#anthony bridgerton x original character

[peterpparkrr]

(Not) the same as it was - Ch. 5 | A Bridgerton Series

Series: (Not) the same as it was

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x OFC (Josephine Wescott)

Word Count: 1.9k

Summary: A young Anthony and Jo are reunited in the aftermath of Edmund Bridgerton’s death. In 1814, Anthony Bridgerton tries to make amends. 

A/N: We're back! Apologies for the heartbreak in this chapter (but perhaps the angst makes way for a lil something-something?)

previous part // next part

series masterlist

Aubrey Hall, Kent, 1803 

“Oh, Anthony,” Josephine murmured as she embraced Anthony tightly. “I am so sorry.”

Josephine’s family returned to Kent as soon as word came. Mrs. Saville, Jo’s mother, was eager to be by Violet’s side and support her closest friend through this loss. And Jo was desperate to see Anthony. 

Josephine had never experienced a loss. Not one of this magnitude. But she could only imagine that it was devastating for Anthony. She wanted to support him through this grief. They would be sharing their lives together, and she was desperate to prove that she was up for helping Anthony shoulder this burden.

“There are some things that we need to speak of,” Anthony replied.

Jo nodded as she let go of Anthony. She’d barely noticed that Anthony hadn’t truly embraced her in return until she moved to take his arm and realized he hadn’t offered it to her. 

Instead, they walked separately as Anthony led them into the side gardens of the Bridgerton estate. 

“Whatever I can do to help you, Anthony, please, say the word,” Josephine told him as they moved away from the house.

“Yes, exactly,” Anthony replied as he stopped walking, turning to Jo abruptly.

“I cannot marry you.”

Jo merely stared at Anthony in shock.

“I’m so sorry, Jo, believe me, I am, I didn’t intend to string you along,” Anthony continued. “But trust me, this will be better for us both in the long run.”

Jo, for perhaps the first time in her life, did not speak. Her mouth remained uncharacteristically closed as her expression shifted from one of confusion and shock to poorly restrained sadness as she realized this wasn’t some sort of poorly executed joke, nor was it a mere deference of their inevitable marriage. 

He was throwing her off.

“One day you will thank me for this,” Anthony added.

Jo’s head had begun to shake as she still struggled to form words, her thoughts and fears prompting a loose ramble as she tried to understand what was happening.

“No, Anthony, I love you, I- I’ll wait as long as you need, I’ll be patient and when you’re ready then we can-”

“No,” Anthony stated firmly. Harsher than he’d intended to. It felt like a slap across Jo’s face. “I will never marry you.”

“But…,” Jo stuttered.

“I don’t love you,” Anthony told Jo. It was almost impossible for Anthony to get out the lie. But he needed Josephine to let him go. And this would do it. He was certain of it. Even if the barbed words scarred his own mouth as he spat them out.

It would break her heart. And his heart too. But it would save her from a lifetime of regret. From the complete and utter destruction that his mother was currently experiencing. 

She would thank him. One day. When he left this earth and she was still here.

Anthony’s mother was practically comatose. She hadn’t left her chambers since it had happened. She wouldn’t speak. Barely ate. The doctor was still unsure of whether or not the baby would live.

Anthony refused to put Jo through that. 

He loved her, so he needed to let her go.

“I have much to attend to so I will take my leave,” Anthony said as he tried not to look into Jo’s face, to be faced with her silent tears. 

“Goodbye, Jo,” He added before he turned and made his way back to Aubrey Hall, turning his back on her.

And Jo stood in the Bridgerton’s garden, watching Anthony disappear through the door before she finally felt her legs give out from under her as she fell to the ground and a sob broke through her chest.

He had never looked back.

It was weeks later that Anthony and Jo spoke again. Josephine had tried to speak to him at Edmund’s funeral, but Anthony had resoundly ignored her. After that, she’d resigned herself to the fact that Anthony would not change his mind. Not anytime soon. And though her mother would be staying to support Violet, she insisted that Jo and her father needed to return to London. 

Jo had been out on a morning ride when she spotted Anthony out on his own early morning ride. Before it had been improper for the two of them to ride together alone, they’d frequently shared early morning rides through their families' property. 

“My father and I are returning to London, tomorrow,” Josephine called out to Anthony as she cantered her horse toward him. 

“Safe travels,” He replied with a polite nod.

“Do you have anything else you wish to say to me?” Jo asked. She didn’t hide her disbelief. She didn’t want to. And she couldn’t have if she tried. 

She and Anthony had known each other their entire lives. She’d never once expected him to ignore her. To act as if they were strangers.

“Not particularly, is there something you wish for me to say?” Anthony asked.

“No, I suppose not,” Josephine replied with a hiss. 

“Goodbye, Anthony,” She muttered before she urder her horse foward and took off back toward her house. 

Saville House, London, 1814

“Anthony,” Jo stated as she looked up from her correspondence in surprise. She had been so focued on her letter that she’s heard her butler announce someone but hadn’t been listening to the name until she look up to see Anthony Bridgerton standing before her. “What are you doing here?” 

“Lady Wescott,” He greeted her with a small bow.

Anthony hadn’t been to Jo’s family’s London house in over ten years. Not much had changed. It was small and cozy.   

“I felt I owed you an apology,” Anthony told Jo as he stood awkwardly in the middle of he sitting room. “The things that I said yesterday were… unkind.”

“Yes,” Jo replied with a nod of agreement. “They were.”

“And I am sorry,” Anthony replied.

Jo nodded, quietly waiting for him to continue.

“You said things that were unkind as well,” Anthony added when Jo didn’t reply.

“You want me to apologize to you?” Jo asked as her eyebrows shot up.

“Well,” Anthony stammered.

“You are a ridiculous man, Anthony,” Jo replied as she shook her head in disbelief. “After everything you haven’t changed a bit.”

She should have realized that Anthony would expect an apology of his own. He could never uflly own up to his mistakes, why would he start now.

“We both said things that we regret,” Anthony reiterated.

“We? The two of us are not a unit, Anthony, you made certain of that,” Jo muttered as she pressed a hand to the top of her head. “I told you what you needed to hear.”

“We’ve both made mistakes in the past, Jo, and you know that the same as I,” Anthony replied. Why was she being so impossible? If anyone hadn’t changed since they were young, it was Jo. She could never just let things go, could she? The stubborn little minx. 

“We were both foolish and young! You expect me to believe your marriage was a happy one? That you did not regret marrying the Earl?”

“They are hardly the same thing,” Jo hissed as she stood from her desk abruptly. 

He had nearly made the same mistake last night. Trying to act as if she had thrown him over, instead of the other way around. 

“You married someone else!” Anthony shouted at her.

“Because you told me you would never marry me!”

“I had just lost my father!”

“I am keenly aware of that fact!” Jo spat at him. “I could have been patient. I told you as much. That I’d wait as long as you needed. And you told me that we could never be together. That you didn’t love me. So I apologize for not seeing how any of that has changed.”

Anthony fell silent. He’d held his breath without even realizing it as he realized he wasn’t othe only one who seemed to remember their conversations all these years later.

“I do not want to fight with you, Anthony,” Jo finally said with a deep sigh as she finally regained some semblance of calm. “We will never agree on this. That is plainly clear to me now.”

“You cannot pretend that my actions were not a direct result of yours. You forced my hand. Do not expect me to apologize for your own misgivings.” 

“I…I am sorry. At the time…” Anthony trailed off as he tried to explain his teenaged logic. “Well, I thought it was the only thing to do. And some part of you must have agreed because you listened.”

She’d married the earl a few months after they’d left. Obviously, she hadn’t truly meant it when she said she’d wait for him. 

“You broke my heart, Anthony,” Jo replies as she holds onto the back of the chair so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I had to marry. I had no choice.”

Aubrey Parish, Kent, 1803

Her father explained to Jo why her mother had been so set on the season on the carriage ride back to London. 

Jo had a comparable dowry thanks to her mother’s inheritance, but her father’s income could not support her parents and Jo forever. 

She would have to marry. And if Anthony Bridgerton was no longer interested… well, she would have to look elsewhere. Her parents had spared no expense on her season. It would be a struggle to afford another one next year if she couldn’t find a match by the end of this one. 

When they returned to London the news of the spectacular end of Anthony Bridgerton and Josephine Saville’s courtship had already made the rounds twice over. 

The rejection of a man who was now a Viscount had left Josephine adrift. Most of the young men in London saw Anthony’s rejection of her as a final stamp on her rejection as a possible bride. She’d spent the next few weeks standing on the edges of parties and balls. A true wallflower with an empty dance card and a stormy disposition to match.

It wasn’t much later that her father introduced her to Lord Wescott. 

The wedding was set for August. In Kent at the parish church. 

The last time she had been in the church had been for Edmund Bridgerton’s funeral only two months earlier. 

The wedding felt similarly somber in Josephine’s heart.

But she couldn’t help but wonder if Anthony would attend. The Bridgertons had all been invited. Violet was still unwell. But she’d seen Benedict in town when she’d arrived and he’d told her the children would attend. Neither one of them spoke of Anthony. 

A part of her imagined that she would walk down the aisle and Anthony would burst into the church and object. 

That he would rescue her. 

Because if he had ever truly loved her? He would stop the wedding. 

But that didn’t happen. 

Josephine Saville walked down the aisle arm in arm with her father and she walked back down the aisle Lady Josephine Wescott. 

It was arm in arm with her new husband that she saw him. As they were walking down the aisle she saw him, standing in between little Eloise and Frannie, staring back at her with a polite smile, clapping along with everyone else as she set off to start her new life.

And it was in that moment that Jo’s heart well and truly broke.

[xximpressions]

The Duchess

Anthony Bridgerton x Duchess!reader

Summary: After coming into a title you did not expect, you try to navigate rejoining the society you once knew.

Word Count: 1,710

A/N: Had this idea after seeing Netflix's spinoff of Bridgerton and could not put it down!! Let me know what you think! If I hear from enough people, I'll turn this into a series :)

Bridgerton Masterlist

Next

____________________________________________________________

Fighting the urge to let out a sigh full of boredom, you raised the glass of sparkling wine up to your lips.

While taking a delicate sip, your eyes roamed across the vast room once again. It seemed like they were in search of something, but you honestly could not say what. For what seemed like the hundredth time, your gaze was occupied by men who drank too much, women who thought too little, and musicians whose instruments were the slightest bit out of tune.

Taking in the sight as you stood by the table of refreshments, you were hit with the sudden realization that your eyes had been in search of the glamor a high society ball once offered you.

Before you were married, a party with such intricate dances and overhanging chandeliers would have certainly filled you with awe and amazement. But these days, you found that your feelings aired more on the side of weariness than wonderment.

You supposed that was to be expected given how unpredictably cruel you knew life to be.

Since your mother’s death following your birth, and your father’s death not soon after, you were raised by a frightful aunt who married you off to some lord not even a full month into your first season.

But as the fates would have it, your new husband ended up catching a fever during your honeymoon that quickly developed into something darker.

Having just enough time to get his affairs in order, the man you were sentenced to spend the rest of your life with, took his last breath only hours later.

This unforeseen turn meant you went from wife to widow within the span of a week.

Though you were not really acquainted with the one you called husband, the rules of society still demanded that you mourn him as if you were.

So after secluding yourself and donning black for the required year and a day, you looked forward to attending an event where you did not have to wear the subdued color. 

However, now that you were here, your mind incessantly wished that you were not.

Even prior to your marriage, a part of you always thought balls to be mundane affairs with only the prospect of finding a match to make it interesting. 

But now that you were aware of all the aspects that pertain to wedded life, you were not convinced you should seek it out again.

After all, you had already achieved what many young ladies set out for by using the marital institution to secure wealth and a respectable position in society.

With all that you could want in hand, you were starting to question what you were even doing at this magnificently dull soiree since parties such as these were for matchmaking and the marriage mart—neither of which held your interest as you were coming to learn.

Setting your drink down as you stifled another sigh, you turned and decided to start looking for some kind of exit.

Slowly making your way through the throng of elegantly dressed people, you first felt relief once you came across a set of double doors on a nearby wall.

Thinking them to be the doors you originally entered through, your next emotion was confusion when you saw an outdoor garden rather than an indoor hallway on the other side.

Realizing you had made a mistake, you were about to turn back in order to rejoin the party. But as the serenity of the quiet, night air enveloped your being, you found that your feet had slowly begun to make their way forward instead.

Hoping that a simple stroll through this season’s blooms and blossoms might put you in a more agreeable mood, you continued walking through the lavish landscape. 

You were not sure how long you spent wondering, but it could not have been more than a few minutes later before you eventually gave up.

Deciding it was best to just leave altogether, you started to make your way back to the party until a sudden grip on your upper arm prevented you from doing so.

In a flash, you spun around to face the one who had grabbed you and were both terrified and relieved to see it was a face you knew.

You had been introduced while you were on your honeymoon and your husband was on his deathbed.

When it became known that his health was failing, it was this man that showed up looking for an inheritance.

Being your husband’s younger brother, you could still remember how he heartlessly announced that he was present to ensure his place in the line of succession and nothing more.

So as your present fear turned into outright irritation, you let out an annoyed huff of your brother-in-law’s name while forcefully shrugging your arm from his hand and demanding to know,

“What are you doing here?”

When your pulling away caused him to stumble in place for a moment, your other senses immediately took note of the alcoholic stench permeating from his body and the slurred way he began to speak. 

“W-what am I doing here? What are you doing here??”

He jabbed an accusatory finger in your direction as he asked this question before he brokenly followed up with,

“If…if anyone should not be here, it is you and…and not I, you wicked harlot!”

You could not deny that your eyes had narrowed the slightest bit at this insult. So after straightening your back, you coldly responded to the drunken man in front of you.

“If you wish to address me, you will do so by calling me, ‘Your Grace’. If that is too much of a challenge for you to overcome, I suggest you do not address me at all.”

Done with the idea of being in his presence, you turned to make your way back inside only to be grabbed again not even a foot away.

Quickly putting your hands up to shove as hard as you could, you pushed your late husband’s brother back as you determinedly yelled out, 

“Unhand me!”

He only stumbled back a little before regaining his barings and making a second attempt to rush you.

Only this time, he was intercepted by another man.

Letting out a gasp as your brother-in-law was suddenly thrown to the ground, you could only watch as the person still standing threateningly said,

“I believe I heard the Lady say to unhand her. I would advise leaving now before I feel the need to intervene any further.”

He kept himself in-between you and the drunk on the floor as he spoke which meant you could not see who your rescuer was. But whomever they might be, it was obvious that their tone left no room for negotiation.

Watching over the shoulder of the stranger as your husband’s brother staggered to his feet, you kept your face blank as he threw one last glare in your direction and walked away on unsteady legs until he was out of sight.

Once you could no longer see him, you let out a sigh you did not realize you were holding and raised a soothing hand to your temple as you closed your eyes.

When you opened them again, you unexpectedly found yourself staring into someone else’s gaze.

You and the handsome stranger continued to stare at one another until you remembered yourself moments later.

Clearing your throat and taking a step back, you opened your mouth and cordially said,

“Good sir, while I appreciate your stepping in, I can assure you that I had the situation well under control.”

Raising a surprised brow, the man in front of you proceeded to cross his arms over his chest as he replied.

“Oh? You looked like you were in need of rescuing from where I was standing.”

“A matter of perspective then.”

Though you allowed the flippant response, it was your rescuer who allowed an amused smirk to grow on his face after the fact. Briefly looking you up and down, his tone was confident as he quietly repeated back to you in the quiet, night air,

“A matter of perspective, indeed.”

You felt an unexplainable flutter when he said this and his eyes locked onto yours. But before you had the chance to get drawn in another time, you decided to give a prompt nod of gratitude and goodbye and returned to the party at last.

Once inside, you looked back to take in the sight of the ball as you finally neared the correct exit.

In search of something again, your eyes continued roving over the crowd until they landed on someone already looking in your direction.

Catching the gaze of your handsome rescuer from across the room, you were pleasantly surprised to have a playful smile thrown your way after a respectful bow of his head. Unable to prevent your expression from mimicking his, you tried to keep your smile to yourself as you finally turned to leave the party.

On the other side of the soiree, Anthony Bridgerton was being brought back to reality as his eldest sibling clasped a hand onto the Viscount’s shoulder.

“Brother, what are you looking at with such intensity?”

But as the second oldest Bridgerton only had to follow his brother’s eyes to see what had captured his attention, he was no longer confused when they landed on your retreating figure.

Amused, the artist turned back to the Viscount when he dazedly asked,

“Tell me Benedict, who is that?”

“I do not know. I have only seen her a few times.”

As they both watched you leave, Anthony decided that this was not enough information.

“Come now, you must know more than that.”

Smiling at his brother’s impatience, Benedict calmly replied,

“All I know is that she is widowed and has just come out of her mourning period.”

And with what he had heard at his gentlemen’s club, and all that he had read from Lady Whistedown’s column, Anthony finished putting two and two together and was suddenly hit with the fact that he knew who you were.

“That is not some widow, Brother.”

Catching the last glimpse of you, the Viscount astonishingly breathed out,

“That is the Duchess.”

Next

[jackiequick]

In The Shadows / Marvel Comics OC ⌚️

Elias Drake-Thorne

— / — / —

Face Claim: Jonathan Bailey

———

Full Name: Elijah Henry Drake Thorne

Age: 26

Height: 5’11

Zodiac Sign: Virgo (reserved, analytical, and observant)

Nickname(s):

“Elias” (tends to have a softer, more modern sound compared to the traditional)

"Eli" (a casual version of his name)

"The Silent Observer" (due to his quiet and observant nature)

“Eli-Bear” (it’s what his mother used to call him)

Relationship Status: Single

— / —

Personality

Elias Drake is a figure of quiet strength and subtle complexity. His reserved nature allows him to carefully observe and analyze situations from the sidelines, stepping in only when he feels he has a complete understanding. This calm and stoic demeanor often masks a more impulsive side, revealing a slightly rash and temperamental edge when things don’t go as planned.

