#beaumont brothers

[tessa-liam]

Snow Wars

Brothers-in-Arms Series- Prequel

🥰Thank you to @snoopdogcone for your ask - 

Prompt:  Snowball fight - Week 2 December 1st to 7th @choicesprompts 

Choices Book: The Royal Romance, pre-book #1

Series:  Brothers-in-Arms, prequel/one-shot 

Pairing: None  Warnings: none

Characters: Liam Rys, Drake Walker, Maxwell Beaumont, Leo Rys, Olivia Nevrakis, Eleanor Rys, Trystan Thorne 

Rating: Teen - All characters belong to Pixelberry

Category: angst/fluff, ask/prompt 

Words: 1.7k, not Beta’d, please excuse all errors 

A/N: A ”Brothers-in-Arms" series prequel

A/N2: Trystan Thorne - Choices, Crimes of Passion

A/N3: My submission for: choicesdecember2024; Day 10, snow; Day 30, snowball fight @lilyoffandoms

Brothers-in-Arms Series

Snow Wars, Prequel

Summary:  Liam, Drake, Maxwell, Olivia, Leo, and Trystan engage in a spirited snowball fight during their winter stay in Lythikos. What begins as a friendly challenge quickly turns into an epic battle, filled with strategy, laughter, and good-natured rivalry.  

On a crisp winter morning in Lythikos, eight-year-old Prince Liam gazed out of the frosted window of Lythikos keep. The fresh snowfall blanketed the landscape in a shimmering white, and an idea sparked in his young mind. 

 “Snow fort,” he whispered to himself, eyes lighting up with excitement. 

Rushing to his quarters, Liam rummaged through his suitcases until he found ‘The Young Adventurer’s Guide to Winter Fun’. A gift from his mother, Liam flipped through the pages, he stopped at a detailed diagram of a snow fort, complete with instructions on stacking snow bricks and carving tunnels. 

“This is perfect!” Liam exclaimed excitedly, clutching the book tightly and rushing back down the grand staircase. 

 He quickly found his best friends, nine- year-old Drake and eight-year-old Maxwell, in the keep's cozy sitting room. Drake, the practical and steady son of a palace guard, was warming his hands by the fire, while Maxwell, always brimming with energy, was busy fashioning a makeshift sled from a serving tray. 

“Who’s up for building the greatest snow fort in Cordonia?” Liam announced with a grin, holding up the book like a treasure map. 

Drake, ever the skeptic, raised an eyebrow. “A snow fort? Isn’t that for kids?” 

“Drake, we are kids,” Maxwell chimed in, already excited. “I’m in!” 

“Looks like we have a deal,” Liam said, clapping his hands. “Let’s divide into teams!"

Olivia, sitting quietly with her hot cocoa, perked up. “I’ll be on Liam’s team!” she declared, her cheeks turning pink. At seven years old, Olivia was already fiercely loyal to Liam, even if it was mostly because she had a budding infatuation with him. 

“First,” Liam said, flipping the book open to the diagram, “we need to make snow bricks. The book says to pack snow into molds to make them strong.” 

Drake, ever the realist, crossed his arms. “Molds? We don’t have molds.” 

“Not a problem,” Liam said confidently. “We’ll use whatever we can find—buckets, pans, anything.” 

 Armed with pots, pans, and boundless enthusiasm, the three boys and Olivia ventured into the snowy expanse and trekked to the edge of the icy lake near the keep, followed by several Royal guardsmen. The air was cold and crisp, their laughter echoing as they began packing snow into their makeshift molds. 

Maxwell, already covered in snow from head to toe, announced loudly, “I’m the official Chief. Brick. Maker!” 

 Drake rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Fine but make them sturdy. No crumbling bricks.” 

Meanwhile, Olivia took charge of decorating the fort with pine branches and icicles, making it “look royal.” Adding a small Cordonian flag attached to a stick, she propped it into a turret top.

Hours passed as the boys stacked their snow bricks into walls. Liam, with the book propped open nearby, directed the construction like a young architect. Drake ensured the walls were straight and stable, while Maxwell worked on a tunnel inside the fortress walls.  

By the time the sun began to dip behind the snowy peaks of the surrounding mountains, the fort was complete. It stood tall and proud, with sturdy walls, a small entrance, and even a snowball arsenal inside. 

 “We did it!” Liam declared, his cheeks flushed with triumph. 

 Maxwell flopped onto the snow, exhausted but grinning. “This is the greatest thing we’ve ever built!” 

Drake leaned against the fort’s wall, nodding in agreement. “Not bad, Your Highness. Not bad at all.” 

 As the evening settled over Lythikos, the four friends sat inside their creation, sharing stories and sipping hot chocolate brought out by the keep’s kitchen attendants. For that moment, the snow fort wasn’t just a fort—it was their Kingdom, a place where adventure and friendship reigned supreme. 

><><>< 

 The winter sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the snow-covered grounds of the keep. Crown Prince Leo and Crown Prince Trystan of Drakovia stepped out of the black SUV, their boots crunching in the freshly fallen snow. It had been a grueling day of lessons—diplomatic protocols, strategic warfare, and a particularly tedious lecture on trade agreements—but now, finally, they were free. The sixteen-year-old young men were having military lessons at the army stronghold nearby. 

 As they walked towards the main entrance of the keep, Trystan nudged Leo with his elbow. "Looks like someone’s been busy," he said, pointing in the direction of the lake. 

Leo followed Trystan’s gaze and smirked. Beside the outline of the frozen lake stood a grand snow fort, its walls expertly packed and reinforced, with small openings that served as lookout points. Surrounding it were scattered piles of snowballs, clearly prepped for an impending battle. From behind the fort's walls, they spotted movement—Liam’s blond hair peeked out, followed by Drake’s unmistakable silhouette and they heard Maxwell’s exuberant laugh. 

“Oh, absolutely,” Leo replied with a grin. “Let’s show them why we’re the older brothers,” as they moved toward the lake. 

 Without another word, the two princes bent down, scooping up handfuls of snow to form their own ammunition. Trystan was already calculating strategy. “We’ll flank them—split up and take the high ground. They won’t know what hit them.” 

 Leo chuckled. “Or, we could just charge in and cause chaos. That’s more fun.” 

 “Chaos it is,” Trystan agreed, and with that, the battle was on. 

Behind the fort walls, Liam crouched low with Drake and Maxwell. “They’ve seen us,” Liam said, his voice tinged with excitement. “Stick to the plan.” 

 Drake, ever the strategist, nodded. “We’ve got the fort’s protection. Maxwell, you’re our wildcard. Keep them distracted.” 

 Maxwell saluted dramatically. “Distraction is my specialty.” 

As Leo and Trystan advanced, Maxwell popped up from behind the fort, holding a massive snowball. “Incoming!” he yelled, hurling it with all his might. The snowball arced through the air, landing harmlessly a few feet from Trystan, who retaliated with a well-aimed shot that splattered snow across Maxwell’s face. 

“Direct hit!” Trystan cheered. The battle began with a flurry of snowballs flying through the air. Laughter echoed across the courtyard as both teams ducked, dodged, and launched their icy ammunition. 

Leo, meanwhile, launched a barrage of snowballs at Drake, who blocked most of them with an improvised shield of snow. “That’s all you’ve got?” Drake taunted. 

 “Oh, not even close,” Leo replied, sprinting forward and scooping up more snow as he went. He hurled two snowballs at once—one hit Drake’s shoulder, the other narrowly missed Liam. 

 “Nice try!” Liam called out, popping up from his hiding spot to lob a snowball at Leo. It caught him square in the chest, leaving the older prince momentarily stunned. 

“Think we’re being challenged?” Trystan asked, raising an eyebrow. 

 “Little brother’s got a good arm!” Leo laughed, brushing snow off his coat. 

Drake proved to be an excellent snowball sniper, hitting his targets with impressive precision. Maxwell, on the other hand, turned every hit into a dramatic fall, faux-claiming to be “mortally wounded” before springing back to life. 

Olivia stuck close to Liam, her aim chillingly accurate, but her real focus on staying by his side. “Liam, watch out!” she cried, tackling him to avoid one of Leo’s well-aimed snowballs. 

“You saved me, Olivia!” Liam said with a grin. 

“Of course I did!” she replied, blushing. 

 The fight continued on with laughter echoing across the grounds. Maxwell, true to his word, caused chaos by running circles around Trystan, throwing snowballs in every direction. Drake held his ground valiantly, while Liam alternated between offense and defense, his precise throws keeping his older brother and Trystan on their toes. 

 Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, the princes called a truce. They stood together in the snow, breathless and rosy-cheeked, their earlier lessons and responsibilities momentarily forgotten. 

 “Not bad, little brother,” Leo said, clapping Liam on the shoulder. “But next time, Trystan and I will bring reinforcements.” 

“Bring whoever you want,” Liam replied with a smirk. “We’ll still win.” 

As they walked back to the keep, they exchanged playful jabs and stories of their victory and near-misses. For a brief moment, they weren’t princes with the weight of kingdoms on their shoulders, or children—they were just brothers, and friends enjoying the magic of a winter’s day.

The fun came to an abrupt halt when Queen Eleanor Rys, Liam’s mother, appeared on the scene, her presence regal yet warm. 

“Liam, Leo, and everyone,” she said with a smile. “It’s time to get ready for the ribbon-cutting ceremony in the city.” 

“But we’re in the middle of a war!” Leo protested, his snowball in hand. 

Eleanor raised an eyebrow. “A snowball war can wait. The people of Lythikos are expecting us, Leo.” 

“Olivia, I’d like you to join us,” Eleanor added. “I could use a young lady’s perspective.” 

Olivia’s face fell. She had been looking forward to spending the rest of the day with Liam, and the thought of being separated from him was disappointing. 

Olivia hesitated, glancing at Liam. “Do I have to?” 

Liam crouched down to her level, brushing snow off his gloves. “You’ll have fun, Liv. And I’ll see you later, okay?” 

“Okay,” she mumbled, still reluctant but unable to refuse Liam’s gentle encouragement. 

A Memorable Day ...

As Eleanor led Olivia away to a waiting SUV, the others exchanged knowing smiles. “Looks like we’ll have to finish this battle another day,” Liam said. 

“Next time, we’re building two forts,” Leo declared as he ran inside to change his clothes for the ceremony.

"Or three!" Maxwell added with a laugh.

Despite the interruption, the day had already become one of those cherished childhood memories that none of them would forget. The laughter, camaraderie, and hint of youthful rivalry in the snowy dukedom of Lythikos marked the start of many more adventures to come.

'There's so many different worlds

So many different suns

And we have just one world

But we live in different ones'

❄️Thank you @sazanes @lizzybeth1986 for creating and hosting King Liam Appreciation Week✨️💖✨️ Day 5, Healing

❄️Artwork Commission by /artbyainna

@kingliamappreciationweek

@choicesprompts

@choicescommunityevents

@choicesmonthlychallenge

@choicesficwriterscreations

❄️Tags in the comments

[personinthepalace]

the one time Lucy Beaumont kissed the Taskmaster statue + the one time Greg stopped her Taskmaster Series 16: "Brother Alex" / "I'm Off to Find a Robin"

[grcveyacd]

“ can you just shut up for once? he’s going to hear you. “ she mutters, standing on her tiptoes to clasp her hand over his mouth. “ you do realize that if he finds you in here that he’ll kill us both, right? “ // @angelsdvsts

[jax-winchester]

I have a vision for a Royal Romance movie and the intro is Welcome to New York by Taylor Swift. Liam, Maxwell, Tariq, and Drake are getting off their plane and the MC is waiting tables with shots of New York flashing.

