My Muses Favorite Foods

🍕 my muse’s favorite foods

posted here ♡

💛 for anncoe :3

posted here ♡

Her mind is blurry, clouded over with a haze of longing as his hands graze over her skin. She'd imagined what this moment might feel like for longer than she'd care to admit, but it would never have matched up to the reality of it. His rough hands trailing over her soft skin was a chaotic mixture.

She moans into his mouth as his hands find their way between her legs and she slinks her arms around his shoulders to steady herself. It had been nearly a decade since she'd last been with a man and Anne can't help but think all the waiting had been worth it. She doesn't know if she'd be strong enough to wait again, but she wouldn't have to. Not anymore. She knows she would've contained herself if he hadn't wanted this. If he had been perfectly content just going to sleep fully dressed, she would've cherished it just as much. But there's no denying she had hoped for this sort of ending. That she had prayed for this sort of blessing on their wedding night.

"John." His name slipped out as she hitched a breath, craning her neck to the side to allow him more ground to cover. She felt dizzy, her heartbeat erratic as each circle of his fingers brought a wave of pleasure. After she grew content with his lips on her chest, Anne reached out to take his face in her hands, leaning in to place a tantalizingly brief kiss to his lips. "Show me how much you want me."

Lifting his arms, John helped shrug out of his shirt. He could feel Anne's bare legs brush against his bare middle and the sensation of her skin over his was maddening, but when her hand trailed between them, his brow furrowed offering a painless wince when her fingers brushed over the scar on his abdomen, but then her soft hands were overs his and any transgressions were forgotten, all his focus remaining on her as he was malleable under her touch.

"Hopefully I can live up to your expectations."

He stifled a laugh, swallowing thickly as she guided his hands upward, his calloused hands skimming over her smooth curves -- up her thighs, over her hips -- and with each movement, the hem of her shift was forced to rise with them. He couldn't help but stare as she exposed more of herself to him. She was beautiful, there was no other word to describe her, no other image to compare to her from artwork, from the likes of poetry.

He was faintly aware of the blush burning in his own face; he felt warm, heated, an acute ache of want settling all throughout him.

When Anne guided his hands to rest over her breasts, John shifted uncomfortably beneath her, his breeches becoming more restricting by the second; instinctively, he leaned forward to kiss her, grazing his thumbs over her hardening nipples but that was when his eyes flickered to hers, almost startled to meet her gaze.

"I'm afraid so. Terribly in love." He grinned faintly, "I don't think there's a world in which I wouldn't have loved you."

"Anne..." but her name was more a moan than speech as he released her just long enough to lift her shift the rest of the way from her form so she was bared to him and he closed the space between them, capturing her lips in a hungry kiss, one hand remained anchored to the back of her neck, the other slipping between her legs. The slick that awaited him made him groan into her mouth and breaking away, he trailed open mouthed kisses across her throat, wanting, needing to taste more of her, all the while rubbing slow, meticulous circles against her clit.

“That must’ve been it, then. My rambling about A Midsummer Night’s Dream must’ve been what endeared you to me in such a fashion.” She smirked. “Perhaps I shall refrain from speaking of what novel I’m reading as of late, then, lest I seduce you any further.”

She couldn't drag her eyes away from him as he wrung out the moisture from his hair. Anne swallowed, watching his hands, yearning to reach out and hold him and never let go. Her fingers itched to reach out and comb back his hair and to savor the feeling of his closeness. But she shakes her head, trying her damnedest to shove any such thoughts out of the forefront of her mind.

“Well, my head and I thank you for your mercy.” Biting back a grin, Anne gave a dramatic bow. At his last comment, however, she couldn’t hold it in and a loud, rather unladylike snort escaped her. “Only comely? Here I thought I’d be at least a lovely or, dare I say, useful paperweight. Though I suppose I haven’t done very well at proving my usefulness thus far, have I?”

Out of the three girls, Harriet had been the one most taken with Shakespearean works. Frances held no strong opinions on many things unless they included unicorns and Elizabeth preferred her mystery novels over her younger sisters' plays. In reality, Anne herself wasn't very familiar with other playwrights. She knew authors and the historical figures her own governess had taught her in her youth, but she wasn't knowledgeable about, well, anything when it came to theatre.

"If you have any recommendations for better reading materials, I am open to suggestions. My knowledge of the performing arts is painfully limited to the great Bard, and Moliere." Anne let out a sigh, feigning distress at having to admit her own shortcomings. “If I were to be cast as Viola, I might have to rely on you for a costume. I’ve already worn your clothes once before. What harm could a second time do?” A lot, she thinks. An awful lot.

“You are not an idiot.” She pressed, a firm tone refusing to accept such comments. It wasn't exactly a scolding cadence, but it was incredibly similar to the tone she took on when the Pleinsworth girls took to fighting one another. “Foolish, perhaps. Naïve at times.” And incredibly, wickedly, tragically beautiful.

“Yes, it was clever, I suppose, but entirely uncalled for.” She blushed furiously, a mixture of anger and embarrassment colliding within the confines of her chest. If she hadn't been so struck by how badly she wanted to kiss him again, she might've shook with annoyance at such a careless prank.

“As much as I take pleasure in teasing you, I would never stoop so low.” Cheeks brightening and eyes wide, Anne lowered her voice, as though even the ripples in the water could not be privy to her sentiments.

“Someone could’ve seen you, Ben. Someone who would've admired the view much less than I.” Anne winced at her own words, but trudged on. “N-Nonetheless, I highly encourage a firm scolding when you return inside. And if you aren’t up for it, I certainly will. Mister Bridgerton may have thought it a measly joke, but he put you in danger. He… He could’ve gotten you fired, o-or worse.” She didn’t want to think about worse, not when a mere two weeks sentence had made her heart yearn so much. A lifetime without him would surely be enough to kill her.