Despite his reserved exterior, Elias exudes a quiet confidence. He doesn’t need to be loud or overt to make an impact; when he speaks, people listen. His calm and gentle mannerism makes him approachable, yet he tends to be soft-spoken and slightly sarcastic, especially around new people. His empathetic nature allows him to offer kindness and support, though this is reserved for those he truly believes deserve it.

Reserved and Observant: Prefers to stay on the sidelines and notice details that others might miss, giving him an edge in understanding complex situations.

Quietly Confident: Makes a strong impression without needing to be overtly loud; his thoughtful insights and calm presence often capture attention.

Independent but Collaborative: Enjoys working alone but understands the importance of teamwork and collaboration when necessary, balancing solitude with cooperation.

Slightly Rash: Although generally measured, he can act impulsively when his temper flares or when faced with significant challenges to his principles.

Kind but Selective: His kindness is genuine but selective, extended to those who earn his trust and respect. He is gentle and supportive but discerning about who receives his warmth.

Protective and Loyal: His loyalty is unwavering for those he cares about deeply. Elias’s protective instincts ensure that he stands by and defends his loved ones, even if he seems distant to others.

—

Quirks and Interests:

Wears Glasses: His glasses add a thoughtful and intellectual touch to his appearance.

Bookworm: Though he enjoys reading, he has a stronger passion for films and often uses them as an escape.

Slight Temper: He tries to keep it in check but can be a bit hot-headed when frustrated.

———

—Background 🗞️

Elias Drake-Thorne grew up in a gritty, crime-ridden neighborhood of New York City, an environment where survival demanded caution and sharp instincts. His family lived on the fringes of society, often struggling to make ends meet, but they instilled in Elias the importance of resilience and intelligence. The loss of his parents instilled a deep desire for justice, but unlike the flashy superheroes he saw on the news, Elias preferred to operate in the shadows.

His quiet and observant nature helped him navigate the dangers of the streets, but it also set him apart from others his age, who often resorted to louder, more aggressive means of coping.

Struggles in School:

Academically, Elias was never the best student. He found it hard to focus on traditional subjects that didn’t capture his interest. However, when it came to technology, engineering, and creative writing, he thrived. Teachers often noted that while Elias lacked discipline in some areas, he excelled when left to explore topics on his own terms.

He was the kind of student who would rather figure things out through hands-on experience than by reading textbooks. His self-directed learning led him to develop a keen understanding of technology and electronics, often repairing gadgets or inventing small devices for fun.

— | — | —

Career at Stark Industries:

Eventually, Elias’s natural talent with technology earned him a spot at Stark Industries as a tech consultant. Despite his unconventional academic background, his skill set made him an asset to the company. Elias was particularly valued for his ability to think outside the box, offering creative solutions to complex problems.

While he kept a low profile, preferring not to attract attention, he found satisfaction in contributing to projects that supported the Avengers and enhanced Stark’s technology. His job allowed him to quietly play a part in protecting the world, even if he was never on the front lines.

Passion for Writing:

Though technology became his career, Elias’s true love has always been storytelling. He developed a passion for writing early on, finding solace in crafting narratives that explored justice, corruption, and the complexities of human nature. In his free time, he began writing investigative pieces, focusing on the darker, hidden parts of New York’s criminal underworld.

His reserved nature made him an excellent investigator—people rarely noticed him, and he was adept at blending into the background. His articles, though often published anonymously or under pseudonyms, became a way for him to expose the truths others were too afraid to confront.

————

—|—|—

—Likes ☕️

Iced Coffee: Elias has a penchant for iced coffee, which keeps him alert during long nights of work or writing.

Drama Shows: He enjoys drama shows, particularly those with complex characters and intricate plots. He finds them a great escape and a source of inspiration for his own writing.

Mac & Cheese: A comfort food that reminds him of simpler times; he often makes it for himself when he’s feeling nostalgic or in need of a quick meal.

Simple Fashion: Prefers understated, practical clothing—jeans, simple tees, and comfortable shoes. He values functionality over fashion trends.

Homebody: Elias enjoys staying in and tends to be a homebody. He finds solace in the comfort of his own space, away from the chaos of the outside world.

—Dislikes 📌

Loud, Crowded Places: Due to his reserved nature, Elias dislikes loud, crowded environments which can be overwhelming and stressful for him.

Disorganization: He values order and tends to be irked by disorganization, whether in his personal space or in his work environment.

Unnecessary Attention: Prefers to stay out of the spotlight and avoids situations where he is the center of attention.

Overly Sweet Foods: While he likes mac & cheese, he’s not a fan of overly sweet foods or drinks, finding them cloying and unappealing.

—Nerdy Interests 📼

Films and Series: Elias is a film enthusiast who enjoys everything from classic cinema to modern blockbusters. He often analyzes films and series for their storytelling techniques and thematic depth.

Video Essays: He enjoys watching video essays on a variety of topics, including film theory, technology, and social issues. They provide him with new perspectives and insights.

Music: Music is a big part of his life, and he has a diverse taste ranging from classical to modern genres. He often listens to music while working or relaxing at home.

Tech Gadgets: Beyond his professional work, Elias has a deep interest in the latest tech gadgets and innovations. He enjoys keeping up with the latest advancements and understanding how they work.

Comics and Graphic Novels: While not a superhero himself, Elias enjoys comics and graphic novels for their storytelling and artistic value. They provide him with creative inspiration and a way to unwind.

— | — | —

—Elias Drake-Thorne's Soundtrack Playlist 🎧

“Sweater Weather” – The Neighbourhood

Perfect for Elias’s cozy, laid-back, and home-centered vibe. It’s atmospheric and moody, reflecting both his introverted nature and subtle complexity.

“Sure Thing” – Miguel

This track brings out Elias’s grounded, nurturing side. It has a sensual yet chill vibe, showing his capacity for caring deeply and being there for those he holds close.

“Saturn” – Sleeping At Last

A beautiful, introspective track that mirrors his thoughtful, reflective nature. It hints at his connection to loss, his desire for justice, and his emotional depth.

“Leave The Light On” – Tom Walker

A perfect fit for the more intense, emotional side of Elias, where he wrestles with personal struggles. The song’s message about holding on through tough times connects to his quiet but strong resilience.

“I’ll Be Good” – Jaymes Young

This song matches Elias’s inner conflict, balancing his quiet demeanor with a desire to do better and strive for justice, even in his more discreet ways.

“Flares” – The Script

An emotional, heartfelt track that speaks to Elias’s experience with loss and his gentle side. It captures his vulnerability and the quiet strength he draws from those experiences.

—— / —— / ——

— | —

—Style & Background Insights 🔓

~Style

Casual and Practical: Elias's style is understated and practical. He favors simple fashion choices—think well-fitted jeans, casual shirts, and comfortable sweaters. His look reflects a preference for practicality and comfort over flashy trends.

Subtle Elegance: His wardrobe includes pieces that are stylish yet subtle, with a preference for muted colors and clean lines. This aligns with his reserved personality, emphasizing functionality and a low-key elegance.

Tech-Influenced Accessories: Given his tech-savvy nature, Elias often wears minimalist tech accessories, such as smartwatches or sleek glasses, which complement his practical and intellectual style.

~Background

Challenging Upbringing: Growing up in a tough, crime-ridden neighborhood in New York, Elias witnessed the harsh realities of life early on, despite trying to see the light in the darkness. This environment shaped his cautious and observant nature, instilling in him a deep-seated desire for justice and a resolve to make a difference in his own way.

Dual Career: Balancing a career in tech consulting with a passion for journalism, Elias has forged a path that reflects his diverse interests and skills. His work at Stark Industries showcases his technical prowess, while his journalism endeavors highlight his creative and communicative side.

Quiet Heroism: Elias’s approach to justice and heroism is understated. He works behind the scenes, tackling issues with a subtle, yet effective impact. His focus is on creating change quietly and meaningfully, rather than seeking the spotlight or overt recognition.

Homebody Nature: Preferring a quiet life at home, Elias finds solace in simple pleasures—like enjoying a cup of iced coffee, indulging in drama shows, or spending time with his favorite books and films. His home is a sanctuary where he can unwind and recharge, away from the demands of his professional life.

— / — / —

—The Soft-Spoken Journalist 🖥️

Elias Drake-Thorne, much like a male counterpart to the iconic Lois Lane, embodies a blend of strength, determination, intelligence, and kindness. His journey reflects a deep commitment to storytelling and a passion for uncovering the truth, making his transition from tech consultant to journalist a natural evolution of his career and interests.

~Career Transition

Shift to Journalism: Elias's career initially centered around tech consulting at Stark Industries, where his technical expertise was invaluable. However, his true passion has always been storytelling. Recognizing that his heart lies in writing and reporting, Elias has made a deliberate shift towards journalism, focusing more on his love for writing and storytelling.

Focus Areas -> Elias's new role allows him to explore a range of topics:

- Entertainment and Celebrities: He writes engaging stories about the entertainment industry and celebrities, providing fresh perspectives and in-depth coverage.

- Technology: Combining his tech background with his journalistic pursuits, Elias covers the latest trends and innovations, offering insights that bridge his technical knowledge with his storytelling skills.

- Real-Life Events: His investigative work delves into significant real-life events, uncovering hidden truths and presenting them in a compelling manner.

- Lifestyle: Elias also explores lifestyle topics, sharing stories that resonate with his audience and reflect his understanding of contemporary issues and interests.

- Passion for Truth and Impact: Elias is driven by a desire to make a difference through his work. His stories aim to inform, inspire, and impact readers, emphasizing authenticity and the search for truth.

-> Narrative Style

- Thoughtful and Insightful: Elias's writing is characterized by its thoughtfulness and depth. He brings a nuanced perspective to his subjects, combining detailed analysis with engaging narrative techniques.

- Empathetic and Relatable: His approach to journalism is empathetic, focusing on the human element behind the stories. Elias’s kindness and sensitivity enable him to connect with his subjects and readers on a personal level.

- Commitment to Authenticity: Elias prioritizes honesty and integrity in his reporting. His commitment to presenting accurate and meaningful content reflects his dedication to making a positive impact through his work.

— / — / —

— | — | —

—Fun Facts 🖇️

— Multilingual Skills: Elias is fluent in both English and Spanish, a skill he picked up growing up in a multicultural neighborhood. He enjoys using his language skills to read international literature and connect with a diverse range of people.

— Phobia of Public Speaking: Despite his career in journalism, Elias has a deep-seated fear of public speaking. He prefers written communication and finds large audiences daunting, often opting for written articles over speaking engagements.

— Collector of Vintage Cameras: Elias has a growing collection of vintage cameras. His fascination with photography extends to collecting old and rare models, each with its own unique story and history.

— Night Owl: Though he often forces himself to adhere to a morning routine due to work demands, Elias is naturally a night owl. He finds that his creativity and productivity peak during the late hours, which is when he does most of his writing and thinking.

— Unusual Hobby: Elias is a bit of a “house husband” at heart. He takes pride in keeping his living space organized and enjoys the routine of household chores, finding them oddly therapeutic.

— Pet Peeve: He’s easily annoyed by loud or chaotic environments, preferring quieter, more serene settings where he can concentrate and feel at ease.

— Dream Destination: Elias dreams of visiting Paris, France someday, drawn by its rich cultural history, iconic landmarks, and vibrant arts scene. He’s eager to explore its museums, architecture, and culinary delights.

———

And we’re done! Pls let me know what you think 💭

Remember to like, comment and share

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @djs8891 @starkleila @cherrysft @mandylove1000 @yetanotherwells @rickb-chaos @topgun-imagines @hardballoonlove @buckysteveloki-me @sherloquestea @ximehs @savemewattpad @lazywolfwiccan @terry-perry @triptuckers @daughter-of-melpomene @superspookyjanelle

[twilightfurry]

Them

[burnthoneydrops]

What Time Has Done (Part XIV) Benedict Bridgerton x Original Character Series

Synopsis: Two plans are afoot, but which one will lead our young lovers to victory?

Requested: no

Warnings: anxiety (?), just big emotions

Word Count: 2729

series masterlist

a/n: heyyyyyy....how yall doing? my sincerest apologies for how long its been but i recently got the spark to write again so i hope someone still enjoys!

A few days have passed since Benedict promised to take my burden as his own and I have yet to hear a word. Following Whistledown’s announcement of our shame to the entire ton, Mama sent us all into hiding again, lest we be berated by other vicious mamas. I am starting to believe there are circles forming in my carpet from the amount of laps I’ve done trying to pass my window in the hopes that I might see someone come to our rescue. As relieved as I felt that finally someone else knew the truth, it also came with the feeling of dread that now I had more reasons to be worried about the current situation. Papa and Mama, though not sharing a room together quite yet, spent a lot of time in hushed conversation with each other, no doubt trying to find a way to relieve us of our heavy debt. The only people to grace our doorstep of late were the men carrying letters to and from our home and every time I get my hopes up that Benedict has written some comforting thing and each time I am disappointed. 

Sitting on my bed, I hear footsteps scurry up to my door and just past it. They come to a halt, turning around and stopping in front of my door, casting a shadow of small shoes that I can see through the crack. There is no knock, and I can see the small pair of feet hesitating to make their next move. I bite the bullet, calling out a “hello?”, to which the door opens and Madeline makes herself known. She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and her hands are wringing together endlessly. The rims of her eyes are red and her eyebrows are furrowed. The sheer amount of emotion in her little body breaks my heart. 

“Madeline, what is it love?” I pat the empty spot on the bed next to me and she takes no time running up and jumping to take the place. 

She says nothing, just buries her head in my side as I wrap an arm around her, pulling her securely under my shoulder. I hear a shudder of breath and I realize that she has begun to cry. Whatever emotion she carried with her down the hallway has decided to spill out, and I squeeze her that bit tighter. 

“What is wrong Madeline? We cannot fix what ails you if you keep it to yourself”. 

“I hate it!” She exclaims, bashing a fist on my duvet. 

“Hate what?” 

“I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!” She exclaims again, causing quite the dent in my bedding for such a little fist. 

“My love, look at me please,” I release her from the guard of my arm and grab the sides of her face lightly so she may look at me. Her eyes are wet and her lower lip has started to quiver and I fear she can hear the sound of my heart splitting in half. 

“I hate that Mummy and Daddy do not smile at each other, I hate that Andrew hasn’t looked at me and I hate that I cannot see my friends! I hate being stuck here!” I am now aware of my own lower lip starting to tremble as Madeline pulls her face away from my hands. I cast my glance at my bedding in hopes of masking my tears but I fear it is pointless when I hear Madeline’s unabashed sobs. The pain of my family had not escaped me since this whole ordeal had seen the light but I had been so wrapped up in my own form of pity that I had not taken the time to properly care. 

“I am so sorry Madeline, I was not aware you had acquired such pain,” I mutter through tears. “It is my fault, it is entirely my fault,” I try to give her a hug but she merely runs out of my room and down the hall, leaving me to cry on my own. 

At the Bridgerton House 

Benedict had spent much of the last few days wracking his brain for ways he could help alleviate some of Emmeline’s burden and he had not eaten or slept much because of it. It was a relief that Anthony knew of the whole ordeal so any transactions made in favour of it would not have to be kept hidden but Benedict could not help feeling like this was his solution to bring forth. If he hadn’t been aware of it before, Benedict had quickly come to despise the ache in his heart, the gaping hole that Miss Castillon had left. Knowing the truth of the matter somehow only made it worse as he knew she blamed herself for it entirely. Seeing her in such pain was something he never wanted to witness again and he swore he would never if he could help it. 

Benedict sits uncomfortably in the chair where he normally sketches, running his hands over his face as he glances out the window, hoping it would bring him some sudden illumination. As if the universe could hear him, his mother walked in, the creaking of the door giving her away. 

“Benedict my dear, can I speak with you for a moment?” She questions, not moving much past the door. 

“Surely you will speak whether I consent or not,” he mutters with a dismissive wave of his hand. Then, taking a moment to consider what he has just said, “apologies, Mother, recent events have made me weary”. 

“I can imagine,” she sympathizes. “Though I fear you are overcomplicating the matter”. 

“Whatever can you mean?” 

“You love this woman, do you not?” She looks expectantly at her son. 

“I…we had never declared it…” he notices her raised brow, “yes, yes I believe I do”. 

“And does Miss Castillon share your affection?” 

“Selfishly I like to think she does,” then, upon remembering a previous conversation, “yes, she does”. 

“Then what you must do seems clear,” Lady Bridgerton seems satisfied, as if whatever truth she thinks she has unveiled is as obvious to everyone else. Benedict ponders for a moment, not wanting to question his mother further but also trying to find the hidden meaning in her words. 

“Oh for pity’s sake, you must marry her!” 

Benedict’s eyes widen, searching his mother’s for any sign of jest. When he finds none, he lowers his head for a second, the idea of proposing to Emmeline sinking further into his skin. Of course there is a part of him that wanted to propose to her long ago, or maybe skip the engagement all together and simply run away from the prying eyes of the ton. But with the idea being brought out of his head and into the open, he suddenly couldn’t fathom it. 

“What if she feels it is out of a sense of obligation? I could not do that to her! I could not have her believe that I would want to force her into a loveless marriage,” Benedict sighs. 

“But if your feelings are true, then they will show through instantly. The circumstances leave much to be desired, certainly, but true love has risen above worse. It will be worth it”. 

Benedict looks up, making eye contact with his mother as his heart starts to race. He could propose to Emmeline this very minute and solve both of their problems. Hers, the debt and his the heartache. Christ, why had he not thought of it before!