[ask-the-celestial-family]

Beau, remember that Nebula is no longer allowed near weed. Not after what happened last night. *discreetly points at Harvest*

What? I fell asleep after he left the theater. If Harvest got hurt, I’m sure Neb is sorry, if he even remembers what happened and I hope Ves feels better soon. I think our weed was laced with something. I need to punch Monty for that. -Beau🍃

[princess-ibri]

Does the French fairytale Princess Mayblossom exist in the Disneyverse?

Eh, I was tempted for a bit as it is where the og name Carabosse comes from, but ultimately I decided that it was 1. A little too close to what we already have with Sleeping Beauty (hence why the name travled over into the Sleeping Beauty Ballet and became ubiquitous with the Wicked Fairy until Maleficent's portrayal gained prominence)

And 2. Its just a little bit too silly? Well not silly so much as tounge in cheek, which was very common for the salon fairy tales/ conte de fees before the Brothers Grimm's more folkloric style gained popularity (one of the reasons Beauty and the Beast has managed to become a staple when so many of the other salon takes have faded was because Beaumont's version reworked it into this folklore style)

And while I can definitely appreciate the tounge in cheek aspect and actually enjoy it from time to time my personal tastes run more towards Grimm's style.

[angelasscribbles]

Yeeeeee!!!! Bertrand smut!!!!!!

Let's goooooooo

“Did you run?” She asked with a smirk.

Hell yes he did

What if I finish in your mouth by accident? What if you become disgusted by me and then … and then.. You.. don’t want to do any of this anymore.”

Oh, my poor sweet baby! <- Never in the history of ever did I think I would be saying such a thing about Bertrand Beaumont, but here we are and that's on you. 🤣🥰🤗🔥🤷‍♀️(so many mixed emotions lol)

He had seen her naked three times and Liam hadn’t even once.

This is like sweet and sad and funny all at the same time!!

Riley dropped her towel and Bertrand gasped, whispering to himself, “Four times.”

“What?” She grinned as she made her way closer to where he was sitting on the bed.

“Nothing!” He flushed.

.....and I'm dead. You killed me.

“No,” Riley gave him a coy smile. “I just like to see you without your shirt on.”

I mean, with that FC for him, who can blame her?

Bertrand’s entire being was trembling as he lowered his body onto the bed in preparation.

“Oh my God!” Riley said breathlessly as she looked at him in surprise. “That was.. That was.. Fuck!”

I mean yes, Riley, yes.....I may need a cold shower now.....

“I prefer to call it studying.” He grinned, “I have always strived to be a model student.”

A+

“Right.” Riley nodded, even though her heart sank. “I’ll be there in a few.”

Ya know, if he had actually had a conversation with his brother about his feelings, Max could have told him that Riley isn't interested in Liam like that. But noooooo.

That's okay, it gives us more angst this way and that stuff is delicious!

I think we all know what comes next....

I cannot WAIT to see how they both react to the other one around a perceived rival (aka Savannah and Liam!!)

Riley be like....

and also...

Okay, ready for the next one!

Never Have I Ever

Chapter 7 - Third Base

Book- TRR

Series- Never Have I Ever

Pairings- Bertrand x MC 

Chapter Synopsis- The Beaumonts spend some time at Applewood, and Riley and Bertrand move on to third base.

Chapter Warnings- language, oral sex

Rating - Explicit, 18+ only

Word Count-  2,910

A/N- I've been trying to keep these chapters relatively short, but this one got away from me

Chapter 7 - 3rd Base

They arrived at Applewood Manor early. Way too early. Bertrand had insisted on them leaving Ramsford at 5 a.m. so they could be the first to arrive.

And indeed they were.

The Beaumonts car pulled under the awning outside of Applewood an hour later, and they entered the lobby, where one employee greeted them nervously. 

“Oh my! Duke Ramsford, we did not expect anyone would arrive yet. Your rooms are almost ready, but in the meantime, would you like to have breakfast in the orchard? The apple trees are in full bloom and the gardens are exquisite. I assure you that our five star chefs will provide a most satisfactory meal for you, Your Grace.”

Riley cut her eyes over at Max and whispered, “Is it always like this? Everyone kissing Bert’s ass while we’re basically ignored?”

Max snickered, “Yep, but honestly I’m all for being under the radar. Means I get to have more fun. Perks of being the spare.”

The staff member led the Beaumonts plus Riley outside onto a gorgeously manicured patio with flowers and apple trees as far as the eye could see. “Holy crap,” Riley exclaimed as she looked around in awe.

Bertrand pinched the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat pointedly at her. 

“I mean..” Riley smiled at the employee, “Thank you very much. This is quite lovely.”

“Of course, my lady.” He bowed to the three guests before heading back inside.

They sat down at a table for a moment, before Riley jumped up anxiously. “I’m sorry, would it be extremely unnoble of me to take a walk in the orchard, Your Grace?” She bowed teasingly at Bertrand and he rolled his eyes.

“I suppose not. Just don’t go too far.”

She chuckled, “Yes, my Lords.”

Maxwell laughed as she headed down the steps and disappeared in the trees. “She’s something, isn’t she?”

Bertrand raised an eyebrow at his younger brother. “Yes.. something.”

Maxwell leaned back in his chair. “Soooo.. What you wanna talk about?”

Bertrand sighed, “Must we talk? We could just sit here in silence and mentally prepare for the day.”

“No way, that's boring.” The birds chirped and a cool breeze swept by as Maxwell tried to think of something to say. “Wanna talk about Riley?”

“No.” Bertrand replied without looking up from his phone, hoping that he wasn’t blushing.

“Ok.. Wanna talk about Savannah? I heard she’s coming tomorrow for the ball.”

Bertrand looked up and arched an eyebrow. “Must we talk about my personal life?”

“Well, aren’t you excited to see her?”

“I suppose.”

Max sighed, “I’m trying to bond with you, bro. We never talk about women! Tell me what you like about Savannah.. Give me something!”

The waiter emerged with a fresh pot of Earl Grey tea and took their breakfast orders. Maxwell ordered Riley several different items so she could choose whatever she wanted when she returned. Once the waiter left, Bertrand cleared his throat. 

“Her eyes.”

“What?” Max looked at him curiously.

“You asked what I like about Savannah. Her eyes.”

“Oohh, now we're getting somewhere! What do you like about them?”

Bertrand rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. “You are way too excited about this, but fine.. the color.” He looked down at his cup of tea and couldn’t help but grin, “They’re my favorite color.. Green. If you look close enough, you can get lost in a sea of sparkling emeralds.”

Bertrand stirred his tea, smiling fondly, and Max let out a soft chuckle. “Pretty sure Savannah has brown eyes.”

Bertrand’s head snapped up and he frowned, “No Maxwell.. I’ve looked into her eyes enough times to know that they are emerald green.”

Max grinned cheekily, “That’s Riley. Riley has green eyes. Savannah’s are brown.”

Riley bounded back up the stairs, taking her seat at the table. She smirked and held open her purse with a grin. “I snagged us some apples for later.” 

“Thief!” Max teased, and Riley laughed, her eyes shimmering green as the grass in the orchard. 

Bertrand stood abruptly and rushed inside the building without a word.

“Shit.. I pissed him off again, didn’t I?” Riley sighed. “I’ll put the apples back.”

“No, it’s not that.” Max shook his head. “He’s just having a hard time accepting something.”

Riley arched an eyebrow and Max stammered, “W-with the estate, I mean! Some, uh, merger didn’t go as planned.”

Riley nodded her head, satisfied, and the two tucked into their breakfast.

_____________________________________________________

Riley spent a relatively boring afternoon catching up with the nobles as they arrived at Applewood. The royal family wouldn’t get there until the next morning, and all the ladies weren’t being catty or competitive with each other the way they were when Liam was around. Olivia was actually being pleasant and invited everyone to a party she arranged on the terrace which would take place after dinner.

But despite everyone actually being friendly, Riley found herself feeling lonely. Lying on the bed in her assigned room, she realized just how few friends she actually had. A couple back home in New York, but she hadn’t spoken to them in over a month. Maxwell was currently her best friend and she had only known him for a few months. She thought of Bertrand as her friend, but did he reciprocate her feelings? She got along with a couple ladies at court, and Drake and Liam were nice enough. She furrowed her brow as she began to think that maybe something was wrong with her. 

Dinner would be served in an hour, but she wasn’t hungry. She took out her phone and scrolled through her texts- some funny memes from Max, dates and times of events from Hana, a couple ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’ texts from Liam.. She opened Bertrand’s most recent text and couldn’t help but laugh. It was a photo she sent of herself in a low cut gown that Maxwell had chosen, and the very Bertrand-like response he had given was below: “Lady Riley! Dear God, please tell me that wasn’t the dress you chose! That gown is practically pornographic!”

Riley smiled as an idea hit her. She’d send Bertrand another picture. She pulled off her shirt, barely concealing her breasts with one arm, and snapped the picture. She typed out, “Come to my room for another lesson.”

Within five minutes, there was a knock at her door. A flushed and flustered man stood on the other side, seemingly out of breath. 

“Did you run?” She asked with a smirk.

Bertrand clutched his phone to his chest and stepped inside her room. “What if someone had seen that photo?! My God, can you imagine the gossip!? The court would inform the press, and the press would have a field day with that! Your image would be destroyed!”

She pressed a finger to his lips and he stopped talking immediately. 

“So you didn’t like it?”

He blushed and swallowed hard, “I.. That is beside the point..”

“You sure rushed up here pretty quickly.” She teased as she lightly ran her fingernails across his chest. 

Bertrand shivered beneath her touch. “I.. well..”

Riley grabbed his hand and pulled him to her bed where they sat down beside one another. “You ready for another lesson, I take it?”

“I.. would not be averse to it.”

“You remember what comes next?” She purred, tracing her finger down his abs and stopping just above his belt. 

Bertrand’s heart fluttered. She had told him that oral sex, aka third base, was next. “I.. Can I be frank with you?”

“Of course you can. You can tell me anything, Bert.”

“I’m just a bit worried..”

Riley took his hand, her expression turning serious. “If you don’t want to do this, it’s totally fine. Some people just don’t like performing oral sex, and that’s ok! It’s a very intimate thing and honestly it's more up close and personal than actual sex. So I totally understand why you don’t want to do it to me, and I swear I’m not upset or offended at all.”

Bertrand pushed out a breath, looking down shyly. “No, no.. I want to do it to you. I’m just nervous about you doing it to me.”

Riley’s brow furrowed in confusion, “Are you worried I’ll hurt you?”

“No.” Bertrand still couldn’t face her. It had gotten slightly easier to discuss this type of thing with her, but it was still uncomfortable as hell. “I think I’m feeling self-conscious. What if I finish in your mouth by accident? What if you become disgusted by me and then … and then.. You.. don’t want to do any of this anymore.”

His last words had come out so quiet and hesitantly, that Riley wasn’t sure if she had heard him correctly. This poor man had such low self esteem and it broke her heart. She turned his cheek so that he was facing her. “Bertrand.. I promise you have nothing to worry about. I won’t be grossed out about you cumming in my mouth.”

Bertrand immediately flushed at her lude description and looked down again, but Riley turned his face back toward her. “I’m serious,” She said calmly. “I actually really like it. It gets me off.”

