#maybe I’ll work on the bridgerton au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year ago

Text

Slide (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Modern AU Rated: T - language, suggestiveness, whump/blood/injury Word count: 5.4k

Summary: Benedict takes you on holiday to a remote bothy in the Scottish highlands. But things do not go according to plan.

Author's Note: This is an anon request fill for Benedict and Reader stranded in a cabin with an illness/injury. You can't threaten me with a whumpy good time, because this idea completely took over my brain and I wrote it in a day. 😅 Enjoy

“We should take advantage of the break in the rain. Let’s go on a little hike.”

“A hike?” You looked up from the sofa where you sat curled with a book. Benedict was standing by the door of the bothy, excitedly pulling on a coat. You had been having a relaxing holiday. Five days in a private luxury bothy in the Scottish highlands. He had been coming to the spot alone for years to paint and now wanted to share it with you under the pretense of your dating anniversary. You didn’t know if you believed such things deserved celebration, but your work in the city had been draining you lately and the reprieve was much appreciated.

As luck would have it, your trip coincided with the rainiest weather in decades. It was always raining somewhere in Scotland but this was something else entirely. Torrential downpours for sporadic periods each day. But that hadn’t dampened your time together. Thus far, four days of nothing but lie-ins and fireside bottles of wine; reading while Benedict painted from imagination; lazy sex in the mornings and raucous sex at night. It was a bit dangerous that the bed was lofted, as your activities threatened to send you flying off of it. The little hideaway was so secluded that there was no internet and no cell signal, and that was one of the reasons Benedict loved it so much. He said he could hear his muse more clearly without the rest of the world butting in. Neighbors were also an impossibility, as the bothy was situated in a little copse of trees accessible only by crossing a footbridge that skirted a rough cliff edge. Nothing too high off the ground, but narrow enough that your car was parked half a mile away on the other side of the bridge. It was a tiny paradise, just you and the trees and the birds. The rain had occasionally relented to allow you a few rambles nearby, but you hadn’t undertaken anything as ambitious as to be called a ‘hike’.

Benedict was pulling his boots on and waving you toward the door. “Come on! Fresh air will do us good. Let’s go.”

You were remiss to leave your cozy nest but you knew he was right, and his crooked smile was irresistible. With a sigh you rose to your feet, donned your own coat and followed him.

He took your hand as you traipsed through the wet grass down the trail toward the bridge. The air had an earthy musk scent from the previous night’s deluge. It did feel good to stretch your legs. You didn’t even bother asking where you were headed, you would let Benedict lead you. But he suddenly stopped short.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

The path before you no longer led to the footbridge. Instead it ended abruptly at a slanting jumble of boulders. A rockslide off the side of the nearby cliff had completely blocked your exit.

You both stood dumbstruck, puzzling out your next steps.

“I don’t know how we didn’t hear this,” you murmured, imagining the rumbling crash of so many large stones piling upon themselves.

Benedict chuckled next to you. “Well, one of us was being exceptionally noisy last night.”

You smacked him but it only made him laugh harder. Your frustration was building, so unused to being confronted with an obstacle you couldn’t quickly surmount. Or perhaps you could.

“I’m going to climb over.” You said definitively. “It looks solid enough. I’ll get to the other side, go back to the car and get help so this can get cleared away.”

“Well, I’m going with you.” Ben’s brow furrowed, something anxious in his eyes.

You shook your head. “Maybe. But one at a time. Let me test it out and find the footholds. I’m lighter than you.”

“Be careful,” he urged, but you were already clambering onto the nearest rock, pulling yourself over the larger pieces and tentatively resting your weight with each careful step. The top of the mound rose about eight feet off the ground and you scrabbled your way to it easily enough. Standing on top, you could see on the other side that the footbridge was still intact. It gave you a surge of confidence and you stepped forward, eager to scurry down the other side. Then everything sank, your stomach and your optimism as your right foot found a weak spot and shuddered downward in a small cascade of stones, sinking in up to your thigh until you felt it pinned at the ankle, the rocks trapping you in place.

“Shit!” You hissed, tugging uselessly to free yourself. It didn’t hurt, but it had immobilized you.

“What’s wrong?” Ben called from below, panicked.

You gritted your teeth. God, this was embarrassing. Off you had gone with bravado and now the universe was going to show you better. It was going to double down in fact, because you felt the first drops of rain spattering you from the dull grey sky. You clawed at the stones around your leg, able to toss some aside but others were so large you’d never be able to lift them. An animal part of your brain was starting to flood with fear, but you fought to keep your voice steady.

“I’m bloody stuck.” You lamented. “My leg is caught.” It wasn’t a request for assistance, but you should have known how he would react.

“Hang on, I’m coming!” From your vantage point you could see Ben dash forward and begin to climb the rocks, not caring to test the stability of his steps, just rushing toward you. You opened your mouth to tell him to slow down, but your voice caught in your throat as everything suddenly rumbled, an ominous herald of what was coming. You both froze, staring wide eyed and feet apart from one another. Then everything shifted and fell away.

Your entire sense of gravity tilted as the rocks beneath and around you slid, all jumbling together as they surged further away from the cliffside. You felt your leg snap within the grinding stone and cried out, landing on your side and feeling a jagged edge glance across your forehead. Your eyes fell on Benedict clamoring to reach you as he lost his own footing on the tumbling wave. He was unsuspecting, his eyes locked only on you when a massive boulder came rolling as easily as a toy ball and slammed into his side, knocking him out of view and into the tumult of roiling earth beneath you. You screamed his name but it was lost to the thunderous clatter.

Amidst the chaos, one thought began to form clearly in your mind. This was how you would die. Crushed in a rockslide thanks entirely to your own stupidity. And worst of all, you had dragged Ben with you. The nightmare deepened as the sky ripped with a clap of thunder and rain began to pummel you in earnest as everything continued to slide and roll around you. Numb with anguish, all you could do was bury your face in your hands and wait for fate to claim you.

But it didn’t. In what felt like only a moment, everything stilled. The rocks had stopped moving, their sound had died away, and you were lying on top of the mound sensing nothing but the cold patter of heavy rain. You were still alive, a fact that was confirmed by the burning pain you felt pulsing in your leg. Looking down you saw that it was freed, released from the churning rocks, but it was bloodied and wouldn’t respond to your attempts to move it. Though it was a novel experience for you, there was no doubt in your mind that it was broken.

That was the least of your worries. As you came back to your senses they all tuned to one goal. You had to find Benedict. You called out for him, voice croaking, but were met with silence. You pushed yourself up to look around. The slide hadn’t buried the trail any further, only shifted on top of itself. You could see the path back to the bothy on one side and the footbridge on the other. But no Benedict. You screamed his name again, louder. Nothing. A sickening dread started to rise from your stomach as you began to pull yourself over the rock. You couldn’t stand properly and even if you could, you didn’t want to risk disturbing anything. It was better to spread your weight across the surface and so you began to slither on your belly, fingers bloodying themselves on rough edges as you dragged along in the direction you had last seen him. Everything was turning slick and muddy with the rain. You moved back down toward the trail, eyes sweeping, and just near the bottom is where you saw a spot of orange amidst the rubble. His shirt.

“Ben!” You shrieked, half-rising on your good leg to hobble over to him. You reached the bottom of the rock pile and saw him lying at the edge of it. You chanted his name desperately as you landed at his side. He was on his back mostly unhidden, a few small stones piled around his limbs which you pushed away, but one large one wedged over the right side of his chest. He was frighteningly pale and seemingly unconscious, lying still as he was battered by rain.

“Ben,” you called to him, taking his face in your hands. “Ben, wake up!” When he didn’t respond, your heart started hammering. No, no, no. You bent an ear to his mouth, silently praying to every deity you had ever heard of. To your great relief, he was breathing. But he was struggling. Your eyes landed on the boulder, covered in lichen and mocking you. You suddenly hated it more than you had hated anything in your life. With a surge of strength you didn’t know you possessed you drove yourself against it, leveraging with your good knee. It felt like fighting a brick wall and yet somehow after a moment, it loosened and you shoved until it tumbled backward and off of Benedict.

Immediately he took a loud, wheezing inhale followed by a groaning “Fuuuuucccckkkkk.”

You would have laughed with relief if you were not so strung out on adrenaline and hell bent on getting as far away from this death trap as possible.

“Ben,” You shook him lightly. “Benedict, open your eyes.”

He did so, blinking against the rain, taking a moment to focus. Those bright, gentle eyes gazed back at you and made you feel rooted to the earth again.

“We need to get back to the bothy. Can you stand?”

He stared at you, seeming dazed, then brought a hand to your forehead, speaking softly. “You’re bleeding.”

As his fingers came away red, you were surprised that you didn’t feel any pain other than the dull throb of your leg. None of this was important right now. You had to get to shelter and then you could assess all of your wounds.

“I’m alright.” You stated firmly. “We need to go, come on now.”

He wrapped his right arm around your shoulders, the sleeve of his coat ripped and dirtied. You braced against each other as best you could and tried to stand but both fell back with shouts of pain, you unable to tolerate any weight on your shattered leg, and him clutching at his right side. You were in bad shape, but had no other options than to push through. No one was coming to help you and neither of you would leave the other.

You locked into each other’s eyes, breathing hard, and a silent understanding passed between you. Now was not a time for weakness. You would need to be strong for each other. You banded your arms around each other once again and, wincing and gasping, slowly staggered to your feet. Ben leaned heavily across your shoulders while you hopped on your left foot and dragged the other behind you.

Somehow through the pouring rain, with the screaming throb in your leg and Benedict swaying weightily beside you, you inched back along the trail to the bothy, soaked to the bone once you finally shambled inside. You maneuvered to gingerly lay Benedict onto the sofa but he still cried out at the movement. Then he laid still, eyes screwed shut against the pain as he exhaled raggedly through his nose. Spurred to action, you hopped loudly around the small space gathering towels, blankets, water, and the tiny first aid kit stashed in a cupboard. What use it would be, you didn’t know, but it was all you had. You checked your phone, already knowing there was no signal to dial out but instinctively needing to confirm it. Your mind spun. Plans. Actions. Steps. You were going to fix this. You were going to get out of this situation. You just had to keep your head, which was significantly harder to do when the man you loved was lying nearby as pale as a ghost and groaning. But you could get yourselves warm and dry. That was a first step.

After stoking a fire in the woodstove you lowered to sit next to the sofa, clumsily tumbling onto the floor as you winced at the shooting ache in your leg. Benedict’s eyes flew open and he looked at you with concern. “Your leg’s broken?” He intuited.

“Mmhmm,” You nodded, breathing through the pain. “But I’m fine. We need to check you out.”

You mopped his hair and face with a towel, the friction and heat from the nearby stove bringing some color back to his skin. You searched his eyes.

“What hurts? How do you feel?”

He grimaced. “Dizzy, but not too bad. I don’t know if I’m concussed or if I just got hit by a great bloody bunch of rocks.” He ended with his telltale smirk.

You were feeling anything but humorous at that moment. His joke made your insides seize, worried something may be seriously wrong.

“Have you been concussed before? Do you know what it feels like?”

He grinned further. “I have. You don’t grow up with seven siblings and not end up concussed. This doesn’t feel the same, but I can’t be sure.” Your mind started to quest through any errant information you had about concussions. He could read the panic in your expression and brought a hand to wrap around yours. “Hey, it’s going to be alright. If I start to go loopy that’s not a good sign, but I really think I’m okay.”

All you could do was nod tightly, imagining a dozen horrific scenarios and realizing there was little to nothing you could do about them. You simply had to stay focused on the moment and the fact that he was clear headed now.

“What else?”

He waved a hand vaguely over his right side. “Something bad, here.”

As carefully as you could, you worked in tandem to peel off his sopping coat while bit back yelps of agony. You frowned at the sight of his right arm, scraped and lacerated shoulder to wrist, but it didn’t appear to be broken. Then you lifted the hem of his t-shirt and he arched as best he could so that you could pull it off, turning his face away as he seethed into the cushions. You sucked in a breath, horrified by what you had uncovered. A bruise, black and purple and green, mottling the entire side of his body and rippling with each breath. Cursing to yourself, you rested fingertips lightly over it and even that caused him to flinch.

“I think…” you wavered. “I think your ribs are broken.”

He stared at the ceiling, his voice tight but sarcastic. “Yep, that feels about right.”

“Can you breathe?”

“Well enough,” he sighed.

The severity of the situation was sinking in. Hysteria was starting to bubble in your chest but you locked your jaw, determined to keep it together. “What do I… What should I do, Ben? How do I fix this?”

He turned to look at you, his expression going soft. “You can’t fix it.”

That threatened to push you over the edge. Your constitution slipped, your chin started to tremble, tears mounting in your eyes.

“Hey, hey, hey.” He cupped your face with a large hand, pads of his fingers pressing into your hair, urging you to focus. “We’re going to be alright. This is what’s going to happen. Tomorrow is our last rental day and the owners visit the property between guests. So they’ll come, see the path is blocked and know that we’re stuck here. They’ll get help. We just have to wait until tomorrow. We have everything we need here. We just have to be still and wait.”

You nodded, swallowing hard against the tears, ashamed that you couldn’t be stronger but breathlessly grateful that he would comfort you even when he was grievously injured. You kissed the palm of his hand and steadied yourself against its warmth. So very little was in your control, but you were determined to right the things that were. Moving carefully and trying to ignore the protesting pangs from your leg, you dried him off and piled him with blankets. The stove was burning high and the bothy still had the cozy air you had enjoyed the past few days. You stripped off your own soaking tops down to your bra and wrapped yourself in a blanket. Then you wet a rag and started to clean the cuts on his arm, dressing them with the ointment and bandages from the first aid kit.

Benedict watched you silently, something twinkling and bemused in his eyes. You worried that if you stared at him too long you were going to cry, so you focused on your task. Once you were finished he held out his hand.

“Give me the rag.” You handed it to him. “Come here.”

You shifted up to face him, concerned. “What do you need?”

Wordlessly, he pulled your chin closer with one hand and began to lightly dab at your forehead with the other. You closed your eyes, feeling the tears threaten again. If there was one thing Benedict Bridgerton would never cease to be come hell or high water, it was a caretaker of others. You weren’t quite sure what you had done to deserve such a man, but you knew it was imperative that you never let him go. As he wiped the blood away, your cut started to sting. You hadn’t found a mirror to examine it and you frankly didn’t want to. He was your only concern right now.

“Does it hurt?” He asked softly. You were too overcome to do anything other than nod. Then he pulled your chin down even further, leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to your wound.

That’s what broke you. You finally let the tears spill down your cheeks, burrowing your face into the side of his neck. “I’m so sorry, Ben,” you whispered.

“What are you sorry for?” He asked, bewildered.

“I should never have tried to climb those damned rocks.”

He huffed. “You were trying to help us. I’m the one who shouldn’t have jumped up after you.”

You pulled back, sniffling. “You were trying to help me.”

“And look where all of that help landed us,” he smirked, causing you both to chuckle. But his laugh almost immediately turned into agonized gasps.

“Alright, alright,” You put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “No laughing.”

“You need to splint your leg,” he rasped.

“How precisely should I do that?”

His eyes darted around the room. “The kindling for the stove. Take two long pieces and tie them off with towels.”

You began to drag yourself across the floor toward the woodpile, a realization forming that perhaps two people with zero medical training between them should not be as drawn to outdoor isolation as you were. You gathered two sturdy sticks and a handful of dish towels and then scraped your way back to his side.

“Make sure your leg is straight and tie it tight,” Benedict instructed. You nodded but were filled with apprehension. Ever since you had collapsed on the floor, your useless leg had been twisted at an appalling angle. You knew setting it was going to hurt. Taking a deep breath, you reached forward and tugged it straight. A white hot jab of pain jolted through your whole body, causing you to scream. Distantly, you could hear Benedict speaking to you, his hand rubbing circles across your back. His touch was what you focused on, the only thing helping you to fight the nausea as you lined up the wood and tied it tightly on either side of your broken limb, whimpering with each knot pulled. You fell back against the side of the sofa, panting as you found equilibrium and the searing pain faded back to an insistent throb. Benedict wrapped an arm across your chest, the closest thing to an embrace he could offer. You lay in silence together, exhausted, settling in for what was sure to be the longest night of your life.

Warmed by the fire and lulled by the rain driving against the windows, the atmosphere inside the bothy would have been dreadfully romantic if you weren’t both immobilized by broken bones and stranded, awaiting rescue. It would have been all too easy to fall asleep, but you were determined to stay awake until help arrived. You scooched yourself around the floor with all the grace of a geriatric slug, feeding the stove and brewing tea which you helped Benedict to drink as he lay flat. Out of habit you kept checking your phone, wondering if by some miracle a cell signal would appear.

“Sorry there’s no service here,” Benedict frowned. “Part of the whole appeal. Going off the grid.”

“I know,” you ran a reassuring hand through his hair. “It’s not your fault, I just can’t help checking. We need something to occupy ourselves.” Your eyes fell to the stacks of books beneath the coffee table, a motley assortment from the owners and you suspected, prior guests. You began to assess the authors, gauging his reactions.

“Dostoevsky?”

He grinned. “Well, I would enjoy that but I know it would put you to sleep.”

He was right. You set it back. “Ooo! Byron!” You lilted, waving the book at him tauntingly.

He groaned. “God, please. I’m in enough pain already.”

You laughed and tossed it aside. Next was a sleek, mysterious cover with a blurb promising ‘luxurious, unbridled passion’. You smirked. That seemed exciting enough to keep you both awake.

“We’re reading filth,” you announced, settling in next to him again. You had expected something humorous, the kind of tawdry romance novel that every aunt seemed to be fond of. But while the story started out playful enough, the simmering sexual energy woven by the author’s talented prose was so evocative, you both started to squirm. The fearless, beautiful depictions of the lovers’ encounters were so salacious that you were too stunned to keep reading them aloud, your mouth falling open as you blushed instead. Dimestore trash this was not.

Benedict shifted behind you but you couldn’t look at him. “Maybe save that one for later,” he croaked. “Jesus, who wrote that?”

“Faye someone.” You mumbled, setting it aside with a mental note to steal it or buy your own copy.

“Please make me think of something else now,” Benedict pleaded, his voice tight.

“P.G. Wodehouse it is.” You smiled, grateful to have found something light and familiar.

“Brilliant.”

By the time you finished the short volume it was dark outside but the rain hadn’t let up. You could have switched on the lights but that seemed too harsh for the states you were in. The fire was a more relaxing illumination.

Your stomach rumbled, waking up after an extended period of anxiety. “We should eat something.” You had food enough to cook meals for one more day, but could scrounge for now. You trailed a hand lazily over Benedict’s cheek. “What do you want?” He raised a brow. “Scotch. Neat.”

“You’re not drinking in your condition.” You said firmly, eliciting an exaggerated pout from him. “And neither am I. Do you have an appetite for anything solid?”

“Not really.”

“Just bread?”

You knew that would bring a light to his eyes. “With butter?”

You grinned. “Of course.” It was never a question with him. That was the one thing he would always happily eat. Setting off on another crawling journey across the floor to the kitchenette, you cobbled together your dinner. Bread, butter, a bit of cheese, a jar of olives. It would do. It was damn near continental.

After your haphazard meal you found Benedict’s eyes drifting closed, everything about him looking utterly spent.

You held his hand in your own and kissed his bloodied knuckles. “Ben, you’re drifting off. Should you…can you sleep with a concussion?”

His eyes fluttered open, bleary. “Yes,” he mumbled. “Just wake me up every couple of hours to make sure I know my own name. Ask me some questions.”

“Alright.” You nodded, trying to ignore the spike of fear inside. What if he was hiding how he truly felt for your sake? What if he did have a concussion and got worse while he slept? What if you couldn’t wake him up again? Part of you wanted to plead with him to stay awake through the night, but it was overruled by the part that told you to trust him. Choosing hope, you squeezed his hand and laid it across his chest.

“What about you?” He was fading fast, eyes closed.

“I’m not tired,” you lied. “Get some rest.”

Then your vigil began. You set your phone alarm to go off every three hours and brewed another pot of tea. You would stay awake. If anything was compelling enough to combat your wearied body’s exhaustion, it was the need to make sure Benedict kept breathing and that he could come back to you when you woke him. You stayed at his side, studying the angles of his handsome face in the glow of the fire, grateful that he seemed to be peaceful. And you waited.

“Ben?”

“Mmm?”

“Where are you?”

“In Scotland.”

“Why are we here?”

“We’re on holiday.”

“Who is your eldest brother?”

“Anthony.”

“Alright, go back to sleep.”

—

“Ben?”

“Mmm?”

“Where are you?”

“In the mountains.”

“Why are we here?”

“I wanted to paint.”

“Where did you take me on our second date?”

“I said, ‘What do you say we go to Marseille?’”

“Yes, it was awful of you. I finally committed to you and then you said cheesy mad shit like that.”

“But you came with me.”

“I did.”

“And you enjoyed yourself.”

“I did. Go back to sleep.”

—

The third time you woke him, the light was turning grey outside and the rain had weakened to fits of spray. It was the day of your rescue. You just had to wait a few more hours. You decided you should probably wake Benedict for good.

“Ben?” You ran your hands through his hair, coaxing him back.

“Mmm?”

He had awoken so easily each time, it was reassuring.

