#kathony edit

[fitrahgolden]

[fitrahgolden]

season 2 to season 3

[chenfordsbee]

Bonus:

“I see you are not one for losing.”

[vices-aand-virtues]

Bridgerton + Reductress Headlines (4/?)

[blackthornluce]

BRIDGERTON (2020-PRESENT) - S02E05

[fitrahgolden]

Mood board inspired by #14:

Dialogue Game - Prompts #13 and #14

#13 - “Why won’t you let me kiss you?” (fitrahgolden) and “Get stuffed.”/”You first.” (Mimix007)

“Why won’t you let me kiss you?”

Kate hates herself for the little shiver that traverses her spine, the way her blood warms in her veins at his teasing smile. She hates Anthony Bridgerton and everything he stands for - the philandering, the privilege, the cockiness. Kate would like to think she’s above it all. But clearly, her lizard brain is operating on its own wavelength. “I would, quite seriously, rather make out with a thornbush.”

That only makes him grin wider, leaning his elbows on the textbook he’s been pretending to read for the past thirty minutes. He’d simply walked up and sat down at her table like he owned it - well, she wouldn’t be altogether shocked if his family had made some eye-watering donation to the campus library - and Kate thought that ignoring him would be the best defense. She should have known better. 

“As much as I think you and a thornbush are equally matched,” he muses, and she scowls at him in response. “The lady doth protest too much, methinks. You know I would make you feel good.”

“Get stuffed.”

“You first.”

The knowledge that Anthony has the equipment to back up such a taunt - so says half the students in their English lit class - infuriates her. She could stand to be properly filled up, relieve the stress that’s building in her shoulders, and he knows it.

But she’s not interested in being anyone’s second, or tenth or forty-fifth choice.

So she grabs her laptop and shoves it into her bag, and as casually suggestive as she can manage, says, “Oh, don’t worry about me. I will.”

And walks away, with Anthony gaping at her back.

#14 - “I think I’m obsessed with you.” “I know. You keep smelling me.” and “Okay that’s it I am going to sleep in the bathtub.”/“You're the only source of warmth in this stupid hotel, come back to bed before I get hypothermia." and “Stop looking at me like that.” (Anonymous)

She knows better than to believe anything he says.

Anthony has been her cameraman for six years, and her best friend for nearly as long. There’s no one else she could imagine working with. If he ever left, she’d probably never make a documentary again for the rest of her life.

But as much as she trusts him, he’s also an incorrigible flirt. Kate sees the women (and men) he picks up, sees them disappear into the hotel and emerge in the morning all rumpled and smiling. She’s tried it a few times - picking someone up in a bar in some foreign country, chasing the same pleasure and trying to forget about whoever Anthony is touching only a few doors down.

It doesn’t work for her like it works for him, so she throws herself into work instead. Types up scripts and returns emails until she’s nodding off, touches herself quickly and then falls into a dead sleep.

Kate doesn’t know if that’s pitiful. She thinks she has a life that most people would envy. And when they’re in some incredible remote location, and she gets to experience it with her best friend in the world, and they tell a story that matters - she doesn’t feel pitiful.

Sometimes they don’t get the luxury of separate rooms. It’s not the first time they’ve shared a bed - Anthony, mercifully, refrains from finding a partner on those nights - and Kate feels simultaneously wired and exhausted as she climbs under the thin covers.

“It’s going to be cold tonight,” Anthony says. He’s a bit drunk from dinner, their host serving up a generous amount of vodka. She can smell the bite of it on his breath. “C’mere.”

She doesn’t fight as he gathers her in his arms, pressing his solid chest against her back. It is freezing, and even with her jumper and fleece leggings, Kate feels it down to her bones. Anthony is always warm, somehow, and made even more so by the alcohol. “Thanks.”

He exhales, hot on her neck, and she shivers a little at the sensation. It’s almost painful when his nose nudges against the skin there, and he breathes her in. “You looked so beautiful today,” Anthony says, his hand sliding up her stomach. Kate reminds herself to take his words for what they are: the ramblings of an intoxicated slut who feels entirely too comfortable with her. He won’t take it too far; he never does, always backing away when things get too serious. Even when she wishes he wouldn’t stop, wants to see what might happen if they actually crossed that line they’re always skirting. “I think I’m obsessed with you.”

“I know. You keep smelling me,” Kate says lightly, making it a joke. She could ask him to back off, and he would in a second. But she doesn’t. Because just this little taste of him feels so good, too good to give up, even if it always leaves her starving.

Anthony chuckles and feigns pulling away. “Okay, that’s it. I’m going to sleep in the bathtub.”

Kate grabs his arm and tugs him toward her. “You’re the only source of warmth in this stupid hotel,” she grumbles benignly. “Come back to bed before I get hypothermia.”

She tugs him too hard, or he goes with too little resistance, and he ends up half on top of her. They share a delirious laugh, and Kate feels drunk too, even though she can handle her liquor far better than he can.

“I should have cut you off,” Kate says, running an affectionate hand through his hair. “We’re never going to get to sleep at this point.”

He lifts his head, looking at her directly, and it’s not hard to feel the shift. Anthony’s eyes are slightly glazed, but no longer mischievous. He looks oddly serious, and Kate realizes a little belatedly that her hand is still tangled in his curls.