His eyes widened, “Really?”

She chuckled nervously, actually looking embarrassed. “Yes. But this lesson is going to be your call. Whatever you want to do tonight, I’m down. I just want you to be comfortable and honest with me.”

Bertrand nodded and cleared his throat, staring at the carpet so as to not meet her eyes. “I apologize. Saying all this is just really difficult for me.”

“I know,” Riley smiled. “And I’m really proud of you.”

Bertrand smiled slightly. His heart was hammering in his chest, but he forced out the words. “I would really like to.. to.. focus on you tonight.”

Riley felt her stomach erupt in butterflies and she grinned. “Then let me grab a quick shower and we’ll get started.”

Riley emerged five minutes later, wrapped in a plush white towel, her damp, blonde hair cascading across her bare shoulders. Bertrand knew she was gorgeous.. Hell, everyone knew she was gorgeous, but the fact that he got to see her in a way no one else at court had seen her, always gave him a little burst of confidence. He had seen her naked three times and Liam hadn’t even once. Bertrand’s stomach briefly twisted with guilt as he remembered why Riley was even in Cordonia in the first place- for Liam. 

Riley dropped her towel and Bertrand gasped, whispering to himself, “Four times.”

“What?” She grinned as she made her way closer to where he was sitting on the bed.

“Nothing!” He flushed.

Riley dimmed the lights as she always did to help Bertrand feel more comfortable, but he spoke up softly. “Could we.. leave them on this time? I would like to see what I’m doing.”

She grinned brightly, “Of course!”

Bertrand stood next to the bed awkwardly while Riley climbed in and lay down on her back. His eyes hungrily raked across her naked body and his cock twitched in his pants. He had been fully hard ever since she emerged from the bathroom, but he already decided that tonight was not going to be about him.

“What do I do first?” He asked hesitantly.

Riley patted the spot next to her and he climbed on the bed. “First you take off your shirt.”

“Oh? Is that necessary for oral sex?”

“No,” Riley gave him a coy smile. “I just like to see you without your shirt on.”

He laughed and quickly removed his shirt, folding it and laying it aside before turning his attention back to his teacher. Riley leaned forward, meeting him in a deep kiss which he eagerly returned. After a few intimate moments locked in the embrace, both were breathing heavily and Bertrand began to let his hands wander along her body. She nodded in encouragement when he positioned himself in front of her.

“You can work your way up if you like. Start kissing along my thighs, and work your way further in if you want to continue. Oh, wait.” Riley quickly stopped him. “But if you don’t like it, please stop. I promise I won't be offended or anything.”

Bertrand’s entire being was trembling as he lowered his body onto the bed in preparation. He took hold of her supple thighs and gently spread them apart. 

She was breathtakingly gorgeous. 

He began tenderly placing kisses along the inside of her thighs. As unsure as he was, he was ready to dive straight in. And more than anything he wanted to please Riley.. To have her scream in ecstasy. He shuddered at the thought and inched forward even more. The tentative kisses he was initially leaving were quickly becoming more intense and he heard her release a soft moan in anticipation as he got closer to her center.

“Just remember to be gentle.” She smiled down at him and he nodded. “You can pretend it’s Savannah if you want. I mean.. I assume that’s what you do every time anyway.”

“Er, right. Of course.”

Bertrand placed his lips against her warm cunt, alternating between leaving soft kisses and swiping his tongue through her folds. His entire body flooded with warmth once he tasted her. It was like nothing he had ever imagined. He found himself lapping up her sweet juices and she moaned softly as he swirled and flicked his tongue. He couldn’t see her face, but imagined the way she looked. Her mouth was probably open, her luscious pink lips parted as her breath quickened. Her emerald eyes were probably closed, or better yet, watching him. He groaned at the thought and increased his pace.

“Oh my God.. Bert that feels so good.. Just like that..”

He took hold of her thighs, bringing her closer to his mouth as he worked her. It was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced and he didn’t think he could ever get enough. He wasn’t sure why Riley said people didn’t enjoy this. The way she was moaning and writhing was enough to make him cum in his pants. She occasionally moved his head to a different position and each time he dove right back in, lavishing attention exactly where she wanted him.

He daringly pressed his tongue inside her and she gasped, “Oh.. that’s.. yes.. Keep doing that..”

This was heaven. His nose was pressed against her glistening core while he fucked her with his tongue. Riley took hold of his hair and brought this attention back to her clit which he took turns kissing, licking, and gently sucking. Her back arched and her grip in his hair tightened, “I’m gonna cum.. Don’t stop!”

He continued and she cried out, releasing a string of curses as her body writhed beneath his mouth. Her juices coated his tongue in a rush and he licked them up eagerly, savoring every drop. He selfishly continued well after her orgasm was finished until she reached down to lift his head.

“Oh my God!” Riley said breathlessly as she looked at him in surprise. “That was.. That was.. Fuck!”

Bertrand wiped his mouth against the back of his hand and smiled. “Good?”

She laughed, still trying to catch her breath. “Amazing. How are you so good at everything?”

“Really?” He beamed at her praise. “Maybe it’s because I.. thoroughly enjoyed it.”

She smiled and gestured at the bulge in his pants. “You want some relief now?”

He shook his head shyly. “No. I meant it when I said I just wanted this to be about you.”

“Wow,” Riley chuckled. “You are really something, Bertrand Beaumont. Savannah is a lucky lady.”

Bertrand’s heart skipped a beat. “Really?”

“Well ya.” Riley cleared her throat, “I, uh.. I should go clean up.”

“No, no!” Bertrand jumped up and headed toward the bathroom. “Allow me.”

Riley helped Bertrand clean her up and she frowned as she tried to scrub the damp sheets. “I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about.. that.. I know it’s a mess. I honestly haven't had it happen in years, so I didn’t think about it...”

Bertrand cleared his throat, “Female ejaculation or ‘squirting’. I know.” He didn’t want to say it out loud, but he loved that it happened.

“You know?!”

He chuckled bashfully, “I may have looked up some things on the internet.. In preparation.”

Riley's jaw dropped and she laughed loudly, “You cheated!”

“I prefer to call it studying.” He grinned, “I have always strived to be a model student.”

Just then Bertrand’s phone beeped, alerting them that it was almost time for dinner. He buttoned up his shirt and reached for the door. “I'll freshen up in my room and head downstairs. You are coming to dinner, right?”

She twirled a lock of her hair nervously. “We could always just order room service and watch a movie in my room or something. Just the two of us? It might be fun.”

Bertrand’s brow furrowed in confusion, “But.. this is a prime opportunity for you to mingle with the other nobles. You need to get in their good graces if you are to become queen.”

“Right.” Riley nodded, even though her heart sank. “I’ll be there in a few.”

[bosbas]

Chapter 11: if my wishes came true, it would've been you

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 4.7k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, mutual pining

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

July 21, 1814 - In a rather interesting turn of events, Miss Y/N Beaumont was once more seen promenading on the arm of Anthony Bridgerton. It appeared that the two were quite happily chatting away, an increasingly common sight that comes after almost a month of barely any social appearances for our lady of the season. Was this just another friendly promenade, or could a romance be brewing between the two? Given the closeness of the two families, a union between them would be unsurprising. However, this author was most surprised that it was Anthony who decided to pursue Miss Beaumont rather than her long-time companion, Benedict.

"So you two are properly courting?" asked Hyacinth, shoving the latest Whisteldown column in both of your faces. You were sitting beside Anthony in the Bridgerton sitting room, your book set haphazardly on your lap after Hyacinth had barged in demanding answers.

"Something like that, yes," answered Anthony, grabbing the sheet of paper from her and skimming it over for where it mentioned you.

"What do you mean 'something like that'? You're either courting or you aren't, Anthony," came Hyacinth's exasperated response. You laughed softly at her impatience, understanding her frustration. You, at times, felt the same way. It was an unusual partnership, to be sure, but you were enjoying yourself thus far. You found you could attend social events again, not feeling any pressure to engage in conversation with slimy or uninteresting men.

"It means that I am attending balls again, Hyacinth. It also means that I can continue writing down detailed summaries of these balls and giving them to you the morning after," you said, hoping to distract her from asking any further questions about your courtship with Anthony.

And it seemed to have worked. Her face lit up, knowing you were the only person who currently attended balls that was kind enough, and attentive enough, to keep her informed about the goings on of the ton. She squealed and rushed to hug you, exclaiming "Thank you thank you thank you!!!" into your neck. You hugged her back, amused by her antics.

Suddenly, Hyacinth turned to Anthony, eyes narrowed. "You had better be a good suitor to Y/N. Will you be attending balls with her? And if so, will you be dancing with her? And will you be calling on her? Will you bring her flowers?" she interrogated. Hyacinth considered you to be one of the sweetest from the older bunch of Beaumont-Bridgertons. At least, you never made fun of her and you took her seriously enough that she could have grown-up conversations with you. So Hyacinth wanted to make sure that you were going to be properly courted by her brother. Truthfully, she had hoped you would end up with Benedict. She thought the two of you were in love, based on how he talked about you and how you looked at him, but she supposed she was too young to understand the more complicated aspects of romantic feelings, and perhaps she had misjudged whatever was going on between you and Ben. Nevertheless, she wanted at least one of her brothers to court you the way you deserved, especially after reading about the mostly unpleasant encounters you had with potential suitors thanks to your accounts of your evenings as a debutante.

Anthony patted Hyacinth on her head, laughing at her protectiveness. "Yes, I will be doing whatever Y/N would like me to do. Now run along, I've been attacked in my own home long enough." With a satisfied huff, Hyacinth ran out of the sitting room just as fast as she had come in, snatching Lady Whistledown's column out of Anthony's hand and taking it with her.

You smiled after her, shaking your head fondly. Anthony had let you take the lead on the speed and nature of your courtship, and you were more than grateful for the ability to choose the pace at which the two of you progressed. True to his word, he had not pressed you for an answer to his unusual proposal, and instead let you come to him once you were ready.

And sure enough, a week ago, you had made your way over to the Bridgerton household and asked to speak with Anthony privately. In the quiet of his study, you had accepted his proposal, finally laying to rest your dreams of spending the rest of your life with your best friend. It was a bittersweet moment for you. In a way, you felt relieved that you didn't have to pine after Benedict uselessly anymore, having a solid plan in place now and getting as close to what you wanted out of a marriage as possible, barring the possibility of romantic love. But a louder and more insistent part of you was feeling this loss to the bone. Loss of what you didn't know, since you and Ben had never been romantically involved, nor had you ever expected to marry him. Though you supposed a small part of you always held out some hope that Benedict might feel the same way about you as you did about him. That he also thought about you every night, laying in bed alone and wishing you could be in his arms. That the sketches of you and forehead kisses and endless pages of correspondence and hours spent talking together could mean more than just friendship. But in the end, you knew you had been foolish to think that two decades of friendship could be undone by a half-joking comment asking if he wanted to marry you.

Anthony, for his part, had been delighted, giving you an encouraging smile and a firm squeeze on your shoulder once he heard your final answer. He hadn't expected anything from you, of course, but he was happy that he could provide a solution that would benefit both of you. However, his proposal and your subsequent acceptance created a new challenge. Though you did intend to marry him, this wasn't what was usually considered a 'real' courtship, and you were hesitant to widely announce this fact to the gossip-hungry members of the ton.