“Where are you?”

“I’m with you,” he slurred.

Your heart faltered, touched by his response but also concerned at its vagueness.

“And who am I?”

Even though his eyes remained closed, his lips tilted into a small smile. “You’re the love of my life.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Exhaustion, fear, relief and love heaping upon one another.

Your voice trembled. “Where are we both right now?”

“We’re stuck in the bloody bothy.” He spat.

You chuckled, running your thumb over his forehead. He seemed to be lucid. “Why are we here?”

“I wanted to ask you,” he sighed, sounding almost as if slipping back into sleep.

You were confounded. “Ask me what?”

At last his eyes blinked open, settling on you with the steady, blue-grey stare that you could drown in.

“Get my coat.”

Still confused, you did as he asked, pulling his coat from the side of the sofa and handing it to him. It was only when he began rummaging through the pockets that realization struck and you froze. Time seemed to slow as he finally pulled out a small box and tossed the coat aside. He pried the lid open and brought it to rest on his bruised chest so that you were staring face first at a silver ring twined with a sapphire and pearls.

“Ask you to be my wife.” He declared, that timeless cheeky grin lighting his face. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t move. You weren’t sure if you were delirious with exhaustion or dreaming. He continued. “The hike was to an overlook. The landscape I painted that you love so much? I wanted to ask you there. I’m sorry we didn’t make it.”

Everything was falling into place. His insistence on this holiday. The uncharacteristic request for a hike. He had meant it to be one of the most memorable days of your life. It had certainly turned out that way, but not in the expected fashion.

Entirely ignoring the beautiful ring, you pulled him into a kiss.

“Oh, Ben.” You weren’t sure if you were laughing or crying or about to faint. You just needed to have him close.

He nuzzled his nose against yours, trying to convey as much affection as he could while not being able to move.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to be, but I need to ask you before anything else goes wrong.”

You stared back at him in alarm. “Nothing else is going to go wrong. Don’t you dare say that.”

He only smiled, devastating with his boyish grin and the cheerful crinkles around his bright eyes.

“So? Will you?”

“Yes! Yes, of course I will.” Your words were muffled into his lips as you kissed him again, hands wound tight into his hair, never wanting to let go. You didn’t feel tired anymore. You didn’t feel your pain. All you felt was him. Even now he smelled so wonderful, tasted so wonderful. He was light and certainty. He felt like home.

When you managed to pry yourself off of him, his eyes were glittering. He plucked the ring from its box and slid it onto your shaking hand.

“In sickness and in health.” He beamed. “I think we’ve already covered that bit.”

“Yes, we have.” You fell upon him again, breathless, everything fading behind the reality that he would be yours forever. It was a twist of fortune you’d never feel worthy of.

A few hours later you were snogging rather ferociously when someone began pounding on the door. It was emergency services. Just as Benedict had foretold, the bothy owners had seen the rockslide and sent help. He was infuriatingly correct in that way most of the time. A team of people dressed in yellow bandaged you both further and expressed surprise as how well you had handled yourselves under the circumstances. The rubble would take too long to be cleared but with specialty equipment they carried you expertly over to safety and into awaiting ambulances.

Your tallied damage was three leg fractures, three forehead stitches, three broken ribs and no concussion. ‘Symmetrically maimed’ as Benedict proudly announced to your family members who sped up to Scotland to collect you. In the subsequent weeks everyone was so busy fluttering around your injuries that no one noticed your ring finger. You and Benedict made a game of it, placing bets on who would be the first. You won the bet when three weeks in, Violet suddenly clamped eyes on your left hand and started yelping. Then added to the endless questions about your harrowing tale of survival, you were peppered with questions about wedding plans. Muscling through each day as a couple of lovesick invalids, you hadn’t found time to make any, but you had agreed on one thing. No matter where you went on honeymoon, hiking would not be on the itinerary.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @faye-tale

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #female reader #modern au #whump #romance #stranded

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newtonsheffield · 10 months ago

Note

so Sophie’s Edwina’s secretary in the bodyguard au?! Oh bless her, she doesn’t get it easy does she 😂😂

Probably pleased she’s not having to deal with the future Queen and her bodyguard drama as that’s gonna be a headache! and all that drama only for Edwina to be like “hold my beer” with Josephine…

Sophie Beckett, Princess Edwina’s private secretary is the hardest working woman in that palace and everyone knows it. Sophie is constantly seen, herding Edwina around the palace with her arms held outstretched, walking forward, giving Edwina little choice but to move in the same direction.

She might not have to deal with Princess Kate and the fact that the Princess is clearly, in Sophie’s opinion, shagging Anthony Bridgerton her head of security. It’s none of Sophie’s business, it’s really not, she just walked past a cupboard in The Small Palace one day and the last time she checked, mops didn’t say “Fuck, Anthony.”

It’s just not Sophie’s problem! It isn’t! She has enough to deal with Edwina, frankly.

“I have a secret.”

Sophie narrowed her eyes at Edwina across the car. “Is it…? About a certain… security guard?”

Edwina narrowed her eyes, “What do you know?”

“What do you know?”

Neither of them spoke for a moment before Edwina sighed, “My secret is different than that. I have a crush on a straight girl I have for a very long time.”

“How long’s a long time?”

“Since I was fifteen.”

Sophie winced, “That’s a long time.”

Edwina groaned, “I know. It’s fucking awful. I haven’t really thought about her in ages and then she showed up at this event and I… fuck. She was my sort of… peer big sister thing when I was at school, she was finishing up when I started and she… is… fucking perfect. It’s annoying.”

“Do I know this woman?”

“She’s… the Duke of Haverford’s daughter.”

Sophie let her mind tick through the list of people, their pictures before she gasped, “Josephine? Ohh she’s pretty.”

“I know.” Edwina groaned, “And I fucking… couldn’t stay away from her at that stupid party could I? I’ve been texting her and it’s a fucking disaster is what it is.”

“Well maybe not, are we sure she’s straight?”

“She told me she was when I mentioned something in passing.”

Sophie winced, “I’m sorry, I guess you need to decide if you want to be friends with someone if it’s going to make you feel like shit. You don’t deserve to feel that way.”

“She doesn’t want me to feel that way.” Edwina’s voice was tiny, staring out the window.

“And it’s not her fault, she is who she is, and you are who you are. I just… I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“Right.” Edwina nodded, “You’re right. I’m just going to stop. I’ll stop responding to pictures of her cute little sausage dog.”

“What’s the sausage dog’s name?”

“Haggis.”

Sophie let out a squeak. “I’m sorry. That’s…” She scoffed, “Barely a cute name. Fuck Josie.”

“Yeah,” Edwina sighed, “Fuck Josie.”

“I didn’t expect you to take our new mantra literally Edwina!” Sophie hissed as she herded her down the hall, her cheeks still burning from having to keep the king out of his own study months later while Edwina rattled the desk drawers loose.

Edwina grinned, “Well, you know what I’m like.”

“I need a new job. I need to transfer to your sister.”

“Speaking of my sister, have I mentioned Anthony’s brother to you?”

Sophie scoffed, “Oh you are not setting me up with someone to distract me! At least don’t use your father’s office to secretly shag the daughter of one of these rich fuckers! Your father thinks I’m insane!”

#bodyguard au

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fayes-fics · 2 years ago

Text

Pas Quotidien

Pairing: Benedict Bridgeton x fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader (past & implied), Modern AU.

Summary: Modern AU. At 4am all sorts of things can arise…

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, oral sex (m to f), flirting, bit of sexual tension, spot of brotherly competition, allusion to threesome.

Word Count: 4.7 k

Authors note: It's the baker Benedict AU no one asked for! This all started because of a hilarious typo with a mutual, so this is dedicated to them, ironic given they don’t eat bread. Unbetaed. I’m sure this is riddled with baking inaccuracies. Everything I learned about bread, is from Bake Off. Also yeah I know it’s not remotely sanitary. They’ll disinfect when they are done. Listen it’s fic, just go with it. Also yes the title is a play on the bakery chain Le Pain Quotidien. Well done for spotting.

It’s 4 am, and the bakery shines like a cosy beacon on this rainy night—the pavement outside glittering in the raindrops and the windows steamed from baking inside.

You push open the jaunty-coloured wood-framed glass door, the little brass bell above it tinkling delightfully as you do so. A warm blast of air bathed in the scent of baked delights greets you, and it’s like a soothing embrace around your chilled body.

He looks up, surprised to see you, or indeed anyone, at this hour as he stands towards the back of the space behind a huge marble counter, kneading dough.

“Ben,” you greet, shucking your raincoat. His responding smile makes your stomach flip just a little. It really shouldn't; he's just an acquaintance.

“What in the hell are you doing here at… 4:13 am,” he queries good-natured, glancing at the wall clock.

“Passing by on my way home,” you grin; some decadent carbs seem like the perfect thing to round off your late girls' night out.

“I should bolt that damn door to stop drunken reprobates wandering into my shop before I open at seven,” he jibes lightly.

“Too late now, my friend,” you giggle and swipe a macaron from the display case, hopping up to sit on the serving counter.

“Oi! That’ll be two pounds, please. And stop dirtying my serving space, if you don’t mind,” he chides affectionately.

“I’ll get the Dettol out myself,” you shoot back, not moving, and he rolls his eyes, exasperated.

You groan as you take a bite of the macaron, which melts in your mouth, a sugary almond explosion with tart raspberry filling.

“Fuck me, that's so good,” your praise muffled around the treat.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” he chuckles and keeps kneading.

“You should. I’d marry this macaron; I’d have its bloody babies,” you declare, still slightly tipsy, finishing it with a second bite.

“But you just ate your husband,” his amiable laugh echoes on the pristine white subway-tiled walls.

“I'm a black widow baby,” you sing the line probably tunelessly, but he seems to enjoy it nonetheless.

“Dangerous,” he shoots back, and something in his crooked smile makes the room temperature creep a little higher.

“Maybe…” you simper and gesture for him to continue working, hopping down on the staff side and wandering closer.

Your eyes are drawn to him. Watching him work. A dusting of flour on his forearms, a streak on his cheek. A black apron, almost white with flour, over a fitted T-shirt. You try not to stare at his arms as they flex, but you mostly fail. Lots of kneading makes for very shapely arms, apparently.

“What are you making?” you inquire, genuinely interested.

“Pain de Campagne,” he supplies, the French accent dripping perfectly from his tongue. A sign of those months spent chez Paris at patisserie school. And definitely not remotely attractive, No, not at all.

“Looks like hard work,” you offer casually.

“Always worth it in the end,” he assures with a wink, an errant curl flopping onto his forehead as he pushes on the dough. Oh, that’s not helping.

“I couldn’t do that,” you proclaim.

“Yes, you could; it’s not difficult; it’s just a technique. I can teach you,” he shrugs.

“Haha,” you deadpan.

“I mean it. Apron’s hanging over there; the sink is there to wash up thoroughly,” he gestures around him.

“You’re joking.”

“Nope,” he responds, popping the ‘p’ rather obnoxiously.

“Fine,” you throw your hands up, deciding this could be fun. You’ve certainly never done baking at this time of night (or morning, depending on your perspective) before.

Washed and aproned up, you move closer, and he stops kneading to turn towards you.

“Well, you’ll need to remove your jewellery if you don’t want it ruined,” he laughs. “Also, roll up your sleeves. Then rewash your hands,” he lectures.

“Okay, okay, Mr Bossy,” you grouse.

There’s that rich chuckle again, the one that seems to slide down your spine like honey. Instead of dwelling on it, you do as asked, leaving your rings by the sink.

“That’s better,” he smiles as you return to his side, and your shoulder bumps his arm with a smirk.

Flouring up is his next instruction, and you do so, ensuring your hands and wrists are well powdered.

“Okay, so stand here,” he says, stepping back, and you slide into the spot he was just standing in. “Alright, now grab that dough,” he nods.

You do so, your finger sinking into it. It’s pillowy light.

“Oh my god, it’s so squishy!” you exclaim, and he can’t help his guffaw at your outburst.

“Yes, very apt. Squishy indeed. That’s the gluten; it’s what makes the bread rise,” and suddenly, he is standing right behind you.

Two arms encircle you and cover your hands. They are warm, dry with flour, and so large you can no longer see your own. You try not to stare at the map of veins stretched over tendons as they curl around yours, guiding your movements.

“Now the key is to stretch the dough out and really get it aerated,” his voice is calming and patient but so close to your ear like that is, well, slightly throwing you for a loop.

As he guides your hands through vigorous moves, you feel his forearms over yours and his elbows bracketing your body. It seems so, well, there’s no other word for it; it’s intimate. His chin almost rests on your shoulder as he walks you through the motions. Your biceps begin to ache as the work continues, and you have a newfound admiration for what it takes to run a successful little bakery like this. You can’t imagine getting up at 2 am and doing this every day. You also really understand his arms now.

“I think it’s there now,” he remarks quietly, stilling your movements, his words soft beside your ear. You can feel his body solid behind you, not quite touching but so close you can feel the heat radiating on the back of your knees and shoulder blades.

“Are you sure?” you check, and you’re honestly not sure what that question refers to.

“Mmm hmm,” he hums, and it feels like it vibrates through you.

“What comes next?” you don’t mean it to be a whisper, but it is.

“Second proving,” he answers, and somehow it sounds sexy. “It’s got to rise some more. Get even squishier,” he adds with a wry smile that you see out of the corner of your eye.

“Are you making fun of me, Mr Bridgerton?” you narrow your eyes and lean back against him as if giving him a slight body check.

That was a mistake. He seems to curl around you even more. Heat seeping through the thin layers between you, the air feels even more humid as a trickle of perspiration runs down from your hairline over your temple. You see his eyes track the movement sideways on.

“You've not done it right if you’re not just a little sweaty,” his voice pitched low, and suddenly it’s not the only part of your body that feels damp.

“Applicable to so many things,” you assert, unmistakable in your intent, rocking back just a fraction.

“Very true,” he opines. Then he guides your hands down onto the cold marble on either side of the large mass of dough. “This always cools me down,” he murmurs, his fingers sinking between yours and pressing onto the smooth surface.

“Delightfully refreshing,” you agree; your pulse is hammering as he seems to lean you further over the counter. The press of his body entirely wanted.

“Yes, it feels good on your skin,” he mumbles, and there is a flurry of movement as he expertly picks up the dough and throws it aside on the long wide surface. Then his hands are back on yours, leaning and pushing you forward until your elbow bends and your forearms rest on the cool marble.

“Is that helping?” He whispers, and now the message is blatant.

“I still feel too hot,” you reply softly, biting your lip and shooting him your best flirtatious sideways glance.

“Then we will have to get more of your skin on this surface,” he lectures, and the hands move from covering yours to your waist, where the apron strings are tied around your front. You stutter his name as he expertly plucks the bow open.

“Tell me to stop,” he goads as the strings fall away, tugging them from around your sides. You clamp down on your lip, not wanting to make a single noise in protest.

There is a gentle snag on the underside of your chin as he lifts the apron up and around your head, then lets it fall to the floor as he drags you back upright against his body. His name is on your lips again, breathy and anticipatory. Almost disbelieving this is happening.

“Lock. The. Door,” he rumbles, his breath hot in your ear. Each word is a sentence that sets something alight in your veins even as he steps away.

You scurry around the counter and bustle to the front door flicking the deadbolt. Behind, you hear him putting the dough into the large proving drawer and then the lights suddenly flick off, plunging the room into atmospheric shadows. All you can hear is the pitter-patter of rain on the street outside and the occasional swish of puddles under tyres as the odd car, mostly Ubers, drive by.

“Get back over here,” he growls, and your knees want to give way.

Are you really going to do this? Let this delicious man lay you out on his marble worktop and do whatever he wants. There’s a screaming chorus of ‘hell yes’ in your mind as you do your best to walk with a seductive swing in your hips silhouetted by the window behind you. He has taken off his apron and now stands in a fitted t-shirt and jeans. Even in this low light, he looks so good clothed you almost don’t care if you don’t see him naked. Almost.

You squeak slightly as large hands grab your waist and pull you into him roughly, looking at each other eye-to-eye for the first time. It’s quite breathtaking how beautiful he is this close up.

“We have 45 minutes until we can make loaves.” The almost pun is not lost on you. “How would you like to fill that time?” he buzzes.

“What do you suggest?” your voice cracks, slightly hypnotised by his stare.

A corner of tongue peaks out of his mouth, and you track it across his bottom lip, fascinated by the slick trail it leaves behind that glimmers in the streak of the streetlamp from outside.

“I suggest we cool your naked skin on this nice balmy surface and see what happens from there,” it's velvet soft and so rich you want to bathe in his voice.

“Okay…” you mutter, almost swaying now.

You watch large floury hands dust white trails onto your black shirt, popping each button. Your own breathing sounds too loud. Just as the last one relents, and your blouse hangs open a fraction, both hands move, cupping your jaw and tilting your head as his mouth descends. The slightly grainy texture of the flour on his fingertips against your skin adds a frisson.

The first brush of his lips on yours is electric. Tentative at first, it soon grows, heatedly mashing together in waves of intensity, mouths peaking open, and tongues touching. His hands move again, this time tugging your top from your shoulders and down your arms until it flutters to the ground. Just in your bra and jeans, you band your arms around his neck, sinking tighter into the embrace, revelling in the feel of those dusty hands sweeping down over the dip of your back. Your lips meet over and over.

He tastes of sweet baked goods - like almond croissants and madeleines - probably a batch he baked before you came in, and you sag against him wanting to swallow him and chase more.

“Ben…” you gasp into his mouth as a hand ventures inside the back of your jeans and grabs the bare flesh of your bottom.

“Get naked,” he commands softly “you feel entirely too overheated in all this clothing,” he teases.

You chuckle; it’s only jeans and underwear you have left at this point. But then, the bakery is very warm, and all that dough work was very athletic. You fumble with your button and zip as his hand kneads your bottom with that firm motion he used on the dough. It feels wonderful, his lips trailing down your neck, his other hand helping peel your jeans over your hips. They hit the floor, and then you are being lifted off the ground and placed onto the marble, the cold, smooth surface making you squeak as it touches your bottom.

“Feeling cooler already?” he asks, a lopsided grin tugging at his handsome face as his hands round your knees and drag them apart, stepping between, the metal fastener on the hip of his jeans catching the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You nod in response as he moves in for another fiery kiss, your mouths at the same height now. His fingers curl around the back of your knees, pulling your legs up and wide as your hands sink into his hair, loving the baritone noise he makes over your tongue as you pull lightly on the thick chestnut strands. Those large hands slowly make their way up your thighs, caressing your skin, warm powdery tips setting your skin afire. As you kiss, they slide around your hips and up your back, winding delicate patterns until they reach the clasp of your bra.

“You still seem too warm to me,” his tone velvet smooth, “better take this off just to be safe,” he adds seductively and expertly flicks the hooks undone. He gently pulls the straps off your shoulders, and you can't help but giggle over his lips as he raises an eyebrow and comically flicks the bra away. It sails into the air, landing god knows where.

“Much better,” he hums sensually, his lips back on yours, bodies pressed together, the slightly bobbled fibres of his top catching your nipples.

“Take this off,” you implore between kisses, tugging at his t-shirt. He smirks and half-steps back, whipping it off and throwing it to the floor.

“Baking does wonders for the body,” you sigh, trailing a finger down the divot between his defined abdominal muscles as he huffs a laugh at your statement.

Then there is no talking for a while as he takes your hand from his torso, kisses your knuckles chastely, then runs his tongue obscenely down to your fingertips, drawing all of them into his mouth as you stare wide-eyed, feeling the strength of suction on each digit, the lathe of his tongue. It's a blatant preview of what is to come, and you can’t stop your breath from becoming uneven.

Your fingers fall from his mouth with a wet smack, and he is leaning in, driving your whole back onto the cold marble; he grabs your feet and places them wide apart on the countertop, your toes curling over the edge.

He is staring down at you, a heavy gaze cataloguing everything from your kiss-dampened lips to your lacy underwear. With your legs spread so wide, you know he can see your arousal, can smell it in the air. The remnants of flour tickle your bottom as you curve your back upwards, looking at him entreatingly just to touch you somewhere, anywhere.

“Please, Ben…” you murmur, and a trace of a smile ghosts the corner of his mouth. He leans right over you but doesn't make contact, breathing warm air over your collarbone, down over your left nipple and across to your right, pebbling painfully at just the wisp of sensation.

“Are you feeling colder yet?” his voice is deadly, gravelly and dark, skittering over your ribs.

“No…,” you admit, “Im feeling much hotter.” Your body flushed with arousal and anticipation.

“Hmm, what a shame,” he offers in mock sympathy. “I think the only remedy may be to remove these….” you gasp as his hand covers your underwear, and it’s so large that, as his fingers hook into the top of the material, the heel of his palm bearing down onto your clit, which he grinds a little for good measure.

Before you know it, he tilts your hips and drags the knickers away from your body, down your legs. You now lay utterly naked, exposed and almost shivering with desire, the hot steamy air from the ovens contrasting wonderfully with the chilly marble under your back.

Now he runs his nose over your skin as he skirts lower, inhaling almost obscenely, scenting your body. There's no mistaking the aroma in the air now, and he seems feral for it, his pupils blown wide as he tilts his head to look up at you.

