#villainous benophie AU

[hopepaigeturner]

Villainous Benophie: Part 5

Inspired by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies; BRILLIANT Villainous Viscount AU (read on AO3 here). So all creds go to her!

And while she has done a beautiful fic about Benophie in this universe, Thieves of Dusk (100% RECOMMEND A READ. Read on AO3 here). But we’ve been chatting about my own ideas for Benophie. So, with her blessing here’s the next part of my version.

WARNING: References to assault.

Part 4 Here.

There is a slight ringing in Benedict’s ears the entire time Sophie speaks—it hadn’t stopped since seeing the terror in her eye upon moving away.

And as she tells the story, the full tapestry, all the little threads he has garnered over the weeks slip into place.

The scars around her body, a result of her stepmother’s little tortures.

The calculating gaze, a result of analysing every interaction, every route, every room, to ensure the safest route—the years of miscalculations too horrific to remember.

The way she flinched at loud noises or how she kept every loud emotion quiet. All markers of her haunted childhood.

Each detail makes the ringing in Benedict’s ear louder, as if an alarm bell for something swelling, rising deep within…

And then she tells him of Lord Hotham.

How two years ago Araminta had pulled Sophie away from cleaning shoes to announce her engagement to him. An engagement, she later found out, that was orchestrated to pay back the debts Araminta now owed.

And Sophie knows how to read people so as soon as she met this Lord she knew. He is not old but arrogant and so drunk on his own entitlement that he wields his power like a sword. A sword he has already wielded against her by taking whatever he wants from her under the pretence of being his fiancée and it is only Sophie’s dexterous conversation and even more dexterous hiding that she staved him off for so long.

Until the night they announced the engagement to the ton. A night where he took things a step too far, far too far from the way Sophie shakes. But it was the final straw that led her to flee with a meagre bag of belonging still in the dress sewn to symbolise that union.

When Benedict asks, his voice as restrained as an enemy in one of Benedict’s rope knots, what that exact act entailed. And it is the haunted look in the eyes of his fierce Sophie that causes the waves to crash.

The anger rolls over him, consumes him just as a cloud consumes the moon. He can almost hear the sound of bone crunching under force, and smell the tang of blood as it coats his fist. For this man he will get his hands as bloody as Colin does when in the ring.

The hair on his neck stand up, the ringing becomes a call to arms.

“Ben!”

His fist flexes as his mind whirls. At a push it would take him twenty minutes to get to Mayfair.

“Ben.”

He ignores the sliver of moonlight and instead thinks of that whimpering Lord begging for mercy. Far far worse than what he made Sophie…

“Ben, please!”

Moonlight cuts through the cloud and he breathes. Slowly he returns back to the room to find Sophie; s hands cupping his face.

“Please,” she whispers, and the brokenness of that command assuages him for a moment.

“I will kill him, I will beat him black and blue.”

“You cannot.”

“I can, and I will.”

“He is a Lord, Benedict,” Sophie tries to reason. “If you touch him he could have you locked up, sent away or or…” the tears start welling in her eyes again, “please I cannot lose you, do not make me lose you too.”

No one has been concerned for his welfare for a very long time, perhaps that is why he feels winded, thus enabling Sophie to speak.

“And I do not want you to hurt him. I do not want to think of him ever again, I do not want him poisoning the life I am building.”

Benedict grinds his teeth.

“He hurt you.” He speaks out as if each word is a punch. “I need to hurt him.”

“I need you here.” He looks back at her and the fierce look in her eye. “What is more important me or vengeance? Who is more important, me or him?”

Benedict knows that conclusion, even though it startles him.

“You.” He kisses Sophie hand. “I choose you.”

Sophie lets out a shaky breath and he notices her body relax. He holds her closer, makes sure she looks in his eye.

“If that man ever comes near you then I will kill him. Yet I will let this matter rest for you. I ask only one thing.”

“Which is?”

“Let me discuss this with Antony—not the details,” he adds at seing Sophie’s fear, “just that there is a man who might wish to harm you. My brother knows ways of handling these things…setting up precautions. Will you let me ask for his protection? The protection I promised you?”

Sophie wrestles with the thought but finally nods.

They get a cab back to the club because Sophie looks as delicate as cut glass. She does not say a word until Benedict delivers her to the door to his family’s chambers.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “Thank you for stopping, Ben.”

The nickname strikes something within him.

“I will always stop,” he says the words ringing deep through him. “I will always listen to you.”

“Hmm, careful Bridgerton, you do not know the power you give me,” she replies with the ghost of her usual smirk. Benedict kisses her hand.

“I have no fear because I know you will not abuse it.” For he sees the lack of guile in her eyes. And then he leaves, his mind roiling with the nights events only softened by the image of Sophie’s blushing face.

[thekatebridgerton]

So you guys know the trope where the hero turned into a villain because he wanted to resurrect his dead wife?. I just love the idea of the villain actually succeeding because then he'd have a lot to explain to said wife. And it got me thinking about this but in a Bridgerton context

So here's my fantasy Villain Au,:

Because I think the #1 male lead who would burn the world to bring back his dead wife would be Anthony, in a fantasy setting this guy was a Viscount with magic in his bloodline whose beloved Kate, died in a tragic carriage accident, before he could apologize for ignoring her during their first month of marriage. So yes, he 100% turns to the powers of darkness and goes full evil conqueror path to necromancy to bring his Kate back. Which is the start of his fantasy villain arc.

His brothers also start out as heroes, but Anthony, in true fantasy villain fashion goes after their most beloved ladies and kills them so Benedict and Colin 'can see things his way' and have a bigger incentive to help him achieve dominion over the darkest of magics and revive the dead. Colin was the easiest really, his idiot brother thought he could stop Anthony with some magic spell book and some foreign wizardy learned in his travels but all it took to drive Colin over the edge was dangling little Penelope Featherington Infront of him and cruely letting death take her away before Colin could confess his love to his dear Lady Whistledown. All Anthony had to do was give Penelope push and his would be sister in law misscast a deadly spell from her own spell book. And Colin was convinced that Anthony's way into the dark arts of bringing back the dead was the way to go.

Sophie was perhaps the easiest person in the world to dupe. A maid with a heart of gold, so easily convinced to help Anthony find his beloved Kate.. in the underworld. That she never understood why Benedict seemed to be going on so many quests trying to stop his brother. Really Anthony quite liked Sophie, she would rather die than accept Benedict's offer to be his mistress and adding to that the fact that his seemingly worst enemy happened to be his elder brother, tragically misunderstood for trying to use magic to revive his true love. (Give or take a few subjugated kingdoms and a lot of war over some sacred magical artifacts he absolutely needed) Made Sophie very keen on volunteering for a little trip into the underworld. And Benedict very keen on bringing her back.

Hyacinth and Gregory were children easily led by their only father figure, and their wise mother only needed a nice tower where she could remain imprisoned. because really Anthony never worried about his sisters, the death of John guatanteed that Francesca would be on his side from the start. Daphne loved her children too much to oppose him and Eloise who was the only one strong enough to stop him, was persuaded to join him with in the same blow that took out Colin (Penelope, dear Penelope, what a nice friend for his Kate to have in Anthony's new world order).

The fun begins when the villain succeeds and Viscountess Kate Bridgerton is resurrected, along with fellow friends Penelope and Sophie. Only to find the world in darkness and her once kind and responsible husband as it's new evil dictator.

Because Kate is still very surprised at the fact that Anthony conquered all the magic nations and plunged the world into the new dark age of magic, apparently all because loved her. Last time she saw him, he was running away from his feelings and leaving her alone in the marital bedchamber without so much as an explanation. But sure, her heroic, family first, by the letter husband loves her enough to plunge the world into a dark age, sounds fake but okay.

Then there's poor Penelope and Sophie who never even got to see a love declaration from Colin and Benedict. As far as Penelope was concerned Colin joining the evil brother he was trying to defeat just because she died didn't make much sense. Let alone becoming one of Anthony's main force of terror. Someone has got to explain, how exactly kissing Colin once and not accepting his horny marriage proposal in a carriage before she died...led to this

Sophie, well she's just mad that she was pulled from the fantasy world version of heaven. (Valhalla? Elysium?) All because Benedict couldn't accept that she didn't want to be his mistress, and would rather leave the whole Buisness of the masquerade behind. She was happy in the place where good souls go. How was she supposed to know her death made Benedict into the worst version of himself? He went from charming masquerade ball gentleman, to kinda rude hero, to... A bit Unhinged and obsessed with her, dark magic supporter. Sophie really has no idea how trusting the bad guy once and helping him get his wife, could have gone so terribly wrong for her.

This au has been in my mind for a while for the potential drama and hilarity. I don't think about high fantasy Bridgerton scenarios often. But when I do, you know they're fun. Tagging @sea-owl and @bellascarousel because I need your thoughts on this

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Thieves Of Dusk

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett

Summary: Freshly christened, yet-already-bored-out-of-his-mind nobleman Benedict Bridgerton is roused back to life by his encounter with a curious, enchanting figure at twilight.