"Anthony," you began, taking a seat opposite him. "I think we should discuss how we'll present this to the ton. I don't relish the idea of scandal, and I imagine neither do you."

"Mmm the pesky Lady Whistledown continues her reign of terror," hummed Anthony amusedly, shifting in his seat. "In all honesty, I believe any rumors would more negatively affect you, given the nature of our respective positions in society. I also know this is probably a more delicate situation for you than it is for me, so I'd be happy to go along with whatever you would like," said Anthony, sending you a sympathetic smile at the unspoken mention of Benedict.

Clearing your throat and ignoring the tightness in your chest, you pushed through your hurt. "Well, I think the most obvious question is of who we should tell. About the terms of our partnership, that is," you said, putting your hand on your chin and dreading the headache this whole ordeal would be. "I fear my mother might slit your throat and mine were she to find out that I am purposefully giving up on the possibility of a love match, especially after she told me repeatedly there's no rush," you said, looking up at Anthony with an apology in your eyes.

But he shook his head in response, "That's no bother, it is to be expected. I'm slightly scared my mother would react the same." You let out a snort at the thought of Anthony, at thirty years old, still scared of his mother. He rolled his eyes at you, knowing exactly why you were laughing at him, and continued speaking. "Regardless, I don't think we should tell anyone. We can be vague about our intentions and the specifics of our courtship until I propose publicly."

You nodded, trying to plan out that far ahead and feeling your heart speed up when you thought of Anthony on one knee proposing in front of other people. A real proposal this time. "Perhaps a month will be enough time? For it to be believable that we fell in love. That seems like a reasonable timeline, right?" you asked him, trying to imagine how long it might take you to fall in love with someone. Thinking back on your friendship with Benedict, you could recognize that you had been in love with him for years now, even if you didn't know it at the time. But you didn't have twenty years to fall in love with someone else, so a month with Anthony would have to do.

"Considering we've known each other two decades, I'm sure the ton would believe we were in love if we married tomorrow. It's our families we have to convince," Anthony reminded you. Because we all know you and Benedict are in love, he thought.

You nodded, thinking through all of your family members and their possible reactions to finding out you were marrying Anthony Bridgerton, of all people. If anything, they would probably expect Benedict to be the one to propose, no matter how absurd and impossible the idea was to you now. But this only made it more crucial that your courtship with Anthony was believable.

"I don't think we'll be able to convince Alex after the night we had in your study," you said finally. "Besides, it might be beneficial to have someone else on our side helping convince our families."

Although he seemed unsure, Anthony eventually conceded, letting out a grunt. "I'm inclined to agree. I could tell him later tonight at White's," he suggested. "We were planning on going with Colin and the twins but I'm sure I'll get a moment alone with him. It will probably be best to tell him earlier rather than later if I don't want a black eye," he joked, winking at you.

"Thank you," you answered gratefully. You weren't quite sure how Alexander would react to the news, knowing that you had just had your heart broken by Benedict and were now jumping into a partnership with his older brother, so you were happy Anthony offered to tell him instead of facing him yourself.

"So, how should we start courting?" you asked. "Well, not actually courting, but you know what I mean," you quickly corrected yourself.

Anthony smiled softly at you, understanding your need to specify that this wasn't a real courtship. Unlike you, he wasn't deeply in love with his best friend, so it was much easier for him to start pursuing someone, however real or fake it might be. But he knew that, at some level, you felt like you were betraying Benedict. Or at least betraying the feelings you had for him. At that moment, Anthony truly wished that Benedict would stop being a complete idiot. If not for Ben's own sake then to stop the absolute torment he saw in your eyes every time you thought of a future without your best friend.

"Ah, yes, our incredibly cunning ruse," Anthony responded, trying to keep his tone light. "I think we could probably start with a promenade a few days from now if you are amenable. It might be good to start with something a bit more casual," he said carefully.

"That's a good idea," you agreed. "Perhaps two days from now? It will give Alex enough time to digest the idea and I can mention to my mother that you asked if I wanted to get back into the social scene after such a long hiatus. I'm sure she'll be ecstatic enough to ignore the minor details."

Anthony nodded, already planning his speech to your older brother. "I can also start making off-handed comments around my family to really sell it," he suggested.

"Oh, that's perfect! I think we might just pull it off," you said, smiling at Anthony and feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

But Anthony could not relax yet. He cleared his throat uncomfortably, knowing you needed to address the issue of Benedict but also understanding that it was a relatively painful topic at the moment. After shifting in his seat slightly and receiving a quizzical look from you, he finally spoke up. "How would you like to tell Benedict?" he asked delicately.

You winced at the mention of his name. You had no idea, to be honest. How were you going to tell your best friend that you were marrying his brother? Saying it in person and having to see Benedict's reaction in person would be incredibly painful, but saying it in a letter would be worse, you reasoned. Especially since you had avoided any mention of potential suitors in your correspondence thus far, and were planning on continuing to do so. The letters exchanged between you were too precious, too intimate, to be ruined by the mention of one of your suitors. You stared at Anthony, resigned. "It would probably be better coming from me, wouldn't it?"

Anthony gave you a sympathetic smile. "I'm not trying to get out of doing it, I know this will be one of the most difficult parts. But I believe it'll be better if he hears this from you. He would be crushed if he found out you were getting married from anyone other than you."

You sat back in your seat, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what was to come. If Ben reacted negatively to your relationship with Anthony, you might never see him again. You were desperate to make the blow as soft as possible and preserve as much of your friendship with Ben as you could. "I suppose you're right. I want to tell him in person, though," you said, nervously playing with your fingers. You felt thick tears in your eyes at the realization that if Benedict were here right now, he would be the one rubbing your hand with his thumb as he usually did when you were anxious.

Sensing your inner conflict, Anthony jumped to provide you with a solution. "If you want our courtship to last for a month, that aligns almost perfectly with our country house party in Kent. It would make sense for Benedict to come to Aubrey Hall for the party anyway, and you could have some time alone with him to tell him."

You nodded, quickly blinking the tears from your eyes. It was a perfect plan, indeed. Everything fit together perfectly, you realized with a sinking feeling. You were still half-hoping that there would be a reason you couldn't go through with this, or a massive oversight as to why the plan wouldn't work. But it seemed to be foolproof. Even the painful bits were accounted for and Anthony had made them to be as painless as possible.

And so began the biggest deceit of your life. All things considered, it was good fun. You and Anthony had decided to see each other four times per week, attending a minimum of two balls together and promenading once. Although it had only been a week, you found yourself enjoying the change of pace. You could now attend balls without having to interact with any desperate bachelors vying for your hefty dowry. What's more, Anthony had been bringing you a bouquet after every ball, which served to placate your mother above all else.

Even promenading with Anthony was enjoyable, seeing as the two of you understood each other quite well. It was nothing compared to how deeply Benedict understood you, or how engaging discussions were with him, but Anthony was miles ahead of anyone besides Ben. After only a week of courting, you found yourself better able to think about Benedict without dissolving into a puddle of tears, desperately wondering whether or not he was thinking of you while in the countryside. Your letters to him became less painful and more frequent, as you were able to push through your debilitating love for him and just enjoy speaking about art and literature.

As time went on, you were growing more and more confident that you had made the right decision, especially now that Lady Whistledown had written about your courtship, as Hyacinth had so kindly informed you. Whistledown's words were gospel to the people of polite society, so her mention of the two of you helped cement the validity of your budding relationship. Hopefully both your families would follow the rest of the ton and accept that Anthony, and not Benedict, was the one you were spending the majority of your time with now.

Although you had hoped Alex would help you in this endeavor, he had been unyieldingly silent on the matter. The day after Anthony explained your plan to him at White's, he came into your room and informed you that he knew what you and Anthony were doing. You had expected him to show at least some form of emotion, but he had simply said that he would not stand in your way and walked right out without any further discussion. Even now, a week later, he refused to talk about it with you, immediately changing the subject or just outright leaving the room when the matter of you and Anthony came up in conversation. You were disappointed, feeling like you were living a lie in and out of your home, but you supposed it was for the best. You could sacrifice talking to someone who knew the whole story for the assurance that none of your family would find out the truth. Especially not your mother.

---

As you looked out of your window to the beautiful grounds of Aubrey Hall, your mind couldn't help but drift to Benedict's latest letter. His reply had been short, which was to be expected given that you had asked him to return from the countryside to meet your future husband. Writing the letter had been almost physically painful, but you knew it was necessary. You could only hope that the tears on the paper were not too noticeable once they reached Ben.

After nearly a month of faking a courtship with Anthony, you were much more well-adjusted when it came to talking and thinking about Benedict. But a month was nowhere near long enough to quell the now all-encompassing love you had spent years growing. You didn't think you could ever stop loving Benedict, not entirely anyway. He was your Benedict, and he would be forever. You had grown up so intertwined in one another that he was as much a part of you as you were yourself. The love you felt for him was not a feeling, exactly, but more of a part of your identity. And it was all good and fun until you had to give that up to be with someone else. Though Anthony, bless him, was making it as easy for you as he could. He expected nothing more than what you were willing to give, and you couldn't thank him enough. It had been surprisingly easy to fall into a partnership with him, not feeling the undue stress of having to promptly get over Benedict that you had felt with all of your other suitors.

Your thoughts were interrupted as Theo and Bastian knocked on your door, barging in when you opened the door just a fraction. They ignored your exasperated sigh, opting instead to sit on your bed. Seeing Bastian's shoe-clad feet on your white bedding incited an anger in you that only your brothers knew how to elicit. But your murderous intentions were cut short by Theo's question.

"So, will Benedict be joining us?"

Your heart skipped a beat as you gazed from one twin to the other, trying to gauge the intention of their question. Seeing your anxious eyes, Theo rushed to explain. "We only wanted to check because... you know... yeah," he finished lamely.

"Because what?" you demanded, slightly put off by what they were implying. Thus far, your family had abstained from mentioning Benedict when speaking about your courtship with Anthony. Although they had been visibly shocked by the idea at first, they had now grown used to seeing you with Anthony instead of Benedict and it had become somewhat of the norm. Except perhaps for Cass, who was still young and a hopeful romantic. You knew she secretly still wished that Ben would return from the countryside in some kind of grand romantic gesture that would sweep you off your feet. Unfortunately, you simply couldn't afford to think that way for your sanity. Instead, you ignored her sad looks whenever Anthony sent you a particularly large bouquet of roses. So it came as a little bit of a shock that Theo and Bastian were being so forthright about the subject, showing little to no tact in handling what was a very painful situation for you.

You saw your brothers exchange a panicked look, clearly not expecting your bristling tone. "Because we haven't seen him in a while!" blurted out Bastian.

"Yes, exactly," said Theo, nodding aggressively. "It's just been some time since we last saw Benedict and we're wondering whether you knew if he'll be coming. So we can see him and all. Is he doing alright?"

You sniffed, crossing your arms stiffly and uttering a curt reply, "I see. Well, yes. He will be coming. He should be arriving in a few hours. And yes, he's alright. He's been faring quite well but I think he's coming back to town properly now."

Catching the wide-eyed look they exchanged, you rolled your eyes in annoyance. "And yes! He knows I've been courting someone, which I know was your next question. Though he doesn't know it's Anthony so don't you dare tell him. I will tell him myself once he arrives," you warned them.

"Wouldn't dream of it," assured Theo.

"Sorry about that. Let us know if you need anything," added Bastian.