“Let hope you locked that door really well,” he banters and then you almost scream as he suddenly moves lower and ploughs his tongue roughly into your slit, groaning as he does so.

“Holy shit Ben,” you cry out and throw your head back; the only thing you can see now is the steamed window, upside down, rivulets of rainwater and condensation streaking like trails of golden thread under the yellow lamplight outside.

The prideful noise he makes at your expletive just ratchets you higher, and you know you are leaking onto his chin now. He sucks forcefully on your clit, his tongue rolling a wave that makes your toes curl harder around the counter edge and your fingernails scramble for purchase on the marble. You move one hand between your legs and grab his hair, scraping against his scalp, tugging, making him snarl.

Then it’s a heady swirl of sensation as he expertly transports your body and mind away from the frisson of fear about passersby seeing this debauched tableau, should they linger on the pavement outside. To somewhere routed purely in your body and the way he conducts it like a symphony with his lips and tongue, one arm banded strong around your thigh, the other spidering up to pinch and tease your nipple. You know the whimpering noises you make are echoing loudly up the walls, but you cannot stop yourself.

“Come for me,” he pants desperately; just as a long slender finger nudges you open and strokes gently inside you, you see stars.

“Don’t stop Ben, oh god, please, don’t stop,” you chant, feeling yourself spiralling higher, his tongue lathing at just the right rhythm to make your eyes roll back, just the right amount of suction to make your skin feel hot and tight, ready to burst.

He dangles you over the precipice for a few seconds, then, with an edge of his teeth, takes you over. Your body goes stiff, and he holds you down forcefully as you bear down against his face and writhe, staccato breathy cries echoing up the walls as you clench hard around his finger and blood pounds in your ears.

For a moment, you just lay there whimpering as he gently caresses your belly with gossamer fingers and delicately kisses your inner thighs.

“Fucking hell,” you exhale, “that was…” you trail off breathily, unable to form a sentence, and he huffs a warm bemused breath over your dewy skin. “Do you want to…” you almost feel sheepish offering sex for some reason.

“Oh no,” he chuckles darkly, “I’m just getting started here….” His mouth is back on you, making you whine loudly, overwrought and still fluttering from your orgasm.

“I can’t again….”

“Oh yes, you can,” he assures in a tone that is lethal.

You tilt to look down at his handsome face framed by your still quivering thighs when something makes your heart leap into your mouth.

“Brother, why on earth are the lights off?” an unmistakable voice rings out from behind the door into the kitchen area—Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict’s older brother, head of the family, CEO of Bridgerton Investments and very troublesome to your hormones. He must have entered via the back of the building.

Your head shoots up, but Benedict puts a finger over his lips, signalling you to stay quiet, so you do. The menace doesn’t stop teasing you, though—licking a long, slow, decadent swipe up your folds as you breathe heavily and swallow your moan.

“Stay here, don't move; I’ll get rid of him,” he whispers, jumping to his feet, and with a wink, he pulls on his t-shirt and is off.

You stare, incredulous, as he loosely hangs an apron around his neck to conceal a rather delicious-looking bulge in his jeans, then disappears through the kitchen door. Did he really just tell you to stay sprawled naked on his worktop?

“Brother,” Benedict’s greeting is muffled through the wall. “I was napping between proving rounds; hence the lights are off. What can I do for you?”

“I’m not staying, on my way to catch a flight, just dropping those keys we talked about,” Anthony replies as you lay stock still, too drowsy from bliss to do anything but take slow breaths. “I’ll just grab a croissant for breakfast and be on my way.….”

“No!” Benedict squeaks. “I’ve… I’ve run out!” he scrambles the lie.

“Please,” Anthony dismisses, “I know you run your bakery better than that. And I know they'll be warm; I can smell they came out of the oven less than an hour ago.”

“Ok fine, but I’ll get it for you,” Benedict rushes out, and it sounds like he’s trying to block the door, but it’s too late.

The kitchen door swings open, and Anthony is striding towards the display case, Benedict bustling behind him, trying to block the sight of you naked on the worktop across the room. Anthony doesn’t glance to the side yet, but you’re frozen. Your muscles just unable to move. The stupid part of your brain justifying in the dark, perhaps he won’t see you at all. It’s all happening so fast, and your heart is pounding again.

“Switch the bloody lights on, will you?” Anthony gripes and reaches for the switch. Suddenly the shop is all lit up. And you’ve lost your chance to hide—to run.

“Fuckkkkking hell!” Anthony cries as he spies you over Benedict’s shoulder, his attempt to shield you unsuccessful.

Suddenly your body is responsive, and you jump down and curl into a ball behind the worktop, mortified, before he can see your face, see it’s you.

“Is this what you are doing at 4 am?? Fucking on your workspace? And with all these bloody windows?!?” you hear Anthony exclaim, sounding shocked.

“No!” Benedict defends, “I’ve never done anything remotely like this before I….”

The fact he admits that makes something in your heart melt just a touch.

“It’s unsanitary, brother,” Anthony cuts in. “It could get you shut down if you’re found out,”

“I know that!” Benedict decries.

Still, you hide, pulling on your knickers and top, head still fuzzy from the mind-blowing orgasm. You cannot find your bra for the life of you; glancing up, you see it hanging on a blade of a ceiling fan. Fucking hell, Benedict. You know you can’t hide forever, and your mortification will only worsen the longer you pretend this isn’t happening. So you slowly stand up, already wincing.

“Y/n?!?” Anthony splutters, and you want the ground to swallow you up. You also don’t miss how his eyes drop to your nipples, poking obviously through your shirt without your bra, then, as they come into view, to your bare legs beneath the shirt.

This is awkward. So awkward. About eight months prior, you had a drunken but amazing quickie with Anthony, but since it’s just been flirty banter, assuming that’s where it would stay. Thinking it was just harmless fun. But as you see a flash in his eyes now, it looks an awful lot like jealousy as well as desire. Damn, it’s attractive.

“Anthony,” you nod, trying to appear nonchalant.

“You are fucking my brother?” he gusts, disbelieving.

“No,” you answer honestly.

“Well, what the hell is this then?”

“We… we hadn’t got that far yet,” you respond quietly, and Benedict looks agog at you.

“So this is the first time?” Anthony is grilling you as if his younger brother isn’t even there.

“Yes,” it’s timid.

“Why him?” Anthony growls, and something in your body is at war. You know he won’t ever hurt you, but seeing this man all physically riled up and bothered is, well, holy hell, it's hot.

“I like him,” you whisper.

“More than me?” he takes a step closer, and you see over his shoulder that Benedict tenses.

“I didn’t think there was anything between us”, you confess honestly. “Anthony, you've made no other move since that night months ago.”

“You had sex?!” Benedict splutters.

“Once,” you placate, meeting his eyes, “drunkenly.” It somehow feels essential to add that secondary detail.

Anthony scoffs, and you narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s not that you suddenly want me, is it? It’s that you don’t want him to have me, isn’t it?” you goad.

You know you’ve hit the nail on the head when Anthony goes for cutting. “I barely even remember it at this point,” he sniffs.

“Fine, then get out, so I can fuck him,” you challenge, nodding towards Benedict, intentionally using crude words to shock him, shock them both. Benedict’s face is a picture, but you also see traces of lust and victory. That perhaps you want him just as much, if not more.

You watch a vein throb in Anthony’s temple and know if he made a move to claim you in some stupid moment of male pride or familial one-upmanship, right now, you’d let him. Frankly, you’d let them both fuck you right here, and you’re not ashamed to admit it to yourself. You cross your arms defiantly, knowing your haphazardly thrown-on blouse frames your breasts.

“Don’t you have a flight to catch?” you retort.

Anthony takes a step closer, and the tension notches up, your chest heaving just a little more. You can’t look at him directly; you fix on a spot over his left shoulder. If you glanced over his right, you’d be caught in Benedict’s gaze, which also feels dangerous right now.

“Choose. Right now,” Anthony orders, low and slow.

You make a noise of derision, but he just stands there, raised eyebrow, hands flexing slightly at his side. You see, on the periphery of your vision, Benedict leaning in. Keen to know your response.

“Right now,” you exhale, “I’m choosing to leave.” You nettle, not appreciating being used as a power play on his little brother. But mostly, not wanting to admit you can’t answer that question.

You peek over at Benedict. “I’ll be back for my rings and my bra once you remove it from your damn ceiling,” you wink at him and enjoy the surprise on Anthony’s face as his eyes naturally shoot up.

Then you feel both of them watching you as you grab your jeans and shoes, stalking towards the coat rack and starting to dress to go out in the downpour.

“Okay, fine,” Anthony’s voice calls out in a loud sigh, “you don’t have to pick.”

You pause in the motions, turning back to them.

“What are you saying?” you frown.

He looks over at Benedict, and some kind of silent shorthand is exchanged.

“It’s a private jet; it can wait for me,” Anthony states with a killer look.

“Many hands make light work?” Benedict adds bewitchingly.

Are they really suggesting… both of them? Together? Their eyes are both hungry, and their faces are hopeful. The spike of want and triumph in your veins is almost breathtaking. The pile of clothes drops loudly from your hands to the wood floor.

“Okay. I’m listening…,” you enunciate slowly, a smirk growing on your face as you take a pace forward.

There are two very seductive smiles back at you.

This night is definitely ‘pas quotidien’.

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leejenowrld · 1 month ago

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feeling like i wanna put all my energy into writing a longer fic but idk where to start 😭… help me out

planning for longer fics is so difficult… so many ideas but idk how to put them across and where to start. there’s three that are rough ideas in my head and i’ll write them down, if you wanna private message me to help me brainstorm and maybe proofread some stuff and plots then lmk!! i’ll give you my discord. or if you wanna send me some asks based on this, just to help me circulate ideas and what you think would be good or not please do. please don’t request any of these though! if you can then please just give any ideas or suggestions you have. thank you.

a jeno ex best friends to lovers au, college au, chance reconciliation, angry tense jeno, sexual tension, jeno maybe (?) has a girlfriend, possible cheating au lol, messy messy fic or i could do the complete opposite and make it more fluffy and sincere but tbh i haven’t written good angst ever so it would be new and fun for me!!

a christian! mark lee x reader au, he’s some sort of religious figure idk and falls in love with you, and you’re not religious. nothing too tense, not too much angst. have you guys watched ‘nobody wants this?’ on netflix? it will be based on that

always wanted to write a rich boy!jeno x working class!yn fic. possibly reader is poor and working class. maybe a cinderella kinda trope? loosely that. you guys know benedict bridgertons book and trope? kinda like that

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kamiyae · 4 months ago

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Hey you.

Yes you! I’m talking to you!!

Have you been unable to find a perfect fanfiction?

Maybe you want to see your favorite ship in a modern, corporate rivals to lovers scenario, but you can’t seem to find one you enjoy anywhere!

Well, look no further…because

I’m opening commissions for fanfics, short stories, poems, and anything you could possibly dream of!

also by buying a commission you will be helping out a he/they in need as i get through college 🙏 (if you can’t get anything, pls share! if you want to. idk don’t feel bad if you don’t 😭)

WHAT I CAN DO

✅ NSFW* or SFW

✅ Angst, Fluff, really any genre upon request

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✅ Any tropes are fine! (One bed, found family, age gap, arranged marriage, etc.)

✅ AUs (Modern, your own, college, etc.)

* to commission an NSFW fanfic, you have to be 18+

* I will probably write better fanfics for: Star Wars, Fallout, Genshin Impact, Identity V, Homestuck, Demon Slayer, Baldur’s Gate 3, Dungeons & Dragons, Stranger Things, Pokémon, Bridgerton, Spiderverse, Splatoon, Resident Evil, Obey Me, and Avatar: The Last Airbender/The Legend of Korra thanks to my familiarity with those fandoms, but I can write anything!

WHAT I WON’T DO

❌ Bestiality*

❌ Pedophilic Content; includes illegal age gap relationships (i.e. 16 and 27)

❌ Academic Essays (unless you pay me a shit ton of money/there’s extenuating circumstances but otherwise academic honesty ftw)

❌ Noncon

* Furries and monsterfucking is not bestiality so I will write those :^)

PRICES

EDIT: I did change the pricing! If you commissioned me before 7/8/24, though, I’ll charge you my original rates :)

Note: I accept Venmo and Zelle :3

Poems: $7 USD

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—> once you request a piece, i will give you an estimate on when it will be ready (i will try to have it done within 1-2 weeks)

—> you can receive the piece first, then pay me! and i can also post it to tumblr or AO3 if you want :)

—> please dm about any other questions

DM me or send a request in through my inbox if you’re interested 🙏 TYSM!!! (i am very desperate for money despite having a job 🙈 i need money to buy groceries for myself and for college, which i’m only able to attend with scholarship money, so any interest/shares are greatly appreciated 🩷)

also….if you want a little sample of my writing, take a look at my AO3 account! ^_^

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thebabblingbrookenook · 2 years ago

Text

The Viscount Who Loved Me Too Much - Part 2

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!reader

Summary: Modern AU - A continuation of a previous story, The Viscount Who Loved Me Too Much Part 1, where Reader is recovering from a heart transplant. She’s determined to make sure she truly lives every second for the rest of her life. Not a moment wasted. When she meets Anthony Bridgerton, she starts to realize, and ask for, all the things she really wants for herself.

Warnings: This chapter is pretty tame compared to Part 1. There are brief mentions of sexual content but not actual smut. Sorry guys, maybe in Part 3 haha

Word Count: 6K

Author’s Note - I know I had originally said that this would be a 4 Part series, but I may have underestimated how much content I had to work with. For now, I won’t put a number on it. Once again, @colettebronte saves the day with her beta reading. You would not want to see the mess of words I laid down before her keen eye gave it a once over. And to @eleanor-bradstreet, my sweet, sweet Eleanor... Thank you so much for walking in angst with me on this one. Your advice and companionship have been invaluable.

_____________________________________________________

Anthony Bridgerton was a man of his word, having made good on his promise to ruin you that morning. Twice. He had left your legs weak and your backside sore, but you were thoroughly satisfied. It was the kind of satisfaction that you were afraid to get used to. Getting attached to him would probably be a colossal mistake, but he wasn’t making it easy.

Sitting across from him in your favorite café, over breakfast you pondered what your life might look like with him in it on a more permanent basis. It was a dangerous game to play but you couldn’t seem to help yourself. Something about him was addictive and you could already anticipate the pain his absence would create.

You were constructing a getaway plan in your head when his voice cut through your concentration. “Figured out how you’re going to ditch me yet?”

“What? Why would you say that?” Panic pitched your voice higher. “I wasn’t planning…”

“Yes you were,” he teased with a knowing grin. “I recognize the look. I practically invented it. Let me save you the stress. If after today you don’t wish to continue spending time with me, I’ll bugger off.”

“Continue?” you ask, trying unsuccessfully to keep the hope from your voice. “You want to see me again?”

“Did you enjoy yourself last night?” He tested the waters.

“Yes,” you nodded shyly, averting your eyes. “And this morning.”

“So did I,” he assured. “If you’ll have me, I’d like to keep enjoying myself.”

“I think I’d like that,” you conceded. If he was going to stick around, you wanted to address the hideous scar in the room. “You can ask me, you know. It’s okay, I know you want to.”

He had the courtesy to look a bit ashamed when he asked. “What happened?”

“I got the flu,” you shrugged.

“I beg your pardon? I’m not sure I understand.”

“It seems crazy, I know. But that’s what happened. It was just the flu. I was really sick with a stomach bug for a few days and then I was dying. The doctor said it was a one in a million scenario. Viral Myocarditis. The virus weakened my heart muscle and there was too much damage. I was fine one day and on life support the next.”

You watched him with interest as his mind tried to add everything together. “You needed a transplant?”

“Yes,” you confirmed. “It was all so sudden. There wasn’t a lot of time to process everything. My whole life changed.”

“Wow,” he stated in disbelief. “You’re okay now though, right?”

“My doctor seems to think I’m healing nicely. I had to make a lot of adjustments. I’m going to be on medication for the rest of my life, but that seems a small price to pay.”

“That’s only the physical aspect. How are you handling things otherwise? I can’t imagine that has been easy for you. From all my accounts, you're very… lively.” He grinned flirtatiously. At this rate, you were going to need to keep an emergency fire extinguisher in your purse for your nether regions.

“Honestly, I’ve been a mess. It took a long time to find myself again. Even now, I’m not quite the same.” You searched your mind to find the right words. Why the desire was so strong, you weren’t sure, but you desperately needed to be understood by him.

Without missing a beat, he met you where you were. “Of course you’re not. Nor should you be. I’m not sure I’d like to know the person who could go unaffected by those circumstances. They would either be a liar or a fool. Probably both.”

His voice trailed off in contemplation so you followed him into the void. “I think maybe you’ve already known that person.”

“Mmm,” he hummed in agreement. “I live with him every day.”

Anger pricked at your consciousness, sending your pulse on a rampage. It was ludicrous, you barely knew this man, but the instinct to defend him, even from himself, felt like it was your newfound purpose. It was presumptuous to think you knew better, but those words didn’t ring true.

“We’ve all been fools at some point. And I lie to myself all the time.” You hoped you weren’t doing that right then; Looking at him and seeing only what you wanted to see. But you decided self doubt was useless and trusted your instincts instead. “We just have to learn how to get out of our own way.”

“Is that what you’re doing now? Getting out of your own way?” Genuine interest played behind his eyes.

“I’m trying. I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing, but I’m trying. It feels like I owe it to myself. And to the…” you paused, subconsciously running your thumb over your scar. “Well, to all the people who got me here. Anything less would be unforgivably selfish of me.”

His fingers reached out to play with yours absently on the table. “So what’s your secret? There has to be a trick to it. I’m far too obstinate to simply tell myself to get the fuck out of my own way.”

The familiarity in his touch warmed your chest. It felt natural to be there with him. “I think it’s all about perspective. There is this huge thing lingering over me now, constantly reminding me to reevaluate when I feel stuck. My experience was terrifying, and I would never wish it on someone else, but perspective is definitely something it has gifted me. Seeing situations, and even other people through a new lens changes the entire picture.”

His huff of laughter sat in contrast with the smile that didn’t quite touch his eyes. “Now you’re beginning to sound like my brother.”

“Your brother sounds like a wise man,” you teased.

“A self proclaimed one at that. He would be unbearable if he heard you confirm it.” His words were sharp but his tone radiated affection.

“What’s his name?” you asked, curiosity getting the better of you.

You could see his mind wrestling over your request. Anxiety froze you to your seat while you waited for him to decide if you were worthy of this information. Family was private for some people, and you worried you may have accidentally crossed a boundary.

An apology was forming on your lips when he offered a response. “Benedict.” He broke your eye contact to take a sip of his cooling tea. “I’m the oldest, then Benedict.”

“It must be nice to have a sibling. I always wanted one growing up, but I think I scared my parents off children on round one,” you offered up a piece of your life in reciprocity.

“Be careful what you wish for. I have seven, and they have been a proper pain in my ass, each in their own specially crafted and unique ways.” His voice was laced with a paternal pride that colored his features in warmth.

“Seven?! You parents must be exhausted.”

“It’s just my mother now,” he confided. “The woman is a saint.”

“Oh,” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay. It was a long time ago,” he remembered with a sad silence settling over him. “But enough about me! Let’s get back to you. I’m far less interesting.”

Somehow you doubted that, but you yielded to his subtle request to move away from a difficult subject. “What would you like to know?”

“Obviously, you’re from The States, which I offer my utmost sympathies for,” he smiled cheekily. “... but whereabouts are you from?”

“I grew up in a little town outside of Columbus, Ohio that no one has ever heard of, but we moved to New York when I was fourteen.” Yep, definitely not more interesting than him. You were boring yourself to tears.

“And how did you end up on the right side of the pond?”

“I work for a luxury hotel. We opened a new location in London and they needed someone to get it off the ground. I’m here until they say otherwise.”

Leaning forward, he whispered conspiratorially, “Is it bad of me to hope they need you indefinitely?”

You felt a blush erupt across your cheeks at his confession. Your voice lowered in meekness as you readied an admission of your own. “I don’t know… Is it bad of me to really like that you just said that?”

“Maybe,” he leaned in even further like he was about to divulge a secret. “We’ll just have to be bad together then.”

The heat left your face entirely and raced to a place much, much lower. The way your body responded to him took you off guard. You were no stranger to lust, but this was different. He had roused something in you that you didn’t know existed and you were completely at its mercy.

Before the logical half of your brain had a chance to talk you out of it, your mouth opened and blurted out something you had yet to share with anyone. Not Ellie. Not your mom. Only him. “What would you say if I told you that an offer to stay on a more permanent basis is actually a reality for me? I haven’t given my answer yet, but my bosses want to make me head of our European division. Our London location has been thriving and we want to expand even further. They already have plans for Germany, Italy, and France.”

He whistled his admiration. “Wow… that’s a big deal. If you don’t mind me saying so, I think you’d be crazy not to take that opportunity. What’s holding you back?”

Taking a moment to truly consider, you searched your mind for the right answer. “My parents… Being sick and this far away from them has been hard on all of us. It would be a lot easier on them, especially my mom, if I was home. And I miss them. I miss New York. There are days when I would murder someone to get my hands on a New York bagel.”

