#gap the debutante

[i-am-the-commander-of-death]

Sam x Mon - Wives

Gap The Series - Episode 12

[pcrearts]

No more blues <3

I was lucky enough to be able to view Gap the series - the debutante livestream and I just had to draw the convination of two of my favorite moments!!

Fly high FreenBecky!!

DO NOT REPOST

[xveenusx]

Guilty

Paring(s): JJ maybank x fem!reader

Summary: it didn't matter that she did everything for him. it didn't matter that she loved him. insecurities ruin a great thing, love can't fix these problems

Authors note: angsty angsty angsty, bad JJ

Song rec: grave by tate mccrae

Part 2: Wanted

Perfect.

Everything had to be perfect. 

The perfect dress. The perfect makeup. The perfect boy. 

The past several days were borderline catastrophic with JJ getting arrested for sinking Topper’s boat. I begged and pleaded with my parents to help me get him out, promising them anything they wanted. They asked for the one thing I couldn’t give them. JJ. 

And yet, I said yes. I said yes because the thought of him sitting in a cell all alone, stuck with nothing but his thoughts made my stomach turn. He’s always thought that nobody needed him. Maybe that was something his drunken father drilled into him but it was far from the truth. I needed him.

Everything had spun out of control and it all started the minute I met JJ Maybank. But I wouldn’t trade it for the world. Being with him was like walking for the first time. Nerve wracking yet exhilarating--freeing.  

My life before him was just that, a life. Everything revolved around being the perfect little daughter to my parents. Debutantes, charity dinners, polo matches, and country clubs filled my schedule to the brim but they were rarely there. My mother was running a successful fashion line, working on her latest release while my father was a shark in the courtroom. While I loved every second of splurging on clothes, lavish trips to Europe, brunch at my favorite restaurant, I was missing something. I always felt like something was missing in a world where I had everything. 

That’s not to say I’m ungrateful for every opportunity my position and family has afforded me. But when you spend enough time with people you realize are only conversing with you for money or to step on you to increase their social capital, nothing seems genuine. 

Everything interaction was superficial and it became isolating. But with JJ, each and every moment we shared was intimate and unfeigned. 

He taught me how to surf the swells he spent hours in daily. I learned the slight touch of hand in the art of being a mild kleptomaniac. After several failed attempts and many loud complaints, I could finally balance on his dirt bike. 

None of these moments could be bought with money and maybe that’s why I cherished them so much. I cherished them so greatly that I refused to let them go.

And in turn, I couldn’t let him go. Despite the ever growing distance that's wedged itself between us the moment he was released from jail. Maybe it was a pride thing, or maybe it could have been the condescending jabs my dad threw his way, but JJ had pulled away. 

My father's threats to revoke the bail money hung heavy above our heads. So tonight, I was going to try and change that. I needed to bridge the gap that had us so far apart. Midsummers was how I was going to achieve that.

Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and held it for several seconds to calm my racing heart. I open them slowly, dragging my gaze along my reflection on the floor length mirror at the entrance to the club. A silky number drapes my dainty figure in the softest brush of yellow with threaded pearls as straps. Ivory satin Jimmy Choo heels from their latest collection decorated my feet. 

The familiar rumble of a truck had a grin pulling at the corners of my lips. My parents were somewhere in the building, having been on the board and needed to sign off on some last minute details. 

I didn’t mind the constant abandonment. The loneliness that once clung to me had slowly evaporated the moment JJ entered my world. 

Grabbing my Chrsitian Dior clutch, I headed for the entrance of the Island Club. A familiar mass of shaggy blonde hair had my feet moving quicker. The minute his face came into view I knew something was wrong. 

His lips were tight in a grim line as he continuously shook his head. I quickened my steps, apologizing swiftly to several people who were trying to get my attention. 

“I’m sorry, sir. Are you a member here?”

“Well, no, but my girlfriend-.” 

“Then I’m afraid you're going to have to turn back around. This is a private club.”

“Listen dude, my girlfriend invited me and-”

“Sir, you need to get back into your vehicle before I call security.” The coordinator, who went by Ryan, dismissed JJ without a second glance.

JJ’s eyes narrowed. “If you’d let me speak-”

“This is private property.”

“Bro, calm down. You’re not protecting the president.” JJ huffed, shoving his hands into his pocket. His cheeks tinted a slight red which had my blood boiling. 

He was person. Period. One that didn't deserve to be treated like that especially in such a public setting. I was livid at the thought of Ryan managing to make JJ feel embarrassed. 

“You’re not a member-”

“No, but I am.” I snapped coming to a stop beside him, causing the event coordinator to rear his head back in surprise.

“Hey, baby. ” The familiar pull of his voice coated me like the warmest honey. A smirk tugged at his lips at the obvious irritation on my face. 

Pausing to give JJ my attention, I placed a soft kiss on his lips and pushed back a wild strand of blonde hair. “Hi.”

The smile he gave me was like a sudden beam of light that hit me square in the chest. 

“I am so sorry. I didn’t realize he was with you-”

“Add JJ Maybank to my member account,” My words were sharp and left little room for argument, though they were dripping with the sickeningly sweet tone I mastered at the young age of twelve. “Consider yourself up to date.”

“I’ll get it done.” With that, Ryan tipped his head and left quickly. 

I bristled once more, muttering under my breath, ”Dick.” My chest was heavy with guilt at his treatment, wondering if this was actually a good idea. I gnawed at my bottom lip nervously.  

This was not how I wanted our night to start. 

“I’ve never been a member before.”

Not bothering to conceal my giggle, I turned around and allowed my eyes to drift over every inch of JJ. The black suit I bought him was fitted and hugged every muscle in a way that had my stomach clenching. 

Sun kissed hands reached for me the moment I was within his reach. My arms wrap around the mass of lean muscles, my nose buried in his neck. Taking a deep breath, salt and sex wax filled my senses and I let myself relax. 

Home. He felt like home.

“You look very handsome.”

A rumble left his chest. “My sugar mama bought it for me.”

Hiding my face in his chest, a loud laugh slipped past my lips. JJ shushed me almost immediately, “People are looking. We can’t have them thinking we’re together.”

I pulled away, trying to keep a straight face at his antics. “We are together.”

“Shit, we are?” He held out his hand, amusement and mischief dancing in his eyes. “My sugar mama can’t find out or she’ll cut me off.”

How could I not love him when he made me laugh so hard my stomach hurt?

I hit his arm with my purse in mock outrage before taking his hand while his other touched my bare back. The feel of his rough calloused hands from all his hard work has me suck in a breath. Those rough hard hands knew my body intimately, inside and out. 

“Do that again and I’m finding the nearest bathroom.” JJ leaned down, his lips brushing against the top of my ear. 

A clearing of the throat had us both turning our heads. My father stood there with a stoic face, his eyes promising retribution later. 

Looking at my father directly in the eye, I place my arm in the crook of his, lacing us together. 

“I see you brought a friend.” The last word is spoken with clear disdain. 

My grip on JJ’s arm tightened. “I brought my boyfriend.”

“We’ll talk about this later.” 

As if they’d actually be home, I thought but decided to keep that to myself.

Deciding that this entire conversation was pointless, I was dragging JJ away from the pair when my father grabbed JJ, whispering something in his ear.

My stomach shrunk and apprehension filled me as the light look of JJ’s face fell, replaced with a flat look and hardened eyes. 

“Duly noted, sir.” His mouth curled in a sarcastic snark. 

I shot my father a disappointed look. Curling myself into JJ’s side, my arm wrapped around his waist and I tugged us into the party. “Ignore him, please.”

“Already forgotten, princess.”

My eyes watch his face for any sign of distress, but find nothing. Guilt ebbed aways at my walls.

“Let’s go find Mr. Adams. He owns a chain of surf shops. I’m sure if we schmooze him, we can get you a solid job or maybe even a board.” I tossed him a wink that had him grinning. 

“I like the way you think. Lead the way, gorgeous.”

Despite his hand on my back, all the warmth we had a mere moments ago was gone. I couldn’t help but notice the small distance he kept between us. One that didn’t exist until my father opened his mouth. 

Several hours later, the sun had begun to set and a cool breeze now caressed my bare back. I embraced the cool breeze due to the several glasses of champagne I had. 

Despite my love for the warm buzz it gave me, it did little for my bladder. “I’ll be right back.”

His eyes widened in alarm. “You can’t leave me here with these people.”

I smothered my laugh with my hand. “Did you want to come with me?”

“To the bathroom? Kinky, I’m in.” JJ responded, clutching my hand in his before expertly pulling us through the crowd. 

Nothing could peel off the cheesy smile that bore my face. Despite the slight hiccup at the beginning of the night, JJ charmed most of the members with his charm and humor. I was hoping with some networking, I could help JJ get some security. I believed he was capable of doing just about anything. He had such determination and never let failure keep him down. 

JJ knew how to hussle and I wanted everyone to see his potential, even if at times he didn’t see it himself. 

My heels clicked along the granite floor, our hands swinging in the air. A shriek escaped my lips as JJ twirls me around, my dress swishing around my ankles. “Gorgeous.” He puffed out his cheeks, his gaze boring into mine.

Our matching grins were nothing short of radiant. Being with him was easy in a world filled with difficult people. 

“Well this is disgusting.”

JJ went rigid. That wouldn’t have concerned me if he hadn’t muttered panicked curses under his breath. “If someone says one more thing to me..”

JJ never let Rafe intimidate him before but for some reason JJ seemed a little more hesitant with this exchange. Realization dawned on me. The boat. Fuck. 

I let my hands fall while rolling my eyes and turning to face Rafe. There he stood in all his stuck up glory, not a hair out of place and his suit neatly pressed. He looked every bit of a country member as one could possibly be with the light blue suit paired with a white undershirt and blue bow tie, brown dress shoes on his feet. 

“Don’t you have another line to snort?” I asked.

Sure, Rafe was conventionally attractive, if you didn’t pay attention to the blown pupils and the constant brush of his nose or the foggy look in his eyes. 

JJ snickered beside me, his hand softly tapping my ass twice in support. 

“JJ, go get me a drink.” Rafe cocked his head.

“I’m actually a member here now.” JJ responded, his hand caressed my cheek softly.

Shocked painted Rafe’s face. “That’s not poss-”

Kelce and Topper stood beside him, both in colored pressed suits as well. They kind of looked like the-”You powerpuff girls have fun.” JJ said with a crooked smile and a tip of the hat.

He seized me by the wrist and strode over to the exit. Relief at his plan to avoid a fight was fleeting at Rafe’s next words.

“If I knew a trailer home and food stamps was all it took for you to open your legs, I would have tried a long time ago.”

JJ jerked around in seconds, ripping out of my grip. He stalked towards Rafe, drawing his arm back before connecting with his jaw. 

A shout passed my lips, my hands covering my mouth in horror as JJ struck Rafe twice more, one blow hitting him directly on the nose. Blood began to gush out of Rafe’s nose, staining his dress shirt a deep crimson. “Say that shit again. Say it.”

Rafe let out a mirthless laugh, his lips pulled at the sides revealing his red stained teeth. “Once a pogue, always a pogue. Isn’t that right, JJ?”

Kelce jumped into action, his arm wrapping around JJ’s neck, pulling him off a Rafe into an effective headlock. That’s when I noticed two more hulking figures and suddenly we were surrounded. 

“Five on one, Rafe? Really?” JJ choked out, tugging at Kelce’s arm. 

Without thinking, I walked behind Kelce and slammed the metal clasp of the bag against the side of his head. Once. Twice. Three times. “Let go of him!” 

Kelce let out a yelp and jerked back, causing his grip on JJ to loosen just enough for him to get free. I went towards him in an instant, but he pushed me behind him as he surveyed the remaining men in front of us. 

Whispers dragged my attention from the scene in front of me as I locked eyes with several members who had poked their heads into the locker area. Shit, this really wasn’t good. I needed to get JJ out of here as soon as possible. I didn’t want to give my father any more ammunition against him. 

Clutching his arm, I tugged him once more towards the exit. I could hear more activity outside the locker room which had me pulling at him harder. I wasn’t going to let Rafe make him look bad in front of all these influential people. Over my dead body. 

“People are coming. We have to go.”

His chest rose and fell with quick breaths, his steele blue gaze not leaving Rafe’s.

“I’m serious. For me, JJ, please?” My final plea seemed to have pulled him out of his angry haze. Without wasting a second, he let me pull him further and further away from the group. Lacing his hand in mine, I made quick work of fixing his suit and his hair, pressing soft kisses as I went. 

“Whenever you’re done slumming it, you know where I am.” Rafe called out from behind us, earning us enough leers from fellow members. 

He tore his hand from mine. “Fuck this.” 

Apprehension coursed through me.

I could feel the storm brewing with each step he took. I trailed behind, my small steps nothing to his long strides. Rafe hit a nerve. One that JJ refused to acknowledge and let fester for months now. It was the elephant in the room any time I offered to pay anything at all. It bothered him, all the money my family had.

“Ignore him, Jayj.” I called out from behind him but his steps never faltered. “Rafe was just trying to get a reaction out of you.”

I could hear the soft melody of the music drifting over the wind from the party that was supposed to fix all our problems. Perhaps I was sticking a bandaid on a gaping wound. 

