falling for mr. batchbury (part two) / hunter x f!reader
pairing: hunter x f!reader
description: your long-awaited reunion with mr. batchbury has finally come, and so do you.
REGENCY AU
word count: 8,107
warnings: NSFW 18+ explicit sexual content. loss of vriginity (f). p in v s*x. oral s*x (f receiving). lots of kissing. handj*bs. biting. unprotected s*x. cr*ampie. outdoor s*x. partly clothed s*x. religious comparions.
thank you so much for your support on part one.!! the regency hunter/bad batch art that has come from this has been amazing to see i love it so much!! i got v carried away but i enjoyed writing this sm, so i hope you enjoy reading it <3
also posted on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT
PART TWO
According to his letters, Mr. Hugo Batchbury earned the nickname “Hunter” due to his uncanny ability to seek out enemy ships and find hidden encampments during the war. You had always known his senses to be more attuned than a normal person, so it seemed fitting for him. And it was why you ventured into your estate’s gardens, knowing he’d be able to find you with ease.
You hurried down the stone steps, lifting the skirt of your gown so you wouldn’t trip as you left the din of the ball behind you.
The ball had been to celebrate your father’s return from war. Of course, that meant the Batchbury Brothers had also returned, each with a nickname of their own. William had come to be known as ‘Wrecker’ due to his enthusiasm with the ship's cannons. Thomas became ‘Tech’ as his knowledge of engineering and other contraptions was second to none. Carlisle’s superior aim with a pistol had bestowed him with the name ‘Crosshair’. You had read it all in Mr. Batchbury’s letters, which were frequent enough that missing him was only agonising, not excruciating.
In the years that passed while they were at sea, writing was the only comfort you had – and knowing they served under your father who was a master at his profession. Your heart raced when the footman brought in the post and there was a letter from Mr. Batchbury. Usually, he would write two – one for you and one for Meg.
His letters to you varied, sometimes they told you of what he’d been doing, sometimes they held a tale from the decks of the ship, some mischief played as they rode the waves. But each contained his voice through written script, the words of the sentences so familiar you could hear them in his voice as you read.
You fell more in love with him through his letters, and he with you. Each one he sent would always detail his love for you, his eagerness to come home and love you at a nearer distance, his wish to marry you when he returned. It all sent thrills and pangs through you.
My thoughts of you only seem to increase the longer we are apart, he’d once written. My sketchbook has run out of pages, and until I can find a new one to fill, I draw your face in my dreams.
Your entire being longed to be with him.
You would write to him too, but the time between letters being sent and arriving for both of you seemed to grow more extensive as the months and years went on.
What was it they said, absence makes the heart grow fonder? Well, your heart's fondness for Mr. Batchbury was so strong it ached. You even requested he send you a self-portrait, just so you could see him face. He’d given it in his next letter – his face so beautifully etched in charcoal, his brow strong over intense black circles of eyes, the curve of his jaw shaded with his birthmark. You had to be careful you didn’t drop tears on it when you gazed upon it.
Meg missed him too – she missed all her brothers dearly, and she followed the papers diligently for news, thrumming with excitement when she received a letter from any of them. She had grown so much in the years that had past. Now eighteen, she had matured into a young lady; she was kind, compassionate and amiable. She was as tall as her brothers and seemed to have absorbed all their best traits too, even if they were far away.
You had been with her as she watched from the window, waiting for their carriage to arrive the afternoon just gone. She bounced on her toes in excitement while you sat on the lounge nearby, just as excited but simultaneously so anxious to see Mr. Batchbury you felt like you might be ill.
What if he saw you and you were not as he remembered? Or what if he saw you and his feelings for you were merely spurred by distance, and now were non-existent? You knew his heart to be mountainous, but mountains did fall victim to erosion when weathered by strong winds.
When you heard Meg squeal, you had jumped from your thoughts. “They’re here! They’re back! They’re here!”
She raced from the room, and you gaped for a moment before following her, your footsteps just as quick. Despite your anxieties, you were still desperate to see him.
And you father, too. You couldn’t forget about him.
You followed her outside and watched as Meg skidded to a stop as the carriage slowed and the horses stilled. The carriage door was thrown open as William– Wrecker emerged. You knew it was him from his build. He guffawed as he wrapped his arms around Meg, lifting her up and spinning her. You heard Meg laugh as you approached.
You realised Wrecker now sported an impressive scar from his ear and across one side of his face, an eye patch covering one eye, his head completely shaved. The other brothers filed out of the carriage, Thomas– Tech had a limp and now held a cane on his left side, Carlisle– Crosshair had a burn scar on one side of his head, the same side as the smattering of port wine that splashed over his right eye. He also had a wooden attachment on one hand to replace one he had evidently lost.
They each had been changed by their time at war, but they still gathered Meg into their arms, their love for their sister eternal.
Your breath hitched when you saw Mr. Batchbury– Hunter move down the carriage steps, his boots crunching on the gravel.
His hair was longer, and the bandana had changed from bright red to a rich colour that matched his port wine birthmark, but apart from that it was as if no time had passed. How was it possible he looked exactly the same? In fact, he looked even more handsome, as if the time spent in the sea air had not weathered him, but ripened his beauty.
You watched as he held his arms out for Meg, who jumped into them. He smiled into her neck, arms wrapping around her tightly, squeezing. You heard Meg begin to cry into her older brother’s shoulders, her own shaking. Your heart squeezed for her.
Though her brothers were everything to her, there was something different about her bond with Hunter. He was more than her brother, he was her guardian too, the one she always turned to, the one who had taken her in and cared for her no questions asked. Hunter was Meg’s mountain, and being without him had been harder on her than she liked to admit. Hunter soothed her with gentle shushes, one of his hands running up and down her back.
“It’s alright, Meg. I’m here now,” you heard him console her gently. “I’m not going anywhere ever again.”
You felt your eyes sting with tears at the heartfelt reunion. They pulled away, and you watched Hunter wipe away his sister’s tears with the pad of his thumb, a smile matching his misty eyes. You watched his hands grab hers as he took a step back, seeing her stand at his height.
“You’re so big now,” his voice cracked.
Meg laughed lightly, wiping her eyes. “You missed a lot.”
“Too much.” Hunter shook his head. “Never again.”
“Never,” Meg agreed.
“Hey!” Wrecker’s loud voice boomed when he spotted you. “Look who it is!”
You held your breath as Hunter’s eyes landed on yours. You watched the way his eyes and shoulders softened, his mouth parted. You watched his mouth turn up at the side, and the stain on his cheek darken at the sight of you. It appeared his penchant to flush at the sight of you had not changed either.
You flushed. Why had you even been worried again?
You cleared you throat and took a step forward. “The Batchbury Brothers have returned.”
“You bet!” Wrecker cheered. “And in one piece!”
“Speak for yourself,” Crosshair sneered, his remaining hand gripping the wrist of his prosthetic.
“We are, mostly, unharmed,” Tech adjusted his glasses with his free hand. “Hunter is the only one of us to remain unscathed.”
Hunter sighed and shook his head. “We all survived. That’s what matters.”
“And we’re rich!” Wrecker laughed proudly.
“I heard about your acquisition of prizemoney,” you said. “Congratulations. It is a great accomplishment for you all.”
“It gives us many opportunities now,” Hunter said carefully, meeting your eyes knowingly. You felt your heartbeat pick up.
Did he…mean…?
You felt your expression lift as you gazed at him hopefully, and you watched his birthmark darken again as he smiled softly at you. The smile conveyed all the love he held for you, steadfast and immovable even after five years, even through a war. Your heart squeezed and you felt as though you might faint.
He did mean that.
“Is my father on his way?” you inquired, slightly breathless as his words danced around your head, the realisation so fanciful it hardly seemed real.
Hunter nodded. “He said he had some paperwork to drop off in London, but he should arrive by this evening.”
“Wonderful,” you breathed, smiling at him with what you hoped conveyed the same amount of love, if not more.
Now, under the cover of the moon and the ball long behind you, you raced through the maze to the centre of it; the very maze where your love for each other had blossomed. You were breathless, and you could feel the bones of your tight corset cutting into your ribs, but you didn’t care.
He would be here soon.
“Hey,” you heard his smoky tenor from behind you. You whirled around to see him standing there, holding a lantern he had taken from the courtyard adjacent to the ballroom. Along with a grey waistcoat, he wore his newly tailored dresscoat, black with some red embroidery stitched into the cuffs and collar. His black boots glistened in the light of the moon, and in lieu of his bandana, he wore a red cravat instead.
He looked dashing.
“Mr. Batchbury,” you breathed as you took in the sight fo him.
How was it fair that he looked beautiful in all lights?
He chuckled. “Are we still using such formalities?”
You were unable to hide your smile. “What shall I call you then? ‘Hunter’?” you teased lightly.
You watched as he inhaled sharply, hands that were once relaxed now clenched. “Yes,” he rasped, his eyes never strayed from you. “Hunter is perfect.”
“Very well…Hunter,” you smiled. You liked the way it sounded on your tongue, and Hunter seemed to as well, returning a closed-mouth smile at you as he continued to gaze longingly at you. Your face felt hot as you fiddled with your fingers awkwardly. The moment of silence passed through you both. You looked at him before tittering nervously. Hunter cocked his head.
“What is it?”
“All these years, I thought I would be gushing with things to say, but words have seemed to escape me,” you joked.
Hunter chuckled, a hearty sound, and walked towards you slowly with the lantern before setting it down on the stone bench beside you both. Now, in the dim orange glow, you were close enough to see those familiar brown-grey eyes, unchanged despite the time that passed.
“It’s been a long time. Far too long,” he murmured, eyes travelling across your face like a caress. You swallowed, flustered by his attentions.