“Hmm,” he mulled over your words. “I see…”

“What?” You hoped your irritation wasn’t obvious. “You don’t think those reasons are valid?”

“No, they are perfectly valid. They just aren’t the reason. Those are the excuses being used to justify not taking the risk.” His expression held no malice and his voice was free of condescension. He was simply offering the truth. For some reason, that irritated you even more.

“Excuses. Reasons. Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Not in my opinion,” he shrugged. “Excuses will always be there. Reasons can be conquered. So what is it? What are you afraid to go up against?”

No one had ever cut so directly through your bullshit in all of your life. The exposure was terrifying but also strangely exhilarating. Somehow telling him the truth came easier than with most. It didn’t feel like you were diving headfirst into judgment.

“Myself,” you admitted. “I’m afraid to face myself. This would be a massive undertaking of responsibilities. If I fail, it impacts a lot more than just me. I don’t know if I’m the person that commands the room, or makes decisions on such massive scales. I’ve always been the tool that someone else wields to realize their vision. An extremely effective tool, but still… I guess I just don’t want to find out in the end that I can’t make things happen of my own accord. I don’t want to know that I’m visionless or that I need someone to metaphorically hold my hand all the time.” You stopped to reign yourself in before you sent him running from the cafe in the opposite direction. “Sorry I just unloaded on you.”

His laugh was bright and genuine. “I seem to recall you letting me unload on you at some point in the last twenty four hours. I’m merely returning the favor. Besides, I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t want to know.” He reached down and picked up your long-abandoned pastry and took a bite before setting it back on your plate. “Do you even want the position? If it isn’t something that you want, don’t say yes. It would suck the marrow straight from your bones. If you do want it…Well, someone very wise once told me that sometimes we just have to learn to get out of our own way.”

Using your own words against you was a nice touch. “I do want it. That’s probably why it scares me so much. Sometimes the most terrifying part about gaining your heart’s desire is that now you can lose it.” Your eyes flickered to his and you realized he was climbing to the top of that list at an alarming speed.

The intensity in his gaze knotted your stomach. “That’s true, but the alternative is much worse. To lose something without ever even tasting it… Show me a life of settling for safety and I’ll show you a life of dissatisfaction. You deserve to be thoroughly satisfied.” A sharp intake of breath rushed through your lungs at the feel of his foot lightly brushing the length of your calf under the table. “In every regard.”

Clearing your throat, you directed the conversation back to him. Another second under his heated stare and you would have found yourself dragging him into a stall in the ladies room. “How do you find satisfaction in your life?”

His smile was wicked with innuendo but his words were sincere. “I enjoy my work. I took over as CEO of the company when my father passed away. Having the chance to build on his legacy is fulfilling for me. And of course my family - being the head of such a large household is where I find the most purpose. It’s time consuming and tiresome work, but it’s very rewarding. My siblings…” he trailed off briefly, leaving you wondering where he’d gone. Remembering himself, he continued. “Watching them all grow and discover themselves, and being able to guide them through it all… I’m not sure I’ll ever do anything more important.”

Your heart swelled with admiration. “They must adore you.”

His laugh was laced with derision. “Hardly. Most days I’m not even certain they like me. It’s hard for them to see me as just a brother, or a friend, when I’ve been parenting them for most of their lives. I’ve been told I can be… overprotective.”

“Ahhh,” you smirked. “So in other words, you’re controlling.”

He shrugged, not at all bothered by the title. “Family comes before all else. You seem to understand that. That’s part of why you haven’t jumped at the chance for this job; You’re thinking of them.”

“It’s mostly my mom. Don’t get me wrong, I know my dad loves me and would be thrilled to have me closer, but he doesn’t need me like my mom does. I think he’s proud of me for venturing so far away and thriving on my own. But my mom… this has been really hard on her. She’s been in full helicopter mode for a year now.” You paused, remembering all that she had sacrificed for you throughout your life. “Staying here, so far away, seems selfish. Especially because it would be so easy for me to relieve her extra stress. I could find a job in New York - it would be fine.”

“A job, yes. But THE job… The one you deserve. The one you’ve earned.” He shook his head, somewhat dumbfounded by the situation. “Sometimes our own happiness requires a bit of selfishness. Besides, isn’t it equally as selfish to make a unilateral decision that impacts her life without giving her the chance to tell you her opinion? I can’t imagine your mother being okay with watching you accept mediocrity on her behalf.”

As if you had said her name one too many times in an accidental summoning, your mother’s familiar voice reached your ears. “There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you. You weren’t answering your phone, and Ellie said she hadn’t heard from since last night. Where have you been?!”

Mortification opened its jaws and swallowed you whole. She was too preoccupied with her fear induced rage to notice the man sitting across from you. It took everything in you to keep your eyes from venturing to his face. The last thing you needed was to start crying from embarrassment. Like a child accepting a very public reprimand.

“Mom…what are you doing here,” you asked absently, still finding your way out of a stunned stupor. Confusion and disbelief creased your brow as you took in the number of unanswered calls and texts on your phone. Ellie had even reached out in warning of your mother’s war path. “My phone must have been on silent. Sorry about that. Is everything okay?”

“You tell me! When I left you last night you weren’t feeling well, and then I didn’t hear from you all morning. You had me worried sick.” Still, she didn’t notice Anthony sitting next to you, politely sipping his tea. Your venture off the grid must have really shaken her.

“I’m fine. I just…” you paused, realizing an anger of your own. “Wait, how did you even find me?”

Her posture prepared to defend her actions, but her face still had the good sense to look at least slightly abashed. “Your father taught me how to track your location with my phone.”

The only thing saving her from the weight of your full irritation was Anthony’s presence. But make no mistake, there would be a conversation about this blatant invasion of privacy. “As you can see, I’m perfectly fine. Can we talk about this later, please?”

Coming down from her spiral of overreaction, her gaze finally flickered over to Anthony. You almost pitied her when he flashed that breath-stealing smile in her direction. “I apologize for the distress. I fear this may be my fault. I’ve been rudely monopolizing your daughter’s attention. We bonded during some early morning cardio, so naturally I invited her to enjoy a well-deserved breakfast pastry to undo all that hard work.”

The apples of her cheeks turned the exact shade of red as the aforementioned fruit. Whether it was from embarrassment, or the unavoidable fluster that Anthony tended to evoke, you weren’t sure. She gathered her composure before giving you a skeptical look. “You got out of bed on Saturday morning to workout? That seems unlikely.”

You plopped a piece of pastry in your mouth to hide an uncomfortable grin. “A workout routine was listed in all that recovery research you gave me. I thought you’d be pleased…”

“I’ve never seen you lift more than a coffee before 10:00AM, let alone break a sweat.”

Anthony’s velvety tone captured her attention again. “Well, I can confirm without a doubt that we were both a sweaty mess. She was extremely motivated. It really pushed me to my limits, I could barely keep up.”

You found yourself silently wondering if faking an illness would get you out of this conversation, but before you could craft a plan Anthony turned up the charm. “Would you care to join us…” he paused. “I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t catch your name?”

“It’s Kathleen,” she offered him demurely.

“How lovely,” he beamed. “Forgive my poor manners, Kathleen. I’m Anthony Bridgerton.”

“Bridgerton,” she practically gasped. “As in Bridgerton House Enterprises?”

You looked between the two of them in surprise. How could she possibly know of him?

“One and the same,” he confirmed. “Are you familiar with our work?”

“Just what I’ve read about the new Children’s Hospital. What you’re doing is a godsend for those parents. You have no idea what relief that will bring them. To not have to think about such trivial things during the worst moments of your life… that’s a gift.” Her voice trembled with reverence. You knew she was remembering a darker time.

“Ahh, yes.” His eyes lit up with affection. “That is a joint endeavor with my mother. She’s quite passionate about it. She is always looking for like-minded volunteers to join her team if you are interested in getting further involved.”

“I’ll have to remember that…” her tone shifted to one only a mother could summon. “Mr. Bridgerton..”

“Please,” he interrupted. “Call me Anthony.”

She gave him an appeasing smile. “Anthony… I appreciate your offer to join you, but I was hoping to get a moment with my daughter alone. We have some things we need to discuss.”

“Mom,” you screeched.This level of mortification wasn’t something you realized existed.

“No, of course.” Anthony conceded, pushing his chair back from the table to stand. He looked over to you with an apologetic smirk. “It was nice meeting you, y/n. Thank you for a lovely morning.”

All you could manage was a deflated, “You too,” before you watched him turn and walk out the door. Your mind was racing trying to decipher what had just happened. Your heart pounded louder in your ears with each step he took. Before you were so rudely interrupted, he was asking for more time with you. He said he enjoyed himself and wanted to continue exploring each other. But as you watched him walk past the cafe window it dawned on you that you hadn’t even exchanged numbers. You didn’t even tell him your last name. The longer you sat with them, his parting words started to sound like a goodbye. Maybe he had changed his mind after he witnessed the crazy in your life up close. Or maybe he had never really wanted more at all and he was good with using pretty words.

You turned the full weight of your distress on your mother who had taken up Anthony’s vacated seat. “I cannot believe you just did that…”

“Don’t look at me like that, honey…” she was squirming under your heated stare. “Maybe if you would have been responsible and answered your phone I wouldn’t have been forced to take such drastic measures. You can’t just drop off the map like that. How am I supposed to leave you here alone if I can’t trust that you’re being safe?”

She was your mother, and you loved her… but if you didn’t put a stop to this right now and establish clear boundaries, your relationship might reach a point beyond repair.

“Except I can just drop off the map if I want to, mom. I’m a grown woman. I’m not obligated to check in with you before every choice I make. I do those things because I love you, and I know how much you worry - not because you’ve ordered me to do it. I think you’re forgetting that I’m not a child you can control anymore.”

She jumped in, eager to defend herself, “I’m not trying to control you, honey. I just want you to be safe. I’ve been doing this whole mom thing for a long time. I think I’m fairly qualified in knowing what’s best for you.”

A long, exasperated sigh filled the space between you. “I know you mean well, Mom, but this has got to stop. You don’t even see how inappropriate that just was. We need to set up some healthy boundaries. We can’t be codependent forever. Don’t you have things you want to do for yourself? Things you want to do with Dad? Things you have put off for thirty years so that you could put all your love and energy into me? I know I have things that I’d like to experience for myself. I don’t want to be stagnant. I need to challenge myself. Try new things - meet new people.”

She scoffed, “New people… you mean men.”

“Men would be considered people, Mom…” you took a deep breath and tried to reign in your temper. “And I think I was doing a pretty good job until you barged in here like a crazy person and literally asked him to leave. He was nice. I liked him. And you probably just ruined it.”

Remorse started to transform the stubborn resolve written on her face. “He was unreasonably handsome, wasn’t he?” She smiled warmly at your emphatic nod, but if the lip now pinned between her teeth was any indication, she had more to say on the matter. “But honey, do you really think dating is what you should be focused on right now? You’ve been through so much, and if my memory serves me, dating can be stressful.”

Understanding dawned on you. She didn’t want your new heart broken or damaged. In her eyes, it was all so fragile - so delicate. Why would she think anything else? You had let her treat you like a porcelain doll for the past year.

“If not now, then when? If I’ve learned anything from this year it’s that time is never promised. Whatever time I’ve been gifted, I don’t want to waste it. I don’t want regrets and what-ifs. I want to be in love. I want someone to know me. I want a family one day. I want to get up in the morning with purpose and drive. I want to fail and get back up again. I want to live, Mom… And I can’t do that with you strapped around me like a life vest.”

It was as if I had slapped her squarely across the face. Tears pooled at the corners of her widening eyes. “What are you saying, y/n?”

“I’m saying…” you stopped, making sure to choose the words with care. “I’m saying that I think you should go home to Dad. He needs you too, you know? Go home and unclench, mom. I’ll be okay. Trust that you’ve raised me to be capable, smart and resilient.”

She couldn’t look at you now. Her arms crossed tightly over her chest and she reached up discreetly to wipe an errant tear from her cheek. Rejection chafed at her pride, but you could see that she was fighting the instinct to push back in obstinance. “I do miss your dad…” she sniffled. “And I suppose it wouldn’t kill me to trust you to take care of yourself for a few months. You’ll be home soon anyway - with the hotel running so smoothly. As soon as you hire a manager for them, you can come back to New York.”