His shoulders were tense as he stopped a couple feet in front of me, shaking his head. Nerves had my stomach in knots. I only had one shot at trying to fix this. Feelings were never JJ’s thing. He spent months fighting our attraction before he finally gave in. Dating a Kook was never something JJ considered. 

Unfortunately, it was something others thought as well because they never failed to remind him. My father included. 

So here we are. JJ was backed into a corner and like any wounded animal, he had two choices. He could concede or attack and I knew JJ like the back of my hand. He would never give up, so instead he’d go for the throat. 

Too bad it was my throat he went for. 

“I understand-” I stopped speaking the moment JJ whipped around, his eyes cutting me deeply.

“You don’t.” I didn’t respond. My eyes lingered on his busted lip and bruised chiseled face. “You don’t understand so please don’t try to make me feel better by pretending that you do.” 

I pursed my lips. JJ was right, I didn’t understand what it was like to be in his position, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care. That I didn’t want to take away every ounce of pain if it meant he would be happy. 

“You’re right. But Jayj, it’s Rafe.” I argued softly, not wanting to draw attention to us. “He always says shit like that to rile you up but you’ve never let it bother you before. Why now?”

JJ’s face flushed. “Because he’s fucking right. That’s why it bothers me.”

My lips wobbled and I pressed them together. I had gone out of my way to ensure he’d never feel this way. I guess I failed. 

I moved closer, my steps unsure and clumsy. “You never said anything.”

My hand rested against his chest, and I could feel the familiar pounding of his heart. 

“That’s nothing new.” He lifted his shoulder in a half shrug.

That did little to ease the emotional storm brewing within me. Every interaction since he was little was nothing short of violent and negligent. 

He wasn’t used to softness and kindness. We were trying to navigate in uncharted waters but we’re thrown off the boat every time the water got choppy. 

“We can go. Let’s just go, baby. Let me just say bye to my parents-“

“Stop.” He demanded, his tone serve. So unlike JJ. 

I dropped my hand and instead chose to focus on the sound of our breathing. I had to keep my head on straight, because I could tell he was already building up his wall so high, making his fortress impenetrable. 

JJ had never had a consistent thing in his life and I’ll be damned if I let that happen to us. 

Squaring my shoulders back, I faced his heated gaze head on. If he wanted an argument, he’d get one, but we’d both be leaving together. 

I had no intention of going anywhere. 

“Stop?” I echoed, raising my brow.

His eyes were as cold and hard as obsidian. “Yes, stop. How is leaving going to solve any of this?” 

“You’re picking a fight with me for no reason. I’m not the one you’re mad at.”

JJ raked his fingers through the sun bleached golden strands causing them to fall along his forehead. “Maybe I am.”

My eyes widened at his words. What had I done? He’d shared every bit of his world with me and I only wanted to do the same. 

Was that not what people do when they’re in love? Aren’t you supposed to share your interests with your partner and aren’t they supposed to want to know them? 

“For what?” 

He tugged at his shirt collar. “Why am I here?”

My brows furrowed in confusion. Why would he even ask that? 

“Why am I here, at this Midsummer's bullshit?” 

“Because I wanted you to be.” I smoothed out my hair to give my trembling hands something to do. “It’s something that matters to me, it’s not bullshit.”

I had spent months planning this party since my parents were on the board. I wanted everything to be perfect for them and for him. It all seemed silly now. A part of that stung deep in my soul. Bullshit was never a word I used to describe any of the interests he showed me, yet he so easily spouted it at me.

JJ stayed quiet but continued to fidget with the silver ring on his finger. I wanted to close the distance between us but didn’t know how. 

“Don’t let Rafe of all people ruin this. His opinion means nothing.” 

He lifted his chin. “It matters to your dad.”

I barely held back my wince. “He doesn’t get a say in who I date, JJ.”

“Oh, are we lying to each other now?”

“W-What do you mean?”

“Are we going to pretend that you don’t care about what your parents think?”

I took a step back as though he hit me. “Stop talking before you say something you’ll regret.”

“Everything you do is to get their attention. You’d die without their approval.”

In a manner of speaking, he was right. My parents barely paid me an ounce of attention and it was hard not to think it had to do with me. There must have been something wrong with me for my parents to not want to spend time with me. I spent the majority of my life trying to live up to their expectations hoping to be the daughter they always wanted, but nothing worked. I couldn’t get them to love me.

And he threw it all in my face.

I stared at him with tears in my eyes, hurt and stricken. 

At the sight of my tears, he looked away with his jaw clenched. 

“Why are you with me?” He hissed, holding out his arms. “It’s not like I can take you to dinner in Paris or buy you the clothes you like so much.”

Insecurity was a cruel thing. It had the power to turn someone as confident and sure as JJ into a puddle of irate nerves. And as his insecurity continued to dig its hooks further into his skin, he continued to rip into me, piece by piece.

“Because I love you. Because you make me laugh.” My voice raised, my hands clenched into fists by my sides. “Where is this coming from?”

Anxiety wound its way up my throat clocking off my air. 

“You’re fucking shoes are four grand. Do you know what I could do with four grand? I could get the power turned on in my house, or better yet, pay for the house.” The look he shot me had me wanting to be six feet under. He’d never looked at me like that before. He made me sound vapid and superficial. Like I didn’t spend most of my time on his side of the island. 

The guilt I felt early came back tenfold. Guilt for my position. Guilt for the money my family had. Guilt for the things I enjoyed buying, both for him and myself. 

Maybe I was just as bad as Rafe. 

Pain sliced my chest as his gaze continued to penetrate me like bullets.

“The other side of the island is starving and everyone here is drinking champagne and gambling a mortgage for fun. It’s disgusting.” JJ began to pace, shaking his head in disbelief. “You had me kissing ass to all these people, and for what? A job? Stop trying to turn me into something that I’m not.”

I wrapped my arms around my waist. “That wasn’t what I was doing. I was trying to open doors for you so you had options. All I wanted was to help give you a fighting chance.”

“I didn’t ask for your help.” The words continued to pelt at me, hitting my heart every time. The pressure in my chest only tightened further.

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do for the person you love?” My voice shook, matching the trembling of my body. “It never mattered before.”

I'd never been in love before him. I didn't have anything to compare it too since the most affection I get from my parents is a card on my birthday. I thought by doing everything they didn't do for me, supporting and comforting and physical touch, would somehow translate into love.

“Of course it mattered. You’re a fucking Kook.” The raw and angry words seeped into my veins, the audible crack of my heart echoing for all to hear.

My throat constricted. Enough, I couldn’t hear anymore. No, no, no. But JJ seemed to have other plans.

“I mean, I’m standing here in a custom Tom Ford whatever that could have fed me for months. I’m out of my element and it makes my skin fucking crawl. John B is getting sent to CPS and Pope is getting jumped and I’m here at some stupid dinner with the people that did it to him. What does that make me?”

My chest cracked open and my heart caved in. I finally saw the broken boy in front of me. Bruised and broken, completely uncomfortable and unsure of himself. 

“Kiara’s a kook.”

“Kiara’s different and you know that.” It remained unsaid but I knew what he was referring to. Kie was a hippie rich chick who didn’t enjoy all the things I did: designer clothes, luxury dinners, expensive food. In other words, I was a self absorbed kook princess that didn’t care for those around me. 

It didn’t matter that I spent most of the summer with JJ helping him fix homes in the cut. It didn’t matter that I donated to charities or helped send care kits to those on the cut after the hurricane. It didn’t matter that I spent almost all my free time with him and the pogues just as Kiara did. 

To him, I represented everything he hated. It didn’t matter that I loved him so deeply I defied my parents. It didn’t matter that I upended my life and chose to be with him. He could never see past the money, something I had no control over.  

I may have been standing in custom Christian Dior and Jimmy Choo, but I’ve never felt more cheap as JJ continued to cut me down with each word. 

“Do you want me to apologize?” My pulse spiked as a burst of adrenaline had me spouting the truth. “I had just as much a choice of being born on figure eight than you did on the cut.”

He looked at me like he hated me. “I don’t know how we deluded ourselves into thinking this could ever work.”

“You don’t get to stand there and make me feel guilty for who I am. Just because I have money and like nice things, doesn’t make me an asshole. I’ve treated everyone in my life with kindness. Don't group me with them.” 

JJ scoffs, pointing at the crowd on the dance floor. “Them? Them--means your parents, baby”.

“I’ve never treated you less than me.” It was a last ditch effort.

“At least I know what Kook pussy tastes like.” He went for the kill. “Money and daddy issues.”

I stilled. The world stilled. Vicious hurt curled its way into my soul, etching every bit of it until I no longer existed. 

Like I said before, I had no intention of going anywhere. But, I guess to JJ, he always had one foot out the door.

I think I stopped breathing. I blinked at him, hoping cameras would pop out and the whole thing came out as a prank. But, no cameras appeared. 

Just him and I stood, in a field, an arms length apart but a universe away. 

“You don’t mean that.” The words came out strangled. “Take it back.” 

He said nothing. I had to bring a fist to my mouth to try and block out the harsh sob that threatened to escape.

“JJ, please.” I begged, my hands catching his arm. “Let’s just go.”

His normal vibrant eyes regard me coldly, a muscle jumping his jaw. I was drowning in my emotions. Everything had escalated to a level I couldn’t fix, because he wouldn’t let me. The bathroom seemed forever ago in the scheme of things. I can see the battle in his eyes of whether to give into his self destructive behavior or to come back to me. 

Any hope I had of him coming back to me dissolved in a matter of seconds. A security guard came up behind him, gripping JJ by the forearm and tugging us towards the front of the party. My eyes widened in horror as I realized they were going to parade him around in front of everyone which would just humiliate him more.

“Jeez Daryl, could you loosen up your grip,” JJ complained, attempting to jerk out of the large man’s grip. He didn’t so much as flinch at each of JJ’s gripes either.

"What do you think you're doing?" I snapped, "Let him go, Darryl."

Darryl shook his head and gave me an apologetic look. "No can do. Mr. Cameron complained."

JJ Scoffed. “I can let myself out. I have two legs.”

“JJ, please stop.”

“I appreciate the discretion, Daryl.”

He self-destructed right in front of me. JJ grabbed a drink off an unsuspecting member and chugged it down before tossing the glass on the floor.

In the end, JJ was always going to be JJ. I saw the moment he decided to destroy everything we had. It was a slight shift in his body and that penetrating gaze of his hardened into a cruel amusement. JJ shrugged my hand off his, before his eyes flitter across the crowd as though he's looking for someone. Then I watched as they landed on a familiar brunette. 

“Hey, let him go. I’m a member of this club and I invited him.” Kie shouted at Darryl who paused for a brief moment. I could see her parents trying to discreetly get her to stop but Kiara refused. At the sound of her words, an appreciative grin tugged at JJ’s lips.

It didn’t matter that I had said the same thing hours ago. It didn’t matter that I not only defended him but made him a member. I liked shiny flashy things and she didn’t. Apparently, that made her better than me.

“Mandatory power hour at Rixon’s, Kie.” He shouted, pointing at where she stood in front of her parent’s. “Pope, you as well, alright?”

I had a disposition for loving people too much, no matter how they treated me. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t care that I wasn’t presentable. I didn’t care that tears were falling down my face or that my hair was a mess. I didn’t want to be left behind. He promised.

“Let me come-”

Exasperation filled his features. "Take a fucking hint. You can go be with someone like Rafe now. You two deserve each other."

“Alright, Kie c’mon.” He didn’t spare me a second glance. I had to watch as Kie took off running towards him with Pope in tow. JJ held out his arms to catch her, arms she happily jumped into. John B lets out a humored shout while JJ spins Kiara around and they take off.

Leaving me all by myself. My parents nowhere in sight. 

And suddenly everything hit me at once. My dress was too tight, my heels were pinching at the skin on my feet, the music was too loud, my hair was a mess. Nothing I did was right. Once again, I was left alone. Abandoned by the one person I thought would never leave. All because I loved him too much and he hated everything I couldn’t control.

I stood there, feeling like a silly little girl in a silly little dress I spent hours looking for, urging him to look back. He never did. 

Authors note: I hope I hurt your feelings because I hurt my own writing this :) pls let me know what u think!!! I love hearing from you guys

Tagging my favs: @maybankslover @sipsthecoffee @alyisdead

[lilyhyperfixates]

I think he knows - B.B

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Wordcount: 0.7K

Warnings: Age gap (10 years, Benedict is 28, Reader is 18.) No Y/N used.

Authors note: Who was gonna tell me our boy Ben is 28 in S2??? I was flabbergasted when i googled it for this fic😭

The ball was absolutely boring to you. You were silently observing the people there and the conversations being held around you. The dance card that dangled from your wrist painfully empty, the small glass lemonade in your hand turning lukewarm from being held so long. Your eyes fall on Benedict Bridgerton, one of the most eligible bachelors of the season.

This social season was only your first, having been presented to Queen Charlotte only two weeks prior. You held no hopes of marrying this season. The gentlemen of the ton had not paid a lot of attention to you thus far, apart from the few dances you’d had.

Despite mr. Bridgerton being 10 years your senior, you felt yourself oddly enamored by him. You had just turned eighteen, only just allowed to be out in society. Regardless of your age you had gentlemen far into their forties approaching you for dances. The thought of mr. Bridgerton wanting to dance with you did not repulse you like it had with other gentlemen. Thinking about it even made your stomach flutter a little, not that you would ever admit that.