You wished you were more articulate, but you had missed him so much, it was taking everything in you not to just kiss him, to instead prelude such a thing with pleasantries so it would not be so forward. It had been a long time, and you had only a few hours together where you knew of each others feelings before he left. This whole thing was unfamiliar territory for you. You knew how to be in love with him from afar, from across an ocean, but had no idea how to do it in such close proximity.
“You look well,” you said. It was a severe understatement.
“You look beautiful,” Hunter told you earnestly, his fingertips gently nudged your hands and you let them latch around yours. Your breath hitched as you felt his warm touch against your hands as he held them assuredly, his thumb drawing circles over the back of your hand. “My sketches and my memory did not do you justice.”
You felt butterflies take flight inside you. “I was worried about this part,” you breathed, too overwhelmed to think about the words that now seemed to fly out of you with no hesitation.
Hunter looked genuinely confused. “Why?”
You swallowed again and averted your eyes, focusing on the concrete next to you. “Because I hoped I would still be what you desired, after half a decade.”
Hunter tilted his head as he moved into your eyeline, forcing you to meet his eye as you both lifted your heads again. His brow was furrowed as he tried to understand. “How could you think I would no longer desire you? Did you not read my letters?”
“I did but…things can change,” you told him quietly.
Hunter’s frown deepened and he searched your face before he shook his head. He let go of one of your hands so he could cup the hinge of your jaw, the pad of his thumb gently caressing your cheekbone, his words quiet but sure.
“Not this,” he told you. “Never this.”
Your heart squeezed. He was not real. He could not be. You loved him so much you thought you might collapse, knees buckling because of how much it consumed you. You leaned into his hand and closed your eyes, breathing in deeply at how nice it was to hear such a thing. To know his heart remained as mountainous as it was when he left. When you opened your eyes again, you saw his brow was drawn together, his lips pressed together. You needed them on yours desperately.
“No,” you agreed, breathless.
You tilted your chin up a little, gaze falling to his lips, a silent begging for him to kiss you. You watched his eyes move to your lips and his words came out as he stared at them.
“I have something…I need to ask you,” he said slowly, like he was nervous, like he was reciting words he had practised. You felt your whole body ignite. He met your eyes once again. “I suspect you know what it is?”
“Yes,” you nodded, your voice barely above a whisper in disbelief. You knew what he was going to ask, and yet you felt yourself thrum with anticipation for hearing the words out loud. “I waited,” you told him.
Hunter nodded, a mirthful smile on his face, like he could hardly believe it either. “You waited.”
You smiled and you both gazed at each other. The warm glow of the lamp lit the side of his face untouched by his birthmark, and the ballroom felt like it was on a different planet, it was so far away. Only the stars were your witnesses above you, glowing dots painting the sky. His hands were warm on you, tethering you to him. It was just the two of you, in the maze – where you both began, and evidently, would be where you continued to be together.
“Marry me.” His husky voice spoke in the space between you, and those two little words made your heartbeat race and your stomach flip over. “Please. I…adore you. It would be my greatest honour to be wed to you.”
Tears of joy stung your eyes, and you unleashed an unbridled smile that you did not dare hold back. You nodded your head quickly, eager to tell him your answer, which you need not take time to consider, you’d had five years after all.
“Yes,” you laughed. “Yes, I will marry you.”
You watched Hunter’s face light up, joy stretching his mouth wide and squishing part of his port wine stain into a triangle on his cheek. He laughed happily as he brought his other hand to your face and pulled you in for your first kiss in five years.
Your hands moved to clutch his lapels as you kissed him back. You had dreamed of kissing him again, and it felt surreal to finally be doing it. His mouth was still as hot, gentle and coaxing as you remember, and you felt yourself pressing into him as he slanted his mouth over yours. You couldn’t stop smiling though, your mouth tipping up involuntarily with your immeasurable happiness as you kissed him. In response, Hunter’s mouth did the same, chuckling before he pulled back. He shook his head and kissed you chastely before he spoke again.
“In the morning, we’ll find the vicar. I don’t want to wait,” he said, his voice hoarse but full of conviction.
“Neither do I,” you agreed, watching the way the moon illuminated his curls.
“It’s been long enough. To be apart from you for any longer,” he pressed his forehead into yours. “It would be agony.”
“I cannot be without you another moment,” you told him before bringing his lips down to yours again. Hunter groaned as he kissed you, his hands travelling down towards your waist as he pulled you flush against him. You moved your hands to the nape of his neck, fisting the hair there. Hunter groaned again before he wrenched himself back, breathless. Apparently, he still had things to say. Could they not wait? You had struggled with words before, why did he want to say them now when there was kissing to do?
“Your father cannot disapprove of me.” he rushed out, like he was telling himself, reassuring himself. “I am no longer poor. He will let us marry.”
You smiled softly at him. All this doubt he had held, all these thoughts and apprehensions that had held him back before, they no longer existed. There was no war to fight, he was no longer destitute, Meg was well and he’d already set up a trust for her. His brothers were safe. And so was he. Everything had been taken care of. Hunter could finally allow himself to have something that he wanted. Something completely his own that did not require anyone’s opinion or approval. He had been a mountain for everyone, and now the storm had passed, the sun shone on his heart and there was no need to be worried about his family.
Though none of it had been a burden to him, Hunter could finally breathe, and he wanted to fill his lungs with you.
You brushed some hair off his forehead. “Even if he did disapprove, I would marry you anyway. I am yours, in whatever circumstance. I always have been.”
Hunter smiled, his expression soft and full of adoration. “I love you.”
“I love you,” you told him moments before Hunter brought his lips back to yours.
Hunter wrapped his arms around you and made a soft sound as you pressed into him. You felt his mouth guide yours open, and you let him, trusting him implicitly as he gently moved his tongue against yours.
You hadn’t kissed him like this before, but the hot wet of his mouth was obscenely wonderful and you were quickly obsessed with how it felt. You tried to stroke your tongue against his in the same motions and felt him moan into your mouth.
“Heavens above,” you felt him mumble as he dragged his mouth away from yours, moving it down your neck as he left open-mouthed kisses across your skin. You tilted your head back, mouth open as you caught your breath, overcome with the feel of his mouth on places you had only read about. You felt between your legs begin to get hot as you cradled his head to your neck, and when you felt him nip at your collarbone, you to let out a high-pitched cry. You were sure you were going to collapse any second.
“Hunter…” you panted.
Hunter moved across your collarbone, kissing the swallow of your neck as he did. His hands moved from your waist to hold your ass, his palms squeezing there. Your chest rose and fell rapidly as you watched him move down towards the swell of your breast which spilled up the neckline of your gown, pressed by your corset.
He kissed the crease between them. “My love, if you will permit me.”
“Do whatever you wish with me,” you hastened to say, desperate for him not to stop.
Hunter did not need to be told twice before he kissed along the neckline, the soft flesh of your breasts meeting his lips. You mewled as his tongue lulled out and licked, before his teeth sunk into them.
“Hunter!” you moaned, head falling back.
You felt his hot breath on your now wet skin. He pulled away with a groan.
“My love, can I…can I please?” Hunter looked at you.
You blinked, trying to remember how to speak. “Can you what?”
“Can I feel you there? I fear I will perish if I do not,” he begged, eyes pleading like if you refused him, he might actually fall apart.
“I told you, do whatever you wish with me.”
A low sound came from the back of Hunter’s throat as he lowered to his knees in front of you. “Sit down on the bench.”
You followed his instruction and then he bunched up your gown before placing a hand between your legs. When you felt his fingers brush against your extremely wet folds, you whimpered and he groaned, a guttural sound that travelled right to your centre.
“Oh, Christ, you’re fucking drenched,” he rasped, moving his fingers against your seam. You panted, clutching his shoulder as pleasure travelled like lightning through your entire body. “And this is all for me.”
“All yours,” you whispered.
Hunter groaned again and pulled his fingers away. You whined at the loss of touch and then watched as he placed his fingers, wet with your slick, into his mouth. You whimpered as he moaned, his eyes closing as he tasted you.
“God, you’re heavenly.”
“Hunter,” you said breathlessly.
He wet his lips. “Can I taste more?”
“Stop asking and just do it,” you said quickly.
Hunter moved under your gown and you slid towards the edge of the bench a little more, hands gripping the stone as you felt his breath on your pussy. You cried out loudly when the flat of his tongue licked up your folds. The sensation was obscene and you felt like you were ascending when you felt his mouth move on you. You shuddered, indecent sounds coming from you as he licked and sucked, tongue moving across your most intimate part. You said his name like a chant as he moved his mouth and tongue expertly, his arms encircled your thighs, forefingers toying with the edge of your stocking, and you felt his moan vibrate against you.
“Hunter,” you strangled out, the sensations moving through you taking away your ability to utter anything but his name.
He placed your knees over his shoulders and continued to move his mouth on you. Your grip on the stone bench tightened as you leaned back at a new angle, your nails digging into the grains of the rock as you panted, the pleasure blooming inside you so heavenly you could barely put words to it.
Hunter’s tongue moved through your folds before he sucked on the small nub there. You jerked, yelping as he run his tongue over it, gently sucking as he continued to pull pleasure from you. You whined as he artfully moved his mouth over you. How was he so good at this?
You had only read about such things in novels, the descriptions making you blush and tingle all at once as you imagined what it would be like to experience it. You had experimented on your own, of course, too curious to wait until Hunter had returned home to feel the pleasure the heroines felt in your novels. But nothing you did to yourself felt as good as this.
You clenched your knees around his head and felt your body begin to shudder as the familiar coils of heat began to build in your stomach, but this time more intense than what you’d felt on your own.
“Hunter,” you told him breathlessly, intending to say more but the words felt like they were floating in a mist above you, and every time you tried to grasp them, they alluded you. “I’m–”
You heard him groan under your skirts, voice muffled between your thighs and under the silks. “Let go.”
