#ANTHONY'S EVEN DOING THE POKING THING

[smoshidiot]

I drew my version over a week ago but IT MATCHES SO WELL I'M GONNA CRY 🩵❤️

[amysteryspot]

A Woman's Worth - Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Anthony tries to salvage what's left of his marriage and discovers what his wife is truly worth. (Part one)

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV Show)

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader

Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, cheating and lots of angst. English is not my first language and this wasn’t proofread.

Word Count: 4648

A/N: After so long, this piece is finally here. Thanks for patiently waiting and thanks @cevansgoodgirl for the help.

There is a mix of a scene with Laurie and Amy in Little Women and another one with Benedict and Tessa (the model/painter in 02x05), just so you know.

He remembers the first time he saw her—really saw her.

The (Y/L/N)s were guests in Aubrey House, and (Y/N) was in the balcony with Benedict while both their mothers and most of their siblings were in the lawn.

Anthony is not even sure what drew his attention when he was passing by, he did not have a habit of eavesdropping, but he got himself held back when his brother commented on (Y/N)’s painting.

"I declare that's rather good." Benedict said making (Y/N) huff.

“We both know that good is not enough, Ben.” She said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

Anthony could understand what his brother was talking about. The painting was a rendition of the scene unfolding before them—their siblings playing around while their mothers watched over them. It was rather good, indeed.

"It doesn’t matter, there's no place for me to do art."

Benedict frowned. "That's quite the statement to make at twenty. If you don't think you're good enough you have plenty of time to try some more, do better." He pauses, poking her. "You say that to me all the time."

"Then perhaps inform the academy.” She says, sarcasm dripping in every word. “Although two of the founding members are women, we are still not allowed to enter the classroom. It doesn't matter how much money we do or do not have."

"At least not while clothed." He comments, making (Y/N) throw the rag she was holding at him, which Benedict swiftly catches, changing the subject. "Well, now that you’ve given up all your artistic hopes, what are you going to do with your life?”

“Polish up my other talents and be an ornament to society.”

It was as if Anthony was seeing his sister speak.

“You sound like Eloise.” Benedict took the words out of Anthony’s mouth.

“Maybe she has been rubbing up on me.” (Y/N) smiled.

“You are searching for a husband, then?” Benedict asks, helping her pack her things.

“Yes.” She replies sheepishly.

“That's where Mr Scott comes in, I suppose.”

Anthony had noticed how Mr Scott had taken an interest in (Y/N), he never thought she felt the same.

Benedict continued. “You’ll accept him if he comes down properly on one knee?”

“Most likely, yes.” She said, pausing to look ahead for a moment. “He’s rich, respectable.”

When Benedict stifles a laugh, she lightly slaps his arm and Anthony has to fight back a smile. “Don’t make fun.” (Y/N) reprimands him.

"I’m not, I’m not, I promise.” He pauses. “It does sound odd coming from you.”

"I've always known that I would marry rich. Why should I be ashamed of that?"

"There is nothing to be ashamed of, as long as you love him." Benedict answers in a more serious tone.

Once upon a time Anthony would have easily seen himself at his brother's place, talking about love, but not anymore.

"Well, I believe we have some power over who we love, it isn't something that just happens to a person." (Y/N) says, closing the trunk with her paints, pencils and brushes inside.

"I think the poets might disagree." Benedict offers softly.

"Well, I'm not a poet, I'm just a woman.” She reminds him. “And as a woman I have no way to make money, not enough to earn a living and support my family. Even if I had my own money, which I don't, it would belong to my husband the minute we were married. If we had children they would belong to him not me. They would be his property. So don't stand there and tell me that marriage isn't an economic proposition, because it is. It may not be for you but it certainly is for me."

For the first time since he stopped to hear the conversation, hiding himself between the curtains, Anthony felt like he had overstepped a boundary, so he made quick work of fleeing the scene, her words echoing inside his head.

Anthony remembers Benedict joking about how him and (Y/N) would make a good match. He listens as his brother tells him about the conversation he had with her and Anthony feigns ignorance to the subject, despite having heard the entire interaction. Benedict’s voice turns into white noise in the background as Anthony is transported back to a conversation he had with Daphne last season.

At the time he didn’t understand his sister’s words—perhaps, he never would. Daphne and (Y/N) shared the same struggles, but his sister had been set in marrying for love, (Y/N), on the other hand, had already resigned herself about having to marry for convenience.

It was then that Anthony recognized that the both of them were, indeed, a good match. (Y/N) was beautiful, well mannered, educated and very good at charming people. She came from a not very rich but respectable family. Anthony knew he was one of the most eligible bachelors of the season, despite his fame as a rake. It wouldn’t be a sacrifice to marry (Y/N), which made making the decision so much easier.

Anthony visited her the next day, explaining his proposal to her.

“You listened to us?” She blinked a couple of times, trying to digest the information.

“Yes,” he confessed, “and I’m terribly sorry for it, but we have to recognize that this might have been for the best.”

He observed as she took a deep breath, her chest rising and falling, a little frown on her face. She was beautiful this way. Even more than when she was charming half of the ton in the many social events he had seen her.

“If you don’t mind me asking, my lord, why marry now?”

Anthony sighed. “My mom has been forcing my hand since Daphne married. Even before that, if I’m being honest. It’s time to find a good wife, settle down, and fulfill my duties.”

“Don’t take my question as an offense, but why me?”

She seemed unable to quite grasp his words. Anthony wondered if she still hoped, deep down, to marry for love and that her conversation with his brother had been only a fickle attempt to protect herself.

“You’re intelligent, (Y/N),” He kneeled in front of her. “You are beautiful and your family is respectable. If you are serious about your words to my brother, we both want the same thing from such a union.” He paused. “Would it be so bad to be married to me?”

(Y/N) bit her lip and Anthony caught himself observing the action with a little more intent than he should.

“No, my lord, I believe it wouldn’t,” she said.

“Then why not make the best we can from a predicament we can’t escape?”

She averted his gaze, looking out to the balcony where her maid was sitting and reading a book, while watching over them.

Anthony took the opportunity to look at her—hair carefully brushed and pinned up, the way the light contrasted with her silhouette, making it easier to see her nose, her lips, the  curve of her neck…

“If I were to accept your proposition, would you be committed to this relationship?”

He frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“I know that for our society standards maybe that’s too much to ask, but if I can’t be loved I’d wish to at least be respected.” She looked straight into his eyes and then Anthony understood what she was asking of him.

“You have my word that once we are engaged the only woman in my life will be you.”

Anthony asked her father for permission to court her in the same day, then he got properly down on one knee a second time to ask for her hand in marriage, the two of them married within months. Benedict had been shocked by the whole ordeal, but all he cared about was seeing his brother and his friend at least a little bit happy.

The process of knowing each other had been smooth, a lot easier than what Anthony first anticipated. (Y/N) took her duties as the lady of the house seriously, making a point of listening to Violet quite often. His siblings seemed to adore her even more than they liked him, and although inexperienced, as he knew she was, (Y/N) had proved herself to be a good lover. For all of those reasons, Anthony thought that keeping his promise wouldn’t be such an impossible task.

Then he discovered that Sienna had never left town and Anthony, who always prided himself in being a man of his word, proved himself to be as bad as the rest of the men he was surrounded by.

He fell back into the sheets with Sienna, and not long after that his relationship with (Y/N) became purely a show. At first, Anthony thought his wife was oblivious to his escapades, but he had clearly underestimated (Y/N)’s intelligence.

They never shared a bedroom, but there was no disguising how his visits to her chambers happened less and less, as there was no denying the gossip of the house staff that could only lead her to his broken promises.

Anthony expected a fight, things being thrown at him, screams and hits, but they never came, and that was somewhat worse.

One night when he got home after meeting Sienna, (Y/N) was sitting in the dressing room between their chambers, knitting. She lifted her eyes from her work to bid him good night. It didn’t go unnoticed to him how her smile fell from her face as she took in his disheveled state. Anthony felt ashamed for the first time in years.

(Y/N) didn’t give him time to explain himself for being so late—maybe it was for the best because he honestly didn’t know if he could find a suitable excuse for that—she just got up, leaving her unfinished work resting in the loveseat, and marched to her room.

Anthony sighed, throwing his coat away carelessly. The force knocked out (Y/N)’s knitting to the ground and Anthony groaned before bending down to take it. He furrowed his brow when he recognized the pattern—an onesie.

Maybe Daphne was pregnant again? She would’ve told him, right? Simon would, for sure. Then it hit him. Holding the unfinished piece between his fingers, Anthony realized that that was the reason why (Y/N) had stayed awake waiting for him until that hour—she was pregnant and wanted to tell him the news. Instead of the happiness she must have expected, she only received the sight of an unfaithful husband and a broken marriage.

(Y/N) never mentioned it to him and Anthony pretended as if he didn’t know, waiting for her to make the first move, tell him at her own time. (Y/N) never said it though, but he couldn’t ignore the knowledge, and the more time he passed observing her, the more evident it became to him that his wife was, in fact, expecting their first child.

In no time she distanced herself from him and all came to the point of no return in the night where she had gone through the loss of their child alone while he was rolling in the sheets with Sienna.

Anthony tried to reach out to her, succeeding only one time, a week after that fateful night, but in the following weeks, there hadn’t been much talking between them. (Y/N) would barely answer his greetings or the occasional question he threw her way trying to start a conversation. They had a few events to attend and these were the only occasions where she would grant him more than a couple of words. Anthony knew that that was all pretend for the sake of their reputation.

She refused every attempt he made to apologize or explain himself—not that there was much to explain. He couldn’t blame her, even if he wanted her forgiveness. It was her right to hate him and not want him around after he broke his promise to her.

They had never talked about it. Not until today.

(Y/N) was holding Augie, smiling down at the baby that smiled back at her, barely blinking with a look of pure adoration in his eyes.

“This one seems really enchanted by you,” Daphne comments, caressing her son’s little fingers.

“He’s just getting used to me,” (Y/N) answered,  smiling at his sister.

“Well, it’s good training, since I guess you and Anthony will probably have one of your own soon.”

Is as if Anthony’s blood turns to ice. He looks at his wife whose expression turns into shock and then sadness in the blink of an eye. He recognizes the tears pooling in her eyes as she gives the baby back to Daphne and excuses herself, leaving the drawing room too quick not to draw attention.

He hurries back after her. Simon gives him an apologetic look to which Anthony answers with an equally sad smile. It doesn’t take him long to find her, bend down in the windowsill of one of the windows of the library, one hand covering her mouth to muffle her sobbing while the other rested on her belly.

(Y/N) doesn’t hear his approach, but when he touches her as if she was expecting him too. She jumps as far away from him as she can get as if his touch burned her.

“Don’t touch me! Don’t…” she doesn’t finish the sentence but Anthony could hear it loud and clear in his head.

Don’t touch me with the same hands you’ve touched her just a week ago.

“Okay, it’s okay,” Anthony reassures her, raising his hands so she can see them. “I won’t touch you if you don’t want me too, but I want to help you.”

“Nobody can help me,” she sobs, hands clutching tightly at her dress.

The sight breaks his heart. Anthony wants nothing more than to take her pain away and make it his, even though he is mourning the loss of their child with her. He knew her pain was fairly worse than his, she did not only lose a child but she had been losing her husband too.

“Why, Anthony? Why us? There are so many couples that don’t love each other and still have children, why can’t we?”

Anthony takes a step forward, then two, and then he’s bringing her into his arms, wrapping her tightly against his chest, his chin resting at the top of her head. She struggles against his touch a little, but she’s so worn out that it doesn’t take much for her to relax into him.

(Y/N) fists the lapels of his waistcoat, resting her forehead against his chest, letting herself cry.

“I wanted them so bad, Anthony,” she whispers between sobs, “so bad.”

Me too, he wants to answer. Me too.

They stay in the library, in silence, for a while. When (Y/N) finally stops crying, exhausted, Anthony takes her home without even saying goodbye to his family, sending a maid to let them know his wife was not feeling well.

Their relationship shifts after that day. (Y/N) appears so exhausted by the recent events that slowly, she starts to let her guard down again. Anthony is careful when dealing with her, his wife is fragile and the sadness in her runs so deep that he is always afraid to say or do something that will put her through more pain.

“You don’t have to worry so much, you know.” She says, making him look up from his papers to see her already staring back at him.

“I always worry.”

“I won’t break if we talk about it,” she guarantees. “We have to talk about it.”

Anthony is not sure if she’s talking about their baby or Sienna. Either way it wasn’t exactly a conversation he was eager to have.

“How are you?” He asks before he can contain himself. Anthony wanted to ask that for a while but never found the opportunity.

“Healing,” she answers, “or trying to.”

He nods, nervously picking at his nails.

“When did you discover?” She asks.

“The onesie.” He looks up at her.

“The onesie,” she scoffs.

“You were… waiting for me?” His question is almost inaudible, full of regret and shame, but Anthony knows that she heard him.

“Yes,” she answers, “I was.” There’s a pause, and then the blow to his face. “Obviously you were occupied with more important matters, my lord.”

“(Y/N)—”

“I know about her,” she confesses. “I’ve always known, just didn’t want to acknowledge it and have to face the fact that my husband, the one that promised to respect me, at least, had so quickly forgotten his own word.”

“It’s not your fault.” He tries to explain but it seems like (Y/N) has had enough of silence.

“Oh, I know, my lord. This is entirely your fault.” She paused. “And hers. Not that it will matter for anyone, I’ll be the one to blame, after all.”

Her words cut through him the same way they did the week after her miscarriage: it’s always the woman’s fault. Hers or Sienna’s, it didn’t matter. Anthony would never understand the full extent of the pain it was to be a woman in their society, he would never fully understand how much he put her through and yet, would never be blamed for it.

There’s no answer to her words, no explanation for his behavior or broken promises. All he can do is watch her swallow the tears that were threatening to fall and take a deep breath. Anthony opens his mouth to speak but she beats him to it.

“That night,” she says, “the night I… lost our child. You were with her.”

It wasn’t a question, but Anthony felt the need to answer it anyway, his voice low with shame.

“Yes.”

“I see,” she hums.

“If I could go back—”

“The outcome would have been the same.” She says.

“It doesn’t change the fact that I should have been there for you.”

“Yes, you should have.”

Anthony always knew that, since the moment he put foot inside their house and heard her screams, but hearing her say it had another weight.

“Are you still seeing her?” She asks, looking at him.

“No, it won’t happen again.”

(Y/N) scoffs. “Forgive me if I have trouble believing in it, my lord.”

“I know I haven’t been a good husband. God, I have been barely a good man since we married, but I promise you, I’ll learn from my mistakes and I’ll do better by you. I’ll be a better man, a better husband, one that you deserve and maybe, just maybe, I’ll get close to deserve you.”

The following days, they start to talk more during meals, and the silence that falls between them when they’re both at the drawing room—Anthony working and (Y/N) reading—is not uncomfortable anymore. Each day that passes makes Anthony believe that they can fall back into the friendship they had right after they married.

He doesn’t see Sienna again. Anthony sends her a letter telling her that they should stop seeing each other because he doesn’t want to hurt his wife anymore. Which is the truth. Every time he thinks about the last time he met Sienna, his wife’s cries of pain and sorrow plague his mind and he just can’t see himself hurting her even more than he already had without even realizing it.

Anthony watches her playing with Gregory and Hyacinth in the garden. His younger siblings are fighting for her attention but she doesn’t seem to mind, going back and forth in between the two of them with ease. Then she looks at him, a huge smile on her face that made him smile too. Her attention was quickly snatched from him to his siblings again and Anthony felt a pang of jealousy in his chest—he didn’t want to share her attention.

In the past few weeks, Anthony discovered that his wife was more than the character of the perfect wife that she played for the ton. She was very much real and very much a woman with desires and ambitions. Everything that happened between then made her more bold, she didn’t take his poor excuses anymore, she talked openly about all sorts of things and Anthony caught himself wanting to listen.

“Hum, did you finally realize that you got a diamond in your hands, then?”

Anthony turned his head to look at Benedict, who had a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

His relationship with Benedict was stranded since his brother discovered about Sienna. Anthony didn’t blame Benedict, he was friend’s with his wife since they were kids. He only had himself to blame for being so foolish.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Anthony answered, not bothering to pretend he wasn’t observing their siblings with (Y/N).

“Keep lying to yourself then,” Benedict smirked, turning away to leave.

Anthony called after him. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Benedict sighed. “I’m not the one who has to forgive you. I just expected more from my brother.”

“I know,” he agrees. Benedict makes a move to go out the door, and then comes back, pulling Anthony into a hug.

“Look, I could say a thousand things to you, but nothing will undo what’s done.” Benedict says when they part, a hand resting on Anthony’s shoulder. “Just… learn from your mistakes and do better. You’re my brother and I love you, but trust me when I say that you don't deserve (Y/N). Can you imagine what mother would have done to our father if they ever found themselves in the same situation?”

“They loved each other,” Anthony protested to prevent his mind from wandering.

“You are truly oblivious, brother of mine.” Benedict scoffed.

His brother’s word haunted him for the rest of the day and all the way back to their home. Always perceptive, his change in behavior didn’t go unnoticed by (Y/N).

“What happened,” she asked when they were alone in the dressing room.

Anthony hummed, turning around to look at her and trying not to get distracted by her beauty as she braided her own hair after taking off the jewelry.

“Nothing.”

Her reflection raises a brow at him.

“Do better,” she warns, getting up and walking up to him, face softening as she stands in front of him. “You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?”

He nods, taking one of her hands and bringing it to his face. Anthony’s eyes close.

“Is it about her?”

The question gets him off guard. His eyes open instantly to look at her and he drops (Y/N)’ hand instantly.

“No,” he answers, “no,” he adds firmly, cradling her face in between his hands. “There is no one else in my life but you. There won’t be no one else in my life but you.”

“Anthony…” She breaths, closing her eyes as her delicate hands take hold of his wrists.

He wants nothing more than to kiss her, but refrains. It’s not the time for that. They’re both healing and he doesn’t want to taint whatever it is they’re creating by getting ahead of himself. Instead, Anthony presses his lips to her hair, inhaling her scent.

“Stay with me tonight,” he pleads, not sure where the urge to stay close to her came from. Anthony expects her to put up a fight, but (Y/N) only nods, murmuring an okay, before guiding him to her room.

It’s the first time since that fateful night that the both of them sleep through it, getting up later than usual the other day.

Their first kiss after everything that threatened to push them apart for good, happens so suddenly that none of them expects it.

(Y/N) had received the news that one of her younger sisters was going to marry the man she loves, her happiness made her throw herself at him and before either of them could realize, they were kissing each other.

It was just a chaste peck on the lips at the beginning. When they realized what had just happened they parted, his wife didn’t bother to step away from him to escape his embrace. They just stared at each other, eyes flicking between their eyes and their lips and then she placed a hand at the back of his neck, bringing him close to seal their lips again.

Anthony responded in kind, his hands on her waist, traveling up her back as he tasted her. It was like he was kissing her for the first time. They were discovering each other again, learning what each other felt like.

Desperately, Anthony wanted to discover what the strange feeling at the pit of his stomach was. Since before they married (Y/N) made him feel different, something he couldn’t put a finger on. He pushed it down to the depths of his mind—the last thing he needed was feeling something other than respect and partnership for his wife.

He protested when (Y/N) parted her lips from his and it took him a second to notice Benedict standing at the door, a smirk on his lips.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, I just wanted to let you know that our mother is waiting for (Y/N) downstairs. Something about the charity?”

“Oh,” his wife exclaimed, “I had forgotten about it,” she said, wriggling herself away from his arms, making Anthony growl in frustration.

If she noticed, (Y/N) made a good job at ignoring it. The same couldn’t be said about his brother.

“I figured,” Benedict smirked.

“Not a word,” (Y/N) warned as she passed him by, slapping his arm playfully.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Anthony watched as she turned around, stealing one last glance at him before disappearing and taking his breath away with her.

“Huh,” Benedict hummed, “I see.”

Rolling his eyes, Anthony asked, “And what do you see, dear brother?”

“You love her.”

“Nonsense,” he protested, “we’re just good partners.”

“Good partners don’t kiss like that.”

The ride home was silent, but Anthony’s heart fluttered in his chest when (Y/N) searched for his hand. Could Benedict be right? Did he really fall in love with his wife? He frowned while looking out of the window of the carriage and (Y/N) might have noticed it, because she made a move to take her hand away from him. Anthony didn’t let her.

“What’s going on in your mind?”

“Something Benedict said to me.”

“If it is about the kiss, don’t mind him. It won’t happen again.”

Anthony looked at her exasperated.

“I surely hope you’re not serious about that.”

“Anthony…”

“How can I live without your kisses again is unknown to me.”

“You lived quite well without them all your life,” she smiles, shyly.

“But now that I know them, I can’t anymore.”

Painfully slowly, she moves closer, giving him the chance to meet her halfway and bring their lips together again.

It’s like a breath of fresh air on a hot summer day and Anthony can’t seem to get enough of her. They get so distracted that they don’t even realise the carriage has stopped in front of the house until the door is open.

Recomposing themselves, he observes as (Y/N) giggles at the situation and feels his heart flutter at the image.

As they prepare to retire for the night, Anthony stops for a minute before following her into her room—he has been doing that for quite a few nights.

When she notices that he hasn’t entered the bedroom, (Y/N) looks back at him with a frown.