Benedict had been getting pestered by debutantes and marriage minded mama’s all evening. Since the ball was hosted by the dowager Viscountess, his mother, it was to be expected he would be approached all night, but in all honesty you pitied him a bit. He had been getting more and more attention each social season that he remained unmarried.

You had heard of Benedict Bridgerton before your debut, as he was an acquaintance of your father’s. Now at the ball you saw him in a completely different light though, not an acquaintance of your father, but a man you found quite attractive. You had always thought him an attractive man, but in the lighting of the sun setting and the stained glass windows from the ballroom he looked simply angelic.

Benedict and your father often painted together and you always found small excuses to be in the room, harboring a small crush on Benedict.

Suddenly you were pulled out of your thoughts when Lord Beswick approached you. Lord Beswick was a man in his late thirties with little to no hair on his head. He had seemed particularly eager to have you dance with him on earlier occasions, which was hard to refuse without seeming impudent. As the man approached you, you prepared yourself to have to dance with him again.

Then you feel a touch on the small of your back. Your head snaps around to find the source of the touch and your eyes meet those of Benedict Bridgerton. Lord Beswick then finally reaches you and asks you for your next dance.

"Unfortunately for you, the lady has already promised her next dance to me, Lord Beswick.” Benedict tells the man in a smooth and charismatic voice. You silently thank him with a look and allow him to write his name on your dance card. He quickly leads you to the dancefloor and gets ready to dance with you.

As the music starts playing Benedict begins dancing with you gracefully, he had obviously had dance lessons as a child. “Thank you for saving me from Lord Beswick.” You thank him, speaking softly, almost as if you were frightened to talk to him. Truthfully you were slightly scared to be talking to him, he was a bit intimidating to you.

“No need to thank me, I could not let a lady such as yourself dance with such a man.” Benedict states. His voice enhances your attraction towards him, it being crisp and confident. You had noticed before he always carried himself with confidence and grace. “I shall thank you for it regardless, I do not believe I would have survived another dance with him.” You utter out, still nervous to be in such close proximity to him.

You feel like he has got your heart skipping down sixteenth avenue, it almost beating out of your chest. He gives you a small smirk, looking down at you as you dance. “I have noticed you looking at me, Tonight and whenever your father and I paint at your estate. Is there any particular reason for that, my lady?” He asks, the smirk still lingering on his face.

I think he knows…

[mcl38]

if i had a nickel for every british dyslexic tooth-gapped youngest-ever world karting champion mclaren debutante with an interest in social media, a charming but whiny personality, and an unruly streak in their early 20s

id have two nickels and id love them both so much

[ifishouldvanish]

Some Olrox Analysis & Headcanons

Have you seen this man? Now you have! 🥰

I have a lot of thoughts about Olrox Castlevania Nocturne and I'm dumping them here.

DISCLAIMER: We know so little about Olrox's past and I am but a humble stan looking at an expressionist painting and projecting my own deranged nonsense onto it. I'm fully prepared for 90% of this to get jossed in season 2, but for now I'm just letting the worms in my brain wiggle and send me beautiful visions of what could be 🥹

1. Olrox Was a Commoner and Does Not Respect Hierarchies

I've seen people point to his manner of speech and dress as evidence that he must come from a privileged background, but I think he displays too much contempt for the wealthy/nobility to have been one himself. I think these things are just symbols of power he has learned to use to his advantage.

Of course, there's everyone's favorite quote: "I prefer my blood blue." But he also demonstrates virtually no respect for authority or symbols/institutions of power in general:

He refuses the escort sent by the marquis when he arrives in France and insists on staying at the inn because he likes to "keep his ear to the ground". He would rather be around 'the people' than accept anything from the wealthy.

When Drolta is reminiscing about her glory days as a priestess, there's really not any nostalgia or sentimentality when he interrupts and says "and now those temples are half-buried in dust."

For as good as he is at presenting himself as a Gentleman of Status, he cannot bring himself to even pretend to enjoy himself at Erzsebet's lil debutante ball at the chateau.

When Erzsebet insists she is a goddess, his response is "Of course you are, sweetie 🙂"

His whole speech to Mizrak in the morning-after scene is basically a deconstruction of what power means, and how it is only a perceived vs tangible thing, a temporary position vs an immutable one:

"There are petty demon princelings you can haggle with and cheat. There are demon charlatans whose faces you can laugh in, spit in. There are demons who once were gods... And those who still are."

Foucault? In MY anime adaptation of a vampire video game?? It's more likely than u think 🤔

(continued under the cut bc this got long as hell)

2. Olrox was an Adult when Cortés Arrived

(I don't have a relevant screenshot for this point, so here's Olrox being pretty for no reason)

I've seen it float around some places that if we adhere to historical timelines to a 'T', it would make most sense for him to have been a child, but I'm of the opinion that it's more useful to take what the text itself gives us and fill the gaps with bits and pieces of the actual history where it's convenient. At the end of the day, this is a work of fiction/fantasy. So what does the text tell us?

He lived a long time as human and vampire

As of 1783, he'd been a vampire for approximately 250 years

Now, if we want to take this 250 figure literally, that would put the year of his turning at 1533. But I think we can give ourselves +/-15 years leeway because 250 is just the kind of rounded, even number one would use in natural speech in place of "267" or some shit like that. It's just how believable dialogue is written. So what lies in this +/-15 year window? The invasion by the Spanish, 1519-1521.

Now, he tells Mizrak: "Long ago, when I was still human, I watched men wade ashore from ships..."

I think this is another case of how important dialogue is. Because if he was a boy at the time, this line would likely have been written as "Long ago, when I was just a boy..." or something like "One of my earliest memories is of..." instead. "Still human" implies not only was he a human, but that he had been human for quite some time already. That the events he's describing fall in the stretch of time leading up to "still human" no longer being true.

tl;dr: the Spanish arrival and him becoming a vampire happened within a few years of each other, and if turned vampires stop aging, then he would have had to have been an adult at the time.

3. Olrox Became A Vampire Willingly

I assume that vampirism is something that was introduced to the Mexica by the Spanish in the same way it was introduced to Haiti by the French, in Annette's case.

However, rather than vampires creating spawn left and right, the persistent lore (in the show at least) is that to be turned is to be accepted into the sort of elite in-group of vampire society. (Carmilla questioning why Lisa was never turned, the Count never turning slaves, etc). Vampires feed on humans, they don't view them as potential spawn to have in thrall or whatever.

The Spanish weren't going around giving natives The Bite, because vampirism is power. So what I think, is that Olrox recognized that power, and decided to take it for himself. Rather than being the passive 'recipient' of the 'gift' of vampirism, he pried it from some Spanish vampire's cold, undead hands. (i.e., he drank their blood)

Do I have any proof of this? No. It's just what the worms in my brain are telling me 🤷 But!!

Do I think it would be a sexy little inversion of the way Erzsebet drank a god's blood to obtain her power? Yes.

Do I think it would be thematically very appropriate for a morally grey character who seems to have a very... Interesting relationship with power (individual power vs institutional powers, the subverting of power, the weaponization of symbols of power, etc)?? Oh absolutely fuck yes!!1!

[sickos.jpg]

4. Olrox Was a Priest, But Not Like That.

Priesthood in the Mexica empire was largely dominated by the nobility, whose children would be sent to the calmecec to learn how to read and write, speak the noble dialect, perform rituals, etc. But if the circumstances were right, the children of commoners could also get in!

Olrox says he's never been much of a believer, but he's highly intelligent and incredibly good at reading people. Even if he was never a man of faith, the priesthood was still a powerful institution where one could climb the ranks and earn influence over the nobility. No doubt someone as sharp and charismatic as Olrox would be able to take advantage of the opportunity to get a good education and maybe try to undermine the system from within/play a bit of political games while he was at it.

Also... Olrox's weapon of choice is the dagger. Obviously a dagger is an appropriate weapon for a character who's kind of rogue-ish, but also consider: Aztec warriors used a lot of weapons in combat: clubs, spears, arrows, axes—but an obsidian dagger? That's something that would have been used by a priest during rituals.

5. Olrox is a Bitch™ Who Knows Just What to Say to Get Under People's Skin

A common myth is that the Mexica welcomed Cortés at first because they thought he was Quetzalcoatl. But this is a misreading of the way Mexica social conventions/the noble dialect worked, which was kinda ~passive aggressive in a way, such that the more loftily and overly politely you spoke with someone, the more you were actually telling them to go eat shit and die. I think Olrox's dialogue demonstrates this beautifully in the scene where he meets Erzsebet:

"Taker of Souls, Vampire Lioness, She Who Mauls, The Messiah of--" / "Yes, charmed to meet you 😒"

"Her magnificence has heard much about you." / "Flattered. For a god to have heard of me. 🥱"

"I am a goddess!" / "...Of course 🙂"

His words are receptive, respectful, docile, even... but his tone and delivery are completely the opposite. Compare this with the way he speaks with Richter and (in later interactions) Mizrak—which is more informal, open, confrontational. He's more direct with them because he actually respects them.

As far as reading and getting under people's skin with pinpoint precision, I present the following interactions:

When he catches the marquis' severed head in the catacombs, he reads him (and potentially also Drolta) like a book: "This one? He was just an opportunist, following the messiah because she's powerful. But there are those who love her [looks to Drolta]. So I'm told."

When Drolta gives him a verbal slap on the wrist for feeding on the wealthy, he says "mY Ap0LoGiEs, I didn't realize how invested you are in keeping the mortals happy." - To which Drolta goes on to grumble about how their alliance with some of the mortals disgusts her.

When Erzsebet is waxing poetic about how everyone will see her beauty and worship her, he has the balls to—without missing a beat—say "PaRd0n mEe, but you mean to do this through an alliance with a man who will never worship you? 🫢" right to her fcuuckin face mgod I love him so much (this is the point where she whips out the big guns and yells "I am a goddess!!" while threateningly flashing her orb of darkness btw. Like she did NOT like that)

6. Olrox Has an 'Eye for an Eye' View of Justice

A prevalent theme in Aztec religion is the idea that like... ain't nothin' in this world for free. Sacrifices to the gods weren't symbolic gestures of devotion, but an act of paying the gods back for providing humanity with the means to survive.

The idea that everything has a price pervades the dialogue he has with Mizrak in the morning-after scene:

"What was the cost? Who pays it? Just him? Or all of you? Will you? Which demon will claim his price when all this is done?"

And it's also present in the very first scene where we are introduced to Olrox:

"You see, your mama took someone from me I loved, just as much as you loved her. So, she had to die."

What's interesting about this scene is also how... calm he is the whole time—before the fight, after the fight. Yes, he's motivated by the murder of the man he loved, but he brings zero of that passion to this confrontation. It's just an execution, something inevitable that must be done.

That he's fine with confronting a terrified Richter immediately afterwards to explain what just happened (and is completely unapologetic about it) is also telling. It suggests that Olrox views this kind of thing as just 'the way of the world'—a hard truth that Richter will be better off for having learned sooner rather than later.

I think this also helps explain why, years later, Olrox seems to treat Richter with a little more.... Familiarity than we might consider appropriate. He approaches Richter in the catacombs like he's just an old acquaintance, as though Richter should have no reason to be terrified of him. When Drolta mentions the incident later, he seems kind of lightly amused by it. Then, when he drops off the book, he's visibly/audibly frustrated that Richter starts gearing up for a fight. To Olrox, the whole "killed your mom" thing is water under the bridge, nothing personal.

7. Olrox is a Vampire of Prominence in The New World

Obviously, he has to be kind of a big deal to give a Belmont a run for their money. But let's go deeper into the IMPLICATIONS!!

"In 250 years, do you know how many vampire hunters have promised to slice me in two?"

"Her magnificence has heard much about you."

"You will be her guide into America."

He's enough of a big deal that countless hunters have promised to kill him. Enough of a big deal that Erzsebet has not only heard of him, but sees him as a valuable ally who knows enough about America to guide her as she builds her empire across it.

Olrox wasn't just a powerful vampire who got entangled with the politics of colonial Massachusetts and happened to cross paths with a Belmont. He's presumably had a hand in matters across the continent. Erzsebet refers to the colonists as "American upstarts" but for her, this is a conflict between humans vs vampires. The American colonists aren't allies or even rivals to her—because they're not vampires. They're just more pesky humans to be dealt with. (Also??? 'Protestant Vampires' as a concept is just hilarious to me, I'm so sorry)

So.

What the worms in my brain are telling me is—And this is Big!! This is a Steaming Hot Take!!!

(...seriously, tin foil hat tier headcanon incoming)

Olrox has established a network of indigenous vampires who are resisting the colonial threat. He's been turning them (or at least select individuals who are into it), and thereby redistributing the power he took from the Spanish colonizers to wield against the British colonizers.

(Look I have 0.01% faith in this actually being canon or anything. I just think it would be cool as fuck.)

Anyway.

