#Doors painting in Anthony

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[gaensebluemchen]

[sixx-sixx-sixx]

LADY BRIDGERTON - Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader (smut)

Summary: Reader has been married to Anthony Bridgerton for too long, it feels, although it has only been a few years. In that short time, not only has he only touched her naked body once, but he comes home most nights smelling of sweat and another woman’s perfume. Lady Whistledown has caught wind of this, and the gossip sends Lady Bridgerton over the edge. Anthony takes the time to give his wife exactly what she’s asking for.

Warnings: smut; badly written smut lol; infidelity; arguments about infidelity; possibly out of character anthony; I’ve only watched season 1 of Bridgerton; breeding kink; unprotected sex (wrap it before u tap it but this is a married couple); female reader/use of she/her pronouns; as always, proofread to the best of my ability

“Do you wish to make a fool of me?” Anthony leaned down to whisper in his young wife’s ear, a firm hand grabbing her elbow as he interrupted her conversation with a young man from Russia, or Hungary. He didn’t pay much mind to the boy so much as the woman who bore his last name, fully aware of the way she had been subtly flirting with many men that night. Taking count of the glasses of bubbles she had — she was nursing her fourth flute, Anthony had decided it was enough.

Don’t make a scene.

Lady Bridgerton felt an intense urge to strike her husband across his cheek, how dare he accuse her of making a fool out of him. All evening she had overheard whispers of Anthony’s name from nasty gossipers. The young Bridgertons had been the central characters in the latest edition of Lady Whistledown. Rumor has it that Lord Bridgerton had continued an affair with a certain singer, without bothering to hide it from his young wife. Even worse? Lady Bridgerton knew, as they all knew, and never seemed to let the truth affect how she presented herself to those around her.

“Would you like me to answer that truthfully, my dear husband?” She turned her gaze towards him, her eyes alight with a burning fury towards the unfaithful man she had devoted her life to. She jerked her arm away from his grip and started to lift the glass to her painted lips. Anthony grabbed the dainty piece of glass and shook his head, “I think you’ve had enough. It’s time for you to go home.”

A bitter laugh escaped her mouth before she could stop it, as a few heads turned to observe the titular couple. “If that is your wish, Mr. Bridgerton.” She turned on her heel and started to make her way out to the cold air, cursing herself for leaving her coat in the carriage. She didn’t even bother to wait for her husband to catch up as she informed the valet they would be leaving.

The carriage ride to the estate wasn’t anything special. She would sit and seethe in silence during the ride, her eyes burning a hole through Anthony’s forehead as he sat across from her. The argument began once the couple was behind the safety of their bedroom door, standing in front of each other with defenses up. “We have been married for two years, Anthony! Two years and the only time you have touched me was on our wedding night. Yet every night you come home, to OUR bed, smelling like some whore’s perfume! I am left to listen to the ton gossip about MY empty bed!” She nearly hissed the words to punctuate her accusations. Anthony had never seen such an outburst from the young woman, she had never spoken to him like that before. She was standing before him, the drinks she had at the ball fueling her anger and simultaneously allowing the anger to sober her head.

“I know that I wasn’t who you wanted to marry, I understand that this was just a beneficial arrangement for you. But I expect that as the woman who now holds your family name, who will one day bear your children, that you could at the very least respect me!” She was angry that he had just stood there and watched her yell, but at the same time, she wouldn’t let him get a word in.

“You cannot expect me to be a dutiful wife and lady if you refuse to grant me at least the tiniest shred of dignity. You, sir, make a fool of yourself, I am merely seeking that same kind of attention you seek from Siena.” Her voice dripped with sickly sweet venom as she spat the woman’s name.

Anthony allowed the woman to speak her mind on his infidelity, finally admitting to himself that he had been unfair to her. He frequently came into their room in the middle of the night when he expected the woman to be asleep. In the beginning of the marriage, he had at least tried to hide the evidence, changing his clothes before he climbed under the blankets next to her. Now, she was accustomed to him laying down beside her without even taking off the shirt that was stained with Siena’s stage makeup and that reeked of her pungent perfume.

“I do not understand, Anthony. I can come to terms with a loveless marriage, but I am so exhausted by knowing you’re giving her that kind of attention, and I have remained loyal to you despite the obvious signs of your affair-“ her rant was abruptly cut short when Anthony floated over to her, his hands gripping her cheeks with fervor as he crashed his lips to hers. Taking only a moment to stand in shock, she pressed her lips back against his, her hand reaching to grip onto the front of his overcoat. Desperately reaching for more, trying to edge him closer to their bed but ultimately allowing him full control over her mind, body and soul. She let out a disappointed whimper when his lips parted from hers, his face inches from her own.

“What is it that you want from me, woman? You wish for me to touch you the way I touch her? Or do you believe my hands to be too stained?” She hated how close his lips were, desperately trying to reach forward as he spoke his mind. She didn’t really care how improper the words sounded as they came from his mouth, because she DID want him to touch her- not just touch, she wanted him to fuck her the way he fucked his mistress.

She took a moment to find her words, not expecting her confrontation to lead to this moment. “Anthony, I am your wife. All I want is for you to- to fuck me the way a husband fucks his wife.”

Understanding that he had a year’s worth of missing passion to make up for, and seeing that deep down he had no other choice than to obey the woman before him, he easily obliged. In this moment, Siena didn’t exist to him. He was purely focused on making sure his duties as a husband were thoroughly taken care of. Tonight, he would go to sleep smelling of his wife’s soft scent, making sure to cover the woman in marks of his affection.

Little time was wasted in getting their clothes off. A mess of hands clashing together to try and undo buttons and layers and loops, the couple grasping at each other as though they were desperate for the other as a life source.

Anthony paused for a moment to admire his lady’s body in the soft candlelight, letting his hands first run over the delectable curve of her hips, trailing up her sides before settling on her supple breasts.

“I’m sorry that I have spent so long torturing you, making you only imagine my hands touching you like this. I promise, my lady, I will do a much better job at attending to whatever it is you wish from me.” Anthony promised as his eyes stayed locked with hers. Her pupils were blown wide, and he realized he didn’t even know what color her irises were meant to be. He told himself he’d be a better husband to her after this, wanting to ensure her place in society as his wife. He’d fuck her full of his seed tonight, and every night after that, to make sure that Lady Whistledown could never accuse him of neglecting his wife’s desires again.

“Please, my lord, please--“ Lady Bridgerton sounded deliciously desperate, and it excited Anthony in a way that he had never experienced in his years-long affairs with Siena. It spurred him to plunge his cock deeper into his wife, his hand pushing her thigh down to her shoulder as he positioned her to angle himself deeper. She would probably think about the pressure against her cervix for the rest of her life, praying to God that she’d be able to experience this side of her husband for the rest of their lives together.

“What is it that you want, Lady Bridgerton? Tell me with words, my love, I want to hear you say it.” In this close position he could make sure she could look into his eyes to see he was genuine in this moment.

She was surprised at his stamina and determination tonight, focused more on her body than chasing his own release. A complete contrast to their wedding night, she felt like he treated the consummation as a chore. This was a much, much better experience. She had lost count of the times he had made her cum tonight, and the ways he had coaxed her orgasms from her.

“Anthony- Christ! Please don’t stop, want you to fuck me full til i’m round with your child-“ her voice was ragged and on the verge of giving out after not holding back a single sound. She didn’t care how pathetic she sounded begging for what seemed like the bare minimum from her husband.

Anthony leaned down to capture her lips in a messy kiss, reaching down to grab her hand that was tangled in the sheets beneath her. He caught any noises that escaped her, the sounds muffled against his own mouth, moving to hold her hand above her head. She clutched at his hand and whimpered his name as his hips stilled after a few sloppy thrusts, thick ropes coating her walls.

Anthony stayed put for a moment so as to not waste a drop, pulling his lips from hers before ghosting them over the hammering pulse in her neck. He gently maneuvered her pliable body into a resting position, slowly pulling himself from her and getting up from the bed.

After he had gently cleaned up the mess he had made of the woman, Anthony peppered soft kisses over her stomach as he made his way up to lay down next to her. She instantly curled into his chest and closed her eyes, taking her time in coming down from the cloud she was on. She could feel his fingers gently combing through her mussed hair, the sensation slowly bringing her back to earth.

“Are you alright, Lady Bridgerton?” Anthony spoke softly to not spook her, his arms locked safely around her keeping her pressed to his body. Her lips quirked into a smile and he took notice of the way her cheek dimpled, his thumb moving to stroke over the small impression.

“I am absolutely content, Lord Bridgerton.” She opened her eyes to look up at her husband’s face. Anthony smiled as he kissed her again, a kiss so tender that nearly brought tears to her eyes.

“I may not be the perfect husband, but I vow to do better by you. I will end things with Siena and tend to the parts of you that I’ve been neglectful of.” Anthony made a promise to her after he had pulled away. His wife reached up to grab his hand in hers, moving it to press a gentle kiss to his knuckles before she spoke.

“You can use all of the sweet words that you want, you’ll still have to prove yourself with actions.” She squeezed his hand gently, “But I think this has been good start.”

[fayes-fics]

A Welcome Intrusion

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: A drunken Bridgerton in the wrong room could be the start of something...

Warnings: none really... flirtatious drunken fluff, meet-cute.

Word Count: 1.3k

Authors Note: This idea has been lingering in my "wtf is this" pile of scenes I sometimes scribble down idly. I decided to add a little polish and make it a little one-shot, as I could not see it having a natural home in my other WIPs. I also have vague plans to do the same scene setup with Anthony as a character study of how their reactions would differ. Unbetaed. I hope you enjoy <3

You are sleeping fitfully - a stifling summer night makes even a thin cotton sheet too much to bear on your overheated skin - when your bedroom is rudely invaded. 

In your half-awake, bleary state, you are not even certain someone is in the room at first, your back being turned to the door. Indeed, it’s only when the mattress dips that you truly startle. You freeze, facing away, completely uncertain what to do with a stranger perched on the edge of your bed. 

Behind you, you hear someone undressing haphazardly, Clothing hitting the rug in soft whumps. Bile rises in your throat when the effort-filled grunt while doing so is decidedly male. 

There is a triumphant noise, and then a body flops back onto the mattress with a self-satisfied chuckle. After a few beats, all is still, and you steel yourself to speak.

“Kind sir,” you murmur, not daring to move, clinging to the far side, “please leave my room.”

There is a decidedly undignified squeal of shock, more akin to a young girl, him flipping over onto all fours next to you, the movement causing you to turn over in equal surprise.

You both stare at each other as if burned; you clutch the bedding high around your neck as he pants lightly, recovering from the apparent scare you gave him, his breath carrying the rich aroma of expensive brandy. In the shaft of moonlight leaking through the curtains, you see the curve of his cheekbone, the sharp line of his jaw. Whoever he is, he is very pretty. Very drunk, yes. But very pretty, too.

“What in god’s name are you doing in my bed?” he demands, sounding alarmed but mildly slurred with intoxication.

“You are in my bed!” you squeak back, knuckles tightening around the sheet you hold, even as your traitorous eyes roam lower, entirely without meaning to. A slice of lithe, freckled chest muscle flexing over ribs as he draws heavy breaths makes something deep inside you quake. You quickly dart your eyes back up to his face. 

“I think not! This has been my bedroom since I was three years old!” he attests with the blithe certainty alcohol provides.

Oh, so he must be a Bridgerton. That is perhaps an easy guess, seeing as you are staying at Aubrey Hall ahead of tomorrow’s midsummer Hearts and Flowers Ball.

“I don’t think they would assign a family bedroom to a guest,” you answer with a flare of sass.

“Yes, I quite agree. That’s why you should not be here,” he huffs indignantly. 

“I was shown here by the head housemaid. That is my trunk there, the footmen brought in,” you point out, gesturing across the room. 

He seems to ignore your argument but suddenly swings around almost violently, looking at the room.

“I don’t have that on my wall,” he frowns at a sizeable floral painting over a dresser.

“Maybe because this isn’t actually your bedroom?” you volley back with uncharacteristic brashness, likely a reaction to his presence affecting you the longer he remains.

He whips back and narrows his eyes at you. “Did Anthony put you up to this? Or Colin? Change my room around and hide you in my bed to fool me? Are you some doxy?” 

“How dare you, sir!!” you blanche, horrified at his coarse language and that he could think you are any sort of woman of such low morals.

“My sincerest apologies,” he immediately looks thoroughly contrite. “You do appear far too well-bred to be such. But it still does not explain your presence in my room.”

“No, it does not,” you answer through gritted teeth, annoyance flaring at his continued erroneous insistence. “And that is because this is not your room…. dunderhead!”

The ferocity with which you spit the last word has his face morphing into one of befuddled incredulity, a single eyebrow arching.

“Sorry, that was impertinent of me,” you flush, dropping your gaze ashamed.

No!” he rushes out, “I… I liked it,” the confession apparently takes him by surprise as much as it does you, judging by his confused frown at his own words.

But then he seems to shrug and nod decisively as if agreeing with himself before he looks back to you, shifting so the light colour of his eyes catches the moonbeam.

“Who are you?” he inquires, cocking his head to the side.

“Miss y/l/n,” you respond.

“I’m Benedict…”

“...BrIdgerton,” you finish for him. “I assume, based on the fact you have a childhood bedroom here.”

He laughs; a rich, resonant sound that makes your insides jolt.

“Indeed,” he smiles, the ivory of his teeth catching the light. Again, you are drawn to how pretty he seems to be. “I am… quite intoxicated, Miss y/l/n”, he confesses, clutching a hand to his chest as if holding a doffed cap, “‘tis entirely possible I am indeed not in the correct bedroom.”

“I would venture that to be the correct assessment,” you offer with a meek smile.

“I sincerely apologise, yet again,” his face contrite as he shuffles into a kneeling position, his palms resting upturned on his thighs as if seeking forgiveness. 

The problem is all your eyes can do is slide down his bare torso, lingering in places they shouldn’t—like the swell of his pectorals, the dip of his waist, and the pull of material at the junction of his thighs just a few inches above where his palms rest….

“I suppose it is only fair I let you look, seeing as I so rudely interrupted your sleep,” he comments dryly.

Your eyes jerk back to his face, met with a pointedly raised eyebrow and a knowing crooked smirk. You feel your cheeks aflame and bow your head, biting your lip, knowing you have been thoroughly caught in your ogling.

“I… I apologise, sir,” you mumble quietly, “I… I have not seen a man without a shirt before…” you admit in a whisper. 

“And do you like what you see?” he teases, tone etched with beguiling menace, his mouth twisted into an intrigued pout as you dare to raise your gaze again.

“I… I…,” you falter, knowing that admitting such would be scandalous.

“Your secret is safe with me, Miss y/l/n,” he winks, “and I hope I am forgiven.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” you bustle out, tugging the bedding high under your chin again, wanting desperately to conceal the flush you know is creeping over your skin with every second spent in his half-naked presence.

“I suppose I should take my leave,” he sighs, his cadence reluctant, perhaps hoping you will dispute his assessment.

“That would be… the most prudent course of action,” you nod even though your fingertips itch to grab his hand and ask him to stay for reasons you don’t entirely understand.

He slides off the bed and scoops up his discarded shirt, a moderately unsteady gait as he tugs it back onto his body. 

“Goodnight, Miss y/l/n,” he bows with a touch of comedic chivalry before he takes his leave. You cannot help but stare at his shapely rear as he walks towards the door.

“Goodnight, Mr Bridgerton,” you call softly, and before you can stop yourself, more words are spilling from your lips, something about this man making you daring. “I do so hope you will offer me a dance at the ball tomorrow to make amends for this intrusion.” 

Even you are astounded by your words. Benedict pauses, his hand frozen on the door handle as he turns back around slowly, his mien surprised.

“It would be my pleasure,” he rumbles after a pause, a tingle running through your being.

“Until tomorrow, Mr Bridgerton,” you offer, heart pounding. 