You hummed. "Thank you very much. Now please get your dirty shoes off my bed or I'm afraid I will have to kill you. And we wouldn't want to make Mother sad over the death of two of her sons, would we?

They stood up off suddenly your bed and straightened up, clearly not having expected this to be such a hostile conversation. But they were glad you had at least cracked a joke, even if the comment threatened their untimely death. They laughed nervously and bid their goodbyes, exiting your room quickly.

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you closed the door after them, placing your forehead against the cool wood. You had most likely overreacted, but you would have to apologize another time. The sinking feeling of anxiety in your stomach took precedence over your brothers right now, as much as it was inconvenient for them.

The earlier flutters in your stomach had turned into giant somersaults, and you felt like you were going to be positively sick. You would have to tell Benedict that you were engaged to Anthony soon since you knew it would be unimaginably cruel to let Ben learn about your courtship to his brother as he was proposing to you.

The easiest thing would be to tell him during one of your nature walks. Whenever you were at Aubrey Hall, you and Benedict went on nature walks around the grounds, where you would often point out familiar flower and plant species, and he would remind you to take in the beautiful landscape. These walks could often last for hours, just the two of you wrapped up in each other's presence. And although it was usually Ben who suggested them, you had planned to ask him on a nature walk tomorrow morning to break the news that Anthony was the man you intended to marry. It would give him ample time and space to process the information, and some precious privacy to sort out any unresolved feelings on both sides.

Yet, the meticulously thought-out plan you had come up with did absolutely nothing to soothe your fears for the actual moment that you would tell him. In all honesty, you had no idea how Benedict would react. You weren't even sure how you wanted him to react. You supposed the best-case scenario would be if he calmly listened and said he understood your choice, and perhaps even thought it a good idea since you would be able to remain close to him. But you couldn't help a very tiny part of you that had previously been locked in the depths of your brain from hoping that Benedict wouldn't react calmly. That he would be impossibly angry. Angry with you, and with Anthony, and with himself. So angry that maybe he would realize that he did love you, after all, however unrealistic that might be.

With a determined exhale, you pushed yourself off the door and started getting ready to go downstairs to Anthony's study. The twins' unexpected inquiry had thrown you off balance, but you couldn't afford to let it linger in your thoughts. Anthony had asked you to stop by once you arrived at Aubrey Hall to iron out the details of his proposal. In less than a week, he would officially be your fiancé, and you had to start figuring out how it would actually happen.

---

As Benedict rode through the picturesque countryside toward Aubrey Hall, the weight of the impending conversation with you settled in his chest. The familiar scenes outside the carriage window, once a source of solace, now seemed to blur as his mind whirred with conflicting emotions. The letter you had sent him requesting his presence at Aubrey Hall so he could meet your future husband lay heavily in his pocket. Ben could barely breathe from the weight of the knowledge that you were so close to being out of his grasp forever.

Reading that letter for the first time had evoked a sharp pain in his chest that he couldn't shake even now, almost a week later. Benedict was beyond nervous to meet whoever you might be marrying, unsure if he would be able to successfully hide his overpowering love for you. However, he couldn't seem to forget the faint tear stains slightly smudging your handwriting of the letter in his pocket. A selfish part of him wished that you might be sad to be marrying this mystery man. That you had settled for someone less worthy and Ben could continue to be confident (if you could call what he was feeling right now confidence) in his decision to forgo a marriage with you. But this fleeting hope was immediately replaced with guilt. You deserved more than an unhappy marriage, even if it meant embracing a future that felt like a cruel twist of fate for Benedict's own heart. Despite the agonizing ache he was feeling, he knew would do this again ten times over if it guaranteed your happiness.

Arriving at Aubrey Hall, Ben dismissed the carriage with a nod of thanks to the driver. With his belongings in tow, he decided to stop by Anthony's study first. His older brother had surely already met your suitor and could perhaps offer some insight so Benedict wasn't entirely blindsided when you officially introduced him.

As Ben approached the door, he caught the sound of your voice, a sweet sound that made him smile wider than he had since he left you. He couldn't help but linger for a moment, enchanted by the familiarity of your tone and wishing he hadn't spent so long away from it.

But his attention sharpened as he overheard your conversation with Anthony. "I think it might be best if it's not a massive surprise to our families, especially Hyacinth. So, would you want to announce our engagement before everyone gets here? Sometime in the coming days? And then you can propose to me properly once all the guests arrive?" he heard you speak.

Benedict's world ground to a halt. The words hung in the air, a revelation that left him stunned. He went numb, pure anger coursing through his veins as he burst open the door and barged into his older brother's study. His eyes, aggressively narrowed into slits, fell on his best friend, sitting at his brother's desk as Anthony leaned against it. Time froze as you and Anthony turned towards him, expressions of shock clear on your faces.

"I beg your pardon?" he spoke, tone low and venomous as he breathed heavily. "What the bloody hell did you just say?"

—

A/N: just wanted to say thank you everyone so much for reading ahhhh I'm so happy to see all of your reactions after every part and I just LOVE YOU okay kisses bye

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[obsessive-valentine]

The First Steps, Guided by Gentle Hands (PT 3)

Platonic Vampire Family + Fem!Reader - (Beaumont family saga)

Progress and Setbacks- You find yourself settling in and even enjoying some bits, including Dorian being a great big brother and the warmth of a mother. Though it isn't linear progress and you stumble during some parts. But don't worry, that's what parents are for -to steady you and help in their own ways. Part 3 to 5 Stages of Grief

The following months passed slowly, they weren't particularly unkind. You'd expected worse, to be honest, you settled quicker than you'd like to admit.

Lavinia is usually at your side or close by. The two of you became almost inseparable, Lavinia treating you with a motherly tenderness you hadn’t expected. But never fragile or demeaning, in fact, she encouraged questions and exploration -she was just there for your stability, not to shelter you or keep you captive.

Soren lets you grow comfortable, giving you space to settle and get used to a new routine. He'd make small talk when you're in the same room, but it never felt forced or pressuring. It was casual and kind, warm even.

Lucian is distant to but not the same kind-distant as Soren who's giving you space but is still there for you, this is a brooding-distant. If you caught his eye, he’d glance away with a scowl, or, on the rare occasion he lingered, his expression was unreadable—something guarded beneath the surface, like he didn’t know whether to see you as a stranger, an annoyance, or something else entirely. But he rarely made any verbal jabs, he knew better, where you are Lavinia or Soren are close by.

Dorian made up for his brother in spades though.

Dorian loves having a little sister, but more so a person who's fun and matches his energy. Don't get him wrong, it's not torture living with them, but they are a very formal and work-led family. Lavinia, ever soft for her sons, often played along with her dry wit, entertaining her wild child's antics. But those were just fleeting moments, and the other two are useless when understanding good comedy. This, however, is so much more fun, so much more human- games, laughing and getting in trouble.

-

There were games of cards sprawled out on the sitting room floor, stories told by firelight that had you snorting with laughter at Dorian’s theatrical gestures, and hours spent bent over your sketchbook beside you as he tried (and failed) to master the art of drawing. Your drawing book is now a patchwork of your steady drawings and Dorian's questionable scribbles.

“This is offensive,” he grumbled one afternoon, pointing to his attempt at a cat. It looked more like a misshapen potato with whiskers. “to cats everywhere. I should be ashamed.”

“You should,” you teased, stifling a giggle. “Poor Sir Whiskers. He deserves better.”

“Art critic and sibling tormentor?” He shook his head dramatically. “What have I created ?”

Your smile lingered even after the moment passed. It was a strange thought, but you were starting to feel a quiet sense of belonging here—especially around Dorian. He treated you as though you’d always been part of his life, his easygoing nature smoothing the sharp edges of your fears.

-

Lavinia often encouraged this unconventional form of bonding too. Once walking into the kitchen where you and Dorian were for one reason or another.

Except when she rounds the corner, she sees you both balancing spoons on your noses. She holds back a laugh at the absurdity that Dorian somehow convinced you into.

"Teaching her to balance a spoon on her nose? I'm sure Soren would approve." she raises an eyebrow.

Dorian doesn't remove the spoon to look at her, to focused. "It's a skill, mother. A very serious one, it's harder than it looks." he explains with a grin.

You pipe up though laughs -after dropping your spoon again, determined to get it right you pick it up-. "He says it's a significant motor skill. Apparently, it’s vital for survival."

Lavinia smiles, seeing you so relaxed and happy "Practical, then. Carry on."

The First Steps

But while life in this new family was slowly becoming no so strange, there were unkind 'events'. Often first steps are accompanied by stumbles-

The following months of adjustment weren’t linear. You struggled with the change—an identity crisis that seemed to gnaw at you in the quiet moments—and even the culture shock of living with the Beaumonts. Just as you felt like you were coming to terms with your situation, something new would pull the rug out from under you.

Drinking blood was the worst of it. Just when you thought you could settle, you had to face something that felt so foreign, so damning, that it brought back every fear and doubt. It was gross, wrong, and an impossible idea.

Having been raised in a traditional Victorian household, you likely held some sort of religious or superstitious beliefs too. That only made this so much harder to justify.

-

The first time Soren brought you the cup, you stared at it as though it might bite you. Lavinia sat beside you at the small table in a quiet room. Dorian sat lazily on a soft armchair not far, under the guise of reading a book, but his gaze was fixed on your face, trying to read your reactions. Your stomach churned, the smell of iron lingering faintly in the air.

“Better to start now,” Soren said, his tone firm but not unkind. He set the cup gently on the table in front of you, his hands steady. “It’s easier to manage this way before hunger makes it… harder.”

He straightens up, and his face softens at the sight of an unpleasant struggle they all had faced "Take your time, but you will drink some before you go to bed." He turns to leave, letting Lavinia handle this with her gentle nature.

But he pauses "This doesn’t define you unless you let it." A tense attempt at comfort. You wish it worked.

You sat in silence for a while after Soren left. Dorian broke the silence unable to sit in such a tense atmosphere.

“It’s stranger to think about it than to do it.” as though this were a completely ordinary conversation. “Once you start, it's just routine... instinct.”

“Dorian,” Lavinia murmured, though there was no real scolding in her tone.

“What?” He shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s true.” But his face falls again when his attempt at lighting the mood fails, seeing you only tense up.

You wanted to glare at him, as your eyes began to burn and threaten tears, wanting to snap, but not able to take your eyes off the cup. How can you talk about this like it’s nothing? But your anger fell short. He’d been through this too. They all had. And now it was your turn. There was no getting around it, no more delaying.

Lavinia leaned in, drawing your attention back to her. “I know this feels impossible,” she said softly. “But it won’t ruin you. I promise you that.” The back of her gloved fingers gently brush over your cheek before stopping at your chin and holding it carefully between her index and thumb, forcing you to hold her gaze.

You blinked at her, tears burning the corners of your eyes. “How do you know?” Lavinia sighed at the sight of tears welling up, letting go of your chin to rub circles on your back.

“Because I’ve been where you are,” she said simply. “And I am still myself.”

Something about the certainty in her voice made your resolve falter. Lavinia—so calm, so strong—didn’t look wicked. She didn’t look lost. Maybe… maybe you wouldn’t either.

When you didn’t move, Lavinia stood, reaching for the cup and placing it carefully in your shaking hands. “Just one sip,” she said, her tone firm but kind. “That’s all I’m asking.”