You felt his tongue flick that nub, his hands on your thighs tightening as he performed one last ministration that caused that pleasure to erupt from you. You cried out, hands clutching the bench so hard you thought there might be indents in the stone as you came apart on his tongue. Your legs shook and your chest heaved as you moaned and whined, head thrown back as Hunter’s tongue lapped at you. You weren’t sure if the stars above you were real, or ones he had made you see.
As the pleasure waned and your body’s aftershocks slowed, you felt Hunter remove your legs from his shoulders and he fumbled with your skirts as he re-emerged. His curls were a mess, and the port wine stain on his cheek was flushed a deep purple from the heat of being under your skirts. He panted, his mouth glistening with your slick, but his eyes were bright, invigorated, like performing cunnilingus on you had energised him. He licked his lips and smiled lovingly at you.
“Amazing,” he told you, his tone awed. “Is that the first time you’ve come?”
You felt heat rise up your neck. “No.”
Hunter’s eyes widened in surprise. “No?”
“Well, I got very tired of waiting for you.” You shrugged innocently despite your face flaming. “I had to take matters into my own hands.”
“Christ,” he said, the words scratching out of his throat roughly. “Are you serious?”
You met his pleading eyes. “Yes.”
Hunter buried his head in your lap and groaned. “I can’t believe I had to stay away so long.”
“Never again.”
“Never again.” He leaned up and kissed you languidly, and you could taste yourself on his lips.
He stayed kneeling on one knee between your legs, your skirts bunched up to your hips as he kissed you, his hands moving up your body back to your breasts. You gasped when his fingers curled around the neckline of your bodice, fingertips brushing the swell of your breast, skin burning.
“Can I take this off?” He tugged on the edge of the neckline. “Please.”
“Yes. Yes, please,” you practically begged him.
You felt his hands go to the ties at the back of your dress, and he deftly tugged them loose as he brought his mouth to yours again. You felt the fabric of your dress loosen before he retreated to pull the dress off from the front, moving it down your arms. You watched as Hunter rumpled the fabric and threw it to the side so it was out of the way.
You were glad the night was warm, now that you were only in your corset over your chemise and stockings. You watched the garment fall to the ground as Hunter let out a growl of frustration.
“Why are there so many layers? I need more of your skin on my mouth,” he grumbled. You giggled as he started to unlace your corset.
“What is it they say? Patience is a virtue?”
“I’ve never been virtuous and I’m not about to start now,” Hunter rasped as he opened your corset, your breasts falling to their natural position under your chemise as they were no longer held up by your stays. You let out a breath of comfort.
Hunter smiled ruefully. “Better? How tight did your maid tie you up?”
“Tighter than usual. I had someone to impress.”
Hunter grinned and kissed your breasts through the thin cotton, your nipples tightening and pointing through the fabric. “I’m always impressed by you.”
You smiled and kissed him once more before pulling away. “It hardly seems fair that I’m almost indecent while you’re basically fully dressed.
Hunter laughed heartily, a sound that made your chest squeeze. He kept smiling at you, still on one knee between your legs as he pulled off his coat, bunching it up and throwing it into a pile with your dress. He pulled off his cravat roughly and started to unbutton his waistcoat when your hands reached out to stop him.
“Let me,” you told him quietly and your fingers brushed his. You started undoing the buttons of his waistcoat, quiet between you. You felt his eyes on you as you unbuttoned and when you looked up to slide the garment off his shoulders, he was gazing at you with this look you couldn’t decipher. Perhaps it was adoration.
You threw the waistcoat on the pile and Hunter was only left in his shirt, breeches and his boots. You smiled as you ran a hand slowly down the neckline of his shirt, your fingers touching his sternum and the nest of dark curly hair there. You remember watching him train in this years ago, and now here you were.
You met his eyes and watched his eyes smile at you, softening at the sides as he started to untuck his shirt and unbutton it, his eyes never leaving your face.
You watched, mesmerised as Hunter shrugged the shirt off and revealed his bare chest. You took in a breath as you realised how muscular and broad he was. The tendons of his shoulders and collarbones were taut and strong, and his stomach flat except for the raised muscles in a six formation. His hair extended across the expanse of his chest and down into his breeches, but what surprised you the most was the port wine stain that appeared on his face also travelled down his torso, painting one side of his chest a beautiful burgundy across his brown skin. You traced your fingers across the outline and watched the way he shivered under your touch, goosebumps erupting across his skin. He was sculpted by the Gods; Michaelangelo had surely modelled the statue of David from him.
“You’re beautiful,” you breathed, fingers trailing down his chest before you met his eyes, a small smile tugging the corners of your lips.
Hunter’s eyes widened for a moment at your declaration before his lips twitched, like they itched to smile. He placed his hands on the sides of your thighs, the thin cotton a poor barrier for the heat of his hands as he rubbed circles into your skin.
“You think so?” he replied quietly, like he didn’t quite believe you.
“Yes,” you told him, your smile turning big. “Heavenly. That’s what you are.”
Hunter studied for face, his expression pensive before he spoke.
“I’ve heard people say this–” his fingers skimmed his face and down his chest, knocking yours, “–is the mark of the devil.”
You frowned. “Who said that?”
“People. When we were children. I…faced ridicule. And in turn, it marked my brothers. It got worse when Crosshair was born, and the stain across his eye became known. We were outcasts already, but this made it worse.”
Your heart broke thinking of Hunter as a child, facing ridicule for something he could not control, for something that made him unique. If he was protective over his family now, you could only imagine back then. What a silly superstition. How could anyone look at Hunter, see how he was with his family and with others, and think he was anything but an angel? No mark upon his face should dictate who he was.
You shook your head and pressed your hand against the centre of his chest, right above his heart. You felt it beat steadily under your palm, the rhythm matching yours. You met his eyes.
“They could not be more wrong,” you told him softly in earnest.
You felt his heartbeat speed up underneath your palm, making you smile. You watched an expression pass through his face. Was it relief? You felt his hands on your thighs squeeze before he captured the hand that lay on his chest between both of his and kissed your palm softly.
“That’s…very nice to hear.” You heard his voice break a little as he spoke, his mouth pulling into a sincere smile that conveyed so much love, you felt you might burst with it.
Hunter leaned in and captured your lips in his once more, this kiss slow and passionate as it told you without words the depth of his feelings for you. You pulled him closer as you deepened the kiss. You let him drape your arms around his neck, and he shifted so his hands grabbed your hips. He pulled away only for a moment, his lips murmuring into yours.
“‘M gonna switch us,” he mumbled. You only nodded, and a laugh rippled from you as Hunter hoisted your body against his. You instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist as he swiftly switched your places, so he sat on the bench and you straddled his lap. Hunter pulled you in so your centre was pressed against the ties of his breeches. It was a scandalous feeling that flowed through you as felt Hunter’s bulge against you. You gasped as he let out a strangled sound. You pulled back to look at him, a mix of an amused and tortured smile on his face as he looked up at you.
“Oh, I like this position,” you told him.
“Yeah? Me too,” he said and buried his head in your neck, kissing there as he pulled your body against his again, rocking you into the hardness of him through the cotton of your chemise. You moaned, feeling your folds slick again, despite only coming a mere five minutes ago.
“Hunter, I need you,” you told him.
Hunter groaned into your collarbone. “I need you too. I’m out of patience.”
You felt him shift his hold on you, so one hand held you at the small of your back and kept you from sliding off him, and the other quickly untied the fastenings of his breeches and shifted them down slightly. You slid a hand down between you, fingers knocking against his as you felt his cock spring up against his stomach. You gasped when your fingertips brushed his length, the skin hot and hard. He groaned and wrapped his hand around your wrist.
“Please.” His voice practically trembled.
You looked at him and watched the way his eyebrows had slanted down at the ends, his mouth parted. You slowly grazed your fingernails against his length and he jerked underneath you.
“Christ,” he panted.
You wrapped your hand around his length, the way you’d read about, and you heard him groan. Both his hands went to your back, clutching the gaping fabric of your chemise. The way he was reacting only made your stomach tighten and your folds flood with wetness. And you’d barely touched him.
You looked down between you and saw the head of his cock had pooled with precum already. You circled your thumb over the small slit there, coating it and Hunter hissed, head burying in your neck and teeth biting the meat of your shoulder. You moaned, heat running through you. The hilt of his cock was nestled with dark curls and you shifted your hand down and up. Hunter cried out, head falling back as he looked at you, eyes bleary.
“My love, I’m so worked up right now, I will not last if you keep doing that.”
“What?” You feigned innocence. “This?”
You moved your hand again the same way, squeezing a little this time, and Hunter’s eyes screwed shut as he yelped again, shifting your body closer to his. Your centre chaffed against your chemise which rubbed against his cock.
“Christ.” His neck strained before he reached up and smoothed a hand over your hair. “I need to be inside you.”
Nerves and excitement fluttered through you at his words. You had read about such things, of course, and had wanted so badly to experience sex with Hunter, but now being presented with the very situation you had dreamed of happening with Hunter filled you with uncertainty. You wanted this to go right, for him to enjoy himself with you.
“I need that too,” you told him.
“It…It might hurt a little at first,” he said, hand smoothing your hair again. “We’ll go slow. And you tell me to stop and I will.”
You smiled at his concern, his care. “I trust you.”
Hunter smiled at you and pulled you in for a lingering kiss before he pulled away. “Lift up for me, sweet girl.”
You placed your hands on his shoulders and raised yourself on your knees, the stone bench beneath them digging in a little as butterflies swooped in your stomach. Hunter lifted you against him, hands under your thighs as he moved you both to the ground.
“Next time we do this, it will be in a bed,” he told you, his voice light with mild annoyance. You laughed as he lay you back against the pile of clothes you had created, a makeshift mattress out under the stars.
