#Mayfair Residence

[beetlesbones]

[wellourgerdes]

1 hotel mayfair

1 Hotel Mayfair London The 1 Hotel Mayfair is located in London’s top hotel sector on the crossroads of Piccadilly and Berkeley Street. The place is masterclass in sophisticated, stylish and clean sustainability in the heart of London just a few steps from London’s famous Green Park. Walking distance from Green Park, Regent Street, and the glitz of the West End. In order to reduce its…

[jmunneytumbler]

Jmunney’s 2023 Emmy Wish List

Jmunney’s 2023 Emmy Wish List

CREDIT: Screenshots I’ve been making an Emmy wishlist for most of my adult TV-viewing life. Every year, the task keeps getting more and more Herculean with the proliferation of an endless supply of new shows. I could easily name about a hundred people who deserve an Emmy in 2023, but instead, I’ve decided to do the opposite this year by just picking One Wish Per Category. These aren’t necessarily…

[bonvoyageservices]

Looking for grand residences by Marriott London? Bon Voyage Services offers you Grand Residences by Marriott, which is often described by owners and guests. For more information, call us today at +9715515266880.

[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

PART ONE

After accidentally causing Reader’s very first orgasm, Anthony does what any gentleman would do: he teaches her how to make it happen again, anytime she likes… ♥️

In keeping with Bridgerton’s vibe, Reader is a young woman with zero sexual knowledge or experience. I imagine she’s around nineteen or twenty years old and while she has had suitors, none of them have inspired in her the feelings Lord Bridgerton evokes…

Lord Anthony Bridgerton. Six days have passed since your carriage ride together, and instead of making peace with yourself over your embarrassing display in front of him, you now have even more questions than answers.

Firstly, what was that overwhelming rush of feelings you experienced in his carriage? And secondly, why had Lord Bridgerton reacted so calmly while watching you carry on as you did? And thirdly, had he never really intended to call on you, even though he said he would?

In truth, Anthony Bridgerton had been preoccupied with thoughts of you since delivering you home last week. He’d originally intended to call on you, but felt that approaching the subject of what he could obviously tell was your very first orgasm would be impossible while in the company of others. So, he’d conceived an admittedly unconventional plan to discuss the matter with you, in private…

Anthony knew you had questions, and as a gentleman, he didn’t want to leave you confused or even worse, feeling as if you’d somehow done something wrong. Anthony was well aware of the fact that for young ladies, sexual education was limited to none. With all the privileges of a male upbringing, Anthony had acquired plenty of sexual knowledge and experience without the attached shame and social stigma a woman would receive if expressing herself in such a manner…

The sun had gone down over Mayfair, a crisp Autumn evening settling in as its residents did the same. You’d retired to your room for the night, ready to sleep and hopefully dream of carriage rides with Anthony Bridgerton, and without embarrassment. Being so close to Anthony had felt exhilarating, at first, until that terrible-wonderful-beautiful-terrifying surge of energy had taken hold of you. If only you could repeat the events of that afternoon, the ones that involved Anthony’s recusing you, his chivalry, his act of kindness…his touching you…without the resulting fit that had seized hold of your body. A realization washed over you. Could what you experienced have somehow been caused by Lord Bridgerton? He had observed the extent of your outrageous display with complete ease. It was a bit irritating, in fact, that he seemed to understand exactly what was happening to you, while you remained completely overwhelmed and in the dark.

You gazed at the ceiling, frustrated tears burning your eyes. What would happen if Anthony told anyone of your frightful episode? You could only assume he had not spoken word of it to anyone, because surely Lady Whistledown would have mentioned it in her latest scandal sheet. Clearly, Anthony Bridgerton was an honorable man. You chided yourself for thinking anything less than a gentleman of him moments ago.

Suddenly, a shadow at your window caught your eye. Usually, birds didn’t perch on your windowsill this late in the day…and what else could have caused the shadow, besides a bird? You closed your eyes, preparing for sleep. A dull thudding sound came from the direction of your window, lurching your body forward in bed and forcing your eyes open wide.

Anthony Bridgerton was crouched outside your window. Surely, you must be dreaming. And what a scandalous dream to be having, you thought to yourself with a giggle. It was only when Anthony tapped his knuckles against the glass that you realized, much to your horror, that you were most definitely not dreaming.

He smiled and pointed to the latch on your side of the glass, making a turning motion with his hand. You left your bed for the window, quickly grabbing a robe to cover your nightgown, which did little to conceal the shape of your breasts.

You unlatched the window and lifted it only so far as to hear each other speak. “Lord Bridgerton!” you whispered harshly. “Are you mad??”

Anthony’s smile faded only slightly, his head tilted in thought. “Possibly,” he conceded. “But nevertheless, I had to speak with you.”

“And why now?” you asked. “At the most inappropriate time? In the most inappropriate way-??”

“-Because,” Anthony interrupted. “The nature of my intended conversation with you demands privacy.” He sighed, glancing down at the latch again. “Now, are you going to allow me inside?” Anthony asked. “Or would you prefer I catch my death of cold? Or perhaps-.” He peered over his shoulder at the ground below. “-Falling to my death would better suit your-.”

“-Oh for heaven’s sake!” you snapped, throwing open the window, to Anthony’s delight. “Hurry in before someone sees you…”

He swung his legs over the windowsill, nodding a polite “thank you,” while keeping his steps as quiet as possible. Your eyes swept over the yard, trying to make out the face of anyone who might have witnessed the Viscount Bridgerton of all men climbing through your bedroom window. Thankfully, the grounds looked bare; you sighed gratefully, content with remaining free of scandal. For now, at least.

You turned to find Anthony seated on your bed, a sight that nearly gave you a heart attack. He saw the horrified look on your face, and immediately stood up- “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not wish to offend you. I find it…” He paused. “…Difficult, to know where you and I stand…to judge the nature of our relationship, after-.” Anthony swallowed, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

“-After my frightful display in the carriage?” you offered, and he nodded.

“Yes,” Anthony replied. “Which, to be completely transparent, is exactly the reason I called on you tonight-privately,” he emphasized. “Because the nature of such a conversation is surely too sensitive as to be eavesdropped by others, do you not agree?”

Your eyebrows lifted, confusion written all over your face along with a blush of shame spreading over your cheeks. “People fall ill regularly, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, trying to calm the embarrassment making your voice tremble. “I fail to see how my…spell, though humiliating, as you seem eager to remind me, should warrant such a clandestine meeting as this...”

Anthony took a step closer; you flinched backward. “I do not wish to harm you,” he insisted. “Nor do I mean to imply wrongdoing of any kind on your part. If anything, it is I who acted thoughtlessly in not calling on you sooner, for not explaining that your-.” He smiled softly. “-Spell, or, falling ill as you call it, was not humiliating at all…”

You realized, for the first time in six days, that the feeling had returned. It stirred between your thighs like a dangerous, delicious secret. And while you couldn’t understand how, you were somehow sure that Anthony knew of your secret, too.

He took another step closer, and this time, you didn’t move backward. “Are you familiar with…” Anthony chose his words carefully. “…With the ways a woman’s body experiences pleasure?”

Your eyes widened; Anthony realized he may need to proceed with even more caution than he’d anticipated.

“When you…feel good,” he tried, watching your eyes for any sign of understanding. “That warmth you experience…inside your body…”

Anthony took another small step closer; you swallowed, feeling as if all the air had suddenly left the room. “…When you…touch yourself…”

He saw the lack of understanding in your eyes, and asked “you do touch yourself…don’t you?”

You shook your head, bewildered by Anthony’s lack of actual explaining. “Of course I touch myself, Lord Bridgerton,” you replied matter-of-factly; he seemed surprised by your blunt response. “I touch myself every day.”

“I’m glad to hear-.”

“-Everyone touches themselves every day-.”

He tipped his head in thought. “Well, it’s doubtful everyone-.”

“-In fact, I fail to see how that explains anything about my behavior last week, Lord Bridgerton,” you finished. Anthony looked slightly confused, and asked “when you touch yourself…do you not feel the way you felt in the carriage?”