You took as small of a sip as you could- And it was as awful as you were expecting, so foreign. The morality, the taste, the texture and the smell. But worst of all you hated that you weren't so hungry now, forced to confront that this is your way of life from now on.

Lavinia stood, smoothing her skirts before leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head. “That’s enough for tonight,” she murmured gently, her tone soft but brooking no argument. “Let’s get you ready for bed, sweet girl.” She placed a hand gently on your lower back, guiding your quiet, troubled self out of the room.

Your steps were slow, heavy with lingering unease, but before stepping into the hallway, you glanced back. Dorian sat where he’d been the entire time, unusually still—quieter than you’d ever seen him, almost forgetting he was there. His usual spark seemed dimmed as he watched you leave, his expression subdued.

He caught your gaze and offered a small, sad smile—an attempt at encouragement that didn’t quite land. It wasn’t pity, exactly, just the ache of watching someone he cared for fight battles he couldn’t help them win.

... Guided by Gentle Hands

You began getting glimpses of what life would look like when you finally settled in.

Soren took it upon himself to become a teacher, starting with history, though at first, it was subtle—nothing heavy, nothing overwhelming. He’d beckon you into his study, voice low but firm, and give you small tasks: 'read this chapter' 'tell me what you think about this passage' or 'write down your thoughts on that event'.

Soren understood better than anyone that boredom had a way of catastrophizing unpleasant thoughts, of spiralling them into something unbearable. It was practical, of course—he had always intended to educate you as thoroughly as he had Lucien and Dorian, and even Lavinia, though her education had been more self-initiated.

But at the heart of it, this was his way of looking out for you, by keeping your mind sharp and your heart steady so you wouldn’t lose yourself.

-

It was during your third week that he decided to begin. Your disorientation had started to wane, the constant aches dulling to an occasional discomfort, and you found yourself more active, less confined to bed and wandering the manor instead. You’d begun helping Lavinia with small tasks, rearranging shelves or folding linens, as though eager to distract yourself.

One particular night, when you were more restless than usual, Soren watched you quietly from the corner of his eye. The way you fidgeted and paced was all the indication he needed. After a few minutes, he stood, plucked a book off the shelf with deliberate ease, and turned toward you.

“Come with me to my study, child.” His tone left no room for argument, though there was no harshness to it—only purpose.

You followed him with confusion and trepidation, unsure of what to expect. The vastness of his study made you feel small at first—the towering bookshelves, the rich scent of old leather and parchment. But when you sat across from him, and he opened the book, it wasn’t as daunting as you thought.

The conversation began with history, his deep voice weaving stories of wars and treaties, discoveries and downfalls. -And it wasn’t long before the discussions turned, becoming less of a lecture and more of an interview.

“The tales say that vampires turn to ash in the sun,” you hesitantly said one evening, curiosity finally breaking through. “But Lavinia used to visit me during the day... that doesn't make sense.”

Soren gave a rare, almost amused look, his lips quirking faintly. “Those stories are highly inaccurate. We don’t turn to ash in the sun. It’s only irritating—burns, at the worst, if we’re careless.”

Another night, you leaned forward in your seat, bringing up another thought you had wondered about for a few days “You’re always so busy. Do Vampires have jobs?”

He inclined his head, choosing his words carefully. “The Beaumont name is very respected. That respect comes with responsibilities. It drags us into the political side of what you might call… the Vampire Court.”

“Vampire Court?” You echoed, both fascinated and wary of the term.

“Yes,” he replied, leaning back as though considering how much to say. “Though I’m afraid the details would bore you to sleep. Now, let’s return to the matter at hand.”

There was no mistaking the faint, teasing glint in his eyes as he steered you back to the lesson.

Soren didn’t seem to mind the curiosity. So one night, you dared to ask about his maker, your voice hesitant.

“Is your maker still alive?”

Soren paused, the corner of his mouth lifting ever so slightly. “Yes, he is. A very smart and serious man, though…” He glanced at you, allowing a dry, almost imperceptible humour to slip through. “Let’s just say it’s best to delay that meeting for a while. He lacks certain… refinements.”

It made you blink in surprise before you stifled a small laugh, and Soren let the moment rest there, as if it had never happened.

One night, you’d muttered about how cold you always felt, after he had asked you how the discomforts are fading. Soren had said nothing at the time, merely watching with that inscrutable expression he always wore.

From that evening on, when you woke at sunset, your fireplace was already lit, your room warm -meaning it had been for a while. You assumed Lavinia had been the one to light it, never questioning the habit.

It took weeks before you pieced it together that it wasn't the ever-attentive Lavinia lighting it for you -but Soren, who took on the task personally and routinely before Lavinia could even get to it.

...

Lavinia had always been the one to openly express her love for you. At first, she was careful—never smothering or overstepping boundaries you weren’t ready to cross. Her affection came out in sweet words and soft nicknames, in the way she always seemed close by, never far enough to leave you feeling alone. Acts of service were her strongest language of love: brushing and braiding your hair, tidying your room up and helping you do up ribbons, laces or clasps.

Slowly, as time passed, Lavinia allowed herself to do more, indulging you in the ways she had always wished to but held back. A daughter to spoil in ways her boys were either too old for or too boyish for.

Lavish clothes, jewellery handed down from her own collection, teaching you things that feel more like an excuse to bond than a lesson Soren would set up.

And then there was the bear-

Lavinia had felt, more than seen, that something was missing from your room. It was lovely, of course—she had ensured it was as comfortable and homely as a room could be, with soft wallpaper in delicate florals, plush sheets, downy pillows, and charming decorations. But as she saw more of your personality shining through—your curiosity, your humour, the flashes of humanity you were holding onto with everything you had—she knew the space didn’t yet reflect you.

It was beautiful, yes, but far too serious. Refined. Grown-up in a way that seemed wrong for someone so young (Physically and/or vampire age). She knew it would grow to be yours and be filled with personality and trinkets, that you would grow to love it as you did your old home.

But she felt you need that comfort and self-expression now more than ever, and so she resolved to change that, one gift at a time, that would increasingly become more and more tailored to your likes and comforts as they learned more about you.

The first one was a bear, a necessary comfort item for many humans. Not just any bear though, only the best. She sat at her desk one morning, as the sun rose and you slept. Writing a letter to an artisan in Russia who she'd met during one of their many travels abroad, she knew he was the person to create what she envisioned.

She spared no detail, describing what she wanted: a luxurious, sturdy bear, hand-stitched from the finest materials, with features cute enough to be loved for an eternity and stitching strong enough to endure just as long.

And when it arrived, carefully packaged, topped with a bow.

She lifts the bear out of the box—a beautiful, exquisitely made stuffed bear, with jointed limbs and cute face. Its fur is soft and plush. It’s stitched with fine care, its paws and ears trimmed with delicate embroidery. The bear’s eyes shine black like little onyx stones, and it wears a velvet ribbon around its neck with a small, silver charm hanging from it—a subtle mark of luxury and craftsmanship.

That evening, when you found it sitting carefully on your bed, your steps slowed as you entered the room. You stared at the bear for a long moment, your fingers brushing hesitantly over its fur before picking it up. It was heavier than you expected, sturdy and real—yours.

Lavinia’s voice broke the quiet, soft from where she stood in the doorway, coming in to put some of your clothes away. “A companion. He came all the way from Russia to keep you company.”

You looked up at her, eyes wide with wonder and confusion at such an extravagant gift. Lavinia didn’t linger on your hesitation, though, her tone light but full of warmth. “It is a very special gift, crafted by hand in Russia by a master artisan. One of a kind. But,” she added, with the faintest smile, “very sturdy. Created to be loved. So take care of him.”

She left it at that, continuing through your draws, finishing her task of putting clothes away as if the expensive gesture was nothing. Lavinia made no fuss about it, didn’t press you to show gratitude or admiration, not because the money was no biggie or it was simple compared to some of her precious items in her room -but because she knew she’d see her efforts rewarded in time.

And she did.

The bear never ended up on a shelf, where so many precious things might go to gather dust. No, it stayed right there—on your bed, within arm’s reach. It was too precious to put away, too yours to display as though it were just a decoration. This was the first thing in your new life that belonged to you and you alone, a token of care and thoughtfulness meant for no one else. Not out of necessity or practicality like clothes, but simply because Lavinia wanted you to have something special.

The bear became a constant presence—sometimes tucked under your arm as you slept, other times sitting proudly on your pillow when you woke. And it wasn’t long before you gave him a name, a fitting one that matched his origins, like Misha. Misha would be treasured by you for lifetimes to come.

-

-

-

Maybe this isn't so bad, maybe you can learn to accept this new -unconventional- family.

Lavinia and Dorian's consistent and open adoration, Soren's subtle but firm love and even Lucien's own form of caring that begins to show in small acts (but thats for another day).

[cherrycola27]

A Favor Among Friends

Masterlist Next Part

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption, historical inaccuracies. Regency era men and ideals. Eventual Smut. RegencyEra!AU Banner Credit @thedroneranger

...........................................

Part 1: The First Ball of the Season

Dearest Reader,

I am sure you, just like I am, are buzzing about the upcoming social season. This year's marriage mart is filled with the cream of the crop and overflowing with perfectly beautiful ladies and perfectly handsome gentlemen.

This narrator is excited to see what matches are made this year.

But before the first ball of the season, I hope you all place your bets as to which ladies will find success and which will be left broken hearted.

All eyes this year, seem to be on the house of Lord and Lady Beaumont. At the ripe age of six-and-twenty, their daughter, Miss Y/N Beaumont, enters her fourth social season without a husband. With het older sister being the Dutchess of Miramar, and her older brother set to inherent the family title, one can only wonder why Miss Beaumont has yet to secure a match, and what her family plans to do if she fails again this season.

However, it seems there will be some excitement that many young ladies, and their mamas can look foward too.

After an extended period away in the Americas, this narrator is thrilled to report that the Viscount Bradley Bradshaw has returned to London in hopes to take a wife this season. The only question is, who will be the lucky lady that will catch his eye?

...........................................

"Isn't it wonderful to be back in London?" Your mother chirped from the carriage. "Yes, quite wonderful." You responded, not taking your eyes away from the passing landscape. You sighed.

You dreaded being back in London. You already knew that people would be whispering about you in hushed corners. Girls would giggle and cover their smirks as you walked by, a buzz about that fact that you were old, and still unwed.

It's not that you didn't want to marry. You just didn't want to make the wrong choice. You wanted someone who was kind and valued you as more than a body to carry a child. You wanted someone who liked your wit and charm and appreciated the many talents you had.

"Darling." Your mother called, snapping you out of your trance.

"Hmm?" You hummed back as you turned to face her and your father.

"I asked if you enjoyed your time in Miramar with your sister and the Duke?" Your mother repeated. "Yes, Mama, it was absolutely splendid. William, Micheal, and Violet have grown so much since you've seen them last." You beamed as you talked about your niece and nephews.

You had spent several months helping your sister tend to them while she looked for a governess. It had truly been a splendid time, and you wished you had been able to say forever. But, your parents insisted you come home.

"Wonderful." Your mother smiled before her expression turned more serious. "Y/N, there is something your father and I must discuss with you."

"What?" You asked her. "We know that you have had some difficulties securing a match. It is very noble for you to hold out for love, but sometimes, one must forego love and find a sensible match." Your mother began.

"What do you mean?" You say. "What I mean is—" she sighs. "Your sister is a Dutchess. Your brother will inherit the estate, and you— you will have nothing. And I know Eddie would never let you go without, but darling, your father and I want to know you will be taken care of once we are gone." She tells you.