OR

The Evil Bridgerton AU nobody asked for

Tags: The Villainous Viscount AU, Benophie meetcute but they're both kind of evil, the Bridgertons are nouveau riche, East Asian!Sophie, BiWoc Sophie, villains doing bad things and having fun with it!, Smoking, Chaos, Love At First Sight

Gliding out of the lively event inside the Mayfair Auction House, Benedict Bridgerton made his way outside, disappearing into the shadow cast by the building and twilight. He snuck to a vacant corner between two giant stuccos, leaned back against the wall, trying to mend his fraying nerves.

It’s alright. He told himself. You’re alright. It was getting rather stuffed in there. The socialising, the drinking, the parading. The presence of art and relics played only second fiddle to the oppressive atmosphere of quiet, vicious competition, mixing with the joyful flow of coins and banknotes. Nowhere, Benedict discovered, was the contempt between the titled and the moneyed for one another magnified quite like the way it was in an auction house.

And he was one of them now. Moneyed and then titled. Well, at least his eldest brother was. Anthony, or as he had been known for the past three years, Viscount Bridgerton, bought his title with an exorbitant amount, the likes of which usually bankrupted a well-off man, but made only a small dent in their family’s fortune. Not only was this move considered, privately, a social spit on the face to the sensitive high society of Britain, Anthony also had the audacity to take a piss on his initial offence by holding half of the Lords in debt, and the other half in his employment.

Benedict was the backup Viscount, at least temporarily. His brother had been hard at work procreating.

Meanwhile, Benedict was sent out into the world, presenting himself as a respectable gentleman of Mayfair society. On the other hand, his job also consisted of being Anthony’s errand boy, running things his brother had neither the appetite or taste for. Things like acquiring a new painting for their drawing room. What kind of painting, Anthony did not say. An expensive one was not a particularly helpful description.

So now, here he was at an auction house, pockets heavy with funds, attempting to bid on an expensive artwork that would fit their drawing room, out of all the other expensive paintings, excluding the ones that could only reach the pricey range.

The experience was so horrendous, so overwhelming that Benedict had to excuse himself in the middle of it to catch his breath. It was not that he was incompetent. He liked society, for the most part. He liked playing the role of a charmer. He had learned to like subtly manipulating the conversation and quietly instigating shit. It was only--

All this art was sitting right there and he had to pay for them?

The Bridgerton siblings did not come from money. They were born within the halls of a fledgling gambling hell, eight labours of love between an ostracised noble lady and the owner of said gambling hell, a former bruiser who she had eloped with, and who was now dead. Anthony certainly could not have risen to the position he did today purely by running that establishment in a respectable, honest manner. Edmund had been, and Violet was as close to saints as mortals could get, yet they had given birth to a collection of unnaturally talented liars, cheats, brutes, swindlers and murderers.

And Benedict loved his siblings even more for it. Every single one of those seven fuckers.

He eyed the side of the building. The ledge above him, where a nimble chimney sweeper was scaling, looked promising. He could imagine it now. In five minutes, he would return inside. Perhaps he should chat up Lord Bhandari and then attract the House’s director into their conversation. Maybe he would pretend to be drunk off his ass and stir up some chaos. But that might be found out by Anthony, and Benedict was too old and too bored to receive another scolding from their eldest brother. He could try to get the director himself drunk? Which approach then? The man was conservative enough at whist, preferring to serve as accessory to the egos of bigger, more powerful players. With the right kind of bait… A man like that would not miss a chance to amass, especially on art, even more so if he only needed to spend but little for vast returns. What if he heard of an obscure blackmarket offer from a raw, undiscovered talent, who also had the misfortune of being gravely ill and desperately poor? Which tales of greatness and/or of woes could he bullshit up so the honourable Auction House’s director would forget about his keys, long enough…

His fingers twitched at his sides in excitement. Nighttime. Craft knife. Tubular case. Fuck! He tightened his hands into fists. Steel yourself! He took three deep breaths. One. Two. Three. Calm down, Benedict. We’re going legit now. Think legal thoughts.

Tucking a hand into his breast pocket, Benedict pulled out his cigarette box, entrusting the vice to fog up his racing mind.

Just after his first inhale, as the warm chemicals were only starting their invasion of Benedict’s veins, soundlessly, a figure landed in front of him, not so far away. It took him a few seconds to recognise the chimney sweeper he had observed not long earlier. The smoke of his cigarette was making his vision extra ghostly.

It was when they looked up and met Benedict’s mildly intrigued gaze, that his breath was knocked out of his chest, for they were the most enchanting creature he had ever laid eyes on.

It sounded rather absurd, as he could hardly make out any particular features under their ragged, dirty, ill-fitting clothes, including the dark stripe of cloth covering the top half of their face. All he could tell was that they were small in stature, they moved so gracefully and lightly as if gravity was of no concern at all. Around their waist and half-hidden, was a curiously intricate-looking chain, whose metallic shine Benedict was fairly certain came from silver. A strangely fine item, utterly out-of-place on a drab chimney-sweeper’s costume. 

The stranger was smiling while looking at him, their eyes imprinted an exhilarating thrill and unadulterated joy into his soul. 

And they were coming his way.

‘Good evening,’ he uttered, trying to sound smooth, briefly forgetting that he was still holding a cigarette in his mouth. With swift motion, the stranger caught the tube between their fingers before it could reach the ground.

Well, that was embarrassing. Benedict thought, blushing. I must look like a bloody idiot.

Fortunately for him, the expression his new company showed him leaned more toward amusement than mockery. More… flirtatious than mockery. Their eyes on him, still smiling, they brought the cigarette to their lips, giving it a greedy whiff, then releasing the vapours in a blissful exhale.

They had very kissable lips, Benedict remarked mentally, plump and soft, framed by elegant lines of the cheeks and chin.He suspected there was a woman under that disguise. Or a very young, very pretty man. Suddenly feeling shy, he averted his eyes from their mouth, drawing his attention back to the little torch they had stolen from him. They were quick, he must admit. Too bad Benedict was no slowpoke himself. 

The cigarette had returned to him before they noticed it. 

Taking his time, Benedict took another whiff, carefully closing his mouth around where theirs were, seeking their taste. Meanwhile, his gaze fixated on the object of his fascination, watching as the eyes of the dust-covered little pixie grew wide and their lips trembled in surprise. As if they were taken aback by his boldness, by his indirect kiss, or had just come to the realisation that flirting with him was a reckless impulse on their part.

Very interesting.

Benedict could rationale, from personal experience, that their presence here, at this auction house, meant no good deed. 

‘Who are you?’ He asked.

The stranger grinned, delighted in their own mystery. The tip of their tongue caught between their teeth in a mischievous manner, and Benedict resisted the urge to press his own tongue against the spot.

‘Guess.’ Their voice was raspy and strained, perhaps a disguise attempt. The excitement and curiosity were not hidden, however. He could hear it.

There, as they stood between day and night and between social bubbles, as cigarette smoke billowed gently between the two of them. It was as if they existed out of time, Benedict and this vibrant phantom. Their identities were protected by half-lights, by the mute, blinded nature of elevated, civilised Mayfair streets and by criminality, against the eyes of the world and each other.

Using his left hand, slowly, openly, giving the stranger the time to react, to change their mind, Benedict took a hold of their right hand, pulling their bodies closer together. Little bursts of lightning shot up his fingertips where their skins touched, expanding all over his body. Carefully, with his thumb drawing little invisible circles, he memorised and processed the stories written on the skin of the adorable enigma with his touch. Their hand was small. He did not know any adult males with such small hands. A bump on the first joint of the middle finger. A writer’s callus. So they were educated and right-handed. Many noble ladies slathered their hands with lotions and filed their skin down to within an inch of their lives to soothe these bumps away, ashamed that the hardened skin would mar the perfectly pampered appearance. Their skin was cracked, dry and callused. These were most probably resulted from manual labour. Not a prominent weapon user. The little surface of their palm and along their fingers were riddled with little nicks, cuts and burn marks. 

Benedict noticed the contrast between his smooth palm and the mysterious marvel’s roughened one, and felt the whisper of a murderous rage getting louder inside him. What happened? Whatever, whoever occupied this beautiful creature’s life so much that they had no time to take care of themself? A good criminal ought to maintain a tailored, professional appearance. He flipped their hand over to inspect the back. More burn scars. Were they a black smith? They certainly did not carry themself like one. And why would an intellectual put one’s self through the dangers of blacksmithing? No clear impressions or calluses on the knuckles, the exact opposite of how his younger brother, Colin’s hands looked. His siren certainly did not possess the punch of an experienced bruiser.

He leaned down, surreptitiously studying what he could perceive of their profile. At this distance, he could see how their left shoulder was tense, weighed down by something they were carrying up their sleeve. No trace of cosmetics on their cheek. No shaving scars. Most definitely not a man. It would not lessen his attraction to this person in any way were they of one sex or another. More information about one's opponent, however, was always better than less.