You shook your head, embarrassment washing over you again. “No,” you replied. “I’ve never felt anything comparable to that while touching myself.”

Anthony considered his next question, and his reasons for asking it, carefully. “How do you touch yourself?” he asked, worrying immediately that he’d gone a step too far. Everything about this conversation was becoming more inappropriate by the second, but at least you seemed to have some experience in pleasuring yourself. It was a good start, Anthony reasoned.

You didn’t seem offended by his question in the slightest. “I touch myself each time I pull on my gloves, for example,” you explained, still not at all sure how this was relevant. “I brush my hair, which means I must touch myself to do so…” You continued to describe absolutely innocent everyday examples of ways in which you touched yourself, none of them pertaining to masturbation, as Anthony soon became aware.

He held up a hand to stop you, a gentle yet frustrated smile on his face. “While all of the examples you’ve given do indeed describe touching oneself,” Anthony replied, his smile fading. “They do not describe the manner of touching that would arouse feelings like the ones you experienced during your…spell, in my carriage.”

You stared at him blankly, completely confused. “How else would one touch themselves, my lord?” you asked. Anthony’s chest dipped as he exhaled, deeply. He hadn’t stopped thinking of the sounds you made in his carriage the week prior…of how you looked seized with pleasure, your pretty features contorted in ecstasy…the way your scent had remained in his carriage, how he’d used it to get himself off on the way back from your home…

Anthony knew he was treading on very dangerous ground. But despite his better judgement, he found the words he should not say passing through his lips, and his fingers drawing closer to touch your cheek: “Perhaps I might teach you, then?”

Your skin warmed beneath Anthony’s touch, his fingertip tracing your cheek and resting on your lips. It was all too much, the racing of your heart, the intensity of his gaze holding yours like no man had before. The beautiful ache between your legs was now pulsing, throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

“May I teach you?” Anthony asked again, softly. His thumb stroked the curve of your chin; your legs felt weak, unable to hold you. “Yes…yes,” you replied, every inch of you trembling. “Please…”

Anthony’s lips curved in a slight grin, but his behavior retained the calm sensibility of an instructor preparing to teach. He guided you toward your bed, gently imploring you to “lie back.” You followed Anthony’s direction, taking his hand as it was offered. His lips parted when your robe slipped off your shoulders, revealing the curve of your breasts, your peaked nipples lifting the fabric. You moved to cover yourself, but Anthony stopped you. “Do not be embarrassed,” he murmured, his voice low, sincere. “Your body is beautiful, (Y/N). It should not be a source of shame…not here. Not now.”

Anthony brought your hand to his lips, pressing your index finger to them in a pretend ‘shh.’ “No secrets,” he whispered. You whimpered softly, unconsciously pressing your thighs together, attempting to soothe the tension between them. Anthony noticed your discomfort…every part of him noticed. His cock twitched at the sound of your arousal, at the way your scent lifted through the thin fabric of your gown and straight to his nose. He watched your body tense as you tried to fend off the inevitable; you were going to come. And Anthony was going to watch it happen, again.

He loosened the cravat at his neck, the heat in the room increasing by the minute. He led your hand over your breasts, watching you gasp as your nipples perked to meet your palm. “That’s a good girl,” Anthony praised, his voice slightly strained. “Do you see the way your body responds?” He exhaled slowly, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the restraint of his trousers. “Now,” Anthony continued. “Bring your hand lower, like so…”

He guided your touch downward, dusting along your belly. You watched with widening eyes as your fingers moved closer to the space that throbbed more intensely with every breath you took. Anthony swallowed, feeling his resolve weaken. He had to keep himself under control; you were fragile, completely unaware of just how vulnerable a position you truly were in. A less honorable man than he would likely take advantage of an innocent young woman in such a state, having given him her full trust, legs spread and waiting for his command. Anthony clenched his jaw and resolved to continue your lesson, his desires forced into check.

He paused your hand just above the tender space you’d never touched, that no one had touched before. A space that in some ways belonged to Anthony already, as only he seemed able to arouse these desires in you from the start. How fitting, then, that he should be the one to guide your hand in exploring yourself, to the place that swelled and wept only for him…

Anthony’s erection was becoming distracting. He wondered if you’d notice, and ask about it. Thankfully, you seemed too consumed by the sensations affecting your own body to notice anything around you, for which Anthony was grateful. If you did ask to see it…looking all wide-eyed and innocent at his cock…asking why it stood like that, why he looked so intense-did it hurt…? What is it for…? Can you show me, my lord…? Anthony knew he’d crumble like a pastry and end up doing god only knows what…

He pressed his wrist against it, a subtle attempt at soothing away some of the pain denying himself was causing. Instinctively, you’d pulled your hand (and Anthony’s covering it) further between your legs, till your touch was hovering just above your clit. Anthony’s eyes were hooded, his lips parted and dry as he watched you. “Touch yourself, (Y/N),” he murmured, his voice husky, wavering. “Allow your body to tell you what she needs…”

Anthony gently lowered both his hand and yours, his fingertips fanning over your clit. You drew in a sharp breath, your hips bucking, the muscles in your stomach tensing as you lurched forward. “Shh…shh,” Anthony comforted you. “It almost hurts, does it not? A feeling so intense, it frightens you…like bringing your fingers too close to a flame…”

He lightly circled his fingertips over your clit again, pulling a helpless whine from your throat. Anthony’s cock twitched against his wrist, begging for relief. Sweat beaded along his hairline, his brow tense with concentration as he forced himself to maintain control.

“Focus,” he said, both to himself and you. “Lean into the feeling, frightening though it is…” Anthony used your hand to massage yourself. Your heels dug into the bed in response. “Let go of all the tension you carry,” Anthony whispered, his hand working over you. “Give in to the feeling….give in to...”

Anthony’s words failed as all his senses were consumed by the image, the scent, the sound, of you coming undone beneath his hand. You whimpered and wept, soft sobs of pleasure that spilled from your lips as your body convulsed. Your feet kicked wildly, making a mess of the bedding, sheets tossed this way and that as you flailed. In your beautiful struggle, your nightgown was thrown above your knees, putting your pretty, pouty lips on full display for Anthony. The scent of you was abundant, no longer inhibited by the cover of your gown. Anthony abandoned his pretense of modesty, aggressively rubbing the outline of his cock through his trousers while his other hand continued clutching yours.

He pulled away suddenly, a labored groan roaring up from his chest. You were just beginning to come down, your mind awash with the fuzzy, delirious bliss of orgasm. Anthony climaxed beside you, grunting through his release, filling the front of his trousers with semen. He turned to find you lying with your arms outstretched, your chest rising and falling and glistening with sweat. Your legs were still spread wide, your embarrassment long-abandoned, a big, satisfied smile lighting your eyes. Your smile faded just slightly when you noticed the look of exhaustion on Anthony’s face.

“My lord?” you said, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Anthony chuckled, nodding his assurance that he was well. “I assure you,” he replied, kneeling to sit at your bedside. “I am more than alright…”

He took your hand in his once again, feeling the slickness of your arousal on your fingertips.

“Did you…” you began, unsure how to ask. “…Did you do what I did, just now?”

Anthony’s brow lifted, his smile widening. “In fact, I did,” he said, to which you replied, in happy surprise, “I did not know that men could do it, also!”

Anthony threw his head back laughing, before quickly admonishing himself for making too much noise. He leaned closer and gave your forehead a chaste kiss, before making his way to your window.

“My lord?” you whispered. Anthony paused at the windowsill.

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“If there’s anything else you might wish to teach me,” you said. “You’ll find my window open, from now on.” A mischievous grin turned the corners of your lips. “Remember that, will you?”

Anthony smiled, his mind already teeming with a thousand filthy things he wanted to show you. “I will remember,” he said, and exited through your window. ♥️

[farfallasims]

Mayfair Residences, Henford 🌷

Now available for download HERE.