You looked at him as he leaned over you, body in between your legs, dark curls falling over his shoulders and hanging down. The lantern by the bench provided a warm orange glow, but the moon did most of the work, lighting up his hooked nose and gorgeous face. With the stars behind him, you placed his hair behind his ear with a smile, in awe of him.
“What is it?” he asked, mouth lifting into a smile. You felt the lines of his smile stretch under your hand on his cheek.
“I love you,” you told him simply because it explained everything.
He smiled, and you felt his skin heat before he bent to kiss you once more. He kissed you deeply, tongue sliding against yours before he pulled back. His eyes stayed on you, a soft reassuring expression as he bunched your chemise around your hips, spread your legs so you were completely open to him and positioned himself. Your heartbeat quickened as you felt him at your entrance.
“Are you ready, my love?” he asked, his voice as soft as his eyes.
You let out a shaky breath before nodding and biting your lip.
Hunter nodded and in a hushed voice, told you to try and relax as he slowly pushed in. He moaned, face screwed as he sunk himself inside you, hands tightening on your hips. Despite your slickness, the stretch caused some pain to bolt through you and you hissed, your hands curling around his forearms.
Hunter immediately stopped, eyes flying open as he looked down at you with concern. “Are you okay?”
You nodded and took a breath. “Keep going.”
Hunter watched your expression as he slowly moved further in until he was fully seated inside you. You screwed your eyes shut, fingernails digging into his arms, and you felt one of his hands rub up and down your thighs as you adjusted to the feel of him inside you. It was full feeling, but not overly uncomfortable. The books you’d read glossed over this part.
You felt embarrassed, waiting a moment for your body to be okay to keep going and opened your eyes as you rushed to say, “I’m sorry, I’m just–”
“Hush,” Hunter told you, silencing you gently, his expression soft. “We have all the time in the world.”
You let out a breath before he continued, mouth tipping up at the side. “Though the way you’re squeezing me…”
You grinned, a laugh bubbling out of you. “Good?”
“Incredible,” Hunter sighed.
You both laughed together like it was the most natural thing in the world. Hunter brushed some strands of hair back as he looked down at you and you felt yourself and your anxieties ease. He was so incredibly special.
You shifted underneath him as your body had grown used to him. “I think you can move now.”
“Nice and slow,” he confirmed with you.
Both you and Hunter made sounds of pleasure as he started to rock into you, pulling out a little before moving back in, the movement becoming more fluid and easy as he kept going. Hunter’s grip on your hips guided the movements, and you moaned as the nub of your folds bumped against him.
“Christ, you’re so pretty like this,” he told you as you moved your hips against him to match his thrusts. “Can’t believe you’re mine.”
He bent to kiss you once more as he slid inside you again. His hips rolled into yours in easy languid motions, his cock moving in and out of you. You moaned, fingers clawing his back as he began to quicken his movements, thrusts now steady and hard as the pleasure built inside you. You stockinged legs coming up and sliding around his waist, one ankle pushing in at the small of his back to pull him in deeper.
Sex with Hunter was much better than anything you had ever read, better than your own fingers. His thrusts confident yet never painful, his hands firm but never hurting. The sensation of his cock sliding in and out of you was unbelievable, and you were so glad you were able to experience such a thing with him. That he survived the war, and your love for each other had endured. And now, under the stars, he took you in a way that showed all his love for you.
You’d both been patient for this, and he may have said he had never been virtuous, but the way he was making you feel right now felt religious; the feverent way he held you and loved you was almost sacramental, the angel he was.
Hunter’s grip on your hips tightened and you watched the way his need for you eclipsed his features. It was an expression you liked and wanted to see more of. His pupils blown, mouth parted, hair messy. It pleased you to know that you made him like that.
The only sounds that filled the night were both of your moans and groans and the slap of Hunter’s hips against the backs of your thighs. Hunter’s movements increased, as did the husky sound that came from the back of his throat with each one. Hunter’s grip moved to take your hands from his shoulders, pressing them next to your head as he laced your fingers together. Each thrust buried him inside you, the hilt of his cock brushing your nub enough that you felt the heat in you rising, coiling in your stomach. It was intoxicating, and you never wanted him to stop.
“I’m…I’m so close, my love,” Hunter panted, a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow in the moonlight.
“As am I,” you told him breathlessly, hands squeezing his.
“Where?” he asked, and you felt him twitch inside you, on the cusp of it.
You were familiar with the question; your novels prepared you for this part. “Inside,” you told him without an ounce of hesitation.
Hunter groaned, his pacing stuttering. “Are you certain? It could–”
“Yes,” you cut him off. “Please. I know the risk and I am unbothered by it.”
Hunter’s face fell into your neck, groan vibrating against your skin, teeth nipping there gently. “Christ,” you heard him mumble. “You’ve ruined me.”
After several deep thrusts that you felt hit the furthest part of your core, he faltered and you heard him cry out as he stilled, and you felt him spill inside you. His hands tightened on yours, palms pressing together they may as well be fused.
You gasped, moaning as he shuddered above you, no longer able to hold his weight fully, he let himself drape his body on top of yours. Warmth pooled between your legs, and you rolled your hips against the hilt of his cock. Hunter hissed at the moment as he caught his breath, lifting his head to look at you with hooded eyes. Hunter stayed seated inside you as he slowly unlaced his hands from yours so he could shift off you slightly and lift himself up enough to slide a hand between your bodies.
“Your turn,” he told you before he slanted an open mouth kiss over your lips as his fingers brushed your nub, making you jerk and gasp into his mouth.
His fingers circled there slowly at first before they increased, rubbing with his fore and middle fingers which were coated in your slick. You felt the pleasure rising rapidly and you barely had time to say anything before you fell over the edge, that pleasure erupting from you as you cried out, mouth open under his and eyes shut. You shuddered and writhed underneath his body as he drew out your orgasm, legs trembling as you squeezed his length still inside you, making him moan into your mouth. The feeling was indescribable, more intense than your previous orgasm had been, and you clutched at his forearm and shoulder, wishing this feeling never came to an end.
You were completely his, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.
Then his fingers slowed, and your body came down from its peak, limbs feeling like jelly. You opened your eyes to see his brown ones staring back at you, noses knocking as you both smiled, feeling each other lips stretch with your own.
Hunter placed one last kiss on your lips before he pulled back. You laughed lightly, too happy to fully conceal it. You pushed his hair back and bit your lip. Hunter smiled down at you, birthmark flushed, then bent to kiss your cheek.
“So beautiful,” he whispered.
Your face heated as he slowly slid out of you, the loss of him a dull ache as your body readjusted to the empty feeling. Hunter rose to his knees and tucked himself back into his breeches before reaching out to adjust your chemise, hands running down your stockings once he had. He smiled and shook his head at you.
“You should see how you look right now,” he said, a rueful expression painting his face.
Your hands flew to your cheeks, pressing your fingers against the hot skin. “Why?”
“You’re an angel,” he said, fumbling for his cravat to wipe you and his fingers with.
“No, you are,” you told him as the silk fabric slid across your folds.
Hunter laughed and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Did I go too hard?”
“You were perfect,” you assured him, the soreness between your thighs a common symptom post-coitus, according to your books.
Hunter lay next to you and propped up on his elbow and you turned a little to face him, smile unable to leave your face. He smiled lovingly at you, and you at him. He opened his mouth when a deep baritone bellowed from somewhere outside the maze.
“Hunter! You better get back here! The Commodore’s looking for his daughter!” Wrecker’s voice carried over the hedges.
You covered your mouth to stifle a laugh. Hunter smiled and shook his head.
“We better go,” he said, sitting up then standing and holding a hand out to you.
“How long have we been gone?” You asked, taking his hand. Hunter pulled you up with such strength you fell forward into his arms, pressed against his chest. He caught you easily.
“Long enough,” he said. “Can’t keep him waiting.”
You looked up at him reassuringly when you saw his expression turn thoughtful, hands on his upper ams and circling the skin there with your thumbs. “He will be pleased.”
Hunter smiled at your words and you returned it before pressing a kiss to his jaw. “I’ll need your help to lace me up.”
Hunter’s smile turned into a grin, his teeth white in the moonlight. “I’ll be gentle.”
“You always are,” you told him placing your lips to his one last time before the secret of the two of you would be revealed, and your always with Hunter began.
this is the last part of falling for mr. batchbury, but please let me know if you would like to see more of the batchbury brothers...because these are a delight to write! otherwise, i have more fics coming so stay tuned!
thank you for reading and supporting me!
This was so incredibly hot. Loved it a ridiculous amount.
But before we got to the hot part, this was so sweet:
What was it they said, absence makes the heart grow fonder? Well, your heart's fondness for Mr. Batchbury was so strong it ached. You even requested he send you a self-portrait, just so you could see him face. He’d given it in his next letter – his face so beautifully etched in charcoal, his brow strong over intense black circles of eyes, the curve of his jaw shaded with his birthmark. You had to be careful you didn’t drop tears on it when you gazed upon it.
Omg, she asked him to draw himself for her, and he did it!! I love that so much!
The reunion between Meg and the guys was incredibly sweet as well!
Wrecker emerged. You knew it was him from his build. He guffawed as he wrapped his arms around Meg, lifting her up and spinning her. You heard Meg laugh as you approached.
They each had been changed by their time at war, but they still gathered Meg into their arms, their love for their sister eternal.
And it's always a little different with Hunter:
You watched as he held his arms out for Meg, who jumped into them. He smiled into her neck, arms wrapping around her tightly, squeezing. You heard Meg begin to cry into her older brother’s shoulders, her own shaking. Your heart squeezed for her.