"Eddie and Clarissa would make sure I'm taken care of. So would Marianne and George." You say.

"We know they would." Your father speaks up finally. "But it is not their job. That is the job of a husband. Which is why your mother and I have decided that if you do not secure a match by the end of the season, we will find one for you." He states.

"What?" You shriek. "An arranged marriage? I will not agree to it." You huff. "You don't have a choice. We love you, but we will not let you tarnish the family name by becoming a spinster!" Your father declares.

You open your mouth to respond, but he shoots you a look that lets you know his mind is made up and that this conversation is over. You sulk into your carriage seat and refuse to look at either of your parents for the remainder of the ride.

............

Your first few days back in London are a flurry of trips to the market, the jeweler, and the modiste. Your mother insists that a new wardrobe will help in your quest to sequester a husband. You're fitted with beautiful drapes of satin and silk and lace for what seems like hours until your mother deems you finished. She does allow you to pick the colors of your garments at least, and so, for the first ball of the season, you choose a deep shade of burgundy. You've always been fond of the color. Even though some would say it's melancholy, you think it's just right. The thought of a dress in that color gives you the tinest bit of hope as you prepare for the season.

..........

Viscount Bradley Bradshaw was not thrilled to be back in London. He would much rather be in the countryside, but he had ignored his estate for too long, and it was now to the point that he could no longer manage on his own. He needed a wife. Someone else to share the burden with.

He didn't need, nor really want, a love match. But he did want someone smart, sensible, kind, and willing to bear his heirs. He wanted someone he could have a conversation with, and that could, at the very least, be his friend.

He'd heard much about the ladies that were available this season, and there seemed to be several promising options. He just hoped he could find someone quickly, have a short courtship, an even shorter engagement, and be married before the meddling mamas sicked their daughters on him.

He ran his hands over his face in the back of his carriage. There were so many things he needed go do this week before the first ball of the season.

He needed to collect a few payments, pay the staffs wages, and head to the tailor. Many of his suits were now too tight in the shoulders. The months he'd spent traveling and made him broader and more muscular than he once was. He couldn't risk being on the dance floor with a potential wife and have his seams bust.

He glanced outside his carriage and saw the parade of ladies and their mothers walking around and gossiping.

"One season, Bradley, you can do this for one season." He whispered to himself before grabbing his journal and writing.

...............

The first ball at the home of Lord and Lady Whittmore came faster than you imagined. It seemed you'd just unpacked your trunk when your ladies' maids came in to help you dress and prepare for the evening.

They tied your corsets and stays, fastened each tiny button, styled your hair into an elegant half up, half down hairstyle, and helped you adorn yourself with a few simple jewels that your mother insisted on.

Standing back from your mirror, you looked every bit the part of an eligible bachelorette. Your deep red dress accentuated your features. The sparkling stones sewn onto it caught the light beautifully.

Your silk gloves elongated your arms, and the garnet necklace and earrings you wore matched your dress perfectly.

Your father smiled warmly, and your mother gasped when you descended the stairs to the foyer where they were waiting for you along with your brother and his wife.

"Y/N! You look most marvelous. Surely you will be the crown jewel of the ball!" Your sister-in-law, Clarissa, gushed as she hugged you.

"Thank you, Clarissa." You smiled at her warmly before your mother ushered everyone out to the carriages. You rode with Eddie and Clarissa to the Whittmore estate, thankful to have a reprieve from your parents talking your ear off about how important it was for you to find a match, and this ball would be your best chance.

The Whittmore estate was lovely when you arrived. Candles lit up the great rooms, lively string music played. There was delicious food and drinks at every corner. Lady Whittmore handed you your dance card, which you quickly secured around your wrist.

Your brother insisted on taking you on a turn about the room, which meant you stopped to talk to several noblemen and had several ask to place their name on your card.

You can't remember half of those you danced with. Just that they would step on your feet or only talk about themselves. Anytime they asked you a question, it was about how many children you wanted and if you knew how to run a house. They didn't care that you were well read, knew three languages, or that you could play the harp. Heirs, and lots of them. That's all they cared about.

After a quatrain with some Lord old enough to be your father, you stepped away from the dance floor in hopes of taking a break and catching your breath. You grabbed a glass of champagne and tried to find a quiet place to sit and have a moment to yourself. Unfortunately, fate had other plans. A large body collided with yours, causing you to trip and spill your drink, and there's all over yourself.

"Oh my goodness! This dress is new!" You shrieked as you frantically tried to dry it with your hankerchief.

"My apologies, Miss. I wasn't watching where I was going." The person who crashed into you said.

"Of course you weren't. You Lords waltz around here with your noses so high in the air that you forget to look down and pay attention." You shot back at them.

There was a moment of silence where you realized that you probably shouldn't have said that. Especially if you wanted to find a husband.

"I'm sor—" you began as you looked up. But once you saw who it was, your words died in your throat.

"Bradley Bradshaw?" You breathed not, not quite believing it was him standing before you. "Ducky? Ducky Beaumont? Is that you?" He asked with a smile.

"No one calls me Ducky anymore, not even Edmond." You say. "Well then, what do they call you?" Bradley asked you.

"Mine name, or Miss Beaumont." You reply. "Miss Beaumont?" Bradley asks you.

"Yes. I am still Miss Beaumont, even though this is my fourth season." You sigh. "Well— I have a had time believing that you of all people struggle with finding a match, Ducky." Bradley smiles at you.

You're just about to correct him again when he suddenly grabs your hand and sweeps you out onto the floor for a waltz. "What was that all about, Lord Bradshaw?" You ask him using his formal title.

"Well, Ducky. There is a young lady who has been pestering me all evening, and I needed to get away from her." Bradley said as he directed your attention to a girl who looked rather annoyed with you.

"Ah, I see." You chuckle. "So, Ducky, tell me, how have you gone four seasons without a husband?" Bradley asks you as the two of you dance.

"It is Miss Beaumont, Lord Bradshaw. We are no longer children, and I am no longer chasing you and my brother around the countryside while our mothers play cards." You say to him. "But, I have simply not been able to find someone who appreciates me and is kind. Everyone only cares about how many children I want and what my dowery is. Not once today have I been asked if I read or if I know another language or if I can play an instrument!" You huff. Bradley chuckles.

"Well, do you read?" He asks you before giving you a spin. "Yes, I read all kinds of books." You reply. "Do you know any other languages?" He asks with a chuckle. "I know three! I speak Spanish, French, and Italian!" You exclaim. "And what about musical instruments? Can you play any?" He smiles at you. "I am most accomplished with the harp." You smile back at him.

"Well, you are very well rounded, Miss Beaumont, certainly interesting." Bradley tells you.

"And you are the only person in this room who knows that. Which is probably why I am on my way to be an old maid at the age of six-and-twenty." You sigh.

"That is not old. I am not much older than that myself. I went to school with your brother, and we are both barely two-and-thirty." Bradley says as the song ends.

"Well, I appreciate the thought. Thank you for the dance, Lord Bradshaw." You say as you curtsey to him.

"No, thank you, Ducky." He smiles and winks at you before bowing and walking away.

You had butterflies in your belly for the rest of the evening. If you were being truthful with yourself, you'd always had feelings for Bradley. Ever since you were a girl, you were captivated by your brother's best friend, always chasing the two of them around your estate, which earned you the nickname he so foundly called you.

You can remember the exact moment you realized your feelings for Bradley weren't platonic. It was when you were fourteen, and he and your brother had come home from their second year at university. The tall, lanky boy you'd spent summers with had filled out into a broad, brawny man.

And even though he was older, Bradley was always kind to you. Which is why it crushed you that he went away the same year you made your debut. You'd always hoped that maybe—just maybe—he would court you.

Maybe that's why you'd never tried too hard to find a suitor because deep down, you were holding out for Bradley. And now, that he's back, you hope that this might be the year that you find a husband.

..............

The next day, you were giddy as calling hours approached. You prayed that if anyone came, it would be Bradley.

When a valet came and said there was a caller for you, you practically leaped from your seat on the sofa, only to be met with disappointment that it was Lord Artenson. He was followed by Lord Phillips, Lord Martin, and Lord Herrington, who was determined to have you as his third wife.

You sighed and resigned yourself to reading a book once Lord Herrington finally left. Calling hours were almost over, and you were silently disappointed that Bradley had not come. But really, it was foolish of you to think that he would. You were his best friend's little sister, practically his own little sister. You were his Ducky, and he would never think of you as anything more.

You were just about to head upstairs to your room and your parents to their own when a valet came in the drawing room.

"Excuse me Lord and Lady Beaumont, it seems there is another visitor here for Miss Beaumont." He spoke.

"Really?" Your father asked. "Who is it?"

"The Viscount Bradshaw."

Tagging those who might be interested: @shanimallina87 @teacupsandtopgun @desert-fern @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @na-ta-sh-aa @katieshook02 @beyondthesefourwalls @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @horseshoegirl @djs8891 @roosters-girl @rosiahills22 @dempy @callsign-magnolia @alchemxx @gretagerwigsmuse @mshistorylover @bradshawsbaby @seitmai @kmc1989 @bcarolinablr @waywardhunter95 @hisredheadedgoddess28 @whatislovevavy @inkandarsenic @jiminie-08 @dingochef @laracrofted @skipchat @princess76179 @schoollover @cheyrenee @angelbabyyy99 @bobfloydsbabe @sunlightmurdock @sebsxphia @atarmychick007 @queenlmno @sweetwhispersofchaos @mamaskillerqueen @the-aspiring-fanfic-writer @withahappyrefrain

[kitmarlowe]

LUCY BEAUMONT Taskmaster 16x06 ’Brother Alex’

[grcveyacd]

a giggle spills from her lips as soon as she spots him, already knowing by his stance that he wasn’t pleased to be there. but, she didn’t care — she needed a ride home, and she knew he’d show up, no matter how late it was. fingers curl around her clutch, holding it tightly against her as she manages to get through the drunken crowd, only almost tripping over her own feet twice this time. dark hues roll when she reaches him, already expecting an ear full. “ because, you’re the only one that gives me lectures on the drive home, and my night isn’t complete without one. “ there’s only a slight slur to her words but it's clear by her swaying form that she’s had a little too much to drink. “ can we just go, please? my feet are killing me. “ 

ﾟ✧ plot: julien  gets  a  call  from  your  muse  to  pick  them  up  and  he's  not  happy.    (feel  free  to  assume  connection.  just  lmk  in  the  tags!) open to: f / nb .

             he  leaned  against  his  idling  car,  arms  defensively  crossed  against  his  chest  as  he  watched  all  of  the  boozers  and  burnouts  stumble  in  and  out  of  the  party.  why  was  he  here?  why  did  he  even  pick  up  the  phone  when  they  called?  eventually,  they  enter  his  line  of  sight.  julian's  annoyance  is  tangible  as  he  stands  upright,  offering  a  tight  shake  of  his  head.  "why  can't  you  call  someone  else  when  you  fuck  up?" 

[personinthepalace]

my favorite moments from taskmaster 16x06

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

Emily by L. M. Montgomery

Emily Starr never knew what it was to be lonely—until her beloved father died. Now Emily's an orphan, and her mother's snobbish relatives are taking her to live with them at New Moon Farm. She's sure she won't be happy. Emily deals with stiff, stern Aunt Elizabeth and her malicious classmates by holding her head high and using her quick wit. Things begin to change when she makes friends: with Teddy, who does marvelous drawings; with Perry, who's sailed all over the world with his father yet has never been to school; and above all, with Ilse, a tomboy with a blazing temper. Amazingly, Emily finds New Moon beautiful and fascinating. With new friends and adventures, Emily might someday think of herself as Emily of New Moon.

