#we need more sophie content

[thekatebridgerton]

More reasons why I love Sophie Beckett

So it’s no secret in this blog that I love Sophie as a character, she is very close to my heart and on my bad days I find strength in characters like her because she is so well written. The thing I admire the most about Sophie, is that she didn’t let her circumstances break her, or harden her into becoming jaded and cynical. Sophie endured terrible circumstances, she knew she was unwanted, unloved, and had no resources to escape her terrible situation. The servants who treated her marginally better than Araminta and her family, either left or were let go because Araminta was a terrible mistress. Sophie was alone in a hostile environment with little hope of rescue. The love of her life was a wonderful man whose fatal flaw was that he thought he could buy her and believed that she should be satisfied with such offer.

And yet Sophie never stopped being kind, she didn’t let those things define her, she continued to hope and to believe and to endure, because she refused to let Araminta or her absent father break her spirit, she refused to let Benedict’s persistence make her into something she wasn’t, she continued to silently fight,  until she got out, and when she finally got out, she took Posey with her, because once she was in a position to help, she did.

I need characters like her, because in Sophie, her kindness, compassion and consideration isn’t a weakness. She’s strong because she has managed to retain all those things even in a circumstance where any other woman would have lost their optimism. In a world of cynical heroines, Sophie is cheerful. She never feels sorry for herself, she doesn’t blame things beyond her control for her misfortunes and she just keeps moving forward with hope. She is confident enough in her worth as a person, to demand the same respect from Benedict. Araminta tried to take that away, the world tried to take that away, they wanted to Sophie to feel worthless, which was a common thing among illegitimate women, who thought being a mistress was enough to survive. But Sophie knew she could keep going regardless. She knew she was a good person, she knew she was worth more than her bastard status, and her penniless circumstances and if that meant standing up to Benedict and refusing to be his mistress then so be it.

And I just want to see that on screen. We need more characters like Sophie. A character who’s only superpower, and deus ex machina, is having such a big heart, that she’s able to overcome tough circumstances and reach for her happy ending without compromising the kind and loving essence of who she is.

 And that’s the tea.

[discjude]

Rereading any of the multiple parts of TCY where Japeth is just. actually going insane and being a loser feels like this sometimes. yknow what i mean bro was STRUGGLING

[assignedmale]

I'm on the verge of quitting everything. I've been crying all day. I'm tired of putting up a candid face when social media is scr*wing over trans creators or only showing my art to anti-trans suicide-baiters. Even though this has been my most productive year ever, in terms of online content, I get comments practically every day about how rarely people get to see my posts in their feed.

Since last winter's natural disaster, we haven't been able to afford groceries. We haven't had hot water since March. I've been late on student loans and car payments for months. Orders are late and I feel like I'm failing everyone.

On top of that, I'm still regularizing my situation in this country, and in that context, I just received a letter telling me that as a self-employed artist, I'm obligated to put a monthly $700 in a private retirement fund (and pay the 21 months backlog since I officially started paying taxes here). The only other options are to quit art or go back to Canada.

I've talked in the past few months about the necessity for the survival of this project to double the amount of subscribers on patreon. Each time, social media killed the reach of these posts. I'm not expecting this one to do better. However, it has never been more urgent. There needs to be about 200 new subs or I might be forced to shut it all down. I'm really scared and I wish this wasn't the only way.

You got some choices, although they are being updated more or less regularly - keeping Assigned Male Comics free and easily available on social media remains my priority : Assigned Male Comics patreon A Frog in the Bog (foraging and DIY) patreon Pastel Sexy Times (nsfw) patreon Candycore Comics patreon

Paypal : @assignedmale

I'm sure you all got so much on your plate, and you could do without the series of woes that have afflicted our family this year. Thank you for reading through this and for your constant support, even if it's just through leaving comments - it does help. It's my privilege to create these comics, and I hope to do it as long as you will allow me.

xx Sophie

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the ball

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, nondescript mention of gagging (not related to self-image) in [III.iii], sexually charged 18+ interactions in middle to end of [III.iv]—minors dni, please stop at the end of the paragraph that begins "you repeat his words with sped up mockery"; you may resume at "you jut out your hip"

word count:  15.7k (of 38.8k)

story context:  everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons.  this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season. 

additional notes:  this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2!  she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits.  they have not yet watched queen charlotte.  the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note:  this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years.  :)  it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens.  additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years.  the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @stvrdustalexx @bedobeeeee @crazymar15 @kahhorri @mayalopes @benedictbridgertonss @athensflower @02wrldz @queerlavalier @merlslrem @pillsbury-doughgirl @lamourdure3ans and all who have read either/both sections one and two—thank you. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“you look like a princess, y/n!” hyacinth squeals in delight.

“i regret not being of age yet to attend balls,” gregory sighs.  “i would have been honored to ask you for your first dance.”

you beam at the youngest bridgertons with all the fondness in your heart.  judith, an elderly maid of number five, had attempted to dispel hyacinth and gregory from the room as your hair was done, but you had asked her to please allow them to stay.  the two kept you at ease throughout the foreign process, and their sweet sincerity kept you grounded amidst the anxiety that still floods your veins.

“you are both too kind.  and fear not; tomorrow morning we will have a ball all of our own,” you lean in for a whisper, them following suit to listen.  “and perhaps we will need the talents, and bravery, of a young sorceress and a young knight to save the guests from the intrusion of an unruly wyvern.”

“you promise?!” hyacinth and gregory yell at the same time.  you hold out your pinky finger, just as you used to do with your siblings, and the two young ones wrap their pinkies around yours.

“i promise.”

“you are all done, miss y/l/n,” says alice, placing the last pin into your hair.  she steps back and curtsies.  her formality towards you renders you uneasy; she treats you as above her but you are of the same world.  you school your facial features from showing your unease; you do not want to upset her or have her wrongly think that she has done something wrong.

“no need to call me ‘miss.’  i am simply y/n!”  you grin at alice.  “a friend.”

she smiles, albeit a bit sheepishly. 

“of course, y/n.  are you ready to see yourself?”

you shudder in a breath.  you had asked not to be prepared in front of a mirror.  to have seen your transformation so readily reflected at you at every point of this process—

you exhale frantically.  the maids and genevieve had graciously accommodated your wishes, both going so far as rearranging this room and her fitting room to avoid any lines of your sight with a potential reflection; you were, and are, utterly grateful.  

but i am unable to delay the inevitable any longer.

standing up and squaring your shoulders, you give alice a feeble nod.  she bows her head in response, a small, encouraging smile on her lips, and leads you to the mirror as hyacinth and gregory turn in their seats to watch you cross the room.  

it is just a dress.  it is just a tiara, and just some jewelry, and just some gloves, and just some shoes, and just a bit of makeup.  it is just you.  it is still you.  be the courageous person you are, y/n.

or—

just before you see even a miniscule bit of your reflection in that accursed mirror, you shut your eyes tight.

—be a coward.

you continue step by agonizing step, approximating where the mirror is, and shudder in another breath.

perhaps i am being too dramatic.  perhaps i can faint and feign illness.  perhaps i shall run away by way of the nearest window.  perhaps i—

“the mirror is to your left, y/n; whenever you are ready,” coaxes alice.

you exhale once more.

or perhaps, i should open my eyes.

and so you do.

oh.

“oh,” you say aloud.

the person you see in the gilded full-length mirror is, somehow, a complete stranger and entirely you.

the one time you’ve worn makeup before was for your elder sister’s wedding:  a bit of your mother’s rouge on your cheeks and lips to have some color to your otherwise dull face.  now, your cheekbones glow with a blush much more complimentary to your complexion than a mere red as your lips shine with a gossamer of a similar shade.  entirely new to you are the glimmering minerals on your eyelids that magically bring attention to your eyes and make them shine like starlight.

your eyebrows have been plucked (much to your initial pain but your current appreciation), maintaining their shape and fullness but now without strays.  

soft tendrils of curls frame your face, and your hair—normally worn down when not working—has been pulled back into a loose coiffure and styled with sprigs and small blooms, the crown of your head graced with a silver tiara.

“this,” violet smiled fondly when she first set the tiara on top of your head, “is the tiara i wore to my first ball after my presentation.  i had insisted on keeping it, thinking i could pass it on to my daughter when her first ball had come.  but daphne was resolute on having her own tiara, and eloise was resolute on not wearing any,” violet laughed, her eyes shining when they connected with yours, “i see now, though, perhaps it was always meant to be yours.”

“violet, i— i cannot wear this.  it is too— it’s too—”

sumptuous?  opulent?  regal?  

no.

well, yes, the tiara is all those things.  but those were not what had concerned you then.  it’s too—

“beautiful,” you admitted quietly.

something as beautiful as that surely does not belong on the head of someone like you.

“well,” violet smiled, “then you are merely proving my point, my dear.  it perfectly suits you.”

you hold out your hands, flare out your fingers, and stretch out your arms, examining the dark forest green of your long satin gloves, mesmerized that a muted color with such depth and richness could be achieved through dyes.

moving your hand, you touch one of the small rosewhite pearls adorning your earlobes and, with your other hand, touch the inky oblong pearl that shimmers violet, indigo, and green as it hangs from the thin, black velvet choker around your neck.

“my dear,” mama appeared in your doorway one evening as you wrote at your table, “do you require jewelry for your occasion?”

“oh.  i suppose i do?  i hadn’t given it much thought.”  jewelry had been the last thing on your mind of things that terrified you of the impending ball.

“well, if you have not been offered anything by the bridgerton family yet, i thought— i thought perhaps you might like these.”

she approached you, a small wooden box in her hand, and placed it on your table.  taking the box into your hands, you looked at it and then up at mama.  she smiled at you but something of her countenance seemed strained.  nervous.  you offered her a smile in an attempt to assuage whatever concerns preoccupied her mind and, turning back to the box, unclasped it open.

“these are the earrings and necklace i wore when i married your papa.  they were gifts from your grandmama that were gifts from her mama.  i had tried giving them to your sister when she was to be married, but she thought…  they are plain, nothing like what those fashionable people wear, i am certain; but if you have nothing else, i—”

you shot up from your seat, throwing your arms around your mama, feeling how she reeled from the ferocity of your sudden embrace, as you clutched onto the box of her wedding jewelry.

“they are beautiful, mama,” you said quietly but emphatically as the vehemence of your emotions tried to trap your words in your throat.  “they are the most beautiful things i have ever seen, and i am so— i am so honored to be bestowed with the blessing of wearing them, and of wearing them proudly.  thank you.”

you heard how mama sniffed her nose, and how she tried to hide it, as she gently rubbed your back, as she always had in your moments of vulnerability.

“i love you, my child.”

“i love you, mama.”

you then touch your exposed shoulders.  the neckline of your dress, nowhere near your neck, follows the curved peaks of your breasts to meet and form a small v-shape in the crevice of your bosom.  

“where is the chemise?” was the first thing you had said when you first tried on the gown at the modiste.

genevieve grinned.

“there is none.”

your jaw dropped.

“then what of a stay?  what sort of stay would be worn with this?”

turning slightly, and noting your rather bare upper arms in the process, you angle your exposed back towards the mirror.  another v-shape, its furthest point down a third of your bare spine.  

“my dear, both you and i know that you already know the answer to your inquiry.”

“oh, my good g—”

never, in your life, has the expanse of your upper body been so naked and on display than in this ball gown.

“i do not mean to doubt your artistry, genevieve; truly!, the dress is magnificent, but—” you turned to kathani, who had exclaimed and clapped with immense delight upon seeing you in the gown, “is this—— permissible?”

the viscountess had arched an eyebrow at you then.

“y/n y/l/n, concerned with the rules of society?  and of high society, at that?”

“no— no!” you yelled all too loudly as genevieve chortled and placed pins for final alterations into the dress.  “i just, i just do not want to embarrass you and your family, is all.”

you had not meant for your voice to come out so quiet and small.  the older women’s faces softened immediately.

“you could never embarrass us, y/n,” kathani stated with such tenderness.  then she smiled.  “you look beautiful.”

the off-white base layer of the dress feels luxurious against your skin, the fabric hugging your upper body, puffing out at the sleeves, and, from the underbust, flowing and falling into a cone silhouette for the skirt—but what truly awes you is the artistry of the outermost layer.  a cream translucent silk, the piña seda (you recall genevieve proudly naming it as) of the outermost layer glistens while you sway and turn your body, light shifting and transforming the ever beauty of the dress, the swish of the skirt moving like how waves are described in the passages of your books and in the reminiscing of your parents’ memories.  lined at the underbust begins the intricate thicket of embroidered foliage, painstakingly threaded with innumerable shades of greens and blues, a shimmering teal threaded throughout to gleam in tandem with the sheen of the fabric.  the embroidery of foliage then grows and thickens as it cascades down the middle of the dress and comes to an encircling end a few inches above and around the floor-length hem.  in the negative space of the piña seda are spread out, small ivory embroideries of floral motifs.  

it is a dress deserving of someone most beloved in titania’s garden court. 

“indeed,” genevieve affirmed, a smile on her lips akin to kathani’s.  “those in attendance will not be prepared.  you will look the most beautiful of all.”

and perhaps…

perhaps you should be unnerved by how different your dress will be from the others’ of the ton.  perhaps you should be unnerved by how easily you will stand out from the crowds.  perhaps you should be unnerved by the attention, the whispers, the stares you will inevitably receive with your dress, with your appearance, with your presence, with your very existence.  but, instead— 

“i do look like a princess,” you say finally.  quietly. 

you do look beautiful.

like you could belong amidst the ton.  

like you could belong with the bridgertons.  

like you could belong with him.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“are you anxious, y/n?”

you turn to gregory at your side and see the swell of worry in his eyes.

“what gives you that impression?”

“you are shaking terribly,” hyacinth comments from your other side, replacing her usual pluck and wit with a worry akin to her brother’s.  

the two had volunteered to escort you from the dressing room that you had been prepared in to the grand staircase of number five.  with their arms hooked around yours, gregory on your left and hyacinth on your right, the youngest bridgertons have been walking you down the corridor.  your heart aches with anguish:  you know you have failed when the children are the ones to care for the adult.

“i am sorry to have concerned you both.  yes, i— i am anxious.”

“it is reasonable to be anxious.  but there are a great many cakes at these balls, or so i’ve heard, so you can eat one, and then another, to help ease your nerves!”

“how is that of any help, gregory.”

“it is plenty of help!”

“to eat and eat when she is already uneasy?  the last time you were uneasy, you nearly—”

“do not recount that in front of y/n!”

“why not!”

“it is not— it is not proper!”  gregory’s voice jumps in pitch, causing a swift blush to form on the apples of his cheeks.  hyacinth snorts.

“why does your voice do that?”

“i do not know!  kate said it is natural for bo— for young men to experience such a thing!”

“aren’t young men meant to be tall?”

“i am an inch taller than you now!”

“you are not!”

“i am too!”

you laugh.  the youngest bridgertons halt their dispute and look at you. 

“i must say, your usual squabbling is keeping me much at ease,” and you offer a sympathetic smile to gregory.  “i am sorry that it seems to be at your expense, however.”

his eyes shine.

“you need not worry about me!  i am glad to see you smile.”

“i as well,” hyacinth adds.  you turn to her and see how her eyes shine too. 

“i am most grateful to you both for being at my side on such a night.”

“we are most grateful for you, y/n.”

“that is something, and probably the singular thing, hyacinth and i can agree upon.”

you plant soft kisses on the tops of their heads, just as mama and papa and your elder sister had done when you were their ages.  gregory and hyacinth nestle their heads into your upper arms and only part from you when the three of you reach the top of the first set of steps.  

“are you ready?” 

though you wish to say ‘no,’ you brace yourself with a deep inhale and nod.

your heart quickens with each step as time around you slows.  your mouth has gone dry, and your body feels entirely numb, sensation only returning to you when you feel hyacinth and gregory unhook their arms from yours.  turning your head, you see them stepping backwards, away from you, leaving you at the center of the landing to the rest of the grand staircase.  you face forward once more, and ahead, below, you see the gentlemen and ladies of bridgerton house, waiting for you, looking at you.  

you swallow. 

for the very first time, in your dress, by yourself, you take a step forward.

breathe, y/n.  shoulders back; tilt your chin up, but not too much; just as kathani had taught you.  and just, breathe.

but it is hard to breathe with all eyes on you.  with—

i must control myself.   i must not seek him out.  i must not seek out his face.  i must not seek out those o—

you step on the hem of your dress and feel yourself start to fall forward.  thankfully, god, for whatever reason, has blessed you with enough dexterity in this very moment, and you manage to catch yourself from tumbling down the steps as you hear gasps from above and below you.  you mumble an apology (you don’t know why; it is not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear) and offer everyone a smile.  upon seeing their relaxed shoulders and reassured expressions, you continue to descend the staircase.

stupid benedict.  distracting me in remembering how to walk, and how to breathe, and how to— 

oh.  

i am doing it again.

shit.

goddamnit, stupid benedict!

somehow, you reach the landing of number five’s entrance hall without any additional accidents and, approaching the bridgertons, immediately look to the viscountess.  as if knowing you seek her approval, kathani nods her head; a beam illuminates her countenance.  you feel yourself ease, your shoulders relaxing (that you promptly square again; you are, after all, pretending to be a lady for the night), your heart racing less, if only minutely, and manage a smile.  you feel someone take hold of your gloved hand and, turning to face the source, see violet gazing at you. 

“beautiful.”

it is all she says, but with such tenderness in her voice, it makes your heart swell.

“the importance of appearance,” rasps eloise, causing you to turn to her, “and the lengths gone to achieve so-called perfection of such, especially for those of feminine disposition, is an entirely antiquated, offensive concept that must be eradicated from our, and all, societies—— but you do, look, beautiful, y/n.”

you grin. 

“we’ll eradicate it together; and with help along the way, i am certain.”

when she responds in kind, you turn to the gentlemen, and, to your mortification, colin and anthony bow at you.  the high society etiquette directed towards you from your friends overwhelms you with an embarrassment that you cannot even begin to fathom; they haven’t performed such formalities towards you since your first meeting all those months ago.  but, in spite of your horror, the sincerity of their intentions, as well as their countenances, touches you deeply.

“madame delacroix and the maids have outdone themselves,” remarks anthony.  “as mother and eloise have said, you look beautiful, y/n.”

“indeed,” colin beams.  when he turns to benedict, however, his smile transforms into an expression befitting of a fairytale creature; one with mischievous intentions.  “what say you, brother?”

you follow his line of sight and connect with ocean eyes.  the flood of self-consciousness and the tempo of your heartbeats magnify hundredfold under his gaze, the butterflies within you fluttering the most violently they ever have, and you feel as though your entire body has been set ablaze.

anthony, with what looks like a smirk, nudges his brother with his elbow.  as if suddenly aware of where he is, benedict hastily bows at you and, returning his ocean eyes to yours, says,

“you look— well.”

you hear eloise snort.  turning your head towards her, you see she has completely sucked in her lips.  to her left, kathani smiles massively.  to kathani’s left, violet remains ever poised but with wide, sparkling eyes.  you still feel self-conscious but are infinitely amused by whatever is happening to the bridgertons and, with a playful smile on your lips, return your gaze to benedict.

“thank you, mr. bridgerton.  i had felt uneasy with an unnerved stomach earlier, but i am glad to know that my health appears to be in proper order.”

and you deeply curtsy at him. 

from above you hear the sweet giggles of the youngest bridgertons.  ahead, in your periphery, you see how anthony closes his eyes as he sucks in air through his nostrils and how colin, with an unabashed laugh, clasps his hand onto benedict’s shoulder.

“well!” anthony booms, attempting to control his smile on what ought to be an authoritative expression. “i believe we have a ball to commence.  shall you lead the way, viscountess?”

and with an expression both equal in authority and warmth, kathani declares,

“i shall.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you had grown ease of mind knowing that you would not be asked to dance.  not only were you a stranger to everyone in the ton aside from the bridgertons and penelope, you were also not handsome like the debutantes flitting about the room, swishing prettily in their gowns, strategically but delicately fluttering their eyes at a gentleman with which they wished to dance.  with anonymity and a plain face, you enjoyed the haven of people observing, snickering at the artifice and smiling at the sincerity.  kathani chatting with her guests.  anthony standing by her side.  penelope dancing with colin.  eloise hiding behind a plant.  violet beaming at her family.  (you tried to convince yourself that you had not noticed the absence of a particular person.)  your nerves have finally begun to calm, finding content in your station at the margins of the dance floor.

when colin bridgerton approaches you, hand outstretched in your direction, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“miss y/l/n, may you do me the honor?”

“i’m sorry, what?”

he laughs.

“will you dance with me?”

you gape at him.

“you’re mad.”

“my mind is perfectly intact.”

“this is unwise.”

“this is the best decision i have made this night.”

“i shall surely step on your toes.”

“i have worn my sturdiest shoes for the occasion.”

the corners of your mouth tug down into a moue at the third bridgerton’s stubborn charm.  his grin merely widens as your eyes narrow to slits at him.  penelope approaches from behind the beguiling imp and smiles warmly at you.

“it will be fun,” she encourages. “i promise.”

penelope!  no!

“et tu, brute?” you bemoan.

she shrugs.

“what is a ball without dancing?” penelope offers.  sweet innocence colors her voice, but the delighted glint in her eyes reveals her true duplicitous nature.  she knew exactly how to play the game of this conversation, no doubt a devious plot concocted between her and her beau.

you sigh.

“fine,” you huff, slapping your hand into colin’s palm.  “i would be honored, mr. bridgerton.”

the diabolical duo laughs at the sarcasm that drips from your words as colin leads you to the lineup on the dance floor.  

–

“how is the dance treating you, miss y/l/n?” 

“i hate you.” 

colin guffaws.  (you see in your periphery how heads shift towards him and how eyes narrow at you.  the partner you had just left looks at you with particular scrutiny.)

“if your hatred towards me is the cost of you enjoying the ball, then it is a burden i shall carry, and happily so.” 

“has anyone ever told you how infuriating you bridgertons are?” 

“no, but we very well know that we are,” he grins, “and we take immense pride in it.”

you groan, throwing your head back.  (you hear murmurs around you.  not ladylike.)

“are you truly not having fun?”  the gentleness in his voice makes you look back at him.  his expression is soft.  sad.  guilty.  “we can leave the lineup, if that is what you would like.” 

you consider his words and his offer.

“i am having fun,” you reply truthfully.  his eyes light up at that and your heart warms at the sight.  “it is just— being in a circumstance so wholly unfamiliar— it’s overwhelming, is all, i think.  but…” you feel a smile form on your lips, “knowing that you all—as infuriating as you bridgertons are—are here with me, by my side, wanting me to enjoy myself, wanting me to be happy, it makes all the overwhelming feeling worthwhile.  i am happy.  you all make me happy.”

colin doesn’t say anything.  he just stares at you as the two of you dance still.  you are about to inquire—

“i am grateful to call you my friend, y/n.  becoming your friend has been one of the greatest blessings to have been bestowed upon me and my family.”

you suck in a breath. 

as is becoming yours has been one of mine.

but another thought also lives in your mind.  so, on the exhale of your breath, you smirk.

“only second to falling in love with penelope, yes?”

he laughs, an uncharacteristic shy smile forming on his lips as he looks at his feet and then back at you, eyes shining incandescently.

“i hope you do not take offense to being second.”

“being second to penelope is truly, sincerely, still a victory in of itself.  you are very blessed, indeed, to be her premier.”

you did not think colin’s eyes could shine brighter than they had mere moments prior, but you suppose— no, you are certain that this is the effect that the love of penelope featherington has on the third eldest bridgerton:  the light in colin’s eyes is absolute radiance.

“‘very blessed’ is to put it very lightly.”

with unabashed grins, you and colin continue to dance.  you have to walk most of the steps, often keeping good on your promise and stepping on his toes, but your partner is deterred neither by your incompetence nor by his injuries.  the two of you laugh (drawing leers from the other guests, you notice but brush off) and end your dance with exaggerated flourishes of a curtsy and a bow to one another.

“you underestimate your dancing skills, miss y/l/n,” colin remarks with a beam.

“see if you feel the same after tending to your bruises, mr. bridgerton,” you beam back.

“colin bridgerton!”

you both whip your gazes to the call of colin’s name and see a man fastly, eagerly approaching.

“hastings!” 

hastings?  why does that sound familiar? 

colin and the absurdly handsome man embrace, smiles broad and sincere. 

“i was uncertain you would be joining us on this occasion.”

“we would have seen to arriving early, as we had intended, but augie is proving to be quite unpredictable with his tantrums as of late.”

“he must take after his uncles,” colin smirks with odd pride.  that makes the other man chuckle.

“unfortunately, it seems to be so.”

he then shifts his gaze onto you.  his expression is curious and— sweet?  kindly.  you feel yourself become rather self-conscious as you notice, in your periphery, colin assuming a posture of gentlemanliness.

“my apologies for my dreadful manners.  simon, this is miss y/n y/l/n.  y/n, this is simon basset.”

simon bows most graciously at you.

“good evening, miss y/l/n.  it is a true pleasure to finally meet you.  i am simon basset, daphne’s husband.”

daphne?  

as in daphne bridgerton?

you recall the day you and benedict toured the art gallery:  a portrait, a fairly recent one, it seemed, of a beautiful young woman and a beautiful young man—the duchess and the duke of hastings, the plaque read.

your jaw drops.

“you are the duke!”  you remember the etiquette kathani taught you.  “your grace!”  and you sloppily curtsy.

simon laughs.

“that is hardly necessary.  please, if you feel comfortable in doing so, call me simon.”

“yes— of course!, your— simon,” you compose yourself.  “and you may call me y/n; i would prefer it, actually.”

simon grins.

“then, y/n, may i have the honor of having your next dance?”

your jaw drops again, your composure completely falling away.  you look at simon, who is utterly amused by your reaction, and then to colin, who is utterly delighted by the turn of events, and back to simon.

“that is a mistake.”

that earns guffaws from both of the men.  (you feel stares falling upon them and, once again, scowls falling upon you.)  

“i am more than willing to make that discovery for myself, if you will allow it.”

you throw back your head (ignoring the additional glares shot your way) and, with a sigh, whip it back to look at simon with a fatigued, but earnest, smile.

“i shall allow it.”

colin bows his head at you, his grin having never left his countenance since the end of your dance together, and steps to the side as you place your hand into simon’s outstretched one and are led to the next lineup by the duke.

–

“has the duchess accompanied you to the ball this evening?”

“while it is poor courtesy to speak on behalf of my wife when she can speak for herself, i can say, with confidence, that she would much rather you call her daphne.”

“kathani had taught me your society’s etiquette in preparation for the ball, in the event it would be necessary,” you roll your eyes.  “while i find it all utterly ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary for me in particular, i want to honor the knowledge that my teacher has bestowed upon me as a way to honor her.”

simon grins.

“you are a dedicated student.  indeed, she is in attendance.  the last i had seen her, she was tending to benedict.”

your heart sinks.

oh no.

“tending to benedict?  is he unwell?  did something happen?  is he all right?”

you hear how your voice rises in pitch and grows louder and more frantic with each word.  (you try not to care for the stares that you feel on you.  they are not of importance right now——or ever.)

is that why i have not seen him all night?  because he is in poor condition?  shall i leave the ball?  shall i see where he is being tended to?  shall i—

“y/n?”

oh.  yes.  you were having a conversation with simon.

“sorry, what did you say?”

“i had said that i did not mean to worry you,” simon says sincerely, but there is something in his smile.  not suspicious, neither mocking nor teasing.  it is as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotion.  “i simply mean that she is speaking with him and— encouraging him, is all.”

you feel the entirety of your body, mind, heart, and soul ease; but now, you are perplexed.

“encouraging him?  whatever for?”

“i had not stayed with them long enough to hear the details of their conversation; i had sought you out rather immediately.”

“me!”

the dance had timed perfectly that upon receiving such information, you are forced to turn to another partner (who is unnerved to have you as a temporary companion).  when you reunite with simon, his chuckling has mostly subsided.