She, he half-decided that they could be a she, smelled of the city. Not of perfumed leather and pruned gardens, not of the Mayfair part, no. Her natural scent was buried underneath layers of smoke, his cigarette among them. She smelled of darkened alleyways, of sweat and metal, and the garden. The scent was not conventionally pleasant, and it would have taken an ass kicking his skull off for him to expect something more arranged, considering what she might be doing and what he knew himself of the profession. But her smell did give him a calming effect. It reminded him of Covent Gardens, of their gambling hall, of his wild, chaotic and utterly free childhood. Few where he was now would look at the area and consider it an optimal place to raise children. Anthony would not. Neither would Daphne. But Benedict had always recalled their harsher times with fondness.  

‘I got nothing.’ He grinned against her face, delighted in feeling her shiver and the heat emanating from her cheek. He decided to keep all that he learned in those short seconds to himself instead. Retreating back to where he was against the wall, he put out the cigarette, put the stub into his pocket, then lit a new one. Milking the tension for all its worth. ‘Except for that you smell like a ghost. Well done.’ He was, had been, a cardsharp after all.

She looked frozen for a few seconds, registering his remark, unsure if it was a compliment or a snide. And based on the way her mouth dropped into a pout, on how she yanked the cigarette away from his shit-eating grin, and on how she smoked it in the most petulant manner afterward, he could see that she came to no satisfactory conclusion.

‘My turn.’ He offered his own hand to her. ‘Who am I?’  

The stranger took his hand and stared down at it. The brim of her cap, the mask over her eyes and the dim light made it impossible to glimpse her expression. What would she learn of him? Would she see the faded, chequered cuts of his fingers and deduce his upbringing in a gambling hell? Would she notice the old indentations of ropes and strings and discover his once-familiarity with them? Or would his recent lack of action already put a pristine mask on all of his past, and that would lead her to conclude that he was no more than a pampered aristocrat, who had never lifted anything heavier than a champagne flute in his life, pretending to play it tough? Would that perception be more charming? Was it a personality type she would prefer?

His heart pounded like a top thoroughbred in a race at the featherlight grazings of her finger all over his palm. Their close proximity did not help slow the rhythm. He almost wanted to pull back, to retreat, to put the hand she was holding into a glove, into his pocket, behind his back, to hide himself away from her gaze.

Benedict had no idea how he wanted to come off to this person, and it terrified him. 

‘Hmmm’, she started with a hum, releasing a puff of smoke. ‘Very healthy, vigorous male. Yet a turbulent life, your life, full of ups and downs.’ He pondered that statement and shrugged to himself.He supposed there were some degrees of truth to that.  ‘A chaotic professional life, indeed. Greedy man, you have not been able to commit to anything, have you?’

‘I prefer the term jack-of-all-trades.’

‘You have close, meaningful relationships with people around you.’ He smirked. ‘A mind of many ideas, can rarely keep his feet on the ground.’ He winced.

‘I don’t believe you saw all of that on my hand.’ He complained, on the defence. ‘Are you a witch?’

She looked back up at him, smiling. ‘It’s just palm-reading. Nursemaids’ hobby.’ Quietly, he tucked that information away, wondering if she realised she had given another clue about her identity. ‘Why, are you going to report me? If you do, considering I am telling you your fortune, I would include a forewarning as part of my fees.’ She tried to keep her voice playful, but he sensed true anxiety in her voice, in the way she subtly gripped his hand.

‘No,’ he swore. ‘I will not report you.’ And meant it. ‘Never.’

He heard her breath a sigh of relief, drawing his hand slightly closer to her chest. She trusted him. They’ve only just met, but she trusted him. And to Benedict’s surprise, he trusted her too. This stranger whose name he did not know and whose face he could not even see fully.

He gestured to the hand that she was holding again. ‘What else do you see?’

‘You are,’ she continued, slower this time. ‘A romantic soul. Artistic. A poet. There is so much love inside you.’ He quickly took the cigarette back from her, using it to mask his bashfulness. Benedict Bridgerton did not feel bashful. Unless when he was high. He leaned closer, attempting to decipher the comprehensive archive of his life and character, written in a foreign language between the lines of his palm. A language that she was apparently reading with ease.

‘You also possess great charm.’ She sketched a line from between his index and middle finger to the base of his pinkie. ‘Others can’t help being drawn to you.’

He smiled. ‘I think you are just describing my face now. It’s up here.’

She looked up, mouth open, fully prepared to give him another sarcastic remark. No words managed to escape her. Lost in her diligent inspection of his hand, she did not realise the gap between them had grown smaller. Their eyes met, closer this time.

And then they were kissing. With her hands still closed around his, he pulled her closer to him, before sliding that hand away from her grasp, making a lingering trip up her neck, then resting upon her cheek. Her newly freed hands clutched at his lapels, while her body enthusiastically pressed him even further against the wall. Benedict’s other arm, the one holding the cigarette, snaked around her waist. His pinkie looped a few twice around her silver chain.

With her breath and lips, she put the moon on his tongue. He swallowed it, and it lit up his insides. Feeling her response, he trusted  a celestial body resided in her too. It ignited her bones, and he knew he put it there.

When Benedict nipped at the edge of her mask, intending on removing it with his teeth, his silver mystery was startled out of their trance. She pushed against him, took a few steps back, and readjusted her mask till it sat firmly again across her face. Where he toyed with the chain on her waist left a mark on his hand. Neither of them noticed it.

‘I must go.’ She said quietly. They were pulled back to their existence inside time.

‘What are you doing here?’ He asked, feeling fundamentally altered.

‘Guess.’ Her smile reflected his own melancholy. Then that feeling made room for a blossoming of brewing mischief.

He did not answer. Not with words, anyway.

He gave her back his cigarette. A challenge. An inquiry. 

Show me.

He was damn excited to see what she would do.

‘Thank you’, she whispered, so softly Benedict could not make out her voice. Then the twilight nymph, one of the many names he would later refer to the stranger, retreated back a few steps and revealed briefly to Benedict the strange, elegant mechanism attached to her left wrist. She took one last drag of the cigarette, reigniting the dim glow, then inserted it into the mechanism.

Then, she almost levitated up the walls of Mayfair Auction House, tiptoeing from balcony to balcony like a sparrow. Aiming her arm with what Benedict just then realised was a kind of small, personalised crossbow, at an open window on the third floor, she shot the cigarette into the room. Then elegantly, she landed back on their feet, gave Benedict a little bow, and ran away.

Just as he started to take off after her, the explosion that came almost immediately halted him.

Reeling from the shock, Benedict lost track of his target in the smoke and the commotion. Furthermore, he was waylaid by the spectacle of the stranger’s handiwork. Sparks of gold and silver lit up the fancy building like a goddamn birthday cake. The air reeked of sulphur. Pediments and balconies fell over each other like flaming dominos. A symphony of confused worries growing steadily into horrified screamings, swelling in and out of the building. He could make out the desperate, ineffective authority of the director, ordering his employees to protect the auctioned lots.

It was fucking magnificent.

Yet just as swiftly, the Metropolitan Police rolled to the scene. From his vantage point, Benedict watched them making quick work of disbanding the gathering crowd of peasants. The vision of the Auction House’s door getting knocked down was not unlike the collapse of the Gates of Hell. Dust and smoke flared. An ash-covered entanglement of limbs, screams and chaos clawed its way out. Glamorous nobles, horror-stricken, losing all their dignity, climbing over each other to escape.

The police’s efforts to escort the guests to safety were met with earnest cooporation. All one could feel was relief. No one bothered questioning why only half of the servants assigned to work there that day made it out of the building.  

The auctioned pieces were carried into the police wagon in an orderly manner, before substantial fire damages could get to them. The process was further assisted by the director’s and his esteemed visitors’ hefty vocal demands and to some degree, warnings of the value of the item, how the lifelong servitude of the person carrying it would be inadequate compensation.

For once, to his dismay, their city’s police proved to be annoyingly competent. Even their unreliability is unreliable. Benedict thought irritably. Left on his own and out of sight, he made a surreptitious scan of the area, searching and then erasing any sort of trails that might lead to his darling firestarter, his fun was thought spoiled.

Until thirty minutes later, a second group of police arrived to assess the situation and attempt rescue, having been waylaid by an angry, drunken scuffle and then a swarm of curious civilians. They were struck dumb to discover the group of perfectly alive, albeit shaken and soot-covered Lords, Ladies and wealthy Misters outside the building. Their assistance was apparently not needed. The auctioned properties were reported by the house director, to be on their way to the station with the first responders.

‘We are the first responders.’ The constable said, growing more alarmed by the syllables. The Auction House’s director processed this knowledge, he turned white, then red, then white again, slowly understanding that the valiant officers, who had bravely and generously rescued his valuable collections, were none other than the thieves themselves. Benedict watched the man growing ill many times over in seconds with immense, yet hidden, amusement.

For his part, Benedict remained charming, confused and absolutely useless during his interview with the real  police. Only after he returned to the safety of his apartments, that he allowed himself to break into a smirk, which grew into a wide grin, then hysterical, uncontrollable laughter.

‘Oh, you brilliant creature.’ He was wheezing. ‘That was good.’

