Chapter 1 - The Wedding Night

By: GottaHurtHim

Flynn Rider, no, Eugene Fitzherbert—though he still wasn't used to hearing anyone call him that—stood in the grand royal suite and realized that tonight was the first time in his life he didn't have a plan. Not that this was a bad thing. He'd always been good at thinking on his feet. Life on the run kind of required that particular skill. It's just, well, tonight wasn't about sneaking past guards or outwitting some overzealous constable. This was different. Way different.

He glanced around the room, trying to focus on something that wasn't the huge bed dominating the far corner. It was absurdly luxurious, made of dark oak with thick posts that reached up like ancient trees. Its sheets were the softest silk he'd ever seen, woven so finely they practically shimmered in the candlelight. The whole thing looked like it had been plucked from some fairy tale, which, he supposed, was pretty appropriate given how things had turned out. It was the kind of bed Flynn Rider had never even dreamed of touching, let alone sleeping in.

Except, tonight, it wasn't just about sleeping.

The air in the room was thick, heavy with the scent of jasmine and a hint of something floral—Rapunzel's hair, he guessed. He'd grown used to that scent over the past few months, but it had never felt so potent, so immediate, until now. It was all-consuming, a reminder of how very real and present this moment was.

The royal suite was massive, filled with tapestries that depicted legendary scenes from Corona's past. Heroes and villains. Castles and battles. And in every one of them, the figures looked… regal, confident, sure of their place in history. But as Eugene stood there, rubbing the back of his neck, he felt anything but. He may have fooled an entire kingdom into thinking he belonged here, but standing here now, in this moment, with everything he'd ever wanted a few feet away… he wasn't so sure.

His fingers grazed the embroidered lapels of his wedding jacket—formal, stiff, totally not his style—and he couldn't help but wonder how he'd ended up here. A thief. A wanted man. And now, married to the lost princess of Corona. Married. Him. Flynn Rider. Married. If he had told his younger self this would happen, he would have laughed. But here he was. And there she was.

Rapunzel.

She was in the adjoining room, the soft padding of her bare feet on the polished marble floor barely audible. Eugene knew she was probably pacing. He'd heard her give herself a pep talk once before, back when they had first met in that tower. She'd probably be doing it again right about now. Maybe telling herself it was all going to be fine, that everything she'd heard in the tavern from those burly men was accurate.

A small, amused smirk crossed his face. He remembered that tavern, full of grizzled roughnecks with more bravado than actual experience. They'd tried to impress her, obviously, and Flynn—ever the charmer—had to bite his tongue. Because the truth was, despite everything Rapunzel had heard, she knew about as much about what was about to happen as he did about fine royal etiquette. And Flynn, or rather Eugene, was the experienced one here. But even with that experience, he was nervous. Maybe more than she was.

He turned, looking back toward the mirror hanging on the wall. For a split second, he didn't recognize himself. The man staring back wasn't the Flynn Rider from his past. He wasn't the dashing rogue with a smirk on his lips and a scheme up his sleeve. No, this was Eugene Fitzherbert—husband to Rapunzel, son-in-law to the king and queen, and a man about to embark on one of the most nerve-wracking, life-altering moments of his life.

His hand reached up, tugging at the stiff collar of his shirt. Was it too late to make a run for it? No. Definitely too late. Besides, he didn't want to run. Not from this. Not from her.

Still, that bed loomed in the corner of his vision like a challenge he wasn't sure he was ready to accept.

A soft knock echoed through the room, barely audible over the pounding in his ears. Flynn—no, Eugene—turned to see Rapunzel standing in the doorway, her silhouette framed by the dim candlelight. She wore a simple, delicate gown of lavender silk that clung to her in a way that made him forget to breathe for half a second. Her hair, shorter now but still golden and unruly, cascaded over her shoulders like a river of light, catching the glow of the candles and making her look almost ethereal.

"Hey," she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

He swallowed, clearing his throat as he tried to find his voice. "Hey."

Rapunzel stepped into the room, her hands twisting nervously in front of her. She looked around, her eyes briefly landing on the bed before darting away, a faint blush creeping up her neck. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of the silence grew heavy, filling the space between them with unspoken words and unacknowledged fears.

Flynn—no, Eugene, damn it—moved toward her, his heart racing in his chest. He'd faced danger before, more than most. He'd fought soldiers, battled against impossible odds, and even stared death in the face. But none of that had prepared him for this. Because this was different. This was Rapunzel. His Rapunzel.

"Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low, as though speaking too loudly might shatter the delicate atmosphere between them.

Rapunzel nodded, though her eyes betrayed her nerves. "Yeah. I mean, yes. It's just…"

"Just?" Eugene prompted, stepping a little closer. He could see the way her hands trembled slightly, and it only made him want to hold her, to tell her that it was going to be okay. That he was here. That they were in this together.

"I've never…" she trailed off, biting her lip, her gaze falling to the floor.

He knew what she was trying to say. He'd known it since the moment they'd started discussing their wedding night weeks ago. Rapunzel had lived her entire life in a tower, isolated from the world, from experiences like this. Her only understanding of intimacy came from a handful of overheard tavern conversations. And he knew she was probably expecting some grand, sweeping moment, like the kind you read about in fairy tales.

Flynn—no, Eugene, damn it—reached out and gently took her hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. Her skin was warm, soft, and trembling slightly beneath his touch.

"Hey," he said softly, lifting her chin so their eyes met. "We don't have to rush anything, okay?"

Rapunzel nodded again, and for a brief moment, the tension in her shoulders eased. "It's just… I don't really know what to do."