“Until tomorrow indeed, Miss y/l/n,” the velvet of his voice tickling your skin long after the door snicks closed behind him.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @kmc1989 @desert-fern @starkeylover @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @amygdtjhddzvb @sya-skies @balladynaa @urfavnoirette

[tookhimtomypenthouse]

Hate Yourself - Chapter One

series warnings: female!reader x oliver quick, past/implied felix x oliver, dub-con, stalker behavior, voyeurism, degradation, dacryphilia, bloodplay, gaslighting, manipulation, untagged story elements (the warnings aren't exhaustive!), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT bbgirl

summary: you’re hired as a maid after Oliver comes to own Saltburn, and find your employer to be very invested in your work

minors dni!

Your palms felt sweaty as you gripped your bags, staring into the massive gates of the mansion. You were tempted to turn around and run as the grandiosity of the building overwhelmed you. It felt like the iron jaws of the gate could open and eat you at any moment. Your torment was short-lived, however, as the creaky gates opened as you nudged them forward. Just beyond the courtyard, imposing wood doors awaited. Gravel crunched underfoot as you made your way over to them. Just before you could knock upon the doors, they swung open to reveal a graying, stern man.

"Welcome to Saltburn, miss." The man gives you a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You must be the new housekeeper?"

"Yes, that would be me," you laugh awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. 

"Lovely to meet you. My name is Duncan, head butler. Anthony will take your bags to your quarters. Come, and I'll show you around the grounds." You set your bags down and hurry after Duncan, who, despite his age, has a considerable stride. 

Each room in the house seemed grander than the next. The soft autumn sunlight pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated the formal dining room. Sheer red curtains floated elegantly to the sides, fluttering as you swished by. 

"Wow," you breathe out as you catch a glimpse of the massive garden. You can't help but gape at the massive hedges that seem to form a huge wall of green or at the multiple elegant fountains spraying in the air. "The grounds are so beautiful."

Duncan casts a fleeting glance through the window and continues on with the tour. Your head spins as you try to remember all the rooms and build a mental map of the estate, but the rooms seem to never stop coming. You are lost in the task when you finally arrive in the master bedroom.

"Here is the master bedroom," Duncan says, startling you out of your trance. The room is grand, with large wooden furniture and sumptuous fabrics and paintings. The closet door is ajar, revealing a closet full of crisp suits and hanging shirts without a single wrinkle. Expensive ties are neatly tucked into an organizer above a row of pristine dress shoes. "Sir Oliver is particular about how this room is made up, but Lyuba will teach you the specifics later."

You give him a nod, soaking in the finery and sheer wealth of this place. It's a far cry from the squatty brick council house you grew up in. The momentary thought of home makes your eyes prickle. You push the thought away and follow Duncan as he continues. Tears won't help you navigate the maze that is Saltburn. 

~

You flop into your bed with a deep sigh. The rest of the day passed so quickly as Lyuba, the woman whose job you were taking over, taught you the ins and outs of the job. When you close your eyes, you swear you can still see towels and sheets being folded. Lyuba was impressed at the speed at which you picked up the proper technique for all the linens, but you were no match for her practiced hands. It would take some time before you perfectly replace the experienced housekeeper. No use worrying about it now, you thought as you slipped towards sleep. The room you had in the servant's quarter of the estate was still larger than any you'd ever stayed in.

Right before sleep could overtake you, you heard a loud creaking sound. Icy fear flooded into your chest as you bolted upright. Your eyes weren't adjusted to the room's darkness, but it didn't stop you from frantically peering into the dark for the source. Through the shadows, you couldn't make out anything specific. After a few moments, you noticed that your door was open a crack. Did I leave it open? You aren't sure if you did. Your furiously pounding heart starts to slow, and you rise out of bed to close it. It is an old house, right? Surely some shifting floorboards or creaking of the structure caused the sound. Must've forgotten to shut the door, too. You chided yourself for getting so worked up over the noise. Fears soothed, you climbed back into bed and dozed off.

~

"Not so much water," warned Lyuba as you went to lift the mop out of the bucket. You quickly wrung the mophead out a bit more before starting on the tiled floor. You and Lyuba cleaned one of the guest bathrooms mostly in silence, only interrupted when she caught a mistake you were making. You turn to see Lyuba's snowy white bun bobbing in time with her careful movements. The older woman was only going to stay to teach you until the end of the week before she embarked on her retirement. You were at first shocked to find she was the only maid for the sprawling estate, but you quickly realized why.

This place is a fucking ghost town.

It had been three days since your arrival, but you had only glimpsed the owner of this place a handful of times. He was the only actual resident, not counting the help. Oliver Quick was his name, according to Duncan. You were debating whether to ask Lyuba more or let the mystery about the man of the house linger.

Curiosity won.

"Lyuba," you started cautiously, "what is the owner like?" You notice her movement halt with your question.

"Why?" Her response comes almost as an accusation. She turns fully to face you, and her face searches yours carefully. 

"Oh, I just was wondering because I've hardly seen him," you reply, unsure of how to respond.

Lyuba shuffles close to you until you are nearly touching. She gently grabs your wrist. "Strange. Be careful, girl," she whispers in a gentle tone. "I worked for the family before him," she continues, hushed and serious as the grave, "and then he swoops in and inherits that place." She drops your wrist and stares into your eyes intently. "Practically a stranger when he-"

"Hello." You and Lyuba jump as you see a man leaning against the doorframe.

"H-hi," you stutter, taken by surprise. His eyes meet yours, and you're drawn in by the shocking blueness of them.

"My name is Oliver," he offers, "and you must be Lyuba's replacement?" A small smile makes its way across his face. 

"Yes," you breathe out and offer him your name. Your surprise at being interrupted fades, and you finally take him in. He wears a fine button-down shirt and slacks, his hair combed back without a single strand out of place. You suddenly feel shabby in your black uniform dress and messy hair. You flick your wet hands behind your back to try and appear more together. His unnerving gaze has you self-conscious.

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm sure Lyuba has taught you all you need to know." His eyes dart to her briefly but soon return to you. He stretches in the doorway, and you can't help but see the muscles of his arms under the thin cotton of the shirt. "It's nice to have a new face around."

"Ah," you splutter, face hot. "I'm sure it is." You can't help but feel skittish as he watches you return to your work. He'd always made himself scarce before today, so his presence feels overwhelming so near to you.

"We have much to do," cuts in Lyuba, her annoyance clear, "and we need to finish, sir." She turns her back to him and returns to her cleaning. 

"Of course," replies Oliver, lifting his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Don't stop on my account. I wouldn't dare interrupt her training." He backs out of the bathroom, but not before throwing you a small wink. 

You shake your head and return to your work. Lyuba's hushed condemnation and Oliver's surprise entrance have you cleaning in silence. You could practically taste the animosity between the two of them but get the sense you won't get much more out of Lyuba today. Instead, you pass the day with the gnawing feeling that you're missing something very important.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Garden of Secrets [40] - Laurel

A.N: The last 3 chapters! ❤️Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤️ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think❤️

Summary: An engagement ball can be followed by an unexpected surprise.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, mentions of threats.

Word Count: 3000

Series Masterlist

Technically you knew planning an engagement ball was bound to be stressful, of course you did.

But from the way Lottie was treating it, you were beginning to think it was a life-and-death situation.

“Lottie you do realize you didn’t have to come here to make sure me and Ben are coming to the engagement ball?” you asked “Don’t get me wrong, I’m always glad to see you but there is no way we’d miss it. No matter how much Benedict whines about you and Anthony getting married, he’s actually happy for you.”

“Oh I know!” she said as she sat beside you on the bench. You were in the garden, enjoying your book in the gazebo after having spent hours in the greenhouse while Benedict was busy with his painting in his studio. “I cannot stay long because I must go to the Bridgerton House but before that, I figured I could come here and give you this.”

She put the wrapped rectangular box that she was holding into your lap and you tilted your head.

“What is this?”

“This is sort of a thank you for accepting to be my maid of honor,” she said, making you smile.

“Lottie, you really shouldn’t have…” you said as you unwrapped the box and held your breath when you saw the chocolates. “I take it back, I’m glad you did.”

She let out a laugh as you hugged her and pulled back to look at her better.

“It’s my privilege to be your maid of honor,” you said as you popped a chocolate into your mouth and offered her, but she shook her head.

“I feel as if I’m in the most pleasant dream,” she whispered like she was giving you a secret. “I never thought Tony would love me back and the funny part is—”

“He never thought you’d love him back?”

“Yes!” she said. “Can you believe it?”

“I absolutely can,” you said with a laugh, then reached out to hold her hand. “I’m really happy for you.”

“Thank you!”

You grabbed another piece of chocolate, then chewed on it.

“So are you very excited for the engagement ball?”

“Very tense, more likely,” she said. “I hope everyone will like it.”

“Of course they will,” you assured her. “And you’re not doing it for them, you’re doing it for you.”

“That is something I must repeat to myself a lot, yes,” she said with a sigh. “I mean don’t get me wrong, I’m so happy about the wedding and such but I’m also happy for the time I’ll get to be alone with Tony after all this.”

“I know how that feels,” you said, smiling slightly and she looked around.

“Benny is in his studio?”

“Mm hm, painting.”

“I must go but you must give him my regards.”

“You don’t want to say hello to him?”

“I’m not going to interrupt him while he’s painting, he might lose focus,” she said and stood up, then kissed you on the cheek. “I will see both of you tonight?”

“Cross my heart,” you said and hugged her. “Tell the family I said hello!”

“Will do!” she said and walked away, and you looked back at the house before making your way there. You hummed a song to yourself, still carrying the box of chocolates, and climbed the stairs, then walked down the hallway to approach the closed door of the studio.

You only hesitated for a moment before knocking on the door, then stepped back.

“Yes?” Benedict’s voice carried outside and you smiled slightly.

“You’ve been awfully quiet, is there something terrible going on there?”

The footsteps came closer, then the door opened halfway, letting you see him and you repressed a grin. He looked handsome as always but there were traces of paint all over his hands and his white shirt, and his hair was tousled as if he had been running his hands through it the way he always would when he was stressed. You tilted your head.

“Did you lose a fight with the canvas or something?”

“I’m winning actually,” he said as he gave you an excited grin and you leaned sideways to the doorframe, then held up the box.

“Do you want a chocolate?”

“God yes,” he said and grabbed one to pop it into his mouth. “Where did this come from?”

“Lottie dropped by, she didn’t want to interrupt you while you were painting,” you said. “She brought me chocolates to thank me for accepting to be her maid of honor.”

Benedict blinked a couple of times. “Wait, we get treats for that?”

“I got treats for that,” you corrected him. “You’re the best man, what did Anthony give you?”

“…A speech.”

You clicked your tongue. “Ah well, that sounds like the consequences of your choices.”

“He’s my brother, I honestly did not have a choice in that,” he said, eyeing the chocolates. “How come you get chocolates and I get a speech?”

“Probably because I’m nicer than you,” you said with a grin. “There’s no other explanation here.”

“Mm hm, I’m sure.”

“So the painting?” you asked, standing on your tiptoes to sneak a look inside but he tut-tutted, blocking your view.

“Not yet.”

“What’s it about?”

“You’ll see,” he said. “Y/N, I can’t explain, I…ever since that night, it’s like I’m more inspired than I’ve ever been in my entire life.”

You could feel the warmth spreading inside your chest and you shifted your weight, letting a smile pull at your lips.

“And yet I cannot see it?” you asked, nodding in the direction of the room and he shook his head.

“Not yet, but you will be the first person to see it once it’s finished.”

You hummed, pretending to be in deep thought. “Do you promise?”

He smiled softly, then leaned in to brush his lips against yours, making you heave a happy sigh.

“On my honor,” he said. “You’ll see it before anyone else.”

“Very well, I guess I’ll leave you alone to work on it,” you said. “Just don’t forget, we must be at Lottie and Anthony’s engagement party before eight o’clock.”

He made a face. “After Anthony’s huge speech about responsibilities, how could I?”

“See, the speech was useful,” you pointed out, and walked away from him, popping a chocolate into your mouth. “But chocolates are still better!”

                                                    *

You had to admit, though you knew Lottie and Anthony’s engagement ball would be beautiful, even you did not see this coming. Every single guest looked like they were having so much fun while Anthony and Lottie seemed like they were in their own happy bubble, as if blind to anyone else in the ballroom.

“Anthony a married man…” Colin murmured as he sipped his drink while Eloise shook her head. “Now I know the world is coming to an end.”

Benedict grinned. “You do realize what it means right?” he asked. “Mother will focus on only you two the next season.”

“This is your fault, you know?” Eloise asked and Benedict tilted his head.

“How is that?”

“First you, then Daph…” she tilted her glass in Daphne and Simon’s direction who were talking to Lady Danbury and Lady Bridgerton on the other side of the ballroom. “And now Anthony. Even Colin almost got married this season!”

“The season of scandals,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders and Colin heaved a sigh.

“Has someone put the whole family under a spell I wonder.”

“Not me,” Eloise said. “I remain to be the smartest among you all.”

Benedict pushed her shoulder with his in a joking manner. “Does this mean you’re not looking forward to the next season when you will have so many suitors to entertain, El?”

“You take that back!”

“I’ll help you threaten them,” you assured Eloise. “Don’t worry. Eloise before I forget, do you want a knife?”

“She does not want a knife,” Benedict answered in a haste before Eloise could. “I do not trust her with a knife.”

“I second that,” Colin said and Eloise leaned in so that she could whisper into your ear.

“Please tell me you’re getting me a knife.”

You winked at her and nodded, then sipped your drink.

“When we return to Aubrey Hall in two weeks, we will have nowhere to run,” Eloise said. “I mean I can’t stay at your house because you two are sickeningly in love, and so are Daphne and Simon, and now, Anthony and Lottie. Where am I supposed to go to in order to see no romance?”

“It is a challenge,” you said and Colin shot you a look.

“Did you miss the part she said you two are sickeningly in love?” he asked. “I mean you’ve always been but lately it’s even…it’s different, it’s much more than before.”

You and Benedict exchanged glances and you pursed your lips to hold back your grin while Benedict ran a hand over his mouth to keep his expression straight.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he managed to say and Lady Bridgerton raised a hand to motion at them to come over. Eloise heaved a sigh and looked up at Colin.

“Come on,” she said and Colin downed his drink, then they both made their way to her. You looked around, standing on your tiptoes.

“Have you seen Josie?” you asked. “Or Andrew, or Bess?”

“Not yet,” Benedict said. “I’m sure they will be here soon.”

“Hello you two!” Lottie’s cheerful voice reached you, making you turn around. She threw herself into your arms and you hugged her tight, smiling wide. Anthony grabbed the glass from Benedict’s hand and took a sip, making him frown.

“Get your own God damn glass!”

“Every time any footman makes his way to me, someone pulls us into a conversation,” Anthony said, still holding Lottie’s hand with his free hand. “I swear to you, I couldn’t even eat anything yet.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you’re taking my glass—”

“I’m the oldest, that’s why.”

“This is your engagement ball!”

“I could give you my glass Tony,” Lottie said like a melody and Anthony pressed a kiss on the back of her hand.

“No need my love.”

“Everyone has so much to tell us,” Lottie told Benedict. “So much advice about marriage too, it’s rather overwhelming.”

“Probably they’re still waiting for you to wake up and see the light and change your mind about marrying him Charlie, the wedding is next week so it’s not too late—”

“Benedict!”

“I mean he stole my drink, is this really the type of person you want to grow old with?” Benedict motioned at Anthony with a grin while Anthony rolled his eyes.

“Unbelievable.”

“I’m still working on your wedding present by the way,” he told her, making her gasp. “It should be ready by the time the social season is over.”

“You got us a wedding present? Aw Benny, you shouldn’t have!”

“Yeah well, if you can’t fight it…” Benedict said with a shrug but the happy grin on his face told a different story than his pretend nonchalance. Lottie pulled him into a hug, and he hugged her back.

“Congratulations to you both by the way,” Benedict said as Lottie pulled back, “In case I forgot to say that. I really am happy for you.”

“That is uncharacteristically mindful of him, is this your doing?” Anthony asked you and you let out a laugh.