Benedict Bridgerton was completely, utterly, smitten.

I will find you. He swore to himself, determined to unmask his silver siren.

[benedictscorner]

Benophie AU: enemies to lovers (modern times)

!!WRITTEN BY LIA!! (twitter: benedictslady)

"𝓢𝓱𝓸𝔀 𝓶𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾'𝓻𝓮 𝓼𝓱𝓪𝓶𝓮𝓵𝓮𝓼𝓼, 𝔀𝓻𝓲𝓽𝓮 𝓲𝓽 𝓸𝓷 𝓶𝔂 𝓷𝓮𝓬𝓴, 𝔀𝓱𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓷'𝓽 𝔂𝓪?"

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Sophie was searching for her clothes around the room, walking around with only an oversize T-shirt covering her petite body. HIS T-shirt: she wasn't home, she wasn't where she was supposed to be at that hour and she knew that who was waiting for her would be really mad at her. And it was all his damn fault. His, the rain, his, the cold, his, the weather, did she say his???

A gasp left her lips when she heard the door of the bedroom, behind her, opened and she recognized those steps, that breath and that cologne that hit her nostrils the second he entered the room: a shiver ran on her back when he let out a chuckle and a small noise, like a shift, was heard, sign that he was leaning against the doorframe.

"And here I thought I'd be the one to leave after last night, but here you are, already gathering your belongings. Why, do I scare you that much, Beckett?"

That deep voice. That deep, dark, sensual voice that used to mess with her head since the very first day she met him. Used and still did. She tried everything, she tried to focus on her life, on herself, but he always found a way to be there and tantalize her.

Sophie inhaled a deep breath and breathed it out, before gathering all her courage and turning to face him: his dark curly long nest, his big deep blue eyes, hidden behind a pair of black glasses, his muscular and sculpted body covered by a grey, a bit ruined sweater, a pair of black pants, which were a bit dirty with dust and his feet were comfortable inside a pair of black socks. Benedict Bridgerton. Her archenemy. Her thorn on her side. She hated him with all her might, with every cell in her body...but she always ended up in his grasp, always arguing, with him always having the last word. She wanted to punch him on the face so bad, but also wanted him to grab her and kiss her as if no one was there to separate them, stop them, as if they weren't the hero's and villain's sidekicks anymore. Just them, just Sophie and Benedict. In a perfect world...but she knew that this world was far from perfect.

When her brown eyes spotted her folded clothes inside his muscular arms, she immediately, almost ran, to him and grabbed them and, before he could even speak, went to hide in the bathroom in the room, locking herself inside with a swift motion. Another chuckle of his could be heard, while his steps approached the door: she knew, she knew, that if he would ever dare to open that door...it would be the end for her. And oh, if he would dare, that's one of the reasons she hated him.

"So, Beckett...are you, perhaps, hungry? I mean, we didn't eat much last night, seeing what happened. And I must say, Beckett...you're quite the allure when you yell at me: those red cheeks of yours, how those veins on your small neck show up, how I get you all riled up. You're a sight to behold, Beck-"

"I'm going back to him. Thank you for letting me use your house as a shelter for the night."

She cut him off, she knew where he was heading and she wouldn't allow that. Never. She wanted, oh how much she wanted him to continue, to let his filthy words get to her, bringing her down to her knees in front of him, to open that damn door...but it was only her heart whispering to the brain, who locked the door and threw away the key. No, she knew better. She couldn't. She mustn't.

After taking off that oversized T-shirt that was intoxicating her with his scent, almost making her feel dizzy, she wore her cable knit beige sweater, messing up her dark brown long curls a bit before pulling them out her sweater's neck. Something surprised her: silence. It was weird, he would usually use one of his comebacks to win their conversations. But all she heard was him cleaning his troath and his back leaning against the wall next to the door, before he spoke up again and she was sure, but convinced that it was only her imagination tricking her, that she heard a slight sense of sadness in his voice. No, Sophie. It was her subconscious wanting to make fun of her. How foolish she was.

"Ah...So you're still going to crawl back to him, hm? And forgetting what he did- Oh no, wait, right, what he didn't do last night? Beckett, you'd be a damn soaked and freezing mess right now, laying down on that cold road, if it wasn't for me. And where was your High Mighty, oh so dear, hero? I know where he was, not there to save you and your damn ass-"

"Didn't I already thank you, Bridgerton? I'm his sidekick, I have to go back and I accepted the risk of that position when I accepted it, so yes, I almost-"

"Oh no, you take that 'almost' back, Beckett dear"

"-I almost died there on that cold street from hypothermia because of the damn weather, the damn air and the damn rain, and yes, I survived because of you. So thank you, Bridgerton, again, but I can handle myself and my life. These are my risks, that I take and I do not need you to teach me how to live my life-"

"BUT I CAN'T JUST STAND THERE AND WATCH HIM RUIN YOU, SOPHIE!"

She gasped as her delicate hands stopped buttoning her pair of pants that she wore while talking back to him. He yelled. She never heard him yelling, not even while fighting him. And, most important, he never used her name. Always her surname. And it felt...so forbidden, but also so damn good. She wanted him to say it again, and again, and again, oh she also wished for him to moan it, but her brain scolded her heart once again, repeating how idiotic she was being. She gulped and she heard him inahling and exhaling deeply while turning and resting his forehead on the bathroom's door, his heavy breathes filling the silence, before his voice filled it again.

"Sophie, I can't. I stood back when I saw you losing fights against the villain, since I'm his sidekick, but...it wasn't any fight of ours last night. Damn it, he sent you to fix one of his problems, clean his mess, like always! Six men against one of you. Six, Sophie! Goddamn it, you took all of on your shoulders, all of those beatings- Jesus Christ, they even had guns and fights and, as much as I admire you for fighting by yourself, I just- I couldn't-..."

She was dumbstruck. He was...worried for her? Hell, he even sounded scared. Afraid. But for her? When she heard a noise out of the door, coming from his lips, her heart stopped immediately: a sob. That was a sob...right? She didn't imagine that. She even pinched her arm, but she heard another one the second later. No, her mind wasn't tricking her this time. He was sobbing. Her archenemy was crying and she was the cause of it- well, not really her, but she was blaming herself as always.

"Sophie, I couldn't let them hurt you. Or take you away from the world, from...me. Who would beat me up if you would be gone, hm? Who would I tantalize everytime? Who would scold me for being who I am? Who would I admire for their courage whenever they take all the world on their shoulders? Who would I-"

"Benedict-"

"No, Sophie, damn it, don't interrupt me, I've kept this hidden for too long! Who would I keep falling for, if you wouldn't be here anymore?' Who would I feel butterflies for, who would I fight for? You don't know, do you? The things you do to me- God, those things. Oh, how I tried to push them aside, in the back corner of my mind, away, only to protect you. I am not...a good person, I never was, but with you, Sophie, you make me feel like I can redeem myself. You make me feel alive, like if I'm learning to love all once again. You...You make me feel human while the whole world yells me that I am a beast. We are both tainted, we are both taking our bosses mistakes and problems on our backs, we are slowly destroying ourselves piece by piece. But I'm tired of doing it alone and I'm sure you are too. We are too young for this cruel world, Sophie Beckett, and I know that I'm a hotheaded, heartless, dumb, foolish, thickheaded bastard, but Good Heavens, I want to be a hotheaded, dumb, foolish, thickheaded bastard with you- And the only reason I'd be heartless while being next to you, it'd be literally, because I'd grab the first weapon I'd find and tear my chest open until I bleed, only to let you in and let your small delicate hand grab my heart. It's already yours, you may just take it, Sophie. It has been yours since the start"

She was the one sobbing right now. Her whole world crumbled down and she made a choice, the one that was screaming from the back of her head, inside that basement hidden from her brain, but now? Now she was letting her heart speak and she was sending her brain to Hell. She didn't want to listen to it anymore. She wanted her heart. She wanted him. She wanted Benedict Bridgerton. No. She loved Benedict Bridgerton.

After finally buttoning those damn jeans of hers, she started to try and open the bathroom's door, failing because of her head reeling, her tears streaming down her cheeks and her heart racing. A gasp left her lips when Benedict broke down the door and she saw his panting, tall figure, his big deep blue eyes red and puffy from crying but also filled with a desire. Desire to hold her. Have her. Love her.

The moment he grabbed her face with his big warm hands and their lips met, everything disappeared and they were alone. They weren't archenemies anymore. They weren't sidekicks. They were themselves. They were Sophie and Benedict. Benedict and Sophie. They were finally free. They were humans. And all they wanted was a life with eachother and to forget about their problems, healing and helping one another.