[bosbas]

Chapter 1: I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game"

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader WC: 2.5k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, lowkey why do i ship daphne and y/n....

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

May 13, 1812 - You were in Hyde Park less than ten minutes before you saw Daphne Bridgerton's figure out of the corner of your eye. Delighted that she'd joined you earlier than expected, you waved her over.

"Hello, Daph," you greeted cheerfully, scooting over so your best friend could sit beside you on the bench. "I didn't think I'd see you for a few hours, given how many gentlemen asked you to dance last night. Did none of them call?"

Daphne groaned, a scowl set deep on her face, as she took a piece of bread from your basket and broke it into chunks to feed the ducks.

"Don't remind me. Most of them called, actually," she responded. "If only Anthony had let me have three seconds with them I might have been able to discern whether or not I was actually interested. He barged into the sunroom and promptly kicked everyone out. There was not a single suitor left in the room by the time he'd finished!"

You snorted. "Ah, so the overbearing eldest brother is once again to blame."

"Isn't he always?" she responded, too annoyed to match the lightness in your tone.

You just smiled to yourself and fed the ducks silently, knowing Daphne well enough to hide your smile from her, given that she was more than likely fuming at Anthony's constant meddling. You knew he meant well, but he was known to go a bit overboard at times. Well, most times. Especially when it came to Daphne's courtships.

"Anthony's the biggest rake in Mayfair, anyway. I don't know exactly what moral high ground he thinks he's standing on but it's certainly not as sturdy as he assumes," continued Daphne, still upset over that morning's happenings.

"Is it really that bad, Daph?" you said in an attempt to console her. "At least you're not getting hordes of unpleasant men at your doorstep every day. And you know the kinds of men that frequent the ton aren't always the kind you'd want to spend your afternoons with."

"I'm not getting any men at my doorstep! That's the problem!" exclaimed Daphne, exasperated. "I know you might not share the same desires as me, but I would eventually like to get married and have a family."

"I want to find a husband, too," you insisted, your tone bordering on defensive. "I just don't particularly feel bothered to look for one during my first season."

Daphne sobered immediately, coming out of her annoyance toward her brother as she could sense you were upset. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear," she insisted, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. "It was just-"

"I understand," you smiled at her, placing your hand over hers. "I just don't have the same urgency as you do, on account of my father having absolutely no stake in my marital status. No stake in anything about me at all, actually."

It would be a sad sentiment if you weren't used to it. You were an only child, and your mother had died after getting ill when you were only five years old. Your father, of course, was quite busy with the land he managed, and thus most of your upbringing had just been you and your governess. And the Bridgertons, of course.

You had met Daphne when she was eight and you were seven, and the two of you had gotten along splendidly since then. Since you had no real family of your own, bar your absent father, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence at Daphne's insistence. You now found yourself to be a semi-permanent fixture in their house, feeling just as home there as you did at your father's home.

This proximity to the Bridgertons had made you intimately familiar with Anthony's overprotective demeanor. Ever since you and Daphne were young, Anthony had gone out of his way to make sure that his siblings were cared for. Sometimes that included you, too. But unfortunately, he could take it too far sometimes.

"Did you like anyone last night, at least? Your dress was quite magnificent and I know I'm not the only one who noticed," you winked at Daphne.

She hummed thoughtfully. "I don't entirely know. I don't think one dance is enough to know whether I truly like someone," she responded, slumping down on the bench.

"Especially not when Anthony cuts the dance short halfway through," you laughed, recalling the eldest Bridgerton's attempts to thwart Daphne's search for a husband.

But your comment did nothing to lighten the mood. Instead, it seemed to make your friend even more irritated.

"It's my second year out in society! I still don't have a husband. Not even close to it, apparently," continued Daphne, aggressively tossing bits of bread into the pond.

"Well, you have to marry eventually. Anthony can't keep you away from every man for the rest of your life!" you argued.

But this did little to quell Daphne's annoyance. "He's certainly trying," she muttered.

"We can ship him off to the West Indies for the season," you joked. "Surely he won't be able to interrupt your suitors from halfway across the globe."

Suddenly, Daphne raised her eyebrows, looking at you with a devious smile.

"I was only joking! We can't actually ship him away," you laughed. "Besides, how would the ladies of the ton ever survive without the most desirable bachelor who is always just out of reach?"

Daphne snorted, amused at your dig at Anthony. "No, no, we don't have to ship him away," she said. "But you are correct in saying that I need time away from him to fully explore potential matches."

You hummed in agreement, imagining how much easier life would be for Daphne if her older brother simply... let her be. "Is he going on a hunting trip soon?" you said hopefully.

Your best friend shook her head, still smiling at you like she was plotting something.

"What is it?" you pressed, laughing at her expression.

"Can I ask you a favor?" she said, an expectant look in her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll kill Anthony for you. I’ve only been waiting for you to ask,” you joked.

“No,” Daphne laughed. “I’m serious.”

“Go on then,” you nodded.

“Could you ask him to dance at tomorrow’s ball?”

“Me? Ask him? Are you out of your mind?” you sputtered. You had never danced with Anthony at a ball, and you couldn't fathom the first time you did so being after you were the one to ask him.

“Y/N, please. I can’t just rely on forlorn glances across the ballroom to secure suitors. I need to actually speak with them, and I won’t be able to if Anthony keeps... hovering.”

Granted, hovering was a very generous word for what Anthony was really doing. But still, you looked at her, uncertainty in your eyes. You weren’t particularly keen on asking Anthony to dance, knowing he was famously opposed to marriage at this point in his life. Yes, you had grown up around him, but that didn’t mean he was interested in you at all, and you didn’t want to face that rejection if you could avoid it.

“Don’t give me that look! I promise it’ll work,” cried Daphne, desperate. “Just tell him you feel like dancing but don’t want to give another man the wrong impression since it’s only your first season and you’re still biding your time. Most of which is true.”

She made a good point. You didn’t want the hordes of men that seemed to flock to Daphne just yet. And would one dance really hurt that much?

---

The music in the ballroom pleasantly surrounded you as you stood next to Violet. Daphne had left to dance with Lord Wilson, a bachelor of very distinguished background who seemed to be hanging onto every word your best friend said.

Just as you turned to Violet to comment on how well-suited the pair looked, Anthony stormed over to where you were standing.

"It's unbelievable that she's even giving him the time of day," he said lowly, looking wholly unimpressed by the dance happening a few feet in front of him.

You could feel Anthony growing tense beside you as the seconds ticked by, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Three seconds of his sister speaking with a man and he was ready to explode already? He was worse than you thought.

You saw Daphne lean back as she laughed at something the gentleman said, and you knew you had to act fast before Anthony intervened.

“Oh, the music is wonderful tonight! Anthony, would you care for a dance?”

He tore his gaze away from his sister and looked at you, perplexed.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“I believe I am, Anthony,” you said.

He scoffed, not quite believing you. “That is not very proper of you, Lady L/N.”

“And you are a great authority on propriety, I presume?" you said, a playful edge to your voice. "Given your… adventures as a rake, surely you have a better idea of what is proper than I do.”

Anthony choked at your bold choice of words, not used to people calling him out so publicly. “Y/N! Why do you want to dance with me then, if I'm such a rake?”

You rolled your eyes. “I just enjoy the music and want to dance. And I don’t want to give any other men the wrong impression,” you recited exactly what Daphne had told you to say.

He nodded reluctantly and took your hand. “Very well. One dance, then. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression of me either.”

This was the last time you ever did anything for Daphne. God, how difficult could one man be?

But all of your annoyance faded away once he placed his hand on your hip and spun you around. This was rather nice, you found yourself thinking. You hadn't properly danced at a ball yet, and you couldn't help but think that you'd missed out on a rather enjoyable activity.

The dance was going along quite smoothly, and you and Anthony seemed to be melting together, no longer two individuals but instead moving more like one entity. You were especially enjoying whenever his grip shifted slightly and his hand ran across the small of your back. To be truthful, you were simply having fun.