“I’d love to take credit but no.”

“And how is it going with the plan—” Anthony started but cleared his throat when Benedict shot him a look. “The plan with the…the art thing that you uh—that you do?”

You pulled your brows together. “Hm?”

“I have this plan for a new painting,” Benedict said. “It’s going quite well brother.”

“Keep me informed about that, will you?”

“Sure—”

“Oh isn’t this the happy couple?” A lady you didn’t even know touched Lottie’s arm. “Do you two mind if I borrowed them?”

“Of course not,” you said and Anthony heaved a dramatic sigh while Lottie squeezed his arm as if trying to console him.

“We will see you later,” she said and both Anthony and she followed the lady to the small crowd on the other side of the ballroom. You pressed your lips together to hide your smile, then looked up at Benedict.

“What plan?”

Benedict turned to you. “Hm?”

“What plan was he talking about?”

“I told you,” Benedict said with a shrug of his shoulders, then held out his hand. “Just the painting, that’s all. A dance, my lady?”

                                                *

By the time the ball was over, it was almost dawn. Lottie looked like she was about to pass out from exhaustion, so you gave her a quick hug, then you and Benedict told everyone else you would see them the next day and -which was technically today- and got on the carriage.

“Is it just me or was Andrew a bit distracted?” you asked while the carriage moved through the street and Benedict thought for a moment, then shook his head.

“Probably because Felix wasn’t there?”

“Maybe,” you murmured and rested your head on his chest, letting out a small groan. “I’m so tired.”

Benedict buried his nose into your hair, throwing his arm over your shoulder so that he could hold you tighter.

“At least they’ll have their wedding before we all go back to countryside,” he said. “I wouldn’t be expecting any other ball from them for at least next season.”

“Because they’ll be very busy?” you asked with a grin and he made a face.

“Yeah yeah… Please don’t remind me.”

“What are you getting them as their wedding present?”

“I’m going to paint their portrait together,” he said as you pulled back to look at him better, your jaw dropping. “And send it to Aubrey Hall because I honestly think when I see my sweet Charlie as Anthony’s wife, I might just—”

“Stop with that, I was there when you told them you were happy for them,” you said with a laugh. “So is that what you’re working on then?”

“Not yet,” he said. “I’ll get to it once I’m done with the painting I’m already working on. It’s about to be finished.”

“And I’ll be the first to see?”

“And you’ll be the first to see,” he said with a mischievous smile before kissing you, and the carriage came to a stop. Benedict got out of it and helped you out, and you both started walking to the house, still holding hands.

“So everyone is going back to Aubrey Hall in two weeks then?”

“Well everyone but us and Daphne,” he said as you two climbed the marble stairs leading to the house. “I forgot you still haven’t seen there, or our home in the countryside.”

A warmth spread inside your chest and you took a deep breath.

“But we’re moving all the flowers from this greenhouse to the countryside house?” you felt the need to ask and he nodded his head.

“Of course. Might be a little time because the greenhouse there still hasn’t finished but I was thinking,” he said as you both reached the door and walked through it, entering the foyer. “Maybe we could get some and put them in the house and once the greenhouse is finished—”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” the butler’s voice reached you and you both turned your heads to see him approach you. “There’s a note for you, it arrived a couple hours ago.”  

“Thank you,” Benedict said, taking the letter from him and you tilted your head.

“Just now?” you asked. “That’s not very common, everyone is asleep. Who’s it from?”

Benedict ripped open the envelope to read the note, a grin curling his lips as he got to the end of the lines, and let out a breath.

“Oh thank God, finally.”

“What?” you asked and Benedict lowered the letter, then gave you a soft smile.

“My love, I haven’t been the most honest with you I’m afraid,” he said, making your heart skip a beat and you pulled back slightly, a frown pinching your brows together.

“About what?”

“Me and Andrew, remember we talked the other night?”

You nodded your head, still frowning.

“Well you said your parents didn’t even know Josie was here, but that they were blackmailing her about that letter.”

“Yes?”

“So it got me thinking, if they didn’t even know she was here, there was no reason at all why they would bring the letter with them here.”

You blinked a couple of times. “Uh… I suppose?”

“So we sent someone to the countryside to go find that letter in their house while your parents are here.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “What?”

“Someone we can trust—Anthony knows him, that’s what he was talking about today,” he assured you. “And I told him to take the letter to Andrew and give it to him directly, no one else, but to let me know immediately so…” he held up the note. “He apparently found it and wrote to me that he would wait for Andrew to come home so that he can deliver it in person.”

You could feel the shock taking over your whole mind and you tried to wrap your head around it.

“…You mean to tell me—”

“I mean to tell you that there’s nothing at all they can use against Josie and Bess,” he said. “And they’re not going to hurt you, or Josie, or Teddy. Ever again.”

A relieved laugh spilled from your lips before you flung yourself into his arms and he caught you to hug you tight, pressing a kiss on the top of your head.

“Ben, I don’t know what to say,” you managed to mutter, still in disbelief. “Thank you, you…you didn’t have to help—”

“Your family is my family,” he said. “Of course I will help however I can.”

You looked up at him and stood on your tiptoes to kiss him, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I love you,” you said and he gave you a lopsided grin.

“I love you too,” he muttered and leaned in to brush his lips against yours again, making you smile. “In this life and the next, darling.”

Chapter 41

[kestisvrse]

bad for business

pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. fluff with a bit of angst. fake dating.

synopsis ⋆ the three times you found yourself fake dating anthony lockwood.

warnings ⋆ swearing, reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood, being followed, kissing (written by someone without their first kiss send help). | wc: 1.4k

♫ - bad for business by sabrina carpenter

1. a walk home

“ladies first.” you snort at lockwoods comment as he holds the door for you to exit arif’s, a box of donuts secured in your hands.

“wow what a gentleman.” you joke making lockwood laugh a little as you begin your walk towards home, a comfortable silence falling between you two, a minute or so passes.

“someone’s following us.” lockwood says nonchalantly, you furrow your eyebrows looking at him, “he was standing outside arif’s when we went in, he was staring at you the whole time and now he is getting closer.” lockwood says looking over his shoulder, shuffling slightly closer towards you.

“well what do we do?” you ask slightly panicked.

“hold my hand.”

“i’m sorry?” you say, he failed to answer as he grabs the box of donuts out of your hands, using his free hand to intertwine your fingers.

“just trust me okay? maybe if he thinks we are together he will leave us alone.” lockwood clarified.

“o-okay, i guess” you mutter, a light blush painting your cheeks at the feeling of his thumb lightly rubbing your hand.

you were nearing portland row, you and lockwood standing closer together, you freeze up as he places a kiss on the top of your head to nonchalantly glance behind you two, “i see him, he is walking away. just… keeping holding on until we get home… just incase.” you nod, silently agreeing with him.

he didn’t let go of your hand until he placed the box of donuts on the kitchen table.

2. too close for comfort

lockwood had convinced you, lucy and george to go to this ‘ball’, you honestly didn’t know what to call it. it was a fancy building filled with agents dressed up and the adults that exploit their talents for money, celebrating nothing in particular and somehow, lockwood and co. got invites.

lockwood looked like he was at home, while george uncomfortably tugged at the collar of his button up and wandered off with lucy, leaving you and lockwood, standing in the middle of the ballroom.

“why are we here, lockwood?” you pried.

“why not? every agent in london is here.” he responds.

“that doesn’t mean we have to be.” you shot back, annoyed by a man who pushed past you, causing you to knock shoulders with anthony.

“it’s a good opportunity, to meet new people and get our name out there.”

“with our competition? yeah alright. i need something to drink.” you wandered off.

some time had passed, it included you leaning against the wall observing everyone that passed by, you had found george and lucy at one point where george had gave up and went home while lucy decided to investigate around for god knows what. you decided it was time to find lockwood again.

wandering around aimlessly you spotted him in the sea of tuxes, talking to a blonde girl, in a blue 90s like prom dress, inching closer and closer to lockwood.

you rolled your eyes at the sight, lockwoods charming smile seemingly working again, but it didn’t look like he used it on purpose this time.

“there you are, i’ve been looking for you everywhere!” you smoothly entered the conversation, linking your arm with his and his whole face seemed to light up.

“oh.” the blonde commented, squinting her eyes, “who’s this?”

“i’m-“ he cut you off, taking the lead.

“this is my partner.” lockwood replied, you smiled at the girl as she realized she misread the situation, quickly saying goodbyes and walking off.

“i couldn’t tell if you needed saving or not.” you explained, a hidden apology heard beneath your words just incase he was enjoying the girls company.

“no i did, thank you.” he said, making eye contact, “maybe we should head home now?”

“let’s find lucy first.” you suggested, and he sent you a grin.

that damn grin.

3. distraction

you had warned him.

you had told him there had to be a better way to get information that didn’t involve breaking and entering. but as per usual he used his charisma and webbed you into the whole plan.

and now, you two were running down alleyways, after being caught. ‘i told you so’ repeating over and over again in your head as you focused on running, and of course you reached another problem.

“shit!” you whispered, lockwood dragging you back behind a wall, your only escape had multiple body guards roaming the area.

“how the hell did they even get there.” lockwood said to himself.

“what do we do?? there are two other body guards about to block off the way we came from!” you panted out, catching your breath from running.

“i have a crazy idea.” lockwood made eye contact with you, he seemed nervous as he ran his hand through his hair.

“all your ideas are crazy, anthony.” you countered.

“just listen okay?” he whispers, you slowly nod, “if we can make it seem like, we have no idea what’s going on around us and that we accidentally stumbled up here maybe they won’t think it’s us.” you gave him a blank stare.

“what are you even suggesting right now lockwood?!” you grumbled, faintly you heard footsteps approaching.

“we do not have time for this, do you trust me?”

“do i have a choice?” you quipped, but suddenly the conversation was over as he cupped your cheeks and suddenly his lips were on yours. you froze up, you expected his plan to be anything but this, but then you heard the footsteps turn the corner and you needed to act just like him, quickly kissing back.

his lips were chapped, rough against your soft ones. as you brought your hands up to his face, his hands moved down to your waist, pulling you closer. it felt eager, like you had been waiting to do this forever, and it felt right.

“HEY!” you two snapped apart from the loud yell, breathless as you stare at the taller man infront of you “this is private property, you kids can’t be here.” his tone was threatening, making you tense up.

“we are so sorry sir.” you replied sweetly, “we didn’t know, we will leave right away!” you grab lockwood’s hand and hurried towards the exit before the man could question you anymore.

you held hands all the way home, but didn’t mutter a word to each other.

4. overdue confession

it had been around a week since lockwood had kissed you. you hadn’t spoken. the house having an awkward atmosphere as you avoided lockwood like the plague.

you couldn’t avoid the knock on your door, unfortunately.

“come in.” you called out from your spot on the bed, expecting lucy to walk in but were met with lockwood.

he was wearing his usual suit but he looked disheveled, his tie loose, his hair slightly messy and he looked so tired, even more tired than usual, he was a mess.

“hey.” he spoke just above a whisper, scared any louder you would run away from him again.

“oh. hi.” you sat up in your bed, suddenly looking anywhere but him, fiddling with your hands.

“i want to apologize, i shouldn’t have kissed yo-“ he began.

“we wouldn’t have gotten out of there if you hadn’t, it’s okay.” you stated, sniffling slightly. your bed dipped as he sat down.

“then why won’t you talk to me?” you looked up to his eyes, “please talk to me.” he begged, you looked into each others eyes for a moment.

“i was avoiding you because of the fact that i.. i didn’t want the kiss to end.” you confessed, “i like you, lockwood, and i didn’t want to ruin anything so i thought avoiding you would be better..” you trailed off, the air was tense as he stared at you.

“oh thank god.” he laughed out.

“what?” your anxiety kicked in, as you stared at him.

“i was scared to confess, i’m glad you did first.” your eyebrows furrow at his response, “i really like you, i have since i met you. i didn’t want the kiss to end either.”

your eyes widened slightly, studying his voice for any sound of sarcasm.

“can i kiss you again?” he whispered, scared of your rejection, you just slowly nodded looking down at his lips, he lent in.

his lips weren’t chapped this time, they were soft and you took notice of just how well they fit against yours. this kiss was softer than the first, it washed your anxiety away, and the tense air disappeared. he pulled away and laid his forehead against yours.

“i thought i was being dreadfully obvious about my feelings.”

“you were not.” you laughed at him

“oh no i was, you are just oblivious.” he responded

“shut up.” you said, and he did as his lips met yours yet again.

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Two - Empty drawing rooms

♡♡♡

Your mother does not keep her thoughts to herself about what dancing with Benedict Bridgerton may have done for you. All evening, even after you are home, she continues on and on about the thought of having callers come morning.

You sleep easy that night. You do not think one dance with a man, you will be unlikely ever to cross paths again with, will affect your prospects all that much.

You're woken by the violent pulling of your curtains. Light floods into your room and cascades across your bed. You sigh softly as you force your eyes open and push yourself up into a sitting position.

"Get up! We must get you dressed and ready!" Your mother eagerly exclaims.

You're forced from your bed and urged into the tub. You're scrubbed raw from head to toe. Your hair is brushed surely a hundred times. You dress, and your mother chooses a necklace to compliment your gown.

Before you know it, you're sitting in the drawing room with her. Your mother has tea and biscuits made.

The drawing room is quiet.

Occasionally, a carriage is heard passing the house. Sometimes you hear the footsteps of staff coming and going outside the door. Not a single sound of knocking is heard.

Your mother becomes restless as the hours pass. "I was certain Mr Bridgerton dancing with you would garner some attention."

"Mother, it was one dance. Anyway, people had their eyes on his sister. No one was looking at us. He barely spoke to me." You tell her, picking up a book you had placed on the table earlier that morning.

"Still, that family is well known and wealthy too. People should always be watching those lf well breeding." She sighs.

You dare not comment further and focus on your book. You've read two chapters before your mother calls it quits and leaves. You close the book and sigh again.

♡♡♡

Daphne Bridgerton had received no callers. The fault did not lie with her for she was perfect in every way. The fault lay with her eldest brother.

Anthony had a habit of scaring everyone off. He had every excuse under the sun as to why no one was suitable for his sister. While his mother wished love for her children I their marriages, Anthony saw more as finding someone merely suitable.

Daphne was disappointed at her lack of visitors. Each day that passed without a caller, her spirit began to dwindle.

She received only one caller. Lord Berbrooke. He was the last person she had hoped to see.

While Violet had been quite busy keeping her daughter company during the passing days, she still found time to corner Benedict.

Colin was paying a visit to the Featherington family to call upon Miss Thompson. Benedict was not calling upon anyone, and Violet hoped the young lady he had danced with could have been an option.

"Benedict."

The second eldest son jumped out of his skin at the sudden appearance of his mother in the doorway.

"Mother."

Benedict had spent most of the day sketching in his book. He loved drawing, painting, and doodling. Art was his passion. He hoped one day to be good enough to have his work up in galleries.

"Have you paid any visits yet?" Violet asks, pretending to be interested in the decor of the room as she comes closer to where her son lounges.

Benedict stills his hand and glances up at her. "I have not."

Violet looks disappointed. "What about that lovely young lady you danced with?"

"Hm? Oh. I don't even remember her name."

That was a lie. He did remember your name. He just didn't want give his mother false hope. Benedict had no intention of seeking out a wife right now.

"Benedict," she sighs. "I do wish you would try."

"How is Daphne doing?" He asks, immediately shooting down any chance of his mother's interrogation.

"Not so well. Anthony is riding with her in the park. Your brother is... making things quite difficult." Violet feels for her daughter. She juat wants Daphne to be happy. She wants all her children to be happy.

"Yes. Anthony can be overbearing." Benedict resumes his sketch.

Violet knew she would get nothing else out of her son and left quietly. Benedict stopped sketching when she left the room and glanced at the door. He sighs softly to himself.

One day, yes, he'll find a wife. Just not yet.