“Anything’s wrong?”

Anthony smiles, “No, nothing’s wrong,” he answers, as she extends her hand for him to take, and they retire for the night.

[auroracalisto]

the way i want you.

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader, 1.4k words summary: the reader is one of eloise's closest friends... and madly in love with benedict bridgerton. at a ball, he reveals his true feelings to them. a/n: the only mention of the reader being female is the dress and corset they are wearing. so. if you pretend to not read that, it could be gender neutral. this was an old draft with like two paragraphs that i started looking at. idk why it’s written in lowercase but the vibe is there and i'm not changing it. GIRL I JUST CHECKED AND I STARTED THIS IN APRIL OF 2022. bye. absolutely insane. (thank you past me, i actually really appreciate the inspo)

if there was anything you knew for certain, it was that you were madly in love with your dearest friend’s elder brother.

being near him made your heart thunder against the confines of your chest, threatening to be loud enough for all to hear.

your hands began to tremble, your voice began to waver.

the love you felt for him was so very obvious to everyone, it seemed, save for benedict.

eloise poked fun while penelope scolded her (for she, too, understood what it was like to love a bridgerton who didn't love her back). but deep down, eloise knew you would love her brother like no other. marriage might have been a fine prospect for benedict, but if he were to marry you, he would never wish for someone to love—you would be everything that he would need.

eloise had even quipped a time or two, teasing her brother and goading him into thinking about you. not that she would tell you, of course.

but love was a fickle thing. it worked in the oddest of ways, and quite frankly, it was hard to tell who benedict truly loved, if he loved at all.

he loved himself, and he loved his family. but eloise’s friend? the girl whom was just a few years younger than he, the one he saw blossom into a woman after several years of puberty? how could he possibly love her?

you wished he did. oh, it was a wish you made on the stars above more often than not. at any point in time, when you saw the first stars dot the sky, the wish would leave your lips.

let him love me.

please let him see me.

please let him know.

was it odd? perhaps. but in this world of expensive balls and beautiful debutantes, it didn’t seem too farfetched—especially when you loved someone. it would hurt to see them go off and love another, would it not?

your heart wasn't kind.

time wasn’t kind.

neither was your father or the corset you wore or the ballgown that seemed to itch in every crevice possible.

of course you had to choose the worst dress of all the ones you owned for this accursed ball! a repeat dress, to say the least. someone would snitch—you were sure it would be raved all about in lady whistledown's next pamphlet.

your mother was nowhere to be found while your father mingled with some of his military friends. eloise was hiding somewhere, most likely with penelope or by the buffet, and most of the bridgertons’ that had come to the ball were out in the ballroom floor, including anthony and colin.

but where was benedict?

you wouldn’t ask him to dance, despite your dance card being blank. you just wanted to see him—see his handsome face, his pretty smile.

lost in your thoughts, you didn’t realize a man was creeping up behind you until a hand found its way to your back. you nearly dropped your flute of champagne, wide eyed as you looked back at the culprit. champagne splashed by your gown, and you said a silent thank you to whatever the universe had done to prevent your repeat dress being ruined by none other than the very man of your thoughts—benedict bridgerton.

“what on earth are you doing?” you asked, quickly turning to face him.

“just coming to see my sister’s friend,” he said, a cheeky smile playing on his lips. “am i not allowed to come and talk to you anymore, miss y/n?”

your eyes widened a bit. “you—of course you’re allowed. i will not tell you what to do. but to scare me like that? what if i had spilled this on you?"

“oh, i beg your pardon,” he said. “i didn’t know you were so jumpy. had i’d known, perhaps i would’ve tried to actually scare you.”

“you are a fiend, benedict bridgerton.”

he grinned. “and you love me for it, do you not?”

your cheeks burned in embarrassment as you looked away. you cleared your throat, avoiding what you truly wanted to say: yes. “why aren’t you dancing?”

“hm. well, i was, but when mother wasn’t looking, i slipped away.”

“she’ll get onto you.”

“perhaps,” he said, scrunching his nose. “but if i’m talking to you, she will excuse it.”

you rolled your eyes. “and why is that?”

“you’re eloise’s friend. she’ll excuse it.”

you purse your lips. right. just eloise’s friend. you let out a soft sigh and nod, looking out at the ballroom floor. the song was soft and light and the party-goers danced slowly with their partners. it was a sweet song, if you had to admit to anything that night.

you wouldn’t admit your love for benedict. you couldn’t. you wouldn’t. not now, not ever.

something catches benedict’s eye and he would have up and left had he not been thinking. he cleared his throat as he looked down at you.

“come with me,” he said.

eyebrows furrowed, you glanced at him. “what?”

“you heard me,” he said. “come with me.”

you do as you’re told. you follow him, and he leads you in to a hallway. there are a few other patrons, so you are not alone with a man (oh, god, imagine the scandal), but he specifically leads you to a painting in the middle of the hall.

“a painting?” you asked.

“not just any painting,” he said. “look at it. what does it remind you of?”

you shift where you stand, looking up at it. the oil pastels are beautiful, yes, but it’s a simple painting of a beautiful woman. what’s it to remind you of?

“it looks like your sister,” you said.

he snorted softly. “no,” he said. “it’s beautiful, yes, but that’s not what i wanted you to look at.”

he pointed towards the background. just beyond the portrait of the woman lay a field of beautiful flowers, each one meticulously painted by whomever the painter had been. it looked like it must have taken a painstakingly long time to paint each individual one.

“it reminds me of all the time i do not have,” you simply said.

“oh, you are no fun, y/n!” he said. he looked down at you and smiled. “they remind me of you.”

you blinked slowly. “what?”

“beautiful and yet so unattainable, hm?”

you blinked again. “i beg your pardon?”

“look at them,” he said. “each one unique in their own way, each one hand painted by someone with enough gumption to keep on with it. whoever did it wanted their painting to be utterly beautiful and difficult to recreate. all the fine detail makes the painting that much more extraordinary.”

“wait, wait, benedict, unattainable?”

“right. well if i wanted to recreate this, it would take me some time, wouldn’t it?”

“benedict. how would something like that remind you of me?”

he smiled at you for a moment before he softly said: “you’re eloise’s friend. i couldn’t do that to her.”

“do what?”

“have you the way i want you.”

it’s simple—those seven words seemed to change everything, and it was one of the most simple things you had ever heard.

your lips part in mild shock and you took a slight step back, looking at benedict in confusion. “are… are you—“

“yes. i am in earnest, y/n.”

“why did you—“

“not say anything sooner? have you seen how aggravating eloise has been recently? i did not need to fuel her ammunition.”

“since when did—“

“for some time now.”

“will you let me—“

“no, i will not,” he interrupted again.

“i swear to the lord above that i will—“

“no swearing,” he said. “just self expression, hm? like the painting?”

“what? benedict, you’re not making any sense.”

“maybe not.” benedict smiled down at you. “come. we should head back. perhaps fill in your dance card for once.”

you frowned. “what will eloise say?”

“i do not care,” he said. “it seems to me that you care far more than i do. besides, do you not hear how she speaks to me? i think she'd be honored."

he’s right—perhaps he’s yet to say anything because the way his life had been. perhaps he hadn’t said a word because of everything he and eloise had talked about. there was always timing, and sometimes, it was just a bit off.

whatever it may be, he was here, and he was true to himself. he wanted you, and he would have you, heedless of your thoughts and what eloise wanted from either of you.

oh, the scandal, dear reader. but as long as the two of you plan to marry, whatever scandal could there truly be?

[d-targaryenshoe]

Blissful Banter- Luke Thompson

Word count: 1432

Summary: Yet a lie detector brings fun to one's connection even the truth likes to be discovered.

Luke glanced at the lie detector machine with skepticism and amusement.

You sat across from him with a playful smile on your face.

You had been together for a little over a year, and despite your age gap—Luke being thirty-six and you twenty-five, you had developed a deep and affectionate relationship.

However, you both had a teasing nature, often poking fun at each other in a way that only made your bond stronger.

Today, you decided to put your playful banter to the test, literally, by trying out a lie detector test.

"Are you sure about this?" Luke asked, raising an eyebrow as he watched the technician prepare the equipment.

"Absolutely," you replied, your voice light with excitement. "I’ve always wanted to see if you could lie to me with a straight face."

Luke chuckled, shaking his head. "I don’t lie, love. I’m an open book."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "Sure, and I’m the Queen of England."

The technician, a stern-looking man in his fifties, adjusted the sensors on Luke’s wrist.

"Remember, the machine will measure changes in your physiological responses," he explained in a monotone. "So try to relax."

"Easy for you to say," Luke muttered under his breath. He caught your amused gaze and winked. "Bring it on."

With the machine ready, the technician nodded at you to start.

"Okay, let’s start with something simple," you said, crossing your legs and leaning back in your chair. "Who’s your favorite character in Bridgerton?"

Luke smirked. "Benedict, of course. How can I not."

The lie detector remained steady, confirming his truthfulness.

"Really?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your own character."

Luke laughed, shaking his head. "Anthony’s too uptight. And Colin is the opposite of Ben, cool, confident, and irresistible."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your smile. "Alright, Mr. Confident. Let’s see if you’re as honest about other things."

You leaned forward, your tone turning teasingly. "Do you like my cooking?"

Luke hesitated for a fraction of a second, a split-second that didn’t escape your notice.

"Of course I do," he replied, his voice a tad too enthusiastic.

The machine beeped softly, indicating a small spike.

You gasped, your eyes wide with mock indignation. "You liar! I knew you didn’t like my quinoa salad!"

Luke chuckled, shrugging. "It’s not that I don’t like it, I just... prefer your lasagna."

"Mm-hmm," you said, squinting at him playfully. "I’ll remember that next time you ask for seconds."

The atmosphere between you was light and full of affection, with the lie detector test turning into a fun game rather than a serious interrogation.

You both knew that these little white lies—like Luke’s opinion on quinoa—were part of what made your relationship so enjoyable.

"Alright, my turn," Luke said, sitting up a bit straighter. "Do you secretly think I’m too old for you?"

Your expression softened as you considered your answer. "Truthfully? No, I don’t think you’re too old for me. I love that you’re a bit older. It makes me feel like I have someone who’s mature and knows what he wants."

The machine stayed silent, confirming your truthfulness.

Luke’s heart warmed at your words, and he smiled, reaching across the table to take your hand. "I’m glad to hear that."

You squeezed his hand in return, then leaned back with a mischievous grin. "But just to keep things interesting… Do you ever get jealous when I talk about how attractive Simone Ashley is?"

Luke’s grin turned into a mock scowl. "Jealous? Me? Never." But the lie detector’s soft beep betrayed him.

You burst out laughing. "I knew it! You’re jealous."

Luke raised his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, fine, maybe just a little. But can you blame me? She's an absolute gem."

"True," you agreed, still giggling. "But don’t worry, you’re the only one for me."

You shared a tender moment, the banter giving way to genuine affection.

Luke realized that despite the light-hearted nature of the test, it was reaffirming what you both knew deep down—that you were crazy about each other, quirks and all.

"Okay, back to business," Luke said, clearing his throat. "How much did you actually know about Bridgerton before we started dating?"

You blushed slightly, biting your lip. "Honestly? Not much. I might have watched a couple of episodes before, but I wasn’t really into it until I met you."

The machine remained silent, and Luke smiled. "So, you started watching it just because of me?"

"Maybe," you admitted, your cheeks still pink. "I mean, it was worth it to understand your character."

Luke laughed, feeling touched. "That’s sweet. I’ll give you that one."

"Your turn," you said, your eyes gleaming with mischief. "Did you really think I was into you on our first date, or did you think I was just being polite?"

Luke chuckled, remembering your first date. "I was pretty sure you were into me. I mean, who wouldn’t be?"

You raised an eyebrow, clearly waiting for the lie detector’s verdict.

The machine, however, remained steady, backing up Luke’s confidence.

"Wow, someone’s cocky," you teased, though you were impressed.

"What can I say?" Luke replied, grinning. "I’ve got a sixth sense for these things."

You shook your head, as though you were smiling. "Alright, Mr. Sixth Sense. Here’s a tough one—have you ever lied to me about something important?"

Luke’s smile faltered slightly as he thought about the question.

He wanted to answer quickly and truthfully, but the seriousness of the question caught him off guard.

"No," he said finally, his tone sincere. "I haven’t lied to you about anything important."

The lie detector agreed with him, showing no signs of deception.

You smiled softly, your eyes filled with warmth. "Good. I believe you."

Luke exhaled, realizing just how much your trust meant to him. "I’d never lie to you about something that mattered. You’re too important to me."

For a moment, the playful atmosphere shifted to something deeper, a reminder of the solid foundation you had built together despite your age difference and different life experiences.

"Okay," you said, clearing your throat and lightening the mood again.

"Let’s end on a fun one. Have you ever pretended to be interested in one of my hobbies just because you didn’t want to hurt my feelings?"

Luke laughed, knowing exactly what you were referring to. "You mean like when I pretended to enjoy that pottery class?"

You gasped, your eyes wide with faux outrage. "You didn’t enjoy it?"

"The clay was all over the place, and I made a bowl that looked more like a pancake," Luke admitted, grinning. "But I did it because I wanted to spend time with you."

The lie detector stayed silent, indicating that he was telling the truth.

You giggled, shaking your head. "Okay, I’ll give you that. But I actually thought your pancake bowl was pretty cute."

"Thanks," Luke said, smiling. "But let’s stick to your cooking from now on."

You laughed, the sound warm and infectious. "Deal. But only if you promise to keep watching Bridgerton with me, even when there’s no more Simon Basset."

Luke leaned across the table, capturing your lips in a quick, affectionate kiss. "Deal."

As you wrapped up the lie detector session, Luke realized that the test, while initially just a bit of fun, had brought you closer.

The playful teasing, the honest confessions, and the laughter reminded you both of why you worked so well together.

Despite the differences in your ages, your relationship was built on trust, understanding, and a shared sense of humor.

"Well, that was fun," you said as you stood up, stretching after being seated for so long. "We should do this again sometime."

"Only if you’re ready to admit that I’m your favorite Bridgerton," Luke replied with a wink.

You rolled your eyes, as though you were smiling. "We’ll see about that. Maybe I’ll start lying just to keep you on your toes."

Luke laughed, wrapping an arm around your waist as you walked out of the room. "As long as you keep laughing with me, I think we’ll be just fine."

As you left the building, the sun setting in the distance, you both knew that the little adventure with the lie detector had only strengthened your bond.

After all, love wasn’t just about being truthful, it was about finding joy in each other’s quirks, teasing, and growing together—even when a lie detector was involved.

With that thought in mind, Luke and you walked hand in hand, ready to face whatever challenges—and jokes—your relationship might bring next.

[lookingfts]

Dialogue Game - Prompts #7 and #8

#7 – "I can't swim." (fitrahgolden)

“I can’t swim.”

She winces as she says it. One of those stupid little things that children are taught, and everyone insists she has to know, but Kate has never seen the point in rushing to learn. She doesn’t need to know as long as she just…doesn’t go into deep water.

“Really?” Anthony’s face is teasing, but only a little. There’s more of that soft look on his face when she’s said something that endears him. It happens astonishingly often.

“Shut up,” Kate says, poking his shoulder even as heat rushes to her cheeks. “We’ll just stay in the shallows.”

It feels wonderful in there anyway. The water is just cool enough to whisk away the warmth on her skin, lapping gently against her waist. Her feet are firmly on the sand, and she likes it that way.

But Anthony pulls her into his arms, and she already knows he’s about to try and convince her of something. “Do you trust me?”

“Usually.”

“Then just hold on to me. We won’t go too deep, I promise,” he says genuinely, and Kate finds herself nodding. She jokes, but she trusts him implicitly. With her body, with her heart, even with her life, if the situation calls for it.

Kate tenses as they move further into the waves, the water rising to her shoulders. It’s scary, overwhelming, but Anthony is embracing her so tightly that she knows he’ll never let her go.

“Just kick your feet. You’re fine, I’ve got you.”

Her toes lift off the sand and she inhales sharply, but she’s floating for a moment, Anthony’s hands firm on her waist. Kate laughs as she wraps herself around him, legs twined over his hips, and buries her face in his neck. “That was terrifying.”

“But you did so good,” he praises, slowly moving them back to solid ground. “That wasn’t so bad, right?”

She shakes her head, smiles. “With you?” she says breathlessly. “Nothing’s that bad.”

#8 – “Happy anniversary baby. Open your present” “Anthony we’ve been dating for a week” (Anonymous)

“Happy anniversary, baby.” He tugs the wrapped box from behind his back, and presents it to her with a flourish. “Open your present.”

Kate looks between him and the box, her mouth parted in surprise, and then she bursts into laughter. “Anthony,” she says with a fond sort of exasperation. “We’ve been dating for a week. What is this?”

He shrugs, holding the box out to her. Maybe there was a time that he would have retreated back into self-doubt at her reaction, convinced himself that he was overwhelming her. But it’s been the best week of his life, and Kate has never been spoiled like she should be. So maybe they both need this. “We kissed a year ago,” he points out.

Her face scrunches up. It was neither of their finest moments; a slightly drunken kiss in the courtyard at one of Colin’s parties, followed by fifty-one weeks of lying to themselves and to each other. But now they’re making a proper go of it, so he doesn’t see why it shouldn’t count.

“Are you going to make an anniversary out of every one of our terrible decisions?”

“If the mood strikes.”

Kate rolls her eyes, but her expression is amused, not irritated. She takes off the blue wrapping paper so delicately that it’s barely torn, as gentle and meticulous as she is in everything.

Setting the paper aside, she opens the box, the delighted smirk dropping when she sees the delicate chain holding a gold teardrop pendant. “Anthony,” she says, but that’s as far as she gets.

“I just saw it and I thought of you. It wasn’t wildly expensive, I promise.” A one-week anniversary gift is a big enough swing. One day, he’ll buy her something truly extravagant, if only to show her that she’s worth it. But he can wait awhile.

“Our definitions of expensive might be different.”

“Pretend I got it out of a claw machine if that makes it easier to accept it.”

Her laugh is thick as she turns her back to him and sweeps her hair aside. Anthony clasps the chain around her neck, and she runs her fingers over the pendant. “Happy anniversary of the best terrible decision I ever made,” Kate murmurs.

He kisses her shoulder, smiling into her skin. “Likewise.”

[aziraphales-library]

Hello and big thanks for your work! I was wondering if you know some fics where Aziraphale protects/saves Crowley from trouble. I'm not talking about bamf!Aziraphale tho. More like clever Aziraphale, sneaky Aziraphale, maybe even doing-something-shady-and-manipulative Aziraphale. But mostly clever :) I think something like oopsie!omens (where Aziraphale took the fall instead Crowley and successfully hiding it for thousands years) or You Never Had A Heart by HotCrossPigeon where Aziraphale put himself in trap to put a show for Hastur, or just like his trick in 1941? But if it's too narrow, any good protective Aziraphale will do. Thanks in advance!

Hi! Here are some fics in which Aziraphale helps/rescues Crowley by being clever...

You Can't Un-See a Dog by HolyCatsAndRabbits (T)

A couple of humans summon the demon Crowley to be a sacrifice. Aziraphale is not amused. Actually, wait, he's very amused.

The Enlightened Fraternity of the Serpentine Demon by The_Bentley (T)

A secret society moves in down the street from the bookshop and shows a particular interest in Crowley. They don’t appear to be very competent at first glance, but Crowley feels better poking around to see what they’re up to, just in case. When he fails to return from his investigations, it’s up to Aziraphale to rescue his demon from the group’s clutches before they end up doing something they’ll regret.

Binding by Icka M Chif (T)

“That’s the tether.” Aziraphale pointed to one circle, then back at the other. “That’s the anchor. If I’m bound to Earth, and you’re bound to me… Then Hell can’t take you back."

the many-venomed earth by curtaincall (T)

It’s the trial of the century: bestselling mystery author Anthony Crowley stands accused of poisoning his former lover. He’s got means (arsenic), motive (the breakup), and opportunity (a meeting the night of the murder); his guilt seems certain. Certain, that is, to everyone except Lord Aziraphale Eastgate, rare book collector and amateur detective. Aziraphale’s not sure why he’s so convinced of Crowley’s innocence, but he’s determined to save him from the gallows--by finding the real murderer before it’s too late.

A Business Arrangement by CopperBeech (E)

Aziraphale Fell works for the family business, Archangel Security, which is still struggling to find its niche. Doing what his strait-laced, class-conscious family expects has helped him ignore the problem of his sexuality right into middle age, but he’s decided it’s time. For Anthony Crowley, sexuality isn’t a problem. It’s a slush fund that he could always tap into when he couldn’t pick up enough shifts to pay the bills, or wanted something nice (a profitable strategy for someone who’s always been able to do weird things with his tongue). But for the past couple of years he hasn’t had options. At least business doesn’t affect his personal life, because so far, he’s never had much of one. It’s about to get complicated.