Thanks for coming 2 my Ted talk or whatever. 😘

[traumxrei-archive]

【 iv. the taste of flowers 】

summary: yuu was sick. okay, so maybe they overworked themself a little while preparing for the debutante, but that didn’t mean they needed to be on bed arrest ! what’s the worst that could happen if they snuck into the kitchen for a snack anyway ?

word count: 1.4k

author’s note: every time i write ruggie i’m like “wow i love this guy sm” and it was the same this time. i hope you like my rendition of him, ruggie likers ^^

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

Being sick was most definitely not on Yuu's list of things to do for the Debutante. But they were. Sick. It seemed that they had over-exhausted themself after shopping all day with Floyd.

They vaguely remembered Floyd's guilty expression as he brought tea to their bedside. They had told him not to worry, but he seemed to be in low spirits for the rest of the day, according to Azul's report.

And now, well...

Yuu was sneaking into the kitchen.

After being cooped up in the room for so long, they needed some alone time. Alone time that didn't entail Riddle watching their every move like a hawk, or Silver insisting on doing everything for them. Their maids were diligent to a fault really, and Yuu was starting to feel a bit suffocated.

What they weren't expecting was that there would be someone in the kitchen. They stood behind the door. There was a soft humming and the smell of something that had their mouth-watering. Yuu cracked the door open a little. Through the gap, they spotted a pair of fluffy ears.

Ah. So it was Ruggie in the kitchen. Yuu calmed down a bit. The chance that they would be severely scolded for escaping the room had decreased. Still, they knew that someone would check their room soon, and they would get caught, so...

"Master?"

Holy crap. Their soul felt like it almost left their body.

They looked up to see Ruggie tilting his head, "I thought I heard someone, but I didn't expect it to be you, Master."

They got up from their crouched position, "Hi, uh... What are you cooking?"

"A little something for myself," Ruggie suddenly smirked, folding his arms. "What are you doing out of your room, Master? Riddle and Azul are going to freak out if they figure out you're gone."

Yuu stared at Ruggie with what they hoped was a pitiful look, "Please, I need 30 minutes of peace before they coddle me to death again."

"It's because they're worried about you. We all are," Ruggie said, going back to stirring the pot. "But I'm no snitch, shishishi~ Have a seat." There was a stool a little away from the stove, and from this close, they could finally see what Ruggie was cooking. It was...soup. A hearty-looking, vegetable soup, that was currently appealing to them with its scent.

"Are you here for some tea? Or are you hungry?" Ruggie sprinkled some more spices into his soup. "I could make you some soup?"

"What about that soup?" They blurted out. Dammit, they were trying to resist, and yet...

"This soup? It isn't worthy of Master's palette," Ruggie said before putting a lid on the small pot. "Plus, are you sure you wanna eat that?"

"What is it then?" The soup had looked normal enough to them, though they couldn't be sure. Ruggie was famed for using unconventional ingredients in his cooking before. They had heard many stories from Jamil, who found his experimentation interesting enough to talk about. (The other maid rarely talked too extensively, so Yuu had noted it in their mind when he did.)

"Erm," Ruggie's ears twitched, and he looked...almost bashful. "I used dandelions. I saw a few in the gardens and they needed to be weeded out anyway."

"Dandelions?" They cracked a smile. "So you can even cook with flowers?"

"You're not...?" Ruggie shook his head, before leaning his head back into his hands. "It's something my Bi— my grandmother taught me. There are many uses for dandelions, and she used to cook it for us in a soup."

Yuu understood it now. It had been a while since Ruggie had taken a break to go home. He tended to bulldoze through leave days that they set up by taking up other jobs. They ended up having him be their designated maid when the others went on leave. Ruggie was pleased with the setup, especially after they doubled his pay.

Money wasn't a worry to them, given that they were the heir of the Dukedom. But it had once been, back before Duke Crowley had adopted them. So they understood Ruggie's determination, especially with how fiercely he loved his family.

"Why don't you eat some?" Yuu leaned their face into their palm. "You spent all that time cooking it after all."

Ruggie's expression turned complicated for a moment. He hesitantly grabbed a bowl, ladling in a spoonful. His ears drooped for a moment before straightening. Yuu couldn't help but find the subconscious action adorable.��

He finally sighed, sliding the bowl in front of them, "Here. Your puppy eyes really are unfair, Master."

"Puppy eyes?" They mumbled, but they couldn't focus on anything other than the soup that was in front of them. Ruggie pushed a spoon into their hands, and they couldn't help but immediately try it.

"Well?" Ruggie asked, ladling his own bowl. It was...amazing. The soup was salty, but rich, and all the vegetables were perfectly cooked— not too soft with a nice crunch.

And that was when Yuu abandoned two things: their etiquette training and their pride. It didn't matter that it was hot, they kept shoveling spoonfuls of soup into their mouth.

Ruggie laughed as he ate his own bowl, "Slow down there, Master. If the chefs see you they'll throw a tantrum because you're guzzling that down so fast."

"But," They sputtered, gesturing at their half finished bowl. "It's so good! I can't even tell which part the dandelion is!"

"The green leafy bits," Ruggie looked proud, if the way his grin kept growing was any indication. "I save the flowers to make tea with." The maid spun around, turning to a cupboard and grabbing what looked like a jar. In it were many dried dandelion buds. "Ah, I also have dandelion syrup," Ruggie gestured to another jar on the shelf. "Jamil taught me how to make them. They don't taste bad if I do say so myself, shishishi~"

Yuu couldn't help but laugh slightly. Ruggie's excitement about dandelion cuisine was very...adorable, if they wanted to put a word to it. "You seem very passionate about this," They said as they took the dandelion tea jar in their own hands. "Would it be okay if you put a few servings of this in my tea cabinet?"

"Huh?” Ruggie's ear flicked in surprise.

"Ah, I don't mean to take it away from you!" Yuu said, suddenly very aware that Ruggie was doing this because he was homesick. How stupid of them to ask for something so selfish. Did they forget everything after spending a few years in luxury? "I know that you're—"

"Forgive me for interrupting you, but it's not that," Grey eyes looked between the tea and their face. "It's... Thank you." There was something more behind the simple word of thanks. Yuu couldn't even begin to digest why Ruggie would say thank you at their selfish request, but seeing the smile on Ruggie's face reassured them that it wasn't anything negative.

That was when the door to the kitchen slid open, "Ruggie, would you happen to know where—"

Yuu looked up just in time to make eye contact with a surprised-looking Jade.

Oh. They were caught. Shit.

Jade smiled, ever the picture of politeness even as his aura turned more menacing, "How serendipitous. I was just looking for you, Master."  

"They were just about to leave, right Master?" Ruggie said with a devilish grin. Gone was the sweet expression that just graced his face seconds before, instead replaced by this mischievous look— because he was clearly ratting them out! Yuu just hung their head. They would be scolded less if they left with Jade right away.

Jade kept an iron grip on them with just his gaze as they gave Ruggie a long hard look, "You're going on vacation after the debutante is over. With everyone else. That is a promise."

"But Master—"

"No buts! I'll give you paid leave!" Yuu said as Jade opened the door. "Just make sure to tell your family how much you miss them!" They relished the surprised look on Ruggie's face for a moment before following Jade out into the hallway. Yuu wasn't about to give Ruggie time to retaliate this time.

"Now that you've had your fun, you should return to the room before Azul and Riddle return," Jade chuckled. "They aren't back yet, but I am not above telling them of your...mm, adventures, if it came to it. Even if it's you, Master."

Their previous excitement waned at the thought of being bound to the bed again, "Let's just go now." And that was how Yuu's adventures to the kitchen ended, with surprises, some new cuisine, and a promise.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

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[writing-for-marvel]

It Started With A Smile (2)

[Bridgerton AU]

< < PART 1 | Series Masterlist

Duke!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Summary: At the start of the new social season, Lady Whistledown predicts this will finally be the year solitary Duke James Barnes finds a wife. After a chance meeting at Lady Danbury’s ball, can you and the Duke overcome all obstacles thrown in your path by his scandalous past and your overbearing mother insistent against your match?

Warnings: strictly 18+, TRIGGER WARNING: threat of non-con/SA but Bucky comes to the rescue, reader has a physical altercation with someone but is not injured - if these themes upset you please do not read this fic! Also includes - violence (someone gets punched), mention of scars, homophobia (not from Bucky or reader), angst, is set in a different AU to the show so no direct spoilers, historical inaccuracy, slight age gap is implied although exact ages are never mentioned (everyone is over 18)

Word count: 10.6k

A/N: it’s finally here! Thank you so much for everyone who read part one & wanted to see more of this AU, and was patient while I wrote it, I hope I haven’t disappointed! Big shoutout to @blackwidownat2814 and @mellifluousmusings who offered ideas which shaped this part, and to @rookthorne who had to listen to me continuously rant about this fic (thank you for putting up with me)

Banners by @maysdigitalarts, dividers by @firefly-graphics and moodboards by me

Main Masterlist | Ask me anything! | Taglist | Library

Dearest Readers,

Now the dust has settled from the dawn of this year's social season, you might be pondering the question ‘where to from here?’

The answer to that is a simple one - the Queen’s diamond, Lady Dorothy Fitzgerald, will be hosting our most eligible bachelors and ladies at her family’s countryside manor for the coming week.

The combination of the Queen’s hasty, prejudicial crowning of diamond and title of hostess will have the soft-spoken Lady at the top of all single gentlemen’s ‘most desirable’ lists.

All except one.

It seems as though after dancing again at the Queen’s ball, the Duke of Brooklyn has his sights firmly set elsewhere - our rare, ravishing flower, who this author still proclaims as the most exquisite and elegant of all debutantes.

Will the Duke’s abrupt return to court also coincide with our first wedding of the season? If the way those two love birds gaze at each other is any indication, a marriage proposal will be imminent.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

Tears streamed in rivers over the apples of your cheeks and dripped upon the pillow you were clutching onto for dear life. Rays of warm spring sun shone brightly through the curtained windows of your bed chambers indicating the start of a new day, yet you were in no temperament for rising to get dressed and making your way downstairs for breakfast as was your usual routine.

Your mothers harsh words from the night before, as you arrived home from the Queen’s ball, echoed through your mind as you grasped your sheets tighter around your chin.

“You are not to speak or dance or see that man again, do you understand me?” You had never heard your mother’s voice so loud and full of rage. “Stay as far away from the Duke as possible at every gathering for the rest of the season!”

“Mama none of the other gentlemen interest me. They are all pompous, entitled and have treated me as if my only role in life is to give him a son to carry on his family's name.”

“That is your role in life!” Your mother snapped, her thundering voice rattling the walls of your old home.

You could only stare agape at her as she swallowed and composed herself, the facade of the agreeable Dowager Baroness restored as if she had not screamed at you a mere five seconds ago.

“I am only trying to do what is best for your future, and you are making it so difficult.” Your mother shook her head indignantly as a couple of the maids scurried behind her through the entrance hall to avoid being subjected to her irate temper. “You are not old enough to know what is good for you.”

“So I am old enough to get married and bear a child, but not to know what is best for me? Does that not seem like a contradiction to you?” You tried to reason, but all you received in return was a glare which declared ‘do not talk back to me’.

Your mother pinched the bridge of her nose as if she were developing a headache.

“If you are that objectionable to taking a husband, then so be it. I will make it so you do not interact with any men of the court, including your precious Duke.”

Your mama proceeded to send you to your room, as if you were a mischievous child, with the promise of withdrawing you from the social season entirely, and forbidding you from interacting with either the Duke of Brooklyn or his sister ever again.

A part of you had enjoyed the thrill of disobeying your mother, who dictated every moment of your life, however, you had not so much as intended to be rebellious as you had been drawn to the Duke like you were in a trance. And you certainly had not anticipated your mother, who had been so desperate in finding you a match prior to the season, extracting you from it altogether after only two soirées.

But instead of grovelling back to her as you were sure she was expecting, you decided to stay up in your room daydreaming about dancing with James, how your chest heated and heartbeat quickened at your proximity to him, and tried to recall the exact shade of blue of his eyes, rather than contemplating that your dance with him the night before would be your last.

However, a consequence of staying locked away in your room all morning was that the large bouquet of azaleas, which were addressed to you, was intercepted by your mother who instructed for them to be tossed in the rubbish before you could know of their existence, having glimpsed the personally signed note accompanying them and knowing full well that the affectionate nickname ‘Bucky’ indicated it was the scandalous Duke who sent them.

Across town, in a distinctly larger, wealthier home but which was more desolate than your own, the Duke of Brooklyn was waking up from the most peaceful sleep of his adult life. His dreams were exclusively filled with images of you, from intimately dancing together at an indistinct ball, to carnal activities performed in the very bed he slept that night.

Bucky had not experienced such thoughts, nor vivid dreams, since the first time he believed he had fallen in love. That affair, and the repercussions he faced from the ton after its demise, were memories Bucky actively suppressed, but his mind could not ignore now that he could feel himself falling for another member of court.

Looking down at the scars which bestrew the skin of his left limb, Bucky felt a surge of insecurity which rivalled the night his once betrothed first laid eyes on his disfigurement. The same lady who had filled his mind with the notion that he was not worthy of being loved, nor capable of residing over his dukedom, simply because of the way his skin appeared uneven, with grotesque lumps and inflammation he had no control over.

The part of his body he had been taught to loathe since the accident which left his skin in such a state. His parents, when alive, had stressed the importance of covering up, ensuring he had a pair of gloves everywhere he went. That no one must know how repulsive their son truly was.