Castillon Residence

Marie insists on getting me ready each more for some sense of normality but I cannot say I am any help. I merely sit, anxiously twiddling my thumbs and unable to make eye contact with just about anyone. Whatever decisions she presses toward me I mutter, yes, and hope that she will pick between the dress colour or the hairstyle for the day. I dare not make another decision, lest that should sink my family further into ruin too. It is not as if there is anything to get ready for either, for we have not been invited to any social events since Lady Whistledown aired our news. We wouldn’t have attended anyway, and I suppose it feels better not to have to reject any offers. I do nothing but read in my room or attempt to write sad prose in an effort to vent my emotions, but it is not long before my brain switches to more anxiety inducing efforts. What if Benedict had not truly meant his wishes to help? What if he had seen how I was not worth the effort and had in fact found an easier debutante to court? What if his mother had suggested he not involve himself so that they could avoid the scandal as well? I would not blame him if he had, and I do not want to think ill of him but with nothing else to occupy my thoughts, what else am I to do?

Since Madeline’s emotional revelation, the rest of the family seems hesitant to interact with me other than awkward pleasantries and pitied looks. Marie is truly the only one to actually speak to me as if I am a member of the house and I cannot return the same kindness. I feel stuck in this loop of sadness and anxiety in a hole that I dug myself. If only I had not forced Papa into that deal, then we would not be in this situation to begin with. Tired of sitting in front of the window, hoping for some saving grace to break through the glass, I turn to my writing desk instead, drawing out a paper and ink set in the slowest movements possible. 

Dear Benedict, 

I realise it has been only days since your visit, but I wanted to make it known how much I regret bringing you into this mess of mine. It is not, nor has it ever been, my intention to bring shame to you or your family, and though I thank you for your promise of assistance, I also understand if your desire has shifted. Should you have moved on for the sake of better prospects, know that I do not hold it against you and wish you all the joy and happiness in the world. 

Your dearest friend, Emmeline C. 

Handing the letter off to Marie in the hopes that it would sneak in our limited communications, I wipe my cheek with the other hand, hoping the wetness that had clung there is not too obvious. When Marie returns, she informs me that my parents are requesting my presence downstairs. 

“They told me no details miss, only that they require you straight away”. 

“Well, I suppose I should be glad that someone still wishes to speak to me. Except you, Marie; you have continued to be a dear friend and I fear I have not thanked you enough for it”. 

She smiles, waving her hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it miss, it is only my pleasure”. 

With a small smile and a grateful nod, I make my way down the stairs. The halls are eerily quiet and I cannot help the small glances in hopes that a sibling will come barreling down in joyous laughter. Of course, that is not the case at present and I feel like the only person in the house as I go to join my parents in the drawing room. Upon turning into the doorway, Mama and Papa stand up from their seat on the couch, and Papa has a few letters gripped aggressively in his fist. Mama looks proud as she greets me, offering a small hug before gesturing for me to sit across from them. A sinking feeling appears in my stomach, as her seemingly sudden change in attitude has me on edge. 

“Now my dear, we know it has recently been hard on you-” Papa starts, but Mama looks eager to interject. 

“But we have found a solution!” She all but exclaims, bringing her hands together on her lap as if she cannot contain herself any other way. Papa looks slightly uneasy, and I try and wordlessly beg him for a quick answer. I am not granted such ease. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bridgerton Residence

“It seems like you are set on this matter,” Anthony looks at Benedict with a close-lipped smile. 

“I am. I had worried about it before, but Mother convinced me it is the right way forward,” he replies, pouring another glass of brandy for them both. 

“Then to the success of your courting,” Colin raises a glass, winking at his brother in support. 

“To the success indeed,” Anthony adds as the knocking of three glasses sounds through the room.

“Let us hope your intended sees similarly about the whole ordeal to you,” Colin says as they each take a seat. 

“I believe she will. Once we get past the uncertainty of it all, I believe Emmeline will share my affections, bringing relief to us all”. 

“Yes, then perhaps we can stop finding pieces of her inanimate form on the floor,” Anthony jests at Benedict’s abundance of sketches of the young woman. 

The three laugh and talk amongst themselves, sipping on celebratory drinks while two of the brothers pester for any ideas on how the wedding will go. Benedict mutters something about leaving it up to their mother before adding, “I would marry her in an abandoned field, or in our living room even. The details do not matter to me, but she deserves better. Besides, Mama will have my head if she does not get a say in the marriage of her children”. 

“Benedict,” Eloise pokes her head through the door, “there’s a letter here for you”. She hands him the enclosed document as he quickly rips the envelope open. Recognising the handwriting, he cannot tell whether to be joyful or anxious at Emmeline writing to him during such a time. As he quickly scans the page, he finds the latter to be a more fitting emotion, and the concern of his siblings grows solely in response to the look on his face. He passes the letter to Anthony, who scans it with the same intensity, only to pass it to Colin upon completion. 

“She feels I have neglected her…forgotten about her in some way,” Benedict sighs with a large amount of air, his hands running fervently through his face and hair. 

“She simply worries for the implications of her current affairs. Any person in her position would do the same,” Anthony tries to calm his brother down. 

“She means to provide some relief to you both, should things not go as planned,” Colin adds, reading the letter again before handing it to Eloise. 

“Perhaps she-” “If you are about to rant about the downfalls of marriage, I urge you to hold your tongue,” Anthony whips his head around to Eloise, where she stands stunned. Never had any of her brothers been so serious with her and she immediately closes her mouth again. 

Benedict could not look at any of them for long, as his shoes undoubtedly run a hole into the ground with his incessant pacing. What was meant to be a celebratory evening had come to a halt and the other three Bridgertons share a concerned look between them before facing their brother again. 

“Surely this just means your plans may need to hasten along?” Eloise tries again. 

“I had been trying to plan a near perfect proposal, but if she harbours any doubts of my character or intention, I must squash those immediately”. 

“Go to her in the morning, for if you leave now you run the risk of rejection from her mother for calling at an indecent hour,” Anthony reasons. 

“But I cannot leave her to feel such shame any longer!” Benedict cries. 

“You know how against visitors they are at the moment, it would be better to wait! You would face less obstacles if you went at proper visiting time,” Colin agrees with Anthony. 

“Fine, first thing tomorrow then,” Benedict replies after some hesitation. Eloise crosses to him and holds his elbow in her hands, getting him to pause in his physical loops. 

“You’ve waited this long, what is one more night?” She asks, giving him a hopeful smile.

[underoosparkerr]