So Much Discounted by WanderingAlice (T)

After asking Aziraphale a strange question, Crowley disappears. Can Aziraphale work out what happened to him? And more importantly, can he save him before it's too late? --- “No.” Aziraphale sat up, throwing his senses wide, searching, seeking, all the way to the edges of the world. “Crowley!” His frantic cry, amplified by his angelic power, rippled through the minds of every being with even the slightest occult sensitivity. Miles away, Anathema sat up in bed, and reached in panic for her lover when she felt the new absence in the world. Down the street from Jasmine Cottage, Adam Young tumbled from his covers, reaching out himself with what remained of his power. What he found was so terrible he fled from it, running to climb into bed with his parents like he hadn’t since he’d been very small. “No,” the angel said again, his voice small and lost amid the stacks of lonely books. “No.” He pushed himself up with trembling hands, climbed to his feet, and didn’t stop running until he stood outside the door to Crowley’s Mayfair flat.

- Mod D

[colinfeatherington]

snippet from my upcoming polin fic where colin loses (some of) his memories and struggles to figure out penelope's place in his life

—————

“Am I courting her?” Colin asked “Penelope Featherington?”

“Penelope Featherington? Courting?” Benedict gaped at Colin, the biscuit halfway to his mouth dropping to his lap in shock. “You mean to say it took losing your memories for you to finally see sense?"

“You thought you were courting Penelope?” Anthony remarked dryly. “Penelope Featherington?”

“Yes, why ever do you sound so surprised?” Colin glared at his eldest brother, some familiar anger arising at Anthony's disbelieving words, though he couldn’t quite recall why it felt like poking a sore bruise. “And how many times must we repeat her name? Do you find her lacking in some way? I found her to be a most agreeable dance partner and rather charming too.”

Benedict whistled and turned to smirk at Anthony, “Yes dear brother, is Miss Penelope lacking?” He chuckled and popped the rest of the biscuit in his mouth as Anthony rolled his eyes. “Mother would be disappointed to hear you say such things.”

“Do not speak with food in your mouth, honestly Benedict, Mother would be disappointed in you. In regards to Miss Featherington, I think Penelope is a lovely girl, it’s just you’ve never looked at her twice.”

Benedict choked briefly before sputtering, “What on earth are you going on about? Colin has been in love with the girl for years!”

Anthony frowned. “In love? Years? Have you lost your senses, have your endless nights of drinking and women finally taken their toll?”

“You know, it truly is a wonder you pulled your head out of your arse long enough to marry Kate, you’ve got no talent for matters of the heart do you?”

“They are friends!”

“You must be joking. Everyone knows it!” Benedict flung out his arms for emphasis before he paused, considering. “Well everyone but Colin. And you it seems, maybe Eloise. I digress. Mother has been hoping they’d marry since they were in leading strings.”

“He proposed to her cousin. After merely a few weeks of courting! I think it’s a bit of a stretch to say -”

Benedict threw his remaining biscuit at Anthony, who failed to catch it and scowled at the crumbs now scattered across his waistcoat and desk.

“I’m engaged?” Colin finally cut in, flabbergasted. “And no one’s thought to mention it till now?”

It was foolish to be so upset. He didn’t even know Penelope, not really. They had exchanged only a few words but he had felt so sure of their connection, of the way she had lit up the room with her smile and the tender way she had held his hands. How could he love some other girl, some girl that he couldn’t remember? Colin was a true romantic at heart, he was sure if he had a fiancé he would know her, love her, memories or not. Something would pull him to her, despite it all.

Like the red of Penelope's hair across the room.

He knocked back the rest of his drink, letting the burn of whiskey distract him.

[nightwriter357]

Smosh hide and seek

Damien Haas x reader

It's time for another round of Smosh hide and seek. You and Damien end up hiding in the same place and things get spicy..

Smut(18+)

The Smosh office buzzed with excitement as the team prepared for another game of hide and seek. This time, the stakes were higher, and the anticipation was palpable. Courtney, coached by Shayne, and Ian, coached by Anthony, were the seekers, competing against each other. The coaches had the advantage of experience, having played the game before.

"Alright, everyone ready?" Shayne called out, a mischievous grin on his face. "You've got two minutes to find your hiding spots. Go!" Ian and Courtney started counting in unison "one..two..three.."

You darted through the office, heart pounding with adrenaline. You knew the best hiding spots would be taken quickly, and you needed to find somewhere discreet.  You caught a glimpse of Amanda trying to wedge herself behind a curtain that was clearly too narrow to conceal her.

"Amanda, that's never going to work," you whispered, grinning at her determined expression.

"Watch me," she retorted, struggling to pull the curtain closed around her.

Passing her, you noticed Tommy attempting to climb into the ceiling tiles. "Tommy, seriously? You're going to break your neck," you called out.

He glanced down at you with a smirk. "I wouldn't mind that, Y/N. Also seekers never look up!"

You laughed and continued your search for a hiding spot. As you moved through the office, you spotted Angela trying to squeeze herself under a desk, her legs sticking out awkwardly. "Angela, your legs are a dead giveaway," you pointed out.

She huffed, pulling them in. "You're just a hater!"

You rounded another corner and saw Spencer trying to fit himself into a filing cabinet drawer. "Spencer, what are you doing?" you asked, amused by the sight.

He looked up, a sheepish grin on his face. "I thought it was worth a shot."

As you rounded a corner, you noticed a worn down cabinet. As you opened the door you saw that Damien was already squeezing himself inside.

"Damien, move over!" you whispered urgently, trying to fit in beside him before time ran out.

"It's tight, but come on in," he whispered back, making room for you. The space was cramped, and you could feel every movement he made as you squeezed in beside him. In the shuffle, his hand accidentally brushed against your chest, sending a shiver down your spine.

Oh, shit, I'm sorry," he said, pulling his hand back quickly

"Seriously, Damien?" you whispered, giving him a playful shove. "Couldn't wait to cop a feel?"

You could se his face turning red even in the dim light. "I swear it was an accident!"

"Sure it was," you teased, a grin spreading across your face.

Trying to make the tight space more bearable, you reached for your phone and turned on the flashlight to see better. The beam of light landed directly on Damien's crotch.

"Uh, nice spotlight," Damien joked, trying to adjust his position to block the light.

"Well, hello there," you teased, grinning up at him.

Damien looked down, then back at you with a smirk. "Enjoying the view?"

"Seems like you brought the entertainment," you shot back, not bothering to move your phone.

You tried to adjust yourself and basically slammed against the walls of the cabinet. You looked at each other trying to keep yourself from laughing.

He grinned at you, "you're totally going ro expose us". He poked you in the shoulder

You rolled your eyes at him, " No I'm not, my legs are just tired, I'm uncomfortable'

Damien raised his eyebrow at you, "Oh okay, so I make you uncomfortable?" A smile spread across him face.

You didn't hesitate, " Yes, very, you're no help"

"You could wrap you legs around me" he responded, quietly slapping his thighs.

You looked up at him, he seemed even bigger than usual up close. "So you basically want me to climb you like a tree?"

"Oh, absolutely" he looked down at you.

" I'm totally going to HR after this" you responded, with a quiet giggle.

You put your arms around Damiens neck and jumped up to wrap your legs around him. His hand quickly moved to your ass to keep you from falling.

"I..uh.. sorry, I didn't mean to.."

You leaned back, still in his arms. "Oh you're always so sorry when you touch me Damien, yet you always seem to.." Your crotch pushed against his, the friction made you lose your train of thought, you instinctively pushed yourself harder against him.

"Okay so you're going to HR huh? The girl who's grinding on her coworker until she's unable to speak?"

"I..I"

You were cut short as Damien put one of his hands over your mouth. You heard footsteps and voices approaching making you both freeze. Courtney and Shayne were close, their muffled conversation filtering through the cabinet door.

"Do you think they could fit in here?" Courtney asked, sounding skeptical.

"In my experience, they can fit pretty much everywhere," Shayne replied, his voice getting louder.

You and Damien held perfectly still, barely daring to breathe. One of his hands above your mouth, the other on your ass, holding you up. Your legs were tightly wraped around his back, your core still pressed against him, warm and desperete for friction. As the footsteps grew louder, Damien leaned closer, his lips almost brushing your ear. It tickled your neck and you could feel yourself flinching. He removed his hand from your mouth and back to your ass.

"If they open this door, we're caught for sure," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin.

"Shhh," you whispered back, pressing even harder towards him, smiling.

He pressed his lips together and looked up as you felt his cock hardening . If you had the balls you would just fall into him right here, right now. The voices faded as Courtney and Shayne moved on, and you let out a sigh of relief. "That was close," you whispered.

Damien nodded, his forehead resting against yours. "Yeah, you are". The silence stretched between you, charged with electricity, you could hear your own breathing echoing softly. His breath was on you lip, his hands still on your body. Without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his in a tentative kiss. He responded immediately, deepening the kiss, his hands squezing your ass .

The kiss grew more intense, your bodies straining against the confines of the cabinet, if they were still in this room they would definetly hear the sounds of your bodies hitting the walls as you lost yourselves in eachoter. He put you down on your feet again, His hands roamed over your back, pulling you closee as his lips moved hungrily against yours. The small space only heightened the intensity of your kisses, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"You know," Damien murmured between kisses, "this is even better than I imagined."

You chuckled, as his lips trailed down your neck. "Oh, so you've been imagining..."

He cut you of, "well.. I mean".

You put your finger over his mouth and repeated yourself, "Oh, so you've been imagining too?"

His eyes darkend and a wicked smile began to form, "what have you been imagining?" He grabbed you chin, gently pointing it up so make eye contact. 

You looked up at him with doey eyes, " I imagined you touching me, feeling how wet I am for you, I imagined you doing a lot off stuff you won't be able to do in here"

He put your hands back around his neck, "keep them there", even with the flashlight on it was still dark but you could still tell by his face that he was up to something."

"So, we're done with this?" you asked raising and eyebrow at him, still keeping your hands by his neck.

"Oh, y/n, you're done, me? I havn't even begun. You want me to do more than just touch you, I don't even think you could handle that sweatie. He put his hand on your thigh, his finger tracing small circles mere inches away from your already damp panties. 

The sound of footsteps approaching again made you both tense up. This time, they were even closer. Damien didn't stop, you kept quiet, you could not get caught right now. You could hear Anthony's voice, guiding Ian through the search.

"They've got to be around here somewhere," Anthony said, his tone confident. "Keep looking."

You held your breath, trying to remain as still and quiet as possible. The tension was almost unbearable, your heart pounding in your chest. As the footsteps receded once more, you let out a shaky breath, Damiens fingers slowy moves up you thight, under your skirt.

"We need to be careful," he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. "But I can't seem to keep my hands off you."

You bit your lip as his fingers finally made contact and you whimpered in response, only a thin layer of fabric seperating him from you wet core, you buckled your hips. "Please, Damien."

Damien's eyes darkened with desire, his other hand slipping under your shirt to caress your skin. You wished you could brake these walls down so that you could explore eachother freely, he kept his hand on you, each touch sending sparks of pleasure through your body. He pushed you up against the wall, His face buried at the nape of your neck as his fingers played with your wet cunt through the now soaked panties.  

He whispered in your ear, his voice husky with need. "You have to stay quiet, Y/N. We can't have them finding you like this."

You nodded, biting your lip to stifle any sounds as Damien's fingers finally slipped beneath the fabric, finding your wet folds. He let his finger drag slowly to collect your juices You gasped softly, your hips instinctively bucking against his hand. The sensation of his fingers exploring you sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body, and you clung to him, trying to maintain your composure.

"I can't believe how wet you are," he murmured, his breath hot against your neck. "All this for one finger?"

You could barely form words, overwhelmed by the sensations. "Damien...please...", he pushed one more finger into you and you had to stop yourself from screaming.

He pressed his lips to your ear, his fingers working you expertly. "Your legs are tired, huh? You would rather be on your knees? laying down on your back? Standing on all four?

You swallowed hard, your voice barely a whisper. "Yes Damien, I want you...inside me...please, Damien."

His eyes were hungry, as he withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. The sight of him tasting you made you even wetter, if that was even possible. He quickly unzipped his pants, freeing his hard cock, and you could feel the heat of him against your thigh. You let your hands fall from his neck.

"Keep them there" he said, positioning himself at your entrance. You did as you were told. He draged himself up and down your entrance. His thumb pushed against your neck keeping you pressed up against the wall. The sensation was overwhelming, and you had to bite down on your lip, hard, to keep from crying out. "Well to bad pretty girl, it's not happening."He put his cock away and you swear you could cry.

Without hesitation he once again pushed his fingers inside of you. He moved them inside you with slow, deliberate thrusts, each one sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body. The confined space of the cabinet heightened the intensity, every movement magnified. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders as his fingers pumped inside of you, his pace quickening. You could feel the pressure building inside you, your release imminent.

"Damien...I'm close..." you managed to whisper, your voice trembling.

"God, Y/N,you're so good, you feel so good."

You came undone on his fingers, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave. You buried your face in his neck to muffle your cries, your fingernails digging into his neck, his hot breath burned against your skin as you rode out the waves of pleasure.

"Wow, your so beautiful like this" His eyes moved up and down your body hoping to capture the image of you.

" Not fair" you managed to get out as your breathing slowed down again, "I didn't even get to touch you"

He smiled as he pushed some hair out of your face, " Oh, did you want to?"

You kissed him deeply before pulling away, "kind of"

" Okay, I'll remember that" he grinned from ear to ear.

You could hear the sound of voices getting closer again. Damien helped you adjust yourself. The cabinet door suddenly flew open, flooding the small space with light. You both jumped, blinking against the sudden brightness.

Shayne stood there, hands on his hips, a knowing smirk on his face. "Well, well, well. What do we have here?"

You and Damien scrambled to straighten your clothes, trying to look as innocent as possible. But the disheveled hair and flushed cheeks gave you away.

"Looks like you two found a cozy hiding spot," Courtney said, appearing beside Shayne with a grin.

Shayne put his finger at the corner of his mouth, "You've got some lipstick there buddy."

You couldn't help but laugh, shaking your head. "You know, people allowed to wear lipstick."

Shayne chuckled, " That was for Damien"

Damien moved his hand to wipe it away, " well.. you know, people are allowed to wear lipstick"

Ian and Anthony joined the group, both of them wearing amused expressions. "Next time, maybe pick a hiding spot with a bit more space," Anthony suggested with a wink.

Damien chuckled, slipping an arm around your waist. "Noted," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

Ian turned to the camera, "we should probably cut" as the cameras stoped recording he continued, " Your fly is open dude"

Damien looked down, out of embarrassment and to fix it. " Maybe we can blur it?"

You started laughing, " I feel like that makes it infinitely worse"

Damien put his hand on your lower back. You looked at him and then to the others. " Okay guys this has been SO SO much fun, om dying laughing just thinkiuabout it but we need to go now", you looked at Damien with an intense stare. He coughed, " yes? YES, very fast"

You sprinted away together. Anthony yelled after you, " where are you going".

You turned around to respond, "HR".

[hmslusitania]

Either 16 or 21 or both or neither

There was no specified ship, so it ended up being kind of pre-relationship TimKon

The party had been a questionable choice, Tim can admit that now. Nothing says “I’m so totally over a relationship, see how fine I’m doing!” like throwing a Halloween party, drinking a little too much at the sight of his ex-girlfriend making out with her new girlfriend who is, for most purposes, Tim’s sister, and then retreating to the bathroom because his more recent ex-boyfriend had actually taken him up on the invitation and brought a plus one.

Which is why he’s hiding in the bathtub in his own bathroom, not totally shielded from view by the novelty map of Faerûn shower curtain Steph had helped him pick out. At least it matches the elf ears that had seemed like a good idea six hours ago, and at least the porcelain he’s resting his face against is cooling and pleasant.

His relative peace — generally not helped by the thumping of the bass from the stereo in the party beyond his room — is interrupted an unknowable amount of time later by the bathroom door opening without a knock, and then he’s in the company of…

“What are you supposed to be?” Tim asks without lifting his head from the side of the tub.

Kon looks down at his “costume” which includes fingerless gloves, a denim jacket, and a black and red buffalo check shirt.

“Breakfast Club?” Kon prompts.

Tim blinks at him.

“Come on, we watched it for YJ movie night like last month,” Kon reminds him.

“I wasn’t there,” Tim says, miserable, and sags a little farther into the comforting embrace of the side of the tub.

“We were gonna do a whole group thing, right, except we decided you’d for sure have to be Ally Sheedy, not Emilio Estevez or Anthony Michael Hall,” Kon continues, unphased by Tim’s demeanour. “But then Cissie wanted to dress up like Wendy instead, and I’m pretty sure Cassie’s dressed up like me, which is kinda a head trip. And Bart had some whole situation where he can’t make our party because he got roped into babysitting Jai and Irey while they go trick-or-treating, because as screwy as my family might be, only when you’re a member of the West-Allen family do you really get to go babysit your, uh…”

“Second cousins,” Tim supplies.

“Huh, I definitely thought that was gonna be a weirder chain of relationship,” Kon says.

He sits on the bathmat next to Tim’s head and pokes him in the side of the face.

“Stop,” Tim says.

“So is there a particular reason you’re hiding from your own party in your bathroom?” Kon asks.

“I’m bitterly single?” Tim replies.

Kon considers him. “So, I get why you invited Steph, because she’s still for sure one of your best friends, and I’m pretty sure you’re, like, contractually obliged to invite Cass to events, and they’re a matched set. But like… your civilian ex-boyfriend who likes to conspiracy theory about the majority of the rest of your guests?”

Tim groans and shuts his eyes, only to have Kon pry one of them open and stare at him up close.

“I wanted to prove I was, like, mature and evolved and so totally over it,” Tim says, and feels stupid even saying it.

“Which is why you’re drunk in your bathtub, sure, yeah, I get that,” Kon says, and smiles when Tim rolls his eyes.

“You don’t have to be in here being nice to me, you can just like… enjoy the party,” Tim says.

“The party where my ex-girlfriend is dressed up in my clothes and making out with our other very good friend who’s dressed up like my all time fictional crush? That party?” Kon asks, and Tim snorts.

“Do you ever think about the fact you dated two girls named Cassandra and both of them turned out to be gay?” Tim asks.

“With really similar taste in women, also,” Kon adds. “And, like, yeah, every once in a while.”

Tim hums and closes his eyes again, but this time, Kon doesn’t pry his eyes open.

“I know you’re mad at me,” Tim mumbles finally. “You didn’t have to come.”

“I’m not mad at you,” Kon says, and this time the physical botherment he inflicts is tweaking the elf ear Tim had spent a stupid amount of time gluing on. “I was questioning your judgement, which is so not the same thing.”

“Judgement I definitely didn’t improve by throwing this party, right?” Tim guesses. Kon makes a noncommittal noise.

“Like I get that you have a thing for blonds with a penchant for getting into trouble, but…” Kon says.

“Not just blonds,” Tim mumbles before he can think better of it. He blinks when he realises what he’s said and finds Kon staring at him curiously. “I’m really fine, Kon, you can go enjoy the party.”

“Nah,” Kon says, and before Tim can move to stop him, he clambers over the side of the tub to squish into the narrow space between Tim and the shower wall, his combat boots which have a certain authenticity that say they might have been Pa Kent’s from the ’60s clunking against the basin. Kon wriggles his shoulders trying to get comfortable for a second, and then gives up and wraps his arm around Tim. It’s just for the better use of space, Tim’s sure, but it’s… it’s really nice. And when Kon tugs him sideways until Tim rolls over so he’s resting the side of his face on Kon’s chest rather than on the side of the tub, it’s so damn pleasant he can barely stand it. “I’d much, much rather be in here with you.”

It makes Tim’s heart flutter in his chest and he knows Kon can hear that, which is just embarrassing, and which he can only sort of blame on the alcohol.

“Yeah, okay, Bender,” he says, trying desperately to hit annoyed.

Kon gives him a full belly laugh that echoes off the bathroom tile, and squeezes him just a little closer. “I knew you’d seen the Breakfast Club before.”

Tim rolls his eyes and smacks Kon in the stomach with a light, open palm. It gets him another laugh, and maybe, just maybe, this party hadn’t been the worst idea after all.

[theworldofotps]

I Like You (Drabble)

Pairing: Hook x Reader Word Counter: 1,029 Prompt: ❛ i like you. a lot. like a lot, a lot. ❜ ❛ you’re important to me, you piece of shit. ❜ ❛ it terrifies me what i would do for you. ❜

@omg-im-such-a-masochist here's your prompt my love I hope it's close to what you were imagining! ________ Tag list: @omg-im-such-a-masochist @melissahausen​ @new-zealand-chic​ @writtingrose​ @99hook @sjwrites22​ @sassymox​ @mrsacklesevansmgk @xladyxfatex​ @adamcolesbaybay @irish-newzealand-idian-dutch​ @demonqueen29​ @itsicantbelievethis666​ @lilred91​ @rebellious-desires​ @claymorexpunisher @letsgivethisonemoreshot @ava-valerie @shortyiceheart​ @serpantscorpio8497​ @thatpanpal​ @thatnerdwriter @wrestlersownmyheart​ @vebner37​ @auburnwrites @aews-four-pillars​ @seeingstarks​ @whenimakeitshine1234​ @legit9thlunaticwarrior @blaquekitty​ @ironshamelessyouth​ @unoficialy-married-to-ace-austin​ @ripleyswhore @moonrosekk @xbreezymeadowsx @elevennbloom @melblacc @alliwant456  @mcreignsera

If you wanna be added to the list lemme know ________ “Did you hear?”

“What?”

Y/n asks looking up from her phone after her friend Anthony sat down beside her on one of the work crates.