“It's funny, I was hoping the next time we met, we might speak about the... predicament we've found ourselves in.” Anne swallowed, desperately pushing the memory of his lips out of her mind. When she started again, her tone was softer but just as serious as she wrapped her arms tighter around herself. “But I'm not sure this is the right time to discuss matters of the heart, either. I'm beginning to think the time will never be quite right.”

Unbidden, flashes of skin came to mind and Benjamin flushed, the color burning along his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. "I'm afraid it will take far more than ankles and toes to seduce me, Miss Wynter," he said. "I'm a man of simple tastes: one offer of opening a book, and I'm yours."

Wincing at the implication -- could he do or say nothing right as of late? -- he cleared his throat before taking hold of his hair, wringing excess water from his sodden locks while meeting her gaze. Anne's eyes were so wide and impish and blue -- so, so very blue -- that he momentarily lost his breath and looked away again, startled by the wave of yearning crashing restlessly against his heart.

"I’ll be sure to designate my dismembered head to you in my will.”

The joke startled him back to attention, and with a soft, husky laugh, Benjamin assured her, "I think I much prefer it attached, thank you very much, but I appreciate your generosity. If nothing else, I suppose I could use it as a comely paperweight."

Humming at her Anne Boleyn assessment -- it wasn't the most pleasing outlook -- he agreed, "Perhaps we need to get Frances to read some Shakespearean comedies for a while instead. I would much rather see you donning the garments of Viola than poor Queen Anne."

Unbidden, a hint of ruddy embarrassment nipped at his cheeks. The thought of her clad in men's clothes, albeit innocent on the surface, conjured thoughts of legs and hips, and swallowing low in his throat, he chuckled to mask the rising heat beneath his collar. "Um...on second thought, perhaps she should steer clear of Shakespeare altogether."

Anne continued to tease him -- Lord above, why couldn't he focus? -- and snapping his eyes back up toward her face, Benjamin blinked a moment as he struggled to comprehend. Her mouth was moving -- well, there he went being distracted again -- but he couldn't quite get a proper grasp of the words.

"I'm...sorry, I...think I must've gotten water in my ears," Benjamin deflected.

Right. Smooth recovery.

Anne narrowed her eyes. "Do you me asking how exactly you managed to get into this predicament in the first place? I saw Mister Bridgerton take your clothes, but... that doesn't explain why you were without them in the first place." Finally, her expression turned a touch mischievous. "Care to explain yourself, Mister Tallmadge?"

"Not in particular," Benjamin said, fighting back a smile. "But since you asked so nicely...Gregory convinced me to take a swim, so I agreed. I didn't want to get my clothes wet, and I also didn't wish to borrow anyone's garments, so..." He shrugged, sheepish. "In short, I'm an idiot, Miss Wynter. I should've seen behind his schemes the moment he spoke." A flash of fond amusement warmed his eyes. "Still, it was rather clever of him, wasn't it? I'd say I taught him well, but he's never been privy to my own pranks."

"No, I don't imagine it would be." She smiled weakly. Her own life had been far from peaceful and she'd never known the hardships of war. She knew the pains of a broken heart, of exile and shame. She knew the struggles of having to start over in an entirely foreign place. But the exact trials that a soldier endured made her own troubles seem childish. After all, most of her problems stemmed from her own mistakes.

She was hesitant to move much, not wanting to stain her own dress, but also not wishing to break the stillness. It was peaceful. The weather was charming, the air tepid and sky clear. There was a startling lack of screaming young ladies, and the simple company of another made it feel like a dreamscape. When he shifts to look at her, she follows suit and sits up, flattening out her skirts as she folded her legs.

"The sun will set eventually." Anne offered with a gentle tone. "The clouds will return, the skies will darken. And we will return to our lives. Unfortunately, everything is fleeting, even peace." As a light flush of embarrassment crossed her cheeks, Anne bowed her head in apology. "Forgive me, I suppose that's the most reassuring thing to say."

Certainly, life had been anything but peaceful for Thomas. Having been sent down south for much of the war, he had been disturbed to see what the war had made of his home and his loved ones. His beloved father had been killed by men considered Thomas’s comrades in the war, his younger brother had taken his birthright and used it to betray all that he held dear. Setauket, and the rest of America, held nothing for him.

So, he had taken passage to England. Though he knew some disdained him for his accent and his now severely weakened leg, he had generally been accepted by those he met. To sustain himself and earn even a small crust of bread, he had begun to work as a tutor. He had always had a talent for languages and for figures and he quickly picked back up now that he had access to books.

That was what had brought him to the Pleinsworth household, and to Anne.

“The life of a soldier isn’t very peaceful,” Thomas responded, a smile flickering onto his lips. He had been lying in the grass, certainly staining his shirt and waistcoat. However, as this moment, he did not mind. These stolen moments of peace in the garden of the home seemed miles away from judgmental eyes.

Slowly, Thomas turned some onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow so he could better face Anne. His green eyes looked to her, searching her face. In a softer voice, he continued, “I certainly hope this peace isn’t fleeting.”

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐎𝐃𝐁𝐎𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐄

Send an emoji and I’ll make a moodboard for:

🌞 my muse’s aesthetic 

🌙 your muse’s aesthetic

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 my muse’s family

💼 my muse’s job/occupation

🍕 my muse’s favorite foods

💛 our muses’ relationship 

💕 our muses’ romantic relationship 

🔮 my muse’s zodiac sign

🏨 my muse’s town/country 

🏠 my muse’s home

📚 my muse’s past/childhood

🎨 my muse’s favorite color

⭐ one of my muse’s AU (please specify)

⚡ one of your muse’s AU (please specify)