♡♡♡

Lady Whistledown had made several comments about Daphne Bridgerton's lack of callers. You could only wonder how she was feeling at this time.

Every morning, your mother brought you into the drawing room, and you would wait several hours, but no one came to see you.

While your mother moaned about how the gentlemen lf the ton didn't have an eye at all, she particularly felt disappointed about the fact Benedict Bridgerton himself didn't even come to call. You had told her many times over the last week that the dance wasn't really anything.

He simply used you as an opportunity to avoid his mother, and you knew it.

Deciding to push every Bridgerton from your mind, you decided to focus on yourself. Another ball would mean another chance. There would be plenty of people to dance with there. You shall make sure to introduce yourself, unlike last time.

The opera. That came first. You were attending with your mother. As you were making your way toward your seats, you caught sight of Violet Bridgerton with her daughter Daphne. You didn't have to look far to spot Anthony and Benedict.

Your mind shifts slightly to the moment when you had bumped into the eldest son. The weight of his body colliding with yours, almost sending to the ground. However, his warm hands were quick to steady you.

You shake him from your mind as you find your seat.

Benedict had been speaking his brother when he caught sight of something in the corner of his eye. He looked up just in time to catch a glimpse of you sitting down. He turns his attention back to his brother.

If his mother caught him, he would never hear the end of it. Even if there was nothing to discuss. You were a perfect stranger to him.

You spend the whole show with your eyes on the stage. When it's over, you rise with your mother and exit into the lobby. Your mother gets caught up in conversation with some of the other mama's, and you find yourself waiting by the door alone. Your eyes scan the crowds of people heading home for the evening.

Benedict is walking with his brother when he spots you by the door. He can't help thinking you look a little cold standing there. The door was open to allow people to leave with ease.

"Hello again." He finds himself stopping I front of you. Anthony either doesn't notice or doesn't care that he is no longer being followed by his brother.

You turn your head and find yourself staring at the second Bridgerton.

"Hello."

Silence settles between you as he stands there and looks at you. You're once again faced with a slightly awkward pause as you have no idea what to say to him. Last time, he was distracted by keeping his mother at bay. This time, it seems he simply has no idea what to say to you either.

"Are you well?" He asks.

You are almost startled by the sound of his voice, half expecting him to just leave after a while.

"Yes. Quite well, thank you."

Benedict takes note of how you pull your shawl around you tighter. The breeze from the door is clearly bothering you.

"Are you waiting for someone?" He asks.

"My Mama. She is busy gossiping, I assume." You move your gaze over to where she stands, talking to a little group of other mothers.

Benedict glances that way and chuckles slightly. "Ah. Why don't you wait over on that bench? You'll be warmer there." He gestures to the velvet cushioned seat behind you. You find yourself drifting that way with him.

"I believe your brother has departed." You say, sitting down. Benedict takes a seat too.

"Yes. Though Mother and Daphne are still here, I shall return with them." He looks over to where his mother speaks with Lady Danbury.

Soon enough, his attention is back on you, though. "Did you enjoy the ball the other night?" He asks.

You look at him. "It was alright. The first one is always strange."

"Yes. I suppose it can be. Lots of new faces."

You understood that he was possibly referring to the fact that neither of you had seen each other before, despite your knowing of his family.

"Yes."

"How many names did you get on your card?"

"Just one," you confess. It was true that his name was the only one. You danced with no other that night, for no one spared you a glance. Not that you planned on telling him that.

"I was the only one?"

You turn toward the lobby to avoid his gaze. Benedict understands enough. He is surprised by this information.

"I do not recall you being there the day the debutantes were presented to the Queen." He tries changing the topic. He wants to know you a bit better.

"I wasn't in London. I arrived the day after."

He looks at you quietly for a moment. There is something so calming about your presence.

"How is your sister doing?" You ask, spotting Daphne trying to avoid a certain lord.

"She has only had one caller so far." Benedict points out.

"Oh. Surprising. I was sure she would be swarmed with suitors." You glance back toward her. She looks a little down.

"She'll be fine, I'm sure." Benedict turns back to you. "I'm sorry about the ball. I wasn't a very good partner. Too distracted."

You return your attention back to him. "Yes. I was aware."

"Perhaps I can make it up to you at the next one?" He asks.

"It's alright. You don't need to." You offer him a smile.

"Nonsense. I'm a gentleman." He smiles back.

Before either of you can say any more, Violet comes over with Daphne in tow. You both look up to see the Dowager Viscountess smiling at you both.

"Benedict, we are leaving." She speaks softly.

Benedict glances at you and then stands slowly. He offers you his hand. You take it and stand with him.

"Mother. Daphne." He nods.

"Who is this?" Violet asks, looking at you. She gives off a warm and calming aura. Yet, she looks quite excitable right about now.

Benedict speaks your name. "I was keeping the young lady company while she waited for her mother."

Violet hadn't once taken her eyes off of you. Daphne looked up at her brother, who just shook his head at her. He knew what they were thinking. He was going to hear about this all night now.

"You must come to dinner," Violet insists.

You all look at her.

"Mofher." Benedict sighs.

Daphne smiles and steps forward. "Really, you must."

You look at Daphne and feel comfort. Perhaps she is looking for a friend too.

"Name the day," you say, turning to Violet.

Benedict looks at his mother with faux disdain. He knows what game she is playing. His mother was not subtle in her matchmaking attempts.

"Splended. I shall send an invite very soon."

Much to the ignorance of her children, she had already made plans with Lady Danbury to invite the Duke for dinner so he may get to know Daphne. They would make a handsome couple, she thinks. Why not offer the same opportunity to her son and his new friend?

Violet was so looking forward to this.

Benedict bids you goodnight and offers Daphne his arm. She takes it and bids you farewell too. Violet smiles at you and takes her leave, following her children outside.

Only then does your mother come over. "What was that just now?" She asks. The same light in her eyes had been in Violet's.

"Nothing, Mama."

She doesn't believe you. She traps your arm with hers and guides you out to the carriages.

"That Bridgerton boy, he was the one who danced with you at the ball, yes?" She smiles.

"Benedict Bridgerton. Yes."

"Perhaps you have an admirer!" She says with glee.

"Not st all, mother. He was merely being polite."

She brushes off your words and continues to go down a spiral of why he is taken with you and will wish to court you soon. You sense no such feelings from the man. There is no reason one cannot become acquainted with others without feelings being involved.

You would accept the dinner invitation purely out of curious interest of his family. The Bridgerton's certainly seem like interesting people to know.

♡♡♡

Benedict is sketching in his room when his mother comes in. They had been home merely an hour after the opera. She clutches a letter in her hand as she comes over to him.

"How does this sound?" She holds out the letter to him. Benedict sighs and takes it, skimming the words.

Its addressed to you.

'You are invited to our home this Friday evening for dinner. Be here for 6 and stay as long as you like.

Lady V.Bridgerton.'

"Sounds fine." He hands the letter back. Benedict returns to his sketch.

Violet looks at him. "She's a find lady."

"Hm." Benedict pays her little mind.

Violet looks defeated. It would seem Benedict really has no interest in you. Still, she would welcome you into her home for the evening.

When she leaves, Benedict looks up again. He stares at the door.

He simply has no interest in courting. Not yet.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertons - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived -

[beababoobies]

Hey, could you please do an angel dust x emo reader?

I am going to be using NB!reader for this but please do know I’m quite aware Angel is gay! He is canonically gay and I think that’s cool yippers ok lesgo 🙏🙏 by Emo I wasn’t sure exactly what you meant so I went with like an angry moody bitch with a 2000s MySpace Emo sort of aesthetic. If you want something diff feel free to re-request and specify! Thatz it :3 </3 (also Emo community please don’t attack me you guys are so cool I’m scared of you. I know corpse paint is gothic I swear please you guys are so cool).

Corpse Paint

Angel Dusk X Emo!NB!Reader

words : 1k , warning for mentions of sexual trauma!

You had been staying in this fucking hotel for months. Did it suck ass? Yes. Did you kind of maybe despise half the people here? Oh, absolutely. But - free place to crash, and it’s not like you were doing much with your days anyways, so the “rehabilitation” excersizes only got positivity-toxic half the time. Plus, Charlie let you skip out on them. Her little girlfriend didn’t though, so you were usually there dejectedly. Not anything worse than your highschool experience. 

But you also had Angel. Anthony. Whatever he let you call him depending on the day. And he was half the reason you stayed here. The amount of times you’ve crawled into bed with him and cried? You hadn’t cared to keep track of anymore. A long day, night - of shooting scenes, and you gently comforted him while he laid tiredly in bed, rubbing his back until he fell asleep. Plus, you liked his pig. You and fat nuggets would hangout whenever he was gone. 

You wouldn’t consider your relationship too romantic, but it was unbelievably supportive. You two didn’t really get intimate, due to his work, he didn’t trust anyone he was intimate with. He told you that that could change, but you reassured him over and over that it didn’t ever have to. You were happy gently comforting him. You were happy drinking with him, you were happy to be around him.

That didn’t mean he was completely touch-adverse, though. You exchanged small pecks on the cheeks, held hands - though not publicly, due to some of his fans obsessive behaviours - cuddled up. Charlie had offered to just let you guys share a room, but you had rejected the idea and shut it down pretty quickly. You loved each other very dearly, but sometimes you just needed space. 

Today wasn’t one of those days, though. You, head resting in his lap as he scrolled on his phone, your 2000s MySpace mix playing softly in the background as you looking through a new catalogue of Hell’s Most Edgy with a marker, circling anything you liked, Fat Nuggets sleeping soundly at Angel’s feet, snoring loudly. But adorably. 

“I have a favor to ask.” Angel mumbled out nervously. He hated asking for anything. Especially from someone he had already asked so much of. But you just nodded silently, circling a new, shiny pair of black platforms, before looking up at him with a small smile. “‘Sup, Webs?” You asked, tilting your head as you sat up properly.

“I - well, Val wants to do this shoot today, but he wants me to do Corpse paint. I don’t know how to do.. that. So I was wondering if you could help me out?” He asks with a nervous smile, only to watch the smile on your face grow wide, nodding excitedly as you hopped quickly off the bed to run to your room to get your makeup, disturbing a now cranky Fat Nuggets, who oinked at Angel before walking over to his bed to fall back to sleep. 

You came back into his room, closing the door quietly behind you, box of white cream foundation and a million sticks of eyeliner and other black makeup pencils, along with some dramatic statement lashes and lash glue, sitting down next to him on the bed on your knees, gesturing for him to sit up with his legs out straight. You straddled him softly, opening your box of makeup.

“So, this feels - kind of gross to put on. Gonna survive that?” You ask with a smile, tilting your head as he nodded with a small chuckle. “I’ve had much worse on my face.” He says with a wink and a smile. “I’ll survive.” He says with a shrug as you brush some of his fluff out of his face, starting to paint the thick white foundering over his pale pink fur, watching him awakward my try to avoid eye contact, hands awkwardly shifting, trying not to touch your thighs.

“You can put your hands on my thighs, it’s okay. I’m not going to initiate anything.” You say reassuringly and watch as one of his pairs of hands rest comfortably on your thighs, the other set holding up a mirror so he can see the work you’re doing. You watch him visibly relax slightly. He always is a little paranoid about people trying to be intimate with him - reasonably so - so you make sure to quietly reassure him in these moments. 

It takes a couple thick layers of the face paint to get his Angel stamp of approval, in which you go in with black eye-safe eyeliner for his eyes, coating them in black and following the image he used as reference, making streaks of black run from his eyes. You pierced your lips together as you leaned back to admire your work. “It’s missing something.” You mumble quietly, before peeking up and pulling out a pair of white lashes from your kit, and he smiles. You let him apply them himself, and with some white underliner, it looks perfect.

You give him some black lipstick, too, but that’s about the extent of what he wants. You give him your old lipstick too, because you and him both know he’s gonna need some re-applying. You watch as he walks over to the mirror, admiring your work - a job well done you’re sure - when he smiles at his reflection and the giddy way you smile back at him through your own reflection.

He pulls you up into a big hug and you giggle as he picks you up and spins you around, before you get him to put you down, smiling from ear to ear at how happy he looks with himself and the work you’ve done. His phone buzzes and he sighs, kissing you softly on the head before heading out, not even daring to put his famous sunglasses on and ruin your work. 

A new memory that’s keeping you sane in these old hotel walls. 

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[thebearer]

some carm + jewelry thoughts after reading your blurb about his dangling chain:

-he buys you a gold anklet with a “c” charm on it so he can watch it dangle when he puts your legs up on his shoulders to fuck you

-he has a signet ring embossed with a design (maybe a bear? st anthony? family crest?) and he turns it so the design is facing inwards and he spanks you so it leaves a brand on your ass

-after the big checks start coming in he buys you an exorbitantly expensive necklace and fucks you with nothing else on

omfggggg smut ahead minors dni 18+ but i have to elaborate

ok number one the anklet???? yes. yes. yes.

you mention wanting one, sorta in passing, and carmen's like weirdly adamant about you getting one lol??? you don't really understand why but he shows up a few days later with one you'd shown him online, except it has an embellishment. a tiny 'c'.

carmen's kinda blushy about it but you're beaming and squealing and just smothering him in affection bc it was so cute and sweet, and he really was too!!

then you quickly realize why carmen likes the anklet so much when he's putting it on you, then your legs are up in the air thirty minutes later as a "thank you".

your heels are digging into his shoulders, and normally his eyes are on you solely when he's fucking you especially like this. but you keep catching him staring at your anklet, fucking you hard, gripping your claves while he watches it bounce lightly.

maybe it's the thought that he has a sorta mark on you now. wherever you go, you've got something that symbolizes your his- that he's yours.

it was his grandfathers, then mikey's, and then his. mikey gave it to him when carmen went to new york because "you're a big shot now. need the ring to match since you're gonna be goin' to all that fancy shit, carm."

the ring was gold with a black onyx surface, a gold encrusted 'B' in old english font laid on top so it stood up. carmen didn't wear it often, didn't want to lose it or damage it, but every now and then- on date night, mainly, he'd wear it.

and you loved it.

the chain, nice outfit, plus pinky ring? you were drooling. watching him grab the door handle, cut your food, hold your hand in the car. you couldn't help yourself. he knew you couldn't either. it's why when you got home, he just nodded and you were over his lap.

carmen would take his time pushing up your dress, letting his hand glide over the small of your back, down your exposed cheeks, smug at the way you shuddered in excitement. he'd turn the ring around so the etched side was inwards, cracking his hand down on your ass over and over.

you'd squirm and mewl, gripping onto his legs or the sheets. carmen would just stare, mesmerized by the faint emblem showing on your skin only for a flash before fading.

the bear had made the chicago tribune after a raving review from a lifestyle travel influencer posted a video on the menu and it went wild. you were booked a year out, a waitlist a mile long, a million newspapers, magazines, and interviewers wanting a chance to write about the bear. it was buzzing around chicago, and carmen couldn't be happier. or busier.

he felt bad that with the newfound press, he'd been busy. you'd always been understanding but still, he felt bad, heart breaking every time your shoulders would fall when he said he had to work.

the two of you had just moved into the brownstone. you spent your days decorating and unboxing, showing him swatches of paint that you'd mull over for hours.

"carm, which one looks better?" you'd ask, turning around to see him standing there. only this time, he wasn't empty handed.

the infamous teal bag in hand, grinning at you proudly. "what's this?"

"a gift." carmen shrugged, pulling you over to the couch, setting you between his thighs.

you hummed, unraveling the tiny box. "you really didn't have to get me- oh my god." you were expecting a tiny piece of jewelry, not the dazzling strand of diamonds that sat on the tennis bracelet.

"carmen." you gaped, snapping the box shut, holding it against your chest. "how-how much was this?"

"doesn't matter." carmen shrugged, prying it gently out of your grasp. "let me put it on you. i wanted to get you somethin'. the restaurant is doin'... great. and ya know, i couldn't do it without you baby."

you pressed him about the price, but carmen waived it off. you knew he'd been making money- your new house and car told you that, but the kind of money to casually get gifts at tiffany's? it was new to you. a splurge still, but one that you treasured.

carmen left the necklace on, hips rolling while he fucked you in front of the fireplace, right on the new rug. he wanted to take a picture of the moment, watching you ride him, your head tipped back, diamonds sparkling still even in the low glow of the fire.