“Hook has a date with one of the new intern girls and I’m not sure if it’s such a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because she was recommended to the company by Jericho, and you know he’s always trying to get some dirt on someone. I know you’re supposed to ask people questions when you try and get to know them, but her questions are intense.”

“Well, have you said anything to him about it?”

“You know he won’t listen to any of us that’s why the lads asked me if I would talk to you about it because maybe he would listen to you. After all you are one of the closet people to him apart from his dad.”

“So, in other words you want me to do your dirty work for you?”

She smiled watching as Anthony rubbed his cheek looking around the room before sitting down in the chair beside her.

“We tried to talk to him about it but he wouldn’t even give us the time of day about it just his usual fucking grunt and a blank stare. We just don’t want him to get hurt is all or have this woman fuck around with his feelings.”

“Have any of you bothered talking to the girl I mean the only thing you’ve said is her questions are kind of weird. That doesn’t mean she’s going to fuck Tyler over you can’t assume all woman interested in him are going to be bad.”

“You’re acting like I don’t know that you have feelings for him.”

“Shut up!”

Y/n hissed looking around to be sure that nobody overheard Anthony’s big mouth before turning her gaze back to him.

“Nobody else needs to know that least of all him, I’ll talk to him but I’m not going to just assume she’s after him for bad reasons.”

“Thanks, you’re the best text me how it goes.”

“Yeah yeah I will.”

Standing up Y/n throws her trash away than turns heading out the doors she figured that if Tyler wasn’t warming up somewhere; he was bound to be lurking around the hallways listening to his music. Walking around for a few minutes she pulled her phone out sending him a text.

‘Where are you?’

‘My dad’s locker room’

‘Can I come talk with you?’

‘Yep’

Pocketing her phone, she makes her way through halls and soon arrived in front of the door, giving a light knock she waited.

“Come on in y/n.”

“Hey thanks for giving me a few minutes to chat with you.”

She smiled poking her head in the door and closed it behind her after stepping inside, leaning against the door she watched as he moved around the room. Then patted the couch cushion beside him, y/n walked over sitting down and stretched her legs out.

“What’s up?”

“So, Anthony told me you had a date with one of the new interns.”

“Yep, I’m going out with her tomorrow night, he was trying to give me some hassle earlier, but I just ignored him.”

Tyler pushed the hair out of his eyes adjusting his hoodie then looked over at her.

“Is that why you’re here to give me some trouble?”

“No, I just wanted to come talk to you because he’s worried about you all the lads are and since you won’t hear him out. Anthony is hoping that you’ll at least be willing to hear me out about it although lord knows you don’t always listen to me when you should.”

“You guys are always on my ass when I’m planning on going out with someone, I know what I’m doing I’m not a child.”

“Nobody said you were, but your friends are concerned so the least you could do is at least hear them out a little. Anthony said that the woman was asking some weird ass questions and he’s just worried about you.”

“Look it’s fine I can handle myself y/n I don’t need to be looked after, beside you don’t see me jumping every time someone asks you out. So why can’t you just let me do my thing.”

Looking at him surprised by his sudden change in tone y/n’s eyes narrowed slightly as she huffed at him.

“Because you’re important to me you piece of shit.”

Y/n snapped as she stood up off the couch and started pacing back and forth.

“We care about you and we don’t want you getting hurt we care about you.”

“I know you do but it’s not a big deal, there’s no need to get so bent out of shape.”

“Oh my gods you really are dense I like you. a lot. like a lot a lot. And I just want to be sure you aren’t going to get hurt by anyone. I couldn’t stand the idea of you getting hurt by someone you may be emotionally invested in. It’s terrifies me what I would do for you, just please let us do what we need to try and keep you safe.”

Y/n ranted but stopped when he stared at her his eyes wide at her confession.

“You like me?”

“That’s what I just told you, now you go ahead and go on your date but at least hear Anthony out he’s one of your best friends.”

Tyler quickly got off the couch grabbing her arm when she turns to leave, she hadn’t meant to embarrass herself like that in front of him.

“So should I pick you up around seven?”

“What?”

“Anthony may have let it slip that you had feelings for me and so we cooked this up to see if you’d actually admit it.”

Tyler smirked pulling y/n against his chest and held her hips as she stared at him in shock as she tried to comprehend what he was saying.

“That little fucker.”

“So, is that a yes?”

“Mm just let me know how I need to dress, and I’ll see you then.”

Y/n smiled wrapping her arms around him their lips meeting in a soft kiss.

[newtonsheffield]

Someone's about to get lifted onto a desk 👀👀👀

I do not doubt that for a single second tbh.

Also: this is Kate’s study! It’s too femininely decorated for it to be Anthony’s, even in his new wife guy era. And I love that for her.

I love that she has space for herself, and space to write her letters and run the household. I can also imagine her lips parting in surprise the very first time she saw the ledgers and she saw exactly how much money the Bridgertons have.

“Everything alright, Love?”

Kate let her eyes flick to Anthony, lounging in the chair across on the other side of the viscountess’s, of her desk. “Fine.”

“You look shocked.” Anthony sighed, “Let me guess you’re about to admonish me for letting my books fall into such disrepair but I would remind you why I haven’t had much time for bookmaking recently.”

Kate rolled her eyes, “It’s not… that. I suppose I just… knew you were wealthy but seeing it in person is another thing.”

“We are wealthy.” Anthony corrected lightly, “I hardly expect you to ask me for every little thing you want. That’s an awful way some men make their wives live.”

Kate rolled her eyes, “And here I thought I heard a rumour about you quizzing young ladies on a penchant for over spending.”

“People exaggerate. Or perhaps I don’t mind making you happy,”

It had seemed odd to Kate at first, the frequency with which Anthony seemed present in her study, especially as one of the other ladies had laughed when she’d mention that she and Anthony had been in there together.

“God, Herbert wouldn’t even know where to find it.”

But it seems normal now, having Anthony poke his head in. So much so that she doesn’t even need to look up to know who’s just slipped in and closed the door behind him.

“Viscountess, you work far too hard.”

Kate but back her smile at his use of her title. “Oh no, no, no. You’re supposed to be working. And I know what you calling me that means.”

Anthony looked at her innocently while he flopped down into the chair opposite her, “I’ve no idea what you’re talking about. I only thought Gee, I hope my beautiful wife’s not getting bored all alone like I am.”

Kate leaned back in her chair, “So you’ve come to save me have you?”

He gestured to himself, grinning cheekily. “I’m your knight in shining armor, yes.”

“And here I thought you intended to rarely see your wife, I can’t seem to get rid of you.” Kate teased, leaning back in her chair. “Though I suppose that has its merits.”

“It does,” Anthony said eagerly, “I’d be more than happy, Viscountess, to show you just how willing I am to make your afternoon just a little bit more pleasurable.”

Kate’s breath caught, “Lock the door then.”

Anthony practically scrambled back over the chair. “Yes Ma’am.”

[moirindeclermont]

Thank you for all the feel better wishes... I'm not out of it but at least I don't have a fever, so 50/50. But believe it or not, I did end up thinking about tonight's episode of "all Polin's first times we didn't see", specifically Colin being sick and Pen has to take care of him (tomorrow I'll do Pen's too)

Thing is, Colin is an absolute baby when he is sick. He is in bed, feverish, and he can't lose sight for his wife for a second.

"Pen, where are you going?";

"Pen, I need you"; "Pen, please stay here"; and she ends up writing in their bedroom, because Colin is insufferable otherwise. She sends away his valet, she is enough to deal with this (although secretly she loves taking care of him).

Then, he starts to request thing. "Can you ask my mother to bring some of Cooks soup?", "Can you make the sun not so bright?" And he is always so dramatic about it.

"I can't eat Pen, I'm going to die soon," as if half of his siblings didn't get it already and are fine now (she has to as Kate though if Anthony is such a big baby as well).

"Pen I can't sleep," he is saying and she goes to sit on the bed next to him. "I'll stay here with you for a while, it's that okay?"

He whines. "Can you get on top me?"

"Why?"

"I want a wife-shaped blanket," and she looks at him "really, Colin?"

He just looks at her with his best puppy eyes.

"Okay okay," she dressed down to her chemise and gets on top of him, "I'm sure it's not a comfortable way to sleep, Colin" but he just sigh in contentment.

"That's perfect, Pen. Thank you"

Turns out they both fall asleep in minutes.

They woke up in the same position, Colin's erection poking her.

"Really, Colin?"

"I don't think I can do much, but the flash is willing Pen"

She takes her chemise out, Colin's hand goes to her chest but she slaps him out of it "you are sick, rest" and, for once, he obeys her. She takes his peen out, returning to her blanket position to use her hips to stimulate them both, until she is wet enough that it slips into her without effort. They both moan at that.

Their movements are slow and deep, Colin can only graps her hips but does nothing to increase the speed or the pressure. They could literally stay like that forever. It's Pen that, after a while, does stand up and fast things up... Until he comes inside her with a whine.

"Pen, come here,I'll make you come," but she just laugh at him "you can't even breath, Colin. Don't worry about it. I'll take of myself and when I get sick you get to return the favor."

He is already sleeping by the time she finish that sentence (she does take care of it quickly on her own, finally she had time to write!)

[bosbas]

Chapter 10: writing letters addressed to the fire

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.8k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, angst, pining, like a lot of pining, anthony being controversial

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: they're so in their evermore era i can't

July 7, 1814 - The expectations were as high as the chandeliers at the Bridgerton Ball two nights prior. And the night did not disappoint. Our forgone diamond of the season made an appearance at the social event. A fact that is expected given the close relationship between the Beaumonts and Bridgertons, but a pleasant surprise given her recent absence from social happenings. While previously the center of attention, Miss Beaumont danced only once at the Bridgerton Ball with one Mr. Alexander Beaumont. Yes, dear reader, her brother. This leaves us with the lingering question: why did Miss Beaumont choose her brother over the allure of a potential match? It seems that Miss Beaumont is simply tired of the ton's social scene, or perhaps she has lost some of her shine now that her best friend has left for the countryside. 

He cleared his throat, rubbing his thumb on his lower lip. Finally meeting your eyes, he said, "Well, I was wondering if you'd want to marry me."

You choked, completely taken aback. "Are you alright, Anthony?" you asked, nervously laughing. "Was the whiskey too strong for you after all?"

He pinched his nose, annoyed at your flippant response, but couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. "Be quiet! I'm trying to help you!" he said, laughing.

You were in hysterics now, too. "Help me?! Help me how, pray tell," you managed to get out between giggles.

"You are impossible! How Benedict deals with you so regularly, I have no idea!" he shot back, poking you in the arm as he said each word.

You gasped in mock offense. "Low blow, Anthony, even for you," you said, shaking your head at him, unable to keep from laughing. "Surely you're joking. Why should I let you marry me?"

"Let me marry– Bloody hell, Y/N, and excuse my language, but really, I am coming from a good place here, and you are making it so difficult," he responded, clearly exasperated by your inability to take him seriously.

You ceased laughing and looked at him directly, cocking your head and widening your eyes when you realized he was being sincere. "Anthony? Surely you're joking, right? Does Alex know? He'll kill you if he finds out you proposed to his little sister."

He sighed deeply, shifting in his seat. "Look, I am not joking. But let me explain first, and then you can ask me questions."

You could do little but stare at him, lips parted in confusion. "Go on, then," you said finally, very interested in hearing an explanation for this incredibly unexpected proposal.

Anthony looked over to where Alex was sitting, deep in conversation with your father, and then looked back to you. He turned in his seat so he was fully facing you, one hand on the back of his chair and the other on his knee, contemplating how best to explain himself without sounding insane. "I know it sounds like a crazy idea. Trust me, I can barely imagine it myself. But I do think it might be a good one," he said finally, hoping to get some kind of response from you, only to be met with a blank stare. You were still entirely unconvinced of his proposal, barely believing that he was being serious. 

"Listen, what you said two nights ago is not something I take lightly, given that you mean so much to us, to me and Benedict and our family. And I can see that you're having a rough go of it. The roughest go of it, actually," he continued.

"And you think marrying me will solve my problems because...?" you cut in, not quite following Anthony's logic.

"Well, I've been trying to explain my thought process for the past five minutes, but you're making it awfully hard, Y/N," he shot back, raising his eyebrows at you, amused. You rolled your eyes good-naturedly in response but sat back so you could let him continue.

"This might make more sense if I explain my side of things a bit more, actually," he decided, mentally rearranging what he was going to say to you. "Alex and Simon already know this, but my intention has never been to marry for love. Above all, I view marriage as a duty to my family. Since my father passed, I have been the one responsible for them, and they are the dearest thing in the world to me, as you well know."

At the mention of Edmund, you reached out and placed a hand on Anthony's, remembering how difficult it was for the family when his father passed. He shot you a grateful smile, covering your hand with his and clearing his throat before he continued speaking.

"I will be perfectly candid with you, Y/N, because you deserve nothing less. I was planning on looking for a wife next season, but even so, I believe that pursuing love is an unpleasant and unimportant endeavor, at least for me."

You gasped, slightly taken aback at his cynical views, though yours weren't much sunnier. "Don't you want to fall in love, Anthony? Don't you think you'll find a partnership like the one your parents had?" you prodded, overwhelmed by a sense of sadness. But you also felt somewhat understood, knowing now that Anthony had an unconventional view of marriage.

He gave you a knowing look, saying only, "Don't you?"

Knowing he had a point, you let up. "Fair enough, I suppose," you answered. Is that how you sounded when you spoke of getting married? You were completely disillusioned with the notion, but you had given it more than a few honest tries, while Anthony was set on never looking for a love match. It was quite ironic, seeing how much your parents loved each other and the love between Daphne and Simon, that you and Anthony had developed such depressing views on marriage. You saw Anthony nod in your direction, seemingly happy with your answer.

After a slight pause, Anthony winced, knowing he was about to share much more than he usually would. However, he knew that this would potentially benefit you both, so he fought through the discomfort. "Seeing my mother fall apart after Father died was awful to watch, and I would never want to cause someone that pain. My goal is not to find passion but to secure my family's future. And I was hoping to find someone who would want this different sort of partnership," he said, looking at you pointedly. You had already started connecting the dots in your head and thought you were catching on to where this was going now.

"So you want to have an unconventional marriage together, then?" you asked, hoping you had understood correctly.

He patted your hand, relieved you finally understood what he intended the proposal to sound like rather than the abrupt and blunt question he had asked earlier. "Yes, precisely. Of course, I want you to take as much time as you need to consider this decision since it is quite important. I doubt we would seek an expedited marriage license, but obviously, we can sort out the minutiae later if you decide to do this. There is no pressure one way or another, I simply wanted to give you an option you had probably not considered before," he said, searching your face for any reaction.

However, you remained guarded, still unsure about your feelings. Saying yes to this proposal would definitively mean saying no to Benedict. But Benedict had not even asked you anything, you argued internally. There was nothing to say no to. In fact, he had been the one to say no to you. But you didn't know if you were ready to give up all hope yet. Perhaps you were a fool, but then again, you always were when it came to your best friend.

If you accepted Anthony's proposal, would the now-permanent ache in your chest worsen at the knowledge that you could never have Benedict? Or would you feel better, getting closure Benedict would never give you?

You felt a surge of anger shoot up your spine. Why couldn't Benedict be the one asking you this? After twenty years, why was he the one who left you alone and confused while Anthony was left to pick up the broken pieces of you Ben left behind so carelessly? Even setting aside the added issue of your unrequited feelings for Benedict, Anthony was being a much better friend than him right now. But your anger dissipated quickly, dissolving into desperate sadness. You missed Ben so much; the short letters he had been sending were unsuccessful in placating the ever-growing need to feel his presence beside you. The overwhelming sense that something about you was missing was almost too much to handle, and you felt yourself going around in circles in your head about what you wanted to do.

You knew it could never be the same with Benedict regardless, so you reasoned that you would at least consider Anthony's proposal. You owed it to yourself to consider someone other than Benedict and something other than perpetual singledom without any children to raise or read to.

Realizing Anthony was patiently waiting for you to say something in response, you spoke up. "In theory, this doesn't sound like a terrible partnership," you started, laughing when Anthony snorted and muttered a short "Why, thank you."

"Shush! I'm trying to consider your proposal, and you're making it quite difficult to spend longer than twenty minutes with you, let alone the rest of my life," you joked, stomach dropping slightly when you mentioned the concept of forever. Pushing through your fear, you kept speaking, "I know you, Anthony Bridgerton. And I know you would not do something like this without a plan. So tell me your plan, and I will consider it and give you my answer once I have one."

Anthony couldn't help but laugh at your scolding tone, "You're not wrong." However, he knew he had to be careful about how he presented his reasoning for this proposal. It was no secret that he thought his brother a complete buffoon for refusing to marry you. Anyone could see that your best friend was madly in love with you, and Anthony was beyond confused as to why Benedict was being obtuse and frankly stupid when you so clearly loved him just as much.

It was hard to miss the alarmingly fond looks the two of you exchanged, not to mention what must be dozens of sketches of you in Benedict's studio, try as he might to make it look like there weren't that many. But what really made it the most obvious was Benedict's manner of speaking about you. It was beautiful to hear when Ben forgot himself and spent nearly an hour discussing a fascinating observation you had made about one of his paintings. Or when he saw Eloise reading a book you had read and launched into a speech about your genius way of interpreting a particular passage. Or even when Anthony inquired about any of the paintings of you in his studio and his brother began a lengthy explanation of how he wanted to paint your eyes in a way that captured your thoughtful yet soft gaze, in Ben's words. Benedict's unwavering and wholehearted admiration of you rivaled that of his parents. It seemed to Anthony that you were the sun, and Benedict was happy to be in your orbit if only to relish in the warmth and comfort you brought him. And the same could be said for you.

So, choosing his words carefully, Anthony avoided saying anything that would upset you, knowing you were still raw from Benedict's sudden departure a few weeks ago. "To start, a legal union between our families would only strengthen our bond, and I know we both would still like to remain close with our families after we are married."

Gauging a positive reaction from your raised eyebrows and slight nod, he continued. "Perhaps the most obvious advantage is that we would have the marriage we both want. I would, of course, encourage you to continue pursuing your studies after we were married, and though I would like to have children, and I know you do as well, I am in no particular rush if you don't feel ready yet," he continued.

To be fair, Anthony made a compelling argument. Although your ideal marriage was still the one you had imagined with Benedict as a child, Anthony was realistically the best option for you, especially with the men of the ton being as dreadful as they were and Ben off in the countryside for who knows how long.

"I don't want to feel suffocated by my husband, Anthony," you warned, earning a laugh from him.

"I know you think I'm insane, but I promise I don't want to be a suffocating husband. We want a lot of the same things, just for different reasons," he responded, ready to answer any and all rebuttals you had. Anthony knew this would be a difficult decision, and he had come prepared with the utmost patience to ensure he got rid of all of your doubts to the best of his abilities. Having watched you grow up and grown up alongside you, he had a deep fondness for you, often feeling as protective over you as he did over Eloise or Daphne. Anthony cared about you and wanted the best for you, no matter what that might entail. And if he could find a wife a season earlier than he had expected while you got what you deserved, that was just an added bonus.

In the back of his mind, Anthony hoped that if you accepted his proposal, Benedict might come to his senses before the engagement progressed too far. But he would be a fool to count on his brother to do so, based on how Ben had acted so far. Anthony knew it would be cruel to tell you this and raise your spirits only to be disappointed again. If it came to it, Anthony would be happy to marry you. It was a very practical union, and Anthony quite liked practical things.

"It makes sense, in a way, I suppose. We do want similar things," you muttered to yourself. "And you'd let me read as much as I wanted?" you asked, needing reassurance.

"I promise," answered Anthony, smiling sweetly at you. "Besides, we are already very acquainted with one another, having grown up together, and I'm sure it'd be good fun to be married. Well, at least I think so. And you know me well enough to be able to make that decision for yourself."

You nodded thoughtfully, mulling over all of the possible caveats you could think of to bring up to Anthony. If you were going to go through with this, you needed to be absolutely sure that it was what you wanted. Although it was getting difficult to find negatives about this possible union. It seemed that you would have much more agency with Anthony than if you were married to anyone else, bar Benedict, or as a spinster.

"What about Alex?" you settled on asking. "Have you talked about this with him?"

Both of you subconsciously turned to look at your older brother and then at each other. Anthony gave a slight shake of his head. "No, not yet. But I have a feeling he'll understand and even be supportive. Especially after the other night. And especially now that Benedict left."

You furrowed your brow, confused. What did Anthony mean, especially now that Benedict left? You were about to ask for clarification when Anthony cut in.

"Anyway, don't worry about Alex. I will talk to him and your father, and I know they will be on board with whatever you choose. So all you have to do is decide if this is something you want to do or not," he said quickly, trying to make up for the fact that he had revealed too much before. Anthony knew Alex had similar feelings to Anthony, perhaps even more pent-up anger at Benedict than he did since Benedict was hurting Alex's little sister. But he hadn't meant to tell you so directly. Anthony mentally kicked himself for rubbing salt on your metaphorical wound. Although it seemed that you had let go of his comment, for now, he noted as he watched you rubbing your temples, deep in thought.

You sighed deeply, coming to the realization that this could be it. This decision could change your life forever, and perhaps Benedict's life, depending on how he handled the news. If you accepted the proposal, of course. You couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of guilt, knowing that you could never feel for Anthony the same way you felt about Benedict.

