intention and I apologise for the nature that this conversation is taking.” Din leant forward to place the teacup and saucer on the small table, “nor is it my intention to call your gentle nature into question, I merely mean to educate you,” your gaze returned to his, an emotion he couldn’t explain glimmering in your eyes, “you are an extraordinary woman with an extraordinary heart. So kind and selfless.”

Din floundered to explain himself, fumbling over half-formed words in an attempt to continue his train of thought. “I don’t expect you to know so much of the world when you’ve been sequestered away in London, bound by social arrangements and left to wonder what’s beyond England. Turning to printed words on a page to steep yourself in fanciful tales of a world written in the views of authors wishing they could witness such inventiveness in reality.”

Without thinking, his hand slowly came to rest upon yours in your lap. The warmth of his skin seeping into yours as his fingers gently pressed into the space of your knuckles to calm you, “I’ve spoiled your kindness. My sincerest apologies, my Lady.” He slowly began to lift his hand from yours, a deep sigh rattling in his chest as he fought back the wince pulling at his features as he knew he had overstepped. He had already crossed the mark. You weren’t comfortable with his touch and he just grossly ripped away your physical boundaries.

You were quick to act, your free hand slapping over his when he attempted to remove it from atop yours, clinging to him with a fierce strength that made his eyes widen. He had vowed he would not touch you until you felt comfortable with him and he almost deigned to rip his hand from yours until he was faced with the truth.

That Mando had pledged to do so and that Mando had to work to gain your trust once more. It was the King of Mandalore that was striving to work himself back into your good graces and learn about you in a way that showed he was more than what Paz made him out to be.

Din Djarin had made no such error in his brief meetings with the Incomparable Lady Dalton.

“You are the second man that has opened my eyes a little more. I appreciate that.”

Din stifled a laugh and his fingers tapped against the back of her hand, “I warn you of the potential dangers of strange and worrying individuals yet here you are praising me.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle, your hand squeezing his for a moment, “I’m choosing to believe my intuition with your character, Mr. Djarin.”

He watched you, the soft smile curling your lips, the way the sun beamed across your form- the pale blue of your dress almost an ethereal white and the sun highlighted the individual subtle colours in your hair before bathing across your eyes and he would swear forever more that he was sure they were glowing.

“And what does your intuition tell you, my Lady?” His question made you curl in yourself in thought, eyes lowering to your lap as his thumb gently licked across your pulse point.

Biting your lip bashfully, your lids lowered somewhat before you looked up at him through thick lashes, “that even if my heart is left in ashes, you would cradle it amongst your own to protect me rather than discard it to the wind.”

Din watched you, dark eyes wide and wondrous and he wrestled back the urge to capture your lips and claim you as his.

He needed to make an excuse to leave before he did exactly that.

He pulled away slowly, steering the conversation to something less volatile and they stayed on that topic. Din stayed for an appropriate amount of time before announcing his intention to depart. He fabricated an explanation that he had work to attend to and punctuated his farewell with a gentle kiss to the inside of your wrist and he scented the perfumed oil dabbed on your wrist- the aromatic blend of flora and spices tickled his olfactory senses and he again, had to fight the urge to nibble on your wrist and leave a mark there for all who came before him to see what only he could do.

As Din walked down the hallway with the Dalton’s footman guiding him, it never occurred to him just how much time he had been spent with you and judging by the line of impatient suitors desperately waiting to lavish you with their expensive, unappealing gifts was quite telling as it continued all the way out the front door of your home.

He couldn’t help the very slight grin curling his lips as he made contact with one of the men who glared at Din with a misplaced sense of propriety and he simply nodded to the man, smile widening at the growing indignation twisting the jealous suitor’s face and decided to turn his head away from Din and instead opted to look down his bulbous nose at the back of the head of the suitor in front of him.

‘Pompous di’kut.’

Once they reached the exit, Din thanked Michael, the Dalton’s footman and walked down the pathway where Sofir awaited in her civilian attire, “where is Tatya and the carriage?” His voice was low, lips barely moving as he continued down the street.