WIP #1: Untitled Bridgerton

Info: this is a bridgerton fic i wrote like when the second season had just started. it was supposed to be an anthony bridgerton x oc fic (can be written as an x reader), but as you can see I got halfway through the first chapter. reading it back, there are some details and whatnot that i’d change now as well as some details that are canon accurate. if this is something you like, let me know and i’ll but it in the running for being rewritten.

~~~~~~~~~~

Kent, 1800

Adelaide quite enjoyed summers in the countryside. Things were simpler, easier. She could be free and do as she pleased without the judgmental eye of the ton. At 13, she was expected to start behaving less like a child and more like a young lady. Away from London, she could truly be herself. Spending days sprawled in the luscious meadows around her family’s estate and climbing the magnificent oak trees that sprouted on the property (without her mama’s knowledge of course). In Kent, she could finally be a child.

On this particular day, she sat admiring the garden. The countless varieties of flowers and plants brought her a comfort she did not receive inside the large home. Her peaceful moment of silence was broken by her mama calling her from the porch.

“Adelaide, dear. There are people I would like for you to meet in the drawing room. Please come inside.” Her mother’s soft voice called out.

“Yes, mama. I will make my way in soon.” she replied, turning her head to face her mother.

“Not soon, dear. Now. As a lady, you know it is quite rude to leave your guests waiting.” Her mother said, with a bit more sternness than before.

Adelaide stood up, a bit exasperated, and smoothed her dress. She made her way towards her mother with a bit of a pout.

Her mother sent her a soft smile, “A lady never pouts, besides I’m sure you’ll feel better once you meet our guests.” She said placing her hands gently on her cheeks. “Now chin up my dear.” And with that Adelaide followed her mother inside.

The drawing room was a magnificent place, as was the estate. Soft green covered the wall, accompanied by gold moulding. A crystal chandelier hung from the white trimmed ceiling and beautiful mahogany flooring lined the room.

Sitting in the lush chairs, sat a woman her mother’s age and two children. The girl looked about her age, give or take a few years, and the boy was several years older. Maybe seventeen. It was clear that they also hailed from high society by the way the composed themselves.

The woman stood to greet your mother, and offered you a warm smile. “Hello, dear. You must be Adelaide. A spitting image of your mama when we were young.”

Her mother smiled brightly, “Yes, I do say she could be my twin.” she said with a chuckle.

The woman laughed before turning back to you. “I’m Viscountess Bridgerton, dear. Your mother and I were great friends in our youth.”

“It’s is a pleasure to meet you Lady Bridgerton.” Adelaide responded, giving a quick curtsy.

“And polite as well!” Lady Bridgerton exclaimed. “What a respectable young lady.”

Adelaide blushed. “Thank you Lady Bridgerton”

Lady Bridgerton turned her attention back to the two children on the settee. The two stood up in respect. “This is my eldest son, Anthony and my daughter Daphne.” the Viscountess introduced “My other children are off galavanting with their father but I am certain you shall meet them soon enough.”

The girl, Daphne gave you a bright smile and gave a polite wave. The boy on the other hand, remained quite stiff but gave a taut nod to the Countess and Adelaide.

“We have quite the bit of catching up to do, Violet. I am sure Adelaide would not mind giving your two children a tour around the estate, whilst we take the time to do so.”

[permanentlyexhaustedpigeon88]

Bridgerton moodboard, anyone?

Literally no idea what I'm doing with this other than that the plot gremlins are clamoring for me to write something, so...yeah. There's that. 😅 This would be an Anthony Bridgerton/OC pairing, featuring Olivia Pembroke as the OC in question.

[justjessame]

Expectations: And So It Begins

Summary:

Lady Catherine Somerset, future Duchess of Beaufort thanks to her eldest brothers indiscretions, is about to debut as the newest debutante for the Season. After Queen Charlotte becomes distracted by the first addition of Lady Whistledown's second Season of pamplets, very few of the prospects have been presented, but fear not because expectations must be met.

With three younger sisters, a best friend who found her own desirable match in a rakish Duke but a year prior, Cat hopes her own foray into seaching for a suitable match will be as successful. Perhaps she should have prepared for this as dilligently as she prepared her sisters' education, the running of her Father's homes, and learning the responsiblities of her future title.

How difficult could finding a husband really be?

I surveyed the gowns Mary had laid out for my inspection, my stomach a tangle of knotted butterflies battering to be freed. While I had managed to steer clear of the anxiety inducing tradition of being debuted for a few years - the first horrific step of which was to be presented to Queen Charlotte to be deemed worthy of such - thanks in part to Father’s insistence that I bear full responsibility for the duties my mama was no longer alive to attend to and to be taught the added burdens being named his true heir would create when he should join her in the hereafter.

Yet, even with the prospect of becoming a Duchess in my own right, a husband must be had - a simple fact of life, as it were.

While I pursued the offerings that all looked terribly similar, I allowed myself a moment to appreciate that while I was not particularly excited about being run through the paces of courtship during a season among the ton, at least I would be back among the young women of my youth - including my dear friend Daphne, who only the year before had become a Duchess herself, albeit from marrying Hastings. I had heard that it was a true love match, one that had not only Her Majesty's approval, but shined brightly from the couple at every public event. And she was a new mother, something I knew she had wanted for as long as she had known her own place in the world.

I wish I were as certain about my own fate.

After choosing one of the gowns, which honestly I felt could have been chosen for me since they were so very much the same, and being prepared for my presentation - Mary opened the door to three shining faces, looking for all the world as if they were hoping that I would find my match during this first outing. As my lady’s maid clucked at my sisters - all of whom I was making certain were not only educated in the unexceptional areas of duty, but also in the classics, languages beyond what a suitable husband may want or expect, as well as nurturing whatever passion each wished to pursue - they rushed into my room, clearly wanting details of what was to come, again.

“You look,” Anne began, squinting to find precisely what compliment to pay me, “quite lovely.”

I had doubts, since I was more than sure that I would look exactly like every other young lady of means that would be put through the same paces as me, but I smiled at her attempt to make me feel more confident.

“And since you have Papa’s title in due course, the fact that you are incredibly pretty will be like adding -” Elizabeth, my youngest sister with an appalling lack of tact was cut off before she could earn herself another lesson with the lady I hired to teach etiquette and manners.

Jane, the sister that I was closest to, and who was but two years younger than myself and should be sharing this moment with me had pinched the offending baby of the family. Sweet smile in place, she assured me and our sisters that my title would have nothing to do with the man I would marry. “Catherine is the obvious diamond this season -” I opened my mouth to protest, both her assumption and to chide her for reading that tawdry rag being printed by the anonymous “Lady Whistledown.” “You know it is true, Cat, regardless of who might be saying it.”

Shaking my head, I stood up from the vanity where I sat while Mary worked so diligently to make me look presentable. The trio that I had both mothered and befriended closed in and, careful of the gown, embraced me as a group. Father’s voice broke through our shared comfort.

“You three look as if we’re sending Cat off to battle,” his eyes were twinkling and I could not help but smile. “Our dear Cat is simply going out to meet the next stage of her life, my girls,” if only people could see him when he was home and alone with us - not how he’d reacted to Edward’s scandal or the tacturn way he behaved in public, a public that only knew him as “His Grace, the Duke of Beaufort”.

“He is correct,” their gazes returned to me, still in the middle of their huddle. “Nothing will change, aside from adding another man to the household.”

Jane looked as if she was biting back something worrisome, but Father held out his hand and reminded me we had a schedule to keep. Kissing each of my sisters’ cheeks, I drew away from them, and walked forward toward my future.

The buzzing began as soon as Father and I stepped down from our carriage. Head high, hand upon his arm, I did my best to ignore the whispers - especially since I already knew what the mouths that were tittling were no doubt saying.

When Edward had ruined himself, and the poor young woman whom he’d been caught with, my sisters had wondered if the business would ruin us as well. Then Father not only exiled him from our family homes, but also disowned him and his chances of becoming the next Duke of Beaufort and came to me with the announcement that he’d taken the proper steps to make certain that I would be his heir, I knew that I would face this one day.

We were not ruined. Our title and my father’s place among the peerage made that a certainty, after all our title came from our lineage - going back to John of Gaunt and our ancestors included queens and kings. No, being ruined was not in our cards, but this - gossip and backbiting - that would most certainly be.

I was pulled from my carefully constructed thoughts by a welcome and familiar voice.

“My Lady Somerset,” I met Daphne’s glowing smile and greeting with one of my own. “It is so good to see you again.” I knew the truth of her words, since we had exchanged frequent letters since we last saw one another.

“And you, your Grace.” A faint blush colored her cheeks and Father stood by looking proud as we made plans to meet soon - either at our home or the home she’d made with the Duke. “I cannot believe that I’m being presented at the same time as Eloise.” As if I spoke above the perfect conversational whisper, her sister appeared, looking as if she’d rather be anywhere else.

“Thank God,” her voice was almost too loud, but she looked pleased to see me. “With you here I will simply fade into the background.” My eyes were drawn to the incredibly high white flower sticking up from her hair arrangement and she groaned. “It is absolutely monstrous.”

Biting my lip, I made an attempt to soothe her nerves and found it helped my own anxiety to focus on someone else’s. “It is not that terrible.” A look of disbelief shone on her face like a beacon. “Perhaps if we,” but I was not able to offer or try to tame the blinding white feather - it had begun.

As I awaited my turn, in a new type of clutch of womanhood, with Father standing comfortingly beside me, he seemed to know I needed more assurances. “I do believe you are one of a few who did not take part in whatever plucking occurred to defeather all the birds in England, my Cat.” My smile grew and he chuckled quietly. “That alone will make you stand out far more than your title - although your beauty might push you even higher.” My own small laugh slipped out, earning me a look of reproach from a mama nearby. “Remember who you are, Catherine.” And then the doors opened and I found myself ready for the battle my sisters seemed certain I was facing.

“What do you mean you were not presented?” Jane was helping Mary defrock me while I explained that the entire affair was upended by one snark ridden writer who held the Queen in more rapture than any marriageable young lady ever could.

“She just tossed the lot of you out?” Mary’s mouth was gaping after she asked, the very thought of it had her astounded. “Before all of you were -”

“Yes,” the nerves were gone, for now. “I assume that all of us are still permitted to continue with the season, regardless of Her Majesty’s lack of participation.” At least I was not shown as an animal to a prospective group of buyers. “Although I have to wonder how the suitors will know it can begin.” There was an expectation for how these things were run, and now it had been upended by the highest authority on it in the land.

Mary snorted, causing Jane and I to focus on her. “Surely you both understand that the prospective bachelors have been given advance notice of just who would be presented?” It should not have shocked me, yet somehow it did. “Trust me, my lady, your prospects are not challenged in the slightest. I imagine that his Grace has also sent out letters, reminding his friends that he has a daughter of marriageable age.” Dear God, I had not skipped a single step, even with the Queen’s lack of decorum - God forbid me for mentioning it.

My reflection was pale, the bundle of irritable butterflies stirred up once more in my stomach, as I realized that the new day would bring with it the first of many events I would have to attend with the same careful preparation as was just undone.

Jane’s hand touched my cheek, bringing me back to my room and the exhaustion I already felt. “You are going to be fine,” her assurances were not as helpful as they had been and so she continued. “I know you have so much to attend to besides this, but you will be fine, Cat. You can handle any challenge.”

“Especially after helping raise Elizabeth,” Mary chimed in, her hand on my shoulder squeezing gently to remind me that I had taken on more absurd trials than this one. After all, how difficult could the act of courtship really be?

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

masterlist

requests; open / closed playlist requests; open / closed [send me a driver and prompt and i'll make a relationship playlist]

fluff [F] smut [S] smau [SMAU] angst [A] personal favorites [<3]

a shit tone of bakery requests

meet the characters; marcy lace montgomery - broadway bug [charles leclerc x broadway actress girlfriend reader] phoebe windsor - hamilton - billion dollar baby [lewis hamilton x pop singer wife reader] viviana maria martinez sainz - since we were eighteen [carlos sainz jr x childhood best friend wife reader] saylor natalini - stop in the name of love [lando norris x law student girlfriend reader] kaia mayfair - die for [oscar piastri x alt singer highschool sweetheart girlfriend reader] manon anais garnier - the scent of love [arthur leclerc x baker girlfriend reader]

formula one;

charles leclerc; my own little devil; your devious little plan to make charles jealous and regret leaving you high and dry the previous night goes wrong [S]

boyfriend material; just a look at what boyfriend charles and my original character marceline will be like in my smau series; the broadway bug [SMAU + F] lewis hamilton; watch you sleep; your husband wakes you late at night after being gone for months racing, he needs you to help him sleep [S + F]

irresistible; working from home while trying to hide the fact that your married and pregnant is hard when your husband can't keep is hands to himself [S]

husband material; just a look at what husband lewis and my original character phoebe will be like in my smau series; billion dollar baby [SMAU + F]

a big old teddy bear; your husband is nothing but a big old cuddly teddy bear, *cough raccoon cough* when he's sick [F] lando norris; ~nothing yet~ oscar piastri; ~nothing yet~ carlos sainz; make me water; your older boyfriend wants to try something new [S]

we can't be friends; after one too many drinks down the hatch, you decided to shoot your shot with your best friend who you've wanted for far too long [S + F]

childhood sweetheart material; just a look at what childhood best friend to husband carlos and my original character viviana martinez will be like in my smau series; since we were eighteen [SMAU + F] [<3]

resident evil;

leon kennedy; ~nothing yet~

carlos oliveria; ~nothing yet~

chris redfield; ~nothing yet~

bridgerton;

anthony bridgerton; ~nothing yet~

benedict bridgerton; ~nothing yet~

colin bridgerton; ~nothing yet~

criminal minds;

spencer reid; ~nothing yet~

aaron hotchner; ~nothing yet~

luke alvez; would you be so kind; after a long case, the last thing you wanted was to watch the love of your life take home another girl that wasn't you [F]

a court of thorns and roses;

azriel; beautiful angel; azriel needs his sweet girl but he's exhausted and you want to help him but you've never been on top ever. [S + F]

game of thrones;

jaime lannister; ~nothing yet~

titans;

dick grayson; ~nothing yet~

[hender-ka]

bewitched me I Bridgerton!Javier Peña x curvy female!reader (teaser)

Summary: After your husband died two years ago, you must return to London to introduce your younger sister to society. It is your duty to fulfill. The situation changes for you the moment you meet an arrogant and stoic lord with an infamous reputation. A man you despised from the start, Javier Peña. You are not willing to play his game and you are trying to get rid of him at all costs. However, he is persistent and stubborn. But so are you. Then, at the worst possible moment, you find out that the man you hated the most is the man you need the most.

Word count: this is just a teaser

Pairing: Bridgerton!Javier Peña x curvy female!reader, enemies to lovers

Time period: Regency England (1815)

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI) Well there will be a lot by the time..., English is NOT my first language, future SMUT, age gap (you: late 20s, Javier: late 30s/early 40s, it is up to you), mention of death and suicide, blood, mental illness, body image (curves, stretch marks, hips, a lot of it), alcohol consumption, dirty talk, size kink, scent kink (hello, Anthony), Javier is quite feral for you and you don't give af, body hair (because hey, we are in 1815, ladies), period, cursing, racism, inaccurate history and more

A/N: Hello loves! I am so happy I finally managed to write something. Maybe it's a weird combination, but I wanted to use Javier and set him in the Regency Era. Because him as a Lord Peña? Boy... So thank you very much Pedro for your slutty SAG awards outfit. This story is my first overall in English, so please be patient. English is NOT my first language and it gives me hell sometimes. The story is only inspired by Bridgerton and Pride and Prejudice, characters from the original works do not appear here, except for The Queen (probably). All characters are created by me. It is not a super original plot, but hey... Also, I'm not British and knowing your titles, rules, etiquette of the time is quite challenging, but I'm trying. So this story will definitely be HISTORICALLY INACCURATE. This is just a teaser. The first part will be out next week. Love you all ❤️

Javier laughed, of course he wanted, he was more than eager to hear more about those nightgowns that you would be wearing. The fact that it would be you wearing them was sending shivers down his spine.

"Please. Tell me,“ he whispered as he spoke, leaning forwards slightly and smiling. He wanted to hear more details.

His head was slightly tilted to the side and he looked adorable. You smiled and walked away with him. "They are white, of course. Some of them have delicate ribbons that tie them together at the sides. So easy to untangle," you spoke slowly and quietly. Your eyes never left his.

"Some of them are simple, easy to pull over the head. But two of them are special. Let's just say they are a little see-through," you whispered your last words, giving him an innocent smile.

Javier was completely entranced in the description that you were delivering, you knew what you were doing and did it quite well. 

"A bit see-through?" he chuckled softly and smiled at you, also blushing delicately. His imagination was only going further and further. Just thinking about these nightgowns was starting to turn him on. He smirked playfully.

You leaned closer to him, so only his ear could hear it. "Suffer," you whispered with a seductive tone...

Tag list: Guys, I hope you will like it 😁❤️!

@storiesforallfandoms @skysmiller @anavatazes @xxreader-writerxx @creepynativekid @asmilinghopelessromantic mermaidgirl30 @titabel

[fayes-fics]

Reprimand

Double Bind Masterpost

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Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Follow on to Endeavour. Anthony suspects you may have been seduced by another and reprimands you.

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, dom/sub relationships, mean dom, jealousy, consenting-non-consent (CNC) play, deepthroat breathplay, rope bondage, whipping with a riding crop, rough vaginal sex, orgasm control, emotions, confessions.

Word Count: 5.8k

Authors Note: Here is part 4 of the Double Bind series requested by @eleanor-bradstreet where our reader finds herself back with her original dom, Anthony. Please note, everything here is very consenting; they are just playing as if it's not. If that is at all triggering for you, please do not read this. Thank you to @colettebronte for the beta read, particularly around the CNC play. Enjoy! <3

The following night you see Anthony at a gathering—a very dull musical recital just a few doors down from Bridgerton House. He accompanies you as the respectable courting partner, your gloved wrist gently resting in the crook of his arm as you circuit the room before the show.

Once the decidedly mediocre entertainment begins, he leans close to your ear.

“You have about five more minutes, then we are leaving,” he drawls quietly. 

“Where are we going, my lord?” you whisper back. 

“Anywhere I can fuck you,” he states plainly as you struggle not to spit out the champagne you just sipped, a dribble still escaping down your chin that you attempt to dab away discreetly. He intentionally did that—waited to drop that line when you were taking a swig.

A warm finger catches the drip and pushes it back to your mouth, his pupils dilating. “Can’t quite swallow it all; that looks familiar,” he murmurs, intentionally being utterly filthy.

“Anthony!” you admonish quietly but fiercely.

“We both know being on your knees is your favourite place after being face down over my desk,” he mutters, knowing this sort of talk always gets you breathless.

And indeed, it does. “Are those five minutes up?” you ask archly.

Wordlessly, with a bemused huff, he grabs your hand and pulls you out into the aisle, briskly walking towards the rear of the room and out of the door. He keeps marching, out of the building, into the street, making a beeline for his home less than a hundred yards away.

“Your family…?” you check as you realise where he is headed.

“All at that dreaded recital. The house shall be empty except for staff. Not that it is consequential, for we are not going into the house,” he smirks back at you.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you realise he has veered into the mews running behind his property.

“Stables,” he answers as if that explains everything.

“Why?” 

“You are asking an awful lot of questions tonight,” he comments, then pauses and crowds you into a cold brick wall in the narrow dark lane. “How about you trust me and just do as you are told, you wilful little thing?” his warm breath gusts over your cheek.

Oh. It's already playtime.