That is until you felt Anthony shifting you across the dance floor so you could get nearer to Daphne and the gentleman she was dancing with. Feeling Anthony's shoulders tense underneath your gingerly placed hands, you looked up at him.

Looking into his eyes, you raised your eyebrows. "She's fine, you know. You don't have to watch over her every second of every ball."

Anthony rolled his eyes, dismissing your comment. "Of course I do. She's my sister! I have to take care of her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her or if she ended up betrothed to a dolt."

"Anthony," you softened your tone. "It's quite alright. It's not all up to you. You've got an entire family to keep her safe. And me, of course."

You could feel his muscles relax under your hands. "Thank you," he breathed out. "I know all of that to be true. I just worry about her. And about you! But luckily there aren't many suitors of yours to scare off."

"Oh," you said, your voice squeakier than you intended. "Thank you?" you questioned. You weren't quite sure how to take his comment.

"No!" he rushed out, immediately realizing what his words sounded like. "I didn't mean it like that. Daphne had just mentioned that you're not as interested in finding someone right now since it's your first season. And I hadn't really seen you dance with anyone at one of these balls before. And-"

"It's no trouble, Anthony," you smiled, giggling at how flustered he'd gotten. "I appreciate the concern nonetheless."

He shook his head, still not believing that he'd been so rude toward you. As much as you were a familiar face around his home, he couldn't quite tease you the way he did Daphne or any of his other sisters, and he was dreadfully embarrassed that he had made you upset, even if just for a moment.

"If you ever want to dance again, just come to me, understood?" he said, his voice turning serious. "I don't need another one of you to worry about."

You could barely contain your laughter as the music came to an end. "Yes, Anthony," you said dutifully, smiling at how silly he was being.

Looking over at Daphne, you were pleased to see that everything had gone to plan and she'd had the chance to talk to Lord Wilson the entire time you'd been with her brother. It was a relief that she'd finally gotten a normal courting experience.

Before Anthony could reach her and wrench her away from her suitor, Daphne rushed over to you, grabbing your arm excitedly.

"Shall we take a turn about the ballroom?" she suggested, leaving you no room to protest as she led you away from her mother and brother.

You laughed at her excitement, glad that your best friend was finally enjoying herself.

"Thank you so much, Y/N, truly," she gushed, squeezing your arm affectionately. "That was absolutely incredible. It's the longest time I've been able to spend with a potential match without Anthony hanging over my shoulder."

"I'm happy to do it," you said amusedly. "He was that lovely, then?"

"Oh, absolutely not," she shook her head. "Lord Wilson was dreadfully boring. But at least now I know! And I don't have to pine over him or wonder what he would be like. I know for certain I'm not interested, and I can focus on finding my true love match."

"That's wonderful, Daph," you laughed. You truly held so much affection for her. It was endearing to see her so excited over spending time with a man she didn't even like.

Suddenly, Daphne slowed her pace. Turning you around, she held both of your hands and took a deep breath. "Yes, it was. Which is why I must ask you to dance with Anthony tomorrow night as well."

"What do you mean? Ask him to dance again? I thought this was only for tonight," you sounded unconvinced. Asking her brother to dance one time had already been enough of a hassle, but having to pretend to need him to dance with you once more was looking like an insurmountable challenge.

"Please, Y/N," she begged. "It's the only way I'll find a husband that isn't someone like Nigel Berbrooke," she added, whispering the last part.

It was true, Anthony seemed to have impossibly high standards that only the most unpleasant bachelor in Mayfair seemed to be able to meet. If you could do anything to protect Daphne from that unpleasant fate, you would do it.

"I suppose I could try tomorrow night. Though I can't promise he'll want to dance with me again. Anthony seemed quite reluctant tonight," you conceded.

"Nonsense," said Daphne, rolling her eyes. "Anthony loves you dearly, I can't imagine he'd ever turn you down."

"Whatever you say," you responded, unconvinced but unwilling to dampen your best friend's chipper mood. Besides, you had a wonderful time with Anthony tonight. How could another dance possibly go wrong?

—

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[startwelve]

Perfect wife… or mistress?

Pairing: Anthony Bridgertonxreader/Bedenict Bridgertonxreader Summary: You go to have tea at your friend Eloise's house, and her older brothers seem to have some interest in you. Warnings: None Note:It may be that I do two other parts, but they are two alternatives. I mean, one where you end up with Anthony and another with Benedict, if you liked how this fic turned out.

You swore you were going to pass out any minute.

An unbearable heat had settled over the City of London. And you, like all high society ladies, had splendid clothes to envy. These days you hated them.

You would quickly fan your fan of your family's distinctive color, trying not to let the sweat show on your face, as you looked out at the streets of Mayfair, sitting in your carriage. It seemed to take you forever to reach the residence of your friend Eloise Bridgerton.

You met when you were introduced into society at Queen Charlotte's ball. Your mother, as her only firstborn, was anxious to introduce you to every gentleman who came to speak to you. At first, you didn't mind, but there came a time when you felt suffocated, the corset was tighter than usual, and the sleeves of your dress itched. You needed air. When you finished dancing with a gentleman with an important title you did not know, you said goodbye and almost ran out, pretending not to.

Not far from you, a young woman was sitting on a bench, staring into the void. You recognized her, Eloise Bridgerton, sister of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and Benedict Bridgerton, you knew because you had heard your cousins talking about them, eager for one of them to be her husband.

You noticed that she looked lonely, maybe, like you, overwhelmed. Carefully, hoping not to disturb her, you approached her and greeted her with a small "hello," not knowing that it would turn into a long conversation about hating this dance and the society in which you lived, the beginning of a friendship.

And there you were, going to her residence for tea.

Inside Aubrey Hall, in the living room to be exact, they sat on the sofa, Benedict drawing on a sheet of paper and Anthony reading the newspaper. Eloise was sitting next to a table with desserts and a tea set, writing in her notebook, eagerly awaiting your arrival.

Benedict frowned at her and said with a smile, "Are you expecting a suitor, Sister?"

Eloise gave him her characteristic smile and closed her notebook.

"No, I am expecting Lady Hartford," she said.

"Who is Lady Hartford?"

"My new friend I met at Queen Charlotte's ball."

"Did she introduce herself at the ball?" asked Anthony suddenly.

Benedict laughed.

Eloise was about to answer him, but was interrupted when the servant announced your arrival. Those in the room rose, Anthony quicker. They entered and Eloise walked excitedly up to them.

Anthony and Benedict couldn't take their eyes off you. You were dazzling, exquisite, beautiful….

Anthony thought that with your beauty, you would make the perfect wife.

Benedict thought that with your beauty you would be the perfect muse.

You bowed slightly as Eloise introduced them, bringing them out of their trance. When you saw them, you agreed with your cousins. These men were attractive and a good choice for husbands. But you erased those thoughts when you remembered the reason you were invited, and that one of their sisters was your new friend.

"Eloise, your house is beautiful," you complimented.

"Thank you. Now come," Eloise said as she walked over to the table of desserts and tea.

"The heat is unbearable," you complained. You grabbed the cup, took a sip and asked, "Did any suitors visit you today?"

"Fortunately not you?"

"Yes, five," you replied, laughing as you remembered what one of them told you. "One told my mother that my hips were perfect for having heirs."

You and Eloise laughed out loud. Anthony looked up and looked at you slyly, wanting to check if the comment was true.

"Are you thinking of accepting any proposals?" asked Eloise.

"Yes. I am a woman and the only daughter of a widowed mother. It is my duty to accept any proposal." This statement did not please Eloise, "Of course, I have certain requirements for my future husband."

"Which ones?"

You began to list them… many, drawing the attention of two brothers.

Could it be that you would be the perfect wife… or mistress?