"And you'd be alright with me not being in love with you? I don't think I can do that again. After Benedict," you said softly, still wanting to avoid thinking about losing him as much as possible.

"Yes, I would prefer it, actually," said Anthony, smiling at you. But his playful demeanor was wrapped in a careful tenderness. He understood you better than most people, having learned to see you, above all, through Benedict's eyes. He knew you were terrified. Of being married and not being married, of losing yourself and of staying exactly the same as you were now.

He was terrified, too, to be honest. He knew Benedict would be impossibly angry with him, even though he really had no reason to be, and feared their relationship could be fractured. Not to mention that Anthony had been dreading marriage ever since that fateful day his father fell ill from a bee sting, leaving his mother alone in the empty shell of their loving partnership. He supposed the two of you did sort of make sense in a peculiar way.

"Alright, go away, please," you shooed Anthony away. "I have to actually think about it now. But no matter what happens, I want you to know I'm grateful for your offer. I know it's coming from a very generous place, and it really does mean the world," you added, squeezing his hand as he stood up.

"Of course, Y/N. I'm not Benedict, but you're very important to me nonetheless. Take as much time as you need," he responded, returning your squeeze and making his way over to Colin and Theo, giving you space to mull over your decision.

That was precisely the situation, you thought. Anthony wasn't Benedict. And you had to decide whether or not that was good enough for you. It was a very compelling offer, and you knew it might be your only chance to have anything close to the sort of life you had hoped to have before Henri and the rest of the men of the ton so pointedly crushed your dreams. Benedict was the only reason not to marry Anthony, and he had been quite clear in saying that he wouldn't marry you. But you wanted to enjoy a few more days of imagining that Ben could be yours in some capacity before you had to move on from him forever.

---

Shoving a pile of unsent letters aside, Benedict set a fresh sheet of paper down and started yet another letter he was unlikely to send to you. Now that he had ceased going to parties and bringing home a different woman every night, he found himself with ample bouts of time that he dedicated almost exclusively to thinking about you.

With each new letter you sent, Benedict found himself lost in your words, re-reading them constantly and clinging to any fragment of you that he could still claim as his. In response, he wrote pages and pages of prose he would never send. These ranged from letters he could plausibly send to you, responding to every comment you had made about the book you had read that day. Others were less tame. Sometimes, he found himself unable to keep his overflowing feelings inside of him any longer, choosing instead to write heart-wrenching confessions of a love so deep and all-consuming that it permeated every fiber of his being. But Anthony's words reverberated in his head, warning him not to lead you on, every time he contemplated addressing these letters.

But Benedict loved you. The real, soul-crushing sort of love that only came once in a lifetime. The kind of love that grew from years of being by your side, knowing every detail of you, and still wanting to know more. He was far past the point of denying it and had now stumbled on an agonizing feeling of wanting. He wanted you by his side while he painted, quietly discussing the colors or the shading he was working on. He wanted to put his head in your lap as you sat in the garden, feeling your fingers running softly through his hair. He wanted to look over at night and find your sleeping form beside him, less than an arm's length away as he fell asleep holding you. Most of all, he wanted to be content in the knowledge that he could hold your hand, breathe in your scent, and twist your hair in his fingers as he kissed you every single day for the rest of his life. 

The moment in your garden by the rose bushes from the day before he left, where he came so close to kissing you, haunted his every waking moment. He couldn't seem to forget the way your lips parted, moving ever so slightly closer to his. The feeling of your soft breath against his skin, luring him in. He had been so close to just giving in and touching your expectant lips with his. It was all he had dreamed about doing ever since he had come back from Oxford and felt you in his arms, realizing that he never wanted to spend another day apart from you. He still wondered what would have happened if he had just done it. If he had just leaned over a few inches to join your lips and brushed his thumb on your cheek as he grabbed your waist. But he hadn't. Instead he had fled to the countryside, where he was missing you more than ever and ridden with jealousy at the thought of you with another man. 

Benedict didn't know if the ache of longing would ever fade. All he knew was that you were a permanent mark left on him he would never be able to wash off even if he wanted to. A part of him would always be you. The proof of that was on his desk cluttered with letters that would never find their way to you and in his studio housing nearly a dozen unfinished portraits of you.

Clutching to a sliver of hope, he held onto the fact that no news of your engagement had reached him. Yet, each day brought with it a tormenting dread as he approached his unopened letters, torn between the desperate hope for a letter from you and the paralyzing fear that he would receive an invitation to your wedding. But for now, he could still pretend you were his, at least partially.

—

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[unknowntoyou2205]

Sparkling Lights

Info: Young y/n Bridgerton loves everything to with Christmas, especially the lights that line the streets in December

Relationship: Bridgerton family x sister reader

Anthony Bridgerton watched with a roll of his eyes as his 5 year old sister bounced around the place, excitement evident through her. Today was the first week in December, and the town were going to turn on their lights to officially kick off the Christmas season. Each year they made a big event of it, with the Queen hosting a ball for the newly wedded couples of the year , one which even the children could join. The eldest Bridgerton knew how much his sister loved Christmas, but ever since she could talk it seemed her excitement had grown.

“Y/n, please calm down, you will cause yourself injury.” Anthony scolded the child before looking to the door as his wife walked in. “Oh let her be, she is excited for what’s to come.” Kate smiled, wrapping her arms around her husband from behind. “Yes brother, you do know why y/n is like this.” Benedict remarked from the bay window, paint brush in hand. “I do, but I would much rather not have y/n miss the one ball she can attend to.” Anthony raised his voice at the last bit, looking at y/n as she quietened down. “How much longer?” The little girl whined to her brothers, running over to pull out of Anthony’s arm. “Perhaps you should go find mama, getting ready may speed things up for you.” Anthony teased his youngest sister, poking her nose causing y/n to giggle. “I’m gonna wear a red dress.” Y/n remarked, running out of the room. “Oh how lovely, she shall be easy to find should she go missing.” Colin smiled from his spot by the fire. “Colin.” Penelope hushed her husband, not wanting y/n to act up on that statement.

---

“Easy y/n, please.” Voilet’s Voice was heard from up the stairs. “Yes mama.” Y/n’s little voice was heard.

Benedict stifled his laugh from the top of the stairs behind his mother as he watched y/n all but run down the stairs in her little red dress. Her mother had been against the vibrant red, but y/n had managed to convince the retired Viscountess to allow her to get it. Anthony and Kate waited down the stairs, looking up at the young girl that rushed down the stairs, eager to get going. Wanting to prevent any injury, Anthony moved to the last step and picked y/n up, causing her to giggle.

“Well, look at you.” Anthony smiled, holding y/n on his hip before poking her chest lightly. “I wearing red.” Y/n pointed proudly to herself. “I see that.” Anthony smiled, looking at y/n’s colourful dress choice. “You look lovely y/n.” Kate commented her new sister, tucking a piece of hair behind the little ones ear. “Must we all attend tonight.” Eloise asked, coming down the stairs with her mother in toll, tugging at the fabric of her dress. “Yes, we are going as a family. I will hear no complaints.” Voilet tapped her daughters shoulder, giving her the eye to stop fidgeting. “I agree, what a wonderful thing for us all to attend.” Colin stated, coming down with Hyacinth & Gregory beside him. “Are we all ready?” Violet asked her children, sharing a look with Kate. “Let’s go, let’s go.” Y/n wiggled in her brothers grip, trying to get out. “Don’t wander y/n, and put on your coat.” Anthony called out to his sister. “Should you think she heard you?” Eloise asked her brother, watching her baby sister run off. “I don’t believe so.” Benedict shook his head, causing Anthony to glare at him before taking the youngest’s jacket from the door man.

---

The town was packed with families from all over London, and Violet struggled to hold y/n’s hand as she tried to drag her mother towards the front. Seeing his mother’s struggle, Benedict took y/n’s hand before picking her up, ignoring as little hands tried to push him away.

“For a better view.” Benedict remarked, and y/n stopped at that.

Anthony and Kate walked hand in hand, smiling at each other as they walked the streets. Behind them was Penelope and Colin, who were laughing at something Penelope had observed. Hyacinth and Gregory walked obediently in front of the adults, and Eloise tagged along behind them, folding her arms as if all she wanted was to get away from here. The night was chilly, but the crowds made it tolerable. Feeling her brother come to a stop, y/n grew excited and looked around, giddy for what was to come. Violet placed her arms around Hyacinth and Gregory as they all waited for the lights to turn on.

Y/n bounced in her brothers arms as the crowd started to count down. She wasn’t very good with numbers, but she knew when the crowd started chanting, the lights would soon turn on. Benedict kissed his sisters cheek as she leaned closer to him, thinking it would help her to see. She clapped happily when the lights turned on, causing her brother to laugh.

“You happy y/n?” Benedict teased her, adjusting her to have a comfortable hold on her. “They’re so sparkly.” Y/n spoke in amazement, looking above at the strands of light. “There just lights y/n, nothing special.” Gregory remarked, and Violet squeezed him tighter. “Don’t upset your sister Gregory.” Violet stated, not wanting to catch a scene. “She’s so amazed.” Penelope stated, smiling slightly at the youngest. “Ever since our y/n has been a babe she has loved the lights.” Colin explained to his wife. “She was only in mothers arms when she would stare up at them with a wide smile.” Benedict admitted, tucking some hair behind y/n’s eyes. “We used to have a small set of Christmas lights on her roof so she would sleep because she didn’t understand where they went.” Anthony explained, an arm around his wife’s waist. “We don’t know why, she just took to them.” Benedict shrugged, watching his sister with a smile. “I wanna touch them.” Y/n stated, and Anthony jumped forward to grab her hand. “No no, hot y/n.” Anthony spoke harshly, trapping her arm in his hand. “Aww.” Y/n pouted, not understanding. “When does the party start?” Hyacinth asked, wanting to go to the ball. “Ball Hyacinth, not party.” Violet corrected her, “We’ll make our way now.” “Can I stay here?” Y/n asked, glaring at Anthony as she pulled away from him. “Sorry y/n, you’ll see them on the way home.” Anthony smiled at his sister, who frowned in disappointment.

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

For the duration of the night, y/n never moved from the window, staring out at the light. She smiled at the sparkling of them at the window, and Benedict chuckled at his youngest sisters antics.

“She really loves those lights.” Benedict admired. “I do wish she would stay away from the window.” Violet sighed, eyeing her youngest. “She’s only five, leave her be.” Lady Danbury commented with a slight smile.

“Hey y/n, you gonna move away from the window any time soon?” Colin asked, smirking at his sister. “They’re so pretty.” y/n murmured, dancing her finger along the window. “They’ll still be there tomorrow night. Come dance with us.” Colin smiled, offering his hand. “Can we dance near the window?” Y/n asked, fluttering her eyelashes. “Well I..” “We can dance wherever you like.” Benedict interrupted her brother. “Hey, don’t steal my dance partner.” Colin joked, hitting Benedict on the chest. “You have Penelope, I have no one.” Benedict announced dramatically, taking y/n’s hand before twirling her. “Make sure we can see the lights.” Y/n stated. “We can see the lights, don’t worry.” Benedict smiled, taking her into his arms to make sure she could see them.

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

x. ten: live that way

it was the first time in a while that the sunlight touched her face and it did not hurt. she stirred awake, the light seemed to be poking her from sleep. raine tossed, pulling the sheets deeper to her.

"i was afraid you will not be here when i wake up."

his morning voice greeted her as he placed a hand on her head and played with her hair. ah yes, last night really did happen. she buried herself on his chest, taking in his natural smell.

she looked up at him, her lips grazing his collarbone as she spoke with a smile, "anthony and violet are going to kill us."

benedict chuckled lowly at her jest, "they will not."

she returned back to his chest, closing her eyes once again. he planted his face on top of her head, seemingly taking in her smell as well. this was it. these were the arms she has longed for—the comfort she has been seeking.

"i am too tired." her muffled voice resounded.

he planted a kiss on her for solace, "it is alright. i will be here."

raine pursed her lips, deciding if she should say anything about her grave situation later and ruin the moment or not. but as we have always known, she was a frank one. it would not be her if she wasn't.

"this may be the last time we will be together."

"then i will wait for you."

he replied with ease, professing confidence amidst the direness of everything around them.

raine was sure though—that the intensity of the situation has not sunk in on benedict yet. she was with him, alive and well right now. how easy it was to be lost in the blissfulness of the moment.

she slowly sat up, leaning for a kiss on his forehead as she removed herself from the sheets, "let us go. they will grow wary of our absence."

raine clothed herself as the man kept his eyes on her. she turned to him, instructing that he follow down after a couple of minutes to avoid suspicion from the family. she turned the knob, exiting the room silently.

as she looked up to walk, she was met with a viscount already staring curiously at her.

"what? it's my room. ho—how was the ball?" she said in a pitched voice, quite defensively, causing anthony to narrow his eyes at her.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

she ate quite the breakfast, treating it as if it was her last meal. at the very least, she was happy she ate with the bridgertons—the only family she has left.

after a meal for breakfast, she excused herself at once, quickly going to anthony's office with raphael in tow. they have been going back to back for strategies on what to do for more than two hours already, now settling in silence to let themselves take a breath. the colonel called for her out of the blue, the latter waiting for him to continue.

"lord high chancellor scott will be there."

she looked with confusion at that. raine was familiar of the man, yes, but she has not seen him ever.

"i do not know what he is like."

"raine, i have not told you one thing." he began, words laced with shame, "they took general's body."

in truth, she knew already. raphael would have done anything to bring her father to her even if a lifeless body. he would actually give his life to his superior since the general saved him before in the streets of homelessness too.

"i have figured, given that you returned alone without his remains. you would not have left if you could."

she tightly smiled at him, the most form of comfort they could achieve in this moment.

"it was him. he was there when they attacked our quarters, ordering his men." he revealed, regret in his voice on how he was not able to do anything to save the general in that time.

raine put her pen down, closing her eyes for a second before turning to him, "why are you telling me this just now?"

"i was debating myself whether i should." he replied with doubt. he knew how the girl can get mad easily sometimes, especially that concerning her family.

she stared out of nowhere, trying to think of something. an idea popped in her head as she spoke with a realisation, "we will use that to our advantage then."

"no, that's..." raphael seemed go have caught on what she was thinking. he showed his clear disagreement with her plan, "you will be charged for high treason."

"by questioning his person?" she scoffed at the idea of a soft high chancellor.

"by questioning his person, you are accusing him." the colonel retorted, his arms on his waist, thinking of other solutions as well.

"it is not an accusation if it is true."

"it is an accusation if we cannot prove it."

raine knew he was right. they could do nothing about it if they cannot prove it, "we can build the story around us, put the rest of the soldiers outside of it all."

he sat beside her on the couch, facing her calmly as if giving up, "they all knew what we were doing, raine. there was nothing like only the general and i. the whole troop knew the issue we found and the measures we were taking. they are all highly ranked men and were the most trusted by your father."

"i do not care." she said with a slam, staring him down with firm, "forty-six soldiers, raphael. forty-six."

despite her best efforts, a tear fell from her already luminous eyes. the thought that these men who should have been celebrated by their services are coming close to dishonor angers and pities her at the same time.

"i will not let you all die."

he placed a hand over hers, "we are soldiers. we have been prepared for this."

"not without dignity."

raine declared with might. she will make sure to turn the tables, and if it will not, she will fucking flip it over.

he could do nothing but nod slowly, accepting her point. he took a glimpse at his watch, ruffling the girl's hair as he stood up.

"it's noon."

she nodded, following the man outside the study, "gather them."

currently in the hallway, waiting for carriages after carriages to arrive, the second daughter caught sight of her and took her hand.

"raine, come. just for a while."

she followed the young woman up to her bedroom where penelope stands, waiting in anxiety. eloise gestured to the redhead as she offered.

"penelope can help you turn the people's favor to you."

getting a hint of what she was trying to say, raine tightly smiled at them, "lady whistledown?"

penelope stopped her tiny movements of unease as she turned to the silva, both of them asking her in chorus, "how did you know?"

"no," she ignored the question. she was a daughter of a general, of course she would know. she stepped towards the girl, addressing their idea to help, "i appreciate you both trying to help, but no. they knew of my father's activities and he was a general."

raine took the featherington's hands and held them softly, "my best bet is they know you are lady whistledown and is just letting you be for now since you have not attacked them directly."

"but you cannot go there like this." eloise voiced in distress and worry.

she did not realise that other people were being affected by her situation this much. the young silva thought she has managed to keep them off and away—enough that they would not need to worry. evidently, that was not the case.

"come here." and so, she placed each of her arms on the girls' shoulders, bringing them in on a tight hug. it may have been her imagination, but eloise let out a small sob as she wrapped her arms on her.

they exited the room after, descending it with begrudging steps. the carriages have arrived and are only waiting for them. the bridgertons gathered near the door to bid her farewell. she turned, addressing them for possibly the last time.

"i ask of you all, do not go anywhere near the palace."

the matriarch could not help herself but grab the girl, enveloping her in one of the warmest hugs the young one has ever received. violet kissed the top of her head, a gesture that says all will be well.

raine knew it was not going to be.

and so, she continued on her way, exiting the bridgertons' home to see the carriages lined up, all filled with soldiers. they waited for her to get in just as benedict came forward. he held her hand tightly, prompting her chin up as he caught her lips in his.

she tasted like heartache and war.

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the twelve carriages that contained the forty-six soldiers and loraine silva arrived at the front of the palace in a processional manner. a significant number of citizens have gathered. at the sight of the hottest topic of the town—the country, even—some were yelling in support to them and some against.

the viscountess, the colonel, and the major sat on the first carriage, the men exiting first. she followed, not sparing any look to the people. they could not affored to cheer nor smile. this was the deciding moment of their future.

raphael and raine entered the palace alone, the soldiers all lined up in a row outside, facing the people. they were greeted coldly and strictly by both royal guards and other military that she was sure must have interacted with her father at least once. they were guided into different rooms. she was given nothing but the wary and observing gazes of the unknown soldiers guarding her.

the colonel has been away for more than an hour now. she understood that they were interrogating him first, squeezing all the details before they would deal with her nuisance. not later than her own planning of her statements in her head, the door opened to reveal the man, head leveled properly. but, she could tell. that it was only his rank that made him still have the dignity to raise his head. however, the inner raphael? she could see him conceding and casting the head downwards.

she was prompted to stand up, them crossing each other as she left the room and walked towards where raphael came from. the doors opened to reveal the queen, brimsley behind, and the lord high chancellor with two other parliamentary members and two decorated generals, it seems.

raine sat across them all as lord scott did not waste time to begin his questions, "did you know of your father's treacherous plans against the crown?"

just by the first question, she already knew she wanted to shoot him. he was enjoying this, evidently on his tone.

"i did not."

he scoffed sarcastically at that, turning to the other members present as if gaining their attention, "i find it hard to believe, considering how close you both were, especially after the death of your mother and brother—god rest their souls."

it was a foul. mentioning them both amidst all of this was a great foul. she narrowed her eyes at him, firmly and armed as her voice sounded with confidence, increasing in volume.

"i did not know because there were no treacherous plans in the first place."

the members of the parliament leaned back slowly with their chins raised in an insulted manner. the two generals present turned to them with a curious look. ah, these generals are not involved in this.

lord scott noticed their interest piqued and hurried to push the matter to the young lady, "major general silva was reported of having questionable communications within the military force. we were monitoring him for months."

he continued to reveal the story he has crafted so well against them, "in the most recent event, he was caught exchanging fire with the british military, resisting in the quarters that must have served as their unofficial office for such activities."

she sat up straight with a piercing look at him, offense clear intended on her tone, "and who can attest to this?"

"girl, you question the credibility of the sources of the highest governments of the crown?!" he bellowed, sitting at the edge of his seat as the other members gestured for him to calm down.

"yes, in fact, i do."

"loraine, address the assertions."

the queen spoke for the first time. ah, she was not involved either. raine could tell she was trying to help, trying to get her out of this.

"your majesty," the girl began, turning to the queen with respect in contrast to the lord high chancellor, "my father was not a traitor and neither am i or raphael."

"where is the quarters where armand was unfortunately killed?" she asked outright.

the young silva could see right through the queen's plans. her majesty has conceded the matters of the girl's father. there was no saving his legacy—he was not saved already. it was a lost cause.

charlotte focused on his offspring, saving her from this is the only thing she could do for the family. and fortunately, the girl looked like she did not know anything.

raine had no words to answer at all. all the planning they did, all the stories she prepared—they went to the drain in just one question.

the queen waved her hand, the footman understanding her language. he opened the door and there enters raphael. he sat on the other chair beside the girl as charlotte continued.

"colonel montague has admitted to all suspicions." at the mention, raine turned to the man instantly, looking at him in surprise. the queen continued, "your lack of knowledge in the basic information of their activities suggests that you were indeed oblivious to the acts of treachery to the crown."

the girl glared at the queen, completely opposing her idea of helping. she declared clearly, word per word in firmness, "there was no betrayal from our end."

she clutched the couch, anger rising at their refusal to listen and acknowledge her side. other than being known for her unceasing confessions to the second bridgerton son, raine is also infamous for her hatred and passive-agressiveness.

"the colonel has copies of multiple reports that were altered to provide misinformation and cause mayhem in the military communication." her voice maintained the strength of her argument, "they were investigating it for months, even during my debut. we can call people as witness—"

raine held her tongue in time. she does not wish to put people on the government's eyes anymore. she swiftly dismissed the previous idea, continuing her previous point.