“Yes, sir,” you respond instantly, and he nods and beams at you.

“Good girl,” he compliments, grabbing your chin. “Now, you will do whatever I tell you from here on out. Do you understand me?

“Yes sir,” your breath speeding up, excitement flaring low in your belly.

“I do so love you obedient,” he sighs and kisses you bruisingly, trapping you forcefully between his body and the wall. “Take off your underwear,” he commands.

“I'm not wearing any,” you stumble honestly.

He growls, “I love when you do that, behaving like a wanton whore.” He knows how aroused you get when he calls you that in play. “Show me right now; pull up your dress.”

You scramble to obey, but he quickly stills your movement. “I see people in the window of our neighbour's house. We should move on,” he offers sagely, stepping out of character and retaking your hand. 

Anthony has never been one to attempt play in public; his image as Viscount so very important to maintain. And so contrasting to his younger, bohemian brother, memories of Benedict’s sinful voice talking of you crawling naked to him in front of strangers suddenly haunt you. How can they be both so very alike and so very different simultaneously? They are an addictive cocktail.

You continue down the mews until a gate leads you into a rear courtyard—this must be the back of Bridgerton House. 

“Wait here,” he says curtly, disappearing into a side building. “Alright, you may come in; the coast is clear,” he calls a few moments later, and you follow.

It's the tack room for the stables. It smells of leather and brass. It’s warm and dry; the mahogany wood-panelled walls give it a cosy air.

“What are we doing in here?”

“There is all sorts of equipment in here I want to use on you,” he crows, closing the heavy door shut and bolting it. The only light in the room is a faint glow from the oil lanterns flickering on the courtyard walls outside and a shaft of moonlight splicing across the room from a high window.

Something in your heart rate spikes as your eyes adjust and look around to see saddles, bridals, whips and ropes. And in the middle of the room, a padded leather bench likely used to change into riding boots.

“Now, do as you were told before we were rudely interrupted,” he prompts, leaning on the wall and crossing his arms casually, an expectant eyebrow raised.

You grab your dress and gather the layers over your forearms until you feel the air swirling around your intimate area. He growls at the sight and is on you a millisecond later, kissing bruisingly, just the way you like. There is nothing more arousing for you than Anthony, this powerful, titled man, so very desperate and out of control just for you. He spins you around, and you are pushed into the wood panels, his hands wrenching open your dress buttons as you breathe hard. 

“Open your legs wider,” he gruffs, nudging your ankles with his shoe. You do so, widening your stance to shoulder width as your dress and chemise are yanked off your shoulders. “Wider,” he instructs as your clothing drops to a pool at your feet. 

You obey, kicking away your dress, standing there now in stays and silk shoes only.

“Good girl,” he compliments, pulling your hips backwards roughly, your hands reaching out to grab the wall in front on instinct. “That's it, bend over, and hold on tight,” he orders.

Your insides dance with anticipation as he drops to his knees behind you. He is usually savage with his tongue when he eats you from behind like this—pushing his whole face into your slit, into the cleft of your cheeks, very thorough in his attentions. So you are somewhat surprised when he doesn't do that. In fact, he is silent behind you for so long you almost ask what is wrong.

“What… the… fuck….is that?” he spits angrily. But it's not his play angry; it sounds worryingly close to genuine.

‘What is what?” you ask, suddenly nervous, twisting to look over your shoulder.

He jumps up to his feet and yanks you roughly back upright against him by your hair, and you squeak in shock.

“Care to explain why there are teeth marks on your inner thigh, my girl?” his voice cutting and right at your ear.

Your stomach plummets as if you have fallen from a high branch of a tree or gone over a waterfall in a barrel. Everything inside you tumbles, and your vision swims slightly.

Benedict.

It could ONLY be him—last night. You vaguely recall feeling him bite your inner thigh as he teased you. But you were so deliriously aroused you barely felt anything. Washing this morning, you did not think to look there; you just quickly bathed and went about your day. 

“It cannot be, sir,” you instantly obfuscate. “It must be a mark, from I do not know what…. from my saddle, perhaps?” you offer, taking inspiration from what is right around you.

His grip on your hair slackens. You are uncertain he believes you. Something feels tender at this moment. Precarious. Like he is vulnerable to what the marks could signify but cannot handle his response in any other way but brusquely—needing the upper hand.

“I have been foolish, perhaps, in not being clear with my boundaries. So here they are. If you are with a Bridgerton, you should only be laying with a Bridgerton, do you hear me?” he lectures, unwittingly giving you a very convenient loophole.

“Yes, sir,” you answer instantly. “I shall only lay with a Bridgerton,” you reply, almost gleeful.

“Why does that appear so entertaining?” he asks cuttingly.

“It is not, sir,” you attempt to school your expression and tone, “more that your order is very… arousing for me, sir,” your response coquettish, knowing the diversionary flattery will work on him.

“You want to be owned by me?” he gusts hot in your ear, a warm hand snaking around your belly, pulling you back forcefully into his muscular frame.

“Yes, of course, sir”, you answer. “I want to wear your name with pride,” you pant gently, slipping into your submissive role with practised ease.

“I will brand your bottom with the family crest,” he snarls, the possessive rhetoric notching up significantly.

You goad him with a challenging look over your shoulder and roll your hips, catching your bottom on the growing hardness in the front of his trousers, knowing it will spur some kind of response. 

“You wanton little whore, rubbing yourself on me like some animal in heat just because I offer to brand you with my name,” he rumbles, enjoying your tactics, grabbing your chin and making you look at him as he leans forward over your shoulder. “I should tie you up and whip you to make you obey me,” he declares, staring into your eyes.

You suddenly know why he has brought you here, to this room—to try some more advanced punishment. The fact there is now the added dimension of his suspicion makes it feel even more charged, like the static before a storm. You can't seem to look away from his turbulent mien, knowing tonight will be something new and exciting. You can feel butterflies against your ribs as he speaks again.

“You would just hate that, wouldn't you?” he smirks, and you intuit what he wants. 

This is a power play to make you remember who is in charge, a way to brand you as his symbolically, not physically. By making you pretend you don’t want this as much as you do. Achingly so.

“You want to play that game?” you check quietly, ensuring what you think is happening is true.

“You are so very observant, my smart girl,” he whispers flatteringly, and you know exactly what to do next.

“Sir, please don’t,” you play up, voice getting louder, twisting to catch his eye and winking, letting him know your reticence is all for the scene. 

“Who said you have any say in what happens?” he chuckles darkly, his hold tightening as he roughly strips your stays from your body so you are completely naked.

This. You perhaps shouldn’t want this, but by god, you do—a little twisted role play. Elation ripples through your body. Somehow you know you both need this today. Anthony to process his suspicions about the bitemark. You, cathartic release of the guilt you carry about your tryst with Benedict. Perhaps it's a dangerous path to walk; you know you are likely playing with fire, but with Anthony, by god, it's nothing but excitement. Mutually assured destruction can seem so appealing behind glowing brown eyes and sharp cheekbones.

“Please, sir, no!” you ratchet up your theatrics, struggling slightly in his hold as he spins you around to face him. 

“Shut up!” he grouses and pushes you down to your knees with a firm grip on your hair. “Now, if you don't keep quiet, I will find a way to silence you,” he warns, yanking your head back so you look up at him.

And you know what is coming, your thighs rubbing together almost gleefully at the prospect. Your insides roil excitedly at the idea of him using you, rough and rugged, as you pretend it is against your will. Trust Anthony to take you to the edge of your needs, push your envelope and make you crave him. This is why you can’t resist him. He knows how to give you things you never knew you needed but want so much your blood sings—makes you ache for him, addicted to him like no one else.

You stay on your knees, panting lightly with anticipation as he walks away briefly, his boots seeming to clatter much louder as he returns. He yanks your hands behind your back, and you feel a thin rope wrapping around your wrists. 

“You know your safety word and action,” he leans over and mutters in your ear, and you nod, twisting to meet his eye. Confirming that today no won't mean stop; only that word or gesture will.

“No sir, please, no god, I’m sorry; please don't tie me up,” you act up.

He laughs menacingly and keeps looping the rope, tying it off with what feels like a bow. Then a hand grabs your jaw. 

“Too late for that; open your mouth,” he commands gruffly.

You instantly obey as two fingers slide thickly over your tongue. They taste of ink, smokey cigars and the tang of money, all Anthony.

“Now I know a certain way to stop this little mouth from being so insolent,” he states, casually pinching your tongue before pulling out his fingers.

“No sir, please, please don’t,” you volley back, a flash in your eyes as you lick your lips, your gaze falling to the tented shape in his trousers as he roughly unbuttons them.

His cock springs free, and you feel a frisson over your skin as you drink in the sight of it, already rigid and leaking. Without preamble, he grabs the back of your head; you can barely take a steadying breath before he pushes into you, hot over your tongue, not gentle in using you, nudging towards the back of your mouth. His cock is always so surprising in size, especially when he does this, showing you no mercy. Gripping your hair and starting a rhythm that pushes deeper on every stroke until he holds your nose pressed up to his body, filling your throat. You want to cough, speak, do anything, but he holds steady, his scent so potent.

With your hands tied as they are, you have no control over how he uses you, but you are determined not to give you safety action, to take the punishment he wants to meter out. Your clit throbs as your lungs burn for air—heady and intoxicating. Still, he does not allow you reprieve.

“Look up at me.” You tilt your eyes up as water gathers at the corner of your lashes. His thumb swipes through them. “Finally, she is silent and obedient,” he chuckles richly, his cock vibrating in your throat, “and looking so pretty on her knees, taking all of me.”

He pulls halfway out, and you inhale sharply before he pushes back in with a groan, and you are again unable to breathe. You want this so much your thighs dampen, and you look back up at him with wide, pleading eyes, playing the part of the victim you most definitely are not.

“Take it,” he stutters gruffly as you feel your throat convulse slightly, wanting to gag. “Stay down,” he orders, crushing your face into his body, his balls against your chin. You feel a pulse in his cock and then a sour tang, that little salty bead of pre-cum sliding down your gullet.

Just as you begin to struggle for air and feel woozy light-headedness, he pulls out entirely, ropes of saliva webbing from your mouth to his glistening tip as you gasp deeply, your throat burning.

“Get on your hands and knees and crawl to that bench,” he grits out, and you do as told, taking a few crawled paces to the padded leather bench in the middle of the room as he loosely refastens his trousers. Your deep wracking breathing sounds so loud, even in the wood-panelled room, as he tells you to climb up and straddle it face down.

“If you move an inch or make a noise, this will be much worse for you,” he threatens.“You will be whipped, and then you will take my cock. Maybe then you will finally remember who you belong to.”

“Please, sir, no,” your protesting murmur is weak and raspy as your throat recovers, but you turn slightly to meet his gaze challengingly, eyes blazing. You had better fuck me so hard, you mouth silently at him.

He twists his face into a bemused pout. I will, you wilful little one, he mouths back.

“Now, do I need to tie you to the bench, too?” he warns, but you get no chance to challenge it as, almost instantly, more rope loops around your back and under the bench you lay on. 

Fire flares in your belly; he has never tied you down so wholly. You cannot wiggle free of this; you are entirely at his mercy. The leather sticks slightly to your heated cheek as a hand spanks a glancing blow onto your left bottom cheek, and you groan and push your hips down into the padded leather. Everywhere between your legs tingles, aches even, and feels hot, getting off on the thrill of submitting to his will, the utter commanding way he handles you. You need him to put his mark on you. To make it bigger, better than his brother’s. 

“Make it hurt,” you sigh, barely a breath. But you know he hears it from the sharp inhale he makes.

You look back at him pleadingly. It could be the look of a captive pleading for mercy from their captor; it could be the look of a willing participant in a provocative game, conveying just how much they want this. Indeed, it’s both, so many layers swirling in this erotically charged moment.

“My girl, you will feel it and remember tonight,” his voice a low forewarning.

You twist to watch Anthony walk away and snag a riding crop from the selection hanging on nearby hooks, heart speeding up as he walks near your head, brandishing the implement. The cool leather tongue brushes the nape of your neck. He traces it slowly, achingly so, down the length of your spine to where your bound hands lay. Your body shivers in response, and he chuckles, seemingly delighted at how he can elicit such reactions from you.

He leans low over your back, the crop raising from your skin. “Now you can't run and get help; no one is coming to rescue you from me,” he growls. Something in the tone suggests bitter experience.

There is a faint, almost whistling sound in the air then you feel a sting lashing across your left buttock. The strength of this first blow is sharp, taking you by surprise, and you yelp in response.

“Be quiet!” he orders roughly, grabbing your hair. “Or do I need to gag you as well?”

“Please, sir, don't,” your lips plead while your mind hopes he might. You enjoy it when he gags you, especially with his cravat, as he did just a few days ago during your last encounter at Aubrey Hall. That fateful night you physically bumped into his younger brother.

Anthony releases your hair as Benedict's voice and face fill your mind. A similar blow to your right bottom cheek brings you back into the room, and you groan loudly, grinding against the bench, feeling the rope around your waist resisting your movements. He is pacing around you in a circle, his footsteps echoing up the walls; you pant in anticipation, trying to crane your head to track his movements.

The crop tickles your open, bound hand, then traces up the inside of your arm, so ticklish you try to tamp down a giggle. Then you gasp as he flicks the crop on your upper arm across the flesh of your muscle there.  The leather tongue drags back down to your hands, then swaps to the other, tracing up your arm in that prickly way until, again, there is a flick to the other bicep. You sense it's coming but still whimper slightly at the lick.

It's a guessing game about what he will do next. These flicks on your arms have been light, not like the force he used on your bottom, but enough to sting and keep you on your toes.

“I do so enjoy the slight of you bound,” he hums, almost absent-minded, as the crop trails back down your arm over your hands, your fingertips and onto your lower spine.

“Please, sir, don’t hurt me,” you play up, panting with anticipation about where he might strike next. 

“What part of ‘be quiet’ are you not understanding?” he utters through clenched teeth; it’s all the warning you get before the crop reigns a sharp blow onto the back of your thigh, right below where it meets your bottom.

You hiss and writhe as the crop insinuates between your legs, encouraging them further apart. 

“If you keep talking, I will crop you right here,” he cautions, running the smooth leather tab over your labia. You fold your lower lip into your mouth to censor any response you might have. “Good girl,” he intones, and the crop is gone.

You are almost relaxing into the soft bench when he strikes a lick onto your ribs, it's not hard, but it takes you by surprise; your yelp is instinctual. Then with an almost predatory gleam in his normally beguiling eyes, he rains little blows across your back. Short, sharp lashes that sting, not hurting but not pleasant. You flinch at every blow but feel a paradoxical sense of relief with each one, the discomfort as cleansing as it is arousing.

It's when the crop disappears between your thighs that you tense slightly. But he does not flick it against your pussy; he holds it over the spot you assume are the teeth marks, his breathing uneven. Then with a determined glint, he lashes the area hard, and you feel redness instantly bloom there as you cry out. He has done exactly what you wanted; he has covered up Benedict's mark on you with one of his own, bigger, better, bolder—so very Anthony. It almost feels akin to a twisted game of one-upmanship you will wear on your skin for a few days.

Then he flicks little marks on the back of your thighs and buttocks. Again each one feels like absolution and a step higher towards a blissful state where you float outside your body, utterly pliant to his demands and treatment.

“Stay with me,” he dictates. 

He senses you slipping into a subspace but wants you alert and responsive to every move he makes. 

“Who do you belong to?” his question is a bark.

“You.” It's a reflex.

“And only me, do you understand me? I will not share,” he grits out. 

“Yes sir,” you slur as the crop makes one last resounding blow on your cheek, so forceful you scream.

There is a clatter as the crop falls to the ground, and he is tearing off his clothing as you watch covetously and panting with anticipation, your skin burning hot in the places he has cropped you.

“No sir, please don’t take me,” you fib with a small smile, catching sight of his delicious, engorged cock as he strips. 

“Oh, but you are mine to take,” he laughs menacingly as he rounds behind you, kneeling on the floor where he lines up to enter you.

With a grunt from him and a cry from you, he plunges into your body; the stretching invasion always steals your breath. The artifice of the game you have been playing falls away as you sigh his name and murmur for him to please take you hard, wanting him to fuck all the guilt out of you.

And he does what you need. He shows no mercy as he grasps the rope around your back in his fist so it digs into the sensitive flesh of your sides and begins a punishing rhythm. Thrusting with such force, your whole body rolls, the bench squeaking in protest. You struggle to form thoughts and just quieten your mind, lean into the intensity of it—allowing your body to be used, taken, finding pleasure in your passivity. 

His hand spanks a glancing blow over your left cheek that he has left flecked with crop marks, and you squeal at the layering of this sharp pang over the dull throb from his earlier discipline.

“Keep quiet,” he hisses, leaning over your back and biting the nape of your neck. His incisors grabbing flesh and pulling, a pinching searing pang you know will mean teeth marks and wearing scarves to cover up until they fade. 

You are shocked at how fast your body is hurtling towards a climax, your clit squashed into the rounded end of the bench as he fucks into you. You start to pant little noises and writhe in your bindings, your wrists still in the small of your back, starting to feel pins and needles as your movement causes the rope to dig in harder.

“You are so very close,” he observes, suddenly holding still, buried deep inside you. “That will not do,” his tone almost disappointed, “do not come yet”.  

You fight the urge, your pussy squeezed tight around him, fighting the little convulsions you feel, every inch of his cock engraving on your walls like he is leaving his imprint inside you.

“I mean it,” he warns, “you will not come until I permit it.”

“Yes sir,” you croak, gusting hot breaths into the bench and trying to calm your body. To stave off your orgasm until he allows it.

Then there are fingers resting on your clit, and you inhale sharply, twisting in your binding to look at him over your shoulder, something wild in his manner, his eyes glittering.

“No,” he says firmly as he teases your bud with expertise, edging you but refusing permission to let you break.

“This is not fair,” you groan, puffing hard as he begins to fuck you again, this time with an unhurried rhythm, withdrawing then surging in as his fingertips expertly hook under your hood to massage your engorged little nub. 

“Fair is not my concern,” he dismisses, “what is my concern is demanding your utter obedience.”

Every ounce of your body is aflame, the tension of holding to a precipice as each welt on your body throbs in sympatico with your clit.

“Please,” you mumble, unsure you can stem the tide building; obey his rules.

His grip on your bum tightens as he spears into you roughly, making you grunt as your whole body rocks with the force. Boring into you now, unforgiving in his mounting of you, he once again wraps the rope that lashes you down around his knuckles, ensuring you gasp at the harsh binding, the rough fibres repeatedly rubbing until small welts appear.

He is setting an almost punishing pace, ploughing into your body repeatedly as you listen to his panting breaths, desperate for his consent to release all the tension, almost an unbearable weight.

He spanks your right cheek for good measure. You moan, and the pleasure-pain that blossoms makes your break impossible to fight anymore. Your eyes screw shut as his fingers slide over your sensitive bud, the grip of his spanking hand now banded around the crest of your hipbone, strong enough to leave more marks on your delicate flesh. 

“You may,” he pants, perhaps sensing the inevitable.

You call his name and bury your nose into the bench, your teeth snarling and biting against the leather as your body, denied over and over, finally relents, your pussy palpitating around him so harshly you almost propel him from your body. Each synapse firing so hard your mind blanks out, a snapping of something inside that is your tether to reality. Then you are floating, somewhere far away, on a cloud of throbbing skin and pumping heartbeats, the pain transmogrifying into something beautiful, like amnesty, appeasement, peace.

You are barely cognisant as he rapidly withdraws from your body with a shout, spilling his seed onto your aching cheeks, the splash of it somehow both stinging and soothing the ache, bringing you back into the room as he slumps over your back, head between your shoulder blades.