[iistoleyawaffle]

Regine and her bestie Judith drinking smoothies and going for a jog around Britechester. While wearing their new activewear by:

@caio-cc and @joliebean

Selfie in front of Judith’s home❤️

Mayfair Residence by @farfallasims

[mielpetite]

Night Bright as Day, Vol. 3 - 5

Come on Crowley, you can’t feel things like that outside where you’re vulnerable, go back in! 😅

Note: About the addresses- I’m sure they’re terribly wrong but I had to put something on the envelope. The 19 I stole from the address of the place that inspired the bookshop though I don’t remember seeing a street number in the show. And Duke Street is a place with a lot of posh residences in Mayfair. 🤷

If you want to see advance pages of this story, please consider joining my Patreon. For just $2 a month you get access to oodles of lovingly crafted, tasty Good Omens content… if you’re into that sort of thing, give it a try!

[rococo4thesims]

✨ Hastings House ✨

The Duke & Duchess of Hasting's Mayfair residence. The ballroom as seen in season 1 episode 8 was by far my favorite part of this build. I love how the checkered dance floor contrasts with the beautiful stonework! This took a bit longer than expected as I also created the custom portrait of the Duke & Duchess.  

The frame used in creating the Duke And Duchess’ portrait is based from @anachrosims Baroque Era Portraits!

Enjoy!

✨ Download HERE ✨ Download The Duke & Duchess of Hastings HERE ✨

Become a Patreon HERE ✨

Early access, Public release September 7th

[profmagix]

"In the wake of your leave"

Jophiel was lying down on the couch in the antique shop, he would have known three days had passed since Azazel left for Heaven had he been counting.

He frankly didn't really know why he kept returning, or why he kept staying at the shop after such big heartbreak happened in this very location; but he's a creature of habit, and the comfort it brings him outweighs the pain so he rests here. If you were to ask him why he was here, he probably would just answer that this place feels warmer, it gets more sun and is more cozy than his Mayfair apartment.

The truth was, even after its return to his possession, he still feels empty there. He had moved most of the plants inside of Azazel's living space, he had even somehow found a cardigan that would match his aesthetics hung on a door he could see (now that he thinks about it, was that a subtle gift that Azazel left for him? he feels suddenly way sadder) and has assimilated this space as his 'rest' space. Even though he doesn't really *do* rest anymore, he could only get himself to get some shut eye around Azazel, which Jophiel finds a little embarrassing but that's the only way he truly felt safe anywhere, really.

The sofa didn't feel Heavenly at all, nor did it feel especially Demonic... It just was a plain human annoyance that got created to annoy him in this specific moment.

The moment being: three days after Azazel left for Heaven.

Jophiel should probably start calling him his angelic name once more, right? But he can't really bring himself to say it, because right when he is about to remember it: it escapes him. Azazel is so ingrained into his psyche, as himself, as an angelic being; that him not being *Azazel* feels foreign...

(That or it's just the Metatron somehow impairing his praying ability to his old (is old the right word here?) friend.)

As Jophiel is to continue wallowing on the humanly annoying couch, he hears a bell chime. He is getting up quickly, his legs splay out a little as he's about to chase the customer off, but all he sees is starkly white envelope laid before the shop's doors.

He looked around outside but all he found were people just walking down the street, not really paying attention to him.

The letter, aside from being a white one could only describe as retina damaging, there was nothing else on it nor specifically adressed to him or the bookshop... Jophiel was hesitant for a second, maybe he should leave it for the other resident of the shop to collect; but he felt this urge to open it, as if it was for him.

Fortunetely (or unfortunately), it was for him. He tried not to let any teardrops drop onto the picture inside the envelope.

Of course he recognised it, he knew what this was. And he hated it.

After Azazel left him to go to Heaven, he shouldn't have the right to contact Jophiel, especially with such an intense moment.

He hated it. He hated that he did it, he hated that he was ok with pointing a gun at him, he hated that with one word he was able to erase most of his stress and follow through with a promise. The trick played spectacularly, but that didn't erase the nerves he had, and then later with the whole kerfuffle with the zombies and the tricks and the dinner.... He hated everything about that night.

(He hated that he had to lie to himself about the feelings he had.)

Jophiel kept relatively calm, he took the picture out and turned it in his hand, nothing abnormal about it aside from the wear and tear from all these years being in Azazel's possession. (He hated that he found it endearing.)

He recalled the words of that night, of trusting one and letting them do their work.

He wishes he could go up to Heaven and just scream at Azazel to finally let Jophiel love him without remorse, to trust that he was going to be protected like always.

He wishes he could go up to Heaven and just scream at Azazel to finally let Jophiel love him without remorse, to trust that he was going to be protected like always. That Jophiel was willing to fall from Grace if it meant that their love didn't need to be hidden. Either way, he'd still be on his own side; but somehow Azazel still saw Jophiel as still part of Heaven, as an angelic angel that never did wrong against anyone.

He wishes Azazel would have trusted him with the decision to love and cherish him, but all that happened was Azazel going back to Heaven and he hated it.

He hated he didn't get to say I love you, or he didn't get to say anything (do anything) that mattered enough for Azazel to stay.

Jophiel hates Heaven, Jophiel wishes he could hate Azazel (he never will, anyway).

A little writing prompt and drawing I made inspired by @asleepyy 's Oopsie Omens AU and this week's prompt challange in the OO discord too!! Had a lot of fun doing both of these :)

[drconstellation]

Obligatory Reminders and Crossing the Lines

Have you been wondering why Shax tries to do a mail delivery to Crowley as he escorts the shop keepers to safety from Aziraphale's Eldritch Ball? It seems a pretty random thing to do at that moment.

SHAX: I brought your mail. CROWLEY: Why? SHAX: It stacks up by the front door. CROWLEY: Keep it for now, not a good time.

It's not the first time Shax has tried to give Crowley his mail. We first see her hand a pile over on the park bench in S2E1, while they have an introductory spy vs. spy catch up, in St James Park.

SHAX: I brought your mail. CROWLEY: Anything interesting? SHAX: Bills, mostly. I don't understand why they won't just deliver them to your car. CROWLEY: Send the bills to Hell's finance office. SHAX: I did. They say they can't accept my signature as your replacement.

Bills, mostly. That aren't being accepted by Hell's finance office, unless Crowley signs them. And they expect to find him in the official residence of Hell's ambassador plenipotentiary to this corner of Earth, in Mayfair.

Next, we see Crowley redefining all that mail as "junk" and discarding it.

uh huh. Lets ignore the conveniently placed disposal unit for the moment...

We need to stop and define what those "bills" actually are. Because they are not actually the financial type of bills. Well, they could be. But this is the GOmens AU, so they have a second meaning as well. Paying your bills is also meeting your duties and obligations to another party, and this is something Crowley is refusing to do right now.

I don't think its as simple as Hell being short staffed and they just haven't got around to doing the change over (I know I suggested the latter recently, sorry) and that's why they aren't recognizing Shax's signature. It's that Hell actually hasn't let Crowley go - he is still "on the books," so to speak, despite all that has been said and done since the Nope-ocalypse. He might call himself a "former demon," and he might call Hell his "former side," but that is definitely NOT how Hell sees it, despite the fact they aren't harassing him or giving him tasks to do.

Actually, that should be haven't been harassing him, because since Gabriel "disappeared," they have been back on his case. The mail is a warning sign, but Lord Beelzebub's summons really should have given you the chills.

Crowley protests that they had a "generalized understanding" that he would be left alone, but Beelzebub declares that "we don't."

Ah. So all is not as it appears. They are just playing nice because they want something (Gabriel) and in reality Crowley's position in relation to Hell really is fragile. Yet outwardly he seems more worried about Aziraphale.

It goes downhill from here. Shax begins to stalk him.

This image of Shax is just delish. The sharp "V" of her her decolletage reminds us of a stork's bill, her avatar animal, and it's stabbing down at the snake on her belt. She might be seeking the Frog Prince who escaped Heaven but she's also got a certain snake in her sights.

Shax can't can't cross the threshold of the bookshop without an invitation from Aziraphale. This plays into the old belief that supernatural creatures such as vampires, demons and faeries can only enter a house if invited in. We also see this extended to the Bentley, once "ownership" is extended to the angel, but the door of the bookshop is the important border here for now.