This actually brought tears to my eyes:
Though her brothers were everything to her, there was something different about her bond with Hunter. He was more than her brother, he was her guardian too, the one she always turned to, the one who had taken her in and cared for her no questions asked. Hunter was Meg’s mountain, and being without him had been harder on her than she liked to admit. Hunter soothed her with gentle shushes, one of his hands running up and down her back.
“It’s alright, Meg. I’m here now,” you heard him console her gently. “I’m not going anywhere ever again.”
You felt your eyes sting with tears at the heartfelt reunion.
Me too, girl, me too!
FIVE years!! Meg was 18 now! And as tall as Hunter! Aaaah! It had to be so bittersweet for him, for all of them. To be able to see her again finally, but to think of FIVE years gone...they can't get them back. They can't get back her years between 13 and 18. That's so sad.
But moving on from sad to hot.
You did a spectacular job with the smut! It was perfection. It's just as I would imagine it would be between them in that time period. A little surprising, especially for her, but still so natural and loving. So very loving. Not just sex, but the love between them was so evident.
And I had to giggle at this, it might have been my favorite part:
“Amazing,” he told you, his tone awed. “Is that the first time you’ve come?”
You felt heat rise up your neck. “No.”
Hunter’s eyes widened in surprise. “No?”
“Well, I got very tired of waiting for you.” You shrugged innocently despite your face flaming. “I had to take matters into my own hands.”
“Christ,” he said, the words scratching out of his throat roughly. “Are you serious?”
You met his pleading eyes. “Yes.”
Hunter buried his head in your lap and groaned.
Thank you for all of it!! I will be rereading it at some point, I'm sure!
Thanks again for this story. It was such a joy to read, I'm just sorry it took me so long to get to it.
again thank you for your kind words!!! i’m really really glad you found this piece after all this time. it’s really great to hear how much you’ve enjoyed it!!
description: your feelings for Mr. Batchbury blossom as he and his brothers train on your father's estate before they go off to war. During his stay, you realise just how deep your feelings for him go, and maybe, just how much he feels for you too.
REGENCY AU
word count: 6,767
warnings: none. kissing. pining. secret crushes. love confessions.
i have loved the regency romance genre for such a long time, and i was struck with this idea and simply needed to realise it.
this was SO fun to write. a good challenge, but mostly just an absolute delight. i hope you enjoy this as much as i enjoyed writing it!
also posted this on ao3. feedback is welcomed, reblogs are appreciated.
PART ONE
Naval Officer Lieutenant Hugo ‘Hunter’ Batchbury had always been the kind of man who stood out in a crowd – whether he liked it or not. Not only did he sport a unique birthmark the rich colour of port wine across one side of his face, but his roguish handsomeness coupled with his taciturn air had every debutante of the ton vying for his attentions and hand in marriage.
It was vexing.
It was vexing for you, at least, to watch society fawn over the man who had held your heart for more than half a decade. He had been your secret – no one knew of Mr. Batchbury until after the Napoleonic Wars when he and his band of misfit brothers returned from sea.
Society relished in the gossip that the Batchbury family had made their fortune in the war. The tale of their enlisting was scintillating and circled the ton’s social circles like wildfire, whispers in every ballroom and gentleman’s club. Having initially enlisted in the Royal Navy to support their younger sister and save her from a life of destitution, Mr. Batchbury and his brothers moved through the ranks swiftly with the acquisition of prizemoney – their ship infamous for capturing many enemy ships, never losing a battle.
They were heroes in every sense of the word.
But you knew it before anyone else.
Your first encounter with the Batchbury family was when they arrived at your father’s estate for training with nearly nothing but the clothes on their backs. It was a highly irregular practice, but your empathetic father, a commodore of the Royal Navy, had allowed the Batchbury Brothers and their sister to stay with your family as they trained so they would not be separated from their younger sibling, who was but 13 years old with no other known family.
You and your mother had greeted them all upon arrival, politely welcoming them.
They’d stepped out of the carriage one by one, the tallest and broadest of them first. You wondered how he’d fit inside the coach. Then the spectacled one, then the grey-haired one and then Mr. Batchbury, with his long hair and facial birthmark. You remembered taking in a breath at the sight of him in all his glory. With his brown skin and dark curls blowing in the morning breeze, you were already taken with him, but that only increased tenfold when you watched him turn to help his sister down from the carriage, lifting her from under her armpits and setting her down next to him. You’d been unable to hide your smile when you watched him take his sister's hand in his.
“Hello,” was all he’d said, inclining his head politely before his eyes moved across your mother and then met yours, lingering there.
You were smitten.
You barely remember what words were exchanged between your father and mother and the Batchburys. Just their names. William, Thomas, Carlisle, Hugo, and Meg. You remember curtsying politely when you were introduced, your face hot as you met Mr. Batchbury’s gaze with a small smile. You also remember the whole interaction was slightly awkward and stilted; the Batchbury Brothers unsure of how to accept your family’s generosity.
Meg, however, was eager and talkative. You liked her.
Once they started their training, you spent the coming weeks watching them from afar with Meg, who longed to join them. And boy, were they quite a sight.
The Batchbury brothers were a healthy mix of brash, loud, clever and cunning. All close in age, they drew the eye in both looks and temperament, but they impressed your father astronomically. The four of them were his finest officers.
Finest in more ways than one, you often thought. Every single one of them was handsome in their own way, but the handsomeness of Mr. Hugo Batchbury had drawn your attentions immediately, and they have not strayed since.
You often spent hours looking out your drawing room window at the garden below, watching him train with his brothers and your father. He would grow sweaty and would end up wrapping a tie around his forehead to keep his collarbone length hair out of his face. Sometimes he would look up at the window, seeming to always know when someone was near, and wave at his sister before nodding at you. You’d flush every time.
You lost count of the number of times you had been scalded for daydreaming, thinking only of the way his ivory shirt billowed in the wind as he sparred with his brothers, a determined look on his face. But who could blame you? Daydreaming of Mr. Batchbury was, in fact, a better use of your time than embroidery.
In the evenings, the Batchbury family dined with your family. The thought thrilled you, knowing you would end every day in the company of Mr. Batchbury. He was often seated diagonally from you, giving you the perfect line of sight of his dark brown-grey eyes, his hooked nose, and his full lips. His face was truly sculpted by the Gods. You wished those dinners lasted all night, just so you could stare at him longer.
He would only engage in conversation when spoken to directly, otherwise, he remained quiet, only humming in agreement or nodding. Sometimes, you felt his eyes on you, but you were most likely imagining such things.
His brothers were the same, quiet bar a few snide remarks from Carlisle towards William, who often pouted in response. Meg would giggle until she received a chiding look from Mr. Batchbury. His spectacled brother, Thomas, could chatter on about everything and anything. You rather liked all of them.
You also enjoyed the way Mr. Batchbury’s mouth would quirk upwards at his brother’s ramblings. He truly was the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your life.
There was one morning, early in his stay at your estate, where you encountered Mr. Batchbury outside of these timetabled activities, and from there began your tumbling down into love.
You walked through the gardens, taking the air after a morning of lessons. Meg was a quick learner, but she bored easily of learning tedious hobbies like pianoforte, and so did you. While she snuck down to the kitchens for more food, you decided to go for a walk.
Your mother had these gardens landscaped to include a small hedge maze in the south corner. No one entered it anymore, except for you, which meant there were no chances of being bothered until you reemerged. But as you followed the familiar pathway towards the centre of the maze, you were surprised to find Mr. Batchbury sitting sideways on the stone bench you usually occupied, his legs stretched across as he hunched over something.
“Oh!” you gasped in surprise, stopping in the entrance to the maze’s centre.
Mr. Batchbury startled uncharacteristically and twisted to see you, his strange-coloured eyes wide and curly hair lifting in the gentle breeze. He wore his training gear, sans the tie around his head. The strings of his shirt were open to reveal his deep brown skin with a smattering of dark curly hair right on his sternum. You felt heat grow in your cheeks and tingle between your thighs. You averted your eyes. It was one thing to view it from your window, but another to see it mere metres from you.
“I am terribly sorry, Mr. Batchbury,” you apologised. “I did not expect to find anyone here.”
Mr. Batchbury inclined his head and turned his body towards you. “It’s quite alright.”
His voice was smoky and deep, and you felt it right down to the core of you. You flushed again.
“Please excuse me, I’ll let you get back to your…” You peered down to his lap which held a sketchbook, with a portrait of a woman you couldn’t completely make out. You watched as Mr. Batchbury swiftly covered the sketch with his forearm. Your face burned at the embarrassment of encroaching on his private work.
“I’m sorry. Good day, Mr. Batchbury.”
You turned on your heel, desperately wanting to get out of there, walk into the lake and act out Ophelia’s death when his voice called out.
“Wait. Stay. I will go,” Mr. Batchbury closed his sketchbook and stood.
“That is not necessary, Mr. Batchbury. You were here first; I will find someplace else to hide from my mama.”
Mr. Batchbury’s mouth lifted in amusement, his entire face brightening at the show of delight. “In that case, we both must stay. I am also hiding...but from my brothers.”
You smiled and took a tentative step towards him. “Is that so? I can’t imagine why you would hide from them.”
Mr. Batchbury shook his head. “You would if you were permitted to spend an afternoon with them.”
You laughed lightly and when Mr. Batchbury gestured to the stone bench for you to sit down, you obliged. Your whole body alighted when you felt him sit down next to you, hyperaware of his strong arms inches from yours as he placed his sketchbook on the other side of him. After a moment of silence, you spoke up again.
“Are you quite certain that I am not intruding?” you asked, turning towards him.
Mr. Batchbury nodded. “I am quite sure. It is nice to have polite and quiet company.”
You smiled. “Your brothers do not often speak at dinner. Except for Thomas, of course.”
Mr. Batchbury took in a breath as he stared out towards the hedge. “My brothers and I are not used to high-born life. And I have told them to be on their best behaviour at dinner. In private, my brothers talk and argue often.”