For a few moments, there is nothing but the joint sound of your laboured breathing and the creek of the rope as you shift lightly under his weight.

“That was… truly something else,” he pants, drawing upright to untie your body and wrists delicately.

“It really was,” you agree, as he rubs the sore spots on your wrists from the chafe of the rope.

“Thank you. For giving me your trust like that,” Anthony says quietly, sincerely. “It is a rare thing to play like this…. Very rare indeed.”

He looks so thoughtful you don't know what to say in response. “Any time, Anthony. It was a very cathartic experience for me,” you admit honestly. “Something so freeing about playing that role for you,” you clarify before he asks what you mean, Benedict’s face flashing in your mind, guilt flooding your heart.

He jumps up, gathers a padded blanket from a hook, and lays it on the ground, pulling you into an embrace atop it. You settle into his arms, allowing your body to feel soothed by his idle, gentle strokes as he speaks again.

“I have come to realise that you are chasing challenging experiences. And my darling girl, I always want to be the one, the only one, worthy and able to do that, to challenge you in all the ways you may need,” he offers as he nuzzles your temple, dropping a light kiss there.

“That's so funny; Benedict was just saying the same last night,” you giggle lightly, your idle tongue running away from you in your post-orgasmic haze.

“You talk to my brother about such matters?” He freezes and sounds strange as he says it, and instantly you wince inside but try not to let it show. 

“Sometimes he and I talk. Of you and I, our compatibility, our courtship,” you attempt breezy nonchalance, gesturing into the air. “We bumped into each other at the Trowbridge Ball, and perhaps I had too much champagne,” you offer, relieved that partial truths and alcohol may explain how you came to talk of such matters with his brother.

“But you said this was last night?” Anthony argues, slowly twisting and sitting up away from you. “And the Trowbridge Ball was two nights ago. I should know; I was not well that day.”

Bile rises in your throat. You try not to let your panic show on your face, but you suspect your acting skills may be somewhat lacking. “Oh, of course, I… I am mixing up my days. The season is such a whirl, is it not?” You overshoot, mugging a smile too large and too brittle, clutching at proverbial straws. 

You sit up and instinctively grab your chemise to cover yourself up, feeling the need for a physical layer of protection, your skin registering a cold draft that breezes along the floor, making you shiver. There is a few moments of silence where you curl your lip under your teeth. Scared, you will slip up more, knowing Anthony is too smart not to see it. 

“I thought I warned you to stay away from him,” he intones, his voice going low.

“Come on, Anthony. He is your family; why would I not talk to your family? To the outside world, at least, we are courting.” You try to appeal to his logical side.

“Do you converse with Colin? Do you talk such intimate things with him?” He bristles, and you stay silent. Knowing what he points out is true. You have barely spoken more than five words to Colin, all mundane. “Yes. As I thought,” he adds, more than a little bitter. “And I find it strange that I went to call on you yesterday afternoon to apologise for being unable to accompany you to the ball, only to be told you were not home. That you were, in fact, receiving art lessons from my brother. Indeed, your family valet seemed most perplexed that I was not aware, seeing as I had apparently arranged the whole thing.” 

Oh god. 

He knows. 

He knows something is happening between you and Benedict. And he has kept it in until now. Again you are tumbling over that waterfall. Suddenly, so much of tonight takes on more nuance than you could possibly have imagined: the desperation, the possessiveness, the want to tie you down and punish you hard, the now-weighted phrase that no one is coming to rescue you. Part of you wants to run away, be sick to your stomach, but part of you wants to stay and fight.

“Anthony…” you appeal, not knowing what else to say.

“Don't,” he chides, and you feel him building up his walls, brick by brick, cutting you off. “But thank you for confirming what I didn't want to know. You may leave,” he adds bitterly, and you can see untold hurt in his eyes. 

You can see that trying to reason with him is a lost cause at this moment. So silently, you pull your stays on loosely over your chemise and then your dress, the initial panic giving way to a melancholy sinking into your bones about how he is closing himself off. You slip out of the stable door and don't allow yourself the luxury of a glance back, or even a tear, as you walk the few hundred yards back to the recital venue and your awaiting carriage.

You suspect that were it any other man, Anthony would not be so very agitated—his younger brother very much his Achilles heel, right from that first warning at Aubrey Hall. Perhaps he sees something in you that is a kindred spirit to Benedict more than to himself and fears the choice you may make. Little does he know, you crave them equally and more than ever, even as you feel uncertain about where you stand with either brother now. Both knowing of your dalliance with the other, and neither happy about it—precisely what you didn't want. In hindsight, it was never going to be easy playing off both brothers. But you never expected Anthony’s reaction to be so emotional, the hidden depths he keeps so well concealed under the mask of responsibility.

And things are about to get even more complicated when Benedict sees what Anthony has done….

Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld@eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog

[thecrayonindisguise]

Chapter 4: Unspoken Bonds || Bonds and Barriers

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || << prev || next >>

Word Count: 9.4k

Warnings: no particular warnings

Authors Note: And here we are at Aubrey Hall people!! just a little note, some scenes here were inspired by some from the second season, obviously, I changed something, we don’t like to copy and paste. We are getting to know Caterina a little more... and I loved writing Teresa and Caterina's relationship here, they are my favorite!

Dearest gentle readers,  

It appears that the winds of fortune have once again swept favor upon the Medici family, though perhaps a bit sooner than expected. In an unusual twist, the illustrious Miss Caterina Medici and her sister Miss Teresa Medici were extended a private invitation to Aubrey Hall, before the rest of the ton, no less. Some might wonder what could inspire such a gesture from none other than Lord Ducker, especially given that the entire ton has yet to receive their own summons to the Bridgerton family estate. It seems some are destined to arrive at the party early. I would venture a guess, dear readers, that romantic interests are afoot. But, Miss Medici is the true object of Lord Ducker’s favor?  

On another note, last night’s ball provided more than just invitations and dance sets. One might have heard a certain Mr. Paxton’s pride shatter as he found himself unexpectedly sprawled on the floor, courtesy of a certain Miss Medici. What caused such an ungraceful display, you ask? Let’s just say that Mr. Paxton should be more mindful of his tongue when speaking about women, especially in Miss Medici’s presence. She has proven, once again, that her wit is as sharp as any sword.  

Until next time, my dear readers. It seems the Medici sisters have much to look forward to in the coming days. Aubrey Hall awaits, and who knows what further intrigues might unfold behind those grand doors? I, for one, will be watching with great interest.  

Yours in gossip,  

Lady Whistledown

─────────

The Medici carriage slowed as it approached the grand entrance of Aubrey Hall. 

The sprawling estate, with its expansive gardens and towering manor, rose before them like a testament to the Bridgerton family’s wealth and legacy. Sunlight bathed the honey-colored stone in a soft golden glow, while the breeze stirred the trees that lined the long drive. 

Caterina leaned slightly toward the window, her sharp eyes taking in the details, impeccably manicured lawns, ivy creeping up the walls of the estate, and the grand stone steps that led to the entrance. 

Beside her, Teresa practically hummed with excitement, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her gloves.

“ Dio mio , it’s even more beautiful than I imagined,” Teresa whispered, her voice full of awe.

Caterina merely nodded, her expression unreadable but betraying a flicker of admiration. “Yes, the Bridgertons certainly know how to make an impression.”

The carriage came to a halt, and before the Medici sisters could compose themselves fully, the door swung open.

Footmen, dressed in the Bridgerton livery, stepped forward to assist them down. As Caterina alighted gracefully from the carriage, her gaze immediately fell on the figures waiting at the top of the stairs.

The entire Bridgerton family stood assembled to welcome them.

Lady Violet Bridgerton stood at the forefront, beaming warmly, with her children gathered around her in a welcoming line.

Daphne and Simon stood close by, as did Benedict, Colin, Eloise, and Anthony. But joining them this time were the younger Bridgertons, Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth, whom neither Caterina nor Teresa had yet met.

“Lady Medici, Miss Caterina, Miss Teresa!” Violet greeted them with her usual enthusiasm, stepping forward. “We are so thrilled to welcome you to Aubrey Hall.”

Lady Medici inclined her head politely, her soft smile belying her regal composure. “Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. Your home is even more beautiful than I imagined.”

As the Medici family exchanged pleasantries with Lady Bridgerton, Teresa's wide eyes lingered on the grand entrance of Aubrey Hall, her lips parted in awe. 

Caterina, though poised and regal, couldn’t help but admire the lively scene before her, a family so intertwined in each other's lives, filled with an undeniable warmth.

Violet waved away the compliment with a gentle laugh. “It’s an old home, but it’s filled with love. Now, allow me to introduce you to the rest of the family.” She gestured to the three younger Bridgertons. “This is Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth. They were eagerly awaiting your arrival. and of course my lovely daughter Daphne.”

"Lady Medici, Miss Caterina, Miss Teresa," Daphne greeted them, stepping forward, her face aglow with kindness. The Duchess of Hastings was radiant, her hand resting lightly on Simon’s arm. "I hope the journey wasn’t too tiring for you?"

Caterina smiled softly, inclining her head, her gaze briefly flicking over Simon’s tall, imposing figure before settling on Daphne. "Not at all, Your Grace. The journey was pleasant enough, though I must say, arriving at Aubrey Hall makes the journey feel worthwhile."

Simon nodded, his expression serious yet warm. "We are pleased to finally welcome you both here”

Teresa, unable to hide her excitement, stepped forward with a grin, her voice bubbling with enthusiasm. "Your Grace, I’ve been looking forward to seeing Aubrey Hall. It’s even more magnificent than I imagined."

Daphne laughed lightly, exchanging a quick glance with her husband. "I’m glad to hear that, Miss Teresa. We hope you will both find your stay as pleasant as possible."

As the conversation continued, Lady Medici and Violet shared a quiet exchange. "You have raised a fine family, Lady Bridgerton," Lady Medici said with sincerity, her regal tone softening slightly. "It is easy to see the bond between all of you."

Violet smiled proudly. "Thank you. Family is everything to us, and I believe that’s something we share in common, Lady Medici."

Before they could exchange further words, the familiar figure of Lord Ducker stepped forward, his presence commanding attention. 

He had been lingering toward the back, but now his eyes were fixed on Teresa, his lips quirking into a small, appreciative smile.

"Ah Edward," Violet greeted with warmth, "I see you've come to greet our guests as well."

Edward offered a low bow, his eyes never leaving Teresa’s as he straightened. "Indeed, dear aunt. It would be quite improper of me not to welcome the Medici family." He turned his full attention to Teresa, his voice softening. "Miss Medici, I trust your journey was pleasant?"

Teresa blushed slightly, her fidgeting hands stilled as she met his gaze. "Very pleasant, my lord. Thank you for asking."

Caterina observed the exchange with quiet interest, a small smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. 

Edward’s admiration for her sister was unmistakable, and it filled her with a sense of quiet relief. 

Despite all the complications that had arisen since their arrival in London, this was falling into place.

"Lord Ducker, you’ve been quite the gracious host in London," Caterina added, her tone smooth and measured. "It’s been a pleasure getting to know your family during our stay."

Edward’s gaze flicked briefly to Caterina before returning to Teresa. "The pleasure has been mine, Miss Caterina. But if I’m honest, I am always particularly looking forward to this visit to Aubrey Hall. The countryside, the fresh air… it offers a welcome respite from the chaos of London."

Daphne, watching the exchange with amusement, chimed in, "Indeed, Aubrey Hall has that effect on everyone. And I daresay a few days in the countryside will be just what we all need to clear our heads."

Just then, Benedict approached from the side, his expression unreadable as he met Caterina’s gaze briefly before bowing slightly to the group. "Lady Medici, Miss Caterina, Miss Teresa," he greeted formally, though there was an edge to his voice that only Caterina noticed. "I hope you find the estate to your liking."

Caterina met his gaze steadily, though the tension between them was palpable. She inclined her head, keeping her voice cool and measured. "It’s lovely, Mr. Bridgerton. A home filled with history and charm."

Before anything more could be said, Anthony stepped forward with a broad smile. "Right then, we’ve gathered enough in the courtyard, haven’t we? Let’s not keep the ladies standing any longer. Let us show you to your rooms, and afterward, perhaps we can all enjoy a walk through the gardens before dinner."

Violet nodded in agreement, her eyes sparkling. "Yes, please. You must be tired after your travels. Come, we’ll show you to your chambers so you can rest."

As they made their way inside Aubrey Hall, Teresa, still flush with excitement, fell into step beside Edward.

The two exchanged quiet words, their conversation flowing naturally, while Caterina found herself walking next to Benedict, though the silence between them stretched uncomfortably.

Until the little Hyacinth, with her eyes twinkling with curiosity, stepped forward, eager to meet the new guests. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Medici,” she said, her words directed at Teresa. "Mother says we’ll be playing Pall-Mall later, and I do hope you're ready. We Bridgertons take it very seriously.”

Teresa smiled brightly, her excitement matching Hyacinth’s. “I think I’m more than ready,” she replied, casting a playful glance at Caterina, who stood back with a raised eyebrow.

Gregory, looking ever the mischievous younger brother, grinned and added, “Just don’t let Benedict put you off, he’s notorious for bending the rules.”

Benedict, who was standing to the side, raised an eyebrow at the jab. “Notorious? Gregory, I’m wounded by your lack of faith.”

“And here I thought it was part of your charm,” Caterina chimed in, her voice laced with dry humor, her eyes glinting. 

Benedict smiled, clearly amused. “I’m afraid I can’t deny it. A good strategy, bending the rules, especially in Pall-Mall.”

Caterina gave him a sidelong glance, her lips curving into a knowing smile. “And here I was, thinking you were the noble one in the family.”

Benedict let out a soft laugh. “Noble? In this family? You wound me, Miss Medici.”

Caterina laughed, her posture relaxed as she teased him further. “Let’s hope that charm of yours isn’t the only weapon you bring to the field.”

Benedict leaned in slightly, his smile widening. “Oh, I don’t doubt that. But I should warn you, if you thought the ballroom was a battlefield, you’ve yet to witness the chaos of a Bridgerton Pall-Mall match.”

As the playful exchange between Caterina and Benedict unfolded, Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat, smiling at the pair. “Now, now, let’s leave the game talk for later. Why don’t we settle you into your rooms first?”

Teresa glanced at Caterina, excitement bubbling in her voice as they followed the family inside. “I think I might actually enjoy this weekend,” she whispered.

Caterina smirked, eyes still dancing with amusement from her banter with Benedict. “Oh, I’m sure it will be interesting, at the very least.”

Inside the manor, the atmosphere was as welcoming as the family themselves. 

The grand foyer was filled with warmth, chandeliers glittering above, and family portraits adorning the walls. 

As the Medici family took in the grandeur of Aubrey Hall, Caterina couldn’t help but admire the subtle elegance.

As they were shown to their rooms, Benedict lingered near Caterina. “I’m glad you decided to come,” he said softly.

“Are you?” Caterina responded her tone teasing but with a curious undertone.

Benedict chuckled, leaning in slightly as they walked. “Of course. Who else would I spar with during our matches? You keep me on my toes.”

Caterina met his gaze, eyes glinting with both challenge and amusement. “Then I suppose I’ll have to keep you guessing, won’t I?”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied, his voice low and playful.

As they continued up the staircase, the light banter between Caterina and Benedict didn’t go unnoticed by the rest of the Bridgertons, or by Teresa, who shot a quick smile toward her sister. 

It seemed Aubrey Hall was already full of intrigue, and the weekend had only just begun.

─────────

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden hue over the sprawling grounds of Aubrey Hall, as the Bridgertons and their guests made their way to the garden where the Pall Mall course had been set up. 

Lush green hedges framed the open field, and the wicket posts stood ready, gleaming in the sunlight. Flowerbeds burst with color along the path, their vibrant hues reflecting the competitive but playful mood hanging in the air.

Daphne, always graceful, stood with Teresa and Caterina Medici in the shade of a large oak tree.

The sisters, ever poised but clearly eager for the challenge ahead, listened attentively as Daphne outlined the game’s nuances. 

Teresa leaned in, her eyes bright with curiosity. “Can I ask the rules, Your Grace?” she prompted, though it was clear she was already picking up on the tone of the game.

"Pall Mall is less about the rules," Daphne began with a small, knowing smile, "and more about the goal." she chuckled softly. "The goal is simple, hit your ball through each wicket. The first player to reach the last wicket wins. But," she added, her eyes glinting with mischief, "if you’re feeling particularly wicked, you can use your turn to knock an opponent’s ball as far from their next wicket as possible."

Caterina's lips curled into a devilish smile, exchanging a glance with Teresa. “I believe we will enjoy this game very much,” she said, her tone laced with anticipation.

Daphne continued, her voice filled with amusement, as though she was letting the sisters in on a Bridgerton family secret. “The real trick is knowing your opponents. Colin is crafty, he’ll strike when you least expect it, so always be on your guard. Eloise,” she glanced toward her younger sister, “focuses entirely on beating her brothers. She’s so absorbed in her rivalry with them that she often forgets about the rest of us.”

Teresa raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “And Lord Bridgerton?”

Daphne laughed. “Anthony is ruthless. He plays to win and doesn’t care who he steps over to do it.”

Caterina, ever observant, leaned in slightly. “And your other brother your Grace?”

“Benedict?” Daphne smirked. “he is a solid shot. He avoids conflict, mostly. But don’t underestimate him, he’s full of surprises.”

Caterina’s eyes sparkled at the mention of Benedict, already plotting her next teasing exchange. 

Before she could say more, Anthony approached, carrying the Pall Mall mallets with his usual air of authority.

“Ladies, gentlemen,” Anthony announced, his voice carrying over the group, “I regret to inform you that we are one mallet short.”

“Oh, no need to worry!” Teresa interjected, her voice full of enthusiasm. “Caterina and I will share. Besides, it’s better that way, we wouldn’t want the garden to turn into a serious battlefield.”

Caterina smiled, watching her sister defuse the tension with her light-hearted tone. 

But before she could step forward, Benedict appeared at her side, his tall frame almost casting a shadow over her.

"Ready to be defeated, Miss Medici?" Benedict’s voice was low but teasing, the corners of his mouth curling into a grin.

Caterina looked up at him, her expression playful but challenging. "It’s far too early to declare victory, Mr. Bridgerton," she countered, her tone dripping with mock confidence.

Benedict feigned a deep sigh, placing a hand over his heart as if wounded. "Wounded already," he said dramatically, "and we haven’t even started."

Their playful exchange didn’t go unnoticed. Daphne, standing a few steps away, smiled quietly to herself. She had seen many Pall Mall matches over the years, but the way Benedict and Caterina exchanged banter hinted that this game might be more intriguing than most.

As the others gathered to begin the game, Colin suggested tossing a coin to decide the first pick of mallets. Eloise quickly reminded everyone of a promise made the year before to let the youngest choose first, while Anthony insisted they follow alphabetical order. 

The Medici sisters stood back, enjoying the friendly bickering that ensued among the siblings.

Teresa leaned in to whisper to her sister, “You already know which one?”

Caterina nodded. “Of course.”

Just then, Daphne cleared her throat, bringing order back to the group. “The only fair thing to do is let our invited guests choose first,” she announced, gesturing toward Teresa and Caterina.

Edward, standing nearby, smiled graciously. “Ladies, please. Choose your mallets.”

Teresa strode forward confidently and picked up the green mallet, holding it up as though inspecting it. 

Anthony chuckled, looking at Benedict out of the corner of his eye. “An excellent choice,” he said, his tone light but teasing.

Caterina, catching the glance between Anthony and Benedict, couldn’t resist. She sidled up to Benedict, her voice low and teasing. “Is this yours?” she asked innocently, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

Benedict blinked, then shook his head, a faint frown of concern flickering across his face. 

“Thankfully, no,” he muttered, though he couldn’t hide the amusement in his eyes.

Caterina’s soft laugh reached his ears, and she leaned in closer. “I wish you the best of luck, Mr. Bridgerton. You’ll need it,” she whispered before moving away to rejoin her sister.

The group assembled on the lawn, ready to begin. Daphne, standing at the head, raised her mallet with a flourish. “To the field of combat!” she declared with dramatic flair.

The Medici sisters grinned wickedly at each other as they stepped forward to take their place in the game.