“indeed.  the viscount had encouraged me to ask you for a dance.  the viscountess then stated that you required the practice.”

“i—— am utterly lacking in words in how to respond to that.”

“if it is of any comfort to you, it was something i had already intended on doing.”

“that is, rather strange?”

he grins.

“i can see how that is so from your perspective, yes.  but from mine,” and it surprises you how suddenly simon’s countenance softens, “i had to find out for myself how wonderful this y/n y/l/n is to have so easily won the affections of all the bridgertons at number five.  daff and i, as well as francesca, were becoming quite jealous that we did not have the good fortune to spend time with you as the rest of the family has had.”

“the family has… spoken of me?”

“in these past months of knowing you, you have become their most beloved topic of conversation.  hyacinth and gregory idolize how resplendent of a storyteller you are.  eloise adores being challenged by your intellect.  colin aspires to your ferocity of quick wit.  kate cherishes every discussion you share together.  anthony reveres your unwavering resolve.  violet becomes overcome with delight at every recounting of a memory in which you are involved.  and benedict…”

you swallow.

“yes?” 

you hear how feeble and quiet your voice has become.  

“never stops speaking of you; so much so that it would be impossible to abridge what he loves in you.”

you shut your eyes closed at the words “he loves” and attempt to control the tears that threaten to flow at the word “you.”  

the love he has for you is not the love you have for him.

“i— i did not know that they held me in such high regard,” you whisper.

you flutter your eyes open, grateful that no tears have fallen, and are greeted by the gentlest of smiles from simon.  it assuages your soul.

“the highest of regards.  they care very deeply for you.”

“and i care very deeply for them,” you declare softly.  you then feel yourself break out into a smile.  “i cannot say the same for you, yet, but i can see it forthcoming.”

simon throws his head back with a loud laugh, your smile transforming into a large grin (as you ignore the scowls that fall upon you).  simon whips his head back to you, and he too wears a large grin.

“i am honored that you see the potential within me.”

with a final spin, you and simon release the other’s hand, ending the dance in a curtsy and a bow, both of your grins non-faltering.

“thank you for bestowing me the honor of dancing with you.”

you snort.  (you hear scoffs and other suppressed noises of disapproval.)

“i fail to see how much of an honor it is to have someone incessantly knock into you, but if such is your feeling,” you curtsy with much theatricality and, upon your rise, let out a sigh of relief.  “now, i shall retire to the margins once more.”

simon, once again, looks as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotions, but in it you detect— delight?  you narrow your eyes.

“what?”

“you are not meant for the margins, y/n; please forgive me,” and with that, simon bows, his smile still non-faltering, and turns to leave you in the middle of the dance floor.

you are about to call out his name, curious and agitated by his vagueness—

“y/n?”

you turn around to the familiar voice and are greeted by a smiling anthony.

“oh no.  are you going to ask me for the honor of having my next dance?”

the viscount looks as if he is about to howl with laughter and attempts to mask it, poorly, with his absurdly elated smile.

“is the idea of dancing with me truly so appalling?”

“the idea of dancing more is what i find so appalling.”

“i shan’t force you to do anything you do not want to do.”

“but how will your pride take it?”

this time anthony fully howls (earning looks of confusion at the host and their looks, predictably, turning to glares when they trace the impropriety back to you).

“i am always working on humbling myself,” he says, his expression softening.  “i assure you that i, as well as my pride, can manage your rejection if it means that you are happy.  you need not worry about my well-being.”

these damned bridgertons, and their damned charm, and their damned sincerity.

despite your internal accusations, you smile.  you offer your hand (hearing a gasp or a few around you), and beaming, anthony takes it.

–

“you look like a princess, y/n!”

the saccharine words of hyacinth echo in your mind.  with the transmutative magics of your fairy godmothers in mama, violet, kathani, genevieve, judith, alice, and the maids of bridgerton house, the impossible was made possible:  you look like a princess.  but it is not until this very moment, after descending a regal staircase, after entering this enchanting ball, after dancing with two dashing gentlemen and now a third, that you feel like a princess.  you recall how you and your siblings played imagination; how you often asked to be the princess; how you did it so often that mama sewed you a dress from scraps of fabric and papa crafted you a crown out of discarded branches and your elder sister announced you as princess y/n whenever you played and your younger sibling waltzed with you around the first floor of your home.  it makes you elated with childlike wonder how fortunate you are to be here and how lovely it is to be here, how strange and wonderful it is that imagination has become real life; as if it is all a wish for which you did not know you had wished, a wish that you did not know you had wanted to come true until it came true.

but—

“is there something on your mind, y/n?” you hear anthony ask, sometime after returning to him as your partner.  “you seem pensive.”

“ah, yes.  despite my gripes with you, and your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—”

“i gave you an option not to do so!”

“i am not finished speaking!”

he huffs out air through his nostrils, waiting with what seems to be a morsel of patience for you to continue.

“despite my gripes with you, your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—” anthony gives you a tired look that of an older sibling; you grin, “i am enjoying myself.  i just wish, i just wish my family could be here with me, to enjoy it too.”

anthony’s expression softens immediately, and it makes your heart tighten.  you know with what gravity, duty, and love he looks after the entirety of his family; you have witnessed it at every given second since becoming his friend.  if someone were to be with you as you navigate this pain, you are glad that it is anthony.

“we shall invite them to the next ball we host,” he declares.  your jaw drops.  “it was a lack of foresight on my part for not doing so for this occasion, and i shan’t make that error again.”

you try to do rough estimations of what costs that would entail for the bridgertons— dresses and coats and shoes and four to six sets of two abstained days of work at least.

“anthony, i cannot possibly ask you to—”

“you did not ask,” he grins.  “i offered.  and i do so wholeheartedly.  it shall not be a trouble for us, just strategic planning as kathani and i work the books.  and before you protest—” you frown, both disappointed and flattered that anthony could sense your retaliation, “it is something i—as well as the rest of the family, i am certain—wish to do.  if you won’t consider it for yourself and your family, then perhaps consider it as a gift to us selfish bridgertons.” 

that makes you laugh loudly as you feel tears form in your eyes (whispers of you be damned).  expression turning gentle once more, anthony continues,

“it would be an honor to finally meet your family.  if they are even an inkling like you, then they must be truly wonderful, indeed.”

with a small sniffle of your nose and all the gratitude in your heart, you smile.

“they are.  they are truly wonderful.  i love them so much.”

anthony smiles in return with a nod of his head.

“then it is settled.”

“you are a good brother, anthony.”

you have wondered often if that is something anthony knows.  while the bridgertons’ love for one another is apparent in all that they do and say and breathe, you haven’t heard them say very complimentary things to one another, particularly to the eldest.  it is typical of families to tease and to jest, you know that intimately, but you also know how important, then, it is to tell your family what you truly think of them, how you truly feel of them.  they ought to know just how much they are loved.

though his overall demeanor is composed and dignified, the softness in anthony’s eyes reveals his true emotion.

“and you are a good sibling, y/n.”

< their dance eventually comes to an end.  someone approaches them. >

“good evening, brother,” benedict turns his ocean eyes to you.  “good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.”

you vaguely hear something in your periphery.  you turn to it and see a brilliant grin lighting up the viscount’s countenance.

“huh?”

“i had said that the viscountess is calling me over to her.  i must pardon myself.”

“oh.  yes.  farewell, anthony.”

his grin broadens, dimples forming in his cheeks, and he bows.  you see how, as he brings himself upright, his eyes shift towards his brother, the delight in his grin never leaving but something in his eyes… softening?  before you can fully process it, he has turned and now walks towards kathani.

you turn back to benedict.

“i—— good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.  though, we have already greeted each other this night, just moments ago.”

“ah, yes— that—— that would be correct.  and— is… correct.”

he is anxious.  your heart aches at the sight, and you want to reach out and touch him, comfort him, ease whatever his concerns are—but you refrain.

benedict clears his throat.

“are you— are you enjoying yourself?”

while heavy by benedict’s current state, your heart cannot help but glow brighter at his question.

“yes, tremendously so.  the dancing has been plenty fun, despite how horrendous i am at it.”

that makes benedict laugh, and relief floods your body, mind, soul, and heart.  it is good to hear him laugh.  to see him smile.

“i do not think you are as horrendous as you think you are.  your form has been quite good.”

you cock your head, feeling the scrunch of your eyebrows and the smirk on your lips.

“you have been observing me?”

his jaw drops, his body stiffening again.  suddenly shy, he looks at his shoes and, with a cough, looks back up at you, and you attempt to hold in your gasp.

how.  

how is that, after all this time, he makes these butterflies within me flutter still.

“i— i do not have a clever diversion for that.  yes; yes, i have.  i suppose i have been building the— the courage within myself.”

“‘the courage’?  the courage for what?”

he swallows.

“to ask you to dance with me.”

oh.

“oh.”

he looks… he looks scared.  exposed.  vulnerable.

you feel them within yourself, too.

he offers his hand.

“may i dance with you, y/n?”

you place your hand in his.

“yes.  yes, you may, benedict.”

i am terrified of nothing else and would love nothing more than to dance with you.

benedict leads you to the floor, his ocean eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his.

the quartet starts up, and you detect how it is music for a waltz.  of all the dances you were taught, even you can admit that you were best at learning the waltz.  

…

you curtsy as he bows.  benedict places his hand on your waist, and you try not to elicit your gasp from feeling his touch.

< their dance commences.  they are silent.  a lot of staring and shit.

< notably, y/n is not cognizant of the ton’s perception of her while she dances with benedict as she had been with her previous partners.  it seems her sole focus in this moment is dancing with benedict, being with benedict.  her heart, mind, body, and soul is with him.

< y/n’s mind goes Rampant when benedict places his hand on her exposed shoulder. >

do not close your eyes, you reprimand yourself.  if you close your eyes, you will indulge.  you will indulge in this sensation.  in this touch.  in his touch.  in benedict’s bare hand on the expanse of your exposed skin.  in imagination.  in fantasies.  in thoughts.  in other thoughts on other parts of your body that you so, so very much want him to—

“i had not spoken properly.”

you try not to shudder a gasp upon hearing his voice.

“pardon?” you say, a bit breathless.  the dance calling for it, benedict twirls you, and you are now face to face again.

“earlier; when i had commented on your appearance, i had said you looked well.”

you snort, recalling the peculiar word choice, and that earns a smile from benedict.

“what i had meant to say is—“ he swallows, “you look beautiful, y/n.”

“i think,” you respond perhaps too swiftly, “that is testimony to genevieve’s skill and not to my appearance.”

“i think genevieve only enhances what is already there.”

you want to change, you don’t want to change— you do want to change the topic.  you cannot handle whatever— whatever benedict is insinuating.  the indecipherable, intense, attentive gaze of his ocean eyes on you.  it is so much; it is too much.

“she spoke of you.”

shit.  why did i say that?

his face immediately falls, ocean eyes transforming with it.

shit.

“genevieve spoke of me?  with you?  why?”

“kathani had accompanied me to the modiste, and i had shared with genevieve how i became acquainted with penelope and the bridgertons,” you half-truth.  “talking about the family, and then you, was a natural consequence.”

“what did she say?  about me?”

you try not to wince at the urgency in his voice.

“she shared how you and she had— an intimate and passionate acquaintance,” you divulge, using the words your friend had to describe the artists’ relationship.  perhaps you imagine the sensation, but you feel benedict wince as you dance.  “and that it was brief and no more.”

“she said that?  ‘brief and no more’?”

“indeed.”

he sighs.  you detect relief in the exhale, but perhaps you had, once again, imagined it.  you always had an active imagination; trying to bend what you perceive to what you wish was real.

“i see,” is all benedict says.

“do you care for her?” you inquire.  it is truly masochistic, what you are doing.  but you cannot help yourself.  it is something you often do when benedict is near.  when you and he are so close.

there is a small silence.

“i did.  at least, i think i did,” he shares. “i was hurt when our— acquaintance came to an end, but i was not heartbroken.  i had known nothing of heartbreak, not until—”

and he suddenly stops speaking, sucking in his lips.

“until?”

“nothing.  nevermind.  forget i had said anything,” he says all too quickly.  you laugh, and he scrunches his face in adorable disapproval at you.

“well, that only makes me the more curious, benedict!  the mystery of it, and your very clear blush, indicate it must have been quite the event.”

“i am not blushing!”

“you cannot lie about something i can literally see.”

“you are infuriating.”

“and what do you think you are?”

benedict just pouts at you, though you see the twinkle in his ocean eyes.  you want the twinkle to be of affection, but you will settle for amusement.  for friendship.  you take pride in how you can elicit this reaction out of him.  you take joy in how he can elicit this reaction out of you.  you love him, and you are grateful that is something you can say and know and feel.  even if he does not love you as you love him.

“the first time i felt heartbreak,” he begins, finally giving in.  you perk up in anticipation.  “was when— was when you had walked out of the house after i had crumpled the paper to the floor.”

you nearly stop in your tracks, halting your waltz with benedict entirely, until you find a way to recover and continue the steps with him.  he is looking intently at you, waiting for your response.  you inhale a breath and on the exhale say,

“oh.”

it is a pathetic response, but it is the only one you can muster at this moment.  breath has entirely left your lungs, your heart palpitates at a maddening rate, the lightning of benedict’s touch and proximity magnifying at every passing second.

“i had hurt you, this person whom i—” he swallows, “whom i care for, deeply and completely.  i was, and am, ashamed of my deed and the arrogant thoughts and beliefs that led me to do it.”

“i have long forgiven you for that, benedict.”

“it is something of which i am not deserving.”

“you cannot tell me what to think or do,” you challenge, arching an eyebrow at him to add levity to the conversation.  benedict smiles, despite himself, and it makes your body flood with relief and joy. 

“i would never dare.”

“as you shouldn’t,” you grin, then inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils.  “you need not flagellate yourself for what you did.  that accomplishes nothing, and guilt is entirely useless in the structures that be,” you say resolutely.  more softly, you continue.  “my forgiveness is something i gave you willingly because it is what i truly wanted.  because i knew, and know, how you wish to do better.  i see that in everything you do; in your art, in your character.  it is something i admire in you.”

benedict simply stares at you, his ocean eyes impossible to decipher again.  his gaze is overwhelming, but you refuse to break it.

“i was about to say how undeserving i am of your compassion,” he says, “but then swiftly realized you would have just admonished me.”

you laugh.

“you were correct in thinking so, yes.”

he looks at you still, his expression still impossible to decipher, but there is something soft about it.

“thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies within you flutter once more.

“and if you ever wish to discard your paper again,” you diverge from your feelings, “simply hand it to me.  i am always in need of more.”

he laughs fully, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight, and you feel the flutterings violently rage within.  perhaps diversion was not the wisest choice (or perhaps it was, if it meant that you were the one to make benedict laugh like that).

“i have gotten quite good at maximizing the amount of negative space on a sheet, but nothing would delight me more than to support your writing.”

“i am most grateful for your patronage, mr. bridgerton.”

benedict makes something of a gagging noise, and you snort loudly.

“you are making it strange with the master-servant relation, y/n.”

“ah, so you are learning,” you comment with a sagacious nod of approval.  it is now benedict’s turn to snort.

“what can i say?” he grins.  “i have the greatest of teachers.”

“they have done quite well; please give them my regards.”

“i shall.”

and with the music coming to an end, you turn to face one another, wide and wild smiles on your faces.  you curtsy as benedict bows.  

“may i fetch you a drink?” he inquires after you are both upright again.

“is alcohol served at these occasions?”

benedict laughs.

“champagne it is.”

he gives you one more bow, lingering a moment more with one more smile, before taking off to retrieve your drink.

you try to bite back your smile, but it’s entirely useless.  you twirl in your spot, feeling the swish of your dress in the spin, for you cannot help yourself.  you cannot help how much joy radiates off of you in this moment, how giddy you are.  it feels like a fairytale.  you look in the direction benedict took off and feel your smile widen.

it is dangerous what you are doing— indulging in this.  but you do not care.

this is undoubtedly the most wondrous night of your life.

“so you’re the pauper that the bridgertons have invited to their ball.”

you freeze.

“how else would you have been asked to dance by the host—the viscount and a bridgerton, nonetheless; his two brothers; and the elusive duke of hastings?  it is an endearing sight, really.”

her posse snickers.

“the bridgertons have always been so kind and thoughtful in that way, extending their hands to the less fortunate.  why they chose you, however, remains a mystery.  if it were a pretty face that appealed to them, i perhaps could have understood, but you are simple at best.”

“you are cressida cowper,” you state.

penelope and eloise had warned you about a cruel creature amongst the ton, and the young woman before you matches all of the criteria they had described:  icy platinum hair, draconian eyes, and a haughty disposition that ought to be reserved for the royals.

cressida daintily gasps and smiles at you with what seems to be all the mockery she can muster.  

“i see that my reputation precedes me!  though, only those of my standing can refer to me as such.  cannot have my name tainted by the mouths of the lowly.”

you feel the gazes of other guests on you.  you hear muffled sneers.

this is entertainment for them.

you should say something, stand up for yourself— against cressida, against her posse, against the ton— but you don’t.  you can’t.  your mouth has gone dry, your mind has gone silent, your body has gone numb.  you have never, ever felt more powerless.

“your dress— did the bridgertons pay for it?  of course they did.  pity, though, for their wealth to go to waste on such an offensive thing.  allow me to assist you—”

and she pours her drink onto you.

you try not to gasp at the chill of the liquid making contact with your skin.  looking down, you see a reddish purple stain seep into the cream fabric of your ball gown as it continues to travel downwards.

you hear cressida giggle.  you look up.

“better,” she simpers.  “beautiful at last.”

her posse sneers with delight.  the guests who had tried to suppress their laughs do nothing to hide their mirth now.  

this is entertainment for them.  my humiliation— it is entertainment for them.

you step into cressida’s space, eliciting a stunned gasp from her as the others follow suit, and shove your face as closely to hers as possible.

“if we were not in your domain, i would rip out your delicate hair and strike my hand across your pretty little face.  but i am a lady—not in blood nor in title, but in character.  and with your words and your deeds, you have shown just how utterly undeserving you are of such a title with your complete void of morals, compassion, and integrity.  i do not care what you think of me, cressida, or what drinks you pour on me because i can rest easy in my sleep and waking hours knowing with perfect certainty that i am nothing like you.  i bid you good night.”

and maintaining the ferocity of your glare on her horrified eyes, you muster up the most mocking, deep curtsy you can, turn, hitch up your skirt, and run away.  you cannot care for the booming silence from that creature and her posse, for the murmurs and glowers of the ton thrown your way.  you cannot take time to process what words a flutters-inducing voice snarls at cressida.  

no. 

you must simply run away, quickly and efficiently, because you refuse to give into these monsters’ satisfaction of seeing your tears.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

the cool air of the night whips your face as you run as far and as deep as you can into the gardens.  you curse your damned shoes, for they are slippery and nothing like your sturdy boots, and they make you realize even further how much you have fucked up in allowing yourself to get this far.  in allowing yourself to go to the ball, in allowing yourself to dance, in allowing yourself to fall in—

feeling your shoe catch on something, you fall forward and throw your hands out in front of you, your gloved palms digging into the bark of a tree trunk as you attempt to steady yourself.  you attempt to control the staggered rhythm of your breath, the sobs that choke out of your throat, the palpitations that threaten to collapse your heart.

why did i allow myself to get this far?

“y/n—”

you snap your gaze over to the call of your name as your stomach knots, somehow, even now, with flutterings upon hearing his voice.

“benedict, no— just— no,” you manage to croak out, stepping away from where he approaches.  you hold up your hand, as if it is a magical force that will push him away.  it does not.  “just go, please, just go.”

“i refuse to leave you, y/n, you are hurt—”

you cackle, sniffling the snot that tries to escape your nostrils.  you push your remaining hand off the tree and turn towards him.  

“hurt?  what gave you that impression?  is it the tears?  they are just water, benedict, they will dry.”

“this is not the time to jest!”

“then what do you want of me!”

“to allow me to help you!”

“why!  why do you care!  why do you care for some, some low status person like me!”

“that is not how i see you!”

“THAT IS WHAT I AM.”

he freezes.  you feel yourself clenching your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms through the satin of the gloves that were bought for you.

“you are the son of a viscountess, a brother to a viscount.  i wonder every day if my family will have enough food to eat at our one meal.  we—” you gesture between the two of you, “—are not of the same world.  and maybe, maybe it should have stayed that way.  to, to have stayed in our own worlds.  we should have stayed in our own worlds!”

“and is that what you want?” he shoots back.

“what?”  you snark.

“is that what you want?  for us to stay in our own worlds?”

you fall silent, words suddenly failing you, breath suddenly leaving you.  he huffs out a breath and continues.

“if that is what you want, i shall stay away from you.  i shall never bother you.  i shall never hurt you as i have.  we shall—” benedict swallows, “we shall forget each other.  if that is what you want, y/n, i shall give it to you.”

you do not respond to him.  you stare into him as he stares into you.

“is that what you want?”

you shake your head as you feel fresh tears rush to your eyes.

“then what do you want?” he softly asks.

you flutter your eyes closed and breathe in.  on your exhale, you open your eyes to the tear-blurry sight of benedict still looking at you with such tenderness in his ocean eyes.

“i want you,” you whisper.

you barely have time to process anything else when benedict surges forward and wraps his arms around you in a crushing embrace.  tears fall even harder than before as you cry into his chest and wrap your arms around him.

benedict pulls back from the embrace to look at you, to cup your cheek, to wipe away the tears that fall so quickly from your eyes.

“i want you, y/n.  i want to be yours.  i want to be in your world, i want our worlds to be one.  i want to go wherever you go.  i want to make you laugh and to make you smile every day and every night; i want to do everything with you.  i want to be with you, to share this life with you.  from the moment i met you, from the moment you intended to shake my hand, i have wanted nothing more than to share all the time i have on this earth with you.  i do not care for balls, i do not care for the ton, i care— i care for you, y/n.  these are not the circumstances in which i wanted to confess this, with you crying and us yelling at one another, but i must be true with you.  i—”

“benedict?”

“yes?”

“may i kiss you?”

benedict’s jaw drops and you laugh at his shock, sniffling your nose as you beam at him.  he quickly recovers, breaking out into the smile that has always made you flutter with butterflies, the smile that you always secretly hoped, dreamed, wished was reserved for you.  and you begin to think that, after all this time, perhaps it is.

“good god, please, yes—”

he barely completes his ‘yes’ when you jump forward to crash your lips into his.  benedict practically trips backwards with the force of your eager leap, the two of you laughing into your kiss at the messiness of it all, as he holds you both steady.

this is your first kiss.  you are so glad that it is benedict.  

and somewhere within you blooms the hope that he is your last first kiss.  

you have no idea what you’re doing, or what you should be doing, but you are far too much enjoying having benedict’s lips on yours, your hands on his cheeks, his hands on your waist, and your bodies pressing more and more into each other to give the slightest care.  and the smile you feel against yours makes you think that benedict doesn’t mind—at all.

you pull apart to breathe, but your lips do not move far from one another.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

“and i am sorry.”

“for loving me?”

you feel benedict jump back as he holds you, his face absolutely crestfallen, panic flooding his eyes, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when you giggle and peck his parted lips with yours.

“i’m teasing you, my love.”

benedict’s eyes soften but quickly glint with mischief.  you’re curious about the expression when you feel him tickling the sides of your waist.

“okay, okay!” you gasp with laughter as he tickles on. “i— i yield, i yield!”

benedict grins victoriously, his tickles fading into him softly rubbing circles on your waist.

“i am sorry for saying that is not how i see you, when you spoke of your social standing.  i had not meant it that way, but i understand now how it was understood, and i should not have said it as i did.  i know that i have lived a life of unfathomable ease with the wealth and circumstances into which i was born.  the privileges i hold are not things i had reflected on, really, until— until i met you.”

you soften at his earnestness, by the way he humbles himself before you.  but you cannot help the giddy mischief that bubbles from within.

“did you only reflect on your privileges as to win a femme’s favor?”

benedict’s jaw drops again, but you see how his ocean eyes shine with like-minded playfulness. 

“do you truly think so lowly of me?”

you grin.  

“perhaps.”

you feel benedict teasingly threaten his hands into tickling position onto your waist, and laughing, you shoo them away.  he grins and softens his gaze once more.

“what i wanted to say to you earlier is— i wish you did not speak of yourself so harshly.  as if you are unworthy of care from me because of your status.  i care for you, i love you, y/n,  as you are.  as you were, as you will be.  with all your circumstances, all your experiences, all your deeds, all your words, all your thoughts, all your feelings.  for your heart, for your mind, for your soul.  i love you because you are you, and i wish for you to see that, for you to see you as i see you.  as so many of us see you.”

“i— i do not know what to say.”

“you do not have to say anything; just to, if i may ask of you, seed my words into your heart and mind and soul and know them to be true, wholly and completely,” a playful smile forms on his lips.  “though, i must say, i am rather pleased with myself for rendering a writer with ferocious conviction speechless.”

you roll your eyes, but your voice is soft.

“you have had that effect on me for quite some time, benedict.”

benedict swallows and gently rubs circles onto your waist again.

“i love you, benedict.”

“i love you, too.”

< y/n and benedict, hand-in-hand, start to walk towards the house; they are taking their time. >

“are you certain you want to return the ball?” benedict inquires.  “we can stay here in the gardens and wait until the last of the guests have gone.”

you hum.

“i would like to dance.”

“ah, was there a gentleman or a lady who caught your eye, miss y/l/n?”

“oh, loads.  i hope it won’t make you terribly jealous, mr. bridgerton.”

“it will, but i shall simply stare at them maliciously if their hands are to roam.”

“yes, my form is reserved for your hands and your hands alone.”

you exchange grins.

“indeed.”

benedict nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, and you laugh.  he lifts his head and plants a soft kiss on your temple.

“are you certain?  i do not mean to doubt you or your wishes to dance.  we can dance out here, under the bright light of the moon.  i want you to feel content and safe.”

“i do feel content and safe.  with you.  with the family.  within myself.  i shan’t let the ton or cressida ruin my first ball.  though, the idea of dancing in the moonlight is quite enticing.  perhaps another night?”

“you have my word,”  and bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses your knuckles.  a serene silence falls between you two until benedict makes some sort of a noise in his throat, as if to clear his voice.

“i, uh, must say,” benedict begins, “your confrontation with cressida was, uh, quite— alluring.”

you stop, letting go of his hand, and stare at him.

“alluring?”

a delicious blush colors your love’s face.

“indeed.”

a newfound bravery blooms in you.

you step into his space, not breaking eye contact with his blown out pupils, the ocean of his eyes mere outlines.  you sneak your lips towards his ear and hear a soft whimper emit from his lips.

“is that something of interest to you, mr. bridgerton?” you murmur, your bottom lip barely grazing his earlobe.  you feel him shiver and inhale.  “when you see someone be put in their place?”

he exhales frantically.

“it is something of interest to me when— when you do it,” he admits, as if out of breath.  you smile, pressing your bottom lip softly into his earlobe.  he does nothing to hold back his moan as you do everything in your power to hold in yours.

“that is good to know,” and quickly rip away from him.  

in your step back, you take in benedict’s state—flustered, expectant, ruttish—and wink at him.  you turn and walk away at your leisure, putting on a performance of superiority as you hide your own arousal.

it is only a few moments later that you hear benedict follow you.

“you,” he says, voice still fraught with desire but full with love, “will be the death of me.”

you look back at him and grin.

“and what would you like me to put on your epitaph?”

“benedict bridgerton, he who, in life and in death, loves the best soul to have ever existed.”

you cannot help your giddy self and close the distance between the two of you once more, grabbing his face and pressing your smile into his.  benedict happily obliges as he places his hands at the low of your waist and pulls you closer into him.

< they get into it! 

< y/n takes off her gloves so that she can touch benedict; she is about to throw them on the ground. >

“wait—”

and he takes your gloves.

“hm?”