A gasp, which transformed into a giggle a second later, left Sophie's lips when she felt Benedict's strong arms lifting her up and making her sit on the sink, still during their kiss, while her small hands found their way on his dark curly long nest, grabbing onto it and messing it up, as if it wasn't messy already, and she was sure to feel him smiling in the kiss and heard him chuckling, before he backed off to meet her brown eyes with his big deep blue ones, both of them panting and holding onto eachother, like if they would disappear in a snap. They both started to laugh, a laugh filled with happiness, freedom, love, joy, contentment and relief. She blushed when he sighed as he nuzzled his head against the crook of her neck, leaving a trail of kisses from there to her ear, slowly and enjoying the way she would squirm under him and her soft moans, before leaving a last, long, loving kiss on her ear, exhaling there like if he had just been released by a big chain and a big ball holding him away from her. He smiled and rested his chin on her shoulder, whispering those words who caused her to feel butterflies- no, a whole zoo inside of her stomach, while her cheeks turned redder than a strawberry.

"You're my favourite sin, Beckett"

!! WRITTEN BY LIA !! (twitter: benedictslady)

[silverhallow]

Benophie taking forever to get together in the FWB AU is my origin villain story haha. I'm kidding of course. I love this AU so much. Anthony calling Sophie his girlfriend and his cousins teasing him was chef kiss! Everybody knows!!!

Also, you added more chapters!

I did…

Only cause these last two chapters weren’t supposed to go like that 😂😂😂

But yeah… they might be getting together in the next chapter but they won’t be together but everyone thinks they kind of are but they aren’t and it’s a going to be bit of a mess not going to lie… 😂

[hopepaigeturner]

Villainous Benophie: The Finale

Inspired by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies; BRILLIANT Villainous Viscount AU (read on AO3 here). So all creds go to her!

And while she has done a beautiful fic about Benophie in this universe, Thieves of Dusk (10% RECOMMEND A READ. Read on AO3 here). But we’ve been chatting about my own ideas for Benophie. So, with her blessing here’s the next part of my version.

Part 6 Here

As the Bridgertons sharpen their teeth and knives Sophie wakes up in a very recognisable room in Mayfair with Hyacinth tied by her side. Her heart turns to ice as Araminta Penwood walks in with her saccharine smirk.

How did they find her?

Well love makes fools of us and while Benedict is able to walk as if made of air, or can hide a million bad intentions in a smile—he forgot to hide his sketches of Sophie. And Benedict was right, there is no such thing as hope or luck merely opportunity, for one of Lord Hotham’s friends stumbled across the storeroom while looking for alcohol. And he just happened to mention it to Lord Hotham who set a close watch until they caught the pair. They’d waited a couple weeks to get a special license. Sophie was to be married the next morning with Hyacinth as collateral—and a bridesmaid if she wore a gag.

But Araminta will give Sophie one present. She’ll be generous and allow the rules around separating bride and groom to be bent—afterall he’s waited long enough.

Sophie tires to stand tall as the man of her nightmare steps out of the shadows.

Meanwhile the Bridgerton crime family is in full swing knives out and gunning for blood. Benedict like a bloodhound ready to tear to pieces anyone who tries to lay a hand on Sophie. Yet even as he checks the sword inside of his cane, Anthony Bridgerton seems unnaturally cool a façade for the clicking of gears within his brain of a plan…

Araminta leaves Lord Hotham and Sophie alone in the room and he wastes no time. Sophie struggles, tries to fight him off and her victory is within her grasp until a knife comes out and there is blood on her cheek and then—

Hyacinth, freed and feral, kicks the man in the balls sending him stumbling. He swings around but sje is gone apart from a peal of giggles that seem to lead down the corridor. The Lord runs off to grab his escaped quarry leaving Sophie alone—door still locked.

Just as the emotions threaten to crash over her, she hears a hiss of her name. She turns to find Hyacinth on top of the wardrobe, the remains of her ties dangling from her wrist and a set of keys in one hand.

For all of Anthony and Violet’s careful shielding, of all their hopes for hyacinth ot remain the most proper of ladies ready to flourish in the ton—Hyacinth is a Bridgerton through and through.

So, three flights down the stairs the Bridgertons storm the back door while Sophie and Hycainth steal down the shadows of the stairs.

All roads lead to the study where a confrontation is taking place. Birdgerton rabble against the ton as Araminta grandly announces as she and Lord Hotham mock the Bridgertons from behind the shileds of their status. Most comments are hurled at Benedict who has that ringing in his ear again, his hands fisted as if holding the strings of his anger—although those fists are quivering.  

Until Sophie and Hyacinth rush in, much to everyone’s surprise. But Benedict takes one look at the long cut on Sophie; s cheek—and the anger rolls over him once more. In an instant he has a knife to the man’s neck, and a gun pointed at Araminta the intention in his eyes so clear that Lord Hotham starts pleading.

Let him choke on his own blood, let her have each limb potholed bullet by bullet.

There is a pressure on his shoulder that he registers amidst all the ringing. There is a whisper then a voice filtering through.

“Ben, Ben look at me.”

He shakes his head.

“Ben, please.”

“They deserve pain and destruction seven times over for every scar they have put on you. They deserve nothing more than death.”

“I know, but not at your hand.”

“I have killed many.”

“But you have not killed any for me, and I do not wish to bear that stain on my soul nor for you to. I do not wish them to have any purchase over your soul—over our soul. Ben, please.”

“I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do, my love,” Sophie pleads, “this is not a kill as a Bridgerton but as Benedict, here you have the choice. You can either choose them or me—that is your choice.”

The knife quivers, little drops of blood on its edge.

But Benedict retreats, not without kicking over the chair and sending the Lord sprawling painfully to the ground. He turns and he is in Sophie’s arms, and he finds that she is shaking.

“Thank you,” she whispers against his shoulder, and he holds her tighter. Both stand together, tethered to each other.

Ofcourse Araminta must throw another jab.

“Might I muzzle her?” Benedict asks the room and Sophie giggles while Anthony gives the sliver of a smile before stepping towards the aristocrats.

“No need Benedict, what I have to say shall do the trick nicely.”

And then Anthony starts speaking and everyone’s mouths go wide.

Lord Hotham and Araminta are shocked to find themselves talking to their ‘new’ solicitor who took over their accounts a couple months prior—the night Benedict had visited him to tell him about Sophie.  They are even more shocked to find out that their ‘new’ solicitor has engaged them in certain faulty investments, little transactions that when added up so lead to a nice pile of charges. Charges such as embezzlement, treason, scandal will set alight all that power they hold so dear.

Yet Anthony will stay his hand and his lips if they agree to burn the marriage license—and hand over a significant sum of money. A very significant sum of money.

Cornered Araminta and the Lord acquiesce all those in the room watch as the license burns into ash.

Anthony gives them the Bridgerton smirk before tipping his hat and bidding them adieu.

Araminta makes a last jab at Benedict; a real low blow and the entire room is stunned when Sophie whirls around and punches her so hard Araminta’s nose breaks.

Finally, the night is over, and a celebration occurs at the Bridgerton household. And as the dawn finally greets them, Anthony hands Benedict the money they received that night. All of it.

Because no matter how much blood he has on his hands, no matter how terrifying one look Anthony Bridgerton give, Anthony promised their father to look after them, and their father always wanted a better life for all of them. And for Benedict that life is for Sophie

So, in the end, Benedict and Sophie move to a modest cottage in Wiltshire where Benedict becomes an apprentice to a frame maker, then an elusive artist who takes the ton by swarm not only fo rhis talent but due to his anonymity. Sophie becomes a governess before the children. The pair are beloved among the village, Benedict the charming husband and Sophie the sweet wife.

Although everyone knows that Sophie has an uncanny knack for cards and gossip, while if you need a certain certain something from a less reputable source then Benedict Bridgerton is your man...

And they live happily ever after.

*~*~*~*~*~*

Woop! I finally finished this little story that was supposed to be a drabble. Oopsie!

Ask box is open if you ever want to know more about this AU and as always all credit goes to the wonderful @orangepeelshortbreadcookies.

[hopepaigeturner]

Villainous Benophie: Part 6

Inspired by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies; BRILLIANT Villainous Viscount AU (read on AO3 here). So all creds go to her!

And while she has done a beautiful fic about Benophie in this universe, Thieves of Dusk (10% RECOMMEND A READ. Read on AO3 here). But we’ve been chatting about my own ideas for Benophie. So, with her blessing here’s the next part of my version.

Part 5 here

As always Anthony expresses no emotion when Benedict explains the peril Sophie is in but Benedict knows him enough to see the cogs in his brain tick over. But he assures Benedict that he will protect Sophie. What Benedict doesn’t see is the look Antony gives him as he leaves.

For Anthony is a criminal mastermind who has created an empire…but more importantly he has been running a family since he was eighteen. He knows his siblings. He has seen the gentle change in Benedict, the softening of his blows and ruthlessness. And while Anthony is concerned there's also still that wish of an 18-year-old who wanted his siblings to have a better life.

Anthony says nothing and life trips along into a comfortable rhythm. Sophie continues to teach Hycainth and Gregory while becoming fast friends with the other Bridgerton siblings. And most afternoons she will share a tea with Violet Bridgerton. Benedict sometimes attends and tries his best to push the line on covert flirting. Sophie is sure his mother knows all too well what the looks between them are.