The wave of disappointment that you felt at the prospect of her words was waterboarding you. That’s when you knew - You had to take this job. It might be terrifying, but nothing else made sense. “Actually, Mom, there is something that I need to talk to you about…”

~~~~~~~~~~

The day spent with your mother was emotionally exhausting. There was a lot of crying, a little yelling, some desperate bargaining, but eventually she yielded to your decisions. The terms of her departure came with stipulations. You weren’t allowed to go more than two days without talking - though she preferred no more than one - and in person visits were a non-negotiable. She also wanted to be kept in the loop on the dating front, claiming she didn’t want to be left out on the girl talk, but you didn’t miss the fact that she mumbled something about grandchildren under her breath.

All in all, you were happy with how it all went. It was a hard conversation to have but somehow your relationship already felt better for it. It was the first adult decision you had made for yourself in a long time. She was leaving at the end of the week and you were looking forward to the opportunity to miss her. You were already excited to plan your first visit back home. It had been too long since you saw your dad or any of your friends.

The blissful high of resolved emotions slowly started to fade with each of your steps as you walked home from your mother’s hotel. It was replaced by an excited, anxious buzz that tingled beneath your skin and turned your stomach topsy-turvy. You had just made a huge decision that was about to change the entire course of your life. You were taking on new ventures in new places, surrounded by new people. No more safety net. It was time to sink or swim.

Speaking of sinking - your heart had been steadily sinking in your chest all day. Anthony Bridgerton was the first man in a long, long time to make you feel like putting yourself out there might be worth it. You tried to tell yourself to keep your expectations low. It started as nothing more than an exhilarating experiment to reach for your own desires, and you were content with that. He had given you an amazing night, taking you to places of pleasure that no one else had even gotten close to - But then he started making plans. He started wanting more. Or at least it seemed that way. Maybe you had been seeing things through the lens of wishful thinking. Maybe you had misread it all.

The worst part was - now you’d never know. Even though your time together had been brief, it was easy to see him in your life. He challenged you in a way that you craved. Conversation with him stimulated your mind, body, and soul. His lips, his eyes, the way he smelled… His laugh, his frown, the way he tasted… Everything about him made you ache. How were you supposed to keep walking around life pretending that the most intoxicating man you had ever met didn’t just slip through your fingers? Living in the same city, but having him just out of reach, would be a customized form of torture. An insatiable itch that would never stop.

A list of ways to find him again were already forming in your mind. You knew his full name, so naturally your first step was to check all forms of social media - He had none. Clearly, he was a private person. Thanks to your mom, you even knew where he worked. A quick Google search pulled up a wealth of information that you quickly filed away as useless to you. You weren’t trying to give off stalker vibes. Maybe you would just get lucky and fate would steer you back towards each other again.

You resigned yourself to the depressing notion of waiting as you approached the door of your apartment. Sighing heavily, you searched fruitlessly though the contents of your purse for your keys. “Uugghhh! I have got to get a smaller bag. This is ridiculous. Every damn time!”

Your fingers finally grazed across the cool brass of your keys. They twisted noisily in your lock, seconds away from the comfort of home, when a familiar voice called out to you. “Miss y/l/n! I was hoping I’d catch you. Wait just one moment.”

Your sweet, but nosey, elderly neighbor from across the hall shuffled her way towards you. “Hello Mrs. Finch. How are you this evening?”

A moment of panic flashed through you as you remembered your hallway dalliance with Anthony the night before. You prayed she wasn’t coming to admonish you for it. “I’m doing well, though I suspect maybe not as good as you.” The knowing look she gave you made you want to duck behind the nearby plant to hide.

Thankfully, a playful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth and you could have sworn you saw her wink. “Mrs. Finch, I’m so sorry about that. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

She waved you off dismissively, “Nonsense, girl! If I were your age I’d be doing the exact same thing. Maybe a little more frequently, but still…” You released the breath you had been holding when you were positive she wasn’t here to yell. “I won’t keep you long, I just thought you’d like to know there was a handsome young man here tonight looking for you. I heard him knocking on your door. When you didn’t answer, I got worried that maybe he was bothering you. You’re usually home at this time of night.”

Her sleuthing skills were truly unparalleled. It was a little unnerving that she knew the ins and outs of your schedule so well, but it felt good to know that you had one more person looking out for you. Her snooping was harmless. Mostly, you thought, she was just lonely and bored. From now on you were going to try to make more of an effort to socialize with her.

“He was very friendly though. And my god, that smile!” Her cheeks blushed slightly at the memory. “Men like that are the best kind of trouble. I’d give him a chance if I were you.”

Hope started to ring in your ears. From the description, there was only one person she could be talking about, but you needed to be sure. “It’s very sweet of you to worry after me like that. I appreciate you telling me. Did he happen to give you his name?”

“No,” she said with a hint of annoyance. “But, he did leave something for you. He asked if I’d keep it safe until you got home.”

Leaning back into her flat, she returned with a white box that was wrapped with a beautiful blue silk bow. She smiled warmly and squeezed your hand. “I’ll leave you to it. I’m sure you're dying to get inside and open it. Keep me posted on how this all turns out. I’m deathly curious.”

“Thank you, Mrs Finch.” Testing the waters, you stepped in to offer a hug. She only hesitated for a moment before squeezing you back. “I’ll let you know if he is as much trouble as he seems.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you ran your hands over the smooth surface of the sturdy box. Flipping on the light and locking the door, you made your way to the small table in your kitchen. Why were you so nervous? It was just a gift. But if it wasn’t from who you were hoping, you knew you’d be crushed.

The silk of the bow caressed your fingertips as you pulled gently on its edges. You’d definitely keep it. The cool blue shade of it would look beautiful and delicate tied up in your hair. Lifting the lid, your brows scrunched with confusion. Inside was a leather bound book - the same color as the silky ribbon - and a small note card. Scribed with elegant flowing letters, it read:

For your new job. You know you want it, so bloody take it already.

~ A

P.S. - I’ve taken the liberty of listing my contact information under the Resources tab inside. In case you ever find yourself in need of my services again…

A day planner. And sure enough, inside you found his name and cell phone number neatly scratched on the crisp white page. You giggled when you saw the tiny heart replacing one of the letters in his name. Mrs. Finch was right - The best kind of trouble indeed.

Carefully flipping through, you took in all the little details hidden in the pages. The paper was thick and professional. You’d be able to use all sorts of pens without worrying about the ink bleeding through. The craftsmanship of the leather was impressive. You didn’t want to know how much something of this quality cost.

You were about to turn back to his phone number when something else caught your eye. Penciled in on the upcoming Friday was a reminder.

Celebratory dinner with Anthony - 8pm

You took your phone from your purse and snapped a picture of the marked date, simultaneously adding his name to your contacts. You didn’t bother telling him it was you. He’d know…

Y: What are we celebrating?

Your heart started to race when you saw those three little dots appear, indicating his immediate impending response.

A: Your new job. Obviously.

You laughed out loud imagining him doing a terrible Professor Snape impression.

Y: That’s a bit presumptuous, don’t you think?

Again, a quick response.

A: No.

A: I’ll pick you up at 7:30.

Six days… You only had to wait six days.

_________________________________________________

@faye-tale @musicismyoxygen84 @angels17324 @bridgertontess @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @queenofmean14 @heeyyyou

#Anthony Bridgerton x Reader #Anthony Bridgerton x Female Reader #Anthony Bridgerton x You #Anthony Bridgerton fanfiction #Bridgerton Fanfiction #Anthony Bridgerton and Reader #Anthony Bridgerton and Female Reader #Anthony Bridgerton and You

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silverhallow · 9 months ago

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Bridgerton Drabble: Princess Diaries AU

Part #2 Broken

“What do you mean you’re still going through with it?” George sighed as he looked at his brother exasperated a couple of hours later.

“Well just that, Sophie assured me it was a one off, that it would never happen again and I believe her.” Phillip argued back.

“George, it is his decision at the end of the day…” Marina said as she walked into the room, Amanda wrapped in a blanket as she went to place her in the cot next to her twin brother.

“It’s a stupid ass decision that is what it is. Come on, the entire country has seen the Bridgerton bloke sniffing around her for the last month, it’s clear to anyone with eyes that whatever that was wasn’t just a one off… and besides you said it yourself, there isn’t a spark there! You see her more as a sister! And I’ve seen you pining after that Bridgerton girl…”

“Eloise and I are just friends…” Phillip said going red and George laughed

“I didn’t say which Bridgerton… but come on, you’re going to be stuck in a loveless marriage and it will eat away at you” George said

“She picked me, we’re doing this. She can’t marry anyone else and if she doesn’t marry by the end of the week then the country goes to the Cavenders” Phillip argued

“And that has nothing to do with you, you can return to England, back to your plants and forget about this entire mess” George said “I am sure you can persuade Eloise to come to Oxford or Cambridge for University since she’s due to start next term” he teased raising his brows suggestively.

Phillip threw a grape at his brother who laughed.

“It’s not that simple. I won’t see this entire country be wrecked by some imbecile because I wasn’t prepared to help where I can. Sophie is the best thing that ever happened to this country, even if she only found out about it a few years ago, she cares so deeply about everyone, she wants to make it a better place, a better country and I can be a part of that, I can help her achieve that and I can do my botany work anywhere. She chose me, we are seeing this through. I do not need any more lectures about it George, I just need you to be supportive please. Like Marina is being”

“Marina is being supportive because she knows she has little choice” Marina laughed “you were supportive of us when we found out about the twins and helped us with the press and your father’s rage”

“Yes, like dad would be happy about you doing this…” George scoffed

“What? The idea of me marrying someone who is going to be Queen of a country. It’d probably be the only thing in my life i’d have done he would have approved of… thinking i could seize control for the family or something… but even if he didn’t approve, it’d have been something i’d have wanted to do even more to get away from him” Phillip said shaking his head.

“Point taken…” George said before looking between his brother and his wife and heaving a deep sigh “fine, I shall continue to be supportive of this stupid endeavour and I shall be the first to either congratulate you on becoming Prince Consort, or to say “I told you so” when it goes tits up” he grinned

Marina swiped at her husband who ducked it and laughed “i promise, i’ll be on my best behaviour, I just want Phil to be happy and if being married to the Queen of Penwood will do that… then I shall be the supportive big brother”

“Thank you, that is all I ask…” Phillip said, walking over to the drinks cabinet to pour himself a drink

“And maybe keep him away from Eloise” Marina whispered into her husband's ear who nodded glumly.

They knew there was no changing Phillip’s mind when he’d set it to something that it would take a lot to change it…

He’d been adamant that when Marina and George found out she was pregnant, that to avoid the scandal of the unplanned pregnancy, the unwanted attention in the press and their father’s fury, he had offered to say he was the father and take the brunt of everything from their father…

But given the news of Marina falling pregnant by one of his son’s out of wedlock, had caused their father to have a heart attack… that lie hadn’t been required but for George, as much as he liked the Queen to be and knew that on paper this was a good match and that his brother and Sophie were friends and very similar in personality, he couldn’t help but feel that this was not the end of the matter and that the saga with the wedding was just starting…

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

Over at the houses of parliament, Edmund Bridgerton was pinching the bridge of his nose as he looked over the documents finalising the plans Andrew and Roger had sent over for the new orphanage to be built as per the Princess’ request.

It had been a morning of putting out fires and dealing with the broken heart of his 24 year old son.

Benedict had come back from the palace and his sneaky yet innocent night with the Princess completely broken.

He had never seen him like this before and he had no idea what to do about it. The rules were the rules. They had been set well over 200 years ago by men who didn’t think that a woman should rule period, let alone on her own and therefore they forced through ridiculous rules.

Some of them they’d managed to abolish over the years but the marriage law… that was something that they’d never seen to rectify and he had no idea if it was even possible for the Lords of the country to make such a decision as any decisions around the crown had to be set by the King or Queen.

The marriage law as it stood now had been passed in 1812 when the then King George only had legitimate daughter’s and wanted one of his bastard sons to rule instead and he’d made it as difficult as possible for his eldest daughter Sophia Charlotte, to take her rightful place as Queen once he passed away.

He’d forced through the rule that said in order for her to rule she had to marry and be over the age of 20, before she could assume the throne but also made it clear that whoever they were to marry, would not have any power over the throne, as he was sure it would have made her whole position less fanciful, why marry a Queen if you get no power… which all men married for, power and position and for 100’s of years… that law had been enforced.

Sophia had managed to outwit her father and married a simple Lord and went on to be one of the country's greatest ever rulers.

“It’s a stupid rule” Benedict had wailed so many times into his hands that Edmund was sure it was all he was going to think about when he slept that night. He knew his wife would be the better person to calm their second son down, she always had been but there had been some sort of drama with Eloise so he’d been left to deal with Benedict.

It broke his heart that there was nothing he could do, he personally didn’t have the power to change it, he couldn’t even make the motion to change the rule that could only come from the sovereign or sovereign to be, and then parliament could decide on whether or not to back the motion…

And given half of the men that sat on the benches of parliament, he wouldn’t put it past them to not pass it and being so close to the wedding now…

Edmund hated this. He hated that he hadn’t learned more earlier, when he first got to know their future Queen, he’d assumed that she’d have found a way out of it, or been happy but he’d not anticipated the connection that seemed to form almost instantly between his son and the Princess.

It had been even quicker than that of when he met Violet when he’d known by the end of the dance… he’d seen the Princess run into Benedict and stand on his toe and he’d seen the sparks fly…

And knew that they were in trouble.

“I know she’s the best thing for this country but it’s not fair… it’s not fair” he wept over and over in his hands, his eyes were red and swollen, as was his nose from the hysterics. It didn’t matter that he was a grown ass man of twenty four years old.

Benedict knew he would never find anyone that compared with Sophie and living in this country meant he was going to be forced to see her face every single day, it would be everywhere right down to the money he earned and spent.

Her life would be broadcast, he’d have to see her pregnant with another’s baby, on the arm of another.

Or he will have to leave the country, never to return, never to see his family unless they came to see him…

He wasn’t going to be strong enough to endure seeing the love of his life thriving in that capacity.

It took Edmund several hours to get his son to stop breaking his heart, to stop his son from the weight of he guilt he felt after the rumours had briefly flown that Sophie and Phillip were not to marry and it was being called off after the “incident” but they’d received communication from Anthony and Kate that the wedding was still to go ahead, which of course set off another round of tears in Benedict.

Eventually he managed to persuade his son to go home and not do anything drastic or dramatic. Edmund had an idea on how he could get the information to Sophie about it could be stopped, how it could be changed and challenged but it would be a risk.

If parliament didn’t back her… then everything could be a disaster.

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #Princess diaries AU #Benophie Drabble #benophie #benedict x sophie #anthony bridgerton #Benedict bridgerton fic

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mangacupcake · 7 months ago

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Bridgerton Au- The Ashengrotto Family

The Secret Keepers of the Upperclass

The Ashengrotto family has been rumored to be descended from the great sea witch.

Now they serve as information brokers and help keep the peace of the upper class even working with the worst of the worst to maintain the status quo.

Azul’s mother worked hard in bringing the “family business ” to land and found success bymarrying a wealthy lawyer from the surface.

Since then she’s stepped aside in most matters and let Azul become the head of the family. Who is feared for his wish granting contracts, and his eel bodyguards.

He is also rumored to have a “demon maid” that will get rid of any problem you have for a Hefty sum or a very restrictive contract. What’s unique is that she will take requests regardless of your social status. However that’s just a rumor… or is it?

Azul has a sister, Drusilla Ashengrotto. Who’s has seldom been seen by anyone. She’s coming of age and just in time!

With her secret heiress now known to the public and the all the fortune hunters out there and the up coming social season Lilith Crewel called in a favor.

It was rare sunny day when the carriage arrived at the Crewel Estate. A gathering was quickly arranged and both parties met in the drawing room. Isabella tried not to fidget as Lilith took her hands “ trust me pup.”

The three moved gracefully, “Lady Lilith, my brother expresses his regret in not attending this meeting in person but some business came up in the coral seas that he had to oversee.”

The girl looked no older than herself, but she moved and spoke with all the elegance and grace as her adoptive grandmother. “You must be Isabella. I’m Drusilla Ashengrotto, These two are my families bodyguards. This one on left is Jade leech.”

“Charmed.” Jade placed a chaste kiss on her hand, “the one on lady Drusilla’s right is my twin brother Floyd.”

Instead of a kiss on the hand or a polite bow Floyd opted to pull Isabella in a bone crushing hug, “what a cute lil shrimpy!”

Jade removed him from Isabella with ease “please don’t be offended that’s how Floyd expresses his affections.”

“I know they can be a bit much. But I promise they have nothing but the best of intentions.”

Floyd’s laugh made the hair on Isabella’s neck stand up. Drusilla saw the fear in Isabella’s eyes and took her hands, “ please don’t be scared. I know he’s… a bit much. But he’s means well. We all do. And you’ll find his mannerism charming soon enough.”

“Uh why?”

“I’m sure you know or know of the Ashengrotto family. And I’m sure you’ve heard of the roumors, I’ll spare you of that ridiculous chatter. But to put it simply we’re are both young women from prominent families, the social season is almost here. And it’s better to have a friend.”

Drews smile was warm. “I’m here to be your friend and to potentially find a match as well. Starting today I’ll be moving in and I do hope we’ll be friends. As a start please call me Drew. I’ve only really been called Drusilla in formal situations but I’m fine with either-”

Drew was caught off guard by The little heiress pulling her into a hug “I’m so excited! I can’t wait to show you the dogs. You’ll love Horace and Jasper! Oh no wait I need to show you the rose garden! Oh um, sorry I got excited, um forgive me, Grandmother maybe I show the library, please?’

Lilith chuckled, “your both dismissed. Dearest please make your friend feel at home.’

Once the girls were out of sight Lilith held her cigar out to be lit which Jade generously did with his fire magic “that demon maid lives up to rumors, especially the price. I don’t mind of course. She’s a worthy investment. I know she’ll do a good job.”

Jade hummed “Indeed. What a time Azul’s darling sister coming of age just as your heir is. What a hell of family we all are.”

Lilith knew she’d be gettin an earful from Marcus and her son but when it comes to Isabella she’d do anything to protect that girl. Even chasing in favors with some questionable businessmen…

@adrianasunderworld @marrondrawsalot @heiress-has-retired @the-weirdos-mind @anxious-twisted-vampire @yukii0nna

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #bridgerton au #TWST Bridgerton au #two are not my ocs #drew is mine #twst au #twst aus

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smooth-boob · 11 months ago

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I have to say, this Bridgerton Phantom AU is working out almost a little TOO well... this is seriously feeling like one of the coolest things I’ve written because I get to puzzle together the parallels and divergences between both canons.

Anthony is the perfect amount of fucked up in canon through a combo of book and tv that the transition to Erik/Phantom is not that big of a leap.

Well, okay. Maybe he's not QUITE Erik level. He has some pretty important limits that Erik uhhh does not have, but still! Lonely gremlin man who wants love so bad but is afraid he should not have it.

Weird Goth GF Kate is an absolute treat as well. I am looking forward to writing more of Kate being as unhinged as she and Christine both are. Their feminine rage is *chef’s kiss*. Kate's a bit more jaded/strategic than Christine, but she's truly a dreamer and lover at heart. And they're both orphans who were close to their fathers...why is regency and gothic romance my genre of choice???

Also, poor Benedict as Raoul...lord. I wrote the parallel scene to 'Down Once More' and Ben is um, well, he will be fine. It's not what you think. By contrast, Edwina as the Meg equivalent is happily unscathed so far lol.

Anyway, in this story, library scene = cemetery and bee sting = unmasking iykyk 👀

I’ll post something other than vagueblogging eventually lol.

#.braindump #bridgerton poto au

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abyssal-ali · 9 months ago

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held together, our hands became a map

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown

Rating: M | WC: 12.1k + notes | Masterlist | Ao3 | CW: sexual harrassment, light violence, kind-of forced marriage (both want to marry the other but they don't think the other wants to), sexual content

A/N: Finally watched Bridgerton and was immediately inspired. Of course. You’re welcome. Thanks to Bold for letting me rant in her DMs and listening to me ramble about this fic<3 I wrote this in about three days and I’m really proud of myself so I hope y’all like it as much as I do :D Thanks to Boldly and HouseOfKings for betaing<3

Greetings, fair reader. I am the foremost reporter of Gotham society’s deepest and darkest secrets, the enigma that provides the ton with all the scandal they need to continue their gossipy lives. Let me tell you about two subjects of mine that I am finding most difficult to uncover a smear on their names. Miss Stephanie Brown is being sponsored by Duchess Grayson for a season in Gotham's finest society. She's looking for a man who is decent and decently wealthy (she has parents to take care of, after all; she's not choosing to trade love for money just because she's poor). The Duke of Altheban is new to town and most certainly isn't looking for a bride, but something is drawing him to one young lady against his will. Everyone has dark truths, and none more so than those who live in the glitz of high society. I will reveal their most hidden mysteries by the end of the season, or my name is not, Lady Gotham

-The title is a line from Love Maze by BTS. It’s kind of the theme song for this fic and is really catchy, if you want a new bop to listen to. English lyrics here. -There’s probably going to be some historical inaccuracies in here. Sorry not sorry. -I definitely played around with canon a lot, but canon can’t keep their story straight so at least I’m doing better than them, even if by doing so I mess up their canon :p -This is set in 1810. -It’s not a no-capes AU but it’s also not a Gotham by Gaslight AU (besides being set 80 years earlier). There’s some Bat-shenaniganery going on that’s not recorded in the fic but they haven’t revealed themselves to me yet. Just assume watered-down GbG AU, I suppose. Primitive crime-fighting stuff, some smarts being involved, and the basic tragic Bat-story & subsequent adoptions etc. -Jason died. I don’t know how. Or when. Or why. It just happened. Maybe I’ll figure it out in another work ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ -There was/is no TimSteph. They’re friends at best. -I meant for Cass and Duke to be in here (which sparked a whole breakdown trying to figure out what to call someone literally named Duke) but somehow they never popped in, besides one line where ‘Thomas’ [surname] is mentioned. The rest of the Bats aren’t really there, either, minus the minor Dick/Babs appearances. This is not a Batfam fic, this is a JaySteph fic. -I really like Babs’s character, and I dislike the ping-ponging in canon between making her disabled or not, so I kept her as her current(?) self, Oracle. No I don’t know how it happened or how she survived with the medicine of the day. This is fiction, shhh. Side note: Wheelchairs from the 1800’s looked more comfortable than I was expecting. -Don’t bother figuring out ages. Jason and Steph are in their early/mid-twenties and the rest of it is *waves hand* -I looked up Regency wedding traditions and wrote as accurately as I could. -More notes about the fic & my research at the end. (Side note: This was 12,000 words exactly in my docs, where did the extra 46 come from?! I was proud of that round wc ;-;)

Dearest Reader,

As you may know, the belle of the season is Miss Adelia Elliot, who broke onto the scene with a high compliment from the queen of Gotham herself, Selina Wayne. But let us not be so hasty to secure Miss Elliot as the season’s incomparable, for there has emerged another young lady from the ranks of the season’s debutantes.

Miss Stephanie Brown, a previously unheard-of young lady, has caught the eye of the most eligible Lord Duma. Will this debutante with unforeseen connections consider Lord Duma her match, or will she set her sights higher, with the backing of the inestimable judge of character, Duchess Grayson of Bludhaven?

Only time will tell. Let us speculate on the matches that may be made, for there appears to be blossoming a most fruitful season. However, let us not be swept away by the opening chords. There is still room for even the most nimble of societal maestros to slip.

We hope to be spared any slips by the illustrious Lord Damian Wayne at tonight’s soiree at Wayne Manor, the event that I am sure we all can acknowledge will kick off the season with refined festivity.

The youngest son of our very own darling Prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Lord Wayne has been studying music at the Geneva Academy of Music for the past several months.

I look forward to seeing you all at his event, utilizing your finest feathers and weaponized words to glamour yourselves in an attempt to snag one of the elusive, prized sons of the finest founding family of this city.

Your closest friend,

Lady Gotham

Stephanie tossed the pamphlet onto the desk in annoyance.

“Is that the newest Lady Gotham newsletter?” asked Babs from the corner, where she was reorganizing her bookshelves after acquiring several more volumes.

“Yes.” She flopped onto the sofa, swinging her legs over the armrest. “Speculating on Adelia Elliot and my presentations and guessing who is going to marry who–the usual gossip,” she waved a hand in Babs’s direction. “She did end on a rather tongue-in-cheek note, though. Perhaps the lady is not as satisfied with society as I first thought.”

“Time will tell,” said Babs, unknowingly echoing the words of whom she was speaking.

Reversing the direction of her wheelchair, she steered over to the desk Steph had left the paper on. She looked over the pamphlet briefly before returning her attention to her friend.

“This reminds me, which dress are you planning on wearing to Damian’s recital tonight?”

“The green one, I was thinking.”

Babs sighed as she caught sight of Lady Gotham’s penultimate line. “Imagine you marrying one of Bruce’s sons.”

Steph snorted indelicately. “Damian is too young, even if he does have something of an eye for me, you’ve married Grayson, and Drake and I would never work out.” She shivered at the thought.

“I suppose I’d get along decently with Thomas, but he’s also rather young. I really don’t know what the writer was implying with her thinly veiled speculations. And she says we use our weaponized words!”

“Just ignore the gossips like you always do, Steph,” advised Babs. “And sit properly, please.”

“Because it’s that easy,” she rolled her eyes, moving to a more acceptable pose. “I admit I find myself quite intrigued as to this evening’s happenings. If Lady Gotham is among us, will she attempt to stir up the theatrics among the ton?”

~~~

A grunt escaped Jason as he turned, letting the punch roll off him. It still hurt, despite knowing how to take hits. His opponent danced back, bringing his fists back up into a guard position.

Jason moved back, luring his opponent over, before releasing a series of quick jabs and punches that forced his opponent to concede defeat.

“Alright, I get it, you’re stressed about your debut. What’s the matter, worried that you might not have any ladies dropping their handkerchiefs around you?”

Jason snorted, climbing out of the ring to get his towel. “You know I’m not looking for a lady yet.”

Waylon raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “You’re going to need a lady sooner or later.”

“Well, I choose later.” Jason yanked his cravat into a passable knot. “I’m worried that the family that’s practically Gotham’s royalty is going to dig into this mysterious new Duke of Altheban and destroy my plans before I’ve even had a chance to start.” He straightened his jacket and tapped his pockets to make sure everything was still there.

“I’ll see you later, Jones.”

“Enjoy the party, Todd–I mean Head.”

Jason waved his hand, not looking, as he headed out of the boxing centre.

~~~

In the velvet darkness of Gotham past 7 p.m, Wayne Manor presented a glittering vision as its lights reflected off the multitudinous baubles out on display for the soiree. Gilded and not-so-gilded carriages flowed from the portico to the stables in orderly succession.

Nimble fingers tripped lightheartedly over pianoforte keys as the star of the night, the newly-returned Damian Wayne, displayed his polished skills in a rousing performance.

“Ah, Head, there you are, my fine fellow!”

Jason nodded politely as an enthusiastic Roy Harper dragged him over to the group of young men congregated close to the doors of the formal parlor. “Gentlemen, this is my good friend Head, the Duke of Altheban. Head, these are my friends. This rogue is Aleksander, Lord Duma, and here is…”

Jason tipped his head shortly. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlemen.”

Babs stopped her wheelchair abruptly, causing Steph to bang her knee on the back. “Ow, Babs-”

“Look, Steph, I am perfectly capable of getting myself to the parlour without your assistance. I will be fine for the entire evening, in fact! You should not worry about me and instead fill your dance card–with names that are not a part of the hosting family’s roster.”

Steph sniffed. “Fine, I will dance with one person who is not a Wayne or Wayne-adjacent. One .”

Babs sighed. “Thank you. If you see Dick before I do, could you direct him my way? Thank you.”

“Alright. Have fun, Babs.”

“I will,” Babs smirked, wheeling herself into the festivities and parking her chair in the best spot to get all the gossip.

Steph looked longingly at the refreshments table, then headed resolutely in the other direction, promptly bumping into a masculine chest. Her handkerchief fluttered to her feet, jarred loose from where it had been tucked into her glove by the impact.

“Oh, my apologies, I did not see you there, My Lord.”

He nodded stiffly, bending to collect her handkerchief. He rose and handed it to her, making sure their fingers did not brush. “It’s quite alright, it’s getting rather crowded in here. My fault, I’m sure.”

“No, no, that was my fault. I was caught in the sorrow of leaving those delicious-looking tarts behind me and did not see you for the tears in my eyes. Hence, the handkerchief,” she dabbed at her eyes dramatically.

The man’s stiff posture relaxed a little at her good-natured theatrics, his lips quirking up in what some may describe as a small smile. (Steph personally described it as the look of a hunted man relieved to find she was not his hunter–or huntress, as the case may be.) “May I escort you to those delicious-looking tarts, then? I hate to see a lady cry, especially when it can be easily remedied.”

“Thank you, that would be delightful. It’s not rude to eat a dozen of the things if a gentleman brought me one a dozen times, correct, My Lord?”

“Indeed, it would be far more rude to refuse his devoted attentions.”

“Lovely,” chirped Steph, taking his arm. “I do think it would be awful if Lady Gotham reported me rude in her next issue. I must take care to avoid all pretenses of the word.”

The man–whose name Steph still didn’t know, and also had never seen before, and did not know who could properly introduce them–poured two crystal cups of punch. “Would you care for some, my lady?”

“Thank you. The tarts are delicious but they do leave one thirsty.”

“Ah, Miss Brown.”

Steph turned to see Lord Duma approaching her, a polite but fixed smile on his face.

“Lord Duma,” she half-curtsied. “How are you this evening?”

“I am doing well, Miss Brown. I see you have met the ton’s latest import. Duke Altheban,” he nodded his head.

Steph cursed inwardly at her earlier social faux pas. To be fair, the only other dukes at this event she was already acquainted with, and she certainly didn’t expect this man to have a title that required a different address than ‘my lord’.

The man nodded back. “Lord Duma.”

“Ah, His Grace was just procuring me some punch, like a gentleman, before I fainted of thirst. We haven’t even been formally introduced.”

Hopefully the Duke would forgive her slip and have mercy on her unnoble self, now that he knew she was unaware of his status. To be fair, he had not seemed the type to be overly cognizant of his title–much like the Waynes, she supposed. A refreshing attitude, indeed.

Lord Duma took her hint.

“Oh, I must introduce you, then. Miss Brown, this is Jason Head, the Duke of Altheban; Your Grace, Miss Stephanie Brown.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Brown.” Duke Altheban bowed over her hand. “So, Lord Duma, are you tired of Harper’s stories so soon?”

He laughed. “Once you’ve been here a season or two, you’ll have heard all of Harper's stories. Besides, I heard that the young Wayne is finishing his performance soon and that the musicians would soon start the dancing. I had to make sure I reserved a spot on Miss Brown’s dance card.”

Steph smiled politely back at him. “Thank you, Lord Duma. Your forethought has indeed awarded you a chance to put your name on my dance card.”

“I would like to also reserve a spot, if I may, Miss Brown.”

Steph turned to the Duke, somewhat surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for lords to take interest in courting untitled young ladies, but dukes were considerably higher ranked than lords and rarely courted or married outside of their titles.

How interesting. She’d enjoy getting to know more about him as long as he let her.

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

~~~

Lord Duma was a fine dancer, and Steph enjoyed their turn around the room, but dancing with Duke Head was something else entirely. They fit together perfectly, in such synchronization that they seemed to be floating over the dancefloor.