Then have this threat of war being declared:

War on Aziraphale, not Crowley, as they still consider Crowley to be on Hell's side. They don't see it the way Crowley does as Us and Them, to Shax there is still only Heaven and Hell.

So we come back to the second round of mail delivery:

Crowley is about to escort the human shopkeepers to safety and Shax confronts Crowley right on the threshold with his duties and obligations. He really doesn't want to have that conversation right now, not here and not with Shax. As far as he is concerned, he has no obligations to Hell any more, and he's not taking any notice of their demands in any form, either, so Shax may as well just get out of the way and take the mail with them.

And with that, Crowley crosses the threshold, leading the humans out.

At this point in the story you might be asking what's the big deal about that? Crowley has been going in and out over that doorstep several times a day lately, and has crossed it hundreds of times over the last couple of centuries since the bookshop was built. It's not a barrier to him.

The significance of this boundary line has been highlighted to us in S2. We have Shax actually telling us that she knows she can't cross the "threshold" in S2E3, then she asks again in S2E5 where the boundary line is just before Mr Brown is hauled off into the demon Legion. But its even more than that.

On one level its the line that Crowley has drawn for himself. He's not going back to Hell if he can at all help it, and he's quite resolute about that. It's his side or no one's side, from there on in. He reinforces that when talking to Aziraphale in the Final Fifteen.

On another level, I'm wondering if we could consider this a step on the eponymous Hero's Journey? Crossing the Threshold is one of the early stages of the journey where the hero crosses into danger or the unknown. We're shown things aren't normal outside by the mist and green light. Then he diverts off unexpectedly to Heaven with Muriel. Just throwing it out there to see if its worth exploring a bit further. I'd say we've only got the early stages of the journey in S2, with the remainder to come in S3.

[bonvoyageservices]

Grand Residences By Marriott London 47

47 Park Street Mayfair London - Grand Residences By Marriott London 47 gives you the use of serviced apartments in London's luxurious Mayfair at a fraction of the cost of whole ownership. Call us today at +9715515266880 for bookings.

[horeformilfs]

MASTERLIST

Requests: Open

Request Guidelines

RESIDENT EVIL: VILLAGE

Mother Miranda

Pray

Little Crow

Dove

Blood and Broken Art

Alcina Dimitrescu

Scars

Grieving

An Eye for an Eye Makes the Whole World Blind

Sacrifices in the Name of Love

Blood Bag

Miracina

Rescued From the Nightmare

Bela Dimitrescu

Mistakes

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Shattered Past

Unsheathed Fears

Daniela Dimitrescu

Secrets

Dimitrescu Sisters

Soulmates (In Progress)

Dimitrescu Family

Searching for Home

I'll Protect You...Because I Love You

A Family's Embrace

Donna Beneviento

Flowers

Mine

Lullaby

BRIDGERTON:

Violet Bridgerton

AMERICAN HORROR STORY:

Cordelia Goode

Ally Mayfair-Richards

Billie Dean Howard

Lana Winters

Wilhelmina Venable

Multi Character

Saviors

GLASS:

Dr. Ellie Staple

RATCHED:

Mildred Ratched

WINX CLUB:

Icy

I Told the Moon about You

Darcy

Stormy

The Trix

Its Okay to Feel

SCHOOL FOR GOOD AND EVIL:

Lady Lesso

Little Raven

Stubborn Little Princess

Trials of the Blue Forest

Crush?

Love and Comfort

Constellations of Love

Silent Resonance

Clarissa Dovey

Dovesso

HARRY POTTER:

Narcissa Malfoy/Black

Christmas Blues

Bellatrix Lestrange/Black

MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE:

Wanda Maximoff

Natasha Romanoff

WandaNat

Save me

PEAKY BLINDERS:

Polly Gray

MOTHERFATHERSON:

Kathryn Villiers

WEDNESDAY:

Larissa Weems

Morticia Addams

ACTRESSES:

Helen McCrory

Starving

Drowning

Helena Bonham Carter

I Don't Know How to Be Okay

Comfort

Elizabeth Olsen

Grieving

Cate Blanchett

Breath

Sarah Paulson

Tired

A Mother's Love

Charlize Theron

Scarlett Johansson

Keeping You Safe

Emily Blunt

Gwendoline Christie

Kathryn Hahn

Jessica Chastain

Catherine Zeta-Jones

Avoidance

[helloalycia]

𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐑 [𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄] // 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐀𝐘 𝐁𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐃

summary: with everything left in limbo between you and Lucy Gray, there's no chance to talk about it because reaping day is finally upon you.

warning/s: usual warnings that come with the Hunger Games, such as death and violence and all that jazz. Also cheating, again.

author's note: and this is the final part! it was a fun one to write so i hope you all enjoyed it! kinda have an idea for another lucy gray one but whether it’s fully thought out is another thing, so stay tuned! 😂

one / two / masterlist / wattpad

As if things weren't bad enough lately, the Hunger Games reaping day was finally upon us. Every year I tried so hard to forget it existed, knowing the results would be inevitable and I should just make the most of my life without worrying about it, and every year I found myself growing scared the few days leading up to it, mainly because it meant it was one year closer to Y/S/N being old enough to have her name in the mix.

My parents, Y/S/N and I were approaching the square where the reaping took place, neither of us saying a word, but I could see their fear in their eyes. Y/S/N was holding my hand, trembling slightly, and I hated that there was nothing I could do to put her at ease.

My eyes raked over the residents of District 12, all getting in line as the peacekeepers kept guard, and then Y/S/N tugged at my hand, making me look down at her with concern. She nodded to the left of me, where the Covey were getting ready to line up. Barb Azure was the eldest at nineteen, so gave them all a big squeeze with Maude Ivory before leaving them to go. I caught her gaze and she gave me a sad smile, nodding reassuringly, and I did the same. Maude Ivory seemed to spot Y/S/N and lifted her hand in a slow wave. I noticed the only person who was missing from their group was Lucy Gray. Where was she?

"Why don't you go stand with Maude Ivory?" I encouraged Y/S/N with my best attempt at a smile. "Her and Barb Azure are probably lonely."

Y/S/N glanced at our parents, who seemed to understand what I was doing and nodded with approval.

"Good luck, Y/N," Y/S/N mumbled as she hugged me tightly once more, and I almost didn't let go.

After she ran to join the others, I gave both my parents a final hug, pretending I couldn't notice the tears in their eyes, and watched as they joined the rest of the crowd at the back, made up of those either too young or too old to take part.

As I turned to find my place in line, Lucy Gray suddenly appeared, startling me. I hadn't seen her since a few days ago when she kissed me, and it had ended so awkwardly that I still wasn't sure what to think. But right now, it was the last thing on my mind.

"Just wanted to see you before it starts," she said kindly, and my heart warmed at her words.

"How are you feeling?" I asked her, noticing the frown on her lips, and it looked like something more than just everyone's usual fear of the Games.

She sighed, looking down at her fumbling hands, before avoiding the question and instead saying, "I'm sorry about the other day, Y/N. I really am."

I lifted my brows slightly, not expecting her to bring it up, especially not now.

"Thanks for everything," she continued, a tight smile on her lips. "For being there for me."

"What?" I asked, because she wasn't making any sense. "Lucy Gray, I–"

She hugged me suddenly, arms wrapping around my shoulders briefly, but long enough for me to smell the spritz of an old floral perfume on her neck and make my head go cloudy. Leaning back, she kissed my cheek before I could react, and gave me a knowing look as my skin warmed where her lips just were.

"Remember to stay away from Billy Taupe and Mayfair," she reminded me sternly. "You promised, remember?"

I furrowed my brows, searching her eyes for some sort of explanation to why she was acting so strangely. "Lucy Gray–"

"In line, both of you, now," a peacekeeper interrupted, pushing between us and shoving me slightly to the others.

I tried to look at Lucy Gray once more, but she offered me a slight smile before joining her line. I told myself I'd have to talk to her afterwards, but then as the reaping took place, I realised why she'd been so confusing.

She was to represent District Twelve in the Hunger Games.