You studied his profile. Up close, you could see the way the edges of his birthmark were not exact lines and instead seemed to fade into the skin around it. You wanted to reach out and touch it, trace the imperfect lines with the tip of your finger softly and feel the roughness of his stubble as you moved across his face gently. But it would be extremely improper, so you curled your fingers into your palm tightly to suppress the urge.
“I imagine it has been an adjustment staying here whilst you train with my father.”
Mr. Batchbury linked his own hands together. “He is a great man. But yes, it has. I believe my brothers are anxious to go to war, just to escape the expectations of being guests. My sister, on the other hand, is quite enjoying her time. She was very pleased to hear your father will be allowing her to stay whilst we go abroad to fight.”
A warm smile danced on his face at the mention of his sister. You knew he was the eldest, and so the care of her fell mostly onto him. But he did not seem burdened by it. In fact, he seemed to enjoy being the parental figure for his sister. And Meg spoke of him often, telling you stories of how he would stay with her at night in their old cottage, curling around her to keep warm when they ran out of coals. Or how he would give her at least half of his food, even if it was their only meal of the day and he was starving. These tales not only solidified how much he loved his sister and what he was willing to sacrifice for her, but stoked the flaming crush you had on him.
He was already a hero to his sister, and he hadn’t even gone to war yet.
“I will be glad to continue to have her company,” you told him honestly.
Mr. Batchbury met your eyes and smiled at you, and you felt the air leave your lungs. He left you breathless, and to receive such a smile from him…one so unfiltered, warm, and so genuine, you felt lucky. His whole face lit up, his eyes bright as they creased at the sides. The feelings bubbling inside your stomach only grew. You averted your gaze, face heating.
You quickly moved the conversation on. “Are you anxious to leave as well?”
“In some ways. But in others…” Mr. Batchbury trailed off, gaze lingering in your periphery before he shook his head and continued. “I will miss Meg terribly. But we have to protect her, do what we can to ensure she is safe.”
You felt your heart squeeze at his words. His devotion was unmatched, and you had the sudden wish to be included in it; for him to be so devoted to you. What would it be like to be loved by Mr. Batchbury? You imagined it would be rather wonderful.
“It was very admirable, what you are doing for her,” you said, smoothing the fabric of your gown.
Mr. Batchbury only shrugged. “Anyone would do such a thing for their family.”
You looked at him with a smirk. “I would not be so certain.”
He sounded genuinely surprised by this, blinking at you as he placed a hand on his rather muscular thigh and turned his body to you. “No?”
“I’m sure there are many out there who would simply send their siblings off to school,” you told him. “I know of men who do that now, who are not at war, so they do not have the responsibility of caring for a child beyond sending tuition money.”
Mr. Batchbury shook his head. “I can’t imagine leaving any of my siblings behind like that, let alone Meg. I don’t even want to leave her behind at all, but war is no place for a child.”
You gazed at him, and you could not hide your admiration. How could a man like this exist and not be a figment of your imaginings? He must have been sent from heaven, for a man on Earth could never be so exceptional, so lovely.
“You are a good man, Mr. Batchbury.”
Mr. Batchbury met your gaze and watched you with an expression you could not recognise. No matter how much you wished, no matter how much you could feel heat rushing to your cheeks, you could not look away from him. His brown-grey eyes bore into you, like they were seeing into your soul, and giving you a window into his. When you looked at him, you saw someone so kind and so unselfish, so devoted to his family and to keeping his sister safe. Someone willing to put himself in danger in the hope that she would be taken care of in his absence. His heart was huge, and he downplayed all of it, acting like it was not a choice, but something he simply did because he loved.
When Mr. Batchbury loved, you'd learnt, he loved faithfully and unwaveringly. His heart found a place to belong, and then never moved. It was a mountainous kind of heart, that stalled and weathered storms for those it loved and shielded them from harm, that remained strong for eternity.
Oh, how you longed to experience it.
You absently parted your lips and watched as Mr. Batchbury’s eyes darted towards the movement. He gazed there, zeroing in on your mouth for a moment too long before he cleared his throat and abruptly looked away.
“I should find my brothers; ensure they have not caused any trouble while I’ve been hiding.” He stood up, gathering his sketchbook and pencils, sounding a little breathless.
“Yes, o-of course.” You could barely string a sentence together, overcome with how much you felt for this man, and how he just looked like he had wanted to kiss you.
“Thank you for the company,” Mr. Batchbury inclined his head before quickly walking away, back through where you came from, his footsteps light against the gravel.
You took a deep breath and attempted to calm your racing heart. But you feared your heart would forever be hurried as long as Mr. Batchbury continued to exist in the same time as you.
In the several weeks that followed, you would have unplanned meetings with Mr. Batchbury in the maze. At least, they began as unplanned, before you both found excuses to meet each other there. It was so easy being with him, to talk to him and laugh with him. Some days you would regale him with tales of your childhood, and then beg him to tell you of his, no matter how fleeting it had been due to their circumstance and his position as eldest sibling. On others, you both did not talk at all, only sat beside each other, you with a book, and him with his sketchbook aimed away from your eyes.
One day, after many meetings in which your feelings for him grew beyond your known capacity, you taught him several dances. By his request, surprisingly.
“I did not take you as one to dance,” you teased him, standing up and walking several metres to where there was a space for you both to dance unobstructed.
You watched as the port wine stain across Mr. Batchbury’s face deepened slightly in colour. Was he blushing? “I am not. I think it will help with…my training.”
You gave him a strange look before you began teaching him.
“Now half turn, and pass by my shoulder,” you told him, and he followed your instruction. He was a fast learner, and as it turns out, a fine dancer. Perhaps the entire Batchbury clan were quick studies.
“Hold my hands, and we turn together,” you instructed.
You felt his hands encircle yours and through the barely there lace of your gloves, you felt the heat of his palms on yours. You hitched a breath as his fingers curled to hold yours firmly; securely. You met his eyes, which were on yours in an intense gaze that left you breathless. You dared not look away from his eyes, one side surrounded by his birthmark, as he turned with you. You forgot what choreography came next as you both turned slowly around each other, moving closer and closer, hands intertwined.
Eventually, you slowed to a stop, but neither of you moved to break apart. Your noses nearly touched, and you’d never been so close to a man in your life. You could feel his breath on your skin, and you were sure he could hear just how fast your heart was beating. Mr Batchbury’s hold on your hands was the only thing that tethered you to the Earth, nothing else could be comprehended but his touch and his eyes. You felt the pad of this thumb gently move across your knuckles in a gesture you’d only read about in books. You inhaled softly, heart expanding in your chest.
“Mr. Batchbury,” you breathed.
“Yes,” he breathed back.
“I…I don’t remember what comes next,” you whispered, not sure what else to say.
Mr. Batchbury blinked several times, as if he suddenly realised where he was and how intimate their position had been, and took a step back, placing distance between you both. He then looked down at your hands and then gently let them go.
“I’m very sorry. That wasn’t…” He paused before he settled on, “Right.”
You quickly shook your head, wishing he would come closer once again. “No, it’s quite alright. Really.”
Mr. Batchbury shook his head. “No. It’s not. Your father would not be pleased.”
“I care little of what my father thinks. And we were only dancing.”
“Dancing,” he repeated like he was unsure himself.
“Dancing,” you confirmed. You held out your hand, desperate for him to take it again. “Please, let us continue.”
Mr. Batchbury looked at your hand hesitantly before he took it again, this time his hold loose and non-committal and you longed for the way he held you just minutes ago.
You raced through the rest of the dance, and when you had finished, Mr. Batchbury thanked you before making an excuse and leaving swiftly. You sighed and sat on the bench, thinking back to the way he had looked at you; the hold he’d had on your hand and the way he’d moved his thumbs across your knuckles. He had been so close…surely…surely he had wanted to kiss you? No one looked at someone like that, held someone like that in a dance without the hope that their lips would meet their partners…right? You put your head in your hands. You did not know, and there was no one you could ask.
You wished he had. You wished he had pressed his lips to yours, and ended your misery. You imagined it endlessly. You thought of the way he would hold you close against him as he moved his lips against yours. His looked so soft, you imagined they’d feel soft too. They’d be gentle, coaxing, teaching yours. You’d place your fingers into his hair, tangling them in the curly locks hoping they’d get trapped in there, chaining you to him forever. He was so proficient in everything else he did, surely he would be when it came to kissing too.
Oh, yes, you thought. To kiss Mr. Batchury would be heavenly indeed.
The next day, you weren’t sure you would find Mr. Batchbury in the maze. As much as you wished differently, you suspected that after yesterday afternoon’s dance lesson, you would not see him again until the evening.
But you reached the centre of the maze and saw him sitting there with his back to you, no doubt his sketchbook on his lap. He had tilted his head slightly at the sound of your footsteps – his hearing was exceptional.
You swallowed and began to walk towards him. He turned to face you, swivelling his body as he made room for you on the bench. He pulled his sketchbook to his chest, hiding the pages from your eyes.
“I apologise for yesterday,” he said. “I should not have been so…”
“We were only dancing,” you were quick to reassure.
He did not say anything, he only looked at you, something indiscernible passing over his face as you watched his hands tighten on his sketchbook, the pages squeezing under his fingertips. You watched him curiously, trying to decipher the crease of his brow. If you were brave enough, and were sure your actions would not scare him away yet again, you would push the pad of your thumb into the lines formed between his brow, flatten them gently until they were gone. Your need to touch him only intensified after how close you’d been to him yesterday. To feel the tickle of his breath on your cheeks tease how easy it would’ve been to close the distance was a cruel twist of the knife into your feelings for Mr. Batchbury, knowing you would not get that close again.