“Ladies!” Their mother’s voice echoed from the terrace, where she was seated with Lady Bridgerton and Lady Ducker. “Remember, you are guests! This is not a war zone!”

Caterina and Teresa exchanged a glance and burst into laughter before hurrying to join the rest of the players.

The game began with the usual chaos and laughter. 

Teresa and Caterina, always one step ahead, worked seamlessly as a team. They whispered to each other between turns, their strategy becoming clear as the game progressed. 

Their movements were calculated, but subtle enough to go unnoticed by the other players.

“They’re too quiet, don’t you think?” Lord Ducker mused, watching the twins closely. He stood next to Benedict and Colin, who were equally absorbed in observing the sisters.

“They’re up to something,” Benedict agreed, his gaze flickering over to Caterina, who was laughing softly with her sister.

As the game progressed, the usual chaos of a Bridgerton Pall Mall match erupted. Eloise accused Anthony of cheating, her voice rising in frustration. “Anthony, you clearly cheated! My ball wasn’t there!”

“I did not cheat!” Anthony retorted, crossing his arms defensively. “How could I?”

Eloise pointed angrily at the lawn. “Your ball was right next to mine, and now look where it is!”

The Medici sisters exchanged sly grins as they stood off to the side, watching the Bridgerton siblings argue. Their strategy was working perfectly. With each turn, the Bridgertons were becoming more distracted, allowing the sisters to move ahead unnoticed.

Meanwhile, Colin sidled up to Benedict, who was watching Caterina with a distant smile. “Your head is clearly elsewhere, brother,” Colin teased, nudging him with his elbow. “Otherwise, you never would have given me such a shot.”

Benedict sighed, his gaze lingering on Caterina, who was now in a deep conversation with Eloise. “I admit,” he said, “my thoughts are far from the game.”

Colin raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “You fancy her, don’t you?”

Benedict let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief. “I can’t stop thinking about her. It’s frustrating.”

Colin clapped him on the shoulder. “Frustrating? It sounds more like you’re in trouble, brother.”

Back on the field, the Medici sisters were edging closer to victory. They had expertly dodged every attempt to knock their balls off course, while the Bridgerton siblings continued to bicker amongst themselves. 

Their mother, watching from the terrace, exchanged a glance with Violet Bridgerton and Lady Ducker.

The soft murmur of conversation drifted across the terrace as the ladies sat comfortably under the shade of a large pergola, watching the lively game unfold in the garden below. 

Lady Marie Medici sat beside Lady Bridgerton and Lady Ducker, her expression a mix of pride and nostalgia as her eyes followed her twin daughters, Caterina and Teresa, who were now fully immersed in the chaotic fun of Pall Mall.

The game had brought out both their competitive spirits and infectious joy, and it warmed Marie’s heart to see them so carefree.

Edward’s mother, Lady Ducker, leaned in with a smile, her voice full of warmth and admiration. “Oh, I must compliment you on your daughters, Lady Medici. They are a credit to you. So poised and full of charm.”

Marie turned her head, her eyes twinkling as she glanced at her daughters. 

They were laughing with the Bridgerton siblings, their movements graceful yet determined as they played. 

“Thank you, Lady Ducker,” Marie replied, her voice soft yet touched with pride. “They are my greatest blessing indeed.”

Violet Bridgerton, always one to appreciate a well-timed remark, chuckled lightly from her seat beside Marie. “And perhaps our greatest challenge too,” she teased, exchanging a knowing look with Marie. “Especially during the marriage mart, wouldn’t you agree?”

All three women laughed at that, the sound light and easy, floating in the soft breeze. 

The season’s trials and tribulations were well-known to all of them, and there was a shared understanding of just how daunting it could be for mothers trying to secure good matches for their daughters.

Marie sighed, leaning back slightly as she looked out over the vast, beautiful grounds of Aubrey Hall. “Yes, I never imagined the season could be quite so… cutthroat,” she admitted with a wry smile. “Even in Italy, it is not quite the same. here, everything feels more intense.”

Lady Ducker nodded in agreement. “Oh, it can be quite an ordeal,” she said with a knowing look. “But your daughters are handling it beautifully, Lady Medici. They’ve already made such an impression.”

“It is kind of you to say so,” Marie replied graciously, though her tone held a hint of wistfulness. “It’s their first season here in England, and yes, our first time on English soil as well.” She paused, her gaze softening as her thoughts seemed to drift. “We needed a change… a fresh start after my husband, well passed away..”

Both Violet and Lady Ducker exchanged quiet, understanding glances, the atmosphere shifting to something more tender. 

Marie’s voice wavered slightly, but she kept her composure, her eyes still on her daughters. “It was a tough and painful time for all of us,” she continued, her voice barely above a whisper. “Especially for Caterina. She shared so much with her father. Not just his looks…” She chuckled softly, though it was laced with sorrow. “But also his spirit.”

There was a moment of silence as the other women let her words hang in the air, fully understanding the weight of what she had just shared. Grief was a familiar presence in all their lives, but it was never an easy topic to discuss.

“I quite understand,” Violet said quietly, her tone full of sympathy. 

Her gaze turned from the game below to the familiar surroundings of Aubrey Hall, the home where she had raised her eight children, the home where her own late husband’s memory was deeply embedded. “Aubrey Hall holds many such memories for me as well.”

Lady Ducker placed a gentle hand on Violet’s, her face soft with affection. “Violet, dear,” she said warmly, her tone rich with comfort.

It was clear that the bond between these women was strengthened not just by shared experiences but by their ability to support one another through their grief and their joys.

Marie smiled, though it was tinged with sadness. She understood Violet’s words deeply and felt the same sense of longing and loss. 

Aubrey Hall may have been Violet’s sanctuary of memories, but for Marie, England represented a fresh chapter.

─────────

As the lively game of Pall Mall raged on, with Bridgerton siblings arguing and shouting at each other from every corner of the field, Lord Ducker quietly approached the Medici twins. 

Teresa and Caterina stood side by side, eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as they exchanged secretive glances. 

Their strategy had been working perfectly, and no one had even realized what they were up to.

But Edward, ever observant, was not one to be fooled so easily. 

With a sly smirk, he sidled up to the sisters, causing them both to jump slightly in surprise. 

His voice was calm but knowing as he spoke, “Was this your intention from the beginning, is it not?”

The twins exchanged a quick, guilty look, but Teresa recovered first, raising an eyebrow at Edward. “Whatever do you mean, my lord?” she asked, feigning innocence.

Edward chuckled, the knowing smile never leaving his face. “Making the Bridgerton siblings fight amongst themselves so they forget about you and leave you unhindered. Very clever, I must admit.”

Both sisters blushed faintly under the scrutiny, their earlier confidence faltering slightly under Edward’s perceptive gaze. 

Caterina bit her lip to suppress a smile, while Teresa straightened her posture, her chin lifted in quiet pride.

“Well, I suppose we can’t take full credit for that,” Teresa replied, her voice smooth, though a hint of mischief danced in her eyes. “After all, it’s not so difficult to distract them. They seem to enjoy bickering with each other quite naturally.”

Edward laughed, nodding in agreement. “True, very true. Still, I must say, I feel fortunate to have avoided your clever trap. I don’t usually play Pall Mall with the Bridgertons, so I assume I was a little more difficult to figure out, wasn’t I?”

His tone was teasing, but his smile was genuine, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement as he regarded the sisters.

Teresa gave him a polite smile, bowing her head slightly in acknowledgment. “I believe you’ve sussed us out, my lord. My congratulations.”

Caterina, who had remained quiet during the exchange, now stepped forward with a teasing glint in her eye. “It’s true, Lord Ducker. That’s exactly why we chose to play together,” she added with a chuckle. “We needed to be left alone, you see. To avoid any... hindrances.”

Teresa laughed softly, picking up on her sister’s meaning, while Edward raised an eyebrow in confusion. “Hinder whom, exactly?” he asked, his brow furrowing.

“To hinder you, of course, Lord Ducker,” Teresa said smoothly, flashing him a dazzling smile before turning away.

Before Edward could respond, Daphne’s voice rang out from across the field. “Miss Medici! It’s your turn!” She sounded slightly exasperated, likely from trying to manage her bickering siblings, who continued arguing about their balls' placement.

The twins exchanged one last amused glance before both laughed and dashed off toward their ball, leaving a bemused Edward standing there, shaking his head in disbelief.

As Caterina passed the mallet to her sister, Teresa positioned herself carefully and gave a decisive swing.

The ball connected with a loud crack, and to everyone’s surprise and delight, it soared high through the air, far beyond anyone’s expectation. The target? Lord Ducker’s ball, which flew off the field entirely, disappearing into the bushes.

The remaining players gasped in shock, but none more loudly than Edward himself, whose jaw dropped as he watched his ball vanish.

Colin, ever the enthusiastic cheerleader, clapped his hands and let out a whoop of delight. “Woo! That was amazing, Miss Medici!” he shouted, grinning widely.

Teresa flushed with victory, and smiled proudly, her eyes gleaming as she gave a small curtsy toward Colin and the rest of the group. 

Caterina, watching the scene unfold, couldn’t suppress her own laughter as she turned to face her sister.

Edward, finally regaining his composure, couldn’t help but chuckle as well, though he shot Teresa an exaggerated look of wounded pride. “You are more ruthless than I anticipated, Miss Medici.”

Teresa tilted her head, her smile turning wicked. “A necessary skill, I’m afraid, when playing a game like this. No hard feelings, I hope?”

Edward shook his head, still smiling despite his ball having been sent to oblivion. “None whatsoever. I must say, though, I am impressed. I will not underestimate you again”

Caterina, still grinning, nudged her sister playfully. “Well, sister, it seems we’ve made quite the impression.”

Teresa giggled, clearly enjoying her triumph as they both turned their attention back to the game, while Edward, with a rueful smile, prepared to fetch his lost ball.

───────── The dinner at Aubrey Hall was a lively affair, the long dining table illuminated by soft candlelight as the Bridgertons and the Medici family gathered for the evening. 

The air was filled with the scent of freshly prepared food, and the clinking of glasses and cutlery harmonized with the conversation flowing easily between the guests.

Daphne, seated next to Teresa, turned toward her with a warm smile. “Are you enjoying your time, Miss Medici?”

Teresa, whose cheeks were slightly flushed from the excitement of the day, returned the smile. “I am, very much. The buzz of the city is thrilling indeed, but I must admit that I always enjoy the peace of the country. There’s something so calming about it.”

Anthony, sitting further down the table, chuckled dryly as he leaned back in his chair. “Though I dare say, it is not quite so peaceful with my entire family in residence,” he said, casting a mock-exasperated look at his siblings.

Teresa’s eyes sparkled as she met his gaze. “I understand, my lord. While I cannot compare my family with your brothers and sisters, my sister and I were known to be quite a pair of troublemakers ourselves. So, we quite adore it as well,” she replied, her voice playful.

Edward, sitting beside Teresa, couldn’t help but smirk. “I can perfectly imagine that after today's match,” he teased, glancing at Teresa with a knowing smile.

The color in Teresa’s cheeks deepened, though she laughed softly, brushing off the compliment.

 “What about it?” Daphne asked, curious, her eyes flicking between Teresa and Edward.

Teresa chuckled, her gaze dropping to her plate before lifting again to meet Daphne’s. “Well, I think it’s time to reveal our little secret about today,” she said, casting a quick look at Caterina, who was seated opposite her.

Lord Ducker grinned, leaning forward slightly in his chair. “I must say, they were perfect in their intent. So much so that even you, Anthony, were unaware of their cunning,” he said, his tone light yet filled with admiration.

Anthony frowned slightly, his curiosity piqued. “What do you mean?”

The sisters exchanged amused glances, clearly enjoying the moment of intrigue they had created. 

Teresa, sitting tall with an air of confidence, arched an eyebrow. “I believe there’s a hint of resentment in your voice, my lord,” she said playfully.

A ripple of laughter spread around the table, and even Anthony cracked a grin. “Perhaps a little,” he admitted, shaking his head as he chuckled along with the others.

“Well, the truth is, Lord Bridgerton,” Teresa began, glancing at her sister for support, “that it was us who managed to pit you all against one another. We examined your personalities and… well, thanks to your guidance, Your Grace,” she said, nodding toward Daphne, “we were able to discern which sibling was most likely to trick the others.”

The room went still for a moment as everyone processed what she had said, and then Colin, who had been sipping his wine, nearly choked in surprise. “Wait - what?”

Caterina smiled, joining in with a glint of amusement in her eyes. “Miss Eloise, for instance,” she continued, “was far more likely to bicker with one of her older brothers, especially if she believed her ball had been tampered with. So, we made sure her ball was just slightly out of place, enough to cause suspicion but not enough to give us away.”

“And Lord Bridgerton,” Teresa added, her eyes flicking toward the viscount, “was so focused on ensuring no one else cheated that he didn’t notice his own ball had mysteriously moved further away. You were, of course, too busy defending your honor to realize what was happening.”

Daphne, listening with rapt attention, suddenly laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. “You two are far more clever than I gave you credit for,” she said, clearly impressed. “I didn’t even realize you were strategizing all along!”

Colin, who had been listening in silence, raised his eyebrows. “Wait, so you were using all of us to win? That’s brilliant.”

Caterina and Teresa exchanged a smug glance, clearly enjoying the admiration. “It was all part of the plan,” Caterina said lightly. “We observed everyone’s habits and tendencies and played accordingly.”

Almost everyone at the table was stunned by the revelation. Eloise, shaking her head in disbelief, chuckled. “I’m stunned. Did you figure it out all by yourselves?”

Violet, sitting at the far end of the table with Lady Medici and Edward’s mother, leaned in slightly, her expression one of surprise. “My goodness,” she said softly.

Marie Medici, however, didn’t seem as surprised as the others. She sighed and then chuckled fondly, shaking her head as she glanced at her daughters. “When they were younger, they were often called the ‘Daughters of Hermes,” she said with a nostalgic smile.

Benedict, who had been quietly observing the exchange from across the table, looked up, his gaze catching Caterina’s. “The god of mischief?” he asked with an amused quirk on his brow.

Caterina met his eyes, raising her glass to her lips. “Precisely,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Teresa, unable to contain her laughter, nodded in agreement. “We had quite the reputation growing up, I’m afraid,” she admitted, her voice warm with amusement.

Eloise, still marveling at the sisters’ cleverness, leaned back in her chair, her eyes wide with admiration. “It’s amazing,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve never seen anyone manipulate my brothers quite so effectively!”

The entire table erupted into laughter, the mood light and playful as the conversation continued, filled with admiration and teasing remarks. Especially Benedict who could not stop looking at her.

─────────

It was a bright and crisp morning at Aubrey Hall, the golden sunlight streaming through the large windows and casting warm glows across the estate. 

The sounds of birds chirping and the distant rustle of leaves in the soft breeze filled the air, signaling the start of another busy day.

Inside, the house bustled with quiet activity as the Bridgerton family and their guests began their morning routines.

Violet Bridgerton could be found in the morning room, sipping tea and quietly chatting with Lady Medici and Lady Ducker about the upcoming balls.

They spoke of fabrics and guest lists, of marriage prospects and social expectations, their voices low and measured, the easy familiarity of experienced women who had long understood the importance of such gatherings.

Daphne and Simon were enjoying the fresh air in the gardens, their quiet conversation peppered with shared laughter as they watched their sons toddling about, chasing after butterflies with wild enthusiasm.

Anthony was already dressed for the day, out on the estate grounds with Colin, discussing matters of land management, both men appearing engaged in a serious conversation, though Colin's intermittent jests broke through the formality. He was always able to lift the mood, even in discussions of responsibility.

Meanwhile, Eloise had retreated to the library, searching for a particular volume of political essays that had piqued her interest the night before. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she ran her fingers along the spines of the books, seeking distraction from the relentless talk of balls, marriage, and societal expectations that seemed to consume the household. 

And then there was Benedict, who had slipped away from the others. 

Ever the solitary artist, he found solace in the quiet corners of the house, drawn to the makeshift studio he’d set up within the estate. While others were preoccupied with the duties of the day, he had retreated to the one place where he could lose himself, where the pressures of family and society could momentarily fade.

As for Caterina Medici, she had taken to wandering the hallways that morning, her steps light and thoughtful. 

She had woken early, before the house had fully stirred to life, needing space to breathe and think. 

Aubrey Hall, with its grand corridors and quiet elegance, offered her an escape from the complexities that weighed on her heart.

It was during this quiet wander that she found herself drawn to a room she had never entered before.

The door was ajar, revealing a sliver of light that beckoned her curiosity forward. 

Pausing for a moment, she glanced over her shoulder, making sure no one had seen her before slipping quietly inside. 

The faint scent of oil paints and the musky, earthy smell of worn canvases filled the air, a stark contrast to the fresh lavender scent that drifted through the rest of the house.

The room, though cluttered with artistic remnants, exuded a serene stillness. 

Unfinished canvases leaned against the walls, their images frozen in the midst of creation, half-formed figures and landscapes that seemed to tell a story, though none were yet complete. 

Charcoal sketches covered the walls in a disorganized but somehow intentional arrangement, capturing fleeting moments and emotions in rough, bold strokes. 

Caterina’s gaze flitted over each of them, drawn in by the raw emotion embedded within the lines.

Her fingers grazed one of the pinned sketches, the rough texture of the paper grounding her. 

It reminded her of the days spent in her father’s studio, her hands smudged with charcoal as he taught her how to capture the essence of a subject with just a few strokes.

The thought of him lingered like a ghost in the room, unspoken yet present in every detail around her.

As she continued to explore, her eyes were drawn to a particular canvas in the corner, its colors muted yet striking. 

Something about it called to her. It was a portrait of a woman, but her face was incomplete. 

The strokes that formed her features were delicate, almost hesitant as if the artist had been unsure whether to commit fully to her image. 

But it was the eyes, those partially painted, haunting eyes, that held Caterina captive. 

Though unfinished, they seemed to look right through her, and for a moment, she felt as though the woman in the painting was a reflection of herself, half-formed, caught between worlds, unsure of where she truly belonged.

Her hand hovered over the canvas, her fingertips barely grazing the surface of the drying paint. 

The warmth of the room seemed to wrap around her, and she found herself lost in thought. A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips, but it was tinged with the sharp edge of loss.

Just as she was about to turn away, a voice cut through the stillness, shattering the fragile moment of reverie.

"It's still unfinished," came the quiet, familiar voice of Benedict Bridgerton. 

Caterina jumped, her hand retracting from the canvas as though she had been caught doing something forbidden. 

She turned to face him, her eyes wide with surprise and a flicker of embarrassment. 

Benedict stood by the door, his presence calm but unmistakable, as if he had been observing her for longer than she realized.

"Mr. Bridgerton," she stammered, struggling to regain her composure. "I—I hadn’t realized, anyone was here. I—"

Benedict's lips curved into a gentle smile, one that was neither mocking nor accusatory.

"There's nothing to apologize for," he reassured her, stepping further into the room. "I often forget this place exists myself. It’s easy to get lost in it, isn’t it?"

Caterina’s heart raced, not just from the surprise of being caught but from the intimacy of the moment. 

Something about the way he looked at her made her feel vulnerable, as though he could see the thoughts she had tried so hard to hide. She took a deep breath, her eyes drifting back to the unfinished painting. "So you paint too…" 

"I do," he admitted, his gaze following hers to the canvas. "Though recently, it seems I have more unfinished pieces than completed ones. But it’s a passion I can't seem to let go of. you?" he asked, his voice gentle. "Do you paint?" in hoping, this time, for a response.

For a moment, Caterina hesitated. She hadn’t openly spoken about her love for art in years, not since her father passed. 

The words felt foreign on her tongue as she nodded. "I used to… paint and draw," she admitted softly. "It was my greatest passion."

Benedict’s curiosity deepened. He could hear the weight behind her words, the unspoken story that lay between them. "Why did you stop?"

The question hit her harder than she expected, and for a moment, Caterina was silent, the memories pressing down on her. 

When she finally spoke, her voice was quieter, tinged with sorrow. "My father, as you heard at the exhibition, was an artist as well.  He passed on his passion for art to me… but when he passed away, years ago, it felt like my love for painting died with him." 