“your gloves.  they were costly to make,” benedict states as he stuffs them into the inside pockets of his jacket.  “i don’t want to be flippant in letting them be discarded to the ground.”

you gape at him.

“you concern yourself with the cost of my gloves?”

“why, yes, of course, it is something i—”

you clutch onto the lapels of benedict’s jacket and push him backward into a nearby hedge, his mouth now agape and his pupils dark with a desire you very much want to satisfy.

“i find your consideration quite alluring.”

in the midst of his apparent arousal, benedict giggles, and that makes you grin.

“what is it?”

“a hedge, y/n?  of all things to anchor me against?”

you roll your eyes.

“it was this, benedict, or the bark of a tree.”

“ah, so i should be grateful then.”

you repeat his words with sped up mockery, making him laugh and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the adorable way that is so very distinctly benedict, and you capture your love’s lips again to shut him up, smiling and laughing into the kiss.

…

“what do you want?”

“you.  whatever you want, benedict, i want it.  please.”

“are you certain?” he breathes into your ear.

“god, yes, benedict, please, yes.”

“then—”

benedict positions his head downward, burying his face into the crevice of your bosom, and before you can even begin to tease him for his absurdity, you feel the wetness of his tongue flat against the curvature of your right breast.  your gasp of surprise quickly transforms into an ungodly guttural wail, feeling yourself dig your fingernails into benedict’s back, arching into him to steady yourself, as he painstakingly drags the flat of his tongue from your right breast against the expanse of your exposed chest to the length of your right shoulder.  dazed and euphoric, you feel how benedict sneaks towards your ear, hovers it, panting ragged breaths,

“i’ve wanted to do that since you descended the stairs in that dress.  and—”

taking your left hand, benedict pushes your middle finger and forefinger fully into his mouth.  he methodically works his tongue against them as he guides your hand to pull and push in him, his blown out pupils never once leaving your intoxicated stare.  you feel the desperate urge to throw your head back at the incandescent eroticism that throbs from your fingertips to the rest of your body, but may god smite you if you willingly tear your eyes away from the divine sight of benedict’s almost oceanless eyes gaping into you as his gorgeous mouth sucks on your fingers.  just before you feel as though you are to fully blank out and ascend into the heavens, benedict rips your hand out of his mouth, the action creating an obscenely delicious ‘pop’ sound, and, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulls you back into him, your face finding respite just below his shoulder.

“i’ve wanted to do that since first drawing your hand.”

you laugh-cry into his jacket.

“shit, benedict.”

your love laughs and nudges his head into yours and rests it there as he softly rubs circles on your back with his thumb.

“please—” good god, breathe, “please remind me to ask you more frequently what you want.”

“did you enjoy it?”

“no, benedict, i quite plainly hated it.”

“i’d be glad to accept your critiques.”

“i know you would,” you smile into his jacket and, lifting your head, are greeted by your favorite sight:  benedict, with his soft smile and his gentle ocean eyes.

“i have never felt like that before,” you admit in a whisper.

“nor have i,” he whispers back.  that shocks you, and you must have made your reaction visible because benedict emits a laugh through his nose, soft smile and gentle ocean eyes unfaltering.

“but you have been with others before; you’ve had similar experiences, yes?”  

you had assumed that your exhilaration must have been, apart from it being benedict, rooted in your lack of experience in such things.

benedict brushes a loose strand of your hair away from your eyes and tucks it behind your ear, his hand moving down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing it.

“yes, but those were different.” 

you cock your head in response.  he smiles, as if it is apparent.

“because they are not you.”

the sweetness of benedict’s ocean eyes are quickly replaced with shock then delight and then you don’t know what because he closes them as you crash your lips into his.  whatever you had just felt before, you want it again.  you want benedict.  all of him.  and you want all of him to feel what you just had.

you lick his teeth, and granting your wish, benedict opens his mouth more, groaning, bringing his hands to the curvatures of your ass, pushing your bodies even closer together though no space left exists between the two of you.  you move your hand to the back of his head and, gripping a tuft of his hair, pull it roughly just as you capture his tongue with your mouth and suck hard.  the sounds that benedict produce in reaction are entirely inhuman, but you vaguely deduce he is trying to say your name, and you’ve never attended a concert but, my god, nothing will ever sound as harmonious as the symphony that is your name gutturally trapped in benedict’s throat.

continuing with the work you’ve done to undo benedict thus far, you take your other hand and start to rake it against his body, starting at the base of his throat, taking time and leisure to explore, lowering and pressing into his chest, wondering wildly what beauty exists behind his damned shirt, lowering and feeling the firmness of his stomach and trying not to completely undo yourself with the sinful, transcendent thoughts of putting your tongue there, lowering and lowering and touching something curious and unfamiliar and hard and—

when he pushes you off of him.

“benedict, i— i am so sorry,” you panic, “please, what did i—”

“no, no,” he swallows, “you did— you have nothing to apologize for, my love, you were— uh— you were doing quite——” he clears his throat, “you were doing quite well; very well, actually…”

you continue to frown, still concerned.

“then why are you so tottery?”

“because— because if we were to continue, i do not think— i know i would not last for— um, for very much longer.”

you jut out your hip, putting the knuckles of your fist on it, and furrow your eyebrows at him.

“benedict bridgerton, i still do not understand what you are trying to convey.  speak plainly.”

“we should stop.”

your jaw drops, as does your hand from your hip.

“why?” you practically whine.  you should be embarrassed by your desperation, but to be entirely frank, you couldn't care less.  benedict huffs out a laugh, still breathless, and, stepping towards you, lays a tender kiss on your forehead.

“as much as i would love for us to continue, i think being in the family gardens with a ball being held a few meters away is hardly an ideal location for the more— involved aspects of such activities.  the aspects i’d like to explain to you,” he takes another step into your space, lowering his voice to an unfamiliar but enrapturing gravel, “the aspects i’d like to show you.”

you swallow your whimper.

“i—— i would very much like that,” you manage.  and then you grin, “though, exploring such aspects in the family gardens sounds like it would be quite the adventure.  a calculated risk, if you will.”

the alluring tone of benedict’s voice is completely replaced with a giggle, and your grin broadens as you press even closer into him and nudge your nose against his.  benedict rests his forehead against yours and flutters his eyes closed.

“what did i do to have you love me back?” 

you flutter your eyes closed.

“you were you.  you are you.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< ahead, y/n sees kathani.  she makes the connection that kathani must have accompanied benedict as a chaperone so that y/n wouldn’t be “disgraced” by having a man by himself chase after her.  

< as the two approach the viscountess, kathani recognizes how disheveled y/n and benedict look and promptly fixes them to look more presentable. she takes some hedge leaves out of benedict’s hair. >

“i see that you are well, y/n?” inquires kathani.

“never better, actually.”

she laughs, a smile falling on her lips.

“i am sincerely glad to hear that.”

< they walk closer to bridgerton house. >

“you are fortunate that it was not anthony who volunteered to chaperone.  he would have not reacted well to his loved one being dishonored, as he would say, particularly on family grounds.”

“oh dear,” you say, nervous and suddenly self-conscious.  you do not want to be the target of the eldest bridgerton’s wrath.  “what have i done to dishonor—“

kathani laughs.

“i wasn’t referring to you, chellam.  i was referring to him,” and she juts her chin out at benedict.

“me!”

“anthony will be furious when he finds out that you have been— private,” she says, gesturing to his newly tidied appearance, “with y/n in the gardens.  not very gentlemanly of you.”

“he won’t find out!” benedict pauses. “he won’t find out— right, kate?”

kathani just makes a face of feigned deep thought and you chortle.

“kate!”

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict.”

“but what if it’s for love?” he implores.  he says it facetiously, but you feel with what conviction he exudes his true feeling.

kathani’s expression softens as she looks between you and benedict.  you offer a small nod and a smile, confirming her thoughts.  she beams at you but then narrows her eyes at benedict.  there is no heat to her gaze; she is, however, having the most sublime time making her brother-in-law squirm.

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict,” kathani repeats.  benedict groans, throwing his head back like a disgruntled child, and you belly laugh at him.  

“i hope you are ready for gregory to be your second,” she continues.

you almost double over as benedict snaps his head forward to look at his sister-in-law.

“gregory!”

“indeed.  it is a shame as well— anthony’s accustomed second being the one he has to duel,” she sighs dramatically.  “oh well.  colin will make a fine replacement.”

“this family is ridiculous,” you declare, grinning like mad.  “gregory seems a tad young, though.  what about eloise?  i am sure she would be a more than suitable second for benedict.”

“oh, i have no doubt,” grins back kathani, “but i would not dare involve a woman in the idiocy of men and their ludicrous concepts of honor.”

you and kathani laugh loudly, delighted by how much you are enjoying yourselves, untroubled by benedict’s moping.

“it has been wonderful being in love with you, benedict,” you state simply.  “it’s a pity that it has to come to an end so soon."

kathani snorts.  benedict stops in his tracks and gapes at you.

“you think i would lose the duel!”

“anthony is more stubborn; he would let it fuel his will to live.”

“i think you underestimate how much i love you and how that fuels my will to live.” 

you smile.  in your periphery, kathani smiles. despite his current displeasure with you, your love smiles.

“i suppose i do.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< upon returning to the ball, y/n, benedict, and kathani see how anthony and violet are ensuring that the cowpers are leaving.  before the family leaves, y/n approaches cressida. >

“i do hope to see you at another one of these events.  if you find a way, of course, not to have yourself kicked out.” 

and you curtsy.  you turn to your love, his mouth in a wide smile and ocean eyes sparkling, and offer him a wink. you hear the quartet start up. 

“i believe it is time for another round of dancing.  care to be my partner?” 

“i would love nothing more.”

< they dance.  it is sweet, silly, romantic, and delightful.  both y/n and benedict touch each other beyond what is considered proper, like hands laying too low on the waist or eliminating the space between their bodies, but they truly do not care.  their unabashed joy is abundantly evident to everyone in the ballroom, but they are only focused on one another.  they are in their own world.  they giggle, they grin; it is the happiness they both deserve.  

< they dance the next set.

< after her and benedict’s third dance together, y/n makes eye contact with violet, who is at the margins of the dancefloor, eyes wide with joy. >

“as much as i love dancing with you, my love,” you beam, “i think i am in need of a new partner.”

< y/n approaches violet and with a bow asks her for the honor of being her next dance. though delighted, violet remarks how she is too old, and y/n says that the youngsters can learn a thing or two from her wisdom and skill. >

“we would need permission from the host,” offers violet.

“from anthony!  you birthed him!  you granted him permission to exist!”

that makes violet laugh.

< violet agrees, and they walk hand in hand to the dance floor.  in this dance, y/n and violet are partnered, benedict partnered with penelope, kathani partnered with anthony. >

…

“you’ve told each other."

“has anyone remarked how keenly insightful you are, violet bridgerton?"

“no,” the dowager replies with twinkling eyes, “but it is something of which i am well aware, and take great pride in.  i am happy for you both.”

“i am so glad to have your approval.”

“oh tosh!  as if a mother’s approval or disapproval can get in the way of real, true love.”

“perhaps so, but it is affirming to have the blessing from someone you so dearly love in a matter such as this.”

“you make it easy to love you, my dear.”

< the dance calls for a switch in partners.  y/n becomes partnered with penelope, and violet becomes partnered with benedict. >

“thank you, pen.”

“whatever for?”

“for bumping into me at the markets.”

penelope laughs.

“accidents are quite good, are they not?”

“i despise them, actually,” you declare with a grin.

< penelope reveals that benedict shared with her why he was not seen for the first three dances of the night. >

your jaw drops, and penelope merely titters in response.

“is that why i didn’t see him!  because he was lurking in the crowds to prevent men from approaching me?”

“it has been my discovery that the bridgerton brothers do not handle their jealousies well.”

“do you think gregory shall be the same?”

“oh, i am entirely certain.  he shall likely be the worst of all.”

the two of you snort as you are sent back to your partners, penelope with benedict and you with violet.

“and what has you and penelope in such giggles?”

“making barbs at your sons.”

violet laughs.

“they make it awfully easy to do so, do they not?”

< the dance comes to an end.  violet plants a soft kiss on y/n’s head.

< turning, y/n connects eyes with benedict who wears an incandescently happy expression. >

how could you not see it before?  how in love he is with you.

< tired but elated, y/n takes a break from dancing.  she reunites with the rest of the bridgertons at the ball.  y/n finally meets daphne, who remarks that she has heard so much about y/n.  eloise shares how the family wished to check in on y/n when she had returned to the ball to see that she was well; in a rare smile rather than a smirk, eloise shares that, upon seeing her dance and dance again with benedict, that she looked quite well indeed. at some point in the conversation with the bridgertons, y/n inquires when she can meet francesca.

< time passes, and joy is had amongst the bridgertons, penelope, simon, and y/n.  y/n cannot believe her happiness.

< the last dance is called.  benedict approaches y/n. >

“may i have the honor of being your final dance of the night?"

“you aren’t tired of me yet?”

“i shall never tire of you, y/n.”

upon taking your hand, benedict twirls you once then twice as he leads you towards the dance floor.  giggling and grinning, you decide to do the same to him, causing him to giggle and grin right along with you.

< they dance a fourth time. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the guests have made their leave from the bridgerton ball.  colin, eloise, and violet have gone to their respective bedchambers.  

< anthony, benedict, kathani, and y/n walk up the steps of the grand staircase. anthony has his hand clamped on benedict’s forearm and pulls him up the steps with particular determination and quiet fury. >

“i know where i sleep, brother!  i have slept there since we were children!”

“i am well aware of that, benedict, and i am also well aware of how you— roam when enticed.”

benedict looks at anthony, to you (you just shrug as you look on at the exchange with excitement), and back to anthony.

“do you people really think so little of me!”

“i do not think little of you, brother, i just know you.”

benedict’s shock deepens incredulously, though you see the smile underscoring it all.

“i am a man of honor!  i am a gentleman!”

“yes, as am i, as is colin, as was father; all bridgerton men are, and all bridgerton men are idiots around the persons for whom they have affections.  now, go into your bedchamber,” anthony finishes as he shoves his younger brother into the room.

“you are a nightmare!” you hear your love shout from within.

“and you are to stay here for the remainder of the night!” he shouts back, leaning forward to grab the knob to benedict’s bedchamber and pulling the door shut with a loud thud.  he turns to kathani, composure returning to his senses. 

“my dearest, may you call samuel and lawrence, please?  i shall have samuel stationed here and lawrence stationed outside benedict’s window.  they will be paid double their wage for these extemporary responsibilities.”

you laugh with your whole stomach and feel tears sting your eyes.  you have no concern in hiding your howls until you remember hyacinth and gregory are asleep and promptly clamp your hand over your mouth.  your hand succeeds in muffling your laughter, but marginally.

kathani rolls her eyes at her husband and deeply sighs.

“i shall,” she replies, smiling at her love’s antics.

pleased with her answer, anthony right about turns at benedict’s door, places his hands behind his back, and stands up tall, taking his temporary duty as guard with the utmost gravity.  something then eases in his posture, and he turns to you.

“i hope you have enjoyed your night, y/n.”

your heart swells.

“it was wondrous, anthony.  thank you.”

he beams, brilliant delight in his eyes.

“i wish you good rest.”

and with a bow of his head, anthony turns away from you and assumes his station once more, gravity and perfect posture and all.

the viscountess turns to you, her smile having softened, and says, “let me escort you back to your bedchamber.  i shall help you prepare for bed.”

–

“despite his many flaws,” kathani says with all amusement and fondness in her voice as she removes the pins from your hair, “anthony is, indeed, a man of honor and honesty.”

“i never had my doubts, but—” you snort, “that has certainly proved it.”

“it is because he thinks so highly of you,” she shares, looking at you in the mirror.  you turn around in your seat and connect with her eyes, eyes that are filled with so much warmth.  “he cares deeply for you, y/n.  anthony is only that overbearing and overly protective when it comes to his family, and he sees you as our family.  we all do.”

you suck in air through your nostrils, feeling the swell of your heart.  how did you get so fortunate as to be so loved by this family?  

though, you detect something in kathani.  her words are sincere, of that you are not doubtful, but they do not seem complete.  it is as if she wants to say more, if the blossoming twinkle in her eyes is indicative of anything.  but kathani does not elaborate.  

instead, she picks up the brush on the vanity and gently brushes your hair.  it reminds you of when your elder sister used to brush your hair before bedtime.  you close your eyes, humming.

“i see you all as my family, too.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the next morning, late morning.  the dining room. >

“you are infernal,” benedict deadpans to anthony, staring at his brother and taking his seat next to you.

“you are incorrigible; i was correct,” anthony responds, his eyes not leaving his paper.

“correct about what, brother?” hyacinth asks.

despite their current rivalry, benedict and anthony both freeze.  kate speaks on their behalf.

“your eldest had deemed it necessary to have lawrence stationed outside below benedict’s bedchamber window in the early morn and was proved correct in doing so; your second eldest had attempted to escape by way of that route.”

“stationed outside his window?  why would that be necessary?” gregory inquires.  he turns to benedict.  “and why were you trying to leave through your window?” 

in his periphery, benedict sees you whipping your head.  you seem to have suddenly found some interest in the painting on the wall faced away from the current scene.  he notices how you hide your smile behind your fist and how you attempt to suppress the convulsions of your laughter.  kate, on the other hand, unapologetically laughs.

“i am certain you will learn in due time, gregory.  it is something of a tradition, it seems.”

“will i get to participate in this tradition?” hyacinth enthuses.

“NO!” benedict and anthony shout in tandem.  they look at each other, and the elder gives a ‘see!’ face to the younger.  benedict just rolls his eyes.  

his eyes eventually land back on you:  you have now totally hidden your face in your hands with elbows perched on the table for support, any attempts at hiding your laughter now entirely gone.  your entire body vibrates as you somehow squeak and guffaw into the palms of your hands.

“ugh, why do adults always speak in such vague statements!” hyacinth grumbles as she slumps in her chair and crosses her arms.  she then suddenly shoots back up and looks at you.  “y/n, you only speak in riddles when we play!  may we play now?”

“yes!  may we play now?” gregory pipes up.

“please!” the two youngest plead in tandem.  benedict looks to you, and wiping away your hands to reveal your face red from laughter, you say,

“i would be— i would be delighted to do so,” you take sharp breaths in between attempts at controlling your laughter.  “perhaps—” you full on snort, and it makes benedict break out into a grin, “—perhaps, after the young sorceress and— and the young knight slay the wyvern, they— they will save the— the—” you laugh hard again, “the princess, captive and forlorn in her tower.”

gregory and hyacinth shout their joy and take off from the table.  

“you haven’t been excu!— oh, nevermind,” anthony grumbles in an uncanny, childlike resemblance to his youngest sibling.

benedict watches as you use your forefingers to swipe at the corners of your e/c eyes, fits of laughter still bubbling out of your mouth.

i love her, and she loves me, he thinks in awe.  it has been on repeat in his mind since you confessed to one another in the gardens just the night prior.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“your lordship,” you giggle still as you look at anthony, and benedict snickers, “may i be excused to play make-believe with your youngest siblings?”

anthony rolls his eyes with much theatricality, but his smile at you is sincere.

“you are not my sibling,” he states, but benedict catches how his elder brother quickly glances at him with eyes that say ‘yet,’ “you need not my permission, but yes, you may.”

you bow your head in dramatic gratitude, causing kate to titter and anthony to look to the ceiling, and you lift yourself up from your seat.

before you follow after his siblings, benedict reaches out and gently takes your hand.  you look at him, and he feels how his stomach flutters when his blue eyes makes contact with your e/c.  just as it did the first time, just as it did every time after.

benedict feels you softly rub three circles on his hand.  he softly rubs four circles on yours.

“good day, princess,” you say with a wink at your love, slowly slipping your hand away from his and then turning to walk out of the dining room.  benedict stares at you as you leave.

i love her, and she loves me.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“when do you intend on proposing, brother?” anthony smirks as he puts his teacup to his lips.

benedict smiles, looking off at where your laughter is heard. 

“later this afternoon.”  

anthony chokes on his tea, and kate, patting her coughing husband’s back, arches an eyebrow at her brother-in-law, amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“without a ring?” 

benedict turns to look at the couple and grins.  

“who said i don’t have a ring?”

“you are joking,” anthony says matter-of-factly.  “we all are excited at the prospects of y/n officially joining this family, but you just confessed your love for one another not even twelve hours ago.  we are still breaking fast!  there were guards at your door and your window!  how could you have already procured a ring?”

benedict smiles, digging into his pocket.

“i do not jest, brother.”

and, with pride, he holds up a thin band made of twisted paper.

“now, if you will excuse me,” benedict announces, lifting himself out of his seat, giving a kiss to the top of kate’s head, and ruffling anthony’s hair.  “i must be going.”

“and where are you off?” anthony demands as he straightens out his hair.

“do you think i am going to propose to y/n without asking her family’s permission first?  would not be very gentlemanly of me if i did.”

“how do you know where she lives!”

“that is what you were asking penelope last night,” kate answers.  anthony looks at his wife, incredulous and in awe.  benedict grins.

“exactly so, sister.  i’ve always known you held all the intelligence between you two.  i would have seen to it sooner, but—” 

an image of e/c eyes and ink-stained hands flashes in his mind, the flutterings in his stomach intensifying.  butterflies— that is what he will paint next, he decides.  

after he finishes his portrait of you.

“—i was held captive in my tower.”

[theartofcollapse]

hey, it's me again with another Olivia request 🤭🤭🤭 Could you write one where Olivia comes home tired from work after a long week solving a case and comes home to the reader and their daughter preparing a "spa night" or party in pajamas, with lots of massages, jelly beans, cupcakes and kisses from her favorite girls.

a/n: thank you for your request, love! (ps: SEND ME MORE OLIVIA REQUESTS PLEASEEE, I LIVE FOR HER.) summary: read it above pairing: Olivia Benson x female reader warnings: none word count: 1.1K

masterlist

Home to Love - Olivia Benson

The hum of New York City filtered faintly through the apartment windows as Olivia closed the door behind her, sighing deeply. Her shoulders ached, her head pounded, and she couldn’t remember the last time she had slept more than four consecutive hours. It had been a brutal week, long days and sleepless nights chasing a particularly grueling case.

But now, it was over. Justice had been served. And all Olivia wanted was to collapse onto the couch and lose herself in the familiar comfort of home.

“Y/N?” she called out, her voice weary but filled with longing. “Sophie?”

She dropped her coat onto the back of a chair and slipped off her boots, moving toward the warm glow spilling from the living room. Soft giggles drifted down the hallway, sparking a faint smile on her lips.

When Olivia rounded the corner, her breath caught.

The coffee table had been transformed into a “spa station,” complete with little bowls of lotions, nail polish, and neatly folded warm towels. Sophie, their five-year-old daughter, was perched on a pillow, her tiny hands carefully arranging jelly beans in a rainbow pattern on a plate. Meanwhile, you were at the center of it all, lighting a lavender candle with an amused smile as you spotted Olivia.

“There she is!” you said brightly, setting the candle down. “The woman of the hour.”

“Mommy!” Sophie squealed, hopping up and running to her. Olivia bent down, gathering her daughter into her arms and burying her face in her soft curls. The tension in her body melted a little as Sophie pressed a sticky kiss to her cheek.

“What’s all this?” Olivia asked, her voice lighter, though still hoarse from the week’s exhaustion.

“It’s spa night, Mommy!” Sophie said with wide eyes, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “We’re gonna make you feel all better!”

You approached her, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face. “You’ve had a hell of a week, Liv. We figured you could use some pampering. Pajamas are mandatory,” you added with a wink.

Olivia chuckled, shaking her head. “I don’t even remember the last time I had a night like this.”

“Well, that’s why you have us,” you replied softly, your hand squeezing hers. “Go change. Sophie and I will take care of everything.”

Five minutes later, Olivia emerged from the bedroom in flannel pajamas you had laid out for her. She looked more relaxed already, her face softening as she saw Sophie waiting for her with a cupcake in hand.

“This is for you!” Sophie announced proudly. “I put the sprinkles on.”

Olivia took the cupcake with mock seriousness, biting into it and humming exaggeratedly. “Mmm. Perfect. Just like you.”

Sophie giggled, and you grinned, patting the pillow next to yours on the floor. “Come sit. We’ve got massages, nail painting, and even some terrible karaoke lined up.”

Olivia settled in beside you, letting Sophie climb into her lap. You took her hand and started massaging it gently, your thumbs pressing into the spots you knew carried the most tension.

She sighed again, but this time it was one of pure contentment. “This…this is exactly what I needed.”

Sophie, now holding a bottle of glittery pink nail polish, piped up, “Can I paint your nails, Mommy?”

Olivia raised an eyebrow at you. “Pink glitter, huh?”

You laughed. “Let her. It’ll wash off. Besides, it’s part of the experience.”

As Sophie carefully dabbed at Olivia’s nails, you leaned in to press a kiss to her temple. “I missed you this week.”

Olivia turned her head to meet your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. “I missed you too,” she murmured.

By the time the night ended, Olivia’s nails were an uneven mess of glitter, her muscles were looser from the massages, and her heart was full. Lying on the couch with you tucked against her side and Sophie snoring lightly on her chest, Olivia finally felt at peace.

Home. This was her sanctuary, not the quiet apartment, but the two of you. Her girls.

“Thank you,” she whispered, brushing a kiss against your hair.

“For what?” you asked sleepily.

“For reminding me what I’m fighting for.”

Half an hour later Olivia carefully shifted Sophie in her arms, her daughter's head tucked against her shoulder. The little girl was completely out, her soft breaths even and steady as she clung to her mom's shirt. Olivia chuckled under her breath, brushing a hand gently over Sophie's curls as she turned to you.

"She's out cold," Olivia whispered, smiling as Sophie let out a tiny snore.

"Of course she is. She worked hard tonight," you teased. "All that nail painting and cupcake eating? Exhausting stuff."

You followed Olivia as she carried Sophie to her room, the soft glow of the nightlight illuminating the cozy space you had decorated together. Olivia laid Sophie down gently, pulling the pastel blanket over her small frame. You leaned against the doorframe, watching as Olivia crouched down to press a kiss to Sophie's forehead.

"Goodnight, munchkin," Olivia whispered.

After a quiet moment, she stood and turned to you, and you couldn't help but smile at how much softer she looked now. The exhaustion was still there, but so was something lighter, contentment, love, peace.

You reached for her hand as you both tiptoed out of the room and closed Sophie's door. "Well," you said, your voice dropping just slightly, "that's one Benson girl taken care of."

Olivia raised an eyebrow, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. "Is that so?"

You tugged her hand gently, leading her toward your bedroom. "It's time for you to let loose in the bedroom as well," you said, your tone playful but laced with something deeper. "If you're not tired enough, that is."

Olivia chuckled lowly, letting herself be pulled along. "Oh, I'm exhausted," she said, her voice dropping to a husky murmur as she stepped closer, her fingers brushing along your cheek. "But for you? I think I can muster some energy."

Her words sent a pleasant shiver down your spine as she dipped her head, capturing your lips in a slow, heated kiss. Her hands gripped your hips, pulling you closer, and any lingering exhaustion seemed to melt away in the warmth of her embrace.

"You've been taking care of me all night," she whispered against your lips. "Now it's my turn."

You smiled against her mouth, your fingers tangling in her hair as you pulled her deeper into the kiss. "Let's see if you can keep up, Captain Benson."

Olivia smirked. "Oh, I always close the case, Y/N."

The rest of the night passed in whispers, laughter, and a love that left no space for the exhaustion of the week before. 

[sturnxies]

.° ༘ within these walls .° ༘

Synopsis: After a long day at the beach with Nick and Chris, you head to the bathroom to change, trying to shake off your annoyance with Matt. You’ve never gotten along—he’s cocky, irritating, and always seems to have a snarky comment ready just for you. But when you step out, Matt’s waiting, and before you can say anything, he drags you into his room. What starts as another argument quickly turns into something far more heated, leaving you both questioning where the line between hate and desire really lies.