Because his disfigurement should be considered a weakness. Something to be hidden from the world. Those few who did know his secret had told him so themselves - all except Becca, who had been too young at the time of the event to remember her brother looking any differently.

He had unwisely unveiled his imperfection to the young lady who captured his heart his debut season, only to be met with her complete disgust and prompted the lies spread about him to the ton so her treachery would remain unknown.

Would you react comparably? Would you also leave his heart shattered like glass because you could not bear to witness such ugliness?

Bucky had not experienced any differently, all he had known was disgust directed at his harsh scaring. Nevertheless, there was a small space in his heart that perhaps foolishly refused to believe the person who had so freely invited him to dance in front of the entire court the night prior, despite understanding the ramifications, could be capable of such hate.

He did not need reminding he had only just mended his fragile heart from its first break. Bucky could recall every torturous night where he went to sleep with tear stained cheeks, the self-loathing that settled in the pit of his stomach every time he showed his face in public, and the embarrassment he felt every time the soft silk of his gloves touched the sensitive skin of his maim.

And yet, despite him being highly cautious, he could not help but be drawn in by your kind and alluring smile. He had never felt as alive as when your eyes met his from across the dance floor that first night, and he wanted to chase that feeling for as long as your propinquity provided it.

Though he had every reason to hide away from the gentry in shame and diffidence, one gaze from your dazzling eyes was reason enough to be pulled back into the vexing politics of court.

That, however, would have to wait, as he had not received an invitation to the Fitzgerald’s country home as the rest of the peerage. All he hoped was you did not take his absence for the week as disinterest, and that the flowers which should be arriving at your home that morning would make his intentions perfectly clear.

The following week was pure torture.

Your mother declined your invitation to Lady Fitzgerald’s countryside manor on your behalf, and instead locked you away from society with the excuse that you were ill as punishment for your actions at the Queen’s ball.

Though having a reprieve from the conversations with ghastly gentlemen whose only intention was to use you as means to bear children, the knowledge that all other eligible men and debutantes were free to drink, dance, and be merry, had envy bubbling in your stomach.

Mostly, you longed for the company of Duke James and how his charmingly crooked smile brought a sense of comfort to the ever present worry concerning your future your mother instilled in you.

You had simply never felt so alone and isolated in your entire life.

It was not until the day following the gentry’s return to London from their extended stay at Fitzgerald manor that your mother finally relented on your banishment from the ton. One of your lady’s maids burst through your door at sunrise, waking you from a restless sleep, with instruction from your mother to dress you in your finest formal daywear.

By the time you were bathed and your lady’s maid had secured your corset so tight you could not take a deep breath without tearing the seams, you could hear thudding footsteps and foreign voices echoing from downstairs.

Reluctantly descending the staircase, you followed the sound of voices to the parlour. You plastered on your best feigned smile before entering the room, knowing the only possibility of seeing Duke James again was if your mother lifted your banishment completely, and that would only occur if you were overly agreeable to whomever was waiting beyond the parlour doors.

Setting foot in the room, your attention was immediately caught by two gentlemen standing tall and proud beside your mother. They were busy making polite conversation until the man with blonde hair, who you recognised as Viscount John Walker, a man who was the same age as you and whose family home was just down the street, noticed you in the doorway.

Excusing himself, he took large strides to greet you where you stood.

“My Lady,” the Viscount bowed before you, taking your hand and placing a soft kiss to the back of it, before rising again, “it is lovely to see you again. What a fine woman you have grown up to be.”

Your mind flashed to the night a mere week ago, the last time a gentleman kissed your hand. The spark which passed between you when the Duke’s hand took yours, even through the material of two gloves, was nothing in comparison to the uneasiness prickling up your arm when Viscount Walker performed the same action.

You gave the Viscount a taut, yet polite smile, and dropped into a small curtsy, only because it was customary.

“It is my pleasure to introduce you to a good friend of mine, Baron Brock Rumlow.” The Viscount announced, motioning to the shorter, dark haired man over by the other side of the room. “We frequent the same country club, he is an excellent pall mall player. Perhaps you would be so kind to join us for a game one day.”

The offer did not sound at all appealing, though you knew giving voice to your distaste in front of your mother would be foolish, so instead you provided a politely vague response with the sweetest smile you could muster.

Though you directed your response to the Viscount, it was the beady eyes of Baron Rumlow which made you feel unsettled. Even from across the room, there was a sinful quality to how he observed you - a wicked glint in his eyes as his gaze roamed your frame, as if he were paying far too much attention to how wide your hips were and if they would be deemed suitable for childbearing.

You could not quite explain it, but being under this man’s gaze made the hair on your arms stand on end, and though you were freshly bathed, you felt as though you needed to wash his stare off yourself.

Looking over at your mother, her gleeful smile in response to seeing you interact with eligible gentlemen who clearly were not the scandalous Duke made you believe she was either completely oblivious to how ill at ease you felt in their presence, or did not care.

Your suspicions were confirmed when she invited the two men to take a seat in the parlour as morning tea was served.

Throughout the conversation you spent all your energy attempting not to roll your eyes. The focus remained on your marriage prospects and how as the daughter of a Baron you should be flattered to be courted by a man with a standing as high as a Viscount.

That notion only reinforced your repugnance of the man who you knew had an overly strong sense of self-importance from a young age, and from whispers between maids, you believed to have had affairs with half the servants working in his estate.

Certainly not the type of man you had dreamed of spending your life and raising children with.

You were all too eager to take your leave of the two men once morning tea concluded, though the intense urge to strangle your mother surged as she promised you would reserve a dance for both men at the Bridgerton ball the following evening, without consulting you.

All she desired was to marry you off to a high ranking gentleman who was wealthy enough to provide for you for the rest of your life, especially with the recent passing of your father. That’s what every mother coveted for their daughter.

However, you did not want to settle for a life with a man whom you could barely tolerate, when there was a possibility of a life filled with tenderness and intimacy with a man whom you could see yourself falling in love with.

You did not want to continue the cycle of political marriages in your family as your parents had done, who had scarcely tolerated being in the same room as one another, only long enough to sire a single heir.

Bidding farewell to the Viscount and the Baron, you could only pray that both of them caught ill before the ball the following night so you would not have to fulfil your mama’s pledge.

Your mother overturned your removal from the social season the next morning, with the assurance that if you were seen associating with the Duke of Brooklyn again, she would make the exile a permanent arrangement.

Ominous dark storm clouds threatened overhead as your carriage approached the Bridgerton estate, in what you believed to be a sign for how this night was to unfold.

However, inside the Bridgerton ballroom looked glorious and vibrant, every archway and window adorned with blooming pink roses giving the entire estate a sweet, floral perfume.

You were fully prepared to be disappointed by your return to court - condemnatory stares from critical mama’s and being disregarded by eligible gentlemen due to your association with the scandalous Duke. However, you were surprised to find the gentry had seemingly forgotten the reasoning for their reproachful comments directed at you during the Queen’s ball.

A week and a half was clearly a long time in the frantic and dramatic social season. It appeared other rumours and transgressions were at the forefront of the gentry’s mind, your actions slipping through the cracks of their limited memories.

The sparkling deep blue eyes of Duke James were what drew your attention first as he entered the ballroom accompanying his sister. He was far more handsome in person than the recollection in your dreams. With high cheekbones and a strong jaw, he looked a powerful force to be reckoned with, but when he bid adieu to Becca who scampered off into the crowd, his features softened into an alluring lopsided smile that made your stomach clench with nerves.

He was maddeningly beautiful. And though you knew he was forbidden, every cell in your body yearned for him.

Scolding yourself for being tempted by the charming Duke so early in the night, your body not putting up any defence to your desire for him, you turned away before he could catch you staring.

“My Lady,” you heard from a familiar voice and your body tensed in response, “could I take up your offer of a dance?” Turning around with a feigned smile, the irksome Viscount John Walker entered your view, with a smug smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Knowing that a lady of your standing could not refuse a dance with a Viscount, especially one your mother had promised, regardless of how averse you were to being in near proximity to him, you accepted his offer through gritted teeth.

Although your chest felt lighter at being in the centre of the room without the despising stares and whispers synonymous with having the scandalous Duke as a dance partner, there was also a desolate pit in your stomach at knowing you were not able to dance with the man who made your heart quicken and stomach churn with butterflies.

As the Duke entered your mind again, your eyes instinctively searched for him in the crowded room, only to find him already staring at you. Music started as the Viscount led you around the room, however, your eyes never left James’.

Though you never had anyone romantically interested in you to the extent of actually being envious of your interactions with another man, the vexed expression overtaking Duke James’ face as he watched you glide around the room with the Viscount was what you imagined jealousy to resemble.

You could feel the Duke’s gaze on you even once the dance came to an end and the Viscount let go of your waist, bowing and bidding you farewell as he navigated the room to find another debutant to coerce into a dance. Unlike when you caught Baron Rumlow ogling at you from across the room, where disquiet settled in your stomach like lead, Duke Barnes' stare made you safe, protected.

It pained you to have to distance yourself from him, your only interaction being stolen glances and swift smiles to one another from opposite ends of the ballroom. However, having experienced a week of solitude locked in your bed chambers, you could say with certainty that even with the torturous distance between you, it was superior to not seeing him altogether.

Later in the evening, after failing to avoid an invitation to dance from Baron Rumlow and excusing yourself from his presence as soon as the music ceased, a striking woman, tall and blonde, wearing a deep green dress which accentuated her sparkling brown eyes, made her way over to you by the edge of the ballroom.

“Here, take this.” The mystery lady whispered after a moment of silence, nudging a scrap of paper into your hands. It appeared she was attempting to be as discreet as possible, but you were positive you did not recognise the woman.

“Apologies, do I know you?” You asked, reluctant to take anything into your possession from a lady whom you did not know the name nor title of.

She gave you an earnest smile before responding, though she did not directly answer your question.

“Bucky sent me.”

“I think you have the wrong person.” You remarked, confused as to who she could possibly be referring to. Pushing the paper back into her hand, prepared to disregard whatever nefarious activities she was involved in, the lady caught your arm preventing you from stepping away from her.

“I am referring to the Duke of Brooklyn.” She inclined her head towards the entry doors where the dashing Duke stood, carefully watching your interaction. When your eyes met his, he flashed a soft, reassuring smile which settled all anxieties fluttering in your stomach. “His family call him Bucky.”

“You are related to him?” It seemed a fairly innocent question, however the blonde chuckled in response.

“No, we are not blood. My name is Lady Carol Danvers, I am a friend of Becca. I was sent as a messenger to deliver this.” This time when she placed the paper in your hand, she did not have to force you to take possession of it.

Hastily unfolding the slip of paper, you eagerly read the handwritten note twice over before beaming at James across the room, his eyes seemingly never once leaving you as you scanned the message.

My dearest,

It is agony having to stand idle by as other men get the honour of dancing with you tonight. I must admit I am resentful of those men as they are in a position I crave to be - beside you.

I understand your mother must highly disapprove of any connection to me, and I therefore cannot find it in myself to be vexed with you at keeping your distance.

Though our time together was brief, it is something I fondly reflect back to and has only increased my desire to spend more time in your company.

However, in lieu of being able to converse in the traditional sense, may I suggest we instead do so in writing?

Keenly awaiting your reply.

Sincerely,

Your Bucky

Your heart momentarily faltered in your chest at reading how he signed off the letter. Not the Duke of Brooklyn. Not James. Not simply Bucky. But your Bucky.

Carol elbowed you with enough force to swiftly pull your attention from the Duke and instead to the sharp pain in your side. You were about to chide her for being so forceful, however, she had already opened her mouth to speak.

“Do not make it appear so obvious.” She said in a low voice, pulling you by your upper arm through the crowd of the peerage and out into a small courtyard, Carol inspecting your surroundings to ensure you were truly alone before speaking again. “Surely you do not want your mother, let alone Lady Whistledown, gaining knowledge that the Duke is secretly conversing with you?” She questioned with a hint of playfulness in her voice.

You had become too excited by receiving Bucky’s letter and the prospect of continuing to become acquainted with him to think properly about keeping conspicuous.

Pulling a small quill out from its hiding space in her glove, and a small pot of ink from behind a flower pot situated on the courtyard railing, which made you ponder how premeditated this exchange of letters actually was, Carol shot you an unabashed smile as she handed it to you, informing you that if you wrote on the other side of the paper, she could deliver it back to Bucky.

Though you wanted to keep the note, and cherish his words by reading them over and over again, your desire to provide him a reply was stronger.

You felt slightly embarrassed writing a personal note under the gaze of a lady whom you did not know, however, after a moment to think about what you wanted to convey, you penned heartfelt words concerning your fierce wish to become acquainted with him via this furtive means.

Addressing the message to my darling Bucky, and signing off affectionately yours, you folded the scrap of paper in half in an attempt to conceal the private message from Carol’s eyes and handed her the note.

“Thank you for doing this.”

“You are very welcome. There is not much I would not do to secure the happiness of Becca Barnes and her brother.” The radiating smile blooming on her face made it impossible to disbelieve her. “Wait here for a few minutes after I rejoin the party - it will appear less suspicious.”