And Benedict and Sophie continue their moonlight discussions but more often than not at the academy rather than the balcony. Benedict draws Sophie as they talk, or as she doodles and reads. They trade kisses as they trade dreams and plans for the future, the pair of the progressing along the scale of physical intimacy as slow and pleasurable as a lazy river. They also trade dreams and futures, half-formed plans about live in the country, of a cottage with a view to inspire Benedict’s paintings and green enough to let Sophie’s heart rest easy.

Benedict finds it harder and harder to find joy in the running of the clubs, the espionage and clandestine jobs. Yet he is still strung between his family and Sophie, although there are some nights when he looks upon Sophie and knows his heart only sings for her.

It is one such evening when Benedict watches Sophie who is doing some mending while she humms lullabies, the candlelight softening her features until she seems to glow. And Benedict knows. He knows he could not live in a life without her.

And so he tells her so, tells her about his love for her, how he is willing to sacrifice his life for a quiet one with Sophie. He proves it by showing the deed to a cottage that he is in the process of purchasing, the piece of paper slipped between the pages of a sketchbook. He tells of how the nearby estate has young children who in a year or so might need a governess and he has talented hands that can always spin gold from something. But he is ready. He is in love and he will not let her go, he never wishes to and he never will. All he asks is for her to take that leap of faith with him, to take his hand.

They look at one another. Lover to lover. Heart to Heart. Sophie knows the answer and this time she uses her lips to speak one word.

“Yes.”

New emotions roll over Benedict that do not cloud but sweep him away as they come together in each other’s arms. He bows to his love and desire as does she as she trusts him with the final step of intimacy and chooses to let go. Let go of her past and buy into a brighter future, a future she never imagined but one that shines bright with her Ben by her side. Her love, her husband.

The walk home takes twice the time for the pair stumble against lampposts and walls to kiss like lovesick teenagers. And at the door Benedict promises to have all the details agreed by the next week. Once done, he will tell his brother to receive his blessing but if not then they can ride to Gretna Green in the morning.

It is when Anthony and Benedict are returning from one of their clandestine trips that Benedict broaches the subject.

Anthony is thunderous, outraged. Benedict cannot leave, Benedict is far too valuable to the business, to this family. And Anthony will not let Benedict throw it all away for a girl. He can marry whatever chit he sets his cap at, but he cannot leave. Benedict fights back with words until Anthony pushes him out of the carriage and declares he shall make Sophie pack her bags. Even Benedict wasn’t prepared for the blow he gives Anthony and the following scuffle is ugly and raw. Both brothers use every dirty trick and technique in their repertoire by the time the two are outside the lodgings they both limp and are stained in blood.

What they find when they arrive is far far worse. All the Bridgertons in uproar, most armed to the teeth, their mother wailing at the absence of both Sophie and Hyacinth. The eloquent ransom note declares as such but only states a ransom for Hyacinth not Sophie.

All remaining Bridgertons look between one another, all with the same look in their eye.

No one touches their property. No one touches the family.

Every crook and dealer from Covent Garden to Mayfair knows the consequences of crossing the Bridgerton family.

It is always paid in blood.

[hopepaigeturner]

Villainous Benophie AU: Pt.2

Inspired by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies; BRILLIANT Villainous Viscount AU (read on AO3 here). So all creds go to her!

And while she has done a beautiful fic about Benophie in this universe, Thieves of Dusk (10% RECOMMEND A READ. Read on AO3 here). But we’ve been chatting about my own ideas for Benophie. So, with her blessing here’s the next part of my version.

Check out Part 1 here

Benedict continues to watch the maiden whose demi-mask cannot hide her attractive features. And as he watches he notices. He knows the tricks of the trade, he honed those skills as his family shivered in the winter chill. He knows that the eyes hidden by that mask are flickering across the cards. He knows she has no cards hiding up her sleeve. She is a cardsharp—a frighteningly good one from the growing pile of chips in front of her.

Alas no matter how pretty, Benedict cannot in good conscience let a cardsharp wipe the tables (atleast when it’s not going into Bridgerton pockets). It wouldn’t be good for business, nor for the moral of the other players, he thinks, as he watches a regular lout, Cavendar, grow increasingly hostile towards the maiden. And while the maiden only reacts with smiles and placative comments, Cavendar gets louder and his threats more explicit.

Benedict cannot allow a man to assault someone on the shop floor, the Bridgertons have a reputation after all. He uses this justification to smoothly slide in and disarm Cavender with a few veiled threats of his own before whisking the maiden away.

“I had it handled,” she mutters as Benedict directs her over to the bank to cash in her chips. He tries not to react to the terseness in her tone. After all it wasn't often that people didn't recognise him for his last name.

“Oh, I do not doubt it, but this is a reputable establishment that does not appreciate spectacles.”

The lady raises her eyebrow as her money is handed over. Benedict smirks.

“Unless that spectacle is a beautiful woman, alas you are not just a woman, are you?”

The girl freezes and Benedict leans over to whisper in her ear.

“You don’t think I know a cardsharp when I see one.”

The woman’s eyes widen slightly before her features settle into a careful configuration, balancing the line between steel and beguile.

“And I see a man capable of discretion, perhaps for a price?”

Benedict ignores her outstretched bounty too focused on the look in her eye, yet another facet he hungers to unmask. He pauses, allows the tension to rise until he flicks out a cigarette.

“Share a smoke?”

She has a good poker face, necessary for cards, yet not an impenetrable one. He notices the slight widening of her eyes under the mask.

"A smoke? Why should I go out for a smoke with a stranger?"

Wariness, yet again that subtle emotion in her eye which causes him to lean closer,

“What harm can there be in a smoke between strangers?”

He watches the intrigue spark in her eye. He shifts his smile a little more crooked and waits.

The lady takes the cigarette.

He takes them to a private balcony under the moon where their conversation continues, the pair of them coming closer and closer together until they are almost coiled around each other like the smoke from their shared cigarette. Benedict’s initial plan of seducing her into his bed is neglected in favour of revelling in the mystery and wonder of a woman whose accent contrasts with the calluses in her hands and who has so many secrets hidden in her eyes. She matches his dexterity in conversation, a dance of words and half-truths and confessions that enthrals him as much as it terrifies him how easily they read each other. For by the time the moon reaches its pinnacle, she has coaxed out the parts of him that he locked away on the day they found his father dead and he has collected the strands of the her tapestry of veiled secrets. By the time the sunrise starts to encroach he knows he has fallen and has no intention of rising, the verdict entrenched when he kisses her and his entire body reassembles itself to fit hers—just as he feels hers do the same.

“Stay with me,” he whispers against her lips, once they finally breaqk for breath. His fingers run under the edge of the mask. “I do not ask for anything in return, not money or your body, I just want you—all of you.”

He feels intoxicated and perhaps that is why he does not notices how his lady shifts in his arms. How he does not fully hear her whispered words,

“I cannot. I will not.”

And why it takes him a couple moments before he realises she has disappeared.

Yet he still runs. But like the fairies that disappear from their woodland circles in the dewy morning air, she has disappeared into the dawn sky…

Read Part 3 here

[hopepaigeturner]

So I got an AU stuck in my head...

Inspired by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies; BRILLIANT Villainous Viscount AU (read on AO3 here). So all creds go to her!

And while she has done a beautiful fic about Benophie in this universe, Thieves of Dusk (10% RECOMMEND A READ. Read on AO3 here). But we’ve been chatting about my own ideas for Benophie. So, with her blessing here’s my version...

Unlike @orangepeelshortbreadcookies' version, the Bridgertons never buy themselves a title, they remain the kingpin family of London. Anthony at the helm having spent the last decade building an empire spanning multiple gambling halls, clubs, black market auctions and trade alongside an underground boxing exhibition series. And that does not cover the other more hidden enterprises that Anthony has, through the years, built. An entangled spider web entangling individuals from street urchins to the highest of Lords.

And as the second in command with quick fingers and his charming smile, Benedict is the main manager of most establishments. Colin might herald the boxing rings but Benedict is the one prowling the shop floor. Not to mention Benedict being a constant shadow for Anthony when they embark on more… nefarious ventures.

Benedict loves the adrenalin of midnight capers, the complex game of the black market. He has immense pride at how the Bridgerton family turned their lives around with blood, grit and grime so has no qualm palming money off toffs who have never picked up anything heavier than a pen in their life.

He loves his life…but still. Some nights, when waiting for Anthony outside a room where he is having one of his business dealings, or when he looks around the gambling shop floor at the same faces, he’ll look up at the moon and wish for a simpler life where he didn’t have to look over his shoulder or that he didn’t have to be second. To have the freedom he enjoys on the afternoons and nights he breaks into the Royal Academy to sketch or paint. To have the silence and peace rather than the carousing commotion of the city.

But he cannot leave, he cannot abandon Anthony, he cannot forsake his brother who has taken so much burden and blood on his hands—even if he’s never been the one to make the killing blow. Benedict has always been the one washing his hands.

And then one night he walks across the floor of the club and he spots her. She is sat at a table in a dishevelled silver dress wearing a matching demi-mask that does nothing to mask her beauty. In front of her is a steadily growing pile of chips in front of her.