Warnings: Smut, enemies-to-lovers vibes, explicit sexual content, tension, rough dynamics (consensual), swearing, mutual pining disguised as hatred.

creds: dividers from @bernardsbendystraws

as sweet as a melody, Sophie .ᐟ

you walk into the bathroom of the triplets house, in the hallway of Matt’s room. the sound of silence heard other than nick and chris talking in the living room. walking out of the room, a familiar hand pulls you in the opposite direction. it was Matt. pulling you into his bedroom.

“Matt!?” you gasped, before Matt covers your mouth. “not now.” Matt grumbles, pushing you to sit on his bed. Matthew locks the door, turning to you. he locked eyes with you, palming his cock through his pants. you stare in shock not knowing what to do.

Matt whimpers before pulling his sweatpants and boxers down. falling to his ankles. his length being exposed. fully jerking off to the sight of you. “Matt!- oh..- uhm..” you managed to speak through shock. Matt stepped closer to you, before pinning you to the bed. both hands above you head.

you were completely helpless under his stripped body. Matt teased, slowly pulling your clothes off. he got to your wet panties, chuckling. “all wet for me?..hm..” he commented. “please..please Matt..” you beg. “what, ma?” Matt pondered.

“please..i need you.” you urged. matt looked you in the eyes. Seeing how desperate you really were. “you’re going to take it. like a good girl.” he stated. watching you nod out of dedication. his hands made their way to your hips. his cock teasing your entrance.

“matt please..” you whimpered, before gasping as he lined him self up, entering your slit. slowly thrusting before picking up the pace with your muffled moans. your hands claw his back as he sighs in pleasure. “fuck..” matt moans, slowing his pace.

muffled moans and whimpers of pleaser slip from both of you. “holy -shit..” matt sputtered, groaning at how you tightened around him as clapping noises surrounded you two.

“m-matt” you choked, small whimpers still coming from your mouth. “yes, baby?” he sympathized. “matt..i-im close..please” you plead, your moans getting louder. “a few more minutes, princess.” he whispered with a low groan.

Minutes go by of you begging and pleading before you reached your breaking point. releasing your warm liquid, covering his bed and his cock. “you did so good baby..” he appealed, before pulling out of you. a small whimper coming from both of you.

matt is kneeling infront of your trembling body. he gets up, getting a towel. cleaning you up. earning a quiet hum from you. matt puts your clothes on for you, and his. but doesn’t let you go quiet yet. he lays next to you, pulling you into his arms. kissing the top of your head.

you made low hums as a response to his actions. “please don’t go..” matt whines, pulling you closer. “matt..I have to..” you groan back as a reply. “fine..” matt sasses. letting you go. you walk to the door of his room.

you look back at him before leaving, as if saying “I’ll come back” causing him to smile as you leave the room. you walk back into the living room. Nervous you were heard.

“what took you so long in there?” chris questioned, nick nodding and agreeing. “oh..!nothing..” you lie. “hm..okay..” nick speaks with suspicion as you sit on the couch. “me and matt just..had a conversation” you mutter, loud enough for them to hear. “oh really?” chris asks.

“yeah..we worked things out..” you answered. “finally..” chris sighs out of relief. “I’m sick of you two arguing every time you come over!” nick jokes. “mhm” you hum awkwardly. “something wrong?” Chris suspects, looking you up and down. “n-no..im fine!” you reassure. “okay..” nick says making sure to keep an eye on you.

what the fuck is this 🏃‍♀️anyways love u bye

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 18: London

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content Word count: 8.7k

Masterpost Previous chapter Next chapter

Author's note: Happy new year, dear readers. I thank you again for your patience as I finished this beast of a chapter. Several more will follow in quick succession and I am writing the final ones now. Quick reminder, any lines written in italics are quotes from AOFAG by Julia Quinn. At long last, a change of scenery for our secretive lovers. Enjoy! 💙

The sound of approaching footsteps broke Sophie out of her reverie and she darted around Eloise’s bedroom, straightening the duvet she had laid upon losing track of time as she fantasized about dancing with Benedict. With his painting stashed safely in her apron, she stood at attention as the door opened and Eloise bustled inside.

“Miss Eloise!” Sophie smiled. “Are you retiring early? The ball is still ongoing, is it not?”

The young woman’s excitement was evident. “It’s nearly finished now, but it cannot hold my interest. Not when I have the best of news to tell you.”

“News? Did you meet a young gentleman, or…”

Eloise’s bright eyed expression contorted into one of disgust. “God, no. No.” Peeling off her gloves, she beckoned Sophie further into the room. “Sophie, I have spoken with the Viscountess and we would very much like for you to join us in London. You can stay on as my lady’s maid.”

Sophie froze. This was the last thing she had expected to hear. Swallowing hard, she eeked out, “London?”

Eloise’s face fell. “Do you not wish to? You will be handsomely paid and Mrs. Wilson is not so sour once you get to know her. Are you not excited?”

Sophie dropped her gaze and tried to organize her thoughts. She had been overwhelmed with conflicting feelings every day since arriving at Aubrey Hall; her mind a battleground pitting the forces of hope and excitement against those of fear and doubt. Her only way to cope had been to focus on each moment and forbid herself from looking forward. There was joy to be found in moments with Lizzie and Eloise and Benedict. The future was a shadow of uncertainty. Each time she had thought her path was set, the ground seemed to shift beneath her feet. 

Eloise was dejected. “I only thought we were getting along so well, you and I and…”

Sophie shook her head. “It is not that, Miss. I am flattered by your offer. There are just…many factors I need to consider.” The longer she remained near Benedict, the greater her heartbreak would certainly be when the rules of society inevitably separated them, whether through discovery and scandal or through Benedict’s final relent into marriage. And yet, she couldn’t form the words to refuse.

Eloise nodded. “I understand. You must do what is best for you. Choose your own path.” She rested a hand lightly on Sophie’s arm, a gesture of friendship she had never received from an employer. 

Sophie met her eyes and the young woman gave her a sad but supportive little smile. “We return to the city tomorrow. Please do consider it. Staying with me. With Benedict. With all of us.”

Sophie’s heart began to pound. Something in Eloise’s tone was pointed. Had she already sussed them out? Had Sophie been that bad at hiding her feelings when they spoke of Benedict earlier? But then if she did know, she was doing nothing but expressing support. She was creating a way for them to stay together. It was too much to contemplate in the space of a moment.

“May I have until the morning?”

“Of course.” Eloise stepped away and sat at her vanity, leaving Sophie to unpin her hair with shaking fingers.

___

After a spell of uncharacteristic silence readying Eloise for bed, Sophie stepped out into the hallway, breathing a sigh of relief to be alone with her thoughts. She needed to speak to Benedict. Did he already know of his family’s desire to bring her to London? Had he convinced them to do so? How were they to navigate this? Despite their agreement to maintain distance, she needed to find him and formulate a plan.

The music downstairs had ceased and was replaced with the din of animated voices as the partygoers poured into the main hall and wound their ways up to the guest rooms. By the jovial exclamations she heard, Sophie surmised the evening had been a success. She marched briskly through the east corridor past the family bedrooms, the only wing of the house where guests would not pass by. She reached the stretch of windows opposite a stairway down to the foyer and stopped dead as a figure suddenly clambered over one of the sills, a tangle of long limbs straightening as he stood and closed the window behind him.

“Benedict?!”

He spun to face her, his startled expression quickly softening into relief.

“Sophie!”

“What on earth?” She looked him up and down, noting the streaks of dust across his hands and knees and his windswept hair. Why he was sneaking through windows instead of attending his family’s ball was beyond her.

He looked down bashfully and began to brush himself off, stuttering for an explanation. “I…well…”

“Nevermind.” She shook the curiosity from her thoughts, unable to deny that appearing inexplicably through a window was somehow perfectly in line with his boyish nature which she so adored. However he had gotten there, she was grateful he was with her. They had pressing matters to discuss. 

She stepped close to him, her voice growing nervous. “Ben, Eloise and the Viscountess have asked to retain me in London.”

Benedict’s eyes sparkled. “Have they?” 

It was clear this was the first he was hearing of it and clearer still that he delighted in the thought. With a grin he ran a finger softly down Sophie’s cheek, marvelling at her. “What magic do you possess that you have managed to charm Eloise?” He knew well enough the faerie-like power she had exerted over him. Her inherent goodness must have been strong enough to touch the heart of his most stubborn sister too.

“I think she knows about us.” Sophie looked around, lowering her voice to a whisper. “I think…I must have made an expression when she was speaking of you and I gave us away.” She frowned, shaking her head in apology. “I’m sorry, I should have…”

Benedict lifted her chin and drew her eyes to meet his, seeing that she was holding tears just at bay. “No, no, you’ve done nothing wrong.” He soothed, recalling his own conversation with Eloise as the pieces fell into place. “I spoke to her as well.”

Sophie’s fear twisted into shock. “You told her?!”

Benedict shrugged. “I intimated enough.” Though he understood the gravity of what he had shared with Eloise, he felt no accompanying anxiety about it. For his dearest sister to know his true feelings seemed like the natural and correct choice. To share them with someone felt like the pressure release that would keep him from exploding into rash action. That Eloise would instantly become an advocate for his clandestine relationship was a surprise, but also fitting of her character and his heart swelled with gratitude. Only she could so quickly and cleverly carve out a means to keep Sophie at his side.

Sophie, however, did not share their understanding and her nerves began to rise. “But who will she tell? What do we…what am I supposed to…”

“Shhh, shhh.” Benedict wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close, running a hand reassuringly through her hair. “She’s not going to tell anyone. Blabbermouth though she may be when touting her own opinions, she is exceptionally discreet when it comes to keeping others’ secrets. Especially what I share with her in confidence. We can trust her, believe me.” He brought a hand to cup her face. “And she won’t think any differently of you, I assure you. Clearly she seems more excited than anything, asking to bring you along to the city.”

Sophie chewed her lip, waiting for Benedict’s soothing ministrations to quell the jittering fear she felt under her skin. He had never led her astray and if he was calm about the situation, she decided she could be too. “If you say we are safe, I trust you.”

He looked deep into her eyes, imploring her to believe him. “We’re safe. You’re safe.” 

With a heavy exhale she melted into him, laying her head on his chest. “So what are we going to do?”

He held her tightly, resting his chin atop her head, delighting in the faint, lovely scent of her hair. He knew what he wanted, to never let her out of his grasp. But she had made it abundantly clear she would not be kept; her life was her own. It pained him to imagine she may choose to live it without him, but he also knew the only way to secure her company was to earn it through care and respect. 

“The choice is yours, Sophie. I need to return to London with my family. If you wish to join us, I believe it would be possible for you and I to maintain our…arrangement. Though admittedly somewhat more complicated. Work for my family and I will visit you when I can. Or you may stay here with Mrs. Wiggin until you find another position elsewhere.” He felt her shift against him as she weighed her options. He continued to hold her fast. “No matter the case, I will see that you are cared for and paid well. You have more than earned it. You have repaid your debt to me ten times over and now…now you have the freedom to decide what you want.”

In so few words, Benedict somehow managed to make an impossibly convoluted situation seem perfectly plain. The wave of clarity forced Sophie to look up and meet his penetrating blue eyes. How could a man make her heart feel so trapped and her soul so free simultaneously? 

“What I want?” she asked, savoring a power she had never held before.

“Yes.” Benedict rested his forehead against hers and closed his eyes, his warm breath gusting across her lips. “What do you want, Sophie?”

Her head swam, drunk with possibility and with his scent. With the realization that he was dressed the same as he had been at the masquerade and that he was holding her even more closely than he had then. For years her dreams had always led to this moment of an unconsummated kiss and now its realization was only millimeters away, hers for the taking. She breathed deep, feeling warmth rising through her.

“I want…”

“Benedict!” A man’s voice boomed up the stairway. Instantly they leapt apart. Sophie pressed herself against the nearest wall to stay out of sight. Frazzled, Benedict turned to the stairs to find Anthony standing at the foot, looking impatient.

“A brandy in the study?” With a flick of his head, the Viscount signaled to his brother that it was not an invitation, it was a summons.

___

Anthony oftentimes decompressed after a social evening by sharing drinks with his two eldest brothers, leaving Benedict unsuspecting of the call to join him. He expected to receive the elder’s recount of overheard business ventures and reputational gossip. A fire was burning low in the study hearth beneath the portrait of their father. Anthony poured them each a tumbler and they settled on either side of the expansive desk.

Benedict sprawled in his chair and raised his glass. “Excellent ball tonight, brother. I will be sure to compliment Kate first thing in the morning.”

The Viscount smiled automatically at any mention of his wife. “Yes, she did a wonderful job, did she not? Very dutiful.” Raising his own glass they nodded at one another and sipped deeply.

“Good?” Anthony asked, motioning to the drink.

“Mmm.” Benedict nodded. His brother’s purse strings may have been tight around many expenses, but good liquor was not one of them.

“You always were one for chasing simple pleasures.”

Benedict’s face twisted, surprised by the sting in the underhanded compliment. “Simple?”

Anthony narrowed his eyes over the rim of his glass as he took another sip. “Or all pleasure, I suppose.”

He was in a mood, something Benedict had grown accustomed to dealing with. He braced himself for glancing blows as he tried to untangle Anthony’s sour emotions. “How many of those have you had? What are you on about?”

Anthony leveled a dark stare on his brother. “The maid.”

A cold stab spiked Benedict’s stomach, but decades of poker and sibling politics had equipped him to hide all reaction. He pouted with feigned confusion. “Maid?”

“The one or several maids you have apparently been growing too familiar with.” His brother’s tone was clipped.

A catalog of faces flipped through Benedict's mind as he tried to envision who had been the informant and more importantly, what they had seen. His family had only been present for a few days, all of which time he and Sophie had strategically remained apart. He knew Eloise had not betrayed them. He also knew that Anthony would not have delayed this conversation after being notified, meaning he had most likely been approached during the ball. That didn’t narrow down the suspects, rather it implicated the entire household and their dozens of guests. He thought he and Sophie had been careful enough, but now was realizing his own naivety. But he wouldn’t be rattled. Anthony clearly only had hearsay to act upon and Benedict knew he could deftly skirt accusations founded on nothing more than talk.

Taking another drink, he acted bemused. “Where have you heard this?”

Anthony set his glass down and stood, one fist on his desk and the other on his hip. “That’s unimportant. What is important is that it stop immediately. Benedict, you should know better.”

An awkward silence hung between them as they both recognized a pattern they had fallen into before. Anthony trying to act like a father as he did with their other siblings. But over Benedict, who was closest in age and experience, it held no sway. Unflinching, Benedict met his brother’s gaze with a warning one.

“It may be difficult to stop what I’m supposed to be doing when I am uncertain what I stand accused of.”

Anthony huffed. He knew he wouldn’t be able to shame or bully his brother into compliance. He could only try to appeal to his reason. He leaned forward, eyes probing. “Have you bedded a woman we hired to work at this house?”

Snippets of his encounters with Sophie flashed in Benedict’s mind - her lips, the smoothness of her inner thighs, the sound of her gasping in his ear. But while they had engaged in all adjacent manner of lascivious activities together, he had not bedded her properly. Nor, he noted with impish exactitude, had his family hired her to work at Aubrey Hall. He had hired her personally and they had only retained her for the ball and now to relocate to London. 

His reply was defiant. “No.”

Anthony leaned in further, his annoyance rising. “Have you enticed some poor girl into closet trysts?”

Benedict wiggled his eyebrows, smirking. “My, that would be scandalous, wouldn’t it?”

The Viscount moved around the desk to stand over him. “Benedict, this is not a joking matter. If anyone were to catch you our name would be scandalized. You remember how Mother near single-handedly had that loathsome Berbrooke run out of town for this same behavior?”

He did remember it, how Anthony had bungled Daphne’s debut season and betrothed her to the toad-like man without her consent. It was only thanks to their mother discovering his shameful abandonment of a hidden bastard that released his sister from a life of misery married to a scoundrel. He mused on how his brother only seemed to remember the happy conclusion to the scenario and not how he himself had embroiled his family in it.

He remained comfortably seated and rested a hand across his heart. “Anthony, on my honor I have no bastards and I have not bedded any of your servants.”

His brother was scowling, sensing misdirection. Though he knew Benedict well enough to tell when he was wearing a mask, he had never developed the skill of removing it. “Then why have these rumors reached me?” 

Benedict shrugged, spreading his arms wide. “Speculative gossip. What else fuels the ton? I’ve been sequestered here recuperating for weeks and an active imagination must have wondered how I wiled away the time.” He swallowed another mouthful of brandy, answering matter-of-factly. “Did I grow friendly with those who cared for me, having no other company? Yes. Is it a crime to show kindness to our fellow man simply because they have been hired to work for us?”

Anthony sat back behind his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose with a deep sigh. Benedict was up to something. To be fair, he was always up to something, but details of his eccentricities rarely reached his ears. This defensive stonewalling was a sharp side of his brother Anthony was unfamiliar with and it was uniquely aggravating.

He spoke slowly, trying to maintain a degree of calm. “I’ve been very lenient with you over the years. Giving you space to lead your life of idle freedoms.”

Benedict scoffed. Anthony ignored him. 

“I know you enjoy the company of those outside our circles. The modiste. God knows what sort of characters you encountered in the art world. I don’t even know where you are most of the time. I trust you to go about your business with discretion and decency…”

“And you should continue to do so.” Benedict cut him off, leaning forward and planting his glass on the desk. If his brother wanted to list off the choices that he saw as questionable, Benedict would list off the times Anthony had placed discretion directly into his hands. “As you trusted me to act as steward on your honeymoon. And as you trusted me to provide for a certain unnamed lady were your duel with Simon to go awry.” 

His brother glared, cautioning him to tread lightly, but Benedict knew his point had been made. He would not endure censure from someone who had committed the same acts. If Benedict could set Sophie up as his mistress, keeping her comfortable in a London apartment as Anthony’s paramours had been, he would have. That the woman he desired was setting different parameters for their relationship made her no more worthy of scrutiny than anyone Anthony had pursued before his marriage. Benedict would not stand for it.

He rose to his feet and buttoned his jacket, making his words clear. “I understand my role, brother. I understand the rules of society. Trust that I will continue to navigate them in my own quiet way.”

He walked to the door, pausing to look back at the glowering Viscount. “If you do not even know where I am, then I must be staying out of trouble, musn’t I?”

___

The next morning after the convoy of guest carriages had departed and the Hastings headed back to Clyvedon, the Bridgerton clan were loading into their own procession. Benedict’s heart leapt into his throat to see Sophie dressed in travelling clothes and helping Eloise into her transport. She had made her choice and the buoyant feeling it caused within him did not subside for the entire day’s ride into the city. 

As Aubrey Hall shrank in the carriage window behind him, he noted that he felt an even greater fondness for the place. It was the site of so many significant beginnings. The beginning of his very life, of his forays into art, and now, his beginning with Sophie. No matter what would transpire between them in future, he knew he would always be grateful that she had walked its gardens, wandered its halls, and amplified the beauty of every corner he had found her in. Sitting across from his two younger brothers, he did not even attempt to suppress a grin as they trundled off to London.

Sophie felt her skin prickle as they passed through the city limits. Perched on a carriage bench with the other servants, her eyes traced the cobblestone streets she had fled through so long ago. She had been rationalizing her choice to return for the entire length of the journey and the risks it incurred were making her downright queasy. It was May, which meant that the season was in full swing. If the Cowpers were maintaining their usual schedule, they would be returning from Penwood at the end of the month. Which meant there was always a danger she would come into contact with them, especially now that Lady Bridgerton had elevated her from housemaid to lady’s maid. At some point she would need to chaperone Eloise on outings in the city, outings to places Araminta and Cressida might choose to frequent. And Sophie had no doubt Araminta would find a way to make her life a living hell. Araminta hated her in a way that defied reason, went beyond emotion. If she saw Sophie in London, she would not be content simply to ignore her. 

But even her fear of the Cowpers could not overcome her desire to stay with Benedict and to remain in his family’s orbit. She loved him, and she had never been treated so well as she was by the Bridgertons. She had been clever all of her life. It had helped her survive when she was under the Cowper’s roof and she was certain it would help her as she sought to avoid them. She could feign illness, ask favors of the other maids, or maybe change her appearance if compelled to leave the house. Her hair was already shorter, her face more slender. If Benedict and Colin hadn’t recognized her, maybe no one could. As she had learned, she could only navigate one day at a time, and this day was already whirlwind enough.

Her looming sense of apprehension was dulled by one of wonder when the carriages stopped at last in front of Bridgerton House. The elegant facade, grown over with blooming wisteria, was a sight she had dreamed of countless times as the masquerade played over and over in her memory. She could not help but gaze at it, her steps slowed as everyone disembarked. Eloise scampered past her chasing Hyacinth who was cackling as they bounded into the house.

Seeing her hesitate, the Viscountess approached Sophie and gently waved her inside. 

“Come along, Sophie.” Kate said warmly.

Sophie followed her up the stairs, wondering why, if she were merely about to begin work in a new home, she felt as if she were entering a new family. It felt…nice. And it had been a long, long while since her life had felt nice. With a small smile, she stepped across the threshold and into the main hall. A maid’s footsteps now entering where the lady in silver had made her swift exit. 

The courtesies did not end at the door. Lunch was waiting for the family upon arrival and while they ate Mrs. Wilson showed Sophie to her room in the lower level. With a writing desk, looking glass and soft bed, it was surely the nicest any servant had ever been assigned. She knew that she should not allow herself to grow too comfortable at Bridgerton House, but she just couldn’t help wishing that she could stay forever. That was impossible, of course. But she could stay just a little while. Not long. A few weeks - at most until the end of the season. Just long enough to get her thoughts in order and find a way to separate herself from Benedict at last. Perhaps he would find his love match, or he might grow tired of her. Perhaps she would finally come to her senses and secure another position away from the nest of secrets and lies she had built for herself. She’d fallen in love with the wrong man. She could never keep him for herself, and she refused to go to him on his terms. It was hopeless.

She was saved from any further depressing thoughts by a brisk knock on her door. When she called out “Yes?” the door opened, and Lady Bridgerton entered the room.

Sophie immediately jumped to her feet and bobbed a curtsy. “Was there anything you needed, my lady?” she asked.

“No, not at all,” Lady Bridgerton replied. “I was merely checking to see if you were getting settled in. Is there anything I can get for you?”

Sophie blinked. Lady Bridgerton was asking her if she needed anything? Rather the reverse of the usual lady-servant relationship. “Er, no thank you,” Sophie said. “I would be happy to get something for you though.”

Lady Bridgerton waived her offer away. “No need. You shouldn’t feel you have to do anything for us today. I’d prefer that you get yourself settled in first so that you do not feel distracted when you begin.”

Sophie cast her eyes toward her small bag. “I don’t have much to unpack. Truly, I should be happy to continue working today.”

“Nonsense. We are not planning to go out this evening. We have another lady’s maid and Eloise shall certainly survive the night.”

“But-”

Lady Bridgerton smiled, her bright eyes containing the same cheer as her son’s. “No arguments, if you please. One free evening is the least I can do after you saved my son.”

“I did very little,” Sophie said. “He would have been fine without me.”

“Nevertheless, you aided him when he needed help, and for that I am in your debt.”

“It was my pleasure,” Sophie replied. “I owed him after what he did for me.”  She thought back to that fateful night in the storm but knew that Benedict had saved her long before he found her on the road. Ever since the moment he had found her in the garden of Bridgerton House, he had breathed life back into her dreams. He had opened her heart to romance, opened her body to pleasure, and made her feel worthy. Wanted. Though she could not accept his offer to lavish her with even more, he was still ensuring her safety and comfort through employment with his family. It was more than she could ever repay.

“Is something wrong, Sophie?” Lady Bridgerton asked. “You have a tear in your eye.”

Sophie shook her head. “Just a speck of dust,” she mumbled, pretending to busy herself with the unpacking of her small bag of possessions. And even though she had no idea where she intended to go from this moment on, she had the oddest feeling that her life had just begun.

___

The next day Sophie dove headfirst into her work. The lady’s maid now assigned to Francesca and Hyacinth, a quiet woman named Ines, was obviously relieved to have Eloise taken off of her hands. Nothing seemed to remain orderly when Eloise was around. Somehow hairpins went missing, hems were ripped and ink was spilled on a regular basis. Just organizing her wardrobe was a project that would occupy Sophie for more than a day. 

As she went about her tasks, she was treated politely by her fellow staff and kindly by each member of the family. Hyacinth chattered nearly as much as Eloise and was often joined by her brother Gregory as they antagonized one another. Lady Bridgerton and the Viscountess doted on young Edmund. Sophie only saw the Viscount when she was near the study and made it a point to try and avoid him. Of everyone in the household, his presence made her the most nervous. An imperious man with a stern brow, she knew that if any of her secrets came to light, he would be the one to dole out her punishment. Despite his being a Bridgerton, her many experiences with titled gentlemen of the ton did not leave her much hope that he would be a warm personality.

Benedict and Colin each kept their own apartments elsewhere, which she knew was for the best. She didn’t want Colin growing too familiar with her appearance and if Benedict was sleeping under the same roof they would not have been able to keep their distance from one another. Precisely when and where she would see him again was already a mystery, nevermind how they were supposed to stay hidden while in such close proximity to his family.

On her second morning she learned that Benedict gave little care for such proximity when he suddenly appeared beside her in the stairway alcove of the main hall. 

Sophie nearly jumped a foot. “Where did you come from?”

With a crooked grin he pointed to a small open doorway. “Right there,” he answered, his voice all innocence.

She chided him playfully. “First windows, and now you’re jumping out at me from closets?”

He frowned at her with mock scrutiny, “Now, Miss Beckett, clearly you haven’t done your diligence in learning the layout of the house.” He pushed her further into the shadow of the stairway, his voice lowering to a purr. “Because if you had, you’d know that is a side door and I am welcome to move about my family home as I please.”

Then his mouth was on hers, hot and needy. She hummed against his lips. Even two days apart had felt unbearable. They pawed at each other, her hands winding in his hair, his pulling at the collar of her uniform, both of them aching with the knowledge that they couldn’t go any further.

“How are you finding everything? How are they treating you?” Benedict gasped as he tried to steady himself. If the sight of Sophie rooted him to the spot, the feeling of her in his arms drove him to madness. They were practically on display for the whole house to see and yet nothing could tame his hunger for her.

Sophie smiled, catching her breath as she clung to his lapels. “Your family is wonderful. I don’t believe anyone suspects anything. Though the footman, John, looks at me askance.”

Benedict chuckled. “I wouldn’t worry about him. He stays tight-lipped that one.”

“That could be precisely something to worry about,” she warned. “That he’s biding his time observing. I know all about footmen and how they collect precious information. More, I daresay than you do.”

Never failing to delight in her confidence, he smirked. “You act less like a maid than any woman of my acquaintance.”

“You bring out the worst in me, Mr. Bridgerton.” With a glint in her eye she tugged him into another heated kiss. Benedict could feel a crisis stirring in his trousers. It was all he could do to keep from hoisting her legs around his waist.

“Use my name,” he pleaded.

Feeling devilish, she ran her nails across the blue velvet of his jacket and leaned in to lick his ear. “Do many of your servants call you by your given name? You can’t have it both ways, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“I only want it one way,” he growled, pressing her harder against the wall. She was a faerie and a temptress. She was everything he wanted, dangled so tantalizingly before him… 

The thud of a door closing on the landing above snapped him back to his senses and he pulled away, straightening his clothes and smoothing his hair mere seconds before footfalls descended the stairs.

“Benedict!” His mother caught him just as he rounded the banister. Though he was certain his cheeks were flushed, she seemed none the wiser. 

“Mother!” He croaked, forcing a smile. “It is good to see you.” 

From the corner of his eye he could see Sophie composing herself and attempting to shuffle silently out the side door.

“Ah, you’ve found Miss Beckett.” His mother had spied her too. Sophie stopped in her tracks and turned to curtsy.