[foolishlovers]

TRANS HUMAN AUs: Below you can find a list of Good Omens human AUs featuring trans characters.

[Requested by anon. You can request more fic recs here.] it’s okay, maybe not forever but we got today by astheworldcomestoanend (G, 1k) Aziraphale’s parents are fighting again, so he goes over to Crowley’s house to spend the night with him. Crowley is more than happy to bring his angel in and make sure he’s okay.

Win Condition by ineffablefool (G, 1k) Human AU. Aziraphale and Crowley's junior high school sets up a really weird school-wide Valentine's Day game that they're both kind of side-eying for different reasons. Talking about it over lunch gives them both the chance to confess something, though!

Belonging by LittleQueerdo (T, 2k) Crowley is woken by a librarian on a mission.

style, flair, and a head of red hair – she’s the nanny?! by lineslines (G, 5k) She takes a step into the light, a vision of red and black, of scant fabric and edges, seizes him in her gaze, which he realizes is almost as fiery as her hair, and drags it up and down his form, once, before she grins. “Oh angel, let me guess, you probably think tartan is stylish?” “Tartan is stylish,” Aziraphale automatically protests, before his brain slowly catches up with his mouth. And his eyes. “Oh, how impolite of me! Please do come in. You must be drenched.” (Crowley just lost her job selling cosmetics to bored rich housewives. Aziraphale is a bored rich bastard in want of a nanny for the neighbor kid he has to babysit. It's a right place, right time situation. Right people, too.)

The Art of Human Nature by IneffableDoll (T, 6k) Crowley is a painter who has only ever had an eye for nature. That is, until a client named Aziraphale commissions her for a painting to boost her self-confidence, and Crowley discovers that her client is as beautiful as the Earth itself. Then she goes and catches feelings, because she’s a disaster. The Colour of Hope and Sin by TawnyOwl95 (E, 7k) Crowley has never felt so pretty. Tonight he can do anything. Having Aziraphale Eastgate, the best defender that St. Beryl's School football team had ever seen, cross Crowley's path again is a chance to test that theory. And maybe they can both work out some latent teenage angst at the same time? A Stable Relationship by MirjamOmens (E, 9k) Crowley used to be one of the best eventing riders of the UK. After one unfortunate fall that crushed his leg, he ends his career and starts coaching other promising athletes. Aziraphale is a riding instructor, handling the school ponies and teaching the beginners. For the past six months they have found themselves in a sort of arrangement. It’s just friendship… and sex, whenever their schedules happen to align. It's nothing more than that, right?

Every Part of Me by foolishlovers (T, 10k) Heartthrob rockstar Antonia Harmonia, better known as Anthony J. Crowley offstage, has safeguarded his singing career from his best friend and long-term crush, Aziraphale, for nearly two decades. But when Aziraphale stumbles upon Crowley’s secret at one of his concerts, Crowley is suddenly confronted with unexpected consequences. Could the best of both worlds be within his reach? A Hannah Montana AU. I'm Beginning to See the Light by ineffabildaddy (E, 15k) There was Crowley - the paragon of cool, the overlord of apathy, breezing easily through each and every one of their exchanges and giving no fucks while doing so; then there was the anachronistic, cloying Aziraphale, trying and failing not to live life like a Thomas Hardy protagonist, and giving many fucks indeed. Or: Aziraphale has quite the pash on his colleague Crowley, who seems resolutely disinterested in him. As their annual Christmas party progresses, it appears that Crowley may not be as disinterested as Aziraphale first thought.

Fifteen Years of Heartache by mondlichtmaus (T, 20k) Crowley was roused from his nap by the sound of somebody opening the door. He didn't move. Maybe they would go away. "Excuse me?" someone called. They weren't going away. Crowley rose, lifting his head to squint at the intruder. A broad figure, silhouetted by the light of the hallway. He couldn't make out his face, eyes still bleary from sleep. Just a halo of light framing his head. "What?" Crowley grumbled. There was a moment of silence, then the intruder spoke again. "Anthony?" They're teachers. They're in love. They're oblivious.

Just Up the Stairs by foolishlovers, ineffabildaddy, omens_for_ophelia (E, 39k) On Valentine's Day, amidst the chaos of handling work and university deadlines as a mature student, Crowley seeks solace with his neighbour Aziraphale. As they share a meal, their long-standing friendship begins to unravel, revealing hidden feelings they've harboured for six months. It's a night that could change everything. Black and White Sunshine by Azira_Amane (E, 58k) "The cotton capital. The Second Summer of Love, the Haçienda. Irwell, Medlock, Irk and Mersey. Elizabeth Gaskell wrote her novels in a lovely little house. Oh. There’s so much to know…" Aziraphale East is, by his own account, a bit of an odd duck - and he's okay with that. He's always been happy in his own skin, in having been a confirmed bachelor his whole life. Everything changes on a work trip from London to Manchester, where he meets the vivacious and stunningly attractive Anthony Crowley. Like the splitting of the atom, Aziraphale is divided - and begins to wonder if it's not too late for love after all. Age, as they say, is but a number.

Tales of Turning Pages by foolishlovers (E, 73k) Every Tuesday, aspiring romance novelist Anthony J. Crowley pays a visit to his local library and the charming angel working there. Every Tuesday, Aziraphale Fell finds himself more and more intrigued by the curious stranger who turns his orderly life as a small-town librarian upside down.

[you can find more fic rec masterposts here]

[whispersoftheton]

Hey, lovely!!! Could I get a Regency Anthony x reader with the prompt “is that a drawing of me?” where maybe Anthony had Benedict draw the reader and just fluff. Please and thank you!!!

Hi my love! Oooohhhhh I've been wanting to try writing some Benedict so this is perfect! I hope you like it!

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader, Benedict Bridgerton

Warnings: anthony is a pining fool as usual, fluff, brotherly teasing

Word Count: 1.5K

Every day in Anthony's life was precisely like the other. Endless business deals and meetings, mixed with social obligations, became an excruciating routine for him. He found himself dreading each day, that is until he met you. You were the only thing that would instantly melt away a long day of dodging insignificant exchanges and keeping up a pleasant facade amongst everyone. The sight of your warm smile and the comfort of your presence was enough to instantly break through Anthony's seemingly tough exterior. Your voice whispered a soothing sonnet to his ears; he couldn't get enough.

But Anthony often found himself yearning from a distance, with fleeting moments and stolen longing glances at one another, constantly leaving a desire for more. A feeling he was quite unfamiliar with, seeing as he cared so little for other's company if it didn't involve business or family. You were different. The captivating way you held yourself in every discussion, effortlessly capturing his mind and heart all at once. Anthony knew he had to do something; he needed to make you his before the season came to an end. And he knew just how to do it.

Benedict sat in the center of the well-lit room, surrounded by canvases of unfinished paintings and what seemed to be smeared paint scattered among them. He contemplated continuing a piece he had been working on before Anthony barged through his doors.

"Ah, there you are." Anthony approached him, a firm pat on his back as he pretended to take an interest in the canvas before him.

"Brother. What do I owe the pleasure?" Benedict turned from his easel, an inquisitive look painted on his face at his brother's unusual affection toward him.

"I require a favor of you. A gift for…someone, and I will need your help." Anthony maintained a steady tone so as to not feed his brother's curiosity.

"And would this have anything to do with a certain lady who has piqued your interest as of late?" Anthony's eyes widened. He couldn't have known; he thought he had been discreet with the time he spent with you. "Maybe one who enjoys strolls in the park, hm?" Benedict teased, taking great pride in seeing his brother shift uncomfortably as he attempted to hide his affection for you from his prying. "It is, isn't it?" Benedict pushed, determined to get an answer out of him. "You are smitten! I knew it!" he blurted, jumping out of his seat, making Anthony step back and roll his eyes, shushing him in annoyance.

"You know nothing, and I will not discuss this any longer if you are to ridicule me as such." Anthony moved to depart before Benedict quickly moved in front of him and placed a hand on his chest to stop him.

"No, no, brother, I assure you it was not ridicule. I will help however I can, but…what could you possibly need from me?" Anthony scoffed, briefly pondering his options. Perhaps he could go into town and find you the most exquisite jewel his money could buy; that would undoubtedly rid him of the embarrassment now flowing through him before his sibling.

"You are artistic. I should like for you to paint a portrait of her."

"A portrait?"

"Yes. I want to gift it to her."

"And will you be gifting this said portrait to her as a sign of courtship, brother?" Benedict smirked, unable to help himself when it came to taunting his own brother. Anthony shot him a glare, to which Benedict put his hands up in defeat and cleared his throat. "Very well then. I shall have your portrait ready soon enough."

Benedict knew it would not be possible to have you posing in a room for hours on end for this portrait, so with Anthony's help, he dedicated a portion of his days to enjoying the park on days you did as well. He would sit on a bench far enough away to not be seen but near enough to capture you exactly right. He knew if Anthony had asked this of him, it must be of importance to him; he couldn't mess it up.

The mid-afternoon sun graced the sky as you made your weekly visit to the Bridgerton home. You and Eloise had made it a habit of strolling the market together from time to time in order to gain some time away from your mamas to talk all things Lady Whistledown. Upon your arrival, Lady Bridgerton greeted you as always, informing you that Eloise had made a quick visit to her friend Penelope but would make quick haste in her return. You graciously accepted her offer for tea and catching up while waiting.

Anthony huffed as he signed his name for what seemed like the millionth time that day on a never-ending sea of business documents. His eyes burned, and his head ached from the tension of a long workday requiring a break from his duties. He shut the door to his study and made his way to the main room, where he was sure whatever his many siblings were up to would engage his mind elsewhere. Instead, Anthony found a largely empty room, Hyacinth quietly practicing her Latin in one corner and his mama enjoying company in another. It wasn't until he walked closer that he discovered it was none other than you.

Your eyes immediately cast downward toward your teacup as Anthony came nearer with eyes searching for your own. It was inevitable; as much as you tried to avoid it, your draw to him was too much to disregard. Your eyes unwillingly met his. The softness of them melting away any tension you felt, pools of amber you wished to soak in forever mesmerizing you and making your breath hitch as you tried to steady the teacup in your hand. Your moment dissipated almost instantly when you heard Benedict enter the room, making both of you glance away, and Anthony cleared his throat.

"My brother and Mama tell me you are fond of art, yes?" Benedict said as Anthony stood behind him, eyes seemingly looking anywhere but at you. "We have several pieces you must see. I do think I should show you before Eloise makes her return, hm?" Benedict kindly offered you his hand. You glanced between Lady Bridgerton and him, taken back by his sudden offer. "It will only take a second. Brother, will you join us?" He looked knowingly toward Anthony, who nodded and began following the both of you down the hall. As keen as Benedict was to show everything to you, it seemed almost as soon as you entered the room, he excused himself with a hasty justification you barely heard, leaving you and Anthony utterly alone. You offered Anthony a kind smile which he returned. Unsure of what to do now that your chaperone had run off to god knows where.

"May I?" Anthony offered his arm, which you took almost too eagerly. He began guiding you through the room, showing you each painting and how his family acquired it. Your mind was otherwise preoccupied with having him so close.

"And this one…" Anthony paused as he led you to the end of the room. You must've been too distracted to realize he'd already passed most paintings—all but one. You noticed a small portrait was propped up on an easel beside the far wall of the grand room. The image became apparent as you approached it.

"Is that…me?" You were in awe, heart positively bursting at the lovely gesture. It was a detailed portrait of you sitting on a park bench, seemingly enjoying a book on a beautiful spring day in one of your favorite dresses. The picture captured you in one of the most tranquil moments of your day. It was breathtaking.

"Do you like it? I had my brother draw it for you; he is quite the artist. Or at least, he likes to think himself so." Anthony rambled unintentionally, slowly losing the composure he prided himself on before you. He wondered if you liked it; maybe this would be the moment he longed for. The moment you'd realize all the feelings he harbors for you. His head couldn't help but wonder, slipping into self-deprecation faster than he cared to admit. What if you absolutely loathed it? Found the entire situation to be quite odd and never wanted to see his face again. Your words untangled him from his spiraling thoughts.

"It is beautiful. Thank you." Anthony searched your face for any sign of disdain but found none. "I am quite speechless. I-This is…" Tears welled in your eyes, and your chest tightened, unsure how to convey your appreciation in words. But Anthony could tell by the tender way you admired it with so much fondness.

Anthony took a deep breath and stepped closer; this was it; he had to ask you now. A courtship with you was something he could only dream of. Deep down, Anthony knew if there was ever a chance of happiness with someone in this lifetime. It was with you by his side.

Mini Tag List: @bugnug @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @thethreeeyed-raven @ssprayberrythings @fatbottomedvirgo @fictional-hooman (let me know if you would like to added here or dm me if you’d like to be removed)

I do not consent to having my work reposted, translated, or published to any third party site or app. if anyone sees my work anywhere that is not ao3/tumblr or under any other username that is not whispersoftheton, it has been reposted without my permission

[atlabeth]

far too young to die - anthony lockwood

summary: three things happen on the day you decide to solve your problem:

your tea-making skills get lauded

you get the biggest history lesson of your life

everything goes wrong.

you should have expected this the moment lockwood & co got involved.

a/n: this got away from me but twas very fun to write and protective lockwood is becoming my lifeblood lol<3 enjoy and remember kids: fuck netflix

wc: 5.7k

warning(s): canon typical stuff, mentions of murder and throat slitting, implied/sort of described domestic abuse, hurt/comfort. reader panics a lot. suspend your disbelief please and thank you. reader also has a last name of holloway just for convenience

Reading the newspaper was impossible this morning. 

Your leg wouldn’t stop bouncing up and down, and the envelope on the far side of the table drew your eye every five seconds, and your neighbor did not need to be cutting his lawn at the moment, and all the while that presence was there. It always was, whispering illegible things to you and taunting you through the shadows and making your life a living hell you couldn’t prove. 

An unwilling shiver ran down your spine, and you tamped down on it. 

After today, it would finally be over. 

Hopefully. 

The doorbell rang, and you about jumped out of your skin. You took a deep breath, calming your heartbeat as you set your cup of tea back on the table, and went over to the door. When you opened it, you were met by three teenagers about your age, and the lanky, dark-haired boy in front gave you a small smile.

“We’re here for Edmund Holloway,” he said. “Have we got the right address?”

“You do—I’m his daughter,” you said. “You’re the agents?” 

The boy nodded. “Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and Co.” He held out his hand and you shook it, and once you released it he gestured to the other boy and girl standing with him. “These are my colleagues, Lucy Carlyle and George Karim.” 

You nodded again, wringing your hands together as you let out a shaky exhale and said your name. “Anthony, Lucy, George— nice to meet you all.” 

“Lockwood is just fine,” he said, and you nodded. 

“Are you the one who put out the ad?” George asked with a frown. “It doesn’t look like your father is here.” 

You shook your head. “My father put out the ad. He’s on a business trip at the moment.” 

Anthony frowned. “Why isn’t he here?” 

“He doesn’t handle ghosts very well,” you said wryly. “Gives him an awful fright.” 

“Most people don’t,” Lucy said. “That’s why we’re around.” 

“Forgive my bluntness, but it doesn’t seem very smart of him to leave his daughter in a haunted house,” Lockwood said. “Even if agents are clearing the house.” 

“He doesn’t exactly… know I’m still here,” you admitted sheepishly. “My father expected me to stay at a friend’s house until today, give you all the payment, and then make myself scarce until the problem was solved.” 

“Why in the world are you here then?” George asked. 

“...Because I need to know that this ghost is gone,” you stated. “I need to see with my own eyes that it’s over.” 

Lockwood eyed you cautiously, and you cleared your throat as you stepped aside. “Come in, agents. I can explain over tea.” 