"the night they were ambushed on the way to the ball... tell them, raphael."

she turned to the other man who stayed silent the whole time, beckoning him to talk about what he witnessed in all actuality. however, the latter refused to utter a single word. she furiously turned back to the high officials.

"he saw the british insignia—the very people my father promised to protect the crown with." the young one spat the words with absolute hate, pointing her finger to the high chancellor, "and in fact, when they attacked my father in the quarters, you were there lord scott, were you not?!"

"you dare declare such accusation when you do not even know its location!" lord scott raised his voice, growling in her disrespect, "we are not here to address the matters of your father. he was a traitor. you are here to be questioned about your involvement in the said treason!"

raphael moved, raising his head to the officials with a determined voice, "i have conceded to everything. i have divulged all you wanted to know. the girl is entirely unaware of our activities!"

"oh, stop making her look like a child!" the high chancellor sneered at him, looking at loraine with sarcasm, "the lady has been raised by a general. everyone knows of your physical skills and marksmanship, taught by your very own father since you were young."

he stood up with authority, slamming his words with distaste. he stepped forwards as he pointed down a finger to stress his point. the young silva's eyes darkened at that, her mind going blank as he continue.

"there is no need to stray far from the truth."

he was too loud for her, his words biting her. she recognised this tension, this atmosphere. this is the battle. this is the war.

"you grew up mostly with him, taught everything by him, discussed plans with him, strategised with him," he paused, as if gathering his breath before he spat with malice.

"and committed high treason with him!"

raine stood up at once, unclasping her gun from her thigh in the process as she shot the man on his chest twice, his blood getting on her dress and features. the queen jumped and recoiled at the sound, brimsley nearing her instantly. the rest of the members jumped away and the generals reached for their guns.

loraine silva has shot the lord high chancellor.

one of the generals opted to reach for the actively dying lord scott, his hands on his chest as his mouth froze and jaw locked in neural shock.

the girl turned to the general and pointed her gun at him, "help him and see what follows."

he slowly backed with the queen gesturing for him to stay down as well. her majesty understood the young lady. she was not a threat to anyone else at the room as long as they were not a threat to her.

she walked to near the chancellor that leaned back helplessly with blood on the foamed chair, "you were right about everything but one."

she did not dropped her gun, still aiming it to his head now with clear dark intent. her voice was neither loud nor small, neither hard nor soft. it was the kind that would cause you to squirm.

"we did not betray the crown. we did not betray its people."

her voice did not declare war. it proclaimed the ending.

"and if we did," she leaned down to him as if whispering, "none of you will ever know."

raine stood straight up, sneering at the chancellor below her, "we would not have been as stupid as you."

she pulled the trigger thrice more—with no mercy or pity, with no regards of the people around her. seeing him finally stop breathing, she dropped her arm down, still gripping the gun hard.

"it would have done you good to know that i have his patience as well."

by the remnants of her rage, the future became clear—it's going to fall apart.

"your majesty," raine turned to the queen. the two generals behind her went for their guns seeing the girl's back on them. charlotte raised her hand immediately, halting the actions of both men as the silva continued, "the reports and all related documents are in the care of viscount bridgerton."

she dipped her head down in a bow for a few respectful seconds before standing back upright, feet together, leaning in a martial manner.

"i apologise for the mess, aunt lottie."

raine walked away, raphael following closely. he wanted to say something so badly, but was fearful of disturbing the already unstable state of the girl.

they exited the palace with no other encounters, likely because of her majesty's intercession. reaching outside the fence, the people tripling in number than earlier. they all yelled unintelligibly at the sight of them. her father's soldiers turned about face at their arrival. it was obvious that they heard the gunshots—her father's silver flintlock pepperbox has a hell of a sound.

gilbert returned raphael's gun, the latter cocking it immediately up in the air before firing. the crowd silenced in chorus as the girl inhaled deeply.

"each and every one of you has seen my father. major general silva had always been for the people."

while her father carried the rank of a major general, he was not disconnected with the people. yes, he was still distant for security purposes, but for a man his rank, he willingly shook hands with the people that deserved it.

and, armand often told her that he gets to shake more hands of the commoners and the general public than the officials.

"he was not a traitor. they have blamed their own treachery to my father, killed my father, and killed his loyal men—men that were all defending the crown and its people. this is what has become of our society. i do not care if you are busy with the social season and of other pleasures. this should be your duty as a person behind the crown."

she walked at the center, nearing them all so that they would hear her words better—words that they shall engrave in their hearts and minds, etched in their very soul.

"i stand before you all, not only as his daughter, but as someone who will never sit whilst injustice is apparent."

the viscountess silva's voice deepened with conviction. her eyes were flaring with truth and patriotism. she caught everyone's gaze and held it until it hurt.

"one who will not cover her ears against the screams of the dead."

"one who will not close her eyes in the midst of people abusing their power."

"one who will never sleep soundly whilst there are bodies of the wronged under each of our beds. "

all of her will went to her voice as she declared her final words to the public.

"this is the age of awakening. do not go gentle into that good night!"

raine continued to speak in the words coded by her father, the late major general, the superior of all. the forty-six soldiers answering with equal strength.

"min koimitheís ísycha ekeíni tin kalí nýchta!"

"orgí, orgí enántia sto svísimo tou fotós!"

they placed their right fists on top of their heart as the young lady and raphael found the royal guards and other military personnel. there was no escaping their situation now. what they did ensured only one path, and that was their head to the execution block.

the queen has ordered to not execute them on the spot. she reasoned that it would mean making them martyrs on the eyes of the people and they want to avoid that—although in truth, she pushed for them to have a private execution because that is what the two wanted.

viscountess loraine silva and colonel raphael montague turned about face to the rest of the soldiers. the latter saluted in uniform to the colonel, him returning it. they were saluting their ranks for the last time. she saluted the men this time, and by her surprise, the soldiers then turned to the young lady and saluted to her.

they were not supposed to salute back to her. she has no official rank.

raphael nudged her, prompting the girl to dismiss the salute as did the soldiers. a warm smile settled on her lips before both of them turned to the guards.

this is it. there is no going back.

and just as raine entered the vehicle to transport them to the cells, she completely missed the familiar head standing out from the crowd like a sore thumb despite her telling him not to attend.

once again, he could do nothing but hold his head down and shut his eyes at the end of the day. his palms formed a fist, biting his lips intensely as tears graced the floor under him.

every storm runs out of rain.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @idek-what-to-put @aysamuka

[novelizt]

PEERING EYES OVER WROUGHT-IRON FENCES ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ childhood friends (to estranged friends) to lovers. angst w/ a happy ending.

WC ➺ 12.2k

SYNOPSIS ➺ to uncover the mystery of iris griffith's murder, it's time to face the music, cross the fence, and talk to a friend you never expected to become a stranger to.

WARNINGS ➺ mentions of the lockwood family tragedies, strained family dynamics, discussions and descriptions of murder

DISCLAIMER ➺ fem! reader. lockwood & co. are aged up to about 18-years-old, I try to shoe-horn forensic science into psychical investigations (I am not a professional so... it's unrealistic, sorry.), and Lockwood calls reader cherry/cherry cheeks

NOTE ➺ I can't remember if Portland Row has wrought-iron fences. In case it doesn't, it does now — this is fan fiction. Also, this is the first time I've finished a story this lengthy and I feel really proud of myself. I hope you enjoy!

The first time Lockwood had laid eyes on you, you were a set of peering eyes over a wrought-iron fence. He could barely see over it, but he could remember how round and shiny your eyes were. All doll-like and unrealistic. Honestly, it scared him. You couldn't blame little Lockwood for scuttling back to his sister.

That same day, your parents had brought you over and formally introduced themselves. Between your parents's statuesque figures, stood you.

Contrary to your encyclopaedic eyes, your mannerisms were timid. You looked miniscule in your Sunday dress. You looked like a breeze could knock you over. Anthony couldn't help but feel bad for running from you earlier.

Following introductions, a terse dinner ensued. Your parents were doctors, the kind who would scamper about in hospitals in scrubs and white coats — people who believed in science. His were researchers who dabbled in spiritual devices of different cultures — people who preferred to find the emotional aspect in the supernatural. Suffice it to say, the conversation was very one-sided.

Even then, Anthony was determined to be your friend. He thought having pretentious parents, like yours, would spoil the fun in things like spinning tops or fencing or enjoying pie with ice cream after supper. (Your parents had insisted the sugar would make it difficult for you to sleep.)

Anthony had made up his mind before you even uttered a word to him.

The instant the adults had dismissed you to the living room with Anthony and Jessica, he had snuck you a pie with extra ice cream on top. He and Jessica had their backs to the door so in the unlikely event that your parents came in, they wouldn't see you breaking their rules.

You weren't much younger than Anthony back then, but with cherry smeared across your cheek and ice cream clinging to your lip, he thought you were as cute as a button. He wasn't aware that he had been smiling at you so widely.

He missed the knowing glint in Jessica's eyes.

Across the peaceful months you'd spent as friends, Anthony and Jessica would tell you about their parents' most recent findings and you'd tell them the most bizarre concepts you learned at the academy.

At night, Anthony would sit by the window in his attic room, flagging out written messages on a sketch pad. Across the way, you would poke your head out to read it.

lots of apples are falling these days. want some?

my parents won't let me

that's because an apple a day keeps the doctors away. i think they're scared

no way... papa says he cuts people open. how could he be scared of apples?

ew... and I dunno, cherry. do you want apples or not?

stop calling me that

apples?

sure...

come down

ARE YOU MENTAL??

He was, indeed, crazy. He had tiptoed all the way downstairs and grabbed his mother and father's favorite jackets on the way out.

In the bite of night and the glow of ghost-lamps, he looked up at your house to see your head poking out of of a different window, a crazed expression on your face. 'What are you doing?' you mouthed.

"Hurry!" He yelled back. He chuckled when you'd flinched and checked behind you. He held up the jackets and took a breath, watching in amazement as fog formed from it.

All while you tapped the window sill in thought. You took one more contemplative glance behind you, then shut the window.

You were vaulting over the fence in no time. He caught you, cushioning your fall with the jackets he'd taken and greeted you with an incandescent smile. Even in greenlight, your little heart skipped a beat.

"Here. Wouldn't want you to catch a cold. We'd both be in trouble if you did."

He threw his mother's coat over your head. It was so big, it enveloped you like a gown. You tried to slip your arms through the sleeves but you only got halfway before you wiggled the limp fabric in his face. He swatted you away but folded them up enough so your palms could come through.

His father's jacket was huge on him, too, but he had the kind of air that made him look natural in it.

In his efforts to help you, his own hands had turned red from the cold. You seized them and stuffed them in your pockets, since your—his mother's—jacket had the lined pockets.

After huddling for warmth, you two grew warm enough to walk further into the backyard and pick up handfuls of apples. You found that you could only fit three apples in each pocket, so you held more by tucking your shirt into your pants and shooting them into your shirt. Anthony had done the same. You didn't realize how ridiculous your actions were until you saw how puffed his figure looked with that many apples stuffed down his shirt.

You snorted so loud it hurt, slapping your hand over your mouth to kill any more laughs that could alert the sleeping adults.

He turned his head to you, like an owl. It made more apples fall from your shirt as your shoulders shook. He shushed you, frantically glancing at the house. "What's wrong with you?"

You shook your head, riding the wave of maturity before it crashed. Little laughs and apples spilled from you. "You look like a pufferfish!"

He looked down and examined himself then, indignantly, he pointed at you. "You're literally spewing apples, you're just as bad!"

Restraint crumbled. Your hand came away and your laughs filled the silent night air. Anthony's laughs began to dance with yours until the pair of you were reduced to shaking stumps surrounded by fallen apples.

"Don't look at me! You're making me laugh!"

"Your face is funnier!"

"Stop it!"

"Cherry— You're only making me laugh more!"

It was no surprise that his parents had woken up and scolded you two accordingly. While they tutted at you, you two sat under the same blanket. Elbowing each other when they began to question who'd initated it.

You weren't a snitch. You did not tell, and they never found out who caused the trouble.

Jessica later rewarded you both with a cookie under their noses. You cracked your cookie in half to share with her. Anthony did the same to his, giving his other half to you.

—

Those memories were a far cry from the present. On some days, they felt like dreams. Now, all you are to him is a pair of peering eyes over wrought-iron fences.

Lockwood would catch glimpses of you on the way back from a case. He would nod, you would nod. Then both of you would continue on with your lives like the era of cherry pies and fallen apples had never happened.

Some days, he would turn the newspapers, checking to see if student doctor you had earned any new accolades in your scholastic journey to saving lives, but he never had it in him to say hello to you.

That morning's issue had you on the front page. You with your resplendent eyes and smile finally sporting a white coat at the ripe of eighteen, the first one of your age to earn 'Doctor' as a suffix to your name. Apparently, you'd applied your studies on forensic science to aid psychical investigations involving mummified body parts.

Seems you were doing well.

He placed the paper face down on the thinking cloth, ignoring Lucy's questioning gaze as he took a sip of tea.

"What's happened now?" Lucy asked, stretching her neck to see what made him so upset. She settled back into her seat after she set her eyes on the crossword puzzle, unable to glimpse the front page. "Kipps's crew?" she guessed.

"No, he would have his brow furrowed like this–" George turned to show his brows knitted together so hard they looked like they were drawn on with marker. "–if it was Kipps. It's got to be something else."

"Oh, right," Lucy said with bite, smacking her head like that made sense. "How could I forget?"

George shrugged, grinning like he had a secret on the tip of his tongue. "I don't know, Luce. Maybe it's the letters you've been receiving from one; Norrie White."

Lucy's chair scraped as she stood, gaping at George with anger tightening her mouth. "You went through my mail!"

"She wrote her name in marker. Red. Marker. I would have to be blind to miss it."

Lockwood kicked back and watched the drama ensue, a smile easing itself back on his face. Lucy and George's petty squabble was always a shot of espresso on a rather depressing morning. They made an excellent stopper to all his wonderings about the past.

"That was none of your business!" Lucy shrieked. In her fury, her hands itched to do something... to throw something.

Lockwood realized too late. He vaulted forward to pry the newspaper from her fingers, but Lucy's rage made her a savage. She chucked the newspaper at George with the velocity of a racing car.

The headlines collided with George's face with a resounding thud.

His glasses fell and landed with a unceremonious noise. Thankfully, unscathed from the impact.

The same could not be said for his nose.

George's face pulsed like he had been stung by the world's largest be. He splayed his hand over his nose to check for bleeding and groaned.

"That hurt..."

"Of course it did. I intended it to," Lucy huffed. She scooped up George's glasses and the paper. "That ought to teach you about looking at my correspondence."

"Didn't have to thump me that hard though," George grumbled, snatching his glasses back.

He looked like a dartboard bullseye wearing glasses. Lockwood couldn't focus on it though. His eyes were honed in on the newspaper Lucy was currently unraveling.

He bit his cheek and decided to finish his tea in one gulp. "Well," Lockwood started, fixing his collar as he stood. "I'd better see what we're taking on tonight. I'll be—"

"Hey, this is that girl next door." Lucy pushed her face closer to the paper to reassure herself that she wasn't seeing wrong. She'd seen that blouse and trouser combo on you a few days ago. "Yeah! That's her!"

George showed a rare kind of expression. A raised brow aimed at Lockwood. "She's a doctor now. How could that be upsetting?"

"Don't tell me you have a rivalry with her because she poked you in the bum when you were little," Lucy joked.

Lockwood's face flushed. He looked at the kitchen door, contemplating escape, then back to his friends. He leaned on the doorframe, attempting to look lax but coming off as stiff as a board. "Who said I was upset?"

"You were quiet over tea," George said.

"What of it?" Lockwood pushed.

George gave him an are you kidding me kind of look. "You never shut up when you can help it."

"And you did this." Lucy copied his pondering face, and Lockwood grimaced—reminding himself to school his expressions better.

"Please. For all things good, never do that again, and I am not upset at her—"

"Defensive now? You so are," George chuckled.

Lockwood's jaw ticked. "I am not—"

Saved by the bell. All three heads turned to the door with interest. It was still early in the day, so a new client was unexpected.

"I'll get it," Lockwood said. He left a prattling Lucy and George in the winds of his coat.

The doorbell rang again before he got to it. "Keep your shirt on—"

George and Lucy idled at the foot of the stairs as the door swung open. George let out a gasp, Lucy elbowed him to keep quiet.

Speak of the devil and he will appear. Though, you were more seraphic in that white dress, innocently festooned with embroidered cherries. Your smile was as disarming as ever. It was even brighter than the light haloing your hair.

"Hello."

Lucy tripped over air at the sweetness of your voice, now understanding how the word 'mellifluous' came to be.

Lockwood was indifferent.

Just staring at the back of his head, Lucy knew he was sporting an expression reserved just for Kipps and his crew. It made her want to kick his shin and tell him to get himself together.

"Hi," Lockwood finally greeted, tone bleak. "What are you doing here?"

"Lockwood," George finally intervened. Seems he was taken by how you carried yourself, too.

Both your and Lockwood's heads turned to him.

"Oh, you must be George Karim." Your smile widened, outshining the light above the door. "And Lucy Carlyle. Pleasure to finally meet you."

Lucy and George rarely agreed on things, but they spoke like they were on the same wavelength then. "Pleasure is ours."

A little laugh escaped you, just as graceful as the swish of your skirt. You introduced yourself, discounting your new title. "My parents asked me to invite friends to my celebratory dinner tonight but I don't have people I'd really consider friends." Your honeyed eyes drifted back to Lockwood, trying not to wilt under his blasé gaze. "I was thinking you three could drop by. No need to bring anything but yourselves. We have pie and ice cream for dessert."

Hope was alight in your eyes. The insider statement flew over George and Lucy's heads, and apparently, Lockwood's too. Your expression dampened as it struck you.

"That sounds nice," George said pleasantly.

Lucy nodded in agreement. "And it's not every day we get invited to a free meal."

"With pie." George was already dreaming about it.

Lockwood let out a breath. "Sorry. We have a case tonight."

"No, that's for Friday night," George interrupted. "Isn't that right, Lucy?"

"That's right," Lucy doubled down.

Both of Lockwood & Co.'s best simply blinked and grinned at Lockwood's taut form.

"Great," you quipped. Your eyes lingered on Lockwood but moved to George and Lucy when he showed no interest in being civil. "I'll see you tonight, then. Have a nice day!"

"You too!"

Lockwood gave you a sufficient nod and lipped smile as he closed the door. The moment you were out of sight, the room turned sepia.

Silence for a moment, then George.

"There is definitely something going on here."

—

Despite Lucy and George's joint efforts to pry answers from him, Lockwood did not bend. When the light began to die outside, they retired to their own rooms to prepare. Finally leaving him in silence.

Lockwood chose to wear his usual get-up. The only difference was his waistcoat. It sported a thin, stylish red stripe down it's right side; George had worn an unstained shirt for once, so he did put a bit more effort into his looks that evening; and Lucy wore her best skirt and sweater to put her best foot forward.

"Now," Lockwood said as they all spiraled down the steps. "You have to remember a few things about our neighbors."

"And that would be?" George rolled his eyes.

"They're doctors," Lockwood answered like it was a sin.

"All of them?" Lucy asked with interest.

"Yes, the entire family," Lockwood confirmed. "You have to remember that when they start getting weird about our work."

"Why?" Lucy flicked a crumb left on George's shoulder once they reached the last step. "We get help from hospitals when we need to examine post-mortem documents. It's not like our professions are worlds apart."

"You mean I get help," George corrected firmly. "Not like either of you do the grisly work when it comes to research."

"Well, you're the best at it," Lucy said placatingly.

"'Course I am," George nipped.

Lockwood shushed them. "Regardless of what they say, do not loose your cool. They think getting you worked up means they win.

"They can't be that bad. Your girl was nice enough," Lucy said.

Lockwood's brows furrowed then unfurrowed. "She's not my girl," he said, opening the door with zeal.

"Sure," Lucy grinned as she slipped past.

—

34 Portland Row looked the same as 35 from the outside. The interior decor made it clear that the home was made up of doctors. Successful ones, by the looks of it.

You greeted them at the door with the same radiatant smile from the papers. Your dress was marvelous but Lucy and George could not help but look over your shoulder, into the opulence of 34 Portland Row.

Like always, Lockwood greeted you with a nod and addressed you by name. It wasn't much but you accepted it with cheeks strained from practicing your smile.

As you lead them to the dining room, their eyes wandered at their own volition. Lockwood couldn't help but do the same.

The crystal chandelier in the living room was as decadent as ever; the doorknobs had been changed to be made of glass and silver; the bookshelves were packed with newer books—likely yours; the wall next to the stairs still held your height measurements from years ago. He caught your eye as he did so, trying not to flinch at the waves of melancholy that crashed over him. He chose to look at the back of your head as the light of the dining room enveloped them.

Like every room in this house, a chandelier sat in the middle. Everything was gleaming. Not a speck was out of place, except maybe him. Perfect, just like the family that lived here.

The table was already set with steaming meals of steak, veggies, and mashed potatoes. There was a pitcher of juice in the middle but Lockwood noticed that he, Lucy, and George's glasses were already filled with water. Your mother had just finished filling the last one when she offered her most deceitful smile.