His mind still hazy with Sophie’s scent, Benedict stuttered. “We were only passing…I wasn’t…”

Violet looked between them both, not with suspicion but with genuine affection. “She has been such a wonderful addition to the staff. I’ve never seen Eloise so contented with a lady’s maid. You had quite an eye in finding her.”

Sophie blushed and bowed her head again, hands clasped firmly in front of her.

Benedict could feel the cold sweat gathering under his cravat. Thankfully his mother had not witnessed anything, but it had been close. Perhaps too close. If she only knew everything he had found in Sophie.

“Yes, well, I’m glad.” He feigned nonchalance. “I was…just here to meet with Anthony. The accounts are…well the accounts always need looking after, don’t they?”

“Yes they do. Thank you, dearest.”

With silent gratitude that his ability to form a sentence was returning, Benedict nodded at the ladies and turned to head for the study.

Violet called after him. “I assume you are too busy to join us at Lady Danbury’s dinner party tonight?”

Benedict turned. “And miss the lash of her razored wit? How could I?” With a cheeky grin and a wink, he strutted off through the main hall and disappeared behind the study door.

Violet stepped to the bottom of the staircase with a sigh, shaking her head. “Between him and his brother, I don’t know which one of them will kill me first,” she muttered. 

Emerging from the shadows, Sophie inquired, “Which brother?”

Violet shrugged. “Either. Both. All three. Scoundrels, the lot of them.”

But they were scoundrels she clearly loved. Sophie could hear it in the way she spoke, see it in her eyes when they lit with joy upon seeing her son. And it made Sophie lonely and wistful and jealous. How different her life might have been had her mother lived through childbirth. They might have been unrespectable, Mrs. Beckett a mistress and Sophie a bastard, but Sophie liked to think that her mother would have loved her. Which was more than she had received from any other adult, her father included. Just as she had sensed it in the very walls of Aubrey Hall, she could feel the love the family had imbued into Bridgerton House too, and it was a feeling she did not want to leave. 

Though she knew she could never be a part of the Bridgerton family, maybe she could be a friend. Maybe for a short while, she could pretend she was a little more than just a servant.

____

As the days melted into a week, Sophie discovered that working for the Bridgertons could keep a girl very busy indeed. Her days were filled with hairdressing, mending, pressing gowns, polishing shoes and any other tasks needed to support Eloise, which often included listening to her analyses of various books and pamphlets. She hadn’t yet been called upon to leave the house. The three youngest Bridgerton sisters enjoyed trips into town with quiet Ines and Sophie began to wonder if Eloise was intentionally granting her privacy. Benedict somehow never failed to materialize when Sophie was at her leisure and she suspected a degree of collusion.

Always keeping watch for prying eyes, they would steal desperate kisses in hallway corners and trade glances across the drawing room when Benedict joined the family for tea. On one occasion he found her reading in the back garden, an encounter which ended with the two of them hidden in the hedges, a hand clamped over her mouth to stifle her cries while the other was buried beneath her skirts. 

At some point a small spray of forget-me-nots appeared on the writing desk in her room. When it began to wilt, a fresh bunch showed up in its place. She never saw who delivered them, but her heart trilled every time she opened the door to find them waiting. Their delicate yellow stars dotted across soft blue were so reminiscent of the night sky during the masquerade.

Where life with the Cowpers and Cavenders had been dreary and demeaning, the Bridgerton household was filled with laughter and smiles. The family bickered and teased, but never with malice. When tea was informal, with only the ladies of the house in attendance, Sophie was always invited to partake. She usually brought her basket of mending and darned or sewed buttons while the Bridgertons chattered away, but it was so lovely to be able to sit and sip a fine cup of tea, with fresh milk and warm scones. And after a while, Sophie began to feel comfortable enough to occasionally add to the conversation. It had become her favorite time of day.

“Where,” Eloise asked one afternoon, “do you suppose Benedict is?”

“Ow!”

All eyes turned to Sophie. “Are you all right?” Lady Bridgerton asked, her teacup suspended halfway between her saucer and her mouth.

Sophie grimaced. “I pricked my finger.”

Lady Bridgerton’s lips curled into a small smile and she continued to sip delicately.

“He has been visiting the house more than usual lately,” Kate mused, stirring her chai. “Though I haven’t seen him today.”

Sophie kept her eyes trained on her sewing and bit her lip to keep from making any expressions. If Benedict’s movements were being noted, they would need to exercise more caution. Reminded of the danger she kept placing herself in, a stab of fear ran through her. It was unlike her to be so brazen. Only Benedict could cause her to act so foolishly.

“He told me he would help me with my arithmetic,” Hyacinth grumbled, “and he has most certainly reneged on his word.”

“I’m sure it has merely slipped his mind,” Lady Bridgerton said diplomatically. “Perhaps if you sent him a note.”

“Or simply knocked on his door,” Francesca said, giving her eyes a slight roll. “It’s not as if he lives very far away.”

“I am an unmarried female,” Hyacinth said with a huff. “I cannot visit bachelor lodgings.”

Sophie coughed.

“You’re fourteen and he’s your brother,” Francesca said disdainfully.

“Nevertheless!”

Ever the peacekeeper, Kate interjected. “Perhaps you could ask Anthony for help. He’s much better with numbers than Benedict anyway.”

“You know, you’re right,” Hyacinth said, shooting one last glare at Francesca. “Pity for Benedict. He’s completely without use to me now.”

They all giggled, because they knew she was joking. Except for Sophie, who did not find it so amusing.

“But in all seriousness,” Hyacinth continued, “what is he good at? Anthony’s better at numbers, and Colin has seen so much of the world. Even Simon is such a good horseman, and…”

“Art,” Sophie interrupted in a sharp voice, surprised at herself but irritated that Benedict’s own family didn’t recognize his individuality and strengths.

Hyacinth looked at her in surprise. “Didn’t he give that up?”

Sophie swallowed. Her remark had gotten everyone’s attention, because while she had let them see her naturally dry wit, she was generally soft-spoken, and she had certainly never said a sharp word to any of them. Five pairs of eyes were fixed on her and Eloise was twisting her fingers anxiously. 

“He is drawing and painting again, I have seen it.” Sophie confirmed. “He’s quite good at art.” A smile tugged at her lips as she recalled the sketchbook he worked at so diligently in his recovery, and her abandoned portrait in the nursery of Aubrey Hall.

“I did not know he had been working on anything since leaving the Academy,” Kate said with quiet interest. Sophie turned to her. It would have been impossible to miss the look of sharp intelligence in her eyes. Kate was curious about Benedict’s pursuits and wanted to know why Sophie was more informed than the rest of the family. In less than a second she was able to read all of that in the Viscountess’ gaze. And in less than a second she decided that she’d made a mistake.

“Yes, when he was convalescing he would spend time sketching.”  She explained in a voice that she hoped was curt enough to prevent further questions. 

It was. No one said a word, although everyone remained focused quite intently on her. She looked from face to face. Eloise’s eyes were blinking rapidly. Lady Bridgerton wasn’t blinking at all.

“He’s quite good,” Sophie repeated, mentally kicking herself even as she said it. “He has made sketches of the house and the family. Beautiful portraits of each of you.” There was something about silence among the Bridgertons that compelled her to fill the void.

Finally, after the longest moment of silence, Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat and said, “How lovely. I should like to see those sketches.” She dabbed a napkin to her lips even though she hadn’t taken a sip of her tea. “Provided, of course, that he cares to share it with me.”

“I must retire to my room,” Eloise suddenly blurted out, breaking the spell. She pressed a hand to her stomach. “I think something is disagreeing with me. Sophie?”

Before anyone could say a word, the young lady pushed her way out the door and Sophie leapt up to follow.

“Are you alright, Miss?” Sophie asked as they scurried down the halls. 

Eloise stopped short and leaned close, dropping her voice. “I am not ill. I was merely trying to get us out of that conversation.”

“I am sorry, Miss,” Sophie apologized. “I didn’t mean to speak out of turn. I only wished to point out your brother’s talent.”

“I’m happy you did,” Eloise assured her. “It’s just that…discussion of his art has been all but forbidden for a long time. You see, he left the Royal Academy because he found out that Anthony had paid for his admission. We could never convince him that he had been recognized for his merits as well. It broke his heart and he dropped the whole thing.”

Sophie felt a piece of her own heart crack to learn the true story behind Benedict’s abandoned aspirations. He had mentioned the Academy only once before and had made it seem as if his self-doubt had driven him out of his own accord. She hadn’t known the Viscount had a hand in undermining his confidence and it soured her perception of him even further. 

“I tried to encourage him to continue,” Eloise went on. “But he simply closed that part of himself off. He’s been rather aimless for years; no real passions other than attending parties. We see less and less of him and he has been…well, not himself. Until recently.” 

The conspiratorial smile she gave Sophie was somehow both nerve wracking and comforting. To have someone within the family who knew she and Benedict shared a connection was a liability, but also undeniably affirming. However, Sophie would not confirm or divulge anything. She didn’t know how much Eloise was privy to and decided it was up to Benedict to share. 

“I am glad to hear he has been inspired to create again,” Eloise grinned.

Sophie returned a small smile. “As am I.”

___

In the days that followed Sophie began to realize that her perception of Benedict was changing. As she observed the personalities in his family and learned more about him through their chatter, she was gaining a fuller picture of the man. He was not just the captivating temptor of her dreams, he was a whole person with flaws and fears of his own. It was clear that he was somewhat misunderstood, perhaps even undervalued within his family, whose affections seemed tinged with a certain dismissiveness. Benedict was called upon for support and good cheer but his own wellbeing was rarely inquired after. His absence was always credited to the idle irresponsibility of a second son. Though it was evident that they loved him, it was also evident they did not take him very seriously. Sophie began to wonder if his outward charisma may be hiding a wounded and self-doubting heart. It made her love him all the more.

She knew that he was capable of great things. She had been on the receiving end of his deep kindness, had parried with his wit, and had seen his natural talents during their time at Aubrey Hall. His art was an extension of his soul, a point of vulnerability that she now realized he had only chosen to share with her. What she couldn’t puzzle was why he had done so. Surely she could not have been the source of his renewed inspiration. A maid willing to cavort with him couldn’t mean that much.

Her thoughts were fixed on this same mystery late one morning as she paused in a corridor to observe herself in a small hanging mirror. She was neither as glamorous as she had been when she had first visited Bridgerton House, nor as wretched as Benedict had found her upon leaving the Cavenders. Under employment with the Bridgertons, fed and treated well, another version of herself was emerging. Someone who felt closer to the truth.

When a hand came to rest on her shoulder, she didn’t jump. She could tell from the ruby signet ring in the reflection that it was him. Stemming the flood of yearning that surged within her, she led him wordlessly to a nearby broom closet and slipped inside. After Benedict closed the door behind them Sophie positively leapt upon him, her lips colliding with his and slamming him against the door. Her tongue was hot and forceful, teasing and exploring his mouth. Her hands were in his hair so tightly it hurt. He loved to feel her desire, her control. He would give her anything she asked of him. 

“I missed you,” she rasped against his lips.

Just the sound of her words made him groan. Heat pulsed through his veins, an animal hunger spread through him and numbed his mind to everything but sensation. Clasping her against him, he moved deeper into the small space until her back hit a set of shelves. As his hands roamed across every sumptuous inch of her body, Sophie nipped at his ear, planting warm kisses down his neck.

“You’re wonderful, Benedict,” she breathed. “Wonderful.”

He didn’t know what he had done to warrant such praise but before he could ask, she suddenly dropped to her knees and began tearing at his trouser buttons.

Breathless, he looked down to watch her release his engorged cock, stroke it to full stiffness and then close her mouth around it. He stuttered as his knees nearly buckled, reaching to hold onto the shelves for support. Sophie moved her mouth and hand, warm and insistent across him, inching him deeper and deeper as her throat opened to receive him. 

“God,” he hissed, blood rushing in his ears. “Sophie…what? Are you sure you want to…?”

Her eyes flashed up to him, just dewy pinpricks in the darkness of the closet. She withdrew her mouth but held him firmly in hand, her voice an impossible blend of sin and sweetness.

“You’re an artist Ben, and I want you to paint my throat. Please.” 

His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as he fought not to swallow his tongue. Dear god, this woman would be the death of him. Completely incapable of speech, he tried to express his gratitude by cupping her chin. She moved her hands to hold his waist and waited eagerly, mouth wide as he guided himself back in and then wound both hands gently into her hair. Sophie closed her lips tight around him, sucking until her cheeks hollowed.

Possessed by desire, Benedict’s hips began to move, thrusting into her mouth rhythmically. His body and mind were reeling, ready to pummel into her heat and erupt within seconds but he fought to pace himself, though time was still of the essence. He kept his probing shallow, not wanting to cause her discomfort. Sophie’s hands gripped him tighter, her breath bursting in little gusts against his abdomen. 

Benedict was in ecstasy, so thrilled to be alone with her again, so thrilled at how she wanted to please him. He knew he should be quiet. He knew how dangerous this was and that any noise may lead to their discovery in the most scandalous position imaginable. The thought of their debauched tableau stiffened him to the point of aching, imagining someone opening the door to find him, sweating and thrusting, cock being swallowed greedily by a gorgeous woman. He could barely contain himself as moans threatened to tear out of his chest. He tried to exhale them away and drove into her harder.

He knew he wasn’t going to last long. Their passion burned so hot, he felt he would come in a few more thrusts. It was like he was a green lad of sixteen, not an experienced man of thirty. She did this to him. Only her. It was a humbling thought. 

Then Sophie snaked a hand up his torso to rest on his chest and loosened her jaw even more, pushing forward until he slid fully down her throat. He gripped her hair and let out a small yelp. He was so hard, so desperately needy. The wet suction of her lips and the drag of her tongue across his veins was so good, he felt the threat of euphoria begin to rise up his spine.

He moved to pull out but Sophie tugged him back against her, holding firmly.

“Sophie,” he panted desperately. “I’m going to…”

But she wouldn’t let him go. She mumbled something, the vibrations of her voice buzzing around his entire manhood and triggering a responding ripple. He curled his body over her, gasping as he pulsed and emptied himself down her throat, painting her within as requested. Sophie held still, clutching onto him, coughing once and breathing heavily as she swallowed his release. 

Benedict’s mind was blank, his muscles trembling as Sophie slowly sat back and let him slide out between her lips. He numbly tucked himself away and straightened his clothes while she wiped her mouth and stood, smoothing her hair. The only sound was the rasp of their breath slowing.

They stared at one another in the faint light peeking around the doorframe. She could see the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow and wiped it away. He grasped her hand and kissed her palm. 

“I don’t know how I shall do anything worthwhile if you continue to distract me like this, Miss Beckett.”

“And I don’t know how I shall keep my position if I keep vanishing into closets.” She smirked at him. 

He returned her smile but something inside him ached. He needed her closer, he needed her longer. He crushed her to himself, kissing her deeply, tasting her, drinking her, breathing her. He tried to recall if anyone had ever made his heart pound as furiously as it did then and realized - it had only been the lady in silver. He had been overconfident with her, assuming he could capture lightning in a bottle and keep it forever. And he’d lost her, maybe lost everything. He hadn’t met anyone since with whom he could even imagine building a life.

Until Sophie.

The perilous chaos of their arrangement was both the most beautiful and terrible thing in his world. Unlike the lady in silver, she wasn’t someone he could hope to marry, but also unlike the lady in silver, she was here. And he wasn’t going to let her get away. 

“Come home with me,” he whispered in her ear. 

She said nothing, but he felt her stiffen.

“Come home with me,” he repeated.

“I can’t,” she sighed, the breath of each word whispering across his skin.

Gently, slowly, she disentangled herself from his arms and straightened her dress.

“Wait a moment after me,” she ordered, then inched the door open, looked up and down the hall and flitted away.

Benedict leaned against the wall in the dark closet trying to slow his breath, contending with his confusion, his frustration, and his disgust with himself. Sophie couldn’t stay like this, a servant in his family house. She was more. She deserved more. As salacious as their encounters were, they should be able to enjoy them without all the secrecy and risk. He didn’t want to keep meeting her in broom closets like a teenager or a scoundrel, so rushed that he couldn’t even ensure her pleasure. Something had to change but he’d be damned if he couldn’t think his way through it yet.

He was playing with fire and yet, for Sophie he was ready to be burned to ash. Better to be ruined by the blaze that roared between them than to live without her warmth.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away @benophievisuals

[skulla-rxcks]

we met on the rooftops.

Paring: simon henriksson x fem reader

Rating: explicit

Genre: smut

Warnings: SA, S0mnophilla, s3lf harm & su1cide mention.

You meet Simon right after Sophie’s death and stick together in this horrifying world, later that night his lust takes over and does something that he’ll regret.

“Hey. Are you okay?” I call out, seeing a clearly ‘disturbed individual’. “I..she just..” he struggles to get his words out as he looks down from the rooftop we both are on.

I walk closer to him, taking in his rushed and beaten up appearance. “My friend she just.. jumped.” He mutters, his expression cold, frozen almost. Clearly trying to take in what just happened.

“you mean she just, killed herself? Did she say any reasonings?” I ask. He shakes his head in response; “not really.”

I help him up, holding his hand, beginning to walk down from the roof with him. “do you.. do you see them too? My friend she.. didn’t. I feel like I’m going insane.” His grip on my hand tightens. “You mean the monsters..?” I question, receiving a nod from him. “Yeah, the monsters, whatever the fuck they are.. I thought I was going crazy but thank god you see them too.”

We make our way down and decide to go and rest in an old abandoned apartment, due to the coldness outside getting more chilling by the second.

“when do you think this will end..?” the man murmurs. “I’m not sure. there has to be some way” I sigh, digging through all of the drawers and cabinets trying to find something to snack on, or at least some supplies to keep us going for the meantime.

“I didn’t catch your name by the way.” I say, taking out some instant noodles I found in one of the draws. “simon.” he responds, laying down on the bed.

“I found some noodles can you look around for a kettle?”

“alright” Simon groans as he gets up, Cleary not in the mood for looking around, just wanting to sleep. “found it.” He brings it over to me after filling it up with water. I plug the kettle in and turn on the switch, waiting for the water to boil. Once it does I pour some of the contents into a bowl, placing it next to Simon who is now lying on the bed, having taken off his hoodie to allow himself to relax.

He starts eating his noodles while staring into nothing and I sit back, leaning against the wall behind me. “you said you saw the monsters before.. did you ever try to kill yourself?” He asks once he swallows his food.

I don’t even think about it before responding.

“why does that matter?”

“I’ve only seen like 2 people.. and they, they only see stuff if they’ve tried it seems.. I don’t know.” Simon mumbles, stuffing his mouth with food, he probably hasn’t eaten in weeks.

“well yeah I have.. if that answers your question.” my gaze turns to his wrists, he’s scratching at what seems like self inflicted wounds, I decide not to say anything. “I’m gonna see if the shower works.” He tells me, before heading into the bathroom.

After eating I decide to go to sleep, knowing Simon will join me shortly after.

he finishes washing himself, whimpering slightly as the hot water makes contact with the cuts on his wrists and thighs. he dries himself off and gets changed before coming out of the bathroom. I’m already sound asleep already, so quickly somehow.

he lays down next to me, pulling the sheets over the both of us, he can’t help but stare at my pale thighs on show under my skirt as he moves the blanket slightly. “fuck.” he grunts as he feels a familiar tent in his pants forming, a tent that he hasn’t felt in what feels like forever, it feels like it’s been ages since he’s let alone touched himself, or, touched someone else.

“I shouldn’t.. not now but, fucking hell..” he mutters, gently taking his dick out of his boxers. he begins to stroke himself soft but roughly, watching as his precum leaks out of the tip of his cock. “I’m so sorry. I.. I need to..” he apologises repeatedly and pulls my skirt and panties down in one tug, I’m not aware that any of this is happening. Simon positions himself at my opening and pushes inside of me with one painful thrust.

He lets out a handful of moans as he feels the tightness of my cunt around him. “shit..” Simon starts thrusting hard inside of me, groaning as he gets closer and closer to his release. “need to.. feel all of you..” his hands slide up my shirt and massage my breasts, squeezing them roughly as he fucks me in my sleep.

I squirm slightly in my sleep causing Simon to cuss at himself. “no don’t wake up fuck.. no.. not. now.. not while I’m..”

“S-Simon.. what are you… mmgh!!” my words are cut off as he wraps one of his hands around my neck and squeezes it gently, bring his face into mine and kissing me roughly while continuing to force his cock inside of me. “I’m sorry.. I’m so Fucking sorry..” he repeats, but this time against my lips. “Mmfh.. Simon.. why… why are you.. ahh..” I moan, trying to get my words out but they’re replaced with whimpers as he continues the assault inside of my cunt.

“I’m so, so Sorry...” he says again and again, his breathing uneven and his voice raspy from crying. It takes everything I have left to not let the tears fall and give in to my own pleasure.

“d-dont cry just… ow.. it hurts. Simon s-slow down!!” I beg, trying to get him off me in the kindest way possible, But he doesn’t listen. “shut up! just let me fuck you.. I need this..” he scolds me, his grip on my throat getting tighter and tighter, making me squirm underneath him. “I.. I can’t breathe, SIMON!!” I yell out, ripping off his hand from my neck and gasping for air, but he still fucks me.

“you’re hurting me..”

“just be quiet and let me have this..Please.” he cries, tears dripping down onto my neck. “just let me use you.” I nod, knowing that either way he’s going to continue. His thrusts get faster and rougher, causing me to bleed occasionally every time he hits my cervix. “Ow..”. “S-Stop whining!” he threatens, pounding me harder and harder.

“i.. I..”

“Shut Up and Let ME FUCK YOU!” he yells, tears forming and spilling down his face.

I bite my lip hard enough to draw blood, trying my best not to let out any sounds so he doesn’t make it more painful for me.

Tears also stream down my face uncontrollably, as the pain in my chest intensifies and my vision goes blurry.

I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for it to end, but it never does.

With one final thrust he cums inside of me, filling me with his warm seed. “I’m sorry.. I’m so fucking sorry I.. I didn’t mean to go this far I just..” he pulls out, mumbling his words against my shoulder, he hugs me tightly and keeps apologising to me. “why.. why did you do this to me.”

“it’s been so long since I’ve.. you know. please look at me.. are you mad at me? please don’t go.. im sorry im really sorry..”

“Simon.” I sigh.

[autisticempathydaemon]

Hello! Are you hyperfixated on RedactedAudio?

Do you want (need) to know who to follow to cultivate your dashboard and feed your gremlin brain good, good boyfriend roleplay content?

Cool, I’ve got you, and I’ve got hyperlinks. Buckle up.

(Note: This is by no means a comprehensive, objective, or complete list. I've only been in the fandom for six months or so. I have biases and favorites and limited time. I hope to update this list periodically, and if you feel I've missed someone, please feel free to reblog with your additions! I just would have loved a guide like this when I got into the fandom back in August and wanted to spread some positivity~!)

Fanfiction:

@angelnoodlesoup: she/her

Sophie is just one of the sweetest David stans that's ever existed who writes, like, the sweetest things about him. Her posts are just going to make you feel warm, fluffy, soft things in your heart area; give into the sweetness. Highlights: Sophie writes this adorable timestamp series of vignettes exploring Davey and Angel's day, but I'm particularly attacked to their David/Angel neighbors to lovers AU~

@arrowfleur

I was actually going to put Max in the visual content portion of this post, because they post delightful Redacted edits on Tiktok (under the same username, highly recommend~), but then they made a uquiz that gave me an existential crisis, so here we are. Highlights: This quiz sent my whole server for a loop and has made me reconsider my relationship with Lovely as a character and kin; it's a great time.

@batch-of-pengwings: robin/bird, she/her

Robin, an absolute sweetheart who makes all the fun ask games that keep the community interconnected and thinking and talking which is just really sweet and fun in the best way. Highlights: The Winter Wonderland game is the one who went around most recently, and it’s so fun to engage with the fandom and discuss who we think is stupid enough to get their tongues stuck on a telephone poll~

@bicyclepainting: they/them

Clover, the fandom's resident Smartass, doing the lord's work and reminding us all how fucking smoochable Aaron is on a regular basis on top of being the coolest astrology nerd don't give them your birth chart you will be perceived /lh Highlights: No one is doing Aaron/Smartass like they are; like, read and absorb the delicious, domestic delight that is them. I also recommend their deep dives into the Redacted bois signs, if you're into that; they're very thorough and fun to read!

@cashandprizes: she/they

My Lexi, my queerplatonic soulmate… She is on a quest to dissect and critique fandom brick by philosophical brick, and I both love her and fear her in equal measure. (That’s a lie, I love her infinitely, more than anything, but she is in fact incredibly intelligent and intimidating.) Highlights: Come for the scathing insights into gray-morality and DD:DNE’s place in fiction, stay for the stripper!Gavin fic they’re working on and their sequel to Lasko’s SexTember audio because she really wanted to make him cry

@ejunkiet: she/her

EJ, the very first of my Redacted loves~ Not only is EJ an endless well of kindness and positivity, but she also writes fucking bomb ass everything. You get angst, you get smut, you get fluff- We stan a multitalented, ace queen. (She also writes really cute CastleAudios fanfiction and original stuff as a cherry on top.) Highlights: EJ writes just some of my favorite David/Angel smut; she captures Angel's little shit nature perfectly. She's also written the sweetest thing of Damien meeting Huxley's moms that I can't get enough of~

@dominimoonbeam: she/her

Domini, truly one of the pillars of the fandom. I don't know what'd we'd be without her fantastic fics or her original novellas or her fantastic, beautiful, rarepair-creating brain. Highlights: God, there's too many to choose from! There's the Sam/Darlin fake dating AU that has us all gripped by the proverbial balls. There's the David/Darlin tattoo shop AU that has me frothing at the mouth because tattoo artists are stinkin hot. That's not even getting into their Cam/William fic, because god, that is such a good rarepair. We love two immortals finding love with one another, we really do. My personal favorite has got to be their Huxley/Darlin piece though, because Darlin gets to be cute and awkward and so, so loved in it.

@frenchiefitzhere: she/her

Frenchie, the fandom's unofficial (but basically official) Marie Greer, not only a gorgeous writer but also the creator of the most fantastical and unique fansongs (who makes original audio content to boot~) Highlights: We would be nowhere as a fandom without the Marie/Colm greer backstory and saga or her audios as the Greer Matriarch herself, but personally? Her Imperium!Lasko/Adam fic kind of changed my life, I'm kind of obsessed with it.

@friendlyfaded: he/him

Miles, the king and professor of the rarepairs! Beware, you will leave his blog wishing for fics for a ship that doesn’t actually exist yet. It’s unavoidable when you read the careful, creative, thoughtful way he considers seemingly silly pairings and makes them gorgeous. Highlights: I recommend his whole rarepairs with prof tag for a snack and his Sweetheart/Lasko/Milo fic for a whole meal~

@gingerbreadmonsters: she/her

Ginger, literally one of the sweetest, friendliest people in the entire Internet. I cannot adequately describe the absolute magnificent poetry of Ginger's prose, so you just have to read it for yourself. You will not be disappointed. Highlights: Ginger's Milo/Sweetheart series is for if you're feeling sweet, and her Vincent/Lovely/Gavin/Freelancer foursome fic is if you're feeling spicy~ Or if you're like me and are longing for an character we'll never see again, you can read her gorgeous, Doctor Who-inspired look in Marcus's mind.

@glassbearclock: she/her

Beans, also known as the best Milo/Sweetheart writer in the game. Their banter is taken from the mouth of god and first name Erik last name Redacted himself, and you could not convince me otherwise. Highlights: I’m a big fan of her sweet, wholesome, Jewish!Milo sick fic, but aYO her Milo/Sweetheart first date fic is so good y’all like goddamn Sweetheart phases through their door and makes Milo faceplant it on accident man that shit is so good

@horrorscoupes: they/he

My beautiful, darling Lotus, my gloriously deranged brother in arms (affectionate). The way they write each and every d(a)emons is just so -chef kiss-. Highlights: I think about their Regulus/Doll fic, like, literally every day, it's just yummy and depraved. Though, for a true taste of genius, for a galaxy brain treat, you've got to read his Shark!Vega/Pet masterpiece.