“You are a wonderful dancer, Your Grace.”

“A dancer is only as good as their partner, I’ve been told.”

Steph smiled, mentally recording the feel of his large hands over hers, the faint smoky scent of his cologne, the soft swish of air as it flowed over her exposed skin. Dancing had always been a passion of hers, but it was difficult to find partners with whom she connected so well.

“What you were saying earlier, about a Lady Gotham,” said the Duke. “I did not know there was such a title here.”

Steph answered his unasked question. “Lady Gotham is a pseudonym for some author who has recently begun to write about society’s banalities and scandals. The ton is quite invested in both the papers she prints and the mask she wears. No one knows who it is, and so far it is one of the season’s biggest topics of conversation.”

“Ah. Thank you for explaining, Miss Brown.”

“It is quite alright with me if you address me as Miss Stephanie or Miss Steph, Your Grace.”

“As you wish, Miss Stephanie. You seem rather…how shall I put this…distant from society. Aside from Lord Duma and myself, you have not danced or talked with any acquaintances.”

Steph laughed. “I am not well acquainted with most of the ton, Your Grace. I am a miss, not a lady, and I am not in the habit of associating with double-faced, backstabbing socialites. I prefer intelligent conversation, even if I am here to find a husband, but it truly seems like the two are mutually exclusive.”

He barked a short laugh, pulling her infinitesimally closer. “It does seem that you are either doomed to marry or become a book-loving spinster, does it not? As if you cannot marry and love books, or be unmarried and detest the things.”

“Indeed. My sponsor for the season is happily married, and she has one of the largest libraries I have seen.”

She twirled, coming back to the duke’s arms.

“I suppose I am simply setting my sights too high. She had a better beginning than I, and she already was acquainted with her husband; their families have always been friendly. And that is not in the cards for me. If I must marry for my family’s sake, then I will have to set aside dreams of love and books and loving books. Such is the way of life,” she mused sadly.

Duke Altheban twirled her again. “Surely someone here also loves books, at least? They are lords and barons, they have to have studied. Speaking purely hypothetically, what about the Duke of Bristol?”

“Tim?” Steph laughed. “No, it would never work between us, for many reasons.”

“Oh, you’ve met?”

“A time or two,” she grinned. The last strains of the music faded away, and the sudden rush of chatter from the dancers surrounding them made talking difficult.

“Time for another tart, perhaps, Miss Stephanie?” asked the duke, leading her over to the quieter refreshment table.

“If you offer it to me, I’d hate to refuse, Your Grace-ooh, waffles!”

“I take it you like the pastries?”

“Very much. The chef here always makes the best cream to eat with them.” Steph groaned as the treat hit her taste buds.

The duke followed her lead of spooning the cream onto the waffle bite and eating it. “That is quite good. Oh, hello, Harper.”

“Stephanie,” nodded Roy, turning back to the duke. “You really must come with me now, Jason. You’re finally here and we can fulfill all those adventures we spoke about on our European trip!”

“Very well. Miss Stephanie.” He kissed her fingers in farewell.

Her fingers tingled from the press of his lips the rest of the night.

~~~

“That was fast,” laughed Waylon the next week after Jason ended their spar.

Jason glared at him from under the fringe of his hair. “You can shove whatever else you want to say right up your-”

“Did you see what Lady Gotham wrote about you?” interrupted his friend/investee.

“No, what?” he grumbled, curiosity piqued.

Waylon pulled out the paper and balanced his spectacles on his nose.

Clearing his throat, he read eloquently, “‘ There is nothing the ton likes more than talking about themselves, unless it is talking about others.

‘The most common question heard at the Waynes’ soiree was ‘Who is the Duke of Altheban’? He was certainly well-acquainted with several of the lords of this fair city, but no one–except myself–knows more than these three facts: firstly, the duke has spent the last several years traveling the continent and making connections for his merchant business.

‘Secondly, he originally hails from the land of Nanda Parbat, where his dukedom is located.

‘Thirdly, he is a most desirable catch, being young, rich, and single, of which only one of these attributes society truly considers necessary. He is also reportedly an excellent dancer, although sparing with his partners.

‘But, fourthly, the duke is looking for something in particular from this season and this society. Could it be a wife? A new business partner? Whatever it is, this author is sure that we all are eager to learn more’ .”

Jason dropped his head into his hands in frustration. He’d forgotten just how vicious society’s gossip was. Whichever event he next attended, he was surely going to be flocked even more than he’d been at the soiree.

And he was back to his problem. Miss Stephanie Brown. A poor young socialite who was looking for a husband, all details which should have made him flee instead of being drawn to her. Yet she had been a breath of fresh air. Even after she learned of his status, she did not change her behaviour, and had given him the most pleasant conversation with a woman who was not married or related to him he’d had in…ever. She’d openly admitted she was looking for a moneyed husband, which he could not blame her for, and clearly cared for her family, considering what she was willing to give up for them.

She clearly had more dimensions to her than most of the other young ladies had dresses, and he desperately wanted to explore more of them.

“-son!”

“Hm?”

“Wow, you have it bad.” Waylon shook his head in mock sympathy. “What’s the lady’s name?”

“Ste-what young lady?”

Waylon looked at him, unimpressed. “The one you’re thinking about and can’t stop thinking about. I’d like to meet this woman who’s managed to make you reconsider your stance on marriage this fast.”

“I’m not reconsi-” Jason paused, realisation washing over him, and swore violently.

Waylon patted him on the shoulder and laughed, the traitor.

“I’m not marrying her!” he yelled after the boxer.

He laughed louder.

~~~

Steph knew that she was being impractical, but didn’t particularly care. She’d have to live with her practicability soon enough, she was going to take this moment while she could to daydream.

The babblings of a baby roused her from her thoughts of dancing with Duke Altheban, and she peeked into Emma’s carriage.

“Hello, darling. Have you woken up from your nap, sweetie? I knew the fresh air would be good for you, and look at that! You’ve finally slept longer than an hour!” She cooed to the baby, turning the carriage to head home. “Yes, I imagine you’ll be hungry rather soon, I’ll get you back, never fear.”

The afternoon stroll in the sunlight had done both Emma and Steph good, the fresh air giving them both an appetite. Once Steph had gotten Emma fed and back in her crib, she started making the evening meal, feeling the beginning pangs of hunger in her stomach as well.

The door opened just as she’d finished setting the table and she greeted the arrival with a small smile. “Good evening. Emma’s been walked and fed and is now asleep, and supper is ready. Wash up and I’ll have it on the table.”

“Thanks, Steph.”

~~~

Jason looked around the Crowns’ ballroom for a familiar head of blonde curls but found nothing. So far his sudden appearance on the ton’s scene hadn’t caused any major questions of his identity; even the Waynes were quiet, though he knew better than to dismiss them simply because he didn’t see evidence of their activities.

Dick walked in, Babs wheeling herself beside him, nodding politely to acquaintances as they passed. And there, just behind the couple, was Stephanie Brown.

That would explain Stephanie’s familiarity with the Waynes, if Babs was her sponsor, as Jason gathered from what she had shared. He laughed inwardly at the thought of Tim’s immersive nerdiness and Stephanie’s bubbly interests meshing. No wonder she’d laughed when he’d half-jokingly suggested Tim as a solution to her marriage problem.

Jason tapped the side of his glass thoughtfully as he subconsciously tracked her circle around the room.

She needed a husband, and he was going to find her one. He didn’t want to marry, but he could find her someone. She was only somewhat younger than him, which in society’s eyes was fairly old for a debutante–though not for a man, who was always eligible and never shelved with a derogatory title, Lady Gotham had noted a day or two earlier.

She needed a man older than her, which removed several of the more juvenile options, and one who was respectful of women, which sadly removed even more.

He thought back to what else she had said. Stephanie was looking for money, someone to support her family. He supposed he should figure out just how large her family was first and how much her future husband should expect to pay up, first.

The best way to find out such information was by asking the woman in question, of course. Jason approached the woman in the lavender gown, holding out his hand in silent question. She turned, sensing him, and accepted with a wide smile.

They moved swiftly onto the floor in time with the quartet, settling into a comfortable rhythm.

“How have you been, Your Grace?”

“Well, thank you. How have you been, Miss Stephanie?”

“Oh, rather well. I visited a friend yesterday and had a lovely walk in the sun. It seems rather rare for this city, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, it’s rather a gloomy place. Do you enjoy nature?”

She moved to another man, then back to him in turn.

“Oh, definitely. Although I must admit, I quite enjoy the comforts of home, meagre as they may be, when there is a blizzard raging outside. My fondness for it does not extend quite so far.”

Jason chuckled. “I can’t blame you for that; I rather agree with you there. Is that your mother?” he nodded towards an older lady with blonde hair curled similar to Stephanie’s.

She smiled slightly. “No, that is Lady Aurora. My mother would never be invited to such an event–I’m only here because the Duchess of Bludhaven is sponsoring me. My mother is a nurse in the Bowery.”

The Bowery. The polite name for the red light district, known for its crime and pleasure houses. A place Jason was intimately familiar with, much against his desire.

“A nurse, how noble of her. It’s hard work, I imagine.” He gently spun her into a twirl.

Stephanie seemed grateful, knowing he knew exactly where the Bowery was but hadn’t let on that he did. “Yes, it is, but she is good at it. I’m proud of her.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Nothing like asking point-blank–in Jason’s experience, pointed questions yielded the clearest results, since there was nothing to be confused or semantical about.

“No, I’m an only child. My father is… was an entertainer, but he got injured some time ago and is now recovering at home.”

Ah, that was why she needed the marriage. He could read between the lines easily enough. Well, only having parents-in-law to support would be easy enough to sell to a prospective suitor, he supposed. It certainly beat having a dozen siblings to also support.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Stephanie. My father was also injured before he died, and my mother had consumption. It was heartbreaking to see. I wish your father the best.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Your Grace. I shall pass on your wishes to my father. Thank you.” She curtsied and stepped away, clearly ending the conversation.

Jason wished to speak with her more, but he had the information he had wanted.

Surely there wouldn’t be more than one Brown family in the Bowery comprised of a nurse and entertainer.

~~~

Steph cuddled Emma in her arms, cooing at the baby’s chubby cheeks. “You’re adorable, yes you are. The sweetest baby I ever saw.”

Dancing around the room with the baby, making her giggle with high-pitched laughter, lightened the weight on her mind. Nothing else mattered when she was with Emma.

A man passing by the window had a build and hair similar to Duke Altheban, reminding her of the times they had danced together at the past several events.

“I wish he was courting me, but I know he’s not looking for a bride. And even if he was, it certainly wouldn’t be someone like me,” she told the child pulling at her dress’s neckline. “I mean, look at me,” she laughed.

“But he’s such a gentleman, Emmy. He’s considerate and funny and smart and well-read and respectful and attentive and handsome and such a good dancer–not like Lord Mayburn–and he’s traveled and he speaks seven languages, he told me. Seven, Emma!” She exclaimed to the non-responsive child. “I only know English and passable French, and a few words in Latin and Spanish. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s a duke and a successful merchant. He’s the perfect man, Emma…but not for me. But, if I can even keep him as a friend, that would be worth it.

“Do you think it would be strange if I asked him for his opinion on some of the men I’m thinking of flirting with to get them to court me? I wouldn’t want to make him think I’m hinting at him courting me–I’m sure he’s tired of women throwing themselves at him…literally, like Eugenia Sorren,” she shuddered at the memory.

“But men talk differently around women they’re courting than other men, and maybe the duke would know something that I don’t that could help me with my decision. If I’m going to marry for money and not love, I should at least make sure it’s to a decent man I can be friends with, right? Friendship is the foundation for love, or so Babs says. Yes, I should ask him, but clarify it first so that he knows I’m not suggesting anything,” she decided, nodding her head. “Good chat, Emma. Thank you for your insightful contribution.”

The baby spat up on her dress in response.

~~~

Jason pulled at the button on his glove’s wrist as he stood outside the weathered door opening onto the dirt street. He hoped Stephanie wouldn’t be too piqued with him if she discovered he’d done this.

A woman who looked much like an older Stephanie, only with brown hair and green eyes instead of Stephanie’s blonde and blue, answered the door. Her eyes trailed from his freshly-shined boots up to the crisp knot of his cravat, and slowly widened as she took him in.

“May I help you, My Lord?”

“Are you Mrs. Brown, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am.” She eyed him warily now. Rich folks looking for you was never a good sign, he was well aware.

“Is your husband in?”

“Yes.”

“Is now a good time to speak with you, then? I can return later if it’s more convenient, but I’d like to speak with you and your husband.”

“Now is as good a time as any, My Lord,” she replied, ushering him into the house and taking his hat. “May I take your coat and gloves?”

“Thank you.”

She showed him to the dated front room, where a man sat in a cushioned chair, reading the paper.

“Arthur, we have a visitor. I’ll go put on the tea while you talk to…” she looked to him for help.

“Jason Head. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Brown, Mrs Brown.”

Mrs Brown nodded at his polite introduction and headed to what he assumed was the kitchen, leaving him alone with her husband.

“So, what brings you to my humble home this afternoon, Mr Head?” asked the man gruffly, setting the paper aside.

“I understand you have a daughter?”

“Yes, Stephanie.”

“I’ve made her acquaintance recently, and her telling me about her family prodded me to pay you a visit.”

“Whatever for?” asked the man, finally gesturing for him to sit down.

Jason hemmed and hawed for a minute, trying to figure out the most tactful way to phrase it. Talia was always telling him to polish his blunt, sometimes borderline impolite, honesty.

“I wanted to meet the folks that would make a lady like that…” he trailed off, suddenly rethinking his whole endeavour. What was he doing? Meeting the parents of the woman he was trying to find a bridegroom for so he wouldn’t be forced to confront his own feelings for her?

Mrs Brown came bustling into the room a moment later, a steaming pot of tea on the tray in her hands, alongside a plate of baked goods.

He jumped up, taking the tray from her and setting it on the table before heading to the hallway to retrieve his things. “I apologize for disrupting your afternoon. I’m sorry, I’ve just started to feel unwell, I must leave. Good day Mr Brown, Mrs Brown.”

Tipping his hat at the confused couple, he practically ran to his horse, swinging onto Jericho’s saddle carelessly.

Kicking Jericho into a trot, he made his escape. From behind him, he thought he heard a confused “Your Grace?” being called after him.

He nudged Jericho even faster, heading to the fields in an attempt to outrun his feelings.

~~~

Stephanie ran up the steps to her house, surprised to see her mother in the doorway already.

“Was that the Duke of Altheban I saw riding by just now?” she demanded incredulously.

“Who?”

“Oh, nevermind. Thought I saw someone I knew. How was your day, Mama?”

“It was good,” Crystal Brown said, closing the door after her daughter. “I was just saying goodbye to this visitor who dropped by unannounced.”

“Hello, Papa. What’s this I hear about a visitor?” Steph took in the tea tray on the table, pouring three cups. “You even brought out the china,” she noted with surprise.

“He looked important, that Mr Head,” explained her mother.

Steph choked on her tea. “Your visitor said he was Jason Head?!”

“That’s right. How do you know his first name?” asked Arthur suspiciously.

“What was he here for?!”

“I couldn’t really say. He only stayed a couple minutes. Didn’t even have a cup of tea! Said he was feeling ill suddenly–I didn’t even get the chance to say I’m a nurse.”

“He said he wanted to meet the folks of a lady he’d met–you,” said Arthur. “Would you like to explain why we got this surprise visitor?”

“I’d love to explain that but I don’t have a clue, myself,” sputtered Steph. “I never even gave him your address or names.”

“Is he courting you, Steph?” asked her mother.

“No. We’re…friends, I guess. We dance at parties and talk over punch but that’s it. He’s not looking for a wife, and even if he was, he wouldn’t look at me. Foreign dukes don’t marry untitled old maids from the red light district with-”

“Steph, don’t say that about yourself, honey.” Crystal pulled her into her arms. “You’re a catch for any-did you say he’s a duke?”

Steph nodded. “Lady Gotham says he’s close with the royal family of Nanda Parbat, that’s how he became duke there.”

“A duke in my home! I never thought I’d see the day!”

~~~

Jason cut the connection to Talia’s two-way magical communication stone and sighed. She’d helped him through facing his feelings for Steph (she was much better at that than Waylon), and now he had a directive.

Back to the Browns’ it was.

She was at a friend’s house for the afternoon, but she had accepted an invitation to the Dumas’ ball that evening.

Jason thanked Crystal for her help and headed back to Jericho. The day was sunny but not too warm, so he decided to enjoy the fresh air a little longer and plot out what he would say when he saw her.

For a moment, he thought he was so invested that he was imagining seeing her, but no, there she was in all her glory, walking down the street…pushing a baby pram.

“Miss Stephanie!”

She glanced around, then up, surprise covering her face. “Your Grace?”

“May I join you?”

Her eyes flicked from the pram to Jericho to him, then she nodded slowly.

He slid out of the saddle and strolled beside her, leading Jericho along the edge of the street, such as it was.

“What are you doing here?”

“I…was just out for a ride after I visited your parents. I wished to speak with you, but you were out. This was pure coincidence.”

“It’s a lovely day for a ride,” she agreed, subdued.

“Are you alright? Not overcome with heat?” Jason bit back any more comments, recalling that women did not take the concern as such.

“I am fine, thank you.” She glanced in the pram, then back to him. “Not going to ask?”

“I didn’t think it was my business to ask.”

“This is my best friend’s baby, Emma. Sarah died in childbirth.” She turned to him. “Not a happy or comfortable story, I’m sure. Her father is working, so I often take care of her.”

“Who cares for her when you are busy?”

“One of the neighbours usually looks in on her. She’s a very easy baby,” Steph smiled, cooing at the child.

“How old is she?”

“About eight months.”

“You like children, then?” he asked, very much hoping she did.

“I do. What about you?”

“I love them, and they tend to like me, I find.”

Steph turned to a small house and opened the door. “I’ve just got to feed Emma and put her down for her nap. Would you like to wait in the parlour?”

“If it’s not an imposition. I can-”

“No, no trouble at all. Her father should be home soon and we can talk while you escort me home, if you don’t mind?”

“That sounds delightful, Miss Stephanie.” He tossed Jericho’s reins to a boy standing around. “Want a job?”

“Yes, mister,” he nodded, gap-toothed grin wide.

“If you make sure my horse here doesn’t run away in the next while, I’ll give you two more of these, what d’ya say?” He placed a shiny coin in the boy’s hand, smiling at his awed grin and ruffling his hair. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

Jason made himself comfortable on the sofa in the parlour, watching Steph move around the kitchen heating up milk for Emma with smooth, oft-practiced movements. The house was small, with one hallway connecting the foyer, kitchen/dining room, parlour, and bedroom. With all the inside doors open, Jason perused the house at his leisure, often pausing to watch Steph instead.

She fed the baby, burped her, and put her to rest in the bedroom.

The faint sound of a lullaby drifted to Jason’s ears, and he closed his eyes to focus better on her song. She had a lovely voice.

Once Emma was asleep, Steph closed the door and joined him in the parlour. “I often leave supper for Emma’s father. Would you mind joining me in the kitchen while I prepare it?”

“Certainly not. Would you like my help with anything? Fetching wood for the fire, perhaps?”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.”

Steph deftly spun a cast-iron skillet on her palm and Jason noted to be very careful around her, especially when she had a possible weapon in her hands.

“So, how did you find my parents, Your Grace?” she asked, slicing potatoes.

“I asked around. I have some contacts in every part of the city, I imagine, and I knew yours were in the Bowery.”

“Then, why did you find my parents?”

“I wanted to meet the people you loved enough to give up your own love for.”

Steph’s knife paused, then resumed its slicing, slower than before. “And that’s all?”

“That’s the meat of it.”

She turned to the stove, her back to him, tossing the potatoes in with a healthy chunk of lard.

Jason had just begun to worry she’d decided never to speak to him again when she turned, shaking the potatoes onto a plate before immediately turning back around to cut something up..

“I suppose it’s none of my business. Thank you for waiting for me.”

“You’re more than welcome.” He resumed his seat on the sofa, glancing out the window at the sun setting on the horizon. Someone walking up the path caught his eye.

“There’s a man approaching,” he called to Steph.

“That’ll be Dean; I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”

Jason heard the door open, the sounds of someone coming in and making themself at home quiet. The man walked straight into the kitchen.

Steph greeted him cheerfully. “Good evening, Dean. Supper is warm in the oven, and Emma’s sleeping. I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.”

“Thanks, Steph, it smells good. But what if you don’t get out of my hair?”

Jason stiffened at the tone. He didn’t like how familiar this Dean was being to Steph, but he chalked it up to mere jealousy. The sight of Dean grasping Steph’s wrist, however, was something more than jealousy.

Steph saw him stand and silently asked him to stay back. He nodded, acquiescing for the moment, but stayed standing.

“What do you mean, Dean? It wouldn’t be prope-”

“Oh, come on, Steph, who cares what’s proper? Proper is for the snobs. You and I both know that no matter how much you end up in those society papers, you’ll never be a real lady. You’re from here, Stephie, you know no one gives a damn about us. No one would care about us and our ‘property’.”

Propriety , Steph mouthed to herself. “Dean, let go of me. You’re not doing yourself any favours by disparaging my ladylike reputation.”

“Oh look at you, Miss Brown,” Dean mocked, “all snooty with your fancy words. You think you’re better than me, huh? Just ‘cause your Duchess got your back? You think you’re better than Sarah was?”

“No, I do not. Sarah was better than me and she was certainly better than you. Social status has no bearing on a true gentleman, Dean. For the final time, I will not sleep with you, nor will I marry you so you can sleep with me.” Steph pulled her knife from behind her back and held it to Dean’s chin, leaning into his personal space. “Let. Me. Go. Now.”

Shakily, the man released his grip, practically flinging her away from him. “You crazy whore!”

“And never call me that again.” Steph tossed the knife at his chair, the point embedding itself in the wood between Dean’s legs.

She brushed her loosened locks out of her face, straightened her dress, and approached Jason with a smile. “I’m ready to go.”

He grabbed her hat and cloak and escorted her as quickly as he could out of the residence.

“Are you okay, Miss Stephanie?”

The cool twilight air was refreshing, cooling his overheated blood from watching the altercation. He walked calmly beside Jericho, collected from the kid and given double the pay since the time had extended.

She nodded and gave him a small, fake smile. “I will be. His words don’t hold much weight, but even a single sheet of paper can cause you to bleed.”

“You handled yourself remarkably back there. If I may ask, how did you learn to throw a knife that accurately?”

“My father worked as an entertainer at the circus for several years,” she explained. “I became friends with many of the performers there and during the quiet times, many of them taught me their specialties. I had an affinity for the knife tricks and acrobatics, among others.”

“A woman of many talents, indeed,” he complimented with a surprised grin. “Is it safe to leave Emma there?”

“She will be fine for the short term. I’ll go get her and her things in a day or two once he’s calmed down and bring her home.”

“Would you like an escort?” He saw her look and hastily added, “In case there is more luggage than you can carry when you’ve also got the baby?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, that would be very helpful. Thank you.”

“I live to serve, my lady.”