You closed the door as they filed inside, and you wrought your hands together as you followed them. “I’ve got Earl Grey and chamomile, if anyone’s interested,” you said as you began filling up your kettle. 

“Chamomile would be lovely,” Lucy said, her eyes wandering around the interior as she took a seat next to George at your table. 

Lockwood, however, stayed standing. He pointed at a painting hanging on the wall and glanced at you. “Starry Night?” 

You nodded. “My grandmother painted it when she was younger. She specifically left it in her will for me.”

He smiled. “It’s beautiful.” 

“It is, isn’t it?” You pulled a tin of loose tea out of your cabinet and set it on the table. “I’ve never been much of a painter myself, but I’ve always wanted to learn like her.” 

“As interesting as this is, you said you would explain your poor choices,” George interrupted. “And your history.” 

“Blunt as he is,” Lockwood said dryly, “he’s right.” He took a seat next to Lucy, leaning back in the chair. “Tell us everything you know about this house—anything that could be causing the haunting.” George cleared his throat and his lips twitched. “And why you’re still in the haunted house alone.” 

You nodded, leaning against the counter with a sigh. “To answer the question on all of your minds, I have no idea who the ghost could be. My only guess is some fellow from decades ago, back before the house was in our immediate family.” 

“You inherited it?” George asked. 

“From my grandmother,” you said, “the same one who painted. She died a few decades ago, and she left the house to her son in her will. After my mother died, my father and I moved here to get away from the memories.” 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Lucy said softly, and you managed a smile. 

“Thank you.” You folded your arms across your chest. “And before you ask, no—it’s not my mother’s ghost. She died far away from here, and she’d have no reason to stay behind.” 

“Do you know when this house was built?” George asked. “A lot of the architecture looks Victorian.” 

“Sharp eye,” you said with a slight smile, and you stood up from your spot against the counter as the kettle started to whistle. You poured the water into three mugs and added your handmade tea bags before you looked back at them. “It was built in the 1850s, I believe. I think it’s been in our family since then, but I’ve only been aware of it since my grandmother.” 

“Could it be your grandmother’s ghost then?” Lucy asked, and you shook your head. 

“She didn’t die here. And she wouldn’t have any reason to stay either,” you said. “Which is why I’ve had no idea who it could be.” 

“Strange indeed,” Lockwood agreed, suddenly speaking up. His gaze pierced into you. “You’ve got such a connection to this ghost and yet you don’t even know who it could be.” 

Your cheeks burned. George huffed a laugh. 

“That’s right,” he said. “You haven’t even told us about why you’re still here.” 

“The ghost hasn’t just been haunting our house,” you murmured, staring down at the floorboards. You’d have to clean the dirt between the cracks later. “It’s… it’s been haunting me too.” 

Lucy frowned. “What do you mean?” 

“It’s always around me,” you said, and even then you could feel the chills all over your body. At this point, though, it might’ve been your own design. “I— I can always feel its presence, I hear it whispering to me constantly, and it feels like every time I touch something old in here I get a damned vision, or voices in my head, and—” 

You stopped, realizing your voice had risen without you noticing, and you took a deep breath. 

“And I feel like I’m going insane,” you finished, your tone much quieter than before. 

“You’ve got Touch,” Lockwood concluded, something different in his eyes. Lucy’s expression had softened, and George just looked even more interested than before when you nodded. 

“Talent that strong and you’re not an agent,” he said. “Why?” 

“I’ve never wanted it,” you said dryly. “And after dealing with this ghost for the past few months, I’ve got even less desire.” 

“You should consider it,” he said. “Maybe then you won’t have a ghost in your backyard.”

“This ghost has been toying with you for months, but it hasn’t even tried to harm you,” Lucy said. “It’s definitely a Type 2 based off your description, so I’ve got no idea why. What’s the point?” 

Lockwood shrugged, and he gave a nod of thanks as you placed the mugs of tea in front of them. “Maybe it’s related to you after all. I’ve heard cases of relatives not harming their own, especially in more sentient Type 2s—it’s rare, but it happens.” He looked at you. “If this house has been in your family since the 1800s, surely there’s been at least one violent Holloway death worthy of the Other Side.” 

“Is your theorizing always this fun?” you asked as you crossed your arms. 

“Usually more,” he said helpfully. Lockwood took a sip of tea and hummed. “We should get chamomile more often.” 

“I’m always telling you to,” Lucy said. “George is just insistent on making his own black tea.” 

“That’s because it’s far superior!” he exclaimed. “You should be thanking me for it, honestly.” 

Lockwood took another sip and looked at them. “She makes a great chamomile. It might just change your mind.” 

“I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation,” you said, arms still folded as their heads all snapped to you, “but we’ve only got two hours until the sun sets, and this house is still very much haunted.” 

“Right. I guess that means we should start preparations.” Lockwood stood up, smiling at you. “Thank you for the tea and your information. We’ll take your keys, vet the place, and hopefully have your ghost vanquished before morning comes.” 

“You don’t need my keys,” you said. “I’m staying.

George laughed. “You can’t be serious.” 

He looked at you, completely serious, and then at Lockwood, who wasn’t immediately objecting, and his eyes widened. “You can’t be serious!” 

“I want to help,” you said plainly. “It’s my house, it’s my ghost. I want it gone, and I want to be there when it happens.” 

“You’ve got no training,” he said. “You’ve got Talent, sure, but zero training. You’ll just—” he looked at Lockwood— “she’ll just slow us down.” 

“…You do know this place better than anyone,” Lockwood said, eyes still on you. “Right?” 

You nodded. “Lived here for the past ten years. I know all its nooks and crannies, and I could guide you through it blindfolded.” 

“You’re not an agent,” George said. 

“You said it yourself that I’ve got Talent,” you said, “and an obvious connection to this place and whatever’s haunting it, seeing as the ghost won’t leave me alone.” 

“Lucy, you can’t seriously be okay with this,” he said, glancing at her. 

“…I have some Touch too. I can help her, see if we’re picking up the same things. Besides,” Lucy said with a shrug, “you all took me in on a whim before I was fully certified. It’s just one job, in her house of all places.” 

“I won’t impede your work—I promise.” You looked at Lockwood, desperation mixing with resolve in your eyes. “For months, this house has haunted me from within. I want to be with you when you destroy it.” 

Lockwood’s lips quirked up in the slightest of smiles as he nodded. “Alright, then.” 

You immediately broke into a wide smile of your own as George sighed. “DEPRAC is going to have a field day with us if anything goes wrong. Allowing a completely uncertified girl to help us.”

“If anything goes wrong, I’ll personally take the blame for it,” you said. “I’ll say I forced you into letting me work with you all, and I will pay any fines.”

“Once we got fined 60,000 pounds for burning a house down,” he deadpanned. “Are you alright with that?”

You frowned. “Should I really be hiring you all?” 

“Come off it, George,�� Lockwood said, and he collapsed his hands together. “Nothing like that will happen today, I assure you.” He smiled wryly. “As long as everything you told us was the truth, that is.” 

“It is,” you said. “I wouldn’t lie about something like this.” 

Lucy huffed a laugh. “You’d be surprised what some people do.” 

“Another reason I don’t want to become an agent,” you supplied. 

Lockwood picked up their bags and set them on the table, and he pulled out a bundle of chains then he tossed it to you. You caught it with a slight grunt. 

“Do you know how to use those, not-an-agent?” Lockwood asked wryly. 

You rolled your eyes, though not without mirth, and nodded. “I read, Mr. Lockwood.” 

“Good. Those are for your protection. We’ll protect you, of course,” he gestured at his rapier, “but it’s a last resort.” 

“Let’s try not to get there, then,” you said. 

“One thing you should know about working with us is that things rarely go to plan,” George said. 

“That is not true,” Lockwood rushed, but that only proved that it was most certainly true. 

You sighed as you finished the rest of your tea from before, having gone cold. You were certainly getting yourself into something with these agents. 

“Right, then,” Lockwood said, clearing his throat. He pulled out his rapier, that small smirk showing itself again as he looked at all of you. “Let’s catch ourselves a ghost.” 

-

You didn’t think your house had ever been as intimidating, as tense, as it did now.

You creeped through its hallways alongside the agents, the chains icy cold in your grip, almost scared to even breathe. Lockwood and Lucy had their rapiers drawn, and George held a net in one hand with one of their bags slung over his shoulder. 

They carried themselves differently than any of the teenagers you’d been around, with an air of eerie confidence completely foreign to you. It was admirable in a sense. Scary to think it could have been you. 

“No death glows yet,” Lockwood muttered. “Hear anything, Luce?”

“Very faint yelling,” she murmured. “I can tell it’s an argument—there’s two different voices, but that’s all I can make out.”

Lockwood looked at you, but you shook your head. “Not ringing a bell.”

“Where?” George asked. “Arguments are a good sign.” 

Lucy edged past Lockwood so she was in the lead, and you moved up the stairs. She paused at the top, her eyes closed and her brow slightly furrowed. “It’s even louder up here. I feel it all over, but it’s stronger around here. It’s a couple, a man and a woman—finances, jealousy, general unhappiness…” Lucy opened her eyes and looked at you. “Did your grandparents argue while they lived here?” 

“They argued like any other couple,” you said, “but as far as I know, they were completely happy. They loved each other.” You frowned. “And I don’t know why regular arguments would be so strong around here after so long.” 

“Time isn’t the biggest aspect for sounds,” Lucy explained. “They can linger for decades and be as strong as the day it happened.”

“And maybe they weren’t just regular arguments,” George suggested, your stomach sinking at the thought. 

“Could it be your grandfather’s ghost?” Lucy asked. 

You shook your head. “No. He’s alive, and he doesn’t even live in England anymore.” 

“Move around and touch some things then,” George said. “See if you get anything.” 

And so you did. You handed the chains to Lockwood and laid your hands on various things around the hallway and some of the rooms while George and Lucy went off on their own—the walls, certain objects, the beds. All you got were memories from your first few years here, and a blur of the decades between your grandparents. It was overwhelming, and you had to pull away after you touched your grandfather’s watch in your dad’s room. 

“Do you feel alright?” Lockwood asked. Though George and Lucy had gone off on their own, Lockwood had stayed with you to, one, make sure you were protected as his client, and two, keep track of any information. “You’re stumbling a bit.” 

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I’m… I’m fine. I’m just not used to using my Talent on purpose like this.” 

“On purpose,” he repeated wryly. 

“I try not to do anything with it,” you said. “I told you, I don’t want to be an agent.” 

“There’s a lot of people out there that would kill for a power like yours,” he said. “Kids stuck on night watch, agents with fading Talent, adults who can’t see for shit. Seems strange to just… ignore yours.” 

You shrugged uncomfortably. “I’m not ignoring it now, am I?” 

“No,” Lockwood said, “I suppose you’re not.”

Eventually, you made it to another room, your grandparents’ old bedroom that you’d ended up turning into your father’s office, and when you opened the door Lockwood whistled. 

“That’s a bright death glow.” 

You grimaced. “So this is where they died.” 

He nodded. “By the look of it, it wasn’t pretty.” 

“Great,” you muttered, and you walked inside. 

“Lucy! George!” Lockwood called as he followed you in, craning his neck to look behind him. “Get over here—we’ve got a lead!” 

“What is it?” you heard Lucy asking, her voice getting closer. 

Though you started to answer, you didn’t get the chance to finish as the door slammed shut on its own, separating you and Lockwood from the others. Your eyes widened as you whirled around. 

“Don’t panic,” Lockwood said immediately. You nodded shakily despite the blood pounding in your ears, and at your confirmation, he yelled out. “Luce? George? Are you alright?”

“We’re fine!” Lucy shouted, and there was the rattling of the doorknob. “Is it locked on your side?”

You moved forward and tried to turn the handle to test it, but a scream was ripped from your throat as you stumbled backwards. Your hands flew to your neck, splaying across the skin as you expected to feel blood, but there was nothing. The cold metal pressed against your skin, the sharp edge of the knife tore across it, but there was nothing. Centuries flashed behind your eyelids but there was nothing. 

Lucy and George called out your name, but you couldn’t respond, your eyes wide as dinner plates as your whole body shook.

“God, are you alright?” Lockwood caught your shoulders before you could run into him, and his hands stayed there when he realized how much you were trembling. When you turned to look at him, your hand still pressed against your neck to stop invisible bleeding, his eyes were filled with concern. “What did you see?”

“I… I—” You tried to voice it, but the words stuck in your throat as the tremors continued.

Lucy yelled your name again and there was a bang on the door, and Lockwood looked up. “She’s okay! She felt something when she touched the handle— Lucy, see what you can get on your side!”

“Got it!”

“It’s okay,” Lockwood said softly, his attention turning back to you. His hands on your shoulders grounded you, and he was a surprisingly welcome presence. “Whatever’s here, I won’t let it hurt you. You just have to tell me whatever it is you saw when you touched that doorknob.”

“I didn’t see anything,” you finally managed. “I— I heard them yelling, screaming, threatening to leave each other, and then—” You forced your breathing to still, but it hardly worked. 

“And then what?” His voice was still just as soft, and he didn’t move away from you or take his hands back. He just stood there, waiting for you. 

“And then he killed her, Lockwood,” you whispered, your hand falling to his wrist. “She threatened to leave him, and he slit her throat.” You still felt the blood dripping down your neck. You wanted to crawl out of your skin. 

He was alarmingly good at keeping his emotions in check, the only sign of his shock the slightest pause before he asked again. “Who?” 

“I— I don’t know,” you said. “I just— I felt it, and it’s the same presence I’ve been feeling for months.” 

“So it’s our ghost,” he said. “Obviously, but we just need to see if Lucy can…” 

His words phased through your ears as the air in front of you shimmered, blue light coalescing into the source of your endless tormentor. One image, one woman, one ghost, the face of someone you never thought was an option, and you could do nothing but stare. 

“Lockwood,” you croaked, and he turned around. Immediately, his expression hardened, and he said your name as he moved forward and in turn pushed you behind him. 

“Don’t make a sound,” he uttered as he slowly drew his rapier, and he handed the chains back to you. You took them as quietly as possible, and with his arm braced in front of you, he moved the two of you back a safe distance. “Do you recognize her?” 

You nodded, but you couldn’t speak. All you could do was stare up, wide-eyed at the ghost above you. You’d been expecting a monstrous apparition, a cruel face to put to the presence that had been haunting you all this time, but it wasn’t. It was familiar, and perhaps it was cruel all the same, because the ghost was—

“Now would be a good time to say it,” Lockwood said dryly. 

You nodded again, your voice barely a whisper. “I guess I was wrong.” Your throat bobbed. “Because that’s my grandmother.”  

“Ah,” Lockwood said placidly. “The ghost really is your grandmother. Lovely.” 

“I never knew,” you whispered. “I didn’t know she died here, that she was murdered—” 

“You’ve got to stay calm,” Lockwood interrupted. “You’re not going to be any help to me or yourself if you’re not calm.” 

You didn’t know how you were supposed to stay calm in the face of your murdered ghost of a grandmother, who looked far younger than she was supposed to because she was murdered— 

“Do you hear me?” he asked, his voice more assertive than before. “I need you to stay calm for me.” 

Your vocal chords decided to work this time, though just barely. “I— I’ll try my hardest.” 

“I’m sure you know this already,” he said wryly, “but don’t let her touch you.” 

And then, George’s voice rang out. 

“What the hell is going on in there?” he called, and the ghost lunged. 

Lockwood pushed you back all the while slashing his rapier at your grandmother, her screams filling your ears and penetrating your body to the bone. It stole the breath out of you, even as her body dissolved from the metal, and Lockwood latched onto your arm as he backed to the edge of the room with you. 

“We’ve got a Type 2 in here!” Lockwood yelled, his sword brandished and his arm still protectively in front of you as his eyes darted all over the room, breath held as he waited to see where she would appear next. “George, work on getting that lock open! Lucy, find the source!” 

“Do you have any idea what it is, or am I just on a wild goose chase?” Lucy asked frantically. 

“The latter,” you responded, and you heard her groan as she ran off. 