@k9rage: he/xi

My beloved Calico, our helpful Image Description fairy. He is just so cool and writes the most glorious smut like the world has ever seen. As of publishing, he's writing a Vega/Lasko street racing AU that's gonna be just smoke ash cinder fire hot. Highlights: You need to read his Damien/Gavin waxplay fic; like, this changed my life, I think about it daily. Ooh, AND his Aaron/SmartAss/Gavin threesome fic, because he didn't do all that thinking and imagining for us to not appreciate it. I'm also reccing @calicostorms, his other blog and spotify, so you can get at his stellar Redacted character playlists!

@lovelylonerliterature: 

Lovely, absolute stand-out writer in the fandom! Would you believe they have a whole (as of posting) 95 works for the RedactedASMR fandom on AO3? There’s <2000 fics, which makes Lovely a whole five percent of the fanfiction on their own. That’s wild and so hella cool. Highlights: Literally everything they write. Explore their extremely well done masterlist, it’s beautifully put together, and you’ll find something you love. (I’m particularly fond of the Darlin/Vega fic they wrote based off of one of FriendlyFaded’s posts~)

@romirola: she/her

Dr. Romi, the one and the only and one of the legitimate sweetest goddamn people that has ever existed. You've never met a more polite, darling person in all your days. How did she write all these thousands of words of art while getting a doctorate? God, I wish I knew... if only we could also be so beautiful and wonderful and accomplished. Highlights: You haven't existed until you've read her Milo/Sweetheart Tangled AU; like, what are you doing here? GO. (I also deeply recommend her found family Shaw Pack + Sam fic, if you're looking for something that's still ongoing!)

@sealriously-sealrious: they/them

Chrys who writes- no contest I think we can all agree- the best Huxley that this fandom has ever seen. He is just so well-explored and so multifaceted, just the top-tier himbo content we all need and deserve. Highlights: Huxley and Freelancer at the aquarium, Huxley and Freelancer going camping, sfw, nsfw, whatever you want, we've GOT. (There's even some imperium!Huxley, if you're so inclined >:))

@starlitangels: she/her

Starlit, another absolute powerhouse of the fandom. Just look at this masterlist, I think there’s something here for literally every character. That’s what babes call RANGE. Highlights: The way they explore the Shaw pack is so fun; I’d highly recommend her fic exploring Gabe and his backstory or her fic exploring the Shaw’s future pups~!

@taelonsamada: she/her

A pillar- or should I say fence post?- of the fandom and just an utter peach. Always has a nice word to say and says the best nice words about Sam and Darlin- Highlights: Her nsfw Geordi/Cutie fic holds a special place in my heart (the blindfold? the gag? Be still my beating heart), but you haven’t lived until you’ve read her Shaw-centric Ranch AU~!

@teasandcardigans: she/her

Mads, another lovely creator that could be in either section of this post- that's how talented she is! Not only is she a lovely writer but she also designs the most fun Redacted stickers! Also, she's got the only Redacted fan tiktok that Erik has confirmed seen and liked, can't not mention that it's so cool Highlights: Honestly, there's too many to mention! A really popular of hers is a "What If" echo-esque reimagining of everyone's stories which is so fun, and my personal, biased favorite is her Alexis & Gavin fic hear me OUT-

@the-sugar-crash

Cait, out here doing the most and the best. They’ve run the Redacted Winter Gift Exchange for the past two years, connecting blogs who might have never spoken to each other, inspiring creativity, and spreading holiday cheer~ Highlights: I recommend taking a look-see through the “Redacted 2022 Winter Gift Exchange” tag- much thanks to Cait for making it possible- to consider if you’d like to join next year! Until then, there’s a compilation of their cute headcanon posts to inspire you!

@zozo-01: she/her

Zo, one of the sweetest people in the fandom~ Not only is she a fantastic writer, but she is also one of the friendliest people in the space! Constantly excited and supportive and positive and a joy to follow and befriend. Highlights: Her Sam/Darlin Deity AU is going to change the world and break some hearts, I just know it. (Just like her Alexis and Darlin meeting fic broke mine-) If you're not up to getting your heart broken and just want a friend, I recommend asking her about her Powerpoint of Bollywood scenes that could be Sam/Darlin moments~!

Fanart:

@andr0leda: she/they

Androleda’s art is so gorgeous in that most of them are uncolored or working with a smaller palette, and it just makes those colors stand out and the line work all the more elegant. Highlights: Their wolf!Darlin piece got so popular, and you can see why! It looks like the cover of a really cool YA fantasy novel. Also, her Sam/Darlin art just melts the heart- the gentle hand, the key around the neck-!

@artbykays

Kays, a fantastic artist who plays around with the prettiest, brightest colors and has the prettiest (hottest) fem listeners. They also have super fun Redacted playlists! Highlights: Their Sweetheart, Valentina, is kind of smokin hot, I mean look at her, but also good lord, have you seen their Warden like lock me up anytime hello-

@belovedbow

Bow’s art just makes me so soft and gooey inside I dunno. Their art is so pretty, and they always have the most expressive faces. Not to mention the colors- like, Bow uses the simplest but most emotionally evocative shades of pinks and blues that make me inexplicably feel things, and I love it. Highlights: Literally all their Davey/Angel is the sweetest, but I also have this deep fondness for their imp!FL and Vindemiator pieces, because look at these deep, mournful blues, they’re beautiful!

@cascadiiing: they/them

Atlas creates the most beautiful, squishable, smoochable characters on top of being the most beautiful, squishable, smoochable (platonic) sweetie in existence~ they’re so sweet and friendly on top of being so talented at such a young age, and I would protect them with my life. Highlights: Their Sam kind of makes me so lovesick, I could barf- he’s just that pretty. Their Alexis/Christian art is fanart of my own fic, I’ll grant you, but it’s also so fucking pretty look at the dreamy colors and it MOVES-

@claracatlady

Where would we be without Clara, like honestly- What really stands out about their art is- other than the overwhelming talent- the obvious thought and joy that went into designing the outfits. Only the best from our resident fashion design student! Highlights: literally everything. If I must be specific, the David design pinned to their blog is utterly ahdhkakshdjsk, and I am particularly partial to their Alexis design, because I love my beautiful, possibly complex lady okay-

@fregget-frou : he/they

Mal has the prettiest Listeners; I’m lowkey in love with all of them~ I love the way he does such fluffy, voluminous hair, and I dunno, all their listener OC’s have this fashion model-esque glamour and posture about them that’s really attractive. Highlights: Of their listeners, Mal’s Angel has got to be my favorite. Look at this fluffy-haired cutie! Look at this menace! I would also propose to them, they’re gorgeous!

@gwenifred: she/her

Gwen draws the most gorgeous, swoon-worthy Huxleys and is just a big sweetpea to boot. Her and Pali sharing OC’s and art trades here and on Twitter is a testament to how friendly and sweet the fandom can be! Highlights: Everything she draws is gorgeous, but you haven’t lived until you’ve seen her animation work!

@ice-palace-art: They/It/He/Dae

Darby has some of the most beautiful designs, I can hardly stand it. He creates the most gorgeous, realistically proportioned characters and listeners, and they’re just really smoochable okay let me live- Highlights: It has this one piece of Gavin and Lasko having a sleepover that fills me with the warm fuzzies every time I see it, and their Aaron design fills me with longing I am hopelessly in love with their dad-bodded Aaron.

@itsdaifuku: she/her

Y’all don’t even know the little happy stim storm Fuku’s art sets me on; like, all her art is so cute and joyful and somehow colorful even when it’s in black and white? It just gives the vibe of life and vibrancy constantly? How does she do that? Highlights: Literally, everything she draws is gorgeous and sweet, though her designs for the Shaws and their mates are so S-tier and so cute. (I’m also particularly fond of her designs for Love and Alexis, my favorite characters, I’m biased, sue me)

@mr-laveau: he/they

Laveau, my favorite Milo kinnie~ (Yeah, I said it out loud; I’m callin you out.) Charming, thoughtful, friendly, much more talented than they have any right to be when they’re also so funny and sweet, AND also writing at their other blog @bratty-telepath. You’ve never seen such a double threat. Highlights: Literally, everything he makes. All his designs are colorful and gorgeous and filled to the brim with deliberate, intentional details (though I am incredibly partial to their Alexis and Darlin designs and the parallels he included between them.)

@nais-doodles

Nai is a fucking blessing unto this fandom, and we are not worthy. You haven’t really lived, haven’t experienced all the pure, positive silliness that this hellsite has to offer until you experience Nai’s Redacted Actor AU. It’s pure serotonin, and we’re all here listening to Boyfriend ASMR, I know we could use it. Highlights: Other than said AU posts (which really are so fuckin good), have you seen their drawing of Vincent and Sam’s Monarchal ball? Ooh, and if you go to their tiktok under the same username, you can see some of the really cool dating sim they’re working on!

@nanowatzophina: any pronouns

Na’no is not only a must follow on tumblr, but I also highly recommend their tiktok if you wish to wade through the horrid cesspool of that app (I say with tiktok as one of my top social media sites- we have a codependent relationship) Their art is super cute and expressive, and I get massive gender envy from the way he draws hair and teeth. Highlights: Her aspec Freelancer is just so close to my heart; I adore Avery so deeply. Also, the way they draw imperium!Vega and Pet makes my heart fucking melt and want to jump out my chest- the size difference, my god

@obsessivedino: they/them

Mint’s contribution to the fandom cannot possibly be overstated. Their art style is just so clean and neat and with the cutest expressions, and I love their designs so much, especially for the d(a)emon bois I just ahhhhh Highlights: If you’ve joined the official unofficial Redacted Discord server, you’ve seen their adorable stickers reminding you to kick that ass or hydrate unless you want to die-drate, and you haven’t truly embraced life unless you’ve seen their two-year anniversary masterpiece. Ooh, or pocket caelum!

@palilious: she/her

There is no Redacted fandom or fandom list without Pali, and we’ve all accepted that. Her style is so uniquely and instantaneously recognizable as hers, and everyone adores it, including but not limited to GBA, Nomad, and Cardlin! Highlights: Literally everyone she draws is so pretty, though I have a soft spot for her Vincent or her Nomad drawings if you’re looking for more VAs to listen to!

@pearl-kite: she/they

Kirehn has the most huggable humans and the most awe-inspiring d(a)emons. The way she draws the d(a)emons with constellations worked into the designs and color palettes is just so gorgeous and purposeful and thoughtful. Highlights: Their Vega is so frightening but beautiful, you just can’t look away from him. I’m also particularly in love with their Darlin!

@queendread

Do y’all ever do this thing when you see an ethereally beautiful person and you have no words, all you can do is giggle like a vapid schoolgirl(gn)? That’s me with all of Anna’s paintings: no words, just awe. Highlights: I don’t even really like Gavin, okay, he’s not my type, but lord above, Anna’s Gavin is something else. Their Sam also has those Captain America, boy next door good looks I imagined, it’s like they took him right out of my daydreams.

@ryokoaoi : they/them

Ryo has the absolute cutest, most adorable art style, one can barely handle it! Everything they draw is just so pretty and so colorful and detailed and sweet. (Except the sad things, those are less sweet but gosh they’re still so pretty.) They also have this Magic Swap AU that they design that is so fun to read about! Highlights: Their swapped! Gavin and Avior designs are so fun, I adore them deeply, and if you need something to cheer you up, you can always depend on their DAMN pieces that always include a little invisible Caelum to bring you joy~!

@slushrottweiler: she-they

There is nothing like seeing Slush’s signature blue linework on your dashboard, it’s such a sweet treat- or spicy. There are also very good, very spicy treats. Her blog is a magnificent roulette wheel of blue surprises. Highlights: I love their Sam/Darlin stuff, especially this one because wowee them shoulderblades, but their HuxDami BA piece takes the cake.

@spookybeandoodle

Spooky has my whole heart and wallet and my other heart if I had one I fell in love with their rich color palettes and shading and Alexis right away and had to commission them. Could not recommend enough, they were a treasure to work with~ Highlights: I’m not biased- okay yes I am but not now their Alexis is fuckin smoking hot but also their Cam might be my favorite Cam look at that smile-!

@sri-rachaa: she/her

Rae is such a treasure to this fandom, we hardly deserve her. Her art is so ethereally pretty and delicate? The way she draws hair and noses and silhouettes- her line work is just phenomenal. Everything she creates is just a delight to look at. Highlights: The Southern Siblings AU is a gift, a treasure, a boon that cannot be ignored. I’m also a big fan of her Lovely OC who is ridiculously pretty~

@tankwolf : she/her

June has been posting fanart for only two months, but I’m already absolutely obsessed. I just find her monochrome character portraits so visually engaging and interesting. I would love so badly to be friends with her listener OC’s… Highlights: …or more than friends, because her Sweetheart is something else good lord. I would just love it if June could stop putting the hot people in crop tops please (but also don’t cause whoa)

@terrazaurio

All the fanart Terra creates is so bright and vivid and colorful and expressive, they’re really such a treat to see and experience. I’m a sucker for the colors they use, cause it makes my lizard brain all happy and go “shiny pretty happy.” Highlights: Everything they draw with the Shaw Pack is pure dopamine, like this one of the bois and their mates hanging by the pool. I am particularly attached to this piece from Milo’s HBS, because they’re so fucking in love, your honor, I love them.

@thefablefoxart : she/her

Angelina’s Redacted couple series is one of the truest delights of the fandom; like, they’re so colorful and cute and just adorably designed. I’m also deeply in love with the way she does hair. Everyone just has really fucking good looking hair, and I can’t get over it-Highlights: On top of the aforementioned couple series, I just want to bring attention to this adorable chibi Sam that she drew- it brings me so much serotonin- and their Darlin, Kai who I wish would just give me a shot okay I have a Southern accent too-

If you’re reading all the way here, I hope you found the post helpful and smiled while making your way through it! Or both! The RedactedAudio fandom is truly one of my favorite spaces on the internet; it’s so intimate and creative, and I’ve found some amazing, perfect friends here, so I hope you will too 💖

again playing around with the formatting please stop hurting me tumblr I’m trying to be nice

If you can see this, I love you, and you’re watching me try to format this post so tumblr doesn’t cut off the bottom of it please ignore the Android behind the emerald curtain go about your day

[askchilchuck]

Hey, how can I help you?

(Please read below before interacting)

Hi! My name is Sophie! This blog has gotten enough traction that I feel the need to lay some ground rules for it.

1) This blog is intended to be PG13 so I don’t have to exclude younger fans from participating. I will not be answering anything that wouldn’t fly in canon, or is adjacent to it. Anything explicitly sexual, or can be construed that way will not be answered. This decision was made a couple months in, so do be advised there is some more suggestive content on the earlier posts on this blog. If you don't want to see that kind of content, stick to the newer posts.

2) Nothing related to suicide please. I tried playing it off the first time but between myself and some people around me, even the “KYS 🥰🥰🥰” jokes really aren’t funny, especially recently. Asks including it will not be answered.

3) No firearms. Related to rule 2.

4) Please no spammy asks. I’m honestly not sure how to answer them, and they clog up both the blog itself and the main tags.

5) No political asks. I understand how terrifying the results of the US election are, but I really need this place to be a break from all that. For my sake and yours. We both need spaces where we can recharge from this. Chilchuck doesn’t know what’s going on anyway, he deserves to live in ignorance from it. I love you.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun to bully him, but these things cross a line for me. Thank you for understanding.

If you’re an RP blog, you’re more than welcome to interact! Even if you’re not a Dunmeshi blog! I don’t always have the time to do reblog chains, though, so please don’t feel bad if I miss you there. It’s easiest for me if you submit RP as an ask when the box is open. Sorry for any inconvenience this may cause. If you’re 18+ and interested, I also do private RP on my Discord, linked on my Dunmeshi side blog.

IN LIGHT OF DUPLICATE CHARACTERS:

I think that’s awesome and also really funny. I encourage it. We’ve already got a loose MCU/multiverse plot line going on so we can totally make it work, too. Hell yeah. Hilarious. Love that. /gen

Blog lore:

This blog takes place loosely post canon. I try to avoid spoilers, but little things here and there are inevitable. Chilchuck has made up with his wife and they’re currently working on their relationship. Chilchuck is also in therapy. This is for a few reasons.

1) I don’t think he’d actually answer any of these if he wasn’t.

2) He doesn’t talk about it a lot, but it was one of his wife’s conditions before giving the relationship another go.

3) He just. Should be in general and I have control of it so it’s happening lol

My Chil is bi, but in the middle-aged “everyone’s had gay thoughts before” kinda way, cause I think it’s funnier that way. He also gets high from time-to-time now that he’s not dungeneering anymore.

Folks kept turning him into different things/animals, so goldstar/⭐️ anon gave him an amulet to put a stop to that. "Marcus" also altered the spell on the amulet to encompass all transformations, since inanimate objects weren't initially included.

Squeaker also used a device to prevent any crab transformations specifically from occurring, as well as ejecting all crabs within a 20 mile radius.

There’s also a cult stalking him for some reason. (This is an ongoing problem. They haven't hurt anyone, and they seem to only be targeting Chilchuck.)

The TVA (Marvel) is loosely involved as well as previously mentioned. Squeak fixed it (or so she thought. There's now a DMCU situation going on.)

Also, Chil’s knowledge of the blog/Tumblr varies depending on what would be funnier, but generally he’s aware of the internet. He only uses his phone to answer your asks, though. He has no idea how to do anything else and has no desire to. This means he doesn’t fact check people or knows anything about the greater internet experience. No one knows how he got the phone, or how it’s holding a charge. Don’t worry about it.

ADDENDUM:

Chilchuck has recently started googling slang, and anything else that might be confusing or annoying to him. However, he hates the search feature and trying to find answers on individual websites, and will take the AI generated answers without question.

I myself don’t talk in the main posts, unless it’s tagged #ooc. Otherwise, I’ll always talk in the tags if I’ve got something to say. Or replies. Or DMs. Main post is the only place I’m in character unless specified otherwise.

Emoji anons:

•⭐️/goldstar anon

•🦉/owl anon

•👻/ghost anon

•♡/heart anon

•🐭/mouse anon

•🍬/candy anon

•🥣/bowl (cereal?) anon

•🐻🏀/bear basket ball anon

•🃏/joker anon

•🟣/Gojo Satoru

•🪻

•🐦‍⬛

No other heart variants have been claimed. Also, heads up to all emoji anons, I’m going to start using just one tag for your asks going forward to make tagging easier! So I’ll just be using the emoji variant from here 💖

If you want to hang out with me in a less censored environment, I also run @chilfucked and @askchilchucknsfw which are 18+ only. I will ban all minors who so much as breathe on those blogs. I’m not joking.

I also reserve the right to update these rules as time goes on, so please check them again before submitting when the ask box is open again. Thank you!

[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.

[heartilywrites]

Is it possible to request a fic with Korra please Reader is a princess of the fire nation that likes to keep to herself whether that be studying or training with the blue flames she inherited from her grandmother. Who meets Korra at a Masquerade party her family is hosting in the Capitol. Only problem is they don’t know each other’s true identity.

،، 𝓣he Night We Met ; Korra

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀to part 2 >

request guide | masterlist

resume: where a single ball changed your life.

content warning: fluff ; angst if you squint your eyes ; Korra x fem!reader ; description of eye color ; r is the fire nation's princess and a blue firebender ; no use of y/n

wc: 2k

a/n: I LOVED THIS REQUEST it reminded me of sophie and benedict from bridgerton, they were 100% my inspiration today. i don't know if by her grandmother you meant Azula,,, but I made r be Azula's grandchild, i hope that's okay!! THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING, LOVE, ENJOY <3

“ But you're hearing my heart, so who can stop me if I decide that you're my destiny.ᐣ

The aggressive waves of warmth were felt in the training room, blue flames would mix with the known orange ones while both attackers ran here and there, defending themselves, but always attacking at any small window they could see.

When the sound of a body dropping was the last thing making noise, a smile was painted on your face.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “And those are three in favor of the princess.” you said making a mocking bow to your cousin, he grunted standing up quickly.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You were just lucky,” he defended, an eyebrow arched his way. “Three times means nothing!”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Don't cry, Iroh, you're still the best firebender.” you walked to one of the benches for your towel. “Well, you're one outside of this temple. I'm the best one here.”

The general laughed and got to seat beside you, drinking water from his bottle to calm himself after such intense training.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “We should go out together some time, cousin.” he broke the silence after both your breathings regulated. Your face turned to meet his amber eyes with a grimace. “C'mon! We haven't go out since... Ever!”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You know I don't like to go outside, general.” you answered, shaking your head. “I'm good here with my books and training, they don't target me for my bending here.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You will have to go out at some point.” another sip of water from his bottle. “You need to meet your people, you need to meet the avatar. In case something happens to me you will be the next Fire Lord and you know it.”

Fire colored eyes looked at him with a bit of concern before turning your face away. “Nothing is going to happen to you, Iroh, I know you will be such a great Fire Lord.”

After the training, the prince left for an important meeting with the United Forces, you stayed in your room, as usual.

Was he right? Maybe you needed to meet your people... But there was this constant thought about what they could say or do now. They knew there was a princess after Iroh, for sure, they also knew you were born from Azula's side of the family, not Zuko's, and that sparkle rumors, comments. 'Will that princess be the same as her grandmother?' 'We need to be careful with her' and it never stopped, what the people didn't know fully was your bending color. There were speculations of it being purple, white, the common orange and those who got right of it being blue, but once you started to train your firebending it got completely blue, your grandmother's color of fire and that only rised more rumors and concerns about turning like Azula, so you decided to keep to yourself.

The last time you went outside by your own choice was when you were around fifteen, it ended up with people mad at you and screaming to get away, obviously. Since then you had decided only to go out if it was strictly royal situations to attend.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “A... Masquerade ball.” you repeated the Fire Lord's word, a bit confused. The whole family was eating dinner together.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “As said,” she nodded. “We are hosting for our annual celebration of the end of the hundred years war.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “And you invited the whole world?” now her son asked, taking a bite of his food.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Well... Yeah, I invited the most important people of each nation. It's a collective victory.” Izumi moved her head once more, shrugging a little bit. Her son opened his mouth to speak, getting cut-off by her knowing what he wanted to ask. “Obviously the avatar will be there.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Oh, we so have to go.” Iroh spoke now in your direction making you turn his way. “You're going to like her, you have to be there!”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “It's a family event, of course the princess will go.” Zuko took the word now, you turned now to him pouty. “You will go, darling, it's a masquerade, you won't have to worry about anyone recognizing you.”

You nodded a little bit, trusting the words your great uncle said.

The dress code was formal, as one would think for this events, the so common red, gold and black colors would shine in your new dress. The mask, on the other hand, was a headache to decide on; Iroh and you had been discussing differents styles, at first wanting to match with the type of mask, but later on decided to do different designs. He would go with a full fox mask with red and golden details all over it and you chose a half mask assimilating a cat, same colors, but yours would have the eye holes smaller as they would be stretched and the decoration would be in fire patterns.

The day of the ball your nerves were betraying you, this was your first time in a while showing yourself on a royal event; you usually were able to skip them and stay at the palace continuing with your readings and trainings, but this time your attendance was already confirmed by your great uncle and you couldn’t fail him. But you knew Iroh was going to be there and that was enough for you to feel calmer; the crowned prince had always been your safe place, even if there was an age gap between you, he looked out for you when he had the chance. He was more of a big brother rather than a cousin.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “You look way more handsome when you face is covered.” you said, joking, when you arrived to your cousin's side. You knew he was rolling his eyes.

The place was full of people with their most elegant of clothes. All shades of green, red and blue were present everywhere, a couple of orange could be spotted too representing the new airbenders.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Thank the spirits I can't see much of those judgemental eyes.” he said back, you giggled. “I would love to be here and bother you, but I need to attend something really quick.” Your eyes widened a little bit. “You will be okay, I'll be back in no time.”

Without time to even say anything, he left at a quick pace leaving you standing alone. You looked around at first and decided to look down to your clothes, your hands passed over the fabric and straightened the waist girdle hugging you, you got so immersed in your own little bubble that forgot you were standing on the way when someone bumped you making you almost trip.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Shit!” a voice exclaimed, your body turned to face them. “I'm so sorry, this stupid mask makes me have a blind spot.”

Your eyes caught the foreign ones; ice blue that you were sure the sea itself envied since their creation, you maybe won't know it, but those beautiful eyes fixated on you shined brighter at your sight. A beautiful mask of an owl covering the superior part of her face, silver and white were the colors predominating and they made her eyes stand out. She smiled at you, you felt your knees almost give in.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Are you okay? I hope I didn’t hit you so hard.” she asked you, her eyes were trying to analyze yours.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm okay, don't worry.” a small smile was given back.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “It's a nice party, right?” she pointed out making you giggle and nodding, her smile got brighter. “I'm Korra.”

You looked down to her hand extended to you, own hand squeezing hers and presenting yourself by name. The touch of both hands felt warm under the palms of the ones exchanging the greeting.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Would you... Honor me with a dance?” she asked finally, your hands didn’t separate.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I would love to.” a low answer was said and the two of you moved to the dance floor.

There weren't words to describe the type of connection the two of you felt when first bumping, literally, into each other.

The time shared by the two of you felt almost as it was going in slow-motion, as if just the two of you were dancing in the ball. Stories and fun facts about each other were exchange, but the social status was never shared; for once, you met someone that wasn’t judging nor looking down on you, you were so sure she had no idea about your title and you wanted to keep it that way, so did Korra. The avatar felt at ease with you, you were never told the avatar's name or looks so you didn’t recognize her and she just had the feeling of calm with you, she liked to be known as Korra, a simple person, and not as the avatar.

About four songs later, you had asked her to make you company on a walk by the garden next to the salon. Outside there were groups talking, couples passing time, lonely people just looking at the beautiful night surrounding.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “And now, because of that, I have a scar in the form of a lotus on my left thigh.” you continued, Korra giggled making you smile. “I swear, now it's funny, but back then my mother screamed at me and my cousin for being irresponsible.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Oh, that's amazing.” now you giggled. “My polar bear dog once dropped me when we were racing and she got me a scar that looks like a lightning on my right rib.”

Now between laughs and small pushes, you found a bench to sit on with the girl. Your eyes were looking at the sky from the holes on the mask, smiling softly at such beautiful moon and stars that were at full display for everyone.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Such a beautiful night.” you said, sighing.

Korra's eyes were looking at your profile smiling the same way you were. “Gorgeous.”

When your gaze turned to look at her, your smile stumble for a second. Through the stretched holes of the mask, Korra could see your fire colored eyes shine from time to time. Her hand move to be on top of yours and you intertwined her fingers with your own.

Almost as if it was wired in your brain, both faces got closer to the point of having your breathings mix, warm and cold, and before you could do anything the voice of Iroh screaming your name made you jump in place. Looking forward to him, you got anxious when you saw how he was looking for you, you knew that if the girl recognized your cousin she could connect dots and discover that you are the princess; you were quick to stand up.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I'm sorry, Korra,” your hand let go of hers. “I need to leave now.”

The southerner stood up too, frowning behind the mask. “What? Now? Can't you stay a little longer?”

The male's voice got closer, you shook your head desperate. “I really need to go.”

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “Will I see you again?” she asked, brushing your hand with hers, you smiled a little bit.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “I really hope so...” you whispered, she took your hand and left a small kiss on your knuckles.

Against your will and after squeezing her hand one last time, you walked over to the prince calling from him. Arranging the mask over your face, he sighed.

‍ ‍ ‍ ‍‍ “There you are,” with his head he signaled the inside. “We have to go, grandfather is tired already and the Fire Lord is in an important discussion right now, we have to take him.”