After several beats of silence that seemed to feel endless in your agony, he said, “My brothers and I will be departing tomorrow at dawn. Your father says we are ready.”
Your breath hitched in surprise. “Oh.”
You felt your throat close up. You knew it was coming, but did it have to be so soon? You had grown so used to his presence these several weeks, to seeing him training, to dining with him, to spending these precious hours with him in the maze…how would you do without him? And he was going to war no less…the thought that he might never return was so violent you felt it proverbially slam into you, and you had to grip the edge of the stone bench to steady yourself.
And even if–when, when he came back, so much could change while he was away. Your mother would surely take you to London for another tedious season, desperate for you to make a match. Only none would live up to Mr. Batchbury. And if you did marry at your mother’s behest, he would return, and your feelings would come back stronger than ever, only now there was no chance of anything to come of you both. He would surely find someone else, and marry them instead.
You felt like crying. You wanted him to stay. But he never would, and it would be selfish and foolish to ask.
It seemed as though Mr. Batchbury would be someone you were only meant to know for a short time.
“I’m sure you and your brothers will be missed by your sister,” you managed to choke out. And by me. I will miss you so terribly I fear my chest will break open with the ache of it.
Mr. Batchbury gave a pained expression. “I feel sick at the thought of leaving her.”
You didn’t stop yourself this time, placing a hand on his forearm. “I will look after her. She will be okay. I promise you, Mr. Batchbury,”
He looked at you, brows slanted in a way that broke your heart and mouth stretched into the saddest of smiles. “That is my only comfort, knowing you will be there for her.”
“It is the least I can do,” you strained out, forcing a tight-lipped smile you only hoped fooled him into thinking you did not feel as much as you did.
He looked at you, eyes darting over your face for several moments before looking away, his knuckles white with their hold on his sketchbook. You traced your gaze across his profile, outlining the hook of his nose against the overcast sky. You had already memorised it, but you allowed yourself one last look. If you were accomplished at drawing, you would’ve filled sketchbooks with his face, a visual ode to his beauty, and a eulogy of your love.
“I should go,” he cleared his throat. “Ensure we are ready, spend as much time with Meg as I can.”
You blinked away tears. “Of course.” Would he really say nothing more to you? After all this time spent together?
Mr. Batchbury stood up and in the movement, his sketchbook dropped on the ground in front of you, page splayed open to his drawings. You looked down and inhaled a sharp breath when you finally laid your eyes upon the sketches that had evaded you.
The drawings…they were all of you.
Mr. Batchbury bent to hastily pick up the book and close it roughly and caged the book against his chest, concealing the drawings of you once again. You looked up at him, mouth parted in shock as he pointedly avoided your eyes the port wine stain on his face growing darker as he blushed.
“Mr. Batchbury–”
“I must go,” he strangled out and started to walk.
You couldn’t let him leave like this. Not now. Not when you’d just discovered this; his sketches of you. You stood abruptly and blocked his path, your hand raised in a stop motion which he bumped into. “Wait, please.”
His expression was full of anguish as he finally met your eyes. But you needed to know, even if he wished you didn’t.
You turned your palm up between you slowly, your brows slanted as you looked towards him. You watched his eyes move down to look at your waiting hand and then back to your eyes.
“May I…?” you breathed.
You watched his arms flex as he hesitated, his chest rising and falling behind the sketchbook. After a moment, he reluctantly handed it over. You opened it gingerly and began to slowly comb through the pages.
The book started with florals, landscapes, and portraits of his brothers and sister before they slowly became interpolated with the sketches of you. Your heart raced as you looked through them. There were so many. You knew he had little money at all, let alone for something as frivolous as an art book, and yet he’d filled so many pages with you. With you sitting at dinner, of you laughing, you from the drawing room window, you on the bench reading.
He'd filled a sketchbook with you.
All these weeks, he’d been looking at you as you looked at him? This whole time?
You then landed on the most striking of all – your eyes yesterday, up close as he’d stared into them as you danced.
They were remarkable, and all done by memory – you hadn’t sat for a single one.
You looked up at him, and his eyes flicked to yours, an expression a combination of pain and embarrassment as his port wine stain was still darkened with blush.
Your voice was but a whisper. “They’re all of me.”
“Yes,” he rasped, but his eyes never left yours.
“W-Why?”
“Because you are bewitching to me,” he told you, his voice stronger now. He’d answered it like he could not believe you had to ask, like he was shocked it was not obvious to you. Like it was fueled with the truth. Mr. Batchbury did not lie, and his words were spoken with conviction, as sure as the mountains his heart mirrored. “Because I am unable to go a single moment without you in my thoughts, and I’m not sure I ever want to be free of such notions.”
You gaped at him. “Mr. Batchbury–”
“I apologise if I overstepped.” He spoke directly, as though he had embraced his truth; his actions. Like he was no longer embarrassed, but rather empowered and confident in how he felt. “I should have asked. But how could I?”
You did not know. Maybe if you weren’t reeling from his confession, you would have an answer for him. But even then, perhaps there was no right way to say you wished to capture someone’s likeness tens of times over.
You wanted to speak, but you were shocked. You were bewitching to him ? He could not stop thinking about you ? You could hardly believe it to be true. You could hardly believe that a man like Mr. Batchbury had been occupied with thoughts of you . You, a mere earthling to an ethereal angel such as him.
But Mr. Batchbury did not lie. He was as faithful as the mountains, after all.
At your growing silence, he perceived this as your disapproval of his actions; of his feelings. He took a shaky breath as he slowly took the book from you and closed it.
“I…I have upset you,” he deduced, dejected. “I–”
You cut him off, desperate to tell him of your own feelings. Desperate to say you thought of him the same. “You have not upset me.”
Mr. Batchbury’s brows raised and his eyes widened in surprise. You swallowed as he gazed upon you. If he had been brave enough to tell you, you could tell him. But how? What words? What arrangement of phrases could you string together to fully convey the extent of what you felt for this man? You feared you could not. But you would try.
You blinked at him before shaking your head. “You…are so incredibly cruel for telling me this now, when you cannot stay.”
You watched his expression as he registered your words and what they implied, as they sunk into his bones. You watched his mouth part with a breath and his shoulders relax – you had not even been able to tell how truly anxious he had been waiting to know how you felt.
He shook his head, his voice quiet once again, but still held the strength of his truth. “I know.”
“And yet,” you took a breath as you smiled at him, eyes stinging at the bittersweet moment of the truths you were unveiling. “I cannot be angry with you, not when my heart is completely and utterly yours.”
Mr. Batchbury sucked in a breath at your words. You watched his eyes soften around the edges as the breeze blew through his curls, lifting them off his shoulders at the same time the corners of his mouth lifted slightly too. His grip on the sketchbook slackened. Your heart warmed at the expression on his face, the look of disbelief mixed with joy.
His voice was softer than you’d ever heard it, that smokiness only highlighting the vulnerability of his words. “You truly mean that?”
You let out a breathy laugh, smiling. “I do.”
He dropped his sketchbook, falling to the side of you both as he stepped forward and took your hands in his, squeezing them gently and securely. His palms pressed into yours, the warmth travelling under your skin and igniting your insides. His chest brushed against yours and you looked up into his brown-grey eyes, watching the way light seemed to dance in them when he was happy.
“Tell me again.”
Your heart skipped a beat and you squeezed his hands as the words fell out of your mouth earnestly and easily. “My heart is yours.”
Mr. Batchbury sighed, closing his eyes and pulling you flush against him, pressing his forehead to yours, his arms now encircling your waist. You gasped, placing your hands on his chest. You let your eyes fall closed as your noses touched. You were even closer than you had been yesterday – though now you couldn’t believe you thought that had been close, not when you were pressed against him like this.
You catalogued every detail of his body against yours. Even through your corset, you felt the hardness of his chest. He was so warm and solid, and under your hands, you could feel the steady beat of his heart moving rapidly, matching yours. His breath tickled your skin, and you breathed it in, his hot breath filling your lungs. He smelt of soap and cedar and it was entirely intoxicating. You had to find a way to bottle this smell up, and keep it under your pillow to breathe in. He had completely engulfed you, physically and emotionally.
And you never wanted him to stop.
You felt his throat vibrate, the deep tenor of his voice trembling under your hands. It was like he was speaking inside you. His voice was husky and you felt the breath of his words on your lips.
“One more time.”
You did not hesitate. “I am yours.”
He kissed you then, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that felt like your entire body was on fire. You drew in a breath as you felt his hold on you tighten, his head tilting as he moved his lips against yours. You had never been kissed before, but something told you that kissing did not always feel like this. Just as he engulfed you before, he overwhelmed you now. His mouth was hot, and passionate, his kisses deep as one hand cradled your head to his. He kissed like he loved; faithfully, strongly. You could never guess what was in his heart when he kissed like this. It was obvious.
You had imagined kissing Mr. Batchbury would be heavenly. But it was better than that. His full lips were soft, as you thought, and though his kiss was passionate, it was never controlling or taking without permission. His kisses coaxed you, draw you further into him.
You moaned into the kiss and you felt his hold on your body tighten again. Your mouths opened for air, but you did not end this embrace. You moved your hands into his hair and fisted his curls as you'd always wished to, and drew him in closer again, kissing him once again. You could not get enough. How could you stop? It was dizzying. You felt his groan against your hands and lips as he deepened the kiss once more before pulling back.
He did not go far, and neither did you. He pressed his forehead into yours once again, noses against each other and you both caught your breath.
“Am I dreaming?” You spoke without thinking.
Mr. Batchbury’s chuckle sent every nerve ending in your body tingle. “I hope not.”
You laughed lightly and drew back a little to see Mr. Batchbury’s smile. What a sight to behold, the way his cheeks stretched to accommodate such joy on his features. His eyes seemed to sparkle too. You felt dazed, like you’d just seen heaven on Earth.