Sofir took a moment before following him, voice low enough that any passerby would be able to hear her but they were attuned to this- deception and deflection was Sofir’s specialty and Din had been an exemplary mentor, “she moved the carriage around the corner out of sight, Manda’lor.”

“Good.”

They walked in silence for a modest stretch, Sofir’s quiet prompts guiding him to the carriage hidden in between an alleyway, “you took quite a while, Manda’lor.”

Din slowly turned to face Sofir with a raised brow, noticing the teasing lilt in her voice and she had the sense to look somewhat chaste as she turned to look away from him but the smile curling her lips couldn’t be so easily hidden.

He bit back the urge to say something un-kingly and more like his former self but allowed himself to chuckle at her teasing.

This is why he chose Sofir and Tatya- they upheld their respect and the traditions beholden to the Crown, but they never forgot who he was and for that, he appreciated them all the more for it.

The sound of the carriage door opening turned their attention to Tatya leaning out of the carriage with a bored look in her eye, coattails swishing gently in the air, “I was beginning to wonder where you’d gone.”

“Just for a stroll, although I’m sure Sofir will have plenty to say on the ride back.” Tatya jumped down from the carriage, keeping the door open and bowed as he passed her, fist to her heart and she bent her knee, “stop that, Tat. You know better than that.” He scolded her as he settled in his seat, pinning her with an unimpressed look and a simple lift of his brow.

“I’m simply being respectful, Manda’lor.”

“I’ve told you time and time again, I’m still me.” Din stated, pointing a warning finger at the girl in front of him, “don’t forget that.”

“Of course not. How could we ever forget who founded and sponsored us?” Sofir answered, a gentle look in her eyes as she looked up at Din, “and that is why we treat you as you deserve to be treated, Manda’lor.”

“So, to put it in simpler terms,” Tatya added, gripping the door to the carriage, “suck it up, ori vod,” and slammed the carriage door in their King’s face.

Din smiled, his real smile and allowed himself to sink into the seat as the carriage began to rock.

The ride back was uneventful, Din peeked from the closed curtain out to view the scenery of London and felt somewhat. . .homesick.

Even if he wasn’t native to the land in which he reigns; it’s sprawling sites and architectural beauty far surpassed the olden age of London and its traditions and old buildings that stunk of dust and filled with conquered relics. The high society of this kingdom called his people savages, they only saw the warrior garb and their armour with their weapons proudly displayed and assumed they were lesser simply because Western society deemed it so.

If only they knew the truth of his people- just how beautiful and rich their culture is. How inclusive.

Maker, he missed Mandalore.

Din felt the carriage stop and before anyone could scramble for the door, he pushed it open and stepped out himself, waving off Tatya’s hovering. As he stepped on the cobblestone path of his London Estate- when he noticed Paz hovering in the large, ornate doorway.

“Careful, Paz. Stand anymore rigid and I’ll begin to think you’ve petrified into stone, then that frown on your face will truly be stuck there.” Din’s teasing usually would be met with a quick-witted remark from his clan-brother and a possible threat of breaking his nose to make it straight but there were no such jibes today.

Din noticed the tense atmosphere within his own staff.

Dark eyes flicked toward the two guards standing on either side of the entryway. The rigid shoulders, hands clenched into fists so tight their gloves creaked against the beskar spears they held and they held their backs so straight they curved upward. He didn’t need to see facial expressions to know something had happened.

“Paz,” The General’s eyes flicked toward Din, a grave glint in the bluest part of his eye made Din’s jaw tick, “what in the Maker is going on?”

Di’kut - Idiot

Ori vod - Big brother

#the mandalorian #bridgerton #bridgerton au #mandalorian au #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian x bridgerton #pedro pascal #din djarin #pedro pascal x reader #din djarin x reader #mando x reader #mando #Jose Pedro Balmaceda Pascal #the child #grogu

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