He offered you his arm for you to take it, you turned one last time to where you came from not being able to spot the mysterious girl, a sigh left your lips. Taking your cousin's arm, he guided you back inside to look for the older man while your mind was wondering if you should do the impulsive thing and look for the girl the day after or if you should left that as unsolved for your own good.

[kaisersbestglazer]

✧*̥˚ Four Leaf Clover *̥˚✧

⋆. .☘︎₊˚⭑ a/n - Hi!! this is my first time writing and publishing a story so constructive criticism is welcome!! This first chapter is more of a world building one as i want to turn this into a series if you guys enjoy it and ask for more!! thank you for taking the time to read this :))

⋆. .☘︎₊˚⭑ word count - 1820

⋆.☘︎₊˚⭑ content - Oliver Aiku x fem reader, strangers to lovers, u-20 game, reader plays hard to get, pretty slow slow burn,

⋆.☘︎₊˚⭑ synopsis - You and your friends go to see the u-20 vs blue lock game together when you notice him: Oliver Aiku. Spotting you in the crowd he thinks " I must have her". But what happens when you aren't as easy to persuade as the girls hes used to getting.

Oliver always worked hard for what he wanted. Nothing was ever just handed to him and he never wished for it to be like that, the feeling of pushing himself too his absolute limit to get the one thing he desired most made him excited and thats why he loved soccer so much.

It was just another game he thought, the u-20 vs something called blue lock? He didn’t know too much about the other team or the people who were on it and honestly he didnt care too. Cocky? Maybe a little, but he had faith that his team would come out of this game victorious like always, and he didn’t expect this one game to change that.

You had been looking forward to this match all week, you and a couple friends planned to see it together. it was the only thing keeping you going through your very stressful finals. you needed something that could help you unwind and plus youve never been to a soccer game in person before especially not one this big. So it was rather exciting and new for you.

You had finally finished getting ready when your friend calls you. Shes outside ready to leave, so you grab your belongings and walk towards the door, the wind hitting your face as you walk out. It was a beautiful day outside, its the middle of fall so the leaves are turning colors and falling off the trees. You step on one hearing a nice crunching sound. You make your way to the car finally entering it.

“Woahhh you look cute!!” Sophi exclaims; the excitement ringing through her voice

“Thank you!! I put so much thought into it and….”

Your words start to blend together as she starts the car and pulls out the drive way. You talk the entire car ride there but she doesn’t mind, she listens to you ramble and even asks questions; thats just the type of person she is. Thirty minutes later, you’re there: the blue lock arena. Its huge and crowded filled with stands for food and merchandise. You have never seen this many people in one place at one time this must be a huge match you thought.

You spend a while walking around with sophi looking for your other friends, you zone out but cant help but be intrigued by the other side conversations happening, everyone sounds so passionate about this match.

“Can you believe it sae itoshi is really going to play with u-20!!”

“Really?? We cant miss this we need to hurry and get to our seats”

“Shidou Ryusei s going to be playing with u-20 too, i didnt expect that because hes a total random”

“Isnt he also from the blue lock program?? Why is he playing with u-20”

“ [NAMEEEE], SOPHIII “ you freeze hearing someone call out your name quite loudly bringing you back to reality

“ [NAME] LOOK RIGHT HERE ITS ME” you look around scanning the area when you see her.

“ OH HANA OH MY GOSH” you scream, you havent seen hana in forever since she attends a different university making your friendship mostly long distance.

You give her a hug squealing as sophi approaches from behind you and gives hana a hug aswell. You guys spend the time walking to your seats catching up. School, life, relationships. You want to know everything especially because its been so long since your iconic trio has been together like this.

You guys are mid conversation when you start to hear it, the chanting “JAPAN! JAPAN! JAPAN! JAPAN!!!” The chanting is so loud its practically damaging your eardrums.

“Look guys i think the players are coming out!!”

“WHAT??? SOPHI I CANT HEAR YOU” hana yells

“SHE SAID SHE THINKS THE PLAYERS ARE COMING OUT” i scream back, hoping maybe this time hana heard

“YEAH LOOK OVER THERE I SEE THEM” hana points them out coming from the entrance in the west

You all watch as the players walk out. You made sure to get pretty good seats so youre super close to the field and have a good view of each person. One by one they all walk out each member of u-20 comes out first;

1. Gen fukaku

2. Oliver aiku

3. Kazuma nio

4. Teppei neru

5. Miroku darai

6. Itsuki wakatsuki

7. Haru hayate

8. Kento cho

9. Teru kitsunezato

10. Sae itoshi

11. Shuto sendo

12. Ryusei shidou

Shortly after team blue lock makes their way to the field.

1. Gin Gagamaru

2. Jyubei aryu

3. Ikki niko

4. Hyoma chigiri

5. Kenya yukimiya

6. Tabito karasu

7. Seishiro nagi

8. Meguru bachira

9. Eita otoya

10. Rin itoshi

11. Yoichi isagi

12. Shoei barou

13. Reo mikage

14. Yo hiori

“Woah do you guys see number 10 on u-20??” Sophi asks a sparkle in her eye.

“Yeah why??” You and hana ask simultaneously.

“BECAUSE HE IS SOO CUTE” she crys out.

“NONONONONO DID YOU SEE RIN ITOSHI ON TEAM BLUE LOCK??” Hana says practically foaming at the mouth starting an argument between the two.

While they’re discussing who is finer of the two brothers you cant help but stare out at the 6’3 giant on the u-20 team. Hes tall, with nice healthy looking hair and two different colored eyes one blue the other green, exactly the same as his hair. His jawline is sharp and his facial features are very…?? There isn’t even a word to describe it, you can’t formulate one. But if you had to choose you would say perfect. Oliver Aiku is perfect.

“So who do you think is better [name]??” Sophi asks

“[name]??? Earth to [name] where are you??”

“[NAME]!!” sophi screams in your ear quickly startling you and gathering your attention.

“Huh, what sorry i was zoned out” you say left in a daze.

“Were you zoned out or were you just too busy looking number 2 up and down” hana chimes in slyly.

“what no i just was zoned out stop it!!” you say all flustered

You turn your attention back to the field, everyone’s setting up now getting into their starting positions. You look around for a second and come to a stop. Someones staring at you, you can feel it their eyes piercing your soul. You turn your head to find whoever is looking at you so intensely when you lock eyes with oliver aiku, he smiles at you giving you a smile so warm and genuine that it makes your heart race. You think for a second that maybe you’re tweaking, maybe the delusions are getting to you. So you turn your head breaking the eye contact you shared.

“Guys i think i just made eye contact with Oliver aiku and he smiled at me…” you say questionably.

“Are you serious?!?” Hana freaks out almost jumping out of her seat.

“Did you smile back??” Sophi asks intrigued by the whole situation.

Oh my god…you didnt smile back!?! Fear settles over you as you realize you didnt even return the sentiment not even a little. you didnt even smirk…. Your face twists as you come to your realization, sophi notices.

“Sooo im gonna take that as a no, you fumbled the bag [name]” she jokes

“Oh as if, like there was even a bag to fumble in the first place” you scoff knowing there was no way in hell you even had a chance with the number 1 defender in u-20.

“Aiku what are you staring off at, the games about to start get in position” sendo warns him.

“Sorry, you’re right sendo!” He shouts making his way to his area; center back thats where he plays.

Walking to his area, he ponders about the girl he just saw she was so… Gorgeous?? he doesn’t even know if that’s the most appropriate word for her. She was beyond that; she was ethereal. He wonders if there’s a chance that he will ever get to see her again I mean it’s highly unlikely but if there’s even a slither of hope he’ll go for it. Because he has to have it. He has to have her.

The whistle blows and the game finally starts sae Itoshi starts with the ball it’s U 20s kickoff. After a series of very complex passes and saves, nagi seishiro finally scores the first goal with his iconic intro to japan. The crowd is blaring, everyone is hype ready to see what blue lock has in store for this match.

Goal after goal, the winning team keeps swaying. With only a few seconds left on the clock Isagi positions himself in a place where he assumes the ball may fall. The crowd is over the roof, its so loud in the arena that you could probably hear it from way outside, even if you’re several miles away. The ball lands right where Isagi thought it would he kicks the ball…..and he scores. Isagi scores the winning shot for the u-20 game and blue lock wins 4-3, it was a very close win but still very much a win.

The match seems like it went by so fast thats how phenomenal it was. Everyone was so invested and tuned into it. You’re quite surprised with how the match turns out. Don’t be mistaken you know blue lock was amazing but you didn’t expect them to best the u-20. Everyone stands up to make their way out of the arena but you and your friends just sit there for a little watching as everyone leaves the field.

“Man that was such a good match” hana utters, shock still sounding in her voice from such a surprising match.

“I know right” sophi says mouth agape also still in shock.

You all sit there for a couple more seconds taking in your surroundings and processing your feelings all you can think is. “Damn that was truely an amazing match” Suddenly your thoughts are interrupted when you have the sudden urge to go use the restroom. I mean its not too surprising you did drink ALOT of soda during the game.

“Hana, sophi i have to use the bathroom” you announce.

“Okay lets go its time to leave anyways!!” Sophi vocalizes.

The trio makes their way to the bathroom swiftly. As you finish up you walk outside and hear a familiar manly voice. You continue walking, looking down not paying too much attention to your surroundings when you accidentally bump into someone. Without looking up you start profusely apologizing.

“Oh my gosh im so sorry, i wasnt paying attention and-“ he cuts you off.

“Its okay, you dont have to apologize so much it was an accident.” The man coos.

Wait that voice, ive heard it somewere you slowly begin to look up at the large figure infront of you. No way, you cannot be serious. There is no way you just ran into oliver aiku.

Chapter 1 end

︎ ⋆. .☘︎₊˚⭑ a/n - I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of “Four Leaf Clover”!! Like i said i am a new writer so constructive criticism is welcome!! Along with any ideas for future chapters if you have any!! Again thank you so much for reading and i hope you liked it :)).

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the between

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, retelling of recurrent microaggressive homophobic experience with y/n’s family member in [II.vi], short description of almost throwing up (not related to low self-image) in [II.vii]

word count:  9.1k (of 38.8k)

story context:  everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons.  this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season. 

additional notes:  this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2!  she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits.  they have not yet watched queen charlotte.  the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note:  this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years.  :)  it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens.  additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years.  the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @bedobeeeee @stvrdustalexx @anisas-nonsense @crazymar15 and all who have liked the story so far: the author extends her gratitude for your engagement with the first section. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“have i told you that you are the best model who has ever sat for me?”

it has become a common occurrence.  whenever you read while in the drawing room, benedict asks if you can be his model for his hand studies.  you oblige, seeing how you are already so still while reading aside from the occasional page turn, and—more so—you want to support how benedict progresses in his craft.  today, you and benedict are sat at a table as hyacinth plays a solitary game of cards on the floor and kathani and anthony sit at a couch with some delicious smelling tea.  you had come over to meet eloise and penelope first thing but were soon informed that the two young ladies were still at the markets with colin.  that made you smile; your loud friend is, no doubt, inserting herself emotionally and physically in between your two friends in love.

you feel yourself scrunch your eyebrows at benedict’s comment.

“surely you are exaggerating.”

“hyacinth was my last model; she was horrific.”

you hear an aghast gasp and do nothing to hide the amusement in your smile.

“it is difficult to sit still!”  the youngest bridgerton yells.  

“hyacinth, it is not becoming of a young lady to ye— ow!”

you see somewhat in your periphery how kathani puts the hand she used to thwack her husband’s arm back on her teacup handle, smiling.  benedict, in the meantime, groans and seems to be focusing even more intently on his sketch as not to make eye contact with his youngest sister.

“yes, i understand it is difficult, but you did not sit still for even eight seconds.”

you have not shifted your position in the past half hour or so as not to ruin the angle of your hand for benedict; but you need not visual confirmation to already know that hyacinth has rolled her eyes in response to her brother and returned to her game.

“well, what about the art academy?”  you continue.  “there must have been very good models there for you to draw.”

and very beautiful ones, at that.

“it is true, there were; but,” you see him smile as he smudges his paper, “none are comparable to you.”

you feel your cheeks light aflame and, with a cough, focus even more intently on your passage.

“then i ought to give up on my profession as a basket weaver and put in my request as a model at the art academy.”

“you do realize that you would have to pose—” you see how he pauses his drawing, looking to see where the youngest is in the room, and lowers his voice as he leans forward towards you; (you attempt not to roll your eyes), ”—nude, in order to be a model there, y/n.”

“yes, and what issue is there with that?”

you look away from your passage to benedict to make a point with your stare and are startled to see how startled benedict looks, the familiar ocean of his eyes almost entirely gone and replaced by the black of his pupils.

“nothing.  there is no issue.  no issue at——” he coughs, scratching the back of his ear, no doubt smudging it with charcoal, “would you like to see my progress so far?”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< in the gardens of number five.  penelope, eloise, hyacinth, and gregory are adventurers looking to save the princess benedict from the banshee y/n.

< hidden behind a hedge, y/n and benedict bicker. >

“you are a middle child on a technicality, benedict.”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“you have seven siblings.  anthony the eldest, hyacinth the youngest—and everyone in between simply a middle child?  you all could not be more different from one another, and you are at the very top; you are practically an eldest child.”

“i’ll have you know that no one, myself included, sees me as such.”

“i’m familiar.  an eldest sibling with a penchant for peculiar tea is not one i would describe with an overwhelming sense of duty.”

“how do you know of that?”

“kathani told me.  she recounted to me her first dinner with the family and how transcendently in the most literal sense you had behaved.”

“so you two talk of me?”

you feel the tips of your ears heat, but fortunately your hair hides your embarrassment sufficiently.  you roll your eyes.

“is that what you gleaned?  do not think too deeply about it.”

“i shall think about it deeply and often,”  he states with a twinkle in his eyes.  in an attempt to ignore your fluster and flutterings, you roll your eyes again and shove him.  he laughs, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling adorably whenever he is truly delighted.  despite your best efforts (you put in no effort), you smile at him.  it cannot be helped when you are around benedict.

“now, make haste; hyacinth is about to cast a spell, and she needs a princess to save.  may i grasp your arm?”

“grasp my what?”

“your arm!  i need to pretend as if i am holding you captive, but i am not simply going to take hold of it without permission.”

“how chivalrous of you.”

“i suppose i’ve learned from a sufficient enough gentleman.”

benedict grins and offers his arm.

“i am yours for the taking.”

it is preposterous how much this man makes you want to roll your eyes.  and how much you welcome it.  in the moment, however, you refrain yourself and, instead, smile at him in return as you yank yourselves both out of the hedge to be seen by the others.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< on a morning before she is off to number five, y/n realizes that her last remaining skirt still needs to be cleaned after she had spilt a bottle of ink on it.  (she was devastated by losing so much writing material and money in one fell swoop.)  she had been so preoccupied with work that she had forgotten to clean it. 

< in a rush, she looks throughout her house for extra skirts but to no avail; the only thing she finds that she can wear is a pair of trousers from when her father was younger.  she finds this suitable enough, puts them on, and runs off to bridgerton house.

< upon arriving at the drawing room wearing trousers, y/n hears a choking sound. she looks over and sees that benedict has somehow spilt tea all over himself.  as the bridgerton family makes comments of curiosity and support of y/n’s current attire, benedict excuses himself, y/n hearing how he mumbles that he needs to change his clothes.

< after some time, benedict returns, but y/n notices that, aside from removing his coat, he still wears the clothes he was in.  she remarks to herself:  how can he have been gone for long enough but still be in the same clothes? >  

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you gasp.

“wait!”

you do not wait to hear a response from your companions; you right about turn, swing open the door to number five, and run into the house, straight towards the drawing room.

“benedict!” you shout, “you must come see!”

“wha—“

you grab his hand, pulling him up from his slouched lounge.

“quickly!  you must make haste!”

adrenaline and joy rushing in your veins, you lead benedict out of the drawing room and towards the entrance where, upon returning, you see giles, with a large beam on his face, holding open the door.  you laugh, shooting him a quick nod and grin of your gratitude, and bring benedict outside, pass penelope and colin, pass the gates of bridgerton house, towards the road, and halt yourself and benedict in place.  

you shoot your forefinger outward, pointing towards the sky, your grin ever growing.

“look!”

benedict has been looking at you incredulously, as if you’ve completely lost your mind, and perhaps you have, but you’d be damned if you got to see this and benedict hadn’t.  he shifts his gaze and grin from you towards the sky, and as you had expected, as you had hoped, his expression transforms from gleeful confusion into complete awe.

“see?  it is just like your palette of ideas!  the oranges, the reds, the yellows, the purples, the pinks.  here it all is, made by mother nature herself, and you have already managed to capture the hues in the pigments of your paints!”  laughter bubbles out of you.  “it is amazing!  you are amazing!”

you hear a soft buzz in your ear, causing you to turn towards the familiar sound.  a bumblebee swirls about your head, and it makes you giggle.  you always had a fondness for the sweet creatures; how wonderous one has come to greet you at such a moment!  the bee lands on your nose, as if to give you a kiss, causing you to giggle even more, before it departs and flies off into the sky.

as you stare at your departing friend, as you stare into the sorcerous colors of the sunset, as your smile feels permanent in this moment, you ask benedict,

“isn’t it beautiful?”

“yes.”

you turn to benedict, expecting to see his side profile tilted towards the sky when, instead, you connect with his ocean eyes.  gazing at you.  

your smile fades away as you quietly suck in air through your nose.  you feel a soft caress at your hand, and looking down, you see that you are still holding hands with benedict, him gently rubbing the side of your hand with his thumb.  you look back up, and with indecipherable ocean eyes and a soft smile on his lips, he still gazes at you.  butterflies flutter maddeningly within you.  the way he looks at you, it makes you feel scared.  but you’d be damned if you allowed your fear to tear yourself away from benedict.  so, instead, you smile back and gently rub the side of his hand with your thumb too.

“well!”

you and benedict reel back from one another, letting go of one another’s hands.  as you feel the loss of his touch, you whip your head towards the voice and see a smirking colin, by the side of a smiling penelope, both approaching the two of you.  

“while i hate to get in the way of two— friends in the midst of a conversation, i must fulfill my duties and escort miss featherington to her home.”

you roll your eyes as you promptly ignore the fire that burns on your cheeks.

“you rich people and your escortings.  penelope lives across the way!  she would have already been home if you would have let her, colin.”

“yes, that is true,” pipes up penelope, “but then i would have missed out on such a beautiful sight,” and instead of gesturing at the sunset as her words imply, she keeps her eyes locked on you and benedict.

menaces.  i am friends with menaces.

with smugness in their smiles and delight in their eyes, penelope and colin nod their heads in farewell.  as they move past, you feel a soft squeeze on the side of your arm and see penelope giving you a wink.  you stare off at the couple, penelope featherington and colin bridgerton, your absolute menaces of friends who have left you and benedict stunned in spot.

benedict.

benedict!

you turn your head to face him.  he must have realized at the same moment as you, for you are greeted by an equally speechless expression.  feeling yourself staring into his ocean eyes a moment too long, you cough and look away.

“right, i suppose— i, going— i should be going.”

“of course— yes, that is— right, yes, very good—— not!  you going!  you going is not— not good!  i— we— are more than glad to let you stay!— not let you, but!  but have you stay with—— us!  stay with us!—”

“benedict,” feeling the instinct to touch his hand again, you hesitate and, instead, touch the side of his arm.  you offer him a smile to his (adorably) flustered state.  “i understand what you are trying to convey.”

he huffs out a breath and smiles warily in return, and it is truly absurd how beautiful he is when his suave falls away.  when he takes off the façade he performs to the world and is just himself.  not a bridgerton, not a second eldest son, not a gentleman.  just— 

benedict.  

the one you—— care for.  

the one you care for.

the one i care for.

“thank you, y/n,” you hear him say, “for sharing this with me.”

“of course.  you were first to come to mind when i saw it.”

“shall i— shall i escort you home?”

you snort, inadvertently breaking whatever odd energy has grown between the two of you, and he grins in response.

“goodness, no.  i am fully capable of walking there myself.  besides, it is too far from here, unlike miss featherington,” you intonate the last of your words with mockery.  you will battle colin bridgerton one day.

“i enjoy a long walk.  and with such a beautiful sight, it would be much more a blessing than a burden.”

“daylight is fastly fading; the sunset will not last another eight minutes.”

“yes, the sunset.  because that is what i was referring to,” he says as he stares at you with a lopsided grin.

rolling your eyes, and feeling the violent flutterings in your stomach, you shove benedict by his shoulder, which causes him to laugh and throw his hand up in mock surrender.

“good evening, benedict,” you finalize as you walk away, a smile quickly forming on your lips once out of his sight.

“good evening, y/n,” and you hear the smile in his voice.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“it is here!”

you had just begun to cross your writing when you look up and see kathani enter the drawing room, paper in hand.

“what’s here?” you inquire.  the viscountess smiles.

“perhaps you should be the first to see,” and she hands you the sheet.

taking it into your hands, you are immediately struck by the ornate illustrations of flowers and foliage ornamenting the borders—they are printed on! rather than hand drawn.  you run your fingers against the paper to test your observation.  you’ve only seen such a feat in the books you’ve borrowed from the bridgertons, so it impresses you (though perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me, you remark to yourself) that kathani has found a press to accomplish this feat for her printing. 

you then take in the lettering and read,

a ball in titania’s garden court

“come, now a roundel and a fairy song.”

the company of

is requested at bridgerton house, number 5 in grosvenor square, on thursday evening, jul. 6, 1815 at 9 o’clock p. m.

“you helped inspire the theme,” kathani remarks.  you look up from the paper to her; her eyes are intently on you.

“me?  how so?”

“with our reading of his work, and our conversations with eloise and penelope, he was naturally on my mind when planning for the ball.”

you beam.

“how wondrous!  your first ball in the city, and you are bringing the fairies to it,” you turn to the others. “you must tell me how it goes!  i’d be delighted to hear what the dresses were like, with the theme and all, and if any larks ensued.” 

you note to yourself how penelope will likely know of all of the latter far better than any of the bridgertons, but it would be intriguing, nevertheless, to hear their perspectives.  you turn to the viscountess once more, “it is a brilliant idea, kathani.  i’m honored to have had some part in it.”

you see her open her mouth in response—

“oh good!” 

—when you hear anthony’s voice at the entrance of the drawing room.  

“you’ve accepted!  that is wonderful news.”

you furrow your eyebrows as he approaches.

“accepted?”

“the invitation.  to the ball.”

“what?”  

anthony looks around the room to his family and then back to you.

“i— am beginning to think that is not what you were responding to.”

“how quick of you, brother,” deadpans colin.

“i have just entered!”

“and have proceeded to make a fool of yourself,” eloise counters.

“it’s appropriate for the theme, really,” colin turns to kathani.  “sister, perhaps you might change the dress to costumes?  anthony would make an excellent bottom to your titania.”

“i am—” you start, “still lost.” 

kathani gently nods her head to the paper in your hand.  you look down again.  previously neglecting it for the printed words and illustrations, you now read what is clearly in the viscountess’s handwriting between ‘the company of’ and ‘is requested’:

miss y/n y/l/n.

“this is an invitation.  for me.”

you look up from the invitation and are greeted by kathani, and the rest of the bridgerton family at number five, expectantly staring at you.

“but—— but—”

“now, i understand that this might be quite overwhelming,” begins kathani, “but after speaking with the family, we all agreed that it would be most wondrous if you were to attend the ball.  we would make certain that you felt prepared, beforehand, with lessons in dance and etiquette, hence why i’ve prepared the invitations earlier than customary.” 

“not!  to assume that you are not already competent in these,” adds colin.  “you certainly have more grace than eloise— ow!”  and he rubs the part of his arm eloise just smacked. 

“but if it would appease your mind,” violet interjects, “and help with your concurrence, then we would be more than elated to offer them, and to do them with you.”

“your attire would be paid for,” anthony states simply, “and we would pay the business of your employment their missed earnings for the days in which you will be preparing for the ball and resting from the event’s happenings.  and, if you shall allow it, we would support you and your family from your abstained days of wages.”

“balls are dreadful,” asserts eloise, “but!” she continues swiftly, and exasperatedly, upon seeing her family’s reaction, “with your presence, this one would certainly be more bearable.  pleasant!, even.”

“we,” hyacinth gestures to herself and gregory, “cannot attend the ball, but we will help you in any way we can before then!”

“and we will be there on the morning and afternoon of, if you would like!” gregory exclaims. 

kathani was wrong.  

this is not quite overwhelming.  this is overwhelmingly overwhelming. 

you do not even know where to begin in processing all of the information with which you have just been bombarded.  the wages, the etiquette, the paying, the attire, the dancing, the days off, the ball itself.

but what strikes you most of all—

“you all… agreed?  of wanting me at the ball?”

you look around the drawing room.  your friends’ countenances are illuminated with beams.  all, but one.  you turn to him.  he was the only one not to have stated his case in the family’s proposal. 

before you can start to ruminate on the implications of such, he offers you a smile.  small, but enough for those stupid, stupefying butterflies to flutter within.

“we did,” benedict says.  “we do.”

you exhale.

“then,” though weary from the turn of this day, you offer a small smile in return, to benedict, to the family, “then yes.  i shall go to the ball.”

hyacinth and gregory nearly knock you over in the chair you’re sat in by the sheer power of their hugs.  violet, clapping her hands, laughs with delight at the sight.  eloise exclaims something about penelope finding out.  anthony states he shall begin the ledger.  colin, for whatever reason, starts talking about the cakes that will be there.  kathani remarks that there is much to do and that she, and all of the family, will be there every step of the way.

and benedict smiles.  still small.  still enough.  with those damned ocean eyes.

i shall never understand the absurdity that is this family.

and how delighted you are by that.  how grateful you are for them.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“your rehearsal partners will be myself and gregory,” states the viscount.

you try to withhold your sigh.  you have been dreading this day since kathani first told you of it.  you are utterly delighted to be a student under the tutelage of the viscountess; you are utterly petrified of being a dance student.

“and why do benedict and i not have the privilege to dance with y/n?”

it also does not quell your petrification that the entirety of number five has decided to be present for your lessons.

“because, colin, you two are unmarried men; i am a married one; and gregory is a child.”

“i have just entered my adolescent years!”

“precisely,” anthony grins, “a child.”

“kathani and hyacinth can be potential partners,” you suggest, diverging as not to join hyacinth in her laughter at gregory’s disgruntlement.  despite the anxiety that somehow both swells and knots within you, you are resolute on being intentional and present during your lessons.  “the former is married, and the latter is a child.”

anthony opens his mouth to respond but suddenly closes it shut.  he blinks.

“why have you not considered eloise?”

“because she is unmarried.  i am assuming that you do not want me to partner with colin or benedict, for fear of some sort of— romantic attraction forming.  so i’ve applied the same logic to eloise.”

there is a small silence.  you can see how anthony (and perhaps the rest of the room, you sense) is busily processing within his mind (and theirs) what you have said to him.  

kathani pats her husband twice on his back and smiles at you.  

“that is an excellent idea, y/n.  we will rotate your partners amongst myself, anthony, gregory, and hyacinth.  let us begin.”

and so you do, and it is quite horrendous.  or rather, you are quite horrendous.  

kathani is, unsurprisingly, a marvelous teacher, but not even she as a guide can prevent you from stepping on her, anthony’s, hyacinth’s, and gregory’s feet.  you apologize profusely each time you do so, and so you apologize frequently and often, but each of your partners still smile at you without a drop of deceit or regret in their expressions despite their winces.  they encourage you in all their particular ways.  kathani gently knocks the foot you stepped on her to where it ought to be placed.  anthony pacifies that you are doing well.  hyacinth recounts how she had struggled as you when she first began her lessons.  gregory assures that you are not nearly as heavy-footed as eloise.

even those who aren’t your partners encourage you.  eloise confirms gregory’s statement, not once peeking into the book she holds in her hands.  colin claps his hands to help you keep the tempo of the steps.  violet, at the pianoforte, enthuses how much progress you are making with each passing dance.  penelope, who joined the drawing room part way through a rather disastrous cotillion with anthony, begins to clap her hands excitedly upon seeing you.

the only bridgeton you haven’t heard from the entirety of your lessons is benedict.  while rehearsing a sequence in a quadrille with hyacinth, you notice the vacant spot next to eloise where he once sat.  you try to feign to yourself that your following misstep is due to your ineptitude in rhythm and nothing else.  certainly not the lack of presence of a particular someone.

after you curtsy and kathani bows upon finishing a scotch reel, she beams at you.