You allowed yourself to trace the outline of his birthmark with your finger, just as you’d always imagined doing. You felt Mr. Batchbury’s arms encircle your waist, his eyes never leaving your face as you performed your featherlight ministrations down his forehead, across his cheek and all the way to his chin.
“You have to come back,” you whispered, your voice breaking a little.
He blinked at you, and you felt his face move under your fingers as he spoke, a hint of disbelief in his voice. “You’re willing to wait for me?”
You frowned at him. “How could you ask that when I just told you I am yours?”
Mr. Batchbury shook his head and leaned in again to kiss you once more. This kiss was much shorter than the one that preceded it. And it was sweeter too. You smiled into the kiss before he pulled away. The expression on his face one of uncertainty.
“What about your father? He will not approve.”
You shook your head, fingers moving to his curls, pushing them back and tucking them behind his ear. “He likes you a great deal.”
“Maybe. But I am…” He trailed off and you frowned and cradled his face in your hand. He kissed your palm as if it was instinct.
“You are what?”
Mr Batchbury bit his lips as lifted a hand from your waist and cupped your jaw, his thumb running across your cheekbone as he looked at you with such devotion you thought you might cry.
“Poor. I have nothing to offer you, my love. And I am going to war.”
Your heart squeezed. Had this been the source of his hesitation all along? You shook your head. “I do not need anything but this–”
You placed the hand that held his face on his heart. You felt it pick up under your palm as you gazed into his eyes. You watched his face cycle through several emotions before it seemed to land on adoration. His eyes softened, and his birthmark deepened in colour before he shook his head.
“Bewitching,” he whispered before he leaned in to kiss you again. You felt his every emotion in this kiss as if you truly had fused together, feeling each other's emotions as your own. You felt his love, his devotion, his agony. You wished he did not have to go. But he had his duty to his family. It was cruel that you had managed to know the tiniest feeling of what it would be like to be loved by Mr. Batchbury, and now had to give it up. How could the stars be so vicious? To pull you both together, only to rip you apart again.
You squeezed your eyes shut as you moved your mouth against his, deepening the kiss until tears fell down your cheeks and he pulled away, pressing his forehead against yours, a strangled sound coming from his throat.
You opened your eyes to see his full of anguish and pain. When he saw the tears that stained your cheeks, he brought the backs of his fingers to your cheek and brushed them away gently. You sniffled as he cradled your face with both hands before pressing a lingering kiss on your forehead. When he met your eyes again, his expression was determined.
“I will come back.” He meant it and believed it.
“Promise me,” was all your voice was strong enough for.
“I promise.” His voice was smokey and hard. Immovable devotion – that was Mr. Batchbury. A mountainous heart that loved fiercely. That loved you fiercely. “I will come back and marry you so I can love you forever.”
You could no longer speak in fear of sobbing in his arms. So you kissed him once more, doing everything you could to memorise the feel of him, so when you woke the next morning and he was nowhere to be found, you could fall back into your daydreams, this time knowing what he felt like and that you would feel it again one day.
He promised you.
Now, almost half a decade, an earned nickname, and a conclusion of a war later, you watched him from the other side of the ballroom. And when Mr. Batchbury – Hunter, as he was now known, met your gaze, he smiled at you knowingly, his eyes soft with the same love you remembered from the maze. You returned it before excusing yourself from the conversation you were not listening to, and disappeared from the ballroom towards the gardens.
banner art by @vimse
i hope you enjoyed this FIRST installment. yes, FIRST, bc what is a regency romance without a steamy encounter...hehehe
ANYWAY stay tuned!!
I remember way back when you first wrote this...I saw a mutual reblog it and they talked about how great it was. And I had every intention of reading it. And then time got away from me, and I'm afraid I forgot about it. I'm so glad someone recently linked to it in another post, so it was brought to my attention again.
I love AUs that are set in a different time period than the shows, because I find it fascinating how the author fits them into this totally different world. It's so much fun. And I absolutely was not disappointed in how you wrote the Batch in this time period.
Especially Hunter...I mean Hugo.
Our first introduction to him was perfect. Not that I needed to be sold on Hunter in any way, but you really did him justice:
Mr. Batchbury, with his long hair and facial birthmark. You remembered taking in a breath at the sight of him in all his glory. With his brown skin and dark curls blowing in the morning breeze, you were already taken with him, but that only increased tenfold when you watched him turn to help his sister down from the carriage, lifting her from under her armpits and setting her down next to him. You’d been unable to hide your smile when you watched him take his sister's hand in his.
I'm already giggling and kicking my feet over here!
I love that she got to watch them train!! Just sitting in the window, watching away. Yes, please!
Once they started their training, you spent the coming weeks watching them from afar with Meg, who longed to join them. And boy, were they quite a sight.
The four of them were his finest officers.
Finest in more ways than one, you often thought. Every single one of them was handsome in their own way, but the handsomeness of Mr. Hugo Batchbury had drawn your attentions immediately, and they have not strayed since.
And of course he knew she was watching him. Can't get something like that past Hunter.
He would grow sweaty and would end up wrapping a tie around his forehead to keep his collarbone length hair out of his face. Sometimes he would look up at the window, seeming to always know when someone was near, and wave at his sister before nodding at you.
He nodded!!!
And they ate with the familyl!!! Aaaah!!! I love it! That would have been so amazing. To be that close to him every evening.
In the evenings, the Batchbury family dined with your family. The thought thrilled you, knowing you would end every day in the company of Mr. Batchbury. He was often seated diagonally from you, giving you the perfect line of sight of his dark brown-grey eyes, his hooked nose, and his full lips.
His face was truly sculpted by the Gods. You wished those dinners lasted all night, just so you could stare at him longer.
You also enjoyed the way Mr. Batchbury’s mouth would quirk upwards at his brother’s ramblings. He truly was the most beautiful man you had ever seen in your life.
And then the meetings in the maze...thank you for those. They were perfection! Such a perfect way for them to meet and have some alone time, allowing her to really fall for him.
I mean, can you imagine!
The strings of his shirt were open to reveal his deep brown skin with a smattering of dark curly hair right on his sternum.
And when you mentioned his sketchbook, I hoped that the woman he was drawing was her!!
Please excuse me, I’ll let you get back to your…” You peered down to his lap which held a sketchbook, with a portrait of a woman you couldn’t completely make out. You watched as Mr. Batchbury swiftly covered the sketch with his forearm. Your face burned at the embarrassment of encroaching on his private work.
And of course later we found out that he was drawing her. I can't imagine how embarrassed he would have been that first time if she'd seen the full sketch.
And of course, anyone who's seen my blog knows I love Hunter and Omega's relationship. And the way you've written that here is so wonderful!!
A warm smile danced on his face at the mention of his sister. You knew he was the eldest, and so the care of her fell mostly onto him. But he did not seem burdened by it. In fact, he seemed to enjoy being the parental figure for his sister.
And then the stories Meg told of how he cared for her had me practically in tears.
And Meg spoke of him often, telling you stories of how he would stay with her at night in their old cottage, curling around her to keep warm when they ran out of coals. Or how he would give her at least half of his food, even if it was their only meal of the day and he was starving.
Then how they had more and more meetings in the maze. So lovely!
In the several weeks that followed, you would have unplanned meetings with Mr. Batchbury in the maze. At least, they began as unplanned, before you both found excuses to meet each other there.
And then I love that you had the sketchbook fall open, and her see all the drawings. And you didn't just leave it like that and allow him to run away. Thank you for making her ask him to stop so she could see.
...he’d filled so many pages with you. With you sitting at dinner, of you laughing, you from the drawing room window, you on the bench reading.
He'd filled a sketchbook with you.
He'd filled a sketchbook with you!
I can't imagine how that would feel. I'd be giddy. Absolutely giddy!
“Because you are bewitching to me,”
“Because I am unable to go a single moment without you in my thoughts, and I’m not sure I ever want to be free of such notions.”
He confessed. Yes!!
At your growing silence, he perceived this as your disapproval of his actions; of his feelings. He took a shaky breath as he slowly took the book from you and closed it.
“I…I have upset you,” he deduced, dejected. “I–”
The poor guy was DEJECTED! He thought she was upset!! Nooo!
And thank goodness she told him how she felt also:
“I cannot be angry with you, not when my heart is completely and utterly yours."
And it was so adorable how he asked her to tell him again.
His chest brushed against yours and you looked up into his brown-grey eyes, watching the way light seemed to dance in them when he was happy.
“Tell me again.”
Your heart skipped a beat and you squeezed his hands as the words fell out of your mouth earnestly and easily. “My heart is yours.”
“One more time.”
You did not hesitate. “I am yours.”
Aaaaah!!!!!
He kissed you then, capturing your lips in a searing kiss that felt like your entire body was on fire.
And the way you described the kisses, and how he kissed, and whew!! Got me fanning myself over here!!
Then:
“I will come back and marry you so I can love you forever.”
And then FIVES years later! FIVE!!!
Now, almost half a decade, an earned nickname, and a conclusion of a war later, you watched him from the other side of the ballroom. And when Mr. Batchbury – Hunter, as he was now known, met your gaze, he smiled at you knowingly, his eyes soft with the same love you remembered from the maze.
My heart hurts at the thought that she did not see him for FIVES years. Ouch!!!
But escaping to the gardens together makes up for it. ;)
wow thank you so much for your kind words!!! it’s been a long time since i revisited this fic and reading your response and the parts your picked out was so lovely!!! i’m so happy you enjoyed it so much!! this was truly such a fun piece to write!!
nearly every character pedro pascal plays is like a charismatic intimidating figure with some sort of skill in combat meanwhile every photo i see of that man irl has this energy
2087
germansingergirl
gracieabrams
prguitarman
theartofmadeline