A fizzing sensation ripples through him, a sensation he'd tucked away on the day they found their father dead. And in that moment, his entire life changes…

And that's just beginning...

Read Part 2 Here

[hopepaigeturner]

Villain Benophie AU: Part 4

Inspired by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies; BRILLIANT Villainous Viscount AU (read on AO3 here). So all creds go to her!

And while she has done a beautiful fic about Benophie in this universe, Thieves of Dusk (10% RECOMMEND A READ. Read on AO3 here). But we’ve been chatting about my own ideas for Benophie. So, with her blessing here’s the next part of my version.

WARNING: References to assault.

Part 3 Here

Sophie slips into her new role with an ease she’s learnt long ago to question—but cannot help but indulge in. Her charges, Hyacinth and Gregory are intriguing young pupils—not least because the girl almost beats Sophie at cards and she watches the boy make his way from his bedroom to the classroom by running across the roof tiles.

Yet their guardian, the Anthony Bridgerton had explained his wish for his younger siblings to rise out of their impoverished circumstances into gentile society. And with the initial scouring look he had given her, (mixed with the shadow of his reputation) Sophie did not wish to disappoint.

It was just…the pair found History boring unless Sophie slipped in the gorier details as with Geography.  And so, what if they engaged best in equations and arithematic if the problems revolved around organising heists and calculating bomb trajectories? Or that she taught them rude expression of Latin and French while teaching the tenses? It got the job done and the pair off the streets—unlike their other siblings whom Anthony was also wishing to enter society.

Eloise Bridgerton running around supplying working-class revolutionaries with explosive material—both in paper and powder. Or Daphne who danced so beautifully but could not help walking through a crowd and bringing home presents for herself. And Francesca, the quietest one of them all, whom Sophie sees sneaking out in breeches and a fake moustache to slip into the band of the opera and play theatres.

And then Benedict. Oh Benedict. Constantly ‘popping in’ with the pretence to see his family, a weird phenomenon according to Hyacinth—almost a peculiar as him constantly flitting around her. But something softened in Sophie as he watched him spar playfully with his siblings (words or weapons), or when she watched him sit next to his mother and engage in conversation (the only one who seemed to have the patience to still do so).

Benedict could make her feel all sorts of things—and that was the problem. He could infuriate her with his teases and just as quickly thrill her with their catty banter. He made her shiver when he whispered in her ear or when she noted the red marks under his fingernails.

Regardless, she would not falter in her convictions, no matter how he smiles at her, or how he talks with her when they share cigarettes under the different phases of the moon.

Those nights start off as sporadic but then become routine. As soon as she has put Hyacinth to bed (knowing that the girl will be reading with a candle until dawn) and Gregory is in his room (where he will spend the night drawing different diabolical inventions). Benedict will light the cigarette but give her the first puff. The pair will then talk, their initial dance of words fading with every night until they are meandering through topics without veils. One night they sing songs from their cherished childhoods and the softness on Benedict’s face as he sings to the stars entrances Sophie.

This Benedict is so different to the one who teases his siblings and plasters on a wry smile. This Benedict is also so different from the smirking criminal who can instil fear with one look. A different Benedict, one she covets in her daydreams, and the Benedict that sinks deeper and deeper into her heart.

And then one night he passes her a cloak and holds out his hand, in his eyes a question.

Do you trust me?

She puts her hand in his.

They slip through a connection of darkened corridors, so it takes a moment for her to recognise the Royal Academy. The walls are lined with art and the rooms cluttered with canvases discarded after the days end. Benedict takes them to the smallest of these and undoes a panel lifting out some large black books.

Sophie’s heart thunders as he presents them to her.

Sketchbooks.

She looks up to find Benedict with that perfectly beguiling mask, rigid as a statue. Yet something shivers in his eyes.

So, Sophie takes his offering and reverently looks through the pages. Her eyes trace over each picture and portrait: landscapes not of hills but bustling intersections fo Covent Garden, portraits of his siblings in various hijinks; the dynamism of the club floor. Then her breath catches when she finds a sketch of her in a silver dress. Then her cheeks burn as she passes page after page of sketches—of her.

She is dancing, she is putting her hair up, she is laughing, she is leaning over to read, she is sipping tea with his mother, she has her eyes closed singing to the stars, she is billowing smoke from her lips that rise like incense into a moonlit sky.

At her old home no one had ever listened to her, no one had ever given her the time of day. Yet here Benedict has given her pages and pages. Here Benedict has seen her.

And she realises what this is, what this whole night is. What that shimmering look in his eye means when she looks back up at him.

And so, she pushes away the ripple of darkness, leans up and thanks him for the offering of his soul by giving hers—in a kiss.

At their second meeting he had asked, in veiled words, whether she’d thought of that first night and it had taken every fibre of control within to reply the negative—even though it had all been a lie. She’d dreamed of that moment, how his touch felt like the coolness of moonlight while his kisses drew heavenly fire from within. In those moments she had reassembled herself, something in her shifting, fundamentally.

That kiss was nothing to this one. It is a spiral, higher and higher or deeper and deeper—she does not know. All she knows is that the man of her dreams is kissing her as if she is the most precious jewel in the world, the most reverent of beings.

It is the antithesis of before, of him.

She pushes that thought away and concentrates on the sparks that Benedict ignites as he runs a hand down her spine.

Unlike him who had grabbed fistfuls of hair and dress.

She tightens her hold on Benedict in an attempt to anchor herself. She tries to separate the sensualness of Benedict kissing down her neck with the sloppiness that he had done.

But she continues to slip, no matter how hard she tries to push it away.

The scuffle of limbs.

His hand clamped over her mouth.

His hand slipping under her neckline just as Benedict’s hand plays with her sleeve—

Suddenly there is space. Suddenly there is Benedict’s eyes staring at her with an expression that causes more tears to stream down her face—when did she start crying?

“I am sorry,” she whispers, wiping the tears away.

In an instant Benedict’s eyes darken

“Do not apologise, never apologise.” His eyes then turn thunderous. “Tell me who did this to you.”

Sophie cowers under that stare, that fury broiling within. She shakes her head. Benedict steps towards her.

“I need to know.”

Vividly she remembers how he had towered over her on their second meeting, the darkness, the danger that rolled off of him as he had looked at her with almost murderous intent. So she can do nothing but reply,

“He was my fiancée.”

Part 5 here

[hopepaigeturner]

Villainous Benophie AU: Part 3

Inspired by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies; BRILLIANT Villainous Viscount AU (read on AO3 here). So all creds go to her!

And while she has done a beautiful fic about Benophie in this universe, Thieves of Dusk (10% RECOMMEND A READ. Read on AO3 here). But we’ve been chatting about my own ideas for Benophie. So, with her blessing here’s the next part of my version.

Check out Part 2 here.

It is almost three months since that night when he spots the silver dress again. It weaves around masked people at a secret auction. And once more she takes Benedict’s breath away. He follows her like a shadow, as she herself lingers in the shadows seemingly eavesdropping on the guests before ending her night with an impressive round at the tables. She plays a delicate game of winning and losing her eyes more shrewd and her skills flawless—she has learnt since that first night. Benedict does not want to consider how.

When she finally retires he corners her and finally they are face to face. And all the little evidences of time's fingerprint's come to the fore; how the silver of the dress is worn with little stitches and patches skilfully covered; her hair is shorter, her face wan and her figure slimmer—very slim. So slim it makes his hands curl into fists.

They pick up that delicate dance of conversation before his ire causes it to crack and demand answers from her. And he uses his whole height, his whole demeanour, the hidden darkness that he can unleash in one look. (Years later when he knows of it all, not just the depths of his heart but the depths of Sophie's pain, the memory of this night will haunt him). And although there is a slight tremor in her fingers she explains.

She has been staying at a rundown boarding house within the slums, and on nights when it is unbearable she seeks shelter with a modiste friend of hers. She has spent the last months travelling from club to club to ensure that her cardsharp reputation does not spread until she is adept enough to cover her tracks. And when she is not trading chips for cash, she is trading secrets for much larger sums for the infamous gossip sheet—Lady Whistledown. Among such hunts she pieced together who he was.

She does not talk about that moonlight night, not even when he asks in veiled words (in a moment of rashness that feels like something much more dangerous) whether she has been able to have another cigarette without thinking of his lips.

One word.

No.

And Benedict inspects her for any discrepancy in the perfect mask that cloaks her body similar to the silver one on her face. Yet there, in her eye he spots it. A look that sparks something inside of him, (he dismisses the little voice that whispers hope—hope doesn’t exists in the world, only opportunity).

He knows that look, he has glanced and studied it in the mirror every morning. She wants to play the game. And Benedict will more than happily oblige—after all he is the master of games.

Cardsharp against cardsharp. Force of will against force of will. Heart against heart. Game on.

The conversation spins again as she refuses to be his mistress—he does not worry for there are many different ways to win the game. So, he spins her into a corner, playing on the explicit details that mark her privileged upbringing. He knows she can bare a life of dirt—but that doesn’t mean she would not jump at the chance for a life with cleaner hands. And so he offers her a beautifully wrapped proposition:

Do not be a mistress be a governess. Three meals, a roof over her head and three young charges to care for during the day, leaving the nights open for her more clandestine ventures.