You watched Carol skip through the doors back into the ballroom. The thrill of attempting to deceive your mother and Lady Whistledown, as well as your gaiety at conferring once again with the Duke, caused your heart to thump rapidly in your chest as you waited to enter the Bridgerton ballroom.

Though you understood it may eventually be the source of your excruciating heartbreak, you now believed that a happily ever after with Bucky was not entirely out of reach.

Dearest Readers,

Whispers concerning our blossoming debutante have been propagating around the ton after last night’s ball, reporting that the contest for her heart may no longer be simply a one man race.

After neither attended Lady Fitzgerald’s country manor for the week, it seems as though our love birds have fallen out of favour, with the debutante instead dancing with both Viscount John Walker and Baron Brock Rumlow in lieu of the Duke of Brooklyn at the Bridgerton Ball yestereve.

Though his title may suggest otherwise, the Duke’s scandalous past means our rare jewel has the upper hand over him in the game of the marriage mart.

If the notorious miscreant is to truly win her heart, then he must no longer be timorous concerning his intentions for her, as he may lose out to a man prepared to offer her the security of marriage.

I have not yet lost hope for our match of the season, but His Grace must understand that a lady will not wait evermore without the promise of a ring.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

Bucky slyly smiled as Becca read aloud the latest edition of Lady Whistledown’s society papers. If you both could fool the mysterious lady who managed to know the deepest darkest secrets of every member of the gentry, there was surely no way your mother could know about your confidential means of communicating at last night’s ball.

Becca looked about as happy as Bucky felt, if not more, and he knew that she was elated that the papers did not mention her proximity to Carol as even remotely suspicious.

Though it seemed obvious to him that the twinkle in Becca’s eye when she glanced at Carol indicated her affection for the blonde ran much deeper than friendship, he suspected it was only due to him knowing her so well. In this society, two women would have to be caught with their tongues in each other’s mouths before anyone would suspect romantic feelings instead of pure friendship.

“You are very chipper this morning.” Bucky chuckled as a blush crept over Becca’s freckled cheeks.

“So are you.” Becca returned, not meeting his eye and attempting to hide her flushed face behind Lady Whistledown’s papers. That was the moment Bucky knew Becca had already fallen in deep. His sister, who was always brazen in providing her opinion and the most confident, shameless person he ever met, had been reduced to a shy girl with a crush.

“I have a feeling it’s for the same reason miss ‘besotted with Lady Carol’.” That earned him a spoonful of eggs flung from Becca’s spoon.

Bucky’s teasing of Becca continued throughout the rest of the week, and by the time of the next ball she was no longer bashful in throwing her own teases back at him, as any younger sibling should.

Though on one hand Bucky was cautious about any interaction he had with you, regardless of if that were on paper, as he knew that any association with him now would mean an immediate end to your social season - on the other hand Bucky could not resist in continuing to write you countless letters. Learning anything new about you, sharing memories with you about how he and Becca grew up, and bonding over your favourite stories to read and topics to learn about was far too enticing for him to cease so soon.

Though he could not help the pang of jealousy in his chest whenever he was forced to watch on as you were asked to dance by another gentleman of the gentry, especially when Viscount Walker or Baron Rumlow were the men leading you around the ballroom, every time he had the pleasure of reading your own handwriting in a private letter meant only for his eyes, his heart softened.

Bucky had never formed an attachment so quickly, nor deeply with anyone else before, even his past betrothed, and though the threats to your reputation were vast, you were both willing to take the risk when it allowed you such cherished contact with each other.

This arrangement continued for two weeks. Each of you preparing letters prior to any social function, as well as sneaking in a couple sheets of paper and quills so notes could be passed throughout the evening.

Sending letters to each other via the postal service, so that communication was not limited to only during formal occasions, ensuring the sender was listed as Lady Carol Danvers instead of himself as so your mother would not confiscate them before your opportunity to read.

With the help of Carol you were able to exchange messages during balls without having to be in suspicious proximity to one another. However, Bucky did enjoy those times he was able to watch you from the other side of the ballroom as you clandestinely read his letters. It never failed to bring a smile to his face when you would grin, or even chuckle at something he penned to you. In fact, it was the favourite part of his day, what entered his dreams at night and he longed for every time he entered a ballroom.

That anticipation was what brought him the butterflies fluttering around his stomach as he entered Lord Steven Rogers' ball with Becca by his side, a very important, neatly folded letter nestled in his inside coat pocket beside a family heirloom which he planned on offering you tonight.

Bucky knew he could not wait too long to make his true intentions clear. Your mother had undeniable desires of marrying you off to the first young man willing to bend on one knee, as long as that were not him, and if that were to happen with another gentleman before he himself had the chance, Bucky needed you to know that you could refuse their request as he would be willing to spend the rest of his life with you.

He could feel the desperation deep in his stomach as tenacious nerves.

You were the first person Bucky noticed once he entered the ballroom. Once your eyes found his, a beaming smile overtook your features, and Bucky nearly forgot how to breathe.

He had never doubted that you were the most beautiful woman he ever laid eyes on, but this moment confirmed his suspicions. Wearing a ravishing dress which complimented your eyes, and drew a venereal heat up his neck, Bucky could not prevent himself from staring.

He could imagine waking up beside you every day for the rest of his life, being the cause of your dazzling smile, which he had been bewitched by since your first encounter, and corrupting your innocence with the pleasures reserved for the sanctity of marriage.

Neither he, nor Becca, wasted time in seeking out Carol once they had given thanks to Lord Rogers for hosting the evening's ball. Carol chuckled and held out her gloved hand before Bucky even had the opportunity to reach for the secured envelope inside his coat. With a shy smile and a swell of nerves, he handed the carefully sealed letter to her.

Carol flashed him an encouraging smile before doing a slow, deliberately deceiving circuit of the ballroom prior to making her way over to you.

Tripping over the end of your dress in haste of receiving the letter, Carol had to catch you from falling head first to her feet. An embarrassed smile curved onto your lips as you dusted the front of your gown and Bucky could not help the chuckle which left his own.

Heat bloomed in his chest, his heart racing to a rapid beat as he watched you and Carol giggle amongst yourselves as you opened the letter. Your answer to the question he posed within the note would have profound ramifications to his future.

He had never wanted something so vastly in his entire life. Not even the last time he thought he was in love. The feelings he held for her were nothing in comparison to the overwhelming adoration, devotion and protectiveness he felt when you so much as entered his mind, let alone were in the same room.

He would not waver in his belief that what he felt for you was true love. Now, all he needed was you to confirm you reciprocated those passions and he would not stop in giving you a life full of tender love. Given your willingness to pursue an association with him thus far, despite knowing the extent of his damaged reputation, he suspected you just might.

Feeling as though nothing in the world could dampen his spirits in this moment, the one voice Bucky did not want to hear sounded from behind him.

“Your Grace, may I have a word?” Bucky turned to find none other than your mother standing behind him, a twinkling mischievousness in her eyes. Her ominous words made him hesitant to enter into conversation, however, her tone indicated she would not take no for an answer.

With a brisk nod, Bucky followed her away from the gossipy conversation and lively music, into an elaborate adjoining room, the walls of which were adorned with beautiful portraits he suspected were ancestors of Lord Rogers.

The heavy embellished door closed behind them, dulling the sound of the resonant music and making him feel as though you were an entire world away even though you were simply in the next room. Once she was certain they were alone, the incensed glare your mother shot him had the shame and disgrace your presence had the power to suppress, firing through every nerve in his body.

“You need to stay away from my daughter, and cease sending her those disgraceful letters! Do not think they have escaped my notice.” Even though he was expecting almost those exact words, Bucky’s heart clenched in his chest.

“I understand you do not fancy the match, but I care very deeply about your daughter, and I believe she may reciprocate those feelings. If she were to have me, I would not hesitate to spend the rest of my life with her.” Bucky counteracted before your mother could announce any further disapproval.

Your mother shook her head disdainfully before starting to speak, looking as though she was choosing her words very carefully.

“Viscount John Walker has agreed to marry my daughter. His mother and I are old friends, and as soon as I give my impending blessing, he will propose.” Bucky’s whole body went numb. The thought of you committing yourself to someone else for the rest of your life, taking their last name and giving yourself completely to them, having someone else’s hands on your body, was enough to drive him mad.

Though he supposed once you found out the reason why he was too ashamed to be in public without the comforting cover of his gloves, it would not be his hands you would want roaming your body regardless.

“They have known each other since childhood. He is a wealthy and honourable man who can give her a life you never could. If you truly care about her as you say you do, you will let her go. Let her marry someone she deserves.”

Bucky had never wanted to frantically explain the true story behind his scandal to anyone more than he did in this very moment, though he knew given the years of vilifying speculation, there was no possibility of your mother believing him.

He decided to take a different approach.

“My Lady, I am well aware that I am not deserving of a lady as beautiful and magnanimous as your daughter, though nor I believe are any of the conniving men of the court for that matter, but I would like to make my intentions perfectly clear: I have a ring and would get down on one knee tonight if she so desired.” Shock mixed with appal on your mothers expression at the words confirming Bucky’s very real prospect of proposing.

Raking her gloved hand down her face, shaking her head and mumbling something that sounded very similar to you foolish man, your mother looked back up at him with a derisive glint in her eye.

“This might persuade you then: I have been watching you and your sister very closely throughout this season, and I now know why she is so set against taking a husband - do not try to deny it, I have seen her with Lady Danvers. I am sure that is a secret you want kept from the rest of the ton, is it not? If you want to save your sister's reputation from the same thrashing yours took, you will tell my daughter that you do not love her and instruct her to marry Lord Walker.” Your mother threatened with a malice Bucky had not heard anyone speak with before.

With one final wrathful scowl, your mother stalked out of the room with her head held high, leaving Bucky alone, numb and paralysed in heartbreak.

Becca was the one person who had stuck by him through all adversities. She was the only person who supported him after his broken engagement, offering a shoulder to cry on and believing that he was not capable of the infidelity he was accused of. She was the only person who knew of his deformed limb and refused to believe it was an ugly flaw that needed to be hidden from the world.

He was her older brother. It was his role to protect her.

Regardless of his romantic prospects or his all-consuming feelings for you, he could not knowingly let his baby sister endure the same hardship he had suffered.

It would not be until he stepped back into the ball that he would set in stone his decision to revoke his intentions to pursue you. Even though he knew he could not remain in this gallery forever, Bucky wanted to delay the pain he knew would inevitably fracture the walls of his heart when you became resentful of his perceived rejection.

For a few minutes he wanted to believe in a fantasy where the two of you could live happily ever after before he would need to return to reality where he would need to sacrifice his own prospects for his sister's reputation.

He should have known this bliss was too good to last. That the world would only want to torture him with the possibility of love before obliterating his heart all over again.

How could he have been naive enough to believe he was worthy of happiness?

Bucky felt for the ring box nestled in his inner coat pocket, letting out a shaky breath in attempts to keep the stinging tears from escaping the confines of his eyes. His mothers ring she had gifted him in her will to give to the woman he loved and treasured with his whole being.

But now, you would never know of it’s existence, nor his intense desire to see it on your hand as his promise to adore you for the rest of his life.

Becca’s contentment and happiness came before all else, no one was going to jeopardise that, especially not himself.

If your childhood friend Viscount Walker was willing to marry you and provide you a comfortable life, in time Bucky could learn to be at peace knowing you were looked after. Living a tranquil life his dishonourable stigma would never allow.

With a deep, steadying breath, and a cough to clear the lump which had formed in his throat, Bucky returned the ball.

You were standing by the corner of the room with Carol, near the entrance to the kitchens so you would have the first pick of the food, when you noticed Bucky walking back into the room.

With a newly written note carefully clutched in her hands so that she would not smudge the ink, Carol gave you a friendly nudge with her hip before skirting around the outside of the room to deliver the letter.

The giddiness that had become synonymous with secretly exchanging notes with your beloved fluttered in your stomach as butterflies. This was potentially the most important letter you had penned - earlier in the night Bucky had asked you in writing whether you were willing to overlook the stain on his reputation and allow him to officially court you, with the intention of marriage. Your response, which was an effortless yes, was currently being delivered to him over the other side of the room.

You watched on with a smile as Carol went to hand over the note, as she had done many times over the past couple weeks, however, this time it was met with Bucky refusing to take possession of the piece of paper. He leaned in, whispered something into her ear, before glancing at you with despair and something of resentment on his face, before striding out of the room without the folded letter, causing your heart to sink through the floorboards.

Carol awkwardly turned on her heel, not quite meeting your eye as she scurried to return to your side, the remorseful expression on her face foretelling the agony which would puncture your chest with the words she would use to confirm your heartbreak.

“He said he does not want to receive letters from you anymore.” She gulped, fiddling with the page in her hand as if she was deciding whether or not to give it back to you. “He said it’s over.”

You had not held a greater hatred of the court and the custom of finding a husband more in your life than the week following Lord Rogers ball. Unaware of what led to Bucky’s change of heart, you were all but powerless to keep the doubtful thoughts at bay and stop them from invading your mind.

The main question the taunting voice in your head kept circling back to was what had you done wrong?

Were you not of a high enough standing for him? He was a Duke after all and you were merely the daughter of a Baron. Was he wanting a lady with a wealthier dowry? Someone who was higher in the order of precedence who would help restore his reputation?