I could hardly believe it, not when the mayor called her name out on the stage, not when she threw a snake down Mayfair's dress, not when she sang her song of defiance, and not when they whisked her away, never to be seen again.

She knew she was going to be chosen. I wasn't sure how, but she'd figured it out, already prepared to go out with a bang, in typical Lucy Gray fashion.

It wasn't fair. All because Mayfair held a pathetic grudge, she'd made sure Lucy Gray paid the price – it had to be that, otherwise what was the need for the snake? And now I was never going to see her again. After everything, I couldn't talk to her, hear her voice, see her pretty little smile, ever again.

Why?

I was hurting, still in disbelief but knowing the Covey were even worse for wear, definitely unable to accept that their sister was truly gone. Unfortunately, I had to work that evening, but the Covey weren't performing tonight. There was nothing to celebrate, and even the Hob itself was emptier than usual, nobody quite in the mood to remember the stolen life of another.

Instead, the Covey were sat at a table in the corner, saying nothing and looking distraught. I wasn't sure what to do to make them feel better because how could they? All I knew how to do was be a waitress, so Miles let me bring them some fruity, non-alcoholic drinks on the house, a rarity and a treat, but one they definitely needed right now.

"Hey, guys," I said, tray in hand as I approached their table. Setting it down, I began to share out the drinks one by one.

"We can't afford that," Barb Azure mumbled, and neither of them touched it.

"It's my treat," I said sympathetically. "Thought it might make you feel a bit better."

"How are we supposed to feel better when she's gone?!" Maude Ivory snapped in a broken voice, before jumping off her seat and walking away.

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling stupid as I looked to the others. "Sorry, I– she's right. I didn't mean it like–"

"Don't, it's okay," Tam Amber cut me off with an apologetic glance. "We're just missin' her. It's hit Maude Ivory hard."

I pressed my lips together, nodding sadly.

"Thanks, Y/N, we appreciate it," Barb Azure added, offering a small smile, before taking a sip.

"If you need anything, just let me know," I told them earnestly. "I'll be here for you."

They nodded, and I reluctantly left them to it, knowing they probably wanted some space.

There had never been a winner from District 12, and I hated that that's all I kept thinking as I thought about Lucy Gray in the Games. She could still win, there was a chance she could, but she was a performer, not a fighter. Her chances were slim. There, but slim.

We couldn't watch the Games, the Covey and I – nobody in District 12 could. The reception was simply terrible, no matter how hard we tried to tune in. There was one evening however, when Y/S/N and I were at the Covey's home. We'd been visiting them often the past few days, both to cheer Y/S/N up and to simply be there for them, but this night was different. Tam Amber had been able to get some signal on their small TV, using a lot of tinfoil and taking advantage of the clear night.

"It's on! It's on!" Maude Ivory shouted, pointing at the screen. "Don't move!"

Tam Amber held his position on the antenna, tilting his head to get a good look at the screen. Clerk Carmine turned up the volume and I wasn't sure what we were watching at first, unfamiliar with the Hunger Games as we rarely had access to it. And then I noticed the expensive clothing, the bright lights, the witty presenter – it was in the Capitol. Some sort of interviews were taking place between the tributes. A girl from District 11 was finishing up her interview and we all watched with slight amazement, rarely seeing anything like it.

A spotlight shone onstage and the audience fell quiet. It was quiet, before the familiar sound of a guitar strumming sounded, and to everyone's disbelief, Lucy Gray walked out into the centre of the stage.

"Lucy Gray!" everyone said with realisation.

It was her! It was really her! Only a few days had passed since she'd been stolen away, but it felt like forever without her energetic presence alongside us. My heart was beating exceptionally fast as I studied her. She was wearing the same dress she wore on reaping day, but it looked as if it had been cleaned, ironed and made brighter – a white dress with vibrant rainbow ruffles at the bottom, only the brightest for someone who loved colour. Her lips were painted red, eyes dusted blue, and she looked as well as could be, though a little slimmer. I wondered if they were feeding her, concerned it could hinder her in the Games.

Her voice started soft, gradually growing strong as she sung about herself and a mystery lover, whom everyone soon realised was Billy Taupe. And as she finished her hauntingly beautiful song – "Too bad I'm the bet that you lost in the reaping. Now what will you do when I go to my grave?" – we realised she'd only confirmed our suspicions of it being because of him and Mayfair that Lucy Gray was chosen as a tribute.

"It's their fault," Clerk Carmine said what everyone was thinking, upset as it dawned on him what kind of brother he had. "He let this happen."

Y/S/N wrapped an arm around his shoulder comfortingly as we all watched the screen, the cutaways to the audience cheering after her performance. And then as we were all savouring the sight of Lucy Gray for a little longer, the signal cut out.

"Sorry," Tam Amber said with a sigh, stopping his stretching and sighing. "It's not gonna work."

"It's fine, thank you," Barb Azure told him.

Nobody spoke for a moment, the sound of the static the only thing to fill the room. If it was interviews today, then the Hunger Games would officially begin tomorrow.

She'd be fighting for her life tomorrow, and there was nothing we could do about it.

The Games ended yesterday, that's what rumours around town were saying, but nobody knew for sure since nobody could watch them, and so nobody knew who'd won either. I was trying not to think about it, unsure whether to believe it they'd truly ended or not. For all I knew, they could have still been going on, or they could have ended days ago. Either way, the last thing I wanted to imagine was Lucy Gray battered or bloodied or bruised.

Instead, I tried to distract myself with the job at hand – working. In particular, throwing some old beer crates out back in the bins as Miles had asked me to. I was on the third one, carrying it from the backdoor of the Hob and to the bins next to it when I felt someone's presence behind me. Curious, I turned around and my jaw dropped, the crate almost slipping from my grasp.

It was Lucy Gray.

"Hey, darlin', what's with the long face?" she asked, tilting her head and smiling playfully.

I blinked, certain I was imagining this – it wouldn't have been the first time she'd infiltrated my dreams. But when she didn't disappear, I found my voice.

"You're back," I said hesitantly, afraid I'd be mistaken. "You're here. You're– how? How are you here?"

"Why, I won the Hunger Games, of course," she said like it was nothing, an easy accomplishment, which we both knew it wasn't. "Turns out I wasn't finished here after all."

Her statement was so insane that I couldn't help but let out a quiet snicker, tears filling my eyes when I accepted that she was finally home. She'd done the impossible – she'd won.

Setting down the crate, I swallowed the lump in my throat before approaching her suddenly, pulling her in for a hug. She was here, she was real, she was home.

Her arms wrapped around me, squeezing me tightly, head tucking into my shoulder and curly brown hair blinding me. Every part of me was ignited by her touch, unable to believe she was actually here.

I wanted to say so much to her, and yet nothing came to mind because I was too overwhelmed with her presence, my senses invaded by her scent, her warmth, her touch. Just when I tried to pull back to truly look at her, she pulled me closer, tighter, and I couldn't do anything other than let her embrace me a little longer.

After a moment, I pulled back, eyes scanning her worriedly. She looked a little tired, circles under her eyes covered by makeup, and her hands were tougher than usual – I felt them through my shirt – no doubt a result of what she'd endured in the arena. But she was alive, and that was all I could have asked for.

"When?" I asked, voice embarrassingly thick with emotion. "When did you get back?"

"Midday," she answered, brown eyes bright as they flickered between mine with focus. "I went straight home after they sent me here on a train. Reunited with the family. Counted my lucky stars."

I smiled a little, still in disbelief, and hung onto her every word.

"Then I wanted to come 'n' see you," she continued lightheartedly, though there was some truth to it. "See if you'd forgotten about me."

I began to laugh, wiping away my stray tears. "I could never, Lucy Gray. Nobody could."

She smiled appreciatively, before looking down at her hands, long eyelashes casting a shadow across her face as she blinked. I could have watched her for a while, merely existing, glad that she was back, but she needed more than just another admirer right now.

"I won't ask you what it was like over there," I said gently, making her look up again. "I can imagine you don't wanna talk about it. But if you do, well... I'm here."