“i believe that is enough lessons for today.”

you sigh with every bit of your lungs, your attempt at perfectly squared shoulders immediately slumping in relief.  the family chortles in response and gives you a pleasant round of applause.  you feel your cheeks go flush with embarrassment, completely unbelieving that your horrific display of dancing deserves any sort of praise, but the sentiment warms your heart.

“i would like to pardon myself, if that is all right,” you request towards kathani, “for a moment, is all.”

“yes, of course,” and she takes your hand.  “and we do mean it, y/n.  you have done well today.  you should be proud.”

before you can respond to her, she gives a gentle squeeze of your hand and turns to walk towards anthony.  blinking, you shake your head out of your thoughts.  the bridgertons and penelope seem to respect your want of excusing yourself as they grin or nod their heads in your direction but make no move towards you.  you take a moment more to look at the family and then turn to leave the drawing room.  you cannot help the smile that blooms on your face as you cross the entrance—

when a hand catches your wrist and pulls you further away from the drawing room.  you are about to scream when you see benedict, with furrowed eyebrows and pleading ocean eyes, swiftly put his forefinger to his pursed lips.

“fuckin’— benedict!” you whisper-yell, attempting to honor benedict’s unspoken request for your silence.  “are you mad?  and why are you out here?  have you been here this entire time?”

“may i speak with you?  in private?”  

the urgency in his whisper stupefies you, any frustration felt within fading away.

“of course you may.”

he slides his hand down from your wrist to take your hand—

“follow me.”

—and, with haste, leads you down the corridor and up a set of stairs.

“are you certain this is all right?  the last time we had spoken alone together, you were scolded by your brother.”

“i am more than willing to take that risk with you,” benedict says sincerely, with a smile, but it is strained.  it is a subtlety, but with knowing him for as long as you have now, it is something you have noticed in his expressions.

“are you all right, benedict?”

he promptly ignores your question.  it is unlike benedict, to ignore one of your inquiries.  to retort with a snarky quip, yes; to make a particularly theatrical countenance, yes; to respond with uncertainty, yes.  but never outright, deliberate evasion.  it makes your heart swell even more with worry.

you and benedict arrive at a set of grand doors.  turning the gilded knob, he opens the door and, in true gentlemanly fashion, holds it for you to pass.  such etiquette would have caused you to roll your eyes, but with benedict’s current distress, you will yourself to refrain. 

just as you enter the room, benedict enters too, turns around, and carefully closes the door shut.  he reaches into his pocket and, after some shuffling about, retrieves a key.  you hear a click of the door, and before you can comment on the absolute peculiarity of this situation thus far, benedict whips himself around and faces you.

“do you have attraction to both sexes?”

“i— what?”

“do you have attraction to both sexes?” he repeats with impatience.

“to all persons,” you correct with equal impatience.  “and yes, i do.”

benedict blinks at your response but shakes his head out of his thoughts.

“and how long, how long have you known?  of your attractions?”

“‘of my attractions’?”

“i am asking a question, y/n!”

“you are being strange, benedict!”

“i am!—” and he turns away from you, running his hands through his hair, sucking in air through his nostrils.  he turns back to you and it startles you—how frustrated his countenance is, and how vulnerable his ocean eyes are.

“i am merely trying to ask a question.  i am trying to understand.  please, y/n,” benedict begs.  “please.”

“i— all right,” you try to soothe.  “i, i don’t know how long i have known.  i suppose, since i was a child?  or, perhaps, truly in my adolescent years, when i found myself gazing at those with names like emily and andrew and how i—” you swallow, suddenly feeling exposed, “how i held my breath around them, whenever they were close, when— whenever they were near.”

“and do you still feel that way?”

“pardon?”

“do you still feel that way?  around people?  for people?”

just for the one.

“i, i do.” 

after staring at you a moment more, benedict turns away again, and you quickly exhale a breath—when you’re stricken with a sudden fear.

“does this change your opinion of me?” 

benedict turns back to you, frustration still in his features but confusion slowly seeping into them.

“when i—” am i crying? “when i told my sister how i felt for a girl in our neighborhood, she did not—” you try to shake your head of the fog that starts to fill your mind at remembering, “did not look at me for weeks, and when she did, i felt like, like—— like a monster.”

his face falls.

“no,” benedict states, fastly approaching you, “no, no, no, y/n.”

“i am sorry,” you choke out as he places his hands on the sides of your arms.

“why are you apologizing?” benedict whispers, applying pressure to where he holds you steady.  you had not realized you’ve been shaking.

“you had asked me questions, these questions of importance to you, and i— i have made it about myself— i am so sorry, benedict.”

“you have nothing to apologize for.” 

you shut your eyes close, feeling your face contort in the way it does when everything simply becomes too much for you to bear.    

“you were, and are, so much more courageous than me.”

benedict’s gentle voice and strange statement rouse you to open your eyes.

“i do not understand?”

“you have told another person about your attractions to both— to all persons.  i…”

he goes quiet, unable to finish his thought aloud.  you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, but staring into his ocean eyes a moment more—vulnerable, scared, hurting—it dawns on you.

oh.

benedict.

your heart blooms as you shake your head.

“it is not about courage, benedict, i do not think.  with my sister, it was about trust.  i thought i could trust her with my feelings, with— well, with me.  and she had proved me wrong.”

“and you have proved me right.”

“why are you speaking so vaguely today?” you manage to jest.

benedict rolls his eyes, a small smile resting on his lips.

“and you have proved me right in that i could trust you.  and i do, y/n.  i trust you with— with me.”

perhaps you should have thought better of it, but your emotions move faster than your logic, and your emotions call you to reach out your hand and cup benedict’s cheek as you see tears line his ocean eyes.

“as i trust you with me.”

you do not mean to do it; perhaps it’s the intimacy of your conversation, perhaps it’s the proximity of standing so close, perhaps it’s the way you can feel his bated breath mix with yours, but your eyes flicker down at benedict’s parted lips and, swallowing, you look back into his piercing, indecipherable ocean eyes and breathe,

“benedict—”

when a loud sequence of knocks thud at the locked door.

“oh god!” and you take off, running away from benedict and looking about the room when your eyes fall upon a wardrobe.

“what are you doing!” benedict whisper-shouts at you as you hasten towards your destination.

“i am trying to prevent you from being in trouble again with a certain eldest brother, and you ought to be doing the same!”

you open the door to the wardrobe, hop into it, and, grabbing the door’s edge, look at benedict and the adorable shock on his face.

“answer the door as i hide in here!” before he can babble out a response, you whisper-yell, “go!” and promptly, quietly, shut the wardrobe.

before long, you muffedly hear the clicking of the door and it being opened.  there is a bit of quiet until gregory’s voice asks—

“what happened to your hair?” 

“what of it?”

“it is a mess.  it has not been that messy since—”

“nevermind my hair!  what is it that you need?”

“have you seen y/n?”

“what?  why would i know of y/n’s whereabouts?”

“do not play foolish, brother.” 

“i am not playing foolish!”

“you two are always together!  you and y/n are like eloise and penelope, anthony and kate, colin and food— you never see one without the other, and she hasn’t been seen since her lessons.”

“i have not seen her; does that answer your inquiry?”

“why are you so on guard!  ugh, never you mind.  hyacinth and i will look for her on our own, with no thanks to you.”

before benedict can retort, you hear footsteps walking away from him and down the corridor.  there is another moment of quiet before you hear the shutting of the door and the turning of the key.  you slowly open the wardrobe, and when you see a disgruntled benedict and benedict only, you hop out and walk towards him, unable to contain the growing smile on your face.

“you shouldn’t be so harsh on gregory.  he was, after all, merely asking a question.”

“you’re taking his side?”

“of course i am.  he, along with hyacinth, are my favorite bridgertons.”

“and where do i fall on this list of yours?”

“eighth,” you reply easily, and benedict’s jaw drops, “but that’s merely on a technicality— i have yet to met daphne and francesca.”

“what have i done to be thought of so little in your regard!” benedict’s expression is aghast, but you see the ghost of a smile on his lips (that you certainly do not stare at for another moment too long).

“do not mistake your low ranking in how i care for you,” you tease but then soften, unable to keep up the lark over your truth.  “i care for you, benedict.  for all of you.  precisely as you are and what you feel and who you—” you swallow, “whoever you love.”

the jest and play fade away from his expression.  benedict simply stares at you, ocean eyes once again indecipherable.  before he can say anything, you step into his space and tidy his hair.

“you ruined your coif earlier,” you whisper.

“what fortune i have for someone to care for me so.”

his smile is so sweet, his voice so sincere, his ocean eyes so gentle.  it is too much, it is so much. 

“if you weren’t such a mischief maker,” you diverge, “you wouldn’t need such fortune.”

that makes him scoff, and you grin, quietly glad a new emotion begins to overtake your overwhelming one.

“wise words coming from a mischief maker herself.”

“a mischief maker who knows how to handle her trouble,” you respond pointedly. “speaking of which, i must be going,” and you turn from benedict and head towards the windows.

“and where are you going?” you hear the befuddled amusement in his inquiry as he follows you.  you unlatch a window.  

“i must leave by way of window and make it appear as if i have been out in the gardens this entire time,” you carefully open the window and peer outside.  no one in sight.  pleased, you turn around and are greeted by an adorably perplexed benedict.  “how else will we deceive the family into believing that we were not alone together?  particularly after gregory inquired after me and found you here.  it would not help our situation if we left the same room, even if at staggered times.”

“this is not the first time you have escaped home,” he declares matter-of-factly.

“of course it’s not.”

“yet another thing we have in common.”

you snort but then cover your mouth.  you turn around and peer out the window, hoping, willing that no one has heard you.  no one in sight still.  you sigh in relief and turn back to a grinning benedict.

“you are compromising my meticulous plans.”

“then you ought to be going.  i shan’t compromise you any further.”

you roll your eyes deeply, ignoring the double entendre (and the flush you feel creeping across your face), but soften.

“will you be all right?  are you all right?”

benedict inhales deeply and exhales equally so.

“i—— have much to think over.  of myself.  to myself.  but, it is a comfort to know that i am not alone in this.  in this experience, the feelings themselves, as well as in the navigation of them,” the corners of benedict’s mouth tug into a gentle but most radiant smile, his ocean eyes incandescent with joy.  “thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies flutter violently within.

“i, i have done nothing.”

“you have done more than you know.”

unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze, you turn back to the open window and steady your hands onto the sides of the frame, leveraging your weight against the ledge to lift yourself up.

“be that as it may,” you assert perhaps too forcefully, “i truly must be going now.” 

you carefully but easily shift your body over the ledge and place your boot against the exterior side of bridgerton house to start your descent.  you should just go—leave and neglect the violence of feelings within you.  but you do not.  instead, you look up and are greeted by the sight of benedict at the window, hands also steadied on the ledge, body leaning towards the outside and downwards, beaming at you, the afternoon sun casting light upon his now even more beautiful countenance.

shit.

you will yourself to focus.

“if you need or wish to speak again on this, you will let me know, yes?”

he still smiles but you see the subtlety of his ocean eyes transforming, from delight to… something else.  you don’t know what, benedict’s ocean eyes ever indecipherable in moments such as this, and it does nothing to quiet the flutterings within.

“i shall.  and hopefully in a manner that does not require your escape.”

“oh, this is nothing.”

“of course it’s not.”

you smile broadly, a particular burst of fondness and play and courage overcoming you—

“farewell, princess.”

and you begin your descent down bridgerton house.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< kathani and y/n make a day of getting y/n a dress for the bridgerton ball.  they meet first at bridgerton house early in the morning, before the rest of the family is awake.  they break fast together, and kathani teaches y/n how to make masala chai.  y/n remarks that how kathani speaks of indian drink and food reminds y/n of how her parents talk about their drink and food from their home country.

< the conversation then grows into talking about how much the ocean intrigues y/n because of how her parents have talked about it, especially in their stories of emigrating to england by ship.  the mystery, beauty, comfort, fear, and joy of the ocean all in one entity.

< the conversation then shifts to kathani and y/n talking about the scrappiness of making do with what resources you have access to.  it makes y/n recount a memory with her mama when she had offered to give up buying ink, quills, and paper to support the family once her elder sister had married and left their family home. >

“it is a hobby, mama, it—”

“it is important,  she says pointedly.  “it is your passion.”  and she smiles.  “we have managed once with just my and papa’s wages, we shall manage now.  you need not worry, my child.” 

< eventually, kathani and y/n finish their breakfast.  they leave bridgerton house and hop into a bridgerton carriage to go to the modiste.  it is the first time y/n is in a carriage and it is a surreal, lovely experience.  it feels like a fairytale. >

–

< after arrival at the modiste and introductions, kathani decides to roam the markets of the neighborhood as madame delacroix tends to y/n in the back of the shop. >

“madame delacroix—”

“clients call me madame delacroix,” she interrupts.  you feel shame flood your body.  of course.  you are not a client.  you are a charity case.  at the whims of this wealthy family that has bestowed their pity on you.  how else would you be in such a position, in such a shop, before such a talented artist revered by the upper echelons of london.  you’re a fool, you wish to run away, you must go when you hear what madame delacroix says next—and she’s smiling.

“friends, however, call me genevieve,” she remarks with a wink.

…

“now, y/n, how would you feel about me being,” genevieve flourishes her hand in the air, “experimental with your dress?”

a combination of fear and excitement perk up within you.

“how do you mean?”

“the ton are quite—” she seems to fight hard not to roll her eyes but admits defeat to a sigh, “—conservative in their fashion—”

“you mean dreadfully dull?” you chime in.  genevieve laughs warmly.

“exactly, my dear,” she grins. “you, however, are anything but.  i see the french silhouettes more fitting to your character, to your personality, to your spark.”

you feel overwhelmed by the kindness of words that flow easily from the mouth of your new friend.  you have not known each other for more than ten minutes, and she seems to see something within you.  it makes you feel self-conscious, undeserving, and incredibly proud.

“i would be honored to be graced with the true magnificence of your artistry, genevieve.”

your friend’s eyes shine with joy, and you cannot help but feel utterly delighted that you were the one to ignite such happiness within her.

“my dear, the ton will be green with envy at the sight of you.  with your natural beauty and with my vision, you shall be an unstoppable force.”

you furrow your eyebrows at “natural beauty.”  you open your mouth to comment—

“is there any person you are looking to,” she hums, looking for the right word while looking for her measuring tape, “impress?”

“no,” you lie.  “i would not know anyone aside from the bridgertons and penelope.”

“ah, yes.  miss penelope,” the modiste says with much fondness in her heart. “she is quite brilliant, is she not?”

you beam.  “she truly is.”

“though,” genevieve ponders, wrapping the tape around your waist, “she is rather besotted with the third eldest bridgerton.”

“oh, yes, it is very appar— wait.  why do you say that?”

genevieve shrugs, but you give it more thought.

“are you implying that i have affections for penelope?”

you love penelope.  she has come to be one of your closest friends, and my god she is beautiful inside and out—but you have never felt an inkling for her beyond platonic love.

“i imply nothing—i’ve just said she’s besotted with the third eldest, did i not?” genevieve plays coy with a smile.  “and the viscount, he is very in love with the viscountess.”

“are you now implying that i have affections for anthony?” 

you feel your entire body shudder.  the idea of having any sort of love for the eldest bridgerton beyond one that is platonic makes you want to—  the very thought—

you put one hand to your mouth and the other to your stomach.  genevieve laughs, delighted by this game she’s inflicting upon you and entirely unperturbed by your potential sick in her shop.

“so,” she continues on, “with mister colin and lady kate and their beaus eliminated, unless you are of the temptress kind—”

“no!”

“then,” laughs genevieve, “that leaves three—”

“what do you mean ‘three’!”

“y/n, please, you are a terrible liar.  you have affections for one of your friends, that is clear.”

“i do not!” you lie again.  she tilts her chin down, looking at you pointedly.

“as i was saying, that leaves three.  there is miss francesca, miss eloise, and mister benedict.”

you feel yourself take in a small breath through your nostrils as you hear his name, and you pray that genevieve does not notice.  

“aha!” she declares.  your prayer has failed.  there is no god.  “ah, yes, mister benedict bridgerton.  the second eldest.”

you hold back a groan, not wanting to give your friend evidence to her (very much correct) claim, so instead you lift your head towards the ceiling.  when you snap it back down to look at her, you are startled by how her delighted expression from a mere moment ago has molded into an expression you cannot figure out.

“y/n, you must know,” she states, with so much sincerity in her tone.  you are entirely confused by this shift in genevieve, and your confusion only intensifies when she gently takes your hand into both of hers.

“benedict and i... we had been acquainted— intimately, at one point.”

oh.

“oh,” you respond pathetically.

the words should not affect you.  they should not affect you.  they should— not— affect you.

but—

you huff out a laugh.

“genevieve, why are you sharing this?  it’s all ri—”

“i share this with you,” she replies in earnest, “because while intimate, and yes, even passionate—” you try not to wince, “—it was brief and, most of all, not of depth,” she sighs. “but i can only speak for myself, can i?”

you swallow, hoping it will cure your dry throat, and with a smile say, “he is very lucky to have won your affections.”

“my dear.”

genevieve removes one of her hands from yours and brings it to the side of your face, softly wiping away a tear on your cheek.  you hadn’t noticed you had started crying.  you close your eyes, weak by and ashamed at the frailty of your heart, as you lean into the comfort of your friend’s hand.  

after a few moments, you feel her hand leave your cheek and feel your chin held between her thumb and forefinger, lifting up your head.  you open your eyes.

“anything i felt for him, i feel for him no more, y/n.  he is lucky to have your affections,” genevieve declares.  “and if benedict is an intelligent man, he must feel the same for you.”

you laugh.  

“benedict is a beautiful person who attracts beautiful people.  i am not a beautiful person.”

it is peculiar, how genevieve’s eyes flood with hurt as if you have offended her.  what did you say that has hurt her so?  you were only speaking of yourself.  before you can think further on it, the modiste steels her expression, fire suddenly blazing her eyes.

“well!  then i must prove to you what you fail to see, my dear!  i dare you not to feel beautiful in the dress i make for you.  and if you doubt your beauty,” she peers at you, “will you doubt my artistry?”

you laugh, this time sincerely, radiating gratitude for your new friend.  

“it would be foolish to doubt your artistry.”

genevieve beams.

“exactly.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you kick your feet off again, swinging yourself back and surging forward as you look up at the stars.  you try not to make too much noise.  you know it’s not proper to ambledly hang about your host’s back garden at night as they all slumber.  you feel as though you are taking advantage of the bridgertons’ kindness in allowing a pauper like you to stay the night at their home, in allowing you any time to stay at their home since making their acquaintance, in allowing—— you sigh again.  you could not sleep.  restlessness has entirely consumed you, and you had decided that some fresh air and some childlike fun would be exactly what you needed to calm your nerves.  while the cool air and the beauty of the night have been a welcomed reprieve, your heart still pounds and your mind still races with anxiety over the ball tomorrow night.

“couldn’t sleep?”

you slam the heels of your boots into the ground as you hear the familiar voice, doing everything in your power to ignore the flutters of butterflies in your stomach upon hearing it, and fall over onto your knees, planting your hands into the dirt so as not to completely and embarrassingly plant your face there instead.  you hear the body of the voice rushing towards you, offering his hand in your periphery.  you look up as benedict’s soft ocean eyes stare into you.  feeling your cheeks flood with warmth, you take your dirtied palm into his, promptly ignore the lightning that shoots out from the touch to the rest of your body, and lift yourself up with benedict’s gentlemanly assistance.  you murmur your thanks as you dust off, in vain, the dirt on your nightdress.

“i did not mean to startle you.”

“well, you have very clearly failed at that,” you remark.

after one last whoosh about your knees to clear off the excess dirt, you look up at benedict and are startled by the utter sincerity of his concerned look.  he looks as if he is about to say something, as if he is about to apologize, when you offer him a smile.

“i’m teasing you, benedict.”

he blinks once before breaking out into a smile, a smile that forcefully summons the butterflies within you to flutter about once again, and laughs.  you cannot help but smile and laugh with him.

“may i have the honor of sitting with you, miss y/l/n?”

you roll your eyes.

“it is your home after all, you need not my permission.”

“am i to ignore the privacy a lady wishes to have?”

“a lady’s privacy, i am sure, is something you wish to have for yourself,” you retort, alluding to your lack of such a title.

he swallows.

“that is something i cannot deny.”

something shifts in the air as benedict stares at you.  you feel yourself holding your breath and, in an attempt to shift away the energy from whatever this— this is (and how much it thrills and terrifies you), you playfully curtsy as you gesture to the swing next to the one that you had occupied.

“i would be delighted by your company, mr. bridgerton.”

the overwhelming gentleness of benedict’s expression transforms into an amused smile, and he follows along with an exaggerated bow of his head.  you take a seat at your swing as he takes his seat at the other on your left.

“i couldn’t,” you say in reply to his first question.  before he can ask why, you hastily jump into your inquiry.  “and why are you up?”

“i was sketching.  i had an idea for a painting and wished to lay out the preliminary work before it escaped me,” he sighs heavily, turning to look out to the rest of the garden.  you feel the loss of his gaze.  “i was frustrated with the results and thought some fresh air would do me some good.”

“what is the idea for your painting?”

he hesitates.

“a portrait,” he seems to admit carefully.  feeling how benedict wishes not to be pressed further, you simply hum an affirmation in response.

“i am certain that your sketch is not nearly as horrendous as you think it is.”

“i appreciate your kindness, but it entirely lacked their spark.”

“you seem quite fond of this person,” you huff with a bit of a laugh, jealousy starting to pool in the pit of your stomach.

benedict smiles.

“i am.”

and he turns to look at you.

you swallow, averting your gaze from soft intense ocean eyes, and kick your feet off the ground to begin a gentle swing.

“you should continue with the portrait,” you rattle on in a hasty attempt at diversion.  “not only are you blessed with natural talent but you are also fueled with such a passionate determination to ever improve your skill because that is how much you love your craft.  an undying devotion to something for which you so deeply care.  it is admirable and extremely apparent in all that you do.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“of your passions?”

you scoff.

“my passions?”

“your writing.”

you halt your swing and whip your head to benedict.  he is grinning with stupid satisfaction, and you would find a way to wipe it off his stupid (beautiful) face if you were not so aghast by the situation.

“how do you know of that?”

“well, whenever you are not reading or conversing with eloise, penelope, and kate; or playing make-believe with my youngest siblings; or squabbling with colin and anthony, you are busily writing in a folded quarto.  or, rather, crossing in a folded quarto.  crossing twice, if you can manage.  you are quite the prolific writer.”

you gape at him, and he continues to grin.

“eloise also told me.”

“she told you!�� you shriek.

“indeed.  it is, after all, how you met penelope, apparently.  and penelope is how you met eloise.  and eloise is how we— how you met the rest of us.”

you slump in your swing.

“i feel betrayed.”

benedict laughs heartily, and you shoot him a glare.  he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“she was merely sharing a fact.”

“she is merely a traitor.”

benedict laughs once again, and you summon all the strength within you not to choke it out from his lungs.

“you seem not to handle perception of yourself very well, y/n.”

“when you are me, it is easy not to be perceived,” you mumble, still reeling from the traitorous nature of your loudmouthed friend.

there is a small silence.

“i do not think that is true.” 

you turn to him, once again surprised by the gentleness of his sincerity.

“i see you,” benedict declares in a quiet but steadfast voice.  his ocean eyes, indecipherable once more, gaze into you.

you feel yourself hold your breath, unable to stop the truth from ringing out in your heart, mind, body, and soul.

i love you.

you shoot up from your swing.

“i must be going, it is quite late—”

“y/n, wait—”

“thank you, benedict,” you say sincerely, turning to him.  “i— i really enjoyed our conversation, as brief as it was.”

he blinks and offers you a small smile.  i must control myself, you reprimand as you feel the butterflies viciously flutter within.

“as did i.”

“good night,” you whisper.  with all the self-control you can muster, you turn away from benedict and hasten towards bridgerton house.

“good night, y/n,” you vaguely hear him say from the swings that brought you together.  you attempt to tune out the wistfulness that you hear, that you imagine you hear in his voice.

[spankingwishes2]

Sophie, Lauren and the Mom Surrogate

(does my bottom look better with a little color?)

Sophie and I have endless debates over my need for a spanking. She says, with me having what she assumes must be a guilty conscious (okay, she's probably right), that I will feel better if I get a solid spanking once in awhile.

She has it pretty easy. When she feels like she's getting a little out of control, she lets our mom know. Out comes mom's hairbrush and Sophie gets really well reframed in the matter of a quarter-hour.

I, on the other hand, and always feeling 'a little out of control' - and I'm not comfortable having Mom spank me. Not the grandmas, either, really - though we've tried (Sophie got spanked with me in those cases).

To 'help', Sophie said she'd keep a lookout for any good spanker-candidates. This sounds pretty odd, but possible because she's not shy about letting other girls know that she's still spanked, so she hears a lot about who does what.

My 'wish list' was kinda long, but Sophie knew it didn't have to be perfect. The main things were willing (preferably enthusiastic) and not freaked out if I seemed to be showing some signs of arousal during the proceedings. To this, Sophie added 'strict', saying that if I wouldn't get spanked by Mom, I should at least get as 'good' or bad a spanking from this 'Mom surrogate'.

Sophie had been spanked twice since the last time we were both spanked - and a lot of time had passed. I think this made her really increase her efforts in identifying somebody to 'help me out' as well.

Well, she found one... we went over when her mom was out... and all three of us knew we were there for one reason - to get me a good spanking!

Sophie had some ideas on what my spanking should be 'for'... sneaking out of the house, lying to Mom, and one of our favorites, 'flashing' (tee hee!) - but Sarah asked me what I thought and I told her:

"Kissing girls before I know them very well... or, um, maybe pretty much at all..."

"Lauren! You know better!"

"I can't help it!" I explained.

"You'd better learn to help it!" she growled - and I shivered.

But, not content with that, I added, "Well, sometimes I'm a little drunk..."

Sarah jumped up - and I almost wet myself! "That is the opposite of an excuse!" she said. "This calls for the hairbrush!"

When she came back, she got a chair out, sat down, and said, "Lauren, do you want me to help you?"

Sophie kept a close eye on the whole proceedings, even though she hated it! I'm betting I didn't get it any worse than she does (though it was awful!) but when it was her little sis 'under the hairbrush', she says she couldn't wait for it to be over!

She always worries more about me - see Sophie Get Spanked - But Worries About Me! and Covering for Sophie - than when she gets herself spanked!

What a great sister!

[catboygirljoker]

content warning: serious animal medical stuff

roy has kidney disease :(

sounds like its a geriatric thing—he's nearly 12 years old. over the past few months he'd been losing weight, throwing up occasionally, then throwing up more often, and then over the past few days he had stopped grooming himself or jumping onto our bed, and nearly stopped eating and drinking entirely.

took him to an emergency/after hours vet and he's being hospitalized overnight with an IV, trying to get some of his bloodwork levels back to normal. in the morning we'll pick him up and then try to get an appointment with our regular vet as soon as possible to look at management options. sounds like it's probable he'll need regular subcutaneous fluids for the rest of his life. and even then it's not a guarantee that he'll have full quality of life. the word "euthanasia" came up—not as a certainty by any means, but as a possibility.

tonight is the first night sophie has spent away from roy since she was spayed three years ago and had to stay overnight then. when we got home from bringing in roy, she'd knocked over a bunch of shit on my dresser lmao. poor baby.