She paused, her eyes glistening slightly as she glanced up at Benedict. "It felt like my love died with him. I couldn’t bring myself to pick up a brush after that."

Memories of her father, of the countless afternoons they’d spent in his studio, the way his hands moved so fluidly over the canvas, teaching her how to see the world through color and light. It felt like a lifetime ago. 

When he had passed, too hard was her desire to create. She hadn’t picked up a brush since.

Benedict’s expression softened, genuine sorrow in his voice. "I’m so sorry… about your father."

Caterina smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. "It’s been a long time, It doesn’t hurt as much as was before" she murmured, her fingers absentmindedly trailing near the painting’s edge again. "But sometimes… sometimes it’s as if I see him in every painting I look at."

Benedict’s gaze softened, his expression one of genuine empathy, and watched her closely, his mind turning over her words. 

There was something about her, the way she carried her grief, the way she guarded herself so fiercely, that both intrigued and moved him. 

For a long moment, they stood in silence, the unfinished paintings surrounding them like silent witnesses to their conversation.

Caterina could feel the vulnerability in the air between them, the shared understanding of loss and creativity, and it unnerved her. 

She wasn’t used to revealing so much of herself, especially to someone she had only just begun to know.

"O god, I don’t know why I told you all this," she said abruptly, her tone shifting as she pulled herself back behind the walls she had so carefully built. "It was inappropriate of me. You must excuse me."

Without waiting for his response, she turned and moved quickly toward the door, her movements graceful but hurried, as if she needed to escape before she revealed any more of her.

Benedict remained where he stood, watching her retreat.

He didn’t try to stop her, though part of him wanted to. 

As the door clicked shut behind her, he turned back to the unfinished painting, his thoughts lingering on her words, on the sorrow that seemed to haunt her eyes.

There was something about her that he couldn’t quite put into words, a complexity, a depth of feeling that resonated with him in a way he hadn’t expected. 

She was like one of his paintings, half-finished, a mystery waiting to be unraveled. 

And as he stared at the canvas before him, he realized with a start that the woman in the painting, the one with the haunting, unfinished eyes, looked startlingly like her.

─────────

The rest of the day at Aubrey Hall unfolded like the delicate pages of a novel, each scene filled with small interactions and moments that brought the family and their guests closer together. 

After a morning of quiet pursuits, the day slowly shifted into an afternoon of lively company and playful activities.

In the late morning, Violet suggested a light stroll through the gardens, encouraging the women to take in the fresh air before luncheon. 

The afternoon was spent leisurely, with some guests opting for quiet pursuits while others engaged in lighthearted games or conversation.

Eloise had retreated once again to the library, where she sat, books in hand.

In the drawing room, Daphne and Simon entertained their children, with Teresa and Lord Ducker joining them to play with the toddlers. Teresa watched him carefully, taking note of the gentle way he interacted with the children. 

The scene only solidified the feelings growing within her.

─────────

The dining room at Aubrey Hall was bathed in the soft glow of candlelight as the Medici family sat down with the Bridgertons for dinner. 

The long table, adorned with fine china and silverware, was set impeccably, the rich aromas of roasted meats and seasonal vegetables filling the air. 

The chatter of conversation rose as the family members began to exchange pleasantries, but amidst the warmth and lively atmosphere, Caterina felt a knot of tension tightening in her chest.

Seated directly across from Benedict, she could feel his presence even without looking at him. 

Every time he spoke, her ears seemed to prick up, her pulse quickening. 

She was acutely aware of how their conversation from that morning in the studio hung between them like an unspoken weight. 

The vulnerability she had exposed, telling him about, her feelings, her confession, made her feel exposed in ways she had never anticipated. 

Now, beneath the watchful eyes of both families, she was doing everything in her power to avoid his gaze.

Teresa, seated beside her, seemed oblivious to her sister’s inner turmoil. 

She was in lively conversation with Lord Ducker, their easy laughter mingling with the conversation of the others. 

Lady Violet spoke warmly with Lady Medici and Lady Ducker, discussing family and the countryside, while Colin and Anthony debated something jovial about the hunting season.

Caterina, on the other hand, found herself barely able to focus on the food in front of her. 

She picked at the delicate portions on her plate, her eyes steadfastly avoiding the direction of Benedict, who was seated a few chairs down. 

Once or twice, she caught herself glancing in his direction, only to quickly avert her gaze when she saw him looking back.

Benedict, for his part, seemed equally distracted. 

Though he participated in the conversation, his eyes kept straying toward Caterina, studying her in the flickering light of the candles. 

There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, something that made her heart skip when she could feel him watching her.

At one point, Eloise, seated nearby, seemed to notice the tension. "Miss Caterina, are you enjoying your time at Aubrey Hall?" Eloise asked, her bright voice breaking through Caterina’s haze of thoughts.

Caterina forced a smile, grateful for the distraction. "Yes, very much so. It’s a beautiful estate, and the hospitality has been wonderful."

Eloise, always observant, seemed to sense there was something more but didn’t press. 

Instead, she turned the conversation back to a lighter topic, involving Hyacinth and Gregory in a humorous exchange that earned a ripple of laughter from around the table.

Despite the pleasant atmosphere, Caterina’s mind remained on Benedict, and the words they had shared that morning.

His silence afterward had left her unsure, and now the uncertainty gnawed at her. She wished she could simply enjoy the evening, but with Benedict so near, every stolen glance sent her mind reeling back to their conversation in the studio.

As the courses continued and the evening unfolded, Caterina’s resolve to keep her distance weakened.

 She wondered if there would ever be a moment where she could face him without feeling the weight of her own vulnerability, or if the dinner would pass with this tension left unresolved.

Her hands tightened slightly around her napkin, reminding herself to focus on the present, to stay composed despite the whirlwind inside her. 

But even as she tried to remain steady, she couldn’t help but wonder what Benedict was thinking and whether the silence between them could last much longer.

─────────

Caterina and Teresa shared a room at Aubrey Hall, the soft glow of the moon filtering in through the large windows, casting gentle shadows across the room. The house was quiet now, the day's activities finally settling into the background. 

But sleep seemed far from the minds of the Medici sisters.

Caterina lay sprawled on her bed, her head dangling off the edge, her long hair spilling onto the floor. 

“You know what could help me sleep?” she asked, her voice lilting with mischief, a glimmer of amusement lighting her green eyes.

Across the room, Teresa sat at the vanity, brushing her hair before bed.

She paused and turned toward her sister, a playful smirk on her lips. “Why do I have the distinct impression that you’re plotting something? And that I will, as usual, be dragged into it?” she teased her tone light, but her eyes were filled with excitement.

“Maybe because we’re twins, and you know me too well,” Caterina replied, sitting up and smoothing her nightgown. She grinned at her sister, her mind already racing with ideas.

Teresa put down her brush and turned fully in her chair, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. “I had no doubts you were scheming. Speak, sister.”

Caterina’s grin widened, her mischievous nature fully on display. “Well, I may have overheard where the kitchen is…” she began, her voice low and conspiratorial.

“And?” Teresa asked her curiosity now fully piqued as she leaned forward in her chair.

“And where they keep the exquisite whisky we had tonight.” Caterina finished, her grin growing as the two sisters exchanged a knowing look, both of them practically vibrating with excitement at the prospect.

Within moments, the sisters were creeping down the grand staircase of Aubrey Hall, their bare feet making barely a sound on the polished wood. 

Caterina led the way, her hand wrapped around Teresa’s wrist as they stifled giggles. “This way,” Caterina whispered, peeking around the corner to make sure the coast was clear.

“I missed doing this,” Teresa whispered back, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “It’s been too long since we snuck around like this.”

“Tess, we do this all the time at the Langston's house!” Caterina reminded her, her voice barely above a whisper as they made their way through the hallway.

“Yes, but that was family. This is different. This is Bridgerton’s house,” Teresa replied, her smile widening as the thrill of sneaking around in someone else’s home, especially one as grand as this, only added to the excitement.

They made their way down another hallway when suddenly, the sound of muffled laughter and the faint clinking of glasses made them freeze. 

The sisters exchanged a quick glance before they crept toward the source of the noise. 

They reached the door, which was slightly ajar, and peered inside, holding their breath to avoid making any sound. 

“Who’s still awake at this hour?” Teresa whispered, her eyes wide with surprise.

Caterina shrugged, motioning for her sister to be quiet as they continued eavesdropping from either side of the door.

The room beyond was a billiards room, and inside, the Bridgerton brothers, Anthony, Benedict, and Colin, along with their cousin, Lord Edward Ducker, were gathered around the table, the sound of billiard balls clacking together filling the room.

Inside, the men were laughing and exchanging jests, their conversation seemingly lighthearted until Anthony’s voice cut through the noise. 

“And what about the twins that are our guests, cousin?” Anthony asked, his tone casual but laced with curiosity. “Which one caught your attention?”

Teresa and Caterina looked at each other, their eyes widening in surprise. They could feel their hearts pounding as they listened more intently.

“It’s clearly the sweetest one, brother,” Colin said with a laugh, and the men burst into laughter once again.

“Stop laughing at me!” Edward chuckled. “you all already know the answer.” There was a pause, followed by more laughter.

“Miss Teresa Medici caught my eye from the very first moment,” Edward admitted, his voice softer but filled with certainty.

Caterina’s mouth dropped open, and Teresa’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson as they both stared at each other in shock. 

Teresa brought a hand to her mouth, her breath catching as the reality of Edward’s confession hit her.

“And you, brother?” Colin’s voice rang out again, his teasing tone directed at Benedict. “You seem to have taken a liking to the other sister. You couldn’t keep your eyes off her today or any other day before today. May I say that she’s beyond your abilities? Too beautiful and too clever, even for you.”

“She seems to have a certain temper too,” said Anthony  “A very attractive minx I may add,” added Colin laughing. again “with those malicious eyes”

There was a round of laughter, but Teresa could see Caterina’s face tighten, her mouth pressed into a thin line.

Benedict’s voice, normally so lighthearted, was stern when he spoke. “That’s enough, I don’t like the way you’re speaking,” he said sharply, cutting through the room's joviality.

There was a moment of silence, followed by Anthony’s surprised exclamation. “Benedict Bridgerton, this is not like you! You’ve always adored such talk,” Anthony teased, though his voice was filled with confusion.

“I think our brother is starting to develop an affection for the naughty twin,” Colin added with a laugh, clearly enjoying himself.

The sisters stifled their giggles, trying desperately not to make any noise.

“Oh, he doesn’t,” Anthony said, his tone suddenly mischievous. “He’s still visiting the modiste regularly, or perhaps he’s taken a fancy to one of his models again.”

Caterina’s cheeks burned with embarrassment, and Teresa whispered something to her sister that was drowned out by the men’s continued laughter. 

Realizing they were about to be discovered, Teresa gestured for them to move. 

Caterina nodded quickly, and the two of them crept away from the door, their hands covering their mouths to stifle their laughter.

Once safely inside the kitchen, they let out a breath they hadn’t realized they’d been holding. 

The sisters burst into laughter, their hands clutching their sides as they tried to catch their breath.

“Oh. My. God! Tess, you’re going to get married!” Caterina exclaimed, holding a bottle of whisky she had snatched from the pantry. Her face was flushed with excitement as she poured herself a glass.

Teresa, still laughing, took a swig from another bottle she had grabbed. “I can’t believe we actually had the chance to listen to them talking about us!” she exclaimed, her voice filled with disbelief.

Caterina nodded as she downed her drink. “So… will you accept him?” she asked, her eyebrow raised as she leaned against the kitchen table, swirling the whisky in her glass.

Teresa’s face softened, and she smiled as she paced the kitchen. “I think I will. I really like him, Kitty. Everything I’ve told you about him over these past days has only grown stronger,” she said, her eyes glowing with happiness. “Do you think I’m in love?” she asked, looking over at her sister with wide eyes.

Caterina laughed, shaking her head. “Why are you asking me that? I’m not the expert on love.”

Teresa sighed, taking another sip. “I am. I’m in love, Kitty. I love Lord Edward Ducker!” she declared, her voice almost giddy as she lifted her bottle and glass in a triumphant toast. 

Caterina laughed and joined her, both of them cheering as they clinked their glasses together.

“But what about you, sister?” Teresa asked, her words starting to slur from the alcohol. “Didn’t you hear what Benedict said about you?”

Caterina rolled her eyes, not as far gone as her sister. “He didn’t say anything. It was just assumptions made by his brothers,” she said, trying to downplay the moment as she took her sister’s arm.

They both laughed again, the alcohol making them feel carefree and light as they began to sing drunkenly, recalling old songs from their childhood.

By the time they reached the stairs, they were barely able to hold back their laughter. 

Caterina nearly tripped as they ascended, and Teresa had to pull her up to keep her from falling.

“Do you remember the fairy tale we used to perform?” Teresa asked, her eyes shining with nostalgia as they reached their room.

Caterina grinned, nodding as she flopped onto her bed. “The one about the dumb prince?”

Teresa jumped excitedly. “Yes! That one!” she exclaimed.

And so, the night continued with the two sisters reenacting their favorite childhood tales, laughing and playing well into the early hours of the morning. 

[fireside-fanfics]

Bridgerton Fics

ORIGINAL CHARACTERS

Love in Disguise - Astrid Bridgerton feat Anthony Bridgerton A House Divided - Astrid Bridgerton feat Anthony Bridgerton

BENEDICT BRIDGERTON

Coloring Outside the Lines - Benedict x Calliope Wilde (OC) The Inevitability of Us - Benedict x Maise Montague (OC)

[burnthoneydrops]

masterlist

bridgerton

What Time Has Done [Benedict Bridgerton x original character series]

Subtle(tea) [Benedict Bridgerton x reader request]

A Proposal of Convenience [Anthony Bridgerton x reader request]

Moonlit Confessions [A proposal of convenience pt 2 (Anthony Bridgerton x reader)]

The Sun and the Moon [Eloise Bridgerton x original character series]

The Sun and the Moon ii [^^]

The Language of Flowers [Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader]

Lavender's Blue, Dilly Dilly [Colin Bridgerton x fem!reader]

Paper Flowers [Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (Language of Flowers pt.2)]

spider-man

Is That my Sweatshirt? [Peter Parker x gn!reader)

stranger things

Blonde [Robin Buckley x fem!reader]

Meet the Parents [jonathan byers x reader]

daisy jones and the six

Coffee and Donuts [Graham Dunne x gn!reader]

luckiest man on the planet [graham dunne x fem!reader]

ted lasso

Like I Always Do [sam obisanya x fem!reader]

Drunk in the Back of the Car [Jamie Tartt x fem!reader]

Flirting 101 [isaac mcadoo x fem!reader]

Tickle Fight [jamie tartt x gn!reader]

Home for the Holidays [sam obisanya x reader]

the ballad of songbirds and snakes

loverboys on our hands [sejanus plinth x covey!reader]

lest beauty be wasted [sejanus plinth x covey!reader]

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Hi Eleanor! Do you have any bridgerton fic recommendations? Love your writing!!

Hello Nonny!

I'm so pleased you enjoy my stories, that is sweet of you to say! Thank you! 💙 As for fic recommendations, build your blanket fort, get a beverage and prepare to never emerge because boy do I ever have some for you...

Do you want to feel like an artist is painting a mural across your heart, swirling colors of intense emotion from lust to anguish to redemption to joy, all of it blending perfectly into a sensation of bone-deep satisfaction? Then you need to check out the works of my dear friend @thebabblingbrookenook Masterlist here.

Brooke has crafted some of the most unique and heartfelt Benedict and Anthony stories out there, mostly modern AU and x Reader, delving deep into character psyches in a variety of breathtaking scenarios. I don't know if I can pick favorites, but don't miss:

If The World Was Ending - an apocalyptic Benedict love story

His First Muse - the most beautiful examination of Violet and Benedict's relationship you'll ever read

Wide Open Spaces - for some sultry Benedict friends-to-lovemaking

The Viscount Who Loved Me Too Much - an ongoing Anthony multichapter romance that is sure to surprise and delight

Or if your tastes are skewing a bit more...carnal, you must know about the incomparable @fayes-fics. Benedict smut queen and creator of the A&B manbread sandwich, her catalog offers so many steamy encounters with the two eldest Bridgerton brothers that you are at risk of developing bedsores while you enjoy them lefthanded 😉 But lucky for us, she plies her skilled pen to sweet romance and heartwrenching emotions as well. Masterlist here.

There are literally, literally too many jewels to highlight in the treasure trove of Faye's stories, but I highly encourage reading:

Lessons - the A&B throuple series of your dreams

Double Bind - an A&B love triangle series Faye sweetly crafted from my greedy little prompts

Second Son - a beautiful G-rated story of Benedict finding love and self-worth

The Things We Do For Love - Anthony. Benedict. Orgasms. Emotions. Just read it.

I have to cut myself off because I could list these forever...

Then if you're in the mood for some Viscount served up piping hot, pay a visit to our darling Bridgerton smut auntie @colettebronte My talented friend practices her own kind of alchemy, blending no-holds-barred kinks with fantastical settings and even a dash of history to create stories that are completely unique and entirely incendiary. The steam is....burning, the sweetness is real and the characterizations are always on point.

Her entire collection should be read, Masterlist here, but personal favorites for me include:

Lord Bridgerton's List - Thigh Riding - Just, read the whole List. Trust me.

The Queen and the General 4 - A powerplay threesome with Anthony and Simon. Need I say more?

Rise and Breathe - healing heartbroken regency Anthony through kink? I cannot wait to see where this series goes...

All The Time in The World - an apocalyptic Anthony series that I am salivating for more of!

I know so many talented fic authors, I could turn this answer into a novel. Search the #fic rec tag in my blog to see them all, but I would be remiss not to highlight these other incredible stories and authors:

@queen-of-the-misfit-toys is a stunning Bridgerton family writer, who knows how to make your jaw hit the floor, either from the delightful filth of her smut or the most heartbreakingly beautiful angst you could imagine. I recommend The End of All Things

@the-other-art-blog Just knocked my absolute socks off by imagining the most perfect origin story for My Cottage here

@fiction-is-life Is taking my prompts for angsty Benedict and delivering with a stunning series starting with Touchstone of Our Character

@urchintoast creates wonderful, lively imagery and has written some heartfelt and adorable Anthony and Benedict stories. I highly recommend Fear

And dear lord, the sweepingly beautiful, searingly sexy, deeply moving Don't You Remember by @captainbucky-yt is my most favorite Benophie retelling

I could type my fingers to stubs if I told you about all the fics I have loved, so please take this as a springboard and go enjoy everything these Bridgerbuddies have to offer 💙

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

[elumish]

I understand a lot of what you're saying with the romance post, and I agree that a lot of the hate is just misogyny! That said, it's possible that person meant "violent men" as in aggressive/domineering/controlling, rather than necessarily physically violent. Case in point: Julia Quinn (an author you listed as not writing violent men) frequently writes domineering and controlling MMCs (the Bridgerton series is notorious for this; Anthony and Simon et al kind of sucked a lot in the original novels!).

(I also take issue with similar characters in other genres, whether there's a romantic subplot or not. Domineering men who don't respect women and are still framed as heroic pop up a lot in fantasy and literary and thrillers and histfic, and I hate it just as much there. But then that just loops around to the more boring discussion of "all fiction, no matter the gender of the author, has a misogyny problem," and that's not as sexy as "eww romance.")

Sure!

But not all romance novels have domineering men (in fact, I have published a romance novel where none of the men are aggressive, domineering, or controlling), and all other genres include books with domineering men. Not all romance novels even have men in the main relationship, so if someone's biggest concern is that, they are welcome to read lesbian romance novels or other romance novels about non-male characters.

My point still stands: painting the romance genre in a broad brush of "sucking" because of one's perception of the type of men included in it is more reflective of one's own views of the romance genre than of the genre itself, and we all need to stop talking about the romance genre as inherently more misogynist or whatever than any other genre. If someone says "all romance novels have x" and x isn't "romance as the main plotline" or "a happy ending" it just means that they don't understand the genre.

As a point of order on my list of authors: Julia Quinn (and all other authors I list) has books without violent men--that doesn't mean that she doesn't write violent men.