Finally, he adds an extra bow: full protection under the Bridgerton name. As safe a barricade as those surrounding Buckingham Palace—perhaps more so.

Sophie stays silent, those beguiling eyes calculating moves. Yet, as he expected, she is not so proud as to forfeit her safety for a victory. So, she concedes and agrees to take the position.

He insists on accompanying her home at which point she finally takes off her mask.

Benedict is struck by the fizzing sensation once more as he takes in the soft curve of her face, and the true colour of her eyes—brown, brown like the deepest wood in the forest. The places rumoured that only fae frequent.

As she shuts the door behind her she finally tells him her name.

Sophie.

The carriage rolls away.

He must have her. He is not worthy of her, fairies and beautiful maidens do not fall in love with those who have washed reams of blood down the drain or take dark delight in ruthless vengeance. She will never love a man like him—love? (When did he start thinking of such superfluous things? Like that whispering voice he crushes it under his fist). He needs her in whatever capacity he can grasp.

NEXT

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Thieves of Dusk - Chapter 4: Daylight

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Art: @apinchofm

Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Sophie Beckett & Eloise Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett & Violet Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton & Benedict Bridgerton & Colin Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton & Eloise Bridgerton

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett, Anthony Bridgerton, Kate Sharma, Sophie Beckett's Grandmother, Colin Bridgerton Eloise Bridgerton

Summary: Freshly christened, yet-already-bored-out-of-his-mind nobleman Benedict Bridgerton is roused back to life by his encounter with a curious, enchanting figure at twilight.

OR

The Evil Bridgerton AU nobody asked for

Tags: The Villainous Viscount AU, Benophie meetcute but they're both kind of evil, the Bridgertons are nouveau riche, Vietnamese Sophie, BiWoc Sophie, villains doing bad things and having fun with it!, Smoking, Chaos, Love At First Sight, Bugs Eating, Violence, Abuse

Author's Notes:

Introducing: some silly Bridgertons.

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Thieves Of Dusk - Chapter 2: Liar's Virtues

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton, Kate Sharma/Anthony Bridgerton

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett, Anthony Bridgerton, Kate Sharma, Sophie Beckett's Grandmother

Summary: Freshly christened, yet-already-bored-out-of-his-mind nobleman Benedict Bridgerton is roused back to life by his encounter with a curious, enchanting figure at twilight.

OR

The Evil Bridgerton AU nobody asked for

Tags: The Villainous Viscount AU, Benophie meetcute but they're both kind of evil, the Bridgertons are nouveau riche, East Asian!Sophie, BiWoc Sophie, villains doing bad things and having fun with it!, Smoking, Chaos, Love At First Sight, Bugs Eating, eventual violence

Author's Note:

Say hello to Viscountess Kate Bridgerton (also her husband is here too)

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Thieves Of Dusk - Chapter 3: Past Lives

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton, Kate Sharma/Anthony Bridgerton

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett, Anthony Bridgerton, Kate Sharma, Sophie Beckett's Grandmother

Summary: Freshly christened, yet-already-bored-out-of-his-mind nobleman Benedict Bridgerton is roused back to life by his encounter with a curious, enchanting figure at twilight.

OR

The Evil Bridgerton AU nobody asked for

Tags: The Villainous Viscount AU, Benophie meetcute but they're both kind of evil, the Bridgertons are nouveau riche, Vietnamese Sophie, BiWoc Sophie, villains doing bad things and having fun with it!, Smoking, Chaos, Love At First Sight, Bugs Eating, Violence, Abuse

[thekatebridgerton]

Today on another episode of... oh you know the drill, I'm sleep deprived, I write aus at 3am, fall asleep without energy enough to keep writing, only to do it all over again next weekend. So for this week's episode:

Benophie meet the Robinsons au

So this kid Charlie suddenly lands in 12 year old orphaned Sophie's backyard, right around the time her father married Araminta, and for some reason Charlie claims that she is the only person who can help him fix the time machine that brought him there in the first place else his parents are going to kill him. And some evil villain is out to get him. So of course science kiddo Sophie agrees to help.

Except that while she tries fixing it, the time machine malfunctions again and sends 12 year old Sophie and 11 yo Charlie into the future.

The thing is that Charlie Bridgerton's entire family is currently all in his grandmother's estate for their annual game of pall mall.

And his family is... a lot to take in

Sophie's new friend has 7 eccentric aunts and uncles, plus their spouses, around 20 cousins ( Sophie really keeps loosing count of how many cousins Charlie has), then there's the unexpected visits from the sisters of his uncle's wives, with their respective husbands. Sophie counted one two, five Grandmothers having tea in the solar. And of course, Charlie's father, the artist Benedict Bridgerton, (who has got to be the most handsome man little Sophie has ever seen and Charlie's three younger siblings. )

They all think Sophie is some kind of school mate that Charlie has brought home and treat her so well that cute orphan Sophie starts wishing she could have a family like the Bridgertons, no matter how much Charlie says that's a bad idea because his mom definitely wouldn't like it, but once the Bridgertons find out that Charlie's friend is an orphan, of course they want to take her in.

Until Charlie's mom comes back home ready to scold her son for damaging her time machine and... little Sophie Beckett finds herself face to face with genius British scientist Sophie Bridgerton. Cue the chaos from the family realizing that Charlie brought his little mom to the future.

In the end when the evil corporation is defeated and the future time continuum is saved Sophie goes back to the past, ready to endure under Araminta until she can get an early emancipation and a scholarship to put all her effort into science and create a time Machine... and then she bumps into some slacker teenager painting the walls with graffiti and calling it art. Young Benedict is far from the wonderful man Sophie met in the future, but... she wants to stick to him and figure out how they ended up married in the future, worse, as her life keeps progressing and her friendship/ on and off art trade offs, with Ben keeps getting stronger trough the years, how can she hide the knowledge of who exactly is her in-laws future spouse.

Take for example Penelope from the journalism club, when Colin Bridgerton said he'd never date her, Sophie wanted to punch him and tell him he'd regret those words soon enough. She literally saw his adult version missing his wife just because Penelope went outside for air. And let's not mention Benedict's pompous older brother who always thinks he knows best, making plans to date Kate's sister right Infront of Sophie and Benedict. At that point Sophie was just opening a betting pool with grandma Danbury and calling it a day. Simon showing up one day and pretending to date Daphne was honestly the least weird part of Sophie's college years. When they got married, she was the least surprised, she knew!!

Francesca getting married to Michael's cousin? Since when? Sophie was convinced Michael was Fran's husband in the future, she didn't know about any John...wait ..wait oh no

And let's not get started with super feminist ' I don't need a man I'll never get married afraid of children ' Eloise, little Sophie was almost adopted into the Bridgerton family because adult Eloise was an avid children's rights advocate with a husband who believed in adopting orphans left and right. To find out that Eloise, the star step mom who was all about healing Sophie's trauma, used to be some surly angry highschool rebel, really had Sophie wondering if Eloise had a nicer secret twin.

And all the while in which Sophie is going with the flow keeping up with the Bridgertons and helping them out into becoming the happily weird and chaotic family she knows they can be. She ends up not noticing that ex graffiti artist, turned gallery owner Benedict is really into her. Mostly because Sophie knows herself as his wife or rather his future wife. And he keeps asking her to be his friend with benefits so she automatically thinks he's joking and doesn't pay him attention whenever he DMs her a horny come hither.

Benedict's family on the other hand who already love Sophie, keep telling him that a genius inventor like Sophie will never take him seriously unless he's ready to give her something solid to rely on. Instead of being a shameless tease, he should be a man and ask her out for real. But Benedict hesitates because Sophie already looks like she's been inlove with someone since forever. What he doesn't know is that he's actually jealous of himself, or rather, jealous of the man he'll be in the future, who Sophie met when she was 12.

What a complicated mess.

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Thieves of Dusk - Chapter 4: Daylight

by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Relationships: Sophie Beckett/Benedict Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Sophie Beckett & Eloise Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett & Violet Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton & Benedict Bridgerton & Colin Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton & Eloise Bridgerton

Characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett, Anthony Bridgerton, Kate Sharma, Sophie Beckett's Grandmother, Colin Bridgerton Eloise Bridgerton

Summary: Freshly christened, yet-already-bored-out-of-his-mind nobleman Benedict Bridgerton is roused back to life by his encounter with a curious, enchanting figure at twilight.

OR

The Evil Bridgerton AU nobody asked for

Tags: The Villainous Viscount AU, Benophie meetcute but they're both kind of evil, the Bridgertons are nouveau riche, Vietnamese Sophie, BiWoc Sophie, villains doing bad things and having fun with it!, Smoking, Chaos, Love At First Sight, Bugs Eating, Violence, Abuse

Author's Notes:

Introducing: some silly Bridgertons.

@hopepaigeturner Flowers for her support as well as her lovely off-shoot for this little AU!