“I don’t know if a lockpick will even work,” George said, voice muffled through the wood. “Ghost powers don’t respond well to science.” 

“At least try,” Lockwood said. “I’d appreciate it knowing you’re on the case.” 

“As long as you try not to die,” he grumbled. 

“No promises.” 

You shook your head as shaky breaths rocked through you. “Your sense of humor is a bit morbid.” 

Lockwood winked, somehow smiling even now. “We’ve got to cope somehow.” 

You huffed a laugh, only slightly unhinged. “Sorry about this, by the way. I really didn’t know that it was my grandmother. Honest to God, I had no idea she died here.” 

“One of the less egregious problems we’ve had,” Lockwood said. His eyes sharpened as he looked across the room, and your grandmother’s ghost suddenly appeared again. 

His grip loosened on your arm as he pulled away, handling his rapier with the skill of someone twenty years his elder. You lashed out with your chains whenever she got too close, staying behind Lockwood every time he shifted or twisted or moved around the office, but in such a small space—all the while dealing with her screams and the constant dread just being near her filled you with—you were beginning to grow tired. 

“Do you have any idea what her source would be?” he asked. “Or— or where it would be?” 

“No!” you exclaimed. “I thought we’d just be dealing with some bloke that was killed a few decades ago, not my grandmother and her vicious murder that I knew nothing about!” 

“Try and think, then!” Lockwood thrust forward with his rapier, preventing the ghost from advancing on the two of you for a moment as he continued to move back. “I know that this is shocking, but we’ll have time to deal with that later. Right now, you have to focus! Use your talent!”

Your heart beat like a hammer, the blood pounding in your ears, and you nodded. “Keep her away from me.”

Before Lockwood could question anything, before you could second guess yourself, you lashed out with the chains and darted past your grandmother’s ghost. You latched onto the doorknob again as you screwed your eyes shut, and it hit you all at once.

You weren’t immediately dead, so you assumed Lockwood was doing his job. But centuries of memories flashed before your eyes, and you were living through years simultaneously. 

The first time your grandparents toured the house together, your grandfather closing the door behind him as he took a moment for himself. He knew then that was where he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. 

When they decided to buy the house and crossed the threshold for the first time, him carrying your grandmother all the way up the stairs and to their bedroom, her falling onto the bed with a delighted squeal. 

Your father was born, and your grandfather’s hand slipped off the doorknob as he carried his newborn baby into the room, cooing and rocking him while he walked over and sat on the side of his bed. 

He lost his job, closing the door with a hand running down his face as he slammed his fist into the wall. The wallpaper dented beneath his knuckles, but he didn’t even notice. 

Your grandmother carefully closing the door behind her, padding over to the desk, opening the drawer and finding letters. Undistilled shock and barely bridled anger, the stench of betrayal. 

An awful argument, the worst yet. Screaming so loud it rocked the walls of the room, insults and threats and accusations flying through the air without a second thought. She went to leave, put her hand on the doorknob, but he went mad with rage. He slashed her throat from behind before he can even think, and your grandmother died with her hand still on the handle before she collapsed.

The doorknob, and—

“Her brooch,” you muttered, and your eyes widened as you slammed your hand against the door. “George, the brooch! Tell Lucy to get the brooch!”

“What brooch?” he yelled back. 

“My grandmother’s brooch!” you shouted. “My grandfather gave it to her as an anniversary gift. It’s emerald, Georgian cut! You’ll know when you see it— the vanity in the master bedroom on the first floor! You don’t have time to get her, just go!”

His footsteps ran off, but you didn’t even get a moment to relax as you felt that awful presence again. 

You whirled around and your breath caught in your chest, frozen stiff as you stared back at the face of your grandmother. 

It wasn’t that cruel, demented thing you’d seen when she attacked at first. This was just… her. Beautiful and fair-faced, late thirties having no effect on her. The eyes of your father, elegantly braided hair. You recognized the style of her dress, one that had been passed down to you. 

She looked like… like you’d imagined yourself in a decade or two. 

God, she was so young. Young and in love and betrayed. 

The world grew dimmer, your surroundings taking on a crystalline sheen. Everything was cold and your muscles were made of lead. You heard distant shouts, but it didn’t matter. 

Nothing mattered. 

You were so tired.

And then it all shattered. You crumpled to your knees, an overwhelming stabbing in your head as your breath came back to you in haggard waves.

Lockwood was over you, his rapier forgotten on the ground, and he shook your shoulders as he said your name over and over.

“…Lockwood?” you managed, your eyes barely open as you looked up at him. 

His smile was one of pure relief as he nodded, and though he stopped shaking, his hands still remained on your shoulders. “Yeah. You’re alright.”

“What happened?” you murmured. 

“You were ghost-locked,” he said breathlessly. “I tried to fend her off, but she was only focused on you. George must’ve gotten to the source right before she could get you.” He smiled sheepishly, but there was clear-cut fear behind those eyes. “Sorry about that.”

“I nearly died,” you said. The words tasted like plastic on your tongue, unusual and stiff. 

He shook his head. “I wouldn’t have let that happen.”

Lockwood went to say more, but the door busted open suddenly, drawing the attention of both of you.

George and Lucy were both completely out of breath when they barged in. Lucy’s rapier was drawn and George held your grandmother’s brooch in his hand, wrapped ten times over in a metal net.

“Are you all okay?” Lucy asked, her eyes wide as yours. “I could hear her all the way downstairs, and—” 

“We’re alright,” you interrupted, and you looked at Lockwood. He got the hint, and he helped you up from the ground. The energy had been completely drained from you after being ghost-locked, so he kept his arm around you. 

“Looks like you were right,” George said, holding the brooch up. “Half-right, the ghost being your grandmother and all, but you’re right where it matters.” 

“Pretty good time to be right,” you said shakily. 

“Last minute save.” Lockwood laughed breathlessly. “You fit right in here.”

-

Lockwood helped you downstairs, and he insisted on making tea for you while you sat at the table with George and Lucy explaining what had happened. 

Your grandparents were happy, you hadn’t been wrong, but one too many things went wrong beneath the surface. They got married young, but he never felt like he was good enough for her despite her reassurances. He lost his job a week before your father was born, and with the stress, the finances, the jealousy— it all built up. Your grandfather snapped, so your grandmother did as well. 

“...and he killed her,” you finished quietly. “She found out he was cheating on her, they had this huge argument and she actually meant to follow through on her threats of leaving him.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. “It turns out she never got the chance, and my grandfather’s been lying to us and the world ever since.” 

“I’m so sorry,” Lucy murmured, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. “I can’t imagine what you must be feeling right now.” 

You nodded thankfully, and you smiled up at Lockwood as he placed a fresh cup of tea in front of you. It warmed your bones when you took a sip, and you already felt your strength coming back from the ordeal. 

“You all might get some calls from the police,” you said. “I’m going to call my father tonight and tell him everything, and then we’re going straight to the authorities.” 

“We’ll back you up if we get any,” Lockwood assured. “We’ll tell them everything you told us.”  

Lucy and George nodded. “I got some visions of my own that corroborate your story,” she said, “so don’t worry about proof.” 

George held up your grandmother’s brooch, still wrapped in the net. “I’ll hold onto this if they need it for evidence. Soon as it’s done, we’ll take it straight to the furnaces.” 

You nodded gratefully, and after another sip of tea, you stood up. Your legs didn’t shake, so you took another step and looked back at them. “Come on. I’ll walk you all out.” 

After the three of them gathered their things, you followed them to the door, and your smile was the most genuine it had been since this all started. 

“I can’t thank you all enough,” you said. “Lucy, George, Lockwood—you’ve put an end to my misery, you’ve finally put my grandmother to rest, and you’ve helped bring a murderer to justice.” Your shoulders felt a whole lot lighter as you handed the envelope to Lockwood. “I’m forever in your debt.”

“I wouldn’t say forever in our debt,” George said. “You’ve just paid that off.” 

You cracked a smile as Lockwood swatted him with the envelope, then he looked back at you with the same charm as always.

“We were happy to help. And we appreciated yours as well.” Lockwood dug into his pocket and pulled something out, pressing it into your hand. He lingered for just a moment too long before he pulled away and cleared his throat. 

“Your business card,” you realized as you brought it up closer. “What for?”

“You’re Talented,” Lockwood said, “obviously. Even though you haven’t honed it at all, you’ve still got some pretty impressive raw ability. If you ever find you want to put it to use, learn the ropes of being an agent… give us a call.” He smiled. “Lockwood & Co would be happy to have you.”

You looked over at Lucy, almost as if you wanted her approval. She gave you that faint smile. “You’re good when you’re confident, Holloway. And it would be nice to have another girl.”

George, next. He shrugged. 

“You held your own,” he said, “mostly. I wouldn’t be opposed to it if you got some training. We can’t expand our agency for just anyone.”

“And you already know what I think,” Lockwood said with that same smile. 

You couldn’t help a slight one of your own, and you looked at the business card again before shoving it into your pocket. “I’ll think about it.”

Lockwood nodded. “35 Portland Row. Remember it.”

“I don’t think I could forget,” you said with a soft laugh.

His lips twitched into a smile. “Good.”

Lockwood nodded at you one last time, something passing between you for just a moment before he turned around and his crew followed him. You watched the three of them get into the taxi and drive off before you closed the door, allowing yourself a deep, deep sigh. 

And despite all the chaos that had just occurred, despite the life-changing revelation that was brought forth, despite your near-death experience and the shift to your axis and the tainting of your family tree, as you walked back inside and picked up the phone to dial your father…

You felt more at peace than you had in a long, long time. 

You took the business card out of your pocket, staring at it as you waited for the number to connect. 

…Maybe, you thought wryly.

Just maybe. 

-

perm tags: @dv0412 @siriuslyslyslytherin @maruchan77 @simonsbluee @kwyloz @masteroperator @louderfortheback 

[frost-queen]

Humming bees (Male!Reader x Bridgertons)

Requested by: @los-angeles-71300  Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22 @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco @subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07,@melsunshine, @goldenmoonbeam, @freyathehuntress

Summary: After Hyacinth finds a portrait of a young man she does not know, she confides with her father and brother Anthony of his identity. Little does she know it is a portrait of you, the eldest Bridgerton passed away at the hands of a small bee. (Ps. Edmund is still alive here)

“One, two, three.” – Gregory called out. Hyacinth picking up the hem of her dress, making a run for it. – “four, five six.” – she heard him count while running out of the parlor. – “nine, ten, eleven.” – his words slowly fading out till she could no longer hear him count. Giggling beyond herself, she ran up the stairs. Half-way up she encounters her brother Colin, nearly running him over. – “Hyacinth!” – Colin called out, turning around to see her run up the last steps.

He held on tight to the railing. It was his life saving or he would’ve tumbled down the stairs. – “Hide and seek!” – she simply responded loudly. Colin shaking his head with a shake. Hyacinth ran down the hallway. Eloise shrieking loud when she opened her door, greeted by her hastened sister. Hyacinth came to a stop, mouth gawking in surprise. Wondering where she would hide from her brother.

Setting her mind to it, she ran to the right, opening a door. She quickly shut it. – “Hyacinth?” – Benedict said, pausing his actions. – “Can I hide here?” – she asked, looking around for a hiding place. – “What? Hide? What are you on about sister?” – Benedict set his paintbrush aside, watching her from behind his canvas. – “Yes hide brother what is there not to understand about.” – she answered, sitting on her knees, looking under his bed.

Humming curiously she got back up. She ran over to his closet, opening it firmly. – “Do you think I could fit in here?” – she questioned. Benedict rushed to her, coming to stand between her and the closet, shutting it. – “No!” – he called out. – “No?” – Hyacinth repeated innocently. – “No I can’t fit in there or no I can’t hide there?” – she proposed unsure of his intentions of his words. Benedict spread his arms. – “No as in no, you cannot hide here or anywhere in my room for the matter!” – he told her off.

Hyacinth pouted her lips pitiful. – “Why not?” – she begged to know. – “I am painting sister.” – he sighed out, gesturing at the canvas presented in the center of his room. Hyacinth barely gave the canvas her attention. – “I won’t disturb you. I promise.” – she said wobbling on her feet, hands behind her back. Benedict pinched his nose bridge. – “Hyacinth no. I can’t have you hiding in here and Gregory storming in to find you.” – he explained to her.

She crossed her arms bothered. – “Where else am I supposed to hide? Gregory can come look for me any second now.” – she cried out. Benedict pulled his shoulders up, turning her around towards the door. – “Not my problem.” – he shoved her towards the door, ushering her out of the way. He shut the door before her. Hyacinth reacting by sticking her tongue out.

Hearing Gregory downstairs, she panicked. Her time was coming to an end if she ever wished to hide. Panicking, she ran further down the hallway before Gregory would come up the stairs and see her. Huffing and puffing loud, her mind could barely think rational. A thousand terrible hiding idea’s popping in her mind. All those that would easily give her away. Groaning out of breath, she did not want to give Gregory the satisfactory of finding her in the first two minutes of the game.

She wanted to do better. Turning a corner, she came in a corridor she rarely visited. One could say almost foreign to her. Quirking her eyebrow up, she moved swiftly through it, looking in wonder around. Letting her finger trail the wallpaper. It seemed older then those downstairs. As if it hadn’t been taken care of in years. There were another set of stairs at the end of the corridor as she went up. Her curiosity taking a hold of her. Completely forgetting about the game she went up.

It went darker, the further up she went. No windows cast upon the stairs to light up her way. She came to a stop before a wooden door. The handle was old and heavy. With some effort, the door opened with a shrieking sound. She so hoped no one had heard that. She blinked rapidly to adjust to the dim lighted room she found herself in. Only the light from a small window above granting the room some light. She carefully pushed the door closer to the lock, yet not quite in it.

Venturing further into the room, she peered around trying to get glimpses of what was stored here. She gasped running over to a wooden crib. It started rocking creakingly under her grip. Lifting her fingers up, she rubbed them together feeling the dust on them. It had been a while since the crib was used. She measured the size between her two fingers, trying to visualize how small she would’ve been to fit in. That seemed like an eternity ago when she could fit in that crib.

Giggling loud she imagined what it would look like if she laid in it now. Her legs and arms sticking out. It was just too funny to think about. She moved around the crib further down the room. She lowered herself, hands pressed onto a table, watching a dusted vase. It was see-through, yet not. Being so close to the dust, made her cough loud. Straightening her posture she kept coughing. Slowly turning around, the back of her hand against her mouth.

She stopped coughing, hand lowering as her gaze fell upon a hidden portrait it appeared. Hyacinth went over to it. The closer she got, the more she furrowed her brows. Perhaps it was a portrait of her father in his early days? She took a hold of the frame, moving something in front of it forwards so the portrait wouldn’t be damaged when she pulled it up. Slowly the portrait got pulled up, her eyes widening in wonder. She took the portrait with both hands, moving it closer towards the light falling into the room.

She smiled as the person looked so much like her father. Yet if she squeezed her eyes a bit shut, she could faintly see features of Anthony. This was clearly not her father. Yet he resembled him much. Who could this young man be and why is his portrait hidden away? Hyacinth wanted to know more, taking the portrait with her. She went back to the door, going through it. Down the steps back into the corridor. When passing her siblings rooms she got spotted. Gregory pointing firmly at her from across the way. – “Found you!” – he called out loud.

Hyacinth spoke back, coming nearer. – “Yes you found me, good work of you brother.” – she walked past him. Gregory crossed his arms bothered. – “You are no fun like this! Did you even hide?” – he called out to her. – “I did then I chose to come out of hiding.” – she shouted making her way down the stairs. Gregory stomped with his foot on the ground, annoyed at his little sister. Why couldn’t she simply play the game rightly. Close to crying, his lip trembled as he rushed to his room.

She went down the stairs, straight on to the study of her father. Edmund and Anthony lifted their heads up when she barged in. – “Hyacinth?” – Edmund spoke. – “Sister?” – Anthony said at the same time. Hyacinth struggled a bit to keep the portrait up. Her father jumping up from his chair to assist her. He ran around the desk, holding the portrait up before it could hit the ground.