~~~

The next week, Jason barely saw Stephanie at all, as she was occupied with caring for Emma and getting her settled into her new home. She had turned down several invitations, and Jason began to wonder if he should even bother attending the last few events of the season at all.

Then Steph showed up at the Waynes’ Summer Celebration Ball, the event that heralded the beginning of the season’s end.

She looked beautiful in her new lilac dress, the blooms entwined in her updo. Jason bet Babs had a hand in that.

She was popular tonight, and Jason didn’t get a chance to dance with her or even talk before her card filled up and she was handed around.

Doing his best not to lose his temper at something so beyond their control, he headed out the open patio doors to the garden, enjoying the quiet from the boisterous event and the beauty of nature. He still preferred it on Stephanie.

He didn’t know how long he’d been brooding in the gardens (far too long and far too much like his previous father figure for his liking) when he noticed a flash of lilac in the maze.

“Miss Stephanie?” He followed her, only catching glimpses of the silk as he headed deeper and deeper into the maze.

As he walked, the layout came back to him. He could see the path Steph had been taking, and he knew a shortcut. Granted, he’d grown both in height and width, but he’d been very careful not to lose his flexibility along with his scrawniness. If he just cut through…

His arms came out, supporting Steph as she ran into him with a muffled shriek.

“I apologise for scaring you, Miss Stephanie. Are you quite alright?”

“No,” she panted. “Dean…after me…”

“What?” His head jerked up, looking around for the odious man.

“He was following me, I tried to lose him, thought you were him,” she breathed, not moving away from his hold.

“I’ll have Wayne’s men spread out and look for the man, okay?” he said, brushing a loose curl behind her ear.

She nodded, smiling up at him gratefully, before suddenly realising their position and jumping away. “Oh, my.”

“My apologies, Miss Stephanie. I’ll escort you back to the ballroom and then find Wayne.”

He tucked her arm into his and headed down the quickest way out of the maze.

“You seem to know this maze quite well, Your Grace.”

He shrugged. “I’m good with directions.”

~~~

Jason did not call Wayne’s men. Jason headed out to the grounds alone..

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, letting the velvety scent of Alfred’s roses, the mingled perfumes of the party, and the rich scent of damp earth fill his nose.

The hoot of an owl sounded deep in the woods behind the Manor, blending with the chittering of bats flying about eating bugs and the muted strains of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony from the ballroom.

Light tremors under his feet told him that someone was approaching him. He inwardly snickered. Trying to be stealthy, the fool. He was trained by the League of Assassins, who lived–nay, thrived–in the shadows.

He turned, unable to see his companion’s face as they were backlit by the Manor. “Is that you, Harper?” he drawled, striking a match and lighting a cigar.

He didn’t care for the things after…well, after , but sometimes a man needed a cigar to light to see his companion’s face.

“You’re not Harper,” he said brilliantly, lifting the cigar to his lips.

“You bet your lily-white ass I ain’t,” snarled Dean Smith, the glow of Jason’s cigar reflecting on the silver blade of his knife.

“No, you’re Dean Smith, widower of Sarah Smith and father to Emma Smith, employee at the My Alibi saloon, where you apparently take supporting your job a little too seriously. You’re also someone who insulted the woman I intend to marry, and I don’t take that lightly. She’s too good for you to even look at her, nevermind propose you touch her.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, my lord?” Dean bowed mockingly. “I saw you at my house with her. So she’s too good for me, but not too good to take your lordly c-”

Jason punched his lights out in one blow. Apparently Waylon might have some truth to his words of having a thicker skull than average.

He put out his cigar and pocketed the knife Dean had dropped. Sauntering up the hill to the ballroom, he caught one of Bruce’s footmen’s attention.

“There’s an uninvited guest having a little snooze out in the garden. Bring him to the Commisioner, please, and tell him to hold him overnight for disturbing the peace. Thanks.”

Humming the final bars to the Symphony along with the musicians, he opened the patio doors and entered the ballroom.

The chatter died instantly as everyone turned to look at him. He looked back in confusion. He was sure no one had seen him punch Dean, and anyways, he was a duke and Dean a commoner. No one here would care, he sneered inwardly.

Steph’s watery blue eyes met his from her place in Babs’s arms and she shook her head minutely. He frowned a little, confused. He knew she hadn’t seen him punch Dean out, and he was fairly sure she’d praise him for it, anyways.

He missed the punch thrown his way by a blur of black and blue.

~~~

Steph rubbed her thumb nervously over Jason’s, his hand between hers. His eyelids fluttered and his gorgeous teal eyes stared into hers. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She smiled back. “You’re awake.”

“What happened?” He sat up, running his free hand along his facial features. “ Ow .”

She winced in sympathy. “Sorry about that.”

“You did this?” He turned to her in disbelief. “Did I do something?”

“Did you do something?” came an echoing growl of disbelief from the doorway.

Steph winced again. “Dick, stop .”

“No, I will not.”

“ Dick . Let me explain. In peace ,” she gritted out. “It’s the least you could do after punching His Grace out and making a big deal out of nothing !”

Dick huffed and opened his mouth to retort, but subsided at her fierce glare.

She turned back to Jason.

“I am so sorry for him. What happened was that Lady Adelia Elliot was getting proposed to by Lord Duma in the garden and saw me, alone with you, in the garden, and then loudly announced that the garden was the most lovely, romantic spot to get engaged in, and she hoped we had found it to be like that as well, which, of course, meant that society is convinced that I am compromised and a whore and we should get married to get back in their good graces. But not too fast, because that would mean I’m with child. Which is ridiculous, I mean, in the garden ? All wet and pokey? No, thank you.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Thank you for that explanation. So I assume that blur that was the last thing I saw was Duke Bludhaven over there protecting your honour?”

“More or less,” she admitted. “I am so sorry for this mess.”

“Nonsense, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have followed you knowing what society would think of it. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation. As a man, my reputation is much less delicate than yours, and I sincerely apologize.”

Dick snorted from his doorway, the heavily implied ‘you should be’ hanging in the air.

“Steph, can you give me a minute with His Grace?”

She sighed but nodded, removing her hand from Jason's. “You get one free punch,” she stage-whispered as she left, leaving him with a smile on his face.

It was the least she could do after being part of the cause of this fiasco.

~~~

“What happened out in the garden?” Dick demanded immediately, taking Steph’s chair as soon as she was gone.

Jason straightened his position on his chair in response. How do you like being the little brother now, huh?

“I was outside, enjoying the fresh air in the gardens, when I noticed Miss Brown entering the maze. I followed her, as I had been intending to speak with her this evening. When I found her, she told me a man she knows had been following her. I escorted her back to the courtyard. I stayed out longer for a cigar and saw a commoner with a knife. He threatened me and insulted her, so I punched him and had one of Wayne’s men take him to your father-in-law.”

Dick stared at him, measuring his words.

“Are you interested in courting Stephanie?”

“I was attempting to get her attention tonight to talk to her about that. I would like nothing more than to court Stephanie Brown with the intention of marriage.”

Dick nodded once. “Good. Your timeline is moved up; you will marry her once the banns are read.”

“If she says no?” Jason asked curiously.

Dick sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “She won’t.”

Jason raised his eyebrow but dropped the subject. Nodding curtly to Dick, he exited the small study he’d been sat in while he was unconscious.

Alone, he ran his hand over his nose and jaw once more. Thank goodness for Lazarus-enhanced healing; he could feel the bruises already beginning to fade. With a sigh he dropped his head to inspect his boots.

How was he going to break the news to his lovely bride-to-be?

~~~

Dearest gentle Reader,

Nothing is more sought-after by society than a scandal, which is the lemon to our tea, the butter to our bread, and the very reason I picked up my quill.

I have picked it up once more to inform you all of the latest scandal, which has set the whole ton abuzz.

The Waynes’ annual Summer Celebration Ball last night was a veritable goldmine of news. Lady Adelia Elliot is engaged to be married to Lord Aleksander Duma, a fine match indeed.

But the true scandal comes from the revelation Lady Adelia shared with the ton as she announced her engagement, namely, that Miss Stephanie Brown and the Duke of Altheban were seen in the garden together, unchaperoned.

Rumours have been shared with many that the protegee of the Duchess of Bludhaven has borne a child out of wedlock, with sources saying they have seen her with an infant many times.

Thus, it is to my surprise that I share with you the news of the Duke’s engagement to Miss Brown. Perhaps he has not been so recently appeared in our midst as he would have us believe?

Steph threw the paper across the room. A hand caught it in its fluttering descent. She turned in surprise. “Your Grace?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Brown,” he bowed over her hand politely, then turned back to peruse the paper.

“Please, don’t-”

“I already know what they are saying, Miss Stephanie. It appears even being a man and a duke does only so much for my reputation.”

She winced.

“I wonder if I accidentally slighted this Lady Gotham somehow? She certainly does not pull her punches,” he shook his head.

“I am sorry that you are put in this mess because of me–and because of Dick. I can try and reason with him, to let you out of whatever ridiculous plan he’s cooked up to attempt to salvage my–our–reputations. It’s been sensationalized for the papers, of course–they’re even saying we’re engaged, for goodness’ sake!”

Jason coughed. “Yes, about that…I came here to ask you to come somewhere with me.”

She paused, then shrugged and drew closer to him. “Where?”

“Do you know how to ride?”

“Yes.”

“Lovely! There’s a beautiful spot I’ve found that I’d like to show you.”

“It’s not like our reputations can get worse,” she decided. “Lead the way, Your Grace.”

The ride was peaceful, with only Jason and the sounds of nature to torment her. The green grass, the texture of the trees, the birds wheeling through the air, the smell of fresh sea breeze all painted a lovely picture.

Jason nudged her horse to the left, towards a short copse of trees. They arrived at a large flat stone, spread with a blanket and cushions, a basket sitting in the midst.

Jason slid off Jericho and offered her his hand to dismount her horse, Spoiler.

“I thought you might like a picnic.”

“This is lovely.” She took in the preparations and the view, realising that this was the type of thing a man did for the lady he was courting.

“Your Grace…are you courting me?” she asked slowly, unsure which answer she wanted to hear.

He looked up from the wine he was pouring into two glasses, the white streak in his hair failing into his eyes. He looked so casual and comfortable there, and her heart did a funny beat.

“What if I am? Would you accept it?”

She settled onto one of the fluffy cushions, picking at a bunch of grapes. “If this is about the scandal…”

“It is not.”

She decided to take his word for it and popped the grape in her mouth. The lunch went smoothly, the two of them easily settling into their usual conversation comfortably.

Then Jason pulled out something from the basket. She was sure they’d exhausted its contents and opened her mouth to politely refuse.

Then he revealed his hand and looked up at her earnestly. “Stephanie Brown, will you do me the honour of marrying me and becoming my wife?”

Her mouth snapped shut, unsure what to say. His steady smile made her want to melt and agree to anything, but she didn’t want to jump into what would be the rest of her life.

“Are you sure? This isn’t something Dick is making you do? I assure you, I will not be hurt if you retract your proposal.”

“My proposal has nothing to do with Duke Grayson and what is currently in the papers,” he assured her.

“Then, yes, I would be honoured to marry you, Your Grace.”

He slid the gold ring onto her finger, the light catching and playing on the amethyst set in it. “Now that we are engaged, you must stop calling me ‘Your Grace’ and instead call me Jason.”

“I will, but only if you drop the ‘Miss’,” she replied.

“Deal, Stephanie.”

“Deal, Jason.”

They shook on their first decision as a couple.

~~~

The next couple weeks, Steph barely saw her new fiance, occupied as she was with wedding planning and looking after Emma. That was another thing she needed to talk to him about.

Babs hadn’t been married that long ago, and she still knew all the best places to get the best deals for all the preparations, which was a huge help to Steph, who did not frequent the places that duchesses did.

Oh, she was going to be a duchess. She couldn’t stop the nauseated anxiety she felt, wondering if she had completely ruined her life beyond repair.

She really needed to talk to Jason.

“Steph, the duke is in Dick’s study, asking for you.” Babs told her, breaking her attention from the fabric swatches for her wedding breakfast’s napkins.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Babs. Everything on the right here I’ve already dismissed.”

“I’ll have it removed, then, and replaced with some tea. Or would you like me to send it to the study so you can have it with His Grace?”

“I’ll ask him if he’s got enough time for tea,” Steph replied. “Just have it brought here and I’ll come get it if he does.”

Babs nodded in response and Steph headed out of the drawing room to the study down the hall.

She paused outside the door, hearing her name.

“-marry you. You were quicker than I expected, Head,” Dick sounded almost pleased.

“It’s not what I wanted, but I’m an opportunist; I couldn’t let the situation go to waste,” Jason replied.

“I’m pleased you did the right thing. Steph deserves what you can offer her.”

There was some sound from Jason but Steph didn’t listen, opening the door with a firm click.

~~~

“Babs said Jason was here,” Steph said neutrally, but Jason couldn’t tell if she’d overheard what he and Dick had been talking about or not. “Is there something we needed to discuss, Your Grace?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not right now,” he replied slowly.

“Then it’s good to see you. I hope everything is going smoothly on your end, and I’ll see you in the church on Tuesday.”

He bowed his head as she left, turning back to Dick with a bewildered expression.

“Babs was very short with me when we got married, too. They’re busy planning the wedding breakfast, after all.”

He nodded, but thought it was a little more than that. He needed to speak with her privately, but they hadn’t had a moment alone, never mind a moment, since they were engaged.

~~~

Steph opened her window, frowning. Jason stood below, waving at her with a smile, dropping a handful of pebbles behind his back into the garden.

“It is nearly midnight, what do you want?” she called in a loud whisper, too tired and put out to care about niceties.

“I’m sorry it’s so late, but will you come down for a minute so we can talk, please?”

She huffed and closed the window. They were getting married in ten hours, what couldn’t wait until then to say? Unless…they weren’t getting married?

She threw her robe on, yanked the tie shut, and speedily tiptoed down the steps, avoiding the creaky ones, to the side door, where Jason was waiting.

“Thank you,” he said when he saw her. “I needed to ask you what you heard when I was talking to Grayson in the study.”

“Why?” she looked at him sternly. “Is there something I need to know?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t misunderstand a fragment of conversation you didn’t have context to.”

“Tell me, then, what were you talking about before I came in?”

“Grayson was thanking me for proposing to you so quickly, and I was refusing his thanks because I did not do it for him.”

That sounded rather rehearsed . “Well, then, sounds like everything’s clear,” she crossed her arms. “Anything else to say, Your Grace?”

“We’re alone, can’t you call me Jason?”

“I am capable of that, yes.”

“You seem angry at me, but I don’t know why. If I did or said something, could you at least tell me so I can apologise or attempt to fix it?”

She huffed at his rational words. “I’m being unfair. Just let me hold this grudge for ten more hours, okay?”

He gave her a perplexed look but agreed.

“Oh, I also wanted to speak to you…would you mind terribly if I brought Emma with me?”

“Of course not. I assumed you were part of the same parcel, I have a room already prepared for her.”

“You do?” she asked in disbelief.

“I’d show it to you, but I’m afraid that would be even more scandalous than what we’re doing right now,” he grinned.

She punched his arm.

“Ow!”

“I’m sorry, did it actually hurt?” she gasped, running her hand gently over the spot she’d hit.

“No, it’s just a little sensitive from my boxing earlier.”

“You box?” She tilted her head. “I could see that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t mean anything by it, I just- your figure-”

There was no way to save herself, and she gave up with a blush as he grinned at her, pleased.

~~~

Babs was Steph’s witness, and Roy stood with Jason, the rest of their handful of family and friends filling the two front rows of pews in the church. The ceremony was short and simple, and the congregation headed to the fancier wedding breakfast held in the Graysons’ manor, in lieu of the bride’s house.

The couple were bounced from person to person, receiving well-wishes and advice, most of which they ignored.

Finally Babs gave Steph the signal to leave, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the escape.

Jason handed her into his carriage, then sprang in after her, still holding her hand.

They waved the remaining well-wishers off and headed to Jason’s home.

His home turned out to be a small (compared to ones like the Waynes’ or Kanes’) manor on the edge of the city, about halfway between the Waynes’ and Graysons’ and the Browns’. He had bought it before he even met her, but Steph still found it a happy convenience. Maybe it was a sign they were meant to be together.

“I apologize, there are very few servants around, since it was just me here and I don’t need much help,” explained Jason. “Feel free to hire whomever you think we need.”

“I grew up being the servant, Jason,” she reminded him. “I think I’ll manage with who you have now. Babs did recommend I get a maid now that…now that I’m a duchess; it’ll make things easier.”

Jason made an agreeing noise. “I had your things delivered already, so they should be in your rooms already.”

She glanced at him but he didn’t appear to notice, continuing the tour.

“I don’t use this wing much, but it’s in good shape if you want to have it turned into a music room or something.”

The tour continued, Jason pointing out his most-used rooms so she could find him easily. She enjoyed this peek into his life, measuring all the things he’d furnished his home with. It wasn’t nearly as fancy and pretentious as some of the other nobles’ houses, but seemed more lived-in and arranged for comfort and ease. If this was the bachelor touch she’d heard about, she couldn’t fathom why society hated it so.

Various items from his travels were scattered about, interspersed with weapons from different cultures and paintings and artwork from a range of eras. “You have lovely taste,” she complimented.

“Thank you. My mother would be proud to hear that–she taught me most of what I know.”

“Is your mother still alive?”

“Oh, yes, she’s quite well back in Nanda Parbat. I was meaning to ask you, what do you think about travelling to Altheban soon?”

Steph blinked. “I think that sounds lovely. How soon is ‘soon’?”

Jason hesitated. “Within three weeks?”

“That’s doable, then,” she agreed. “I won’t bother unpacking much of Emma’s or my things, then.”

“Where is Emma?” asked Jason.

“My mother said she’d keep her for the week until we got settled in, so she wouldn’t be in the midst of all the mess.”