Had you not been explicit in stating the affection you felt towards him? Had someone else caught his eye? Were you not proficient at all the duties which made an acceptable housewife?

If you had been thinking clearly, you would have recalled Bucky never once asked about, nor placed any significance on the qualities the other men of the court usually considered when taking a wife, but in your state of anxiety that detail slipped your mind.

You continued to replay the events of that night over the course of the next few days, looking for any reason behind Bucky’s sudden detachment, but with each rehearsal your recollection of the truth blurred even further, only making you increasingly frustrated.

Though he initially held you at arms length, it seemed to have more to do with him being chivalrous in his attempts to protect your reputation, but this time, you could not ignore the grievance in his gaze which was apparently directed at you.

The following ball, held at the grandeur Stark estate, was your hope of seeking clarification for his sudden indifference, however, you were greatly disappointed to find neither Bucky nor Becca were in attendance. Nor were they at the following three events which concluded the week.

Were you truly that abhorrent that he could not be in the same room as you?

Your mind could not comprehend why someone who seemed to cherish every letter you penned him to the extent that he would retain them in a treasured drawer in his desk, would rescind his courtship so quickly.

This tormenting affliction continued for another week. You found every dress fitting, social event and formal ball entirely futile with the knowledge that Bucky would not be in attendance.

Why were you going to the effort of getting all dressed up, wearing your best clothes and having your hair styled to perfection, when it would only be the pretentious men of the gentry you would be presented in front of?

You were hiding in the corner of the Odinson palace ballroom, in an attempt to evade being asked to join the energetic dancing couples in the centre of the room, when you finally saw him again. Bucky strode into the ballroom with Becca by his side, the blue fitted coat he donned made his steel blue irises shine like stars.

His eyes found yours instinctively. The other attendants, the upbeat music and hum of conversation faded into nothing as you stared at the face of the man you loved.

Comparable to the night you first met, you flashed him a sweet smile from across the room, however this time, you were not met with his dazzling smile but instead with a bitter glare.

Tears brimmed in your eyes as you watched Bucky choose to ignore your presence and instead enter into conversation with Lord Rogers as far away as possible from your position in the ballroom.

The man you loved loathed you.

It was as if your lungs and throat filled with thick, sticky tar. Your hand shot to your corset, which was suddenly too tight, squeezing the remaining life out of you which Bucky’s antipathy had not yet eradicated.

Air.

You needed air.

Your lungs did not find the reprieve of fresh, cool air until you burst from the ballroom into the gardens, rushing past bushes and blooming flowers until the music in the ballroom was only a faint hum, and the main source of light was the moon. At the end of the path you followed from the palace was an octagonal viewing pavilion, adorned with a lattice railing and hanging lanterns.

It was there that you gazed out at the beautifully manicured gardens of the Odinson estate and allowed yourself to catch your breath. After the events of the past week you were in no mood to be surrounded by crowds of people, having to fake a smile and pretend that your chest was not perpetually aching in heartbreak.

Your temporary relief from the gentry was interrupted by a monotonous voice behind you.

“I was wondering where you got to.” With a shiver running down your spine, you turned to find Baron Brock Rumlow leaning against a pillar, blocking the only opening to the railing and your only exit from the pavilion. His face was half in shadow, but the uneasiness you always felt in his presence did not fail from settling in your stomach.

“My Lord, I did not realise anyone else was out here.” You tried to suppress the surprise in your voice, but the sly grin tugging at his lips informed you he knew he caught you off guard.

“I saw you fleeing from the ball and desired to know you were all right.” There was a concern in Brock’s words that did not meet his eyes nor his tone of voice as he stepped into the light of the lanterns.

“I assure you, my Lord, I am perfectly fine.”

“If you are indeed fine, I doubt you would be out here, all alone, rather than inside enjoying the party.” His slow, calculated steps made you weary of his true purpose, trying to quickly survey for another way out of the pavilion. “What can I do to cheer you up?” He was now close enough that you could smell the alcohol on his breath.

“My Lord, I am out here to admire the gardens, nothing more. I do not require cheering up.” You attempted to pass by him casually, but his firm hand shot out to the railing to corner you from escaping.

“Oh, but I think you do.” He took an eager step closer, a venomous glint in his eye. “And I know just the way to do it.”

Without any way to get past him, you were vulnerable to his desires, his hand reaching up and caressing your cheek with a greedy possessiveness that had bile rising in your stomach.

“Get off me!” You yelled, thrashing in attempts to push him away, but his strong hands took control of your wrists and prevented you from forming a counter attack.

“Stop resisting you little bitch!” Brock’s voice was low and demanding, scorching fear fired through every neuron in your body. He pushed you against the railing of the pavilion, his weight hindering you from making a run for it.

You yelled out for help into the silent night before his calloused hand harshly covered your mouth, panic rising in your chest at the thought that you were too far from the ballroom for anyone to hear you and that you were not strong enough to prevent whatever devilish intentions Brock had for much longer.

Then, before you could register what was happening, the heavy weight of the Baron was released from you.

Your heart was still thumping rapidly, almost painfully so, in your chest when you recognised the broad man who had intervened.

Bucky.

“I will end you.” Bucky’s threat was dripping in pure spite.

Given that Bucky had managed to pull him off you with reasonable ease, you did not expect Brock’s reaction to these words to be an amused laugh.

It seemed to take Bucky by surprise as well.

“With your dainty little gloves and fragile condition - I’d like to see you try.” The challenge hung in the air between the two men, and though from your position you could not see Bucky’s face, the slump in his shoulders informed you Brock’s words affected him.

“Bucky, let’s take our leave.” You implored, reaching for his shoulder to turn him to look at you. If you could prove to him that you were in truth physically unharmed, then maybe he would not need to engage in the brewing duel.

“No, I will not let him get away with this! What he was going to do to you - he should no longer be breathing.” Bucky’s voice was almost unrecognisable with the rage consuming his tone.

“What are you going to do to me, Your Grace?” Brock asked in a mocking tone. “You cannot even face me like a man.” He continued, gesturing to Bucky’s gloves.

There was a moment of hesitation from Bucky. Though you did not care about the reason he concealed his hands from view, it was clearly very important to him as he never failed to be in public without them.

Deciding that bringing vengeance to Brock’s actions was more important in this moment than concealing whatever secret he had been hiding, Bucky slowly removed his pair of gloves.

The reason Bucky concealed his hands became apparent before the gloves he tossed to the edge of the pavilion hit the ground. Though you found yourself not fazed in the slightest by what you saw.

His skin was severely scarred, profoundly enough to disappear beyond his sleeve, but in your opinion it was nothing to be ashamed of. Having the only man who had ever cherished you and treated you like something worth loving, defending your honour, was what you placed importance on in this moment.

Brock gave a hearty chuckle to the revelation, and you could see Bucky's shoulders tense in response.

In a matter of seconds, Bucky had evaded an attack from Brock and landed a bone crunching punch directly to the Baron’s cheekbone. The sound itself had you wincing, but the sudden panic-stricken look in Brock’s eyes satisfied the part of you which had been terrified of his intentions moments earlier.

Clearly in his own arrogance Brock had not expected Bucky to be able to land a clear punch, and in his now alarmed state was cowering in fear. Before Bucky had the chance to finish him completely, Brock scurried away towards the security of the ballroom, and rather than following him, Bucky turned around to find you. The worry in his gaze almost knocked you off your feet.

“Are you unharmed? Did he hurt you?” The lantern light was dim in the crisp night, but Bucky did not waste time in examining every inch of your exposed skin to ensure you had not been physically harmed. The concern brimming in his eyes softened the ache in your chest which had been present since he declined your letter at Lord Rogers ball.

It was not until he pulled you into his chest did you realise you were shaking. Though you noted the hand which displayed scars was covertly hidden in his coat pocket.

“I am fine, now that you are here.” You murmured into his lapel. Briefly, the thought of how scandalous it would be considered to be caught in this position with a man entered your mind, though the intoxicating rich scent of Bucky’s cologne, and the safety you felt being so close you could hear his rapid heartbeat pushed the notion from your mind.

There was a minute where you merely cherished being close to him, your body relaxing from the anxiety coursing through it earlier. A moment where you could simply enjoy being in the presence of one another.

However, that minute lapsed entirely too quickly before Bucky pulled away from you with a look of determined restraint in his eye.

“I shall escort you back inside.” Bucky declared, however the petrifying thought of returning to a room in which you could potentially encounter Rumlow again paralysed you.

“I cannot return to a party where I could see him.” You announced, wishing for Bucky to comfort you again as the memory of Brock’s vile hands touching you sent a shiver up your spine.

“Then I shall take you directly to your carriage and inform your mother-” Bucky began before you decided to interpose.

“Why are you so adamant to take your leave from me, Your Grace?” It was one of the many questions you wished to ask him. Bucky took a moment before answering to contemplate his words, though once he spoke, his tone was resolute.

“The last lady to learn about my deformity wanted entirely nothing to do with me - she was utterly disgusted at the sight. You must be completely repulsed by me.” Instinctively he pushed his hand further into his pocket, and your heart clenched in your chest.

“Repulsed? Not in the slightest. Bucky, every part of you is beautiful. I have never cared about anyone the way I care about you. Nothing about your appearance could ever change that.” No truer and more earnest words had ever left your lips. You desperately needed him to believe them, for them to alleviate the hate he had been conditioned to feel in response to his injury. To show not everyone thought a scar was something worthy of being ashamed of.

“Truly?” There was a harrowing vulnerability to his voice and you suspected if you were to retract your previous words, the rejection may end him completely.

“Truly.”

His eyes were filled with a mixture of burning adoration and utter disbelief. The corners of his mouth twitched into a smile as the rest of the world melted away, completely forgotten when his stare had heat rising from your chest to the tips of your ears.

You closed your eyes, leaned closer and waited in suspense for the moment his lips would finally touch your own. You wanted to feel him everywhere, have your body meld into his so you could not determine where he stopped and you started. However, you would settle now for a kiss, for his rosy pink lips to caress your own in a demonstration of his desire.

The anticipation in the air was palpable.

So much so you could cut it with a knife.

But you were kept waiting.

It was not until Bucky cleared his throat did you open your eyes again, only to find your vision blurry with tears.

“You do not want to kiss me?” Your voice cracked as you attempted to hide the searing heartbreak ripping a hole in your chest, dejectedly peering down at the cobblestones underneath your shoes.

“There is nothing I want more.” Bucky said with a determination to prove you wrong, tilting your chin up with his index finger so you would yet again meet his gaze, running his thumb feather light over your bottom lip. The forced restraint which had been so evident in his eyes dissolved to reveal the pure guilt behind them. “I am afraid if I do kiss you, I’ll never stop.”

Hope swelled so largely in your chest that perhaps you would have floated away from happiness if Bucky had not been tethering you to the ground.

“But as grateful as I am that you do not find me hideous, this,” he gestured to his arm, “is also the reason I cannot bring you the peace you deserve. I will always look like this, the incident of my debut year will be my legacy and I cannot let it tarnish your life too.” You suspected there was more to his reasoning which he was not divulging - more than simply a deformity you had already declared your acceptance for.

You opened your mouth to protest, to tell him that you did not mind in the slightest about his perceived reputation, which had been falsely tarnished, all you needed was for him to continue to care for you as he had proven tonight he was more than capable of doing. However, before a single syllable could leave your throat, Bucky continued in his attempts to convince you.

“Lord Walker is intending to propose, and you should accept. His family has a relatively high standing in court, he would be able to provide for you in a way I never could.” The despair was clear in Bucky’s voice, and more so than your surprise at the Viscount’s plans to propose, you longed to free Bucky’s mind from the belief that any other man would be a more suitable match for you.

“No, I cannot marry him. I will not marry him.” You firmly refused as you shook your head. Gently taking hold of his left wrist, with light enough pressure that he could pull away if he were uncomfortable with the contact, you brought his exposed, scarred hand up and placed it to the uncovered skin above your sternum, where he would undoubtedly be able to feel every beat of your thumping heart.

“My heart belongs to you.”

Your heartbeat quickened even more so in your chest as he leaned so dangerously close that you could see the way his eyes darkened with desire. Something intangible within his demeanour changed as a result of your gesture that you knew he was about to kiss you.

Any trace of the remaining restraint in his eyes dissipated before his lids fluttered shut and he closed the remaining paltry space between you. His nose bumped yours and his hands grabbed the curves of your waist just before his soft lips captured yours.

The unfamiliar yet perfectly natural feeling of his lips against yours had you completely opening up to him. Instinctively, your lips parted and allowed his tongue to glide against your own, exploring your mouth as your body pressed impossibly close to his, your hands tangling in his lush hair.

A new, foreign heat pooled below your stomach, between your legs. You were not sure what it signified, all you knew for certain was you wanted even more of the man whose hands were currently caressing every swell and dip of your body. To have his bare hands remove every layer of clothing from your form and have his supple lips place tantalising kisses to every exposed inch.

To your disappointment Bucky pulled away sooner than you hoped, leaving your lips hungry and desperate for more. Resting his forehead against yours, he let out a shaky breath as you attempted to catch your own.