Savvy by Ingrid Law

For generations, the Beaumont family has harbored a magical secret. They each possess a "savvy" -a special supernatural power that strikes when they turn thirteen. Grandpa Bomba moves mountains, her older brothers create hurricanes and spark electricity . . . and now it's the eve of Mibs's big day.

As if waiting weren't hard enough, the family gets scary news two days before Mibs's birthday: Poppa has been in a terrible accident. Mibs develops the singular mission to get to the hospital and prove that her new power can save her dad. So she sneaks onto a salesman's bus . . . only to find the bus heading in the opposite direction. Suddenly Mibs finds herself on an unforgettable odyssey that will force her to make sense of growing up-and of other people, who might also have a few secrets hidden just beneath the skin.

The Last Apprentice by Joseph Delaney

Thomas Ward is the seventh son of a seventh son and has been apprenticed to the local Spook. The job is hard, the Spook is distant and many apprentices have failed before Thomas. Somehow Thomas must learn how to exorcise ghosts, contain witches and bind boggarts. But when he is tricked into freeing Mother Malkin, the most evil witch in the County, the horror begins...

The View from Saturday by E. L. Konigsburg

How has Mrs. Olinski chosen her sixth-grade Academic Bowl team? She had a number of answers. But were any of them true? How had she really chosen Noah and Nadia and Ethan and Julian? And why did they make such a good team? It was a surprise to a lot of people when Mrs. Olinski's team won the sixth-grade Academic Bowl contest at Epiphany Middle School. It was an even bigger surprise when they beat the seventh grade and the eighth grade, too. And when they went on to even greater victories, everyone began to ask: How did it happen?

It happened at least partly because Noah had been the best man (quite by accident) at the wedding of Ethan's grandmother and Nadia's grandfather. It happened because Nadia discovered that she could not let a lot of baby turtles die. It happened when Ethan could not let Julian face disaster alone. And it happened because Julian valued something important in himself and saw in the other three something he also valued.

Mrs. Olinski, returning to teaching after having been injured in an automobile accident, found that her Academic Bowl team became her answer to finding confidence and success. What she did not know, at least at first, was that her team knew more than she did the answer to why they had been chosen.

The Looking Glass Wars by Frank Beddor

When Alyss Heart, newly orphaned heir to the Wonderland throne, flees through the Pool of Tears to escape her murderous Aunt Redd, she finds herself lost and alone in Victorian London. Befriended by an aspiring author named Lewis Carrol, Alyss tells the violent, heartbreaking story of her young life. Alyss trusts this author to tell the truth so that someone, somewhere will find her and bring her home. But he gets the story all wrong. He even spells her name incorrectly!

Fortunately, Royal Bodyguard Hatter Madigan knows all too well the awful truth of Alyss' story - and he's searching every corner of our world to find the lost princess and return her to Wonderland, to battle Redd for her rightful place as the Queen of Hearts.

Misty by Marguerite Henry

"You'll never catch the Phantom," says Grandpa. "That horse is fast as the wind. She's escaped from every roundup on the island!" But Paul and Maureen want the beautiful wild mare for their very own. "I'm going to capture her myself," says Paul.

When Paul finally overtakes the Phantom, he makes a surprising discovery. Running at her side is a brand-new, silvery-gray colt - Misty!

East by Edith Pattou

Rose has always been different.

Since the day she was born, it was clear she had a special fate. Her superstitious mother keeps the unusual circumstances of Rose's birth a secret, hoping to prevent her adventurous daughter from leaving home... but she can't suppress Rose's true nature forever.

So when an enormous white bear shows up one cold autumn evening and asks teenage Rose to come away with it--in exchange for health and prosperity for her ailing family--she readily agrees.

Rose travels on the bear's broad back to a distant and empty castle, where she is nightly joined by a mysterious stranger. In discovering his identity, she loses her heart-- and finds her purpose--and realizes her journey has only just begun.

The Midwife's Apprentice by Karen Cushman

The girl known only as Brat has no family, no home, and no future until she meets Jane the Midwife and becomes her apprentice. As she helps the sharp-tempered Jane deliver babies, Brat--who renames herself Alyce--gains knowledge, confidence, and the courage to want something from life: "A full belly, a contented heart, and a place in this world." Medieval village life makes a lively backdrop for the funny, poignant story of how Alyce gets what she wants.

Circle of Magic by Tamora Pierce

With her gift of weaving silk thread and creating light, Sandry is brought to the Winding Circle community. There she meets Briar, a former thief who has a way with plants; Daja, an outcast gifted at metalcraft; and Tris, whose connection with the weather unsettles everyone, including herself. At Winding Circle, the four misfits are taught how to use their magic - and to trust one another. But then disaster strikes their new home. Can Sandry weave together four kinds of magical power and save herself, her friends, and the one place where they've ever been accepted?

Catherine, Called Birdy by Karen Cushman

Catherine feels trapped. Her father is determined to marry her off to a rich man--any rich man, no matter how awful.

But by wit, trickery, and luck, Catherine manages to send several would-be husbands packing. Then a shaggy-bearded suitor from the north comes to call--by far the oldest, ugliest, most revolting suitor of them all.

Unfortunately, he is also the richest.

Can a sharp-tongued, high-spirited, clever young maiden with a mind of her own actually lose the battle against an ill-mannered, piglike lord and an unimaginative, greedy toad of a father?

Deus! Not if Catherine has anything to say about it!

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Chris Jonasson's life started off with great promise. A talented football player, Jonasson was also kind and stood up for other kids who were being bullied. "He was incredibly smart. They actually wanted to skip him ahead of grade in school," his sister Lisa Meyer said in an interview this month at her home in Beaumont, Alta. While he was still in elementary school, two chance tragedies changed Jonasson. He discovered the body of a classmate who had died by suicide, and later his best friend died suddenly. Meyer believes those unresolved traumas led to her brother's lifelong struggle with drug addiction and an adulthood spent in and out of jail and living on the streets. Jonasson died on Sept. 28, 2023, after overdosing in the Herb Jamieson Centre — a central Edmonton shelter. The 51-year-old is one of 302 people with no fixed address who died in Edmonton in 2023.

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada @abpoli

[whenyuuwish]

Basic Information 

Birthday: 19th of April (Aries) Age: 16 Height: 1,62cm Dominant hand: Right Homeland: England, Earth Nicknames: Blue jay, herbivore (by Leona) Gourami (by Floyd) Mademoiselle Brillant (by Rook)Wen-wen (by Cater)

Family: Unnamed parents † Jordan & Myles Beaumont (young brothers)

Grade: Freshman Class: B Club: School’s janitor team  Best subject: Astrology

Hobbies: Storytelling  Pet peeves: Arrogance  Favorite food: Blueberry muffin Least favorite food: Mustard Talent: Sewing

Background:

Whitney had always thought she grew up in a close-knit family. That was the fantasy she clung to, but the truth was far bleaker. In 1900, her family seemed perfect to outsiders, yet behind closed doors, her father crushed any spark of imagination she had. Like so many women of the time, she was only allowed to do her chores, never to dream of anything more.

When she was just 10, tragedy struck. Her parents died in a car accident, leaving her and her younger brothers, Jordan and Myles, utterly alone. They were sent to a cold, joyless orphanage where Whitney, now Winnie to her brothers, was forced to grow up far too soon. She took on a motherly role for Jordan and Myles, comforting them as best she could, even as her own heart ached with loss.

Her only escape was in the world of fairytales and fantasy. She spun stories for her brothers, clinging to the magic in her mind to protect herself from the harshness around them. But the orphanage director disapproved. He called her dreams foolish, telling her to face reality and abandon her "silly" stories. Each time he scolded her, Winnie’s fear of growing up deepened, terrified that adulthood meant losing the last bit of wonder she had left.

One cold, lonely night, after yet another argument with the director, Winnie found an old, forgotten book at the orphanage door. Desperate for hope, she wished upon a falling star for a better life and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. When she awoke, it was not in the orphanage, but inside a coffin in the strange, magical world of Twisted Wonderland.

Personality:

Winnie carries an air of being old-fashioned, a product of the early 1900s that shaped her upbringing. Her values reflect the time she grew up in—modest, traditional, and deeply rooted in responsibility. She holds onto a sense of decorum and duty, often placing others’ needs before her own, and is naturally polite and respectful. Despite living in a strange new world like Twisted Wonderland, she still clings to the manners and customs she was taught as a child, sometimes feeling out of place in the more modern, freer ways of others.

Her old-fashioned nature also makes her somewhat reserved when it comes to change, often questioning the bold or reckless behavior she sees around her. Yet, her respect for structure and tradition is in direct conflict with the free-spirited dreamer inside her. This paradox makes Winnie both nurturing and cautious, but also curious and rebellious, wanting to balance the world she was raised in with the one she now finds herself navigating.

Her love of fairytales and storytelling, too, stems from this old-world charm, where she believes in timeless ideals of honor, loyalty, and sacrifice. Though some may tease her for being "out of date" or too "old-fashioned," Winnie remains true to herself, blending her deep-rooted values with the spark of imagination that keeps her moving forward. This makes her a fascinating mixture of someone who respects the past but isn’t afraid to rebel against the limitations it tried to impose on her.

Trivia: 

Whitney is inspired at Wendy from Peter Pan.

Her last name is the same as her voice actress and portrait actress, Kathryn Beaumont.

Her birthday is the year 1904, but separate! This is the year Peter pan’s movie is portrayed.

Whitney loves stargazing. 

Whitney call most people around her “Mister”, “Sir”, “Ma’am”, “Miss”, even if they are the same age. 

It is not considered that she time traveled, since she went from one dimension to another, who just is more developed; still not a time travel since dimensions’ timezone don’t work in the same way.

Epel says at the end of every class Whitney falls asleep in her table like Silver; however, most teachers don’t wake her up, nor encourages students to do so.

In Book 2, Leona said Whitney first put a small pillow on the floor of his room where she would sleep, once he gave the idea of her using an mattress, Whitney said “I am used to sleep on the floor, no worries.”

Ortho and Idia eventually help her understand technology in Book 6. Understanding that from where she came from this was not normal.

In Book 5, Vil helps Whitney understand more about the modern world. Something that Cater has also been doing since Book 1, just not, as successful.

Riddle tries to be easygoing with Whitney since he mentioned multiple times she had cry a bit scared of him, during Book 1 he noticed but payed no mind to it. Then he find out that she acts like it because of the orphanage director.

Jade doesn’t like her because she doesn’t like mushrooms; that’s duo the only thing she could eat when disrespect someone of the orphanage staff was mushroom soup.

Whitney only wants to go back for her brothers, because if they were there together in Twisted Wonderland; she wouldn’t want to go back at all.

Leona calls Whitney “blue jay”, because he always forget her name.

Dylla Spade (Deuce’s mother) said if she ever wanted a different place to stay with her siblings, her house would always have open arms to her. And constantly implied she would love to have more kids around, awhile talking with Whitney.

Whitney not liking/caring for the Octotrio, is duo to the fact Wendy in Peter Pan (1953) was attacked by mermaids.