Eugene smiled, that familiar crooked grin slipping back into place. "Don't worry. I've got a bit of experience in that department."

That earned him a small laugh, and he felt some of his own nerves start to dissolve. But then her smile faded, replaced with something more serious. "I know you do… but I don't."

He was about to respond when she stepped closer, her fingers still entwined with his, a slight hesitation in her step. Flynn could feel the warmth of her body now, just inches from his, her presence overwhelming in the best possible way. His heart raced, but not out of fear or nervousness anymore—just anticipation.

"Eugene," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, but her eyes were locked on his. There was trust in her gaze, and something else—a vulnerability that pulled at him.

Flynn—no, Eugene—shifted his weight slightly, his free hand gently resting on her waist. He felt her muscles tense under his touch for just a second, but then she exhaled, and her body seemed to relax, to melt into the warmth of his palm. He rubbed gentle circles on her waist with his thumb, moving slow, deliberate, as though afraid to shatter the delicate moment between them.

Her breath hitched when he touched her, but she didn't pull away. Instead, she leaned a little closer, her body aligning with his in a way that felt impossibly natural. Flynn—Eugene—felt his pulse quicken, the warmth of her skin seeping through the thin fabric of her gown. His mind raced through a thousand thoughts, memories of fleeting touches and stolen kisses, but this was different. This was real. This was her.

"I trust you," she murmured, so quietly that he barely caught it. Her hand tightened around his, and he could feel the slight tremble in her fingers, but it wasn't fear, not really. It was something closer to excitement, the unknown, the newness of it all.

Eugene's breath came a little faster, but he kept his movements slow, careful. He wasn't about to rush this, no matter how much every fiber of his being wanted to. His hand slid from her waist, down along the curve of her hip, his fingers tracing the outline of her body through the silk. She shivered at his touch, and he couldn't help but smile. Her skin was soft, so soft, and beneath it, he could feel the slight tremor of anticipation.

His other hand reached up, brushing a strand of golden hair behind her ear, his thumb grazing her cheek in the process. Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and when they opened again, they were brighter, more certain. Her lips parted slightly as if she was about to say something, but the words never came. Instead, she just looked at him, wide-eyed, waiting.

Eugene leaned in slowly, giving her every chance to pull back, to stop him, but she didn't. Instead, she tilted her head just a fraction, her breath mingling with his as their faces grew closer. His lips brushed hers, soft at first, barely a whisper of contact. It was hesitant, tentative, like the first step into something unknown. Her breath hitched again, and this time, her free hand came up to rest on his chest, fingers splaying out over his heart.

The kiss deepened gradually, Flynn—no, Eugene—letting it evolve naturally. Her lips were warm and soft, and the way she responded, so unsure yet so willing, made something deep inside him stir. His hand drifted up her back, his fingers brushing the bare skin between her shoulder blades, feeling the rise and fall of her breaths under his touch. She leaned into him more, pressing her body against his, and he felt the heat of her, the way her heart pounded just as wildly as his own.

He broke the kiss slowly, but he didn't pull away. Instead, his lips trailed down to her jawline, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the curve of her neck. She gasped softly, a sound that sent a thrill through him. Her body shifted closer, her fingers tightening on his chest as if anchoring herself to him.

"Is this…?" she began, her voice barely above a whisper, but she didn't finish the question. Her breath was shaky, her eyes searching his for reassurance.

Eugene smiled against her skin, his lips brushing the hollow of her throat as he murmured, "We'll go as slow as you need."

Her body responded to his words before her voice did, the tension in her muscles fading as she leaned further into him. Her hand slid down from his chest to his waist, her touch tentative but curious, as if she was trying to memorize the shape of him beneath the fabric. He shuddered under her touch, his breath catching as her fingers moved over him.

For a moment, they just stood there, locked in a delicate balance between anticipation and action. Eugene could feel the energy between them, the way her breath matched his, the rise and fall of her chest in time with his own. His hand drifted down from her back, tracing the curve of her spine, feeling the way her body seemed to react to every touch. He moved slowly, letting his fingers explore, testing the boundaries of her comfort, but never pushing too far.

Her breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling against his, and he could feel the subtle shift in her posture as she leaned into him more. His hand slipped down to the small of her back, pulling her gently closer until there was barely any space left between them. Her body pressed against his, soft and warm, and he could feel the heat of her skin even through the layers of fabric.

Rapunzel's hand drifted up to his neck, her fingers tangling in the short hair at the nape, her touch both hesitant and eager. Flynn—Eugene—felt her pull him closer, her lips finding his again with a little more confidence this time, her kiss more certain. He responded in kind, his hand sliding up her side, brushing the edge of her ribs, feeling the delicate shape of her beneath his fingers.

Her breath hitched again as his hand continued its slow journey, tracing the contours of her body with a gentle, steady touch. She gasped softly when his fingers brushed the side of her breast, and for a moment, he froze, waiting for any sign of hesitation. But she didn't pull back. Instead, she pressed into him, her lips parting as her tongue flicked hesitantly against his bottom lip, seeking permission.

He granted it instantly, his hand sliding up to cup her breast fully, feeling the soft weight of it in his palm. Her gasp turned into a soft moan, a sound that sent a bolt of heat through him. He deepened the kiss, his tongue meeting hers in a slow, sensual dance that made his pulse race.

Rapunzel's body melted against his, her hand slipping down to his chest again, her fingers tracing the outline of his muscles with newfound confidence. She pressed closer, her body flush against his, and Eugene could feel the heat of her radiating through the thin layers of fabric between them.

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