She goes to move it away, but Anthony grabs her halfway, his thumb smoothing over her fingers. Kate bites her lip, feeling like the ground is crumbling beneath her feet. They’ve never stepped this close to the line. It’s too close.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Kate says softly. He tells her she’s beautiful all the time, and she believes that he believes it in an objective sort of way. But the way he’s looking at her - like she is one of the wonders of the world they’ve been privileged to see together - she can’t handle that. She can’t trust that.

“I always look at you like this.”

“No, you don’t.”

Anthony smiles, and it’s slightly sad. “Yes, I do.”

She can’t believe anything he says. Even if she desperately wants to. “Let’s just go to bed,” Kate says tersely. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m tipsy. There’s a difference,” he rebuts, sounding more sober, all earlier teasing gone. She’s done so many terrifying things in her life - visited conflict zones, stood on the tops of mountains, played with wild animals - but this is the thing that scares her the most. Having an honest conversation with the other half of her soul, a conversation that could shatter everything good in her life. “Maybe I’m just drunk enough to ask you the thing I’ve always wanted to ask you.”

He lets go of her hand only to drift his fingertips along her jaw, tender and reverential. Kate can’t look away from him, can’t stop him. Anthony owns too much of her. She didn’t realize how much, until this moment.

“Do you ever think about it?” he murmurs. “Did you ever want to be the person I took back to my room?”

Kate knows she should say no, but the idea of lying to Anthony makes something heavy and ugly sit in her stomach. She can’t tell him the truth, either, not until she knows it’s safe. “Do you think about it?”

Anthony’s throat bobs as he swallows. “Always,” he confesses, his thumb pressing into her jaw. “You’re always there with me.”

He tips his head, his lips meeting hers, and Kate gives in to it. Lets his hands explore her body, his tongue explore her mouth, lets him consume her. She feels like a glutton after surviving for so long on so little.

“I can’t lose you,” she whispers, curling into him, exhilarated and floating and scared all at once. “I can’t.”

He shushes her, soothes her, kisses her gently. “You won’t,” Anthony promises, imprinting the words on her skin, on her heart. “I’m never going to let you go.”

[elephantlovemedleys]

cause i've had the time of my life and I've searched though every open door til i found the truth and i owe it all to you bridgerton season two // dirty dancing (1987)

[yorit1]

[fitrahgolden]

Looking For You

He had meant it when he said she'd consumed his very being. And now it seems she's also paralysed him, for he cannot find it in himself to move a single muscle. He watches her rest, seemingly preferring his arm to the pillows he'd hastily arranged for them. He feels much more comfort and ease than he should, physically and mentally. For one, they are lying on the ground with mere centimetres separating them from the hard stone of the gazebo floor. And somehow, he has never felt more loose-limbed or relaxed. Furthermore, they are unmarried, not even courting, yet here they lie, completely out in the open, tangled up together in a state of undress. But he dares not even consider waking her, sending her away. No.

Let time remain suspended for now.

—

Lilies. He dreams of her, but mostly he dreams of lilies. The scent of them–the scent of her–invades his senses, but it's a welcomed overwhelm. He'd gladly build for them a cocoon of petals. What is unwelcome is when the bouquet begins to recede. It feels like the sheets are being pulled from him, and with it goes the solace, the peace. With it goes her.

He moves to pull her closer to him, to recapture what he feels slipping away, but he is too late. He opens his eyes. His arm is no longer a pillow. It's simply an arm. A cold one, at that.

Where is she?

He must go to her. Immediately.

After months of wasted time, their time apart ended last night.

—

Hands. He spends the few hours of sleep he gets during his first night as a married man dreaming of his bride's mehndi covered hands. The stained fingers that spent most of the last ten hours twisting and pulling and petting his hair. Her left palm, where he found his name and traced it with his tongue. Her knuckles that danced along his jaw as she professed her love for him in multiple languages. Then, there it is. The lilies. The aroma he takes in on a deep inhale elicits a strange panic. Will they go away again? Will she be gone? He opens his eyes.

There she is.

Her head resting on his arm, her leg hitched up to his hip. Indulging in a well earned slumber.

May every morning begin in this way.

May he never have to look for her again.

People were pointing out that Anthony is laying in the exact same position, with one of his arms extended under her head as he turns over to drape his other hand over her in both these shots and all I can think about is how he's finally able to wake up with Kate, exactly like he imagined he would when he woke up alone in season 2. Now, he gets to wake up with her every single morning, for the rest of their lives.

For a man who was convinced that his would be a marriage devoid of love, there's something so profound about him being able to begin each day with his wife cradled in his arms. His marriage is, in fact, full of love, even from the very moment he opens his eyes.

[fitrahgolden]

Kate, thinking about Anthony's "familiar tools." 👀:

[bridgeerton]

icon kathony anthony bridgerton & kate sharma

[nini07p]

The s2 poster we should've gotten

Credit: nandini80974189 (twitter)

[chenfordsbee]

2x01 I 2x08 I 3x07

[pennybridgertons]

Kanthony // Hockey Player & Figure Skater AU

[vices-aand-virtues]

Bridgerton + Reductress Headlines (3/?)

[apinchofm]

Coming Home to Aubrey Hall by @dreamstone28737

Anthony makes himself public enemy number one in his family when he decides to sell Aubrey Hall. All he needs now is a house manager to get the house ready to be sold, and to throw the annual Christmas Ball. Enter Kate Sharma…

or

Kate and Anthony find each other, find a home, and find the true meaning of Christmas.

this is such a cute fic so far with all the festive vibes that I love at this time of year!!