"Anthony Lockwood and friends..." your mother greeted. Her tone was eloquent but the drawl in it sent an unwelcomed pang of anxiety through Lockwood, he tensed then forced himself to relax. "Haven't seen you around lately, Tony."

"Running a business does eat time, unfortunately." He spared her a terse smile and sat at the chair you directed him to — just across from you. Lucy sat beside you, and George had the misfortune of sitting next to your father. Lockwood cleared his throat to break the silence. "You haven't aged a day, Mrs.—"

"Doctor, actually. We've had this conversation before," she chortled with a furled smile you would only expect from the devil's mistresses.

Lucy and George found sudden interest in their food. Your shoulders sunk, but like times before, you didn't say anything. Lockwood tried not to look surprised.

"Right... Doctor. My apologies." He straightened himself in his seat. "You two look swell. How has the winter been treating you?"

"Oh, it's absolutely tiring," your father said. He had the kind of tone that suggested that he was always pouting. At least he wasn't spitting venom while he was talking about himself. "Patients coming in but rarely being able to make it out. Terrible thing, really."

"Sorrows to those who have passed because of the upstart," your mother chipped in. "Our little darling saved some lives in lieu of her recent graduation, and she's only been a doctor for a few days!"

Your mother smiled at you. You refused to look up from your dinner. "All I did was administer CPR. The hospital was understaffed that day. I work in a different department, mama."

Her smile faded before her eyes snapped to Lockwood, her grin sharpening.

"Can you imagine that? Not even a day as a doctor and she's already on the papers. Real talent gets recognized straight away, everyone knows."

Your father did not finish chewing his steak before he joined in. "Kids these days run around wasting their time on things other than their academics. What do they expect to do after their talents fade, huh? Our girl has no worries in that department."

George pushed his plate away after a blob of spit landed on his potatoes. He thought it was best to put down his utensils as well. His grip was turning his knuckles white. Lucy had resorted to pushing her asparagus to calm the anger beginning to stoke in her mind. They were beginning to see why Lockwood did not want to come. The aforementioned remained with a practiced smile on his face.

Your eyes conveyed your apologies yet Lockwood refused to look at you. You were as meek as the girl Lockwood first saw over the fence. Your voice was weaker when you used it in this house. "Mama, papa. Those kids risk their lives to make living easier for everyone. Bravery like that can't be learned from textbooks."

"No, but keeping your nose out of that business altogether will keep you alive." Your mother's expression changed, a beguiling woman turning into medusa before their very eyes.

You sunk under the weight of her stare. You might as well have turned to stone.

"Knowledge keeps you alive," your father added. "Perusing supernatural business will only end with dead kids or orphans who have to resort to psychical work to get by. Some of them work up the nerve to call it a real profession."

A resounding ring resounded from Lockwood's side of the table. He had dropped his knife. His smile had gone. His lips twitched, like he wasn't sure what to do or say. Ultimately saying nothing.

Your eyes glossed over, anger and sadness swirling together in your belly. You were ready to let loose, to set your parents straight. Yet, one look at your father's face was enough to have you curling in on yourself.

The temperature dropped like the conversation had. No one said a thing when smoke began to choke the room.

"Well," your mother cheered. "Seems like the pie is ruined. I'm afraid we'll have to end supper here."

—

Lucy rushed the door open, just itching to unload the tangle of colorful words she'd thought up in that stuffy house of yours.

"They were horrendous," George said, throwing his flannel aside. "I thought that junior doctor was nice but now I know she's Medusa's spawn."

"She is. And have you seen her dad?" Lucy doubled down. She considered going downstairs to release her pent-up emotions but thought better of it. "Terrible, the lot of them."

Lockwood had thought the same cruel thoughts but hearing it from them made him defensive. You weren't bad. You were just a bystander. Your lack of responses hurt as bad as your parents's passive-aggressive jabs, but you weren't even close to being half the evil your parents were. He felt his stomach churning as they began to drag your name through the dirt.

"We are never going back there," George declared. "You were right, Lockwood."

"I need 24 hours of sleep to recover from it. I've never felt so murderous before." That was Lucy's way of saying goodnight. She started for the steps right after.

"I think we should go back. So you can finish the job," George said, following Lucy up the stairs.

Lockwood stumbled ahead, throwing his coat on the newel and collapsing at the foot of the steps. From where he lazed, he continued to hear Lucy and George bicker.

"Maybe you could call up that Norrie White to help you get away with murder," George said encouragingly.

"Don't even start on that, George," Lucy warned.

Her door closed.

"Fine," George said despondenty. "It was just a suggestion, geez."

His door closed, too.

Lockwood let out a breath. It felt like his soul had left his body for a moment of reprieve. He didn't have even five minutes of silence before he heard urgent taps reverberating through his ears. He sat up, alarmed, trying to assess where the noise could have come from.

After a quick sweep, he swung the kitchen door open and discovered you on the other side of the garden door, knuckles raping against the glass with a pained look on your face.

He contemplated leaving you out in the cold but decided that he wasn't that kind of person. He opened the door and wasn't all that surprised that your habit of forgetting a jacket stayed true. You were shivering.

"Anthony—"

"Give me a moment," he interrupted. He turned, walked back to the steps to retrieve his coat, then returned to drape it over your shoulders. "Come in. Sit. You never remember to bring a coat at night, stubborn girl."

You smile despite the frost on your face. Your face turns pink as the warmth of 35 Portland Row thaws you. He sits you on his usual seat and takes George's cushioned seat instead.

"Old habits die hard," you chuckle, holding his coat tighter. If you bent your head enough, you would get a whiff of him on it. You could have tried to do it inconspicuously but he was sitting right there, he would know. "I'm sorry... for everything. I thought they wouldn't– I really should have known they would say things like that. I apologize for them. I really do feel bad. If Mr. Karim and Ms. Carlyle are still up, I'd like to tell them as well."

"They've retired for the night," he reports. He redacts the part that they were discussing the demise of your family. "but thank you for coming to say that."

"And I'm sorry I didn't say anything," you add.

Lockwood doesn't say anything to that. In his mind, you would have stopped them if you were really sorry. "Why did you come here? And please don't say you're inviting us to another dinner."

"Goodness, no." You snort. "I... have a case. I don't know who else to surrender the evidence to."

His brows jump. "You're asking for psychical service? From me? Us, I mean."

You nod. "I hear that Ms. Carlyle is particularly gifted. What I think we're facing is something special. Something no regular agent can feel out."

"Why hasn't Fittes or Rotwell been put up to this if it's that important?"

"Because it's a personal study of mine." You drop a manila folder on the thinking cloth. Lockwood didn't even notice you were holding it earlier. "It's a closed case. An unsolved one. The autopsy is gruesome and justice was never brought to the victim. I searched her property myself and found the source. I tried to communicate with her but I can't do it."

"And you think Lucy is the Listener for the job?"

"Yes. I don't just want to get rid of a ghost, Anthony, I want to lay her to rest. To give her peace."

He leans back in his chair, drinking in the information while he raked a hand through his hair. "You investigated the area of the haunting alone?"

"In daylight," you said in your defense. "My sense of touch is useful enough for me to know if something is a source. Problem is, I can't get any psychical resonance to find out who had killed her."

"Amazing..." he breathed. He didn't know you had that level of sensitivity. Still, he had to think of this as an official case. He righted his posture immediately. "I'll ask George and Lucy in the morning. Can you come by at nine?"

"Yeah. My parents are at work before then. No worries about them."

"Good."

You nod, not knowing what else to do. "Good."

You stared at each other. Possibly taking in how much time had changed you; The scars he'd earned through the years, the callouses on your hands from studying, blemishes, changed mannerisms—and then the unspoken reminder that you had drifted apart after the Lockwood family turned from four to one. You were completely different people to the children who used to laugh through these halls.

"I better get going," you said. You couldn't handle Lockwood and his expressive eyes. You don't know if he was doing it consciously, but it was like you could see his sadness bleeding into the world just by glancing at them.

He nodded like a puppet on a string, pulling himself up and leading you to the garden door once more.

"Goodnight," you said, mustering a friendly smile that was, thankfully, returned.

"Night... Cherry," he replied.

You smiled for a moment more before you snuck back home. Neither of you remembered that you had his coat until morning.

—

You were knocking at 35 Portland Row at 8:55. You stood stiffly, not knowing how to conduct yourself after last night's catastrophe. Lockwood's coat was folded over your arm when George answered the door.

Opposite of the day before, his face was flat. If you turned around and left, you'd be doing him a favor. Unfortunately for him, you were there with intention.

"I need the help of Lockwood & Co."

George opened his mouth, probably thinking of some creative way to say 'shove off'. Lockwood's voice from the kitchen bellowed over his train of thought. "It that her? Let her in, Georgie."

George was mumbling something but he stepped aside and didn't stab you with a nearby rapier. You believed that meant there was a chance to redeem yourself.

You were lead to the receiving room where you were shortly joined by Lockwood and an either groggy or bloodthirsty Lucy. George had retired to the kitchen to bring in biscuits. You hadn't earned the respect to have cake in the vicinity.

Lockwood lead the conversation, eyes trained on you. It made you conscious enough to shuffle and pick at the frayed seams of his coat.

"You only gave us a few details about this case. Evidently it was murder but it was closed and unsolved for two decades."

"I have the rest here," you said, revealing another manila folder. This one was thicker, packed with all you knew about it. It was the real deal. As you passed it across the table, the three of them ogled at the vivid red 'confidential' stamp slanted across the front. "Her name was Iris Griffiths. She was a forensic scientist who cracked several unsolved cases in her time. She had sensitive hearing, from what her colleagues said. She wasn't working on any new cases before her housemate reported her dead on a random night."

"Was it during winter? She could have been ghost-touched." Lucy suggested with a clipped tone. She just wanted to close the case and never see you again.

You shook your head, reaching across and guiding Lockwood's hand to another page in the folder. "Her autopsy shows several lacerations and bruises but no remnants of ghost touch. Her body was already decomposing when she was found."

"And her flatmate? They could be a suspect." George pitched.

You shook your head again. "Celia Rodney was out of town with her fiancé. Several colleagues were interviewed and confirmed it."

Lockwood looked up. "Then we have to assume that it's someone from Griffith's personal life. Did she have a lover?"

"This is like the Annie Ward case all over again," Lucy groaned.

You continued nonetheless. "She did have a lover, actually. Howard Gasley was her co-worker and boyfriend. They had a good relationship, according to the interviews, so I don't suspect any foul play between them."

George leaned against the right side of his chair. There was a creak from the old thing but he ignored it. "What if their relationship was rocky behind the scenes?"

You looked down at the evidence file and sighed. "I guess we will find out when Ms. Carlyle's able to speak with her. All our suspects have solid alibis. To obtain justice for Iris Griffith, we'll have to be her witnesses."

George turns stiff. "We? Lockwood."

Lucy does the same. "You're asking me to communicate with a ghost?"

Lockwood tries to settle them down with a relaxed smile. "It's high time I stop scolding you for being good at what you do, Luce. Our client is explicitly asking you to exploit your talent and find us a killer. The client is always right. Isn't that right, George?"

George grumbles a reply you don't hear, and Lucy nods limply, like she can't comprehend the fact that Lockwood was being so lax about this. What happened to the dangers of communicating with ghosts?

Regardless, they realize that arguing with him was going to be a losing battle. He has that look in his eye—one akin to an adrenaline junkie who's about about to jump from a cliff, and his eyes are set on you.

Lucy and George watched as you returned his coat before they shot each other looks.

What happened to hating you and your white-coat family? Lockwood marched to the beat of his own drum, apparently.

They had their kits ready before dark and met you on the street you'd told them about. Lockwood saw your peering eyes over the run-down house's picket fence and quickened his pace.

"Lovely place," Lucy drawled, eyeing the chipping paint with faint curiosity. Two decades could do so much to a nice house.

"Very lively," George seconded with bite, side-stepping the corpse of a rat.

"I have the source inside, under a chain net," you inform them. You push open the door, wincing as the hinges break and send the wood slamming to the floor. "I hope the house holds long enough to finish this investigation."

"Finally," cheered Lucy. "something we can agree on."

Lockwood was contemplating over how to behave himself. One second, he was keeping pace with you, then walking ahead the next, then falling behind you. He cycled between all three, ignoring George's rolling eyes and Lucy's sighs until all four of you reach the second-floor's lavatory. Luckily, no one had fallen through the floor.

"Do tell me we're not dealing with supernatural turd," George begged.

Lucy wrinkled her nose. "I'll be the one doing the Listening so you can take your complaints outside, George."

"This might be worse," you answer them when you pull off the chain net from an odd looking thing. It looked like a starfish wrapped in ripped and yellowed tissue paper. Lucy gagged when she took a second look.

"Mummified hand," Lockwood said aloud, trying to keep a placid smile on his face. "I always tell you to never mess with mummified body parts but we'll have to make an exception."

"Mummified parts bridge the forensic and psychical field, unfortunately." You cover the source back up as a mercy to Lucy. "They couldn't find her hand before they autopsied her body. Found this under a plank in her bedroom."

"Handy," George said dryly.

Lucy glared at him. "Not the time."

"I'm not sorry," he replied.

"You could have mentioned this sooner," Lockwood interjected, turning his head to you.

You gave a smile in response. "I think it's just another piece of evidence that proves someone had been very angry with her."

"Did the academy teach you to smile so morbidly?" George questioned.

"No, that's just her face." Lockwood said gravely.

George spared you a look that resembled concern. "Pity."

You dropped your smile and walked passed a chuckling Lockwood.

—

Lucy couldn't hear a thing while there was light out. Even with the chain net off, all she could hear was George's heavy breathing.

Lockwood had everyone sat in the disparaging kitchen to have tea and some biscuits before night fell. All the courtresy of Lockwood & Co., of course. Papers spread across the table, rehashing the details in hopes that it would help Lucy discern which questions to prioritize once she made contact with Griffith.

George squinted his eyes at the court transcripts. "There's an awful lot of witnesses."

"It was a big case. Griffith did wonders to connect the world of science and the psychic." You dipped a biscuit into your overly sweetened tea; it was not so coincidentally your favorite brand, and took a bite. "She inspired me to study. It's been a dream of mine to solve her case."

George nodded with the most plastic smile on his face. "Wonderful. We're fulfilling childhood wishes while Lucy experiences rediscovered trauma."

You sighed and sunk into the rotting seat. There was no salvaging an acquaintanceship with George at this rate. You lulled your head to look at Lockwood. He spared you a smile but looked away just as quick.

"Don't interrupt me, that's all I ask," Lucy said as the clock struck six.

Papers were put away, circles were drawn, several more candles were lit, and Lucy hunkered down in the lavatory. The door was closed to give her room to work, leaving you to stand between Lockwood and George. You hobbled from heel to heel as you eyed their rapiers and their weary wandering.

The silence reminded you too much of home. Words poured out of you to chase away your parents's images in your mind. "How strong are Ms. Carlyle's talents? I've only heard heresay about her abilities."

"None of your business—"

"She's the best Listener in the field," Lockwood answered. Even in the dim light, you could see his smile pull higher. It made your heart do funny things while your stomach dropped. "I ought to think she'd be on parr with Marissa Fittes, given enough time. Maybe even better."

George nodded in agreement, turning his head as the ghost-lamps outside flickered to life. The green hue bled into the room, dimming the atmosphere even more.

You leaned against the wall as a chill crept out from under the lavatory door. "I have no doubt that we'll be able to get our answer then."

"Oh! Ow!" George exclaimed.

You didn't have a rapier or any form of weapon but you turned to him like you could help, just to find he was simply hugging himself.

"Got really cold all of a sudden. Felt like something passed through me," he said. He looked down at his thermometer. "Temp's dropped significantly. This visitor is a force."

"That's why she got the best of the best to do it," Lockwood boasted, winking your way and changing his stance as a spectral glow began to flicker under the door.

"Do we have a guess on what we could be facing?" you asked, backing away.

Lockwood didn't miss the tremoring in your hands. "No, but where where is a lack of knowledge, there is faith. We'll make it out this alive."

"Oh," you laughed unhumorously. "how reassuring."

"He's good at that," George added flatly.

Lockwood held out an arm, guiding you to stand between him and George. Their backs turned to you, their rapiers raised and at the ready.

"Here," Lockwood didn't look away from the dark as he unclasped a salt-bomb and a flask of lavender water. He held them out and you took them with shaking hands.

Malaise stalked in on you three, making the hairs on your arm stand. You gripped the salt-bomb and lavender water for dear life. Pressure squeezed down on your chest and your heart raced for a danger unseen.

"This much activity before ten? Griffith must have had qualms about dying." George said.

Lockwood chuckled, nodding along. "Wonder how nobody reported this much activity if the source was hidden all this time."

"Nobody wanted to visit this place when the killer was still at large," you answered, struggling to keep your tone even. "Some kids started some rumors during the court proceedings. They said someone just wanted the house badly enough to kill for it."

"That would be unfortunate," George said. "Imagine all that commotion over a killer who simply wanted real estate."

You tried to stiffle a laugh but failed. "It does sound ridiculous."

Lockwood chanced a glance at you, catching your faulty smile before a scream shook the Earth.

"Lucy?"

"Lucy!"

"Ms. Carlyle?"

She came bursting out of the lavatory, two fingers pinching the mummified hand, and looking quite disgruntled before she stood in the boy's protective circle.

"We might need Little Miss Doctor to stand in the iron circle," Lucy said, fumbling for her rapier and holding the source a ways from her body. Frost was gripping at her gloves.

The plan was scraped with one glance to the circle. It had been thrashed by Griffith from the time Lucy came tumbling out of the lavatory.

"Type two," all three of them agreed.

"What happened?" asked George. His eyes darted down the hallway with more apprehension than before.

"She got angrier and angrier the more names I mentioned," she answered. "I felt like she was about to drown me."

You took the mummified hand from her grasp. The sigh she let out was laughable. "Did she say who killed her?"

Lucy shook her head as she readied herself. Miasma was building. Fear gripped you like nothing you'd experienced before. When you touched the hand, that feeling multiplied. You heard murmurs but nothing substantial.

Shell...

Kill me...

Secret...

You couldn't stitch those words together to come to any conclusion. You were crossing your fingers that Lucy could. The possibilities kept you up at night. If you weren't thinking about your estranged friendship with Lockwood, you were thinking of getting justice for this woman you didn't even know. The cold pinching your skin from the source was a reminder that it wasn't over.

Like a light in the dark, Lucy looked at you and said, "She kept nodding her head whenever I asked if some person killed her; She said yes to Rodney. She said yes to Gasley—"

"So even she doesn't know who killed her?" George laughed emptily. "Brilliant."

"We might have to investigate more on our own to find more details." Lockwood nudged your side. You thought it was to shield you from the cold but that would be too presumptuous. He had bumped into you to swipe away the apparition of Iris Griffith.

She came and went like a zap of electricity. Frantic and unpredictable. Every time you caught sight of her mauled face, your heart picked up. How these three hadn't double over from heart failure was a mystery. Your knees gave up when she'd appeared beside you.

Your eyes watched her in slow motion. The rippling gashes in her plasma, her sneering face, her slashed dress... She was a hairsbreadth away from you before your instincts kicked in.

Your blood fell to your feet but your hand reached into your pocket in a panic, saving yourself as you pulled out a silver button. You threw it at her face and, fortunately, it was enough to disperse her ghost.

Lockwood let out a loud breath of relief but jumped back into the rhythm when her apparition reappeared. "Was that my mother's button? Nevermind. Time to make our exit! Luce, where's the chain net?"

She clicked her tongue. "Dropped it. Her manifestation appeared right in front of me."

"Go get it then!" George rushed, swiping at the air and setting off the first salt-bomb of the night.

"I would if I could," Lucy replied with a bite in her tone. She grimaced at the hand in your vice. "It's in the toilet."

"Pick it up! You've held worse." George backed into Lucy. They switched places.

"It's best if you don't," you advised. "This place has been deserted for years. Who knows what kind of bacteria's been growing in the bowl."

"Oh, you have to know everything, don't you?" George hissed.

Lucy didn't snap at you this time. "Listen to the doctor, George! Did we bring any more chain nets?"

Lockwood reached for your shirt, tugging you towards him as Griffith bit the air where your head would have been. He held you between his arms as blood rushed to your ears and cheeks. Lockwood's breath tickled your ear. The warmth of your face was a juxtaposition to the cold encasing your hands. "My bag! It's a bit away. We'll have to split up."

"Try not to die," George said with false sweetness. He and Lucy ran the opposite way you and Lockwood had.

Griffith chased them. The farther she got, the more you remembered how to breath.

"Calm down, cherry cheeks, ghosts can feed off of your fear," he tried to pacify you. The rasp of his voice evened your heart rate enough for you to get your brain turning again.

"Right. You're right..." You looked ahead, through the darkness and could barely make out the lumps on the ground. "Chain, we have to get the chain net."

"I've got you," he assured.

Even if your pivotal functions had returned to normal, your legs hadn't gotten the memo. Getting up made your knees buckle and legs feel like cooked pasta. As if the cold eating your fingers weren't bad enough.

Lockwood caught you around the waist, holding your weight while he held his rapier at the ready. "Hold on to the source and remember the salt-bomb."

You nodded firmly, clutching both to your chest as you two made a joint effort to get to the bags.