She exhaled through her nose, smile widening. "You haven't changed a bit, have you?"

I didn't know what to say, suddenly embarassed under her stare, and she chuckled at my reaction.

Clearing my throat, I changed the subject and pointed over my shoulder to the Hob. "Are you staying tonight?"

Her eyes flickered over to it, lighting up excitedly. "I might perform a few songs, why not?"

At this, I suppressed the urge to smile and admitted, "That would be nice. I missed hearing your voice. I– I missed you."

Her eyes fell back to mine, smile faltering a moment. "Even after how we left things?"

Our last encounter before the reaping came to mind, and I nodded honestly. "Especially after that."

She hummed, smile fading completely, and I wondered if she was thinking about it too.

"I've been so worried," I admitted, my heart beating a little quicker in my chest with each word I spoke. "We all have. But the TVs didn't work and the peacekeepers wouldn't tell us anything."

"I didn't mean to worry you," she said sweetly, taking my hand and squeezing it. "The Covey said you and Y/S/N checked in with them whilst I was gone. You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did," I said, placing my other hand on hers and taking it between mine.

She glanced at her hand, making me realise I was still holding it, and I let go gently.

"I should go home and get ready," she said with a nod. "But I'll see you in a few hours, Y/N."

"Can't wait." 

Her smile widened and she turned to leave, my eyes unable to look away from her retreating figure for fear she'd only be a dream.

As promised though, she returned to the Hob a few hours later, and by then, word had spread fast about her victory and return. The Hob was bustling with people, all unable to believe Lucy Gray was finally back. Even Mayfair and Billy Taupe were there, mainly in disbelief that she'd survived, but I tried not to focus on them since they didn't matter anymore. They couldn't do a thing anymore.

The Covey hadn't performed since Lucy Gray left, so everyone was in for a real treat when they kicked off with her introduction. Spirits were high, drinks were flowing and I couldn't have been happier than when I saw Lucy Gray back onstage, where she belonged.

We'd left things in a strange place, but it all seemed so futile now. My heart was full of adoration for the Covey girl, and maybe it was time I just started listening to it instead of overcomplicating everything. 

It was a long evening, and by the time I'd finally finished cleaning up with Miles, we both left and waved goodbye to one another, my feet hurting from standing on them for so long. Only, as I was about to start my walk back to the Seam, I spotted Lucy Gray waiting outside, startling me.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said between a laugh. "I didn't mean to scare you."

Hand to my chest as I regained composure, I said, "No, it's fine. It's... what are you still doing here? It's been half an hour."

When her and the Covey had finished performing for the evening, it had been too busy for me to spare a moment to say goodbye to them, so I'd just assumed Lucy Gray had gone home with them.

"I was waiting for you," she said simply, and I instantly felt bad.

"If I'd known, I would have hurried," I said, stepping towards her.

"It's okay, I didn't want you to rush," she assured me, before shrugging. "I missed you. It's been too long and I just wanted to walk you home."

My expression softened at her words, a warmth spreading in my chest. "You don't need to," I told her.

"I want to."

I pressed my lips together, exhaling quietly, before nodding and readjusting the strap of my bag on my shoulder. She flashed me a stunning smile before joining my side and leading the way.

"You did great tonight," I said to her, glancing over and trying to ignore the flutter in my chest at her profile. "Your songs, your spirit – everything."

Her smile grew. "Thank you, that means a lot. I guess I just really missed performin'. It's not the same as singin' for the Capitol."

"Tam Amber managed to get signal one night," I said without thinking. "The night of the interviews. We just about caught yours. Your song."

She sighed, her smile fading into more of a grimace as she remembered, and I felt bad for bringing it up.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to remind you," I quickly said, frowning. "I– never mind that."

"It's not so easy bein' back after everything," she admitted, looking to me, before stopping walking all of a sudden, I stopped too, and then she continued, "but I've realised a lot of things."

I furrowed my brows slightly. "Like what?"

She clenched her jaw, before her dark eyes met mine with conviction. "I didn't kiss you because you were Billy Taupe's replacement."

Surprised she'd bought it up, I asked, "What?"

She didn't dare look away as she answered, "Back before the reaping. When I kissed you at the bonfire. It– it wasn't me confusin' my feelings or usin' you, and I'm sorry if I made you feel that way."

I wasn't sure what to say at first, unable to make sense of what she was admitting. Because if that was the case, then that meant she liked me, and how could that be?

"It's okay," I said slowly, heart rate beginning to speed up as she held my gaze. "It's history now."

"I don't want it to be," she said desperately. "I missed you so much, Y/S/N. I was there and– and all I was thinkin' about was the Covey, your sister and you. All of you, and how I had to get back to you all." She swallowed hard, stepping closer. "With you, I need to clear the air. Because after everything, I've learnt that life is too short and too tender to let things slip by. And I've fallen for you, Y/N. Deeply. And you just– you need to know that that's why I kissed you. Nothin' more, nothin' less."

Frozen in place, I hoped she couldn't hear my heart hammering in my chest, or feel the shivers on my skin from the warmth emanating from hers. She was stood so close, enough for me to make out the tears pooling in her eyes, and I didn't know what to do. This whole time, she liked me. I wasn't a fool for thinking so – Billy Taupe had been wrong. All this time, I'd had a chance and it was almost ruined because of my own stupidity and insecurities.

"What are you thinkin'?" she asked between a halfhearted chuckle, a tear slipping from her eyes. "You're stuck in your head again, darlin'."

"I'm sorry, I–"

"Don't be sorry," she said, taking a step back, and she'd misinterpreted where I was going with this.

"No, I mean, I–" I began, but the words were lost on my tongue, and the more she looked disappointed, the stupider I felt. "I didn't know, Lucy Gray. I didn't expect it. Billy Taupe, he–"

Another of her tears fell, and I groaned quietly to myself, shaking my head. Why would I have ever listened to him in the first place?

"I'm sorry," I repeated, meeting her gaze with the utmost sincerity and guilt. "I should have never listened to the likes of him."

It was her turn to be confused. "What do you mean?"

"I let him get in my head," I admitted, cheeks heating with embarrassment. "He convinced me that you were using me as a replacement for him. That you only liked me because–" I stopped myself, it sounding stupid when I said it aloud, especially to the girl in question. "It was stupid. You would never do such a thing, I should've never listened to him."

She frowned, trying to find my eyes, but I was too embarrassed to look at her. "That sounds like him. I'm sorry he did that."

"No, I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head and getting stuck in my own head again. "I ruined this, and then you left, and all I kept thinking about was how I let you go, and if you didn't come back then–" I paused, frowning to myself, before finally lifting my eyes to meet hers. "I've always liked you, Lucy Gray, but so does everyone else. And I didn't wanna be just another Lucy Gray admirer. But you saying this– meaning this– it's just– you're just– it– you can't–"

She began to smile, nodding. "I get it."

I stopped talking, flustered and embarrassed and unsure what else to say or do, because after so long, the girl I liked actually liked me back.

She stepped toward, hand lifting to my cheek and cupping it gently, and I practically held my breath as her glassy eyes met mine. Then, she looked down to my lips and leaned in, kissing me.

Unlike last time, I let myself enjoy it, closing my eyes and kissing her back. Her lips were soft, sweet like her lip balm, and fit perfectly against mine. This couldn't be real, she couldn't be real. After everything that happened, she was here and I was getting a second chance. How?

After a moment, we both pulled away for air, though she didn't let go of my face just yet, nor I with my hands on her waist. I opened my eyes, submerged in pools of brown, and forgot how to speak, lips tingling where hers just were.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," she said quietly, thumb tracing my lips gently, and sending shivers all over my body. "I thought I ruined it, the last time. Lost you for good."

I shook my head. "I don't think you ever could, Lucy Gray."

A smile formed on her face, and then a laugh escaped her lips, and she looked at me once more, making me feel like the most important person in the world.

She kissed me again, and I wondered what I'd done to be so lucky.