“Oh. Thoughtful of her.”

~~~

Steph paced in her room, the continual breeze of her stride making the candles flicker every time she passed. She should’ve taken Babs up on her offer of a temporary maid until she found one herself. Now she was stuck in her dress, trying to figure out a way to get out without asking her brand-new husband for help.

Stupid fancy dresses.

Expelling her pride with a long sigh, she headed to the door separating her from Jason. It opened to reveal him shirtless, his back to her as he appeared to be fiddling with his pants.

She stepped back into her room, an apology on her lips, when he turned. “Did you need something?”

Her hand dropped from her face. “What happened?” she gasped, taking in the marks covering his body. She’d helped her mother often enough to know those were scars, and they weren’t easy to get.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugged, reaching for his discarded shirt.

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted. “Who hurt you?”

He took her hands in his, lowering them from tracing over the marks and facing her with a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Steph. I’ve been in some…situations…of my own volition, and this was the price I paid. They’ve been healed and treated by a professional. I appreciate your worry, but I’m fine. I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“No, it’s my fault, I should have knocked. I apologise.”

“What did you want?”

She tore her gaze away from his well-defined chest muscles to meet his concerned teal gaze.

“I…my dress is too difficult to get in and out of,” she muttered. “Could you…?”

She turned her back to him, brushing her hair over one shoulder.

He took a breath and stepped closer. His fingers brushed against her neck as he brushed some stray strands out of the way.

She could feel his body heat behind her, warming her through and igniting a fire in her belly. Each accidental touch as he undid the buttons, each gust of air over her shoulder, every cell he touched as he undid the laces only stoked it higher.

The dress and corset loosened as the bands of anticipation tightened around her chest.

Her dress pooled around her ankles as it finally slipped free.

Jason released a long breath behind her. She barely felt the graze of his lips on her bare shoulder before they were gone.

His warmth moved away. He cleared his throat. “All done.”

She turned to face him, holding her breath. “Will you kiss me?”

He nodded once, shuffling forward so their toes touched and wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her to him. The other trailed up her arm lightly, raising the small hairs and making her shiver in anticipation.

Her eyes slid closed as his face drew nearer, and then his lips met hers. Softly at first, tentatively, feeling her out. She pushed back, determined not to let this be the only kiss they shared. The fire in her spread through her veins, making her wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into her.

The arm around her waist tightened, and he deepened the kiss, his fingers curling around her neck and kissing her back with just as much passion.

They finally separated, gasping for air, eyes dark and mouths panting.

“Do you really wanna do this?”

She nodded vigorously. “Do you?”

He snorted a half-laugh. “Look at you, of course I do.”

Then he pulled her closer and proceeded to kiss any further remarks out of her head.

Steph ended up naked as the day she was born on the bed, underclothes spread over the room, watching in fascination at just how fast a man could undress when he was truly motivated.

He looked up and returned her grin with a hungry one of his own. “Ready?”

“For whaaa-Jason!” she exclaimed as he grabbed her ankles and pulled her down the bed.

He grinned up at her surprise, head bracketed by her knees. “Hold on to the duvet.”

“For whaaa-Jason!”

He knelt between her thighs, licking at her core like a man starved. She grasped a handful of bedsheets, throwing her head back in pleasure as his nose bumped against her clit with every movement of his head, his steady ministrations quickly building her pleasure up to unbearable heights. She fell with a loud gasp of his name, hand flying to his head to grip his hair instead of the sheets.

He pulled away, licking his lips in a manner far too indecent, and gave her a pleased look. She scooted up the bed to lie against the pillows, and he joined her on the other side.

“Come straddle me,” he said, pulling her hand toward him to kiss her fingers.

Affection shone from his eyes, and she felt herself melting even further.

Settling over his hips, she leaned forward to kiss him softly, her fingers tracing the raised skin on his chest and arms. “Is it very dangerous in Nanda Parbat?”

“It’s probably the safest place you’ll be in the world,” he told her between kisses. “I think you’ll like it. You’ll fit right in, with your knife throwing.”

Steph thought that raised a few more questions, but then Jason was nibbling on her neck and she decided they could wait for later. The fire inside her had been temporarily held under control when he gave her that orgasm, but it was steadily burning hotter again.

She shivered as Jason’s warm hand brushed lightly over her belly, the sensitive skin there not used to touch. He moved to her legs, running his fingertips teasingly up her calves to her knees, then her thighs.

His head dipped even lower as his mouth found her breasts, heightening the flames within her. He still seemed so composed, even with her kissing up his neck and teasing his nipples.

She wanted to make him burn just as much as her.

His fingers trailed up to the apex of her thighs, finding her still thoroughly wet. One slid in, making her gasp in pleasure. Yes, that was what she needed. She felt so empty.

“More,” she told him breathily, nipping his earlobe. He added a second, finding her sweet spot and rubbing in just the right way. She shifted so the angle was better, feeling her orgasm coiling in her lower belly.

Her hand trailed down his chest, uncaring, until she reached his rather erect cock. His fingers paused as he let out a pained sound.

She wrapped her fingers around him slowly, stroking him at the same pace he was using on her. He added a third finger, stretching her nicely.

Abruptly he pulled his fingers out of her, leaning back to see her. “Please stop, or I’m not gonna last,” he asked, his other hand stilling her wrist. “Can I-”

“Please,” she begged, missing his fingers already. She could only imagine what his cock would feel like inside her.

Settling herself over it, she slowly slid down, relishing the look on Jason’s face. There, now he was showing how unravelled he was feeling. She took him until their pelvises met, swaying her hips teasingly.

Jason groaned. “Steph, please, don’t tease.”

Feeling too wound up and close to orgasm to be bratty, she began setting a steady pace. His fingers gripped her hips as an anchor as he began to thrust up to meet her. Her temporarily delayed orgasm came building up with a vengeance.

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she came with a cry of his name; he followed after her.

They lay in each other’s arms, content to be skin-to-skin as they caught their breath.

Steph hummed contentedly as Jason ran his fingers up and down her spine.

“Was that good for you?”

“Of course it was–I orgasmed twice. What about you?”

“Better than good,” he kissed her quickly, then lay silent for a while. Finally he took a deep breath. “I know you married me because of the situation, but…do you think you could love me one day?”

Steph blinked rapidly at him, surprised at the sudden deep talk and the implications of the question.

“I didn’t marry you because of the situation,” she finally said. “Although that was certainly a part of it. I am already halfway in love with you, Jason. I know I’ll love you.”

“Really?”

She nodded definitively. “Really. Could you love me ?”

Jason kissed her softly, full of feeling. “I do love you. It’s hard not to, believe me, I tried.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but decided to drop it, snuggling further into his chest. “Would you have married me if we hadn’t been forced to?”

“When I was looking for you in the garden that night, it was to ask you if we could talk. I wanted to propose to you before…that, although it didn’t happen in the way I’d hoped,” he sighed.

“It’s not what I wanted, but I’m an opportunist; I couldn’t let the situation go to waste.”

Steph recalled his words from the study, context helping it make more sense. She kissed him thoroughly. “You make me happy, Jason Head.”

“You make me happy, Stephanie Head.”

Dearest Reader,

As the season comes to a close, so too does the Duke of Altheban’s stay with us. We wish the duke and duchess and their newly adopted daughter safe travels as they take their leave, heading to the Duke’s native lands in Nanda Parbat, where they are sure to have many more adventures. We hope to see the Head family back in our midst one day.

With the season over, so I too shall disappear from your lives, gone but I hope certainly not forgotten. Until next season,

Adieu.

Lady Gotham

A/N 3:

-Thank you for reading and to @jaysteph-events for hosting this <3 -Join the JaySteph Discord (18+)! -The Duma and Elliot families are from DC canon as Gothamite socialite families. Duma is Polish, so I used the Polish spelling of Alexander for Lord Duma’s name. I couldn’t think why that had a nice ring to it until I remembered Alexandre Dumas, the author. He’s a few decades later, though, so there’s no overlap between him and my character. -Nursing wasn’t exactly the respected career it is now, since it was pre-Florence Nightingale. Jason, having trained somewhat [my hc] with (Middle) Eastern healers, who were more advanced and hygienic, would have more respect for nurses. -Jason’s horse is named Jericho, not after Deathstroke's kid, but after the make of Jason’s primary guns. I’m pretty sure Jericho 941s didn’t exist in 1810, so I used the name for his horse instead. -I was listening to Beethoven’s 5th as I wrote the scene where it’s playing in the background. Classical music is surprisingly fun background music for a scene where a character gets punched in the face :) And to those of you curious about if the 5th symphony existed in 1810, yes, it did–I looked it up: Beethoven wrote it in 1808. -I purposefully left this somewhat open ended so I can come back and write more in this AU when I want, such as Steph meeting Talia and the Bats finding out Jason is their Jason. -If there’s something I left unclear or you’d like to know more about some scene or read a specific future scenario, please leave a comment!

#jaysteph #fic #ali writes #jaystephvalentinesday #bridgerton au

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queenie-official · 11 months ago

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Chapter Eleven: ‘The Murder Of A Monarch’ Bridgerton Au!Anakin

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10

a/n: alright let’s go one more time guys, don’t forget to wear your seatbelts 🫡 and may the force be with you 💋

Anakin was a good person he’d shown you nothing to make you believe otherwise and that’s because it was true. however what you had forget to account for was how quick he might be to Anger.

“Anakin, slow down!” you huff as you chase him down the castle halls. you’d just finish telling him what happened the night before and he was furious. “slow down? you just found out this Man is responsible for your fathers death as well as possibly poisoned me and you want me to slow down?” he shouted over his shoulder as he continued speeding towards the exit of the castle.

you both had gotten ready for the day shortly after you’d explained the situation and now he was ready to take the first carriage over to the chancellors estate. “your legs are impossibly long and make it hard to keep up with your pace” you pant out, he was fast and you where in a dress and heels. Rex and Braeden were right behind you two, already having prepared the carriage for departure. when exactly Anakin had asked for them to do so you weren’t sure.

“you do not have to come you can stay” your brows furrowed at that, as if you’d let him go do this alone- in actuality you had no clue what exactly the ‘this’ was, he’d told you nothing but you were not about to leave him with Chancellor Valorum alone that’s for sure. “could you please just stop for a moment, what are you even planning on doing anyway?” you ask as he slows down just a little while the front doors are being opened, the carriage for you both right in eyes view now. technically speaking you weren’t supposed to be riding anywhere together, in the people’s eyes you were possibly with child and there is this whole safety protocol that follows that.

“i’ll know when i get there- and trust me you don’t want to be there when i do” he said pointedly and the tone of his voice honestly scared you. there was an edge to it and you knew he was serious too. “Anakin you cannot do anything rash” he laughed at that and you recoiled slightly when he spun to face you. “right like what he did wasn’t rash?” your mouth opened and closed unsure what to say. he was right and it wasn’t like you where trying to protect the Chancellor- no you hated him, you wanted him to die and suffer. but you where still both rulers and had an image to uphold, Alderaan was considered a Kingdom of peace. what a scandal it would be if its king and queen where caught and held responsible for the murder of a royal council member, especially when to them the Chancellor had done no wrong.

“Anakin we have to figure out a way to solve this without violence” you watched as his jaw clenched, both of his hands tightening into fists at his side. you knew he wasn’t mad at you, he was mad for you. if you were in his kingdom not a single person would bat an eye if the chancellor where to suddenly stop breathing.

“So what we just let him get away with it? let him continue to use and manipulate you like some sort of pawn.” he has to stop himself from shouting, not wanting to direct his anger at you. you look behind you towards Rex and Braeden waving them off and they take the hint. they didn’t leave you two completely but they put enough distance between you both so that there wasn’t a chance your conversation would be heard.

“maybe that’s exactly what we do” Anakin’s brows creased together in confusion at your suggestion. before he could ask for clarification you continue “i pretend to go along with him, act as a pawn and then when the time is right..” your voice is lowered as you speak and Anakin still doesn’t seem to convinced. “it’s the best chance we have Ani” well that was new, you weren’t even sure where the nickname came from as it left your mouth. but it seemed to have worked in your favor as his face softened completely, it was like a switch had been flicked.

“okay” he sighs, running a hand through his hair as he looks off to the side. he turns to the guards and gives them a nod, the wordless command to close the doors calling off his whole plan. he looks back at you “we’ll try your way but if it doesn’t work we’re doing it my way.” his arms where crossed and you knew wether you agreed or not he’d probably act on his own accord.

you where beginning to see why Obi-Wan had asked him not to say or do anything the first time they’d come.

the Chancellor came to the castle a lot over the next couple of days Anakin was by your side through it all. he refused to let you be alone and in all honesty it provided you just as much comfort as it did him. at your side you could make sure nothing was going to happen to him in addition to you having extra protection.

the official plan you both came up with that seemed most likely to work was to get a confession. a confession in front of all of parliament, that was the only way you could win. you’d both act like you where approving of the new bill and then when it came to announce it in front of parliament you’d blind side him. it would cause a scene for sure, but that’s what you wanted. to provoke him to anger, make him so angry he forgets where he is and who surrounds him.

today was the day, and Anakin was growing impatient you didn’t blame him after all you were in a similar position more so anxious that something would go wrong than anything.

you must of gone over the speech a hundred times at this point in your head. rereading what you’d written as if the words would suddenly change. the pit in your stomach continued to grow the closer you got. you really wish Anakin could of ridden with you, his absence was definitely not helping your increasing anxiety. the sound of his carriage directly behind yours was the only thing that remotely brought you comfort. you place the papers with your speech on it aside, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath as you twist the ring on your finger.

everything would be okay, and if not at the very least you’d have Anakin at your side to help you through it.

Anakin’s hand weigh heavy in yours as you walk through Hebury palace. it was silent both of you busy with your own thoughts, in just a few moments you’d be facing all of parliament and there was no room for a misstep.

the doors to the meeting hall swung open revealing a full room. “now presenting her majesty the queen, y/n Organa. and his majesty the king Anakin Skywalker” all eyes were on you in an instant, everybody standing from there seat in greeting as you walk to your seats. you felt out of place not just from the fear of what’s to come but because it almost felt as if nobody wanted you there. you could only hope that was your anxieties and not the truth else wise today would go a lot more messy than you anticipated.

Traditionally the meeting begins with the announcement of what’s going to be discussed by the king, however since you are the blood tie to Alderaan and not Anakin it is you who must make the announcement. you could feel your heart beat hard against your chest as you stand before everyone, suddenly grateful for how big the skirts of dresses where as it hid your shaky legs beneath all the layers. you look over to Anakin who gives you a reassuring nod, taking a deep breath and clearing your throat you redirect your attention to the Ton. “we are here today to discuss the motion of overturning our free education Law.”

you take a moment to let that sit with everyone, taking a look around the room to see the general consensus. it seemed divided, a few gasps of shock however stuck out the most amongst them. you could only hope your speech would help make the room more united once you got to it. “a bill has been drafted by a member of the royal council, Chancellor Valorum. as well as the royal council members in agreement, our treasurer Lord chamberlain. our War Marshall Aaron Bennett. and finally our Admiral of the Navy Kent Wells” pretty much the entire council excluding yourself, Anakin, and the royal secretary. “now the king and i have already made our decisions but we wanted you all to hear the reason why this bill was drafted to begin with.” you turn to face the Chancellor, he smiles thinking he’s won and that your going along with him. you could not wait to wipe that smile off his face. “We invite Chancellor Valorum to speak.” you finish.

taking a seat as he now stands turning to face the room, what a sorry excuse of a man. “Thank you your majesty. I think i speak for all of the royal council here when i say we are for overturning the free education law.” you sit back in your seat trying to hide the disgust in your face as he speaks, there are whispers beginning to spread throughout the room and the unknown of it all makes your stomach twist. silently you reach over from underneath the table, taking Anakin’s hand within yours. he gives your hand a small squeeze and rubs soothing circles with the pad of his thumb, he was there and everything was going smoothly thus far you just had to relax and allow the Chancellor to ruin things for himself.

“overturning the free education law would mean we’d get thousands of dollars back that we could place elsewhere.” the chancellor continues his speech and you see quite a few hands raise as soon as he makes that statement. “yes, yes i know what you all are probably wondering ‘what do we need the money for?’ am i correct” hands go down and there are collective nods from everyone around the room. “well it’s simple really, when the queen married our dear king here out of love- she agreed to help his kingdom. long story short they need the help of our military and unfortunately our military is now severely underfunded as the money that used to go directly towards it is now used towards educating the less fortunate.”

you wanted to scream, it was all utter bullshit. only one thing he said was true, you’d agreed to help Tatooine and yes that included help from your military but none of that required money that was used towards free education. and the military wasn’t even close to underfunded he was making this out to be something entirely else. not to mention everything he just said made you and Anakin look bad as if he was the problem and the reason they thought overturning the law was a good idea.

you know the plan, you knew what you where supposed to do. sit back and wait till the right moment but you where not about to let the chancellor turn all of parliament against Anakin- so against your better judgement you stood up quickly and all the murmurs you where hearing ceased. the chancellor turning to you with a raised brow, daring you to say something. god if the death penalty was still a thing you’d have him beheaded in an instant. “that’s enough Chancellor. i will not sit here and watch as you lie to every person in this room.” the smile on his face twitches, he was already on the verge of cracking and you’d hardly spoke. this might be easier then you thought. “The Chancellor tells you the funds for the free education law are from our military but even our treasurer who is in favor of overturning this law knows it to be untrue.” you begin, addressing the ton and abandoning your original planned speech.

Valorum’s smile falls, he looks neutral but you could tell he was mad. livid actually. “our Military is perfectly funded, the real reason he wishes to overturn this law is to overly fund it- to prepare for a war that doesn’t even exist. one he wants to start. he tried to convince me but i must make it clear I am against this motion.” there’s a collective gasp from every person in the room besides Anakin. “The king and i do not approve of this bill and therefore it will not be passed. we are for the people not against. we want peace not war. to suggest otherwise is treason” you say this while looking directly at the Chancellor, waiting for him to say something. for once he remains silent. ordinarily this would be a pleasant surprise, unfortunately you needed to get that confession out of him. you needed him to snap and show he wasn’t fit for the council then you could call for his removal without a single person wondering why. but would could you say to set him off if all of this hadn’t already. you turn back to the rest of parliament, you knew what you could say but would they believe you. would he confess to it if you brought it up.

“This is not the only thing the Chancellor has lied to you about. To all of us.” you feel like your heart is about to beat out of your chest, you already started you just had to go for it now. “My Father, The former king did not die from illness.” as you begin you see the faces of a few members of the council darken. of course it wasn’t just Valorum, you had a feeling but this confirmed it. no wonder they where in favor of this bill.

you force the next words out of your mouth, doing your best not to cry. “He was Poisoned” it felt like a wound had reopened, all that time mourning the loss of him from one thing just to find out he hadn’t even died in that way and now to state it out loud for all of parliament to know. the reality of it cut deep. “as it so happens I also have reason to believe those very same people who killed my father have tried to do the same to your new king… isn’t that right Valorum?” you turn to him, biting your tongue to hold your emotions back. the entire room erupts into chaos at your words, people shouting over one another in order to be heard. screams of ‘is this true’ and ‘it can’t be’.

you didn’t care, the only persons reaction that matter was the Chancellor’s.

“Fine. if that is how you would like to play this then so be it Your majesty.” the whole room goes quiet everybody listening for what he has to say, the tension was suffocating. “The queen is right, his majesty did not die from illness. He was killed. Poisoned. I was in on it- but it was not just me.” if he was going down he was taking everyone with him it seemed.

you felt like you were going to vomit the more he confessed. “It was my idea, i’d jokingly brought it up to our fellow members of the council over a drink. Lord Chamberlain was the one who suggested we make it a reality. we knew something like killing a king was too dangerous, to much could go wrong. that’s where the Marshall and Admiral came in. they where friends with the royal physician.” he sounded deranged, explaining it all so simply, so casually. The murder of your father laid out like casual gossip.

your ears began to ring, no longer able to hear the words coming out of his mouth or the rest of the Ton. you stumble slightly and feel yourself tugged down into your chair. a warm hand placed over your own, the usual comfort Anakin provided was failing. But at the very least you’d gotten the confession. The sounds of the room began to fade back in, shouts of anger and disgust at Chancellor Valorum and the rest of the councils expense as they where each carried out of the room by royal guards. Anakin was the one Standing now, it seems like he was the one to make the command. you where grateful for him as he took control of the room and called the meeting to an end.

pulling you to your feet and guiding you out of Hebury palace. this wasn’t the end of your troubles, now word would spread. soon everyone in Alderaan and the neighboring kingdoms would know of how your father truly died, as well as the attempt on the new kings life. it was going to be an uproar and to think all of this started over a law giving the poor free education. greedy bastards the lot of them.

part 12

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okay that was a lot, but we’re making good progress now 🤭 we still have quite a few milestones that are going to happen so stay prepared 💪💪 unfortunately i finished this chapter later then i thought i would so chapter 12 will be out tomorrow instead of today😅 anyways love you all 💋💋 hope you huns enjoyed and as usual don’t be shy share your thoughts Xx<3

#hayden christensen #anakin skywalker #anakin skywalker x reader #anakin x reader #anakin imagine #atoc anakin #rots anakin #star wars anakin #anakin x you #anakin skywalker fanfiction #anakin fanfiction #bridgerton au!anakin x reader #bridgerton au!anakin #bridgerton au #bridgerton #queenie’s thoughts xx<3

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