You were almost there, just passed the iron circle that Griffith had broken through, when she appeared above you like an unwanted mistletoe.

You screamed, Lockwood said something to console you, you threw the salt-bomb without taking off the clip, and Lockwood quickly sliced off the top to set it off. Salt sprayed over you two. His body folded over yours as it showered down.

Griffith's yells faded for a moment, a moment long enough for you to slide forward and grab the chain net that clung onto the side pocket of Lockwood's kit. Your hand wrapped around it, Iris's spectral glow kissed your skin, you felt the chill of it — she was colder than her source.

Suddenly, Lockwood had tugged you back towards him. His pull was strong enough to knock you onto your side. It would bruise but at least you weren't ghost-touched.

You wrapped the mummified hand in the net and sighed as the glow faded away and the screaming ceased. The frostbite on your fingers were worth the pain. You were alive.

Silence and heavy breathing ensued.

You rolled the rest of the way on your back, heaving for breath you won't get back. Not while Lockwood remained hovering over you.

The candles had been blown out in the earlier attack. The only light came from the ghost-lamps that sifted through the broken windows. Everything was in that ugly shade of bottle green... but that didn't make him any less magnificent.

Sweat collected on his brow, his mouth was agape—chasing for breath, and his lips were curled in that kind of smirk you could only dream about. Holding your breath did little for your racing heart.

"You okay, cherry cheeks?" His lips moved like their one purpose was to enrapture you.

You nodded dumbly, unable to find your words.

—

Portland Row was cloaked by the night when you four made your escape.

The three of them headed for the 35th while you bound up the steps to your parents' place. George and Lucy gained enough respect for you to wish you a good night before heading in, successfully tuckered out. Lockwood remained, staring at you with his hands in his trouser pockets.

He raised his brows at you then motioned to your front door. "Head on in. It would weigh on my conscience if I don't see you home safe. Your parents would have my head."

"You..." you paused at the fog before you. It was colder out than you thought. "You called me cherry cheeks earlier."

His stance turned tense. He rocked on his heels before he mustered a smile. "Old habits die hard... Sorry if it made you uncomfortable."

"It's okay," you reassured, returning the smile. "I missed it."

"You don't mind then?"

You shook your head. "Never did."

His smile broadened, teasing a glimpse of his pearly whites before he looked at his shoes to hide it. "See you tomorrow then, cherry."

You bit the inside of your cheek as you stared at him. These days, both of you were tall enough to see each other clearly over the wrought-iron fencing. You missed the days you had to tiptoe to show him a smile.

You had no problems shooting him a smile from over the fence. You had no problems coming home to your perfectionist parents. You had no problems imagining your world without Lockwood in it... but you missed him.

Now that the events kept replaying in your head, all you could think while you looked at him was I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry. I miss you, I'm sorry.

Lockwood had the talent of knowing when you wanted to say something but couldn't bring yourself to. He forgot how when you had grown apart. Now, in the quiet of the night and the privacy of the stars, it came back to him like the memories he tamped down by closing his window.

"What's wrong?" He asked, setting his hands on the freezing iron fence.

You feel the knot in your throat and the tears in your eyes. It hurts to hold back. Your lungs are lined with spikes as you take a breath. It feels like you're cracking your ribs open as you cave and admit to him, "I don't want to go home to them."

It may have been a trick of the light, but you swear there were tears in his eyes, too. His smile had changed. It was the same one you were accustomed to—the one he used to welcome you into his parents's house all those years ago. Like no time had passed at all, he beckons you. "Come on in then. 35 Portland Row is always open for you. It's your home, too."

—

One night's sleep on 35 Portland Row's most uncomfortable couch was worlds better than the comfy bed in your own cold home. You stretch like a cat to work out all the kinks in your joints, smiling at the air for no reason other than the happiness that filled you the moment you realized you were at the Lockwoods'. Your frosted hands had been wrapped up over a very sleepy catch-up the night before.

Ambient music was playing in your head as you took in your surroundings. The browned books and the disarray of trinkets left all around you were more home than anything you were used to.

It felt like you were wading through the most pleasant dream.

It all screeched to a halt the moment you swung your foot down and stepped on something squishy and loud—it groaned like a beast.

Terror clawed out of your throat in the form of a scream. Juttery legs hopped onto the back of the couch to gain height, and weary eyes looked down at the monster under the bed— er, sofa.

The lump inflated, made of patchwork quilt... until that fell away to reveal a very disheveled and very grumpy Anthony Lockwood.

"Ow," he simply said.

Your soul returned to your body. You offered a little laugh as you eased back down on the couch. "Sorry, Anthony."

"Don't worry yourself," he assured, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "I was the one who snuck down here."

You were a kid when you admitted to being afraid of being alone. It was thoughtful of him to come down here to keep you company when he had a perfectly good bed upstairs.

With a fluttering belly and a sheepish smile, you reached out and patted his sleepy head. "You've always been good to me. I should be more grateful."

He opened one eye to look at you while he rubbed the sleep out of the other. A corner of his lip tipped up into a lazy smile. "You can start with a 'thank you', darling."

"Thank you," you said all too quickly. The deeper octave and the rasp in his voice had finally hit home. It made your cheeks warm.

Judging by the growing smile on his face, he had accomplished what he was intending to.

Your shoulders jumped. A knock broke through the calmness of the air. You turned and saw George in an apron and kitchen mitts. "Are you two going to give each other goo-goo eyes all morning or are you joining us for breakfast?"

—

The investigation resumed as soon as the breakfast plates had been cleaned.

You split into two groups. George and Lucy were off to the archives to work out all of Griffith's social connections, and you and Lockwood were off to the hospital to look for documents that contained the same M.O. or similar timeline to Griffith's case.

"I thought police were the only ones allowed to hold information like this," Lockwood admitted as you two shuffled through files upon files in the hospital archives.

"Most of it, they do. I just hope there's something here relevant to our case," you reply. "If we have to hand this off to detectives, DEPRAC will get involved. They'll just close the case and leave it be."

He nudges up to you after a good three hours of finding absolutely nothing. "Let's look at the last few cases she solved. Could have a clue."

"All of those are solved though," you respond. You were biting your nails at this point. You had to find something before questioning Griffith's ghost again—for Lucy's sanity and for the group's safety.

Lockwood took you by the shoulders just as you began to imagine the worst. "Cherry," he said to snap your attention to him. "If we can't find anything, I don't want you joining us on this one."

"What?" You back away from him in your incredulity. "I helped last night, didn't I? This is my investigation as much as it is yours, Anthony."

"This visitor is a type two, cher. It's not as simple as solving a case. This means lives are in the balance—"

"I'm aware." You put your foot down. You slapped his hands away and shimmy a thick stack from under the desk. "I'm aware of the risks and I consent to them." You pick up the one at the top of the stack and shove it into his chest. He had always liked the curiosity in your eyes, so he was taken aback by the void in them as you looked at him. "I have enough people treating me like I belong at home or behind the safety of iron fences—I do not need you to coddle me like that. My parents do it enough."

He watched your back as you look through the second file in the stack. "You know I don't mean to coddle you..."

"You're doing it right now." Your tone carries a point. "You're telling me to sit this one out because it's too dangerous."

"It's risk assessment—"

"You're underestimating me—"

He slams his hand down on the paper you're idly reading. Bringing your attention to him. "I do this because I don't want to lose you."

Your anger falls away.

The reminder of how how much he'd lost occurs to you. It makes your arms grow limp and your heart to shrink. You can only stare at him with those same eyes he can't unsee even when his are closed. He hates the way he's made sadness swim in them. "Anthony..."

He said your name with the same caution. "You want to know why I became distant?"

"People grow apart when they grow up, Anthony. It's not your fault—"

He knelt beside you, laying his heart out right then and there. "I couldn't stand watching you with your perfect family. They always said any field tampering with the supernatural was a death sentence. I hated how they were right. I hated how they made you so small. I couldn't watch you like that. I hated that you turned into a doctor, just like them. I hated how they were so bad and so cruel, but they were always right."

You were quelled into silence. Biting your lip to keep the tears in. He held your hands delicately, careful of your injury. His touch was light but you knew you would feel it for hours. You held his hands with as much strength as you could muster, even as your skin burned and screeched for reprieve, you did not let go. "They are wrong about you..." you whisper to him.

He went on, plastering on a smile you knew was fake. It sheared your heart to know that. "I knew they were right when they said you would do great things... But they said so many other things that hurt. I couldn't stand being around. It just made me remember that no one was around to defend me anymore. I'm sorry that I had to leave you out, too. Seeing you reminded me of everything they said and I... I couldn't shake it."

Your eyes hurt so much. You gave up somewhere along the way and let the tears fall. "I'm sorry I wasn't strong enough to fight them. I wanted to say so many things but they've always been so- so..."

"Scary?" he supplied with a pathetic laugh. "I know. Don't blame yourself."

You bobbed your head, sniffing as tears went. "You don't have to apologize for all that, Anthony. I'm so sorry, I didn't stand by you when you needed me. But I am going to see this case through to the end, I've dedicated my life to it."

Even when you were hiccuping and heaving for air, you wiped away the tear that tracked down his cheek. His heart surrendered to you then.

"Okay... And I'm sorry, I shouldn't have ignored you like I did," he said again, just because he felt like you needed to hear it.

"No. I'm sorry," you reply. Vehemently wiping his eyes. "Anthony, come on. Don't cry. I'm not worth crying for."

"Oh, don't say that," he said lightly. "You're worth everything, cher."

Both of you manage a smile but neither of you are well enough to hold it. You laugh at each other's attempts.

You came clean to him too: How your parents had made you the sun of their solar system; How they poured their knowledge into you like you were a cup meant to hold their images in vivid color; How they moulded you into being the projection of a golden girl—their magnum opus. You carried the weight of their world. Most days, they acted more like teachers than parents. It got worse the older you got. Trophies and medals took the places of photographs until all you became was your achievements.

"They were so hard on you..." he said slowly. It was just sinking I just how trapped you were. You were cornered in a place that was supposed to covet you.

"Still, I should have defended you. I hate that I didn't," you said, wiping your nose with the back of your sleeve. It was the most ungraceful thing he'd seen you do but it brought him back to the cherry pie incident, and he found that he couldn't even think of you in a bad light.

"It's water under the bridge. I hate your parents, but there is one thing we can agree on," Lockwood said, cracking a semblance of a smile.

You cocked your brow at him. Teary eyes and all, he still found you as cute as a button.

"I would make you the sun of my solar system, too. They got that right."

With a snort, you said, "You're good at buttering people up, you know that?" You shoved his shoulder to shut him up but he caught the red on your ears and the smile you hid with a tilt of your head.

—

When you rendezvoused with George and Lucy, it was around 5:40 in the afternoon. The sun was dipping and the ghoulish were about to walk the earth. If George or Lucy noticed the redness in your eyes, they said nothing of it. You hurried along inside the stranded house and relayed newfound information.

"The last case Griffith reviewed involved a woman named Shelly Carson. She immigrated from America and died at 17 while she was interning for Hayes Inc." You flipped the file open on the kitchen table over tea. "They profiled the case to be a suicide but I don't think Griffith agreed." Your finger pointed to the lower left corner where Griffith would put her stamp of approval. The line was void of it. "She wrote 'Garrote not rope??' on the unofficial report. Carson's case could have been a murder."

The information set off a spark in George. He was rubbing invisible dirt from his glasses and finished doing so as you concluded your assessment. "We found a Shelly Carson in our search too," he said. Everyone lent their ears. "She was friends with Griffith in childhood. Alongside Rodney and Gasley. The four of them were close friends from well-off families."

"Ah, they're rich. Explains a lot," Lucy snorted. George ignored her quip.

"Turns out Rodney and Carson were both interested in Gasley. Rodney moved on with some bloke named Jerome Holt, but she suspected him of having an affair with Carson. Holt proposed to prove her wrong."

Lockwood tilted his head. "Sounds like gossip, Georgie."

George brandished an old leather diary. "We tracked down Howard Gasley. He gave us this."

Lockwood lit up. Sitting up with renewed energy. "How did you manage that?"

Lucy grinned. "The death of his girlfriend weighed on his conscience. All I had to do was tell him that her ghost can't be put to rest. Spilled like a waterfall after that."

"So, he did kill her?" You asked.

"Well, that's the difficult bit... The rest of the pages were ripped out and he didn't explicitly say he did. Maybe he did do it, he likes ripping things." George revealed, pointing the diary at the mummified hand in the net. "I think he's involved, one way or another."

Lockwood looked at it, then looked at Lucy. "What do you think, Luce?"

She looked at all three of you with a gleam in her eye. "I think we're about to find our killer."

—

The set-up was same as last night, except the iron circle had been extra fortified to fit all four of you in case things get out of hand. Lockwood stuffed lavenders into your pockets as Lucy lit the the candles.

"If you die tonight, I will not forgive you," Lockwood said as he put a salt-bomb in your hand.

"Same goes for you," you retort with a smile.

He returns your grin, tapping your sides and making your heart flutter before he sets off to help George with inventory.

You cross the chains to help Lucy in the lucky room chosen to host the seance in. With all the furniture pushed to the walls, the sitting room was the epitome of morbid. The carpet was patterned in a way that made it perfect for summoning and the cobwebs embellishing the place contributed to the unsettling ambiance. Lucy herself was lighting candles around the source. You took a pack of matches and helped light the rest of them.

"How are you feeling?" you asked as you lit the last candle and killed the match.

"Confident," she replied. She even spared you a smile. "And you?"

"Scared. Excited, mostly."

She bobs her head. She had a far-away look in her eye before she asked, "Your room is an attic room, correct?"

The nature of the question surprised you. "Yes. Why?"

A smile teased her lips. "I knew it." She looked at you like she saw right through you. "Lockwood was loitering near the window this morning. Just thought it was odd."

You hear him in your mind then — cherry cheeks. Warmth crawled up your neck as Lockwood and George entered the room.

"What are you two blabbering about?" George questioned, off-put by Lucy's smile and your flushed face.

"Nothing," you said together, one more pitched than the other.

George didn't look convinced.

Lockwood spoke up. " You ladies ready? Let's catch ourselves a killer."

The door was left open with an heavy stopper, giving you ample room to run to the iron circle in case things took a turn for the worst. Though, you doubted it would. The other three shared the sentiment. Some kind of energy buzzed between you four and livened the room, something that wasn't there the night before.

Lucy looked between you and Lockwood with a knowing expression you only ever saw from Jessica Lockwood. It was gone as quick as it came but the brief blast from the past made you dizzy. The resemblance must have been what made Lockwood so comfortable with her.

Lockwood had crossed the room and stood by you. Close enough to catch you if you stumbled forward in your daze.

He glanced at his wrist to check the time. "7:30's a good time. Ready, Lucy?"

"Ready," she confirmed. With a tug, the iron net came off of Griffith's mummified hand.

George and Lockwood reconsidered their stances with their rapiers as warmth was immediately sapped from the room. It was akin to jumping into a lake without testing the waters. Blood rushed to your ears. The whispering began again.

"We're here to help you," Lucy said calmly.

Wind began to pick up despite the windows being closed. Lucy persevered. "Iris Griffith, I know that you're experiencing a great injustice. Let me help you. Talk to me."

Lucy closed her eyes. You trust that she was establishing a connection with Griffith. The chill subsided by a fraction, her eyes were moving rapidly like you do when you're in the middle of a dream.

"There's a spectral glow behind you, George." Lockwood caught that faster than you. He was glaring down at the opposite corner of the room.

George's face remained impassive. "You'll tell me if she gets too close."

"Shush!" Lucy threw a hand up in the air. "Shell... Shelly? Yes, what about Shelly Carson? She died before you. You saw her case. They got the autopsy wrong, didn't they?"

A faraway scream interrupted the silence. You fumbled forward. Lockwood caught your arm. "Careful there, cherry cheeks." You lived up to your nickname.

"They all kept... Secret...?" Lucy murmured. "They all killed you to keep a secret?"

If this were a cartoon, you imagine everyone to have exclamation marks above their heads. Finally, some of the mystery began to come into focus. Who are 'they' and what secret were they so desperate to keep?

"Secret... Shelly Carson?" Lucy's expression lightened and the room grew slightly warmer. "Yes! Their secret is Shelly Carson. No? Oh, then what— They killed her to keep the secret... then paid people to say they were innocent."

"Rich people," George tutted.

The anticipation was killing you. All those nights of research, pouring over case files and autopsies were boiling down to this. You gripped Lockwood's sleeve to ground yourself. He glanced at your hand, worried you were seeing something he wasn't, but felt a smile twitching on his lips when he noticed the elation on yours.

Lucy'a voice pierced the air. "They killed her to keep what secret?"

The silence, the anticipation, and the chill in the room melded.

"Rodney pregnant? With Gasley's—" Lucy shut herself up. It was like a bad episode of a telenovela, but this was real, and someone had died because of it. "And when you were about to uncover the truth about Shelly... Rodney and Gasley they got you, too? I'm sorry to hear that. Gasley must have regrets. He had left a diary and... your, ah, hand so we could uncover your story."

It wasn't the most peaceful way to end a talk with a ghost. As soon as Lucy finished the conversation, the apparition of Iris Griffith had appeared once more. Contrary to your hypothesis, finding out the motive and her killers did not put her to rest at all.

She wailed louder than the previous night and zipped about even faster than before. Nothing Lockwood & Co. couldn't handle though. You showered the room with lavender and salt as Lockwood & Co. danced with a ghost.

—

You all appreciated a bit of silence after getting your ears blown off by a visitor. The world clearly didn't like you enough to grant the request, judging by the hunched and fuming figures of your parents blocking the door to 35 Portland Row. They sported crossed arms and crossed expressions. Your mother, specifically, was blowing steam from her ears.

Seeing your sweaty and worn form only confirmed their suspicions: You'd been running around with ghost hunters.

"You ungrateful brat..." your mother muttered.

Lucy stepped forward, blocking her way to you. She was hardened by her own experiences and least expected the horrid woman to turn on her own daughter for simply doing something outside of white-tiled establishments. You were grateful for it.

That only stirred the pot for your parents.

"We sheltered you, spoiled you, and educated you to be the lady you are today. You are our legacy." Your father harumphs forward. "We made you what you are and you would throw that all away by risking your stupid little life for some miniscule ghost adventure!"

George is the next to block their way. He wasn't that protective type, but he did look the part when he wanted to. "It was her childhood dream. Let her live." Leave it to George to be forward.

Your mother stamped her feet. The display was so awfully childish you had to look away. "You are children who don't know a single thing about building a foundation for a good life! You are going to run my daughter to ruin!"

Because of her display, Lockwood & Co. weren't so intimidated by her anymore.

Lockwood had stepped ahead, completing the wall that prevented your iron-fisted parents from getting to you ever again. "We're the best psychical agents in London. We expect a little more respect, doctor."

You could hear the smile in his voice. You couldn't help but smile, too.

With a last burst of anger, your father yelled to you. "You either come home or you find your own way. I'd rather live without a daughter than live with a disappointing one."

It shouldn't hurt as much as it did, but you had given your whole life to live up to the version of you they were dreaming of. Even if you had achieved all that, all it took was having a moment of autonomy for them to turn against you and disregard your sacrifices.

Lockwood had turned to you with a face so full of hope, it brought you back to the other night at the horrid dinner party and the night you snuck out to pick apples. After all that's happened, you found it in yourself to steel your resolve and face your father with bravery that felt unnatural but oh-so addicting.

"I'm going home," you told them.

You walked passed a stunned George and a speechless Lucy. Lockwood was far bluer than the two, but you shot him a smile that put all his worries to rest.

When you were kids, he was the one to take you by the hand and drag you off on a new adventure. This time, it was you so took his hand and pulled him passed your parents's skyscraping figures and into the comforts of 35 Portland Row.

Home, at last.

The first thing you saw as you pulled Lockwood through the threshold was his smile, radiant as ever. He didn't give you much time to admire it. He swooped down and stole your first kiss before you could even blink.

You could hear Lucy and George laugh over your parents plights. You were tired, sweaty, and covered in salt but all you could think of was; you should have done this sooner.

The next morning, you submitted the evidence and psychical report to the relevant authorities, convicting Celia Rodney and Howard Gasley for their crimes. Griffith's source was relinquished from your possession and burned at the Fittes Furnaces, marking the end of Griffith's case. It was the best thing you could do to bring her peace.

Shortly after, Lockwood and Co. welcomed you as the company's official forensic consultant, and in 35 Portland Row, you were finally comfortable in your own skin.

You and Lockwood now stand on the same side of the fence. There is no need shyly avoid your peering eyes when he could have the satisfaction of seeing them flutter close as he kisses you.

Thought, it is nice to remember that all this started with those peering eyes over wrought-iron fences. You and Lockwood reminisce those days over a cherry pie with extra ice cream or an afternoon picking apples from the backyard.

Every now and again, Lockwood would toss an apple over to your parents's side of the fence to scare them.

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

LOVELOCKED (PEOWIF BONUS CHAPTER)

NOTE ➺ Thank you to everyone who made it through to the end! I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it. It's the first time I completed a project this big so I hope it brings you some joy. To everyone mourning the seasons we'll never get, I'm with you. To my fellow writers, I'd appreciate a tip or two to improve my stories. To everyone in general, may you continue finding fics that comfort you 💙