“Whatever for are you carrying this?” – he chuckled, turning the portrait slowly around to see what she was carrying. – “I…” – his smile dropped in an instant. Sorrow reflecting upon his features. – “What is it father?” – Anthony asked coming nearer. – “Who is he?” – Hyacinth asked curiously. Her father seemed to have turned to stone. Not responding one bit. Anthony came to his side, eyes widening at the portrait of you. – “Where did you find this!” – he called out, snatching the portrait from his father.

The tone in Anthony’s voice terrified her for a moment. Thinking she had done something wrong. – “The… the attic… I…I…” – she looked at her father seeing the tears swell up in his eyes. She dropped to her knees, begging for forgiveness. – “I was playing hide and seek with Gregory; I did not mean to find it. Father forgive me.” – she cried out.

Edmund blinked himself awake, rapidly to keep the tears at bay. He softened a smile up for her. – “It is alright my child.” – he spoke, pulling her back on her feet. Hyacinth sniffed loud with pouty lips. Anthony set the portrait down on the desk, brushing any dust off with care.

A faint smile upon his lips. Edmund motioned for her to follow him. He went to sit down, pulling Hyacinth on his lap. – “That… that is a portrait of your brother Y/n.” – he told her, pointing at it. – “Brother?” – Hyacinth repeated confused. – “Is… is he away?” – she wondered since she’s never met him. – “No…” – Edmund replied with sadness in his voice.

“He’s gone.” – Anthony answered letting his finger brush over your uniform on the portrait as it removing any folds from it in person. – “What do you mean he’s gone?” – she wanted to know. Edmund took a deep breath. – “Hyacinth…” – he said to her making her slowly realize. – “Oh…” – she quietly answered. A moment of silence fell upon them till she spoke. – “How… how did it happen? How come I don’t remember him?” – she asked curiously.

Edmund smiled faintly. – “You were still in your mother’s womb. Slowly growing.” – he tickled her briefly making her smile. – “Your brother Y/n, Anthony and I had gone hunting.” – he started his story. Anthony turning around to lean against the desk. Anthony immediately pulled back to the moment. It was a nice warm summer’s day. There were up and about from early starters.

Long awake before anyone else was. Anthony felt beyond honored to go hunting with his father and older brother. He so very much looked up to you. Aspired to be just as gentile and determined as you. You could do no wrong in his eyes. He’d nearly hit a deer, yet the hunt was unsuccessful. Upon the walk home, you were there to give him the word of advise he needed.

“Say brother, no need to be pitiful.” – you spoke, moving an arm around him. Father just up ahead. Anthony took a deep breath. – “I almost had it. If my hand just didn’t tremble that much.” – he cursed at his own hand, looking down at it. You clasped your hand around his, moving it out of his sight. – “Your hand will steady, do not worry about that my brother.” – you told him. Anthony sighed. – “It is just…” – he responded coming to a brief stop. His shoulder slouched forwards, making you notice it quite quick.

You smiled, needing no more words to understand. Taking a deep breath, you set your hands on his shoulders. – “You did alright brother. There is no need to pity yourself with doubts. Believe it or not, I was much worse on my first hunt.” – you said with a smile. – “I don’t believe you.” – Anthony answered. – “Yet it is true.” – you insisted on. – “I had the unfortunate matter of nearly shooting my own hand off.” – you showed him your hand, laughing loud. Anthony wouldn’t have it, shaking his head.

“No, a skilled shooter as you, I do not believe you. You are taunting me brother.” – he spoke, pulling your hand down. You laughed even more. – “It is true.” – you showed him your hand, pointing at a little scar by your wrist. – “I’ve got the scar to tell the tale.” – Anthony’s eyes widened. How was it he’d never noticed that scar. Yes it was small and faint, yet it was there. You stopped smiling, hearing your father whistle loud between his teeth.

“Boys keep up or your mother will scold me!” – he called out from further up the path. The both of you ran to catch up with him. Both joining him at once side. Edmund patted you on the back with a smile. Riffle in hand, you took a satisfying breath upon seeing the manor once more. How good it felt to be home. Edmund and Anthony were laughing as you were a step behind them. – “Oh, she would adore those!” – Edmund pointed out, looking at the flowers.

He rushed over to them, Anthony following him on foot. Edmund took off his satchel and placed his riffle down. Coming to kneel before the flower patches. Hands deep, he ruffled through the flowers. The soft humming of bees never catching his attention. He plucked a few Hyacinths when Anthony came kneeling close to him. Admiring another set of flowers. – “Are you going to woe mother with some flowers?” – you laughed teasingly coming to stand behind your father and brother.

“Yes.” – Edmund huffed out, plucking another Hyacinth. He smelled it briefly. – “They are quite lovely are they not?” – he said out loud. A bee buzzing near him. – “Yes, indeed they are father.” – Anthony responded, looking over at his father. – “Daphne will be jealous if we return with nothing for her.” – he added, plucking a few flowers. Edmund moved his head back, noticing the bee in his vision. Furrowing his brows with annoyance he whiffed it away with the back of his hand. – “This bloody…” – he said getting up and backing away.

You came nearer wanting to aid your father. Edmund ducked away from the bee as he had kept waving his hand around to shoo it off. – “Father do not anger…” – you warned him, words suddenly cut off by a sting of pain. – “Au.” – you softly said, having felt the stinger in your neck. Anthony chuckled, looking behind him. – “Y/n.” – he said. You moved your back towards him and your father, walking closer to the estate. – “The darn thing stung me.” – you pointed out, touching your neck briefly. – “Apologies Y/n. I didn’t mean to anger the creature.” – Edmund said with half a smile.

Anthony was still plucking flowers, furrowing his brows when he heard you grasp weirdly for air. – “Y/n?” – he said. You felt your neck swell up, face turning pale. Turning around your lips were almost sealed. Looking as pale as a dove as you stumbled a bit forwards. You revealed a bit of your red neck to your brother and father. You stretched your hand out, wheezing loudly. – “What is it?” – Anthony questioned, getting up. You stumbled into your father’s arms, sending him down with you.

Grasping for air, blood veins almost popping out on your head. – “What? What?” – Anthony called out coming over. You sputtered loud, moving your fingers over the sting wound. – “Someone help us!” – Edmund shouted loudly. – “Help us!” – the panic alarming in his voice as he held you. You lost your balance falling onto your back in the grass. Edmund looked frantically down, pulling you onto his lap. Mouth open you were grasping for air. Choking on dry air. – “Help us! Someone help!” – Anthony raged out in panic.

Your head shock back, grabbing your hand desperately at Anthony’s arm. Needing your brother’s comfort. The scaredness in your eyes broke Anthony’s heart as you kept desperately grabbing for him. It took him a few try’s to take your hand in his. – “Y/n, brother!” – he called out worriedly. – “Y/n… Y/n you must breath.” – Edmund called out, holding you. – “I…I…can’t…” – you answered hoarsely, feeling how much closer to death you were. Anthony was panicking, freaking out as he couldn’t think properly.

He held your hand tight, watching you with horror. Your movements slowed down as you turned to look at him, choking on the lack of air. – “Brother.” – you hoarsely said in deep panic. Wanting Anthony to take away the pain. To tell you all will be alright as you felt your end draw nearer.  Anthony stared back at you with wide eyes in fear. Slowly you laid your head back, reaching up to touch your father’s cheek.

Your fingers barely touched his skin as your hand lowered slowly once more. – “No-no-no-no.” – Edmund whispered out seeing how the light in your eyes was fading out. – “No-no-no-no-n-n-no don’t do this.” – he told you, shaking his head. Your hand plopped to the side, eyes falling shut as your head felt weightless. – “No Y/n!” – Edmund cried out. – “Do not leave us!” – he shouted with a crack in his voice. Anthony’s eyes were wide with fear.

Slowly it was sinking in that he had lost his brother. He looked down at your lifeless hand in his. Seeing how his touch gave your hand no response. Edmund moved your head a bit up, letting his chin rest against your forehead. Mouth open as no cries came out. Silent as they were cramped in his throat. Then a loud sob emerged from deep within followed by a cry of agony.

Anthony’s head trembled, moving your hand towards his chest. Cherishing it near his heart. Edmund was crying loudly, rocking you gently in his embrace. – “My son…my boy.” – he cried out, releasing a cry so raw it scraped his throat. The sounds drew in some curious watchers. Tears rolled down Anthony’s cheek, seeing his brother, the one he looked up to lay still in his father’s embrace.

Edmund looked over his shoulder, sniffing loudly. – “They cannot see him… not like this.” – he told Anthony, seeing Violet among them. – “Anthony!” – he called out for his attention. Anthony looked sharply his direction, trembling to the bone. – “Go!” – he ordered. Anthony nodded shakily, laying your hand near your body. He hesitantly got up, barely able to keep up straight. He stumbled over to his mother telling her the children should head inside.

Anthony sniffed loud, wiping a tear off his cheek. – “If I had not decided to pick flowers for your mother.” – Edmund spoke feeling a lump in his throat. – “If I had not angered the bee, your brother might still be here.” – he continued, looking at Hyacinth who had tears in her eyes as well. Anthony gripped on tight to the desk.

Remembering what that day brought upon him. With the loss of you, it meant he was the next heir in line. Making it his sworn duty to fulfill your tasks as the eldest brother now. Making sure the family was well taken care off with father. – “I wish I knew him.” – Hyacinth spoke. Edmund smiled faintly. – “You would’ve loved him… he would’ve loved you…” – he answered pinching her cheek.

Anthony moved his hand to his heart, looking up to the ceiling with a saddened smile. Closing his eyes gently to picture you in front of him. Allow himself to feel what it felt like to have those glorious days with you as second. If only he could’ve held on to you longer. Taking a deep breath, he lowered his head, turning to look at your portrait. – “If only you could taunt me one more time brother.” – he whispered touching your portrait.

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[aurumacadicus]

I finished binging Miss Fisher again:

"So why did you fall out with Howard, anyway?" Steve asked, slouching down in his seat as the car inched up the driveway. He hadn't asked before, and as he'd watched Peggy's hands tighten on the steering wheel as they passed through the gates to the Stark mansion, it finally occurred to him to wonder why he wasn't still involved with SHIELD after being one of the founders of SSR.

Peggy worked her jaw delicately. "We had a disagreement about values," she finally said.

"I can't imagine why," Steve muttered, and relaxed a little when the corner of Peggy's mouth curled up.

"Well, he'll surely enjoy me coming to him for help," Peggy added with a sigh, pulling to a stop. She took a moment to take a deep, fortifying breath, then let it back out slowly, giving Steve a glance out of the side of her eye. "And that I'm bringing you."

"I can thank him for looking for me so long," Steve agreed, and turned to unfold himself out of the car as Peggy did the same. Even though she was in her sixties, she was still sprier than he was; cars had gotten smaller while he was in the ice, somehow.

The door opened before they could knock or ring the bell, and Peggy brightened a little, greeting, "Mr. Jarvis."

"Ms. Carter," Mr. Jarvis answered, voice clipped, and her smile faltered as quickly as it had arrived. He bowed slightly, motioning toward the sitting room on the left. "Mr. Stark will be down to see you presently."

Steve took it as the dismissal it was, wondering at Peggy's reaction. There was so much about her that he didn't know. So much about the world he didn't know. His years in the ocean had done him no favors. He stared at a painting of peaches and tried not to think about how much he'd lost. Then his ears caught the sound of footsteps on the stairs, and he turned, clasping his hands behind his back as he instinctively fell into parade rest.

The man coming down the stairs was not Howard, Steve realized, even though he looked a lot like him. Anthony, he remembered the file saying. Howard's son. Steve hadn't believed Howard would ever settle down, but here was proof, walking casually down the stairs as if they had all the time in the world. To their surprise, he used the post at the bottom of the stairs to swivel directly to face the sitting room they'd been directed toward, walking over like he was meant to be there.

"Tony," Peggy said, and she was unable to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"Aunt Peggy," Tony answered, voice measured. He crossed his arms over his chest, raising an eyebrow. "Or should I be calling you that?"

Peggy sucked in a sharp breath and closed her eyes, looking vaguely annoyed, then opened them again. "Tony, I'm here to see your father."

"I'm the only Mr. Stark here," Tony told her flatly, scowling. "You'd know that if you ever called. Mom said she wanted to take a trip around the world while they still had their health, and they left three months ago. You'd know that if you read the society papers." He waved his hand dismissively. "And just so you know? I'm not really inclined to help. You didn't make it to a single one of my dissertations even though I invited you. You stopped coming to my birthday parties. You didn't even come to my coming out party," he added, and that last part was where Steve finally heard perhaps the first real emotion Tony had shown since he appeared on the stairs--hurt.

Omega, Steve remembered suddenly, at the mention of a coming out party. Tony didn't carry himself like the typical omega, he thought, tilting his head a little. But then, high society always carried themselves a little differently, he remembered. Howard had never carried himself like any of the alphas Steve had grown up with. It stood to reason that Tony would be much the same.

"Tony," Peggy began gently. "I'm sorry that my falling out with Howard affected you, too. I should have tried harder to stay in touch. But you were a child when that happened."

"And I was just as much of a pain in the ass then," Tony scoffed, rolling his eyes. "If they made a fuss about me talking to you, I would have just screamed the house down. I was good at it," he added with a huff.

Steve figured with the way Peggy winced, he was telling the truth.

"Whatever. I don't want to hash this out. What does SHIELD need from my dad? I'll pass the message on when they call next week," Tony continued before she could say anything else. "Maybe. If I feel like it."

Peggy looked like she was considering pressing him, but whatever she saw in his face, it made her back down. "It's about your mother's gala, Tony."

At that, Tony's gaze sharpened, shoulders straightening as his posture changed from dismissive to alert. "I'm in charge of the the foundation while Mom's on vacation," he said, sharp-edged and stern. "What would Dad have to do with that?"

"Hydra is trying to reestablish a foothold in New York," Steve finally answered, taking a step forward. "They intend to slither in through charities, because they believe it's easier to launder money that way. We believe several members will be trying to infiltrate the Maria Stark Foundation, and the gala will be where they make their move."

Tony swiveled to him, eyes calculating. "And who the fuck is this?"

Peggy glanced at him sharply, silencing Steve from answering. "This is the lead agent on the case, Agent Roger Stevens."

Tony pursed his lips, and the look he gave Steve wasn't entirely disgust, but it wasn't... not entirely disgust, either. Steve found himself sweating a little, and he couldn't quite figure out why.

"I suppose if I tell you that I'll take care of it, you'll poke your nose in anyway. Omega can't handle it," Tony said, lifting his chin at him aggressively.

Oh, Steve thought, wondering if this was how Bucky felt when Steve had raised his chin at him and asked, 'You wanna fight, too?' Tony thought that Steve believed he was incapable. "I'm sure you can handle it," he answered carefully when Peggy simply raised an eyebrow at him. He cleared his throat when Tony rocked back on his heels, clearly skeptical. "I just wonder. How you're going to arrest anyone. You need... authority from a governing body to do that."

Tony stared at him, unimpressed. Steve let the moment hang there, waiting. Adding anything else would be too risky, too likely to offend him. Steve had, unfortunately, not gotten any better at interacting with omegas. The only tried and true way to stay on their good sides, he'd found, was to shut the fuck up.

"So citizen's arrest doesn't count?" Tony finally asked.

"You have to hand the person you arrested over to a judge or police officer. I can detain them at SHIELD," Steve answered, and he thought he sounded pretty reasonable.

Tony scoffed. "Why? What can you do that the police can't?"

"Waterboard them, obviously," Steve deadpanned, then winced when Peggy's elbow rammed into his kidney.

"We do not waterboard our prisoners. We are not the CIA," Peggy told Tony sternly.

Tony's mouth dropped open into a surprised little 'o.' Then he threw his head back and laughed, loud, and Steve saw Peggy's shoulders relax, just a little. Maybe this would work out, Steve thought, allowing himself a small smile.