You expected him to feel as ecstatically happy as you now did having kissed the one person who you would not hesitate to devote your life to. However, distraught indecision was painfully written on his features, contorting your stomach with nerves.

Then, with an affectionate swipe of his thumb over your cheek, a longing in his eyes as if he may never get an opportunity to be this close to you again, and a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips, Bucky seemingly reached a conclusion to his internal struggle.

You could sense the walls restoring around his heart before he spoke a single word.

“You need to forget about me and marry Walker.” He stated as firmly as possible through an obvious lump in his throat, striking a sharp chisel excruciatingly deep within your chest. His eyes were glassy with tears and it was at that moment he decided to put precautionary distance between the two of you, which made you feel more vulnerable and alone than the entire week your mother locked you away from society. As if to punctuate his instruction and throw a final, killing blow, Bucky spoke one final time.

“I cannot marry you.”

With a helpless, tearful look, which you could have sworn was filled with more remorse than rejection, Bucky raked his fingers through his dishevelled hair before shoving them into his pockets, quickly turning on his heel and striding out of the pavilion.

Your lungs and throat burned, as though Bucky had stolen all your air through his kiss and you were left to die a slow, suffocating death. No sound was able to escape your constricting throat and though your heart wanted to chase after him, your legs felt as if they were made of stone, frozen like a statue, all but powerless to watch on as your life fell apart before your eyes.

Time painfully slowed as you fought back prickling tears, waiting anxiously for the moment Bucky would turn around to look back at you, when his beautiful blue eyes would meet yours and your world would once again make sense.

But that moment never came.

Once you saw Bucky disappear around the side of the palace to where the horses and carriages were kept, all hope of him retracting his actions completely lost, you let the confusion and sorrow swallow you whole as you collapsed to the ground in a fit of sobs.

Your heaving weeps were the only other sound filling the still night air besides the faint, upbeat music played in the main ballroom. Your heart as good as glass shattered into sharp, hazardous shards on the cobblestones in front of you, irreparably damaged and likely to cause further harm if attempting to reassemble.

Because if there is one way to destroy someone who loves you, it is to kiss them once and then never again.

Part three coming soon

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[dearbraus]

                    Chapter i. Chapter ii. Chapter iii.

         Extras; Glossary of Regency era terms/slang.

❝In the faraway region of Alicante laid six bustling kingdoms, each characterized by their rich history and unique exports. Alicante was marred by a peaceful co-existence one no one had ever seen. Perhaps too good to be true, and in the blink of an eye they were thrown into a whirlwind of conflict. They called those days the Raging Storm, speared headed by a group of men who dubbed themselves the “Blades of Justice”.

Eight years since her debut into society the only daughter of the Marquis de Fontaine has all but given up on love. Gone were her days of being a blushing debutante, too enraptured with the idea of being swept up in to romance to think of anything else; now was far too overwrought with what came next in her life. After a chance meeting with the young new royal artist of Dulcis, she finds that perhaps all the fanciful daydreams she spent her adolescence dreaming on could exist far beyond the constraints of the written word.❞

Warnings; 18+ only minors do not interact. Female reader + reader with a backstory and age ( twenty six ) + regency era gender roles/clothing/skills + traditional courting practices + love at first sight + period appropriate slang + flirting + mentions of prostitution + virgin reader + experienced Tartaglia + age gap + oral ( receiving ) + virginity loss + vaginal sex + miscommunication + feelings of guilt and other internal turmoil + Tartaglia is given a noncanonical last name.

Other Featured Relationships; Jeanlisa + Jeanluc + Ambula + Barbara/Bennett.

Total est Word count; 30k.

© All content belongs to dearbraus 2022. You are not allowed to modify, translate, redistribute, or plagiarize in anyway. Do not recommend outside of tumblr (tiktok, wattpad, twitter etc).

[peachoutofseason]

Flowers from inter fan and Thai fan in GAP THE DEBUTANTE today for FreenBeck. The flower is folded by Thai money.

[mermaidsirennikita]

Hello! Apologies if you've answered a similar request before but do you have any recs for regency era romance with an older woman/younger man couple? Thanks!

No worries! I would recommend trying:

Thief of Shadows by Elizabeth Hoyt. It's Georgian, which I kind of? Prefer? To Regency? But tbh, I don't think you'll see a huge difference, especially because the hero is poor and therefore doesn't wear wigs. One of my allll time favorites, virgin vigilante hero a widow heroine who's six years older than him and high society. SUPER sexy, extremely romantic, great interclass romance. He's 26 and she's 32, so the age gap isn't huge but it is a plot point because the heroine's life experiences have made her feel old. TW: discussion of past miscarriages and infertility, hero is a vigilante who saves children from sex trafficking so this is discussed but not shown explicitly

The Countess by Sophie Jordan. Heroine is married and her daughter is a debutante; her shitty husband has found a rich match for said daughter, but said suitor is more interested in the heroine... I think our heroine is 38, and the hero is around 33? Regency or Victorian. TW: husband is emotionally abusive and does veer up on physical abuse towards the end of the book, though it isn't heavy

Waiting for a Scot Like You by Eva Leigh. Another Regency or Victorian. Heroine is a widow with three grown children who's on her way to an orgy--the hero is a Scottish soldier who's been assigned to act as her bodyguard on the journey. He's 34, she's 46. Very hot and life-affirming.

Suddenly You by Lisa Kleypas. Heroine is an author who wants to lose her virginity and orders a sex worker--a hot man shows up on her doorstep and she assumes he's it, but he's actually a publisher who wants to steal her away. I think the heroine is 30 and he's 25. TW: miscarriage.

The Return of the Duke by Lorraine Heath. Hero was a duke's son, but his father was arrested and executed for conspiring to assassinate Queen Victoria. Now years later he's out for revenge... and seeks out his father's old mistress, who's about five years older than him? Obviously Victorian. This one is HOT and there's some angry resentment shit going on. TW: discussion of medical trauma and infertility.

Upcoming releases, both out 5/23:

The Dueling Duchess by Minerva Spencer. Heroine is a French sharpshooter in a circus, hero is a displaced former duke she had a fling with before they broke up. Now he's back and needs a job! She's 36, I think he's around 32ish? Very sexy, he's a total rake in love. TW: discussion of infant loss in the past.

Her Study in Scandal by Megan Frampton. Regency or Victorian. Heroine is a new widow and heads out to a pleasure garden to have some fun because her marriage was so boring. She meets this hot guy who rocks her world, only to find out the next day that he's supposed to get engaged to her daughter! Heroine is 40, hero is 28. It's very sexy and a bit lighter than many historicals with this trope.

[i-am-the-commander-of-death]

If you are like me and wasn't able to create an account on ticket major thai for buying a ticket for the livestream of Gap episode 12 : the debutante.

[klarolijahs]

Benedict being sick and tired of Colin being clueless about his feelings for Penelope so he decided to make him jealous..by flirting with Penelope lol 😭

Thank you anon, this got my writing bunny working! Not sure if this is exactly what you were looking for but here it is.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

For a long time now Colin had considered Benedict to be his favorite brother. Gregory was adorable but still too young to partake completely with his older brothers. Anthony was just too much entirely - too stern, too strict, too set in his ways of behaving more like their father than their brother. 

Benedict had been a big brother when he needed someone to bail him out of his stupid decisions and a friend when he wanted to be stupid. Benedict understood, more than anyone, that Colin felt stifled in London and the ton. When everyone despaired over his endless thirst for travel, Benedict encouraged him. When Mother hurled every suitable debutante his way, Benedict cleverly distracted her, winking at her with his boyish charm and rescuing him from a banal conversation with a girl barely out of the schoolroom. 

Currently, however, Colin was very willing to take Benedict and his boyish grin on a trip to the Mediterranean and dump him straight in the ocean. Unwittingly, Colin felt a smile creep up on him at the visual of shoving his beloved brother into the turbulent seas of the mediterranean.  

Because currently Benedict was doing something particularly annoying.

Flirting with Penelope Featherington. 

Penelope Featherington.

And so in the open when anyone could see. 

Where even her mother could see. 

Colin let out a groan as he saw a maddening gleam in Portia Featherington’s eyes as she followed Benedict and Penelope’s promenade around the lake with hawk-like precision. Colin half expected her to start distributing wedding cards before their turn was over. He wouldn’t blame her, because Benedict hadn’t ever cared about propriety but he knew to keep away from the ladies at the ton. 

And yet, there Benedict was, strolling with Penelope on his arm, standing a little too close, leaning in a bit too far and most definitely whispering something indecorous that caused her to blush prettily and then laugh the next second. Colin debated between intervening himself, forcing Anthony to interrupt them or simply picking up the rock in his line of sight and hurling it at Benedict. 

This was Penelope. 

His friend. 

His Pen. 

Benedict was old. An entire ten years older than Penelope. And yes, while that age gap wasn’t just normal but expected in couples - it was still ludicrous.

And it had to be stopped. 

Now.

Before Portia Featherington swooned at the thought of capturing a Bridgerton for one of her daughters.

Before Benedict and his stupid, blue, twinkling eyes made Penelope do something regrettable - like fall in love with the bounder. Perish the thought. 

Read the rest on AO3

[the-book-queen]

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[triviareads]

I think is time for me to start with my Beautiful Barringtons books byKathleen Ayers, they sound so entertaining

yes definitely go for it! They're all on KU and honestly, they give you a lot of what Bridgerton the books don't quite give you in terms of romance and even the nuances of family dynamics, and what the show is utterly failing to deliver on now lolol.

The eldest brother ANTHONY aka Tony in The Theory of Earls is actually a rake and basically the kind of St. Vincent beautiful that means he gets away with a looooot of shit he otherwise wouldn't; he has no qualms about propositioning debutantes and he also has the kind of daddy issues (which... okay fine his dad truly did something shitty because he too was a rake but he's reformed! there's even a novella to prove it) that result in him refusing to procreate.

Andromeda and their cousin Rosalind both have aspirations apart from marriage; Andromeda secretly works with a modiste to design gowns, and Rosalind secretly works with a baker to set up a storefront to sell her creations. The Design of Dukes, Romy's book, is just a really well-done iteration of a cold starchy duke falling for a woman who doesn't fit his standard of propriety, and A Recipe for a Rogue a great age-gap romance, and Rosalind is also plus-sized and Torrington is super explicit in her obsession with her body in a way you don't really see in a lot of historicals.

Also, the last book, The Taming of a Scandal is a particular favorite because the disaster baby sister Phaedra finally gets her own book and it goes EXACTLY how you think it does, namely the biggest baddest American ex-street-rat now-ruthless businessman falling HARD for her while she's running New York City with her rapier.

[pinkiepiebones]

Dear Zombie,

Robbie here.

How fortuitous. I was just about to write to you unprompted, when there you go, prompting for prompts.

The truth is, I've been... I've been a little down lately. Mike tells me I shouldn't be afraid to share my feelings with friends. (Rebecca says I need to punch something 😆. Classic.)

Anyway. You were surprised I've read the Spiral. It happened sorta by accident? The first volume was in a pocket of one of my, um, ... one of Dracula's dinner guests, shall we say? I needed to take my mind off things, so I picked it up, and then, then I just had to know what happens next. So I went back to the poor kid's house and, um, borrowed the rest of her collection. So now when I hear anyone mention spiraling, that's what I think of.

Don't apologize for making "feelings happen." Being able to feel things is a privilege I treasure. It's just that I was numb for so long, I'm not well equipped still working on getting better about processing my emotions.

Ah, but I digress. Your prompt: tell me about the end of my honeymoon. Tell me about the first time Dracula hurt me.

Perhaps a good cry is what I need to start feeling better.

Sincerely,

Your friend,

Robbie

I really don't wanna hurt you, man. Goodness knows you've endured more than your share of hurt over the decades. But, if it's really what you want.

-

Good times end. It is the nature of things. How are we able to recognise that there were indeed good times without having bad times to compare?

Silly you. You really thought it would last.

At first, being in the castle was... strange. You remembered getting there, pulling out the paperwork. The drink tasted funny. Your last conscious thought was 'the rich sure have some strong alcohol!' You woke up in the guest room's bed much later, the cheery fire burnt out, sunlight pressing slivers of itself through little gaps in the drapery on the windows. Your pocket watch had stopped. You scramble out of the luxurious bedding and wander the castle with all the grace of a newborn fawn, but can't find your host until the evening. He apologises for the drink he gave you and tells you some story about why he sleeps in the day, something about the Great War. And you believe him, of course. Why wouldn't you?

The Count is genial and friendly and you keep your eyes on anything but him because you can feel yourself blushing under his gaze. You want to get the paperwork signed and you want to head home, but the Count, without you speaking these thoughts, he says "are you sure?"

The Count is a mind reader or some other manner of witchcraft practitioner, you reckon. He touches your face with a tenderness that feels different from the way your wife does it. You lean in to it. You could almost swear by the way the pad of his index finger presses against your temple that he is indeed peering inside your head, prying apart the wrinkles of your brain. You feel something dug up from the corners of your mind, memories long buried in crypts of shame.

When he kisses you something inside you breaks. You cry and have to apologise for it but the Count smoothes a hand over your hair, his eyes so soft and reassuring.

"Stay here, with me, Mister Renfield. Be my assistant."

And you agree, of course. Why wouldn't you?

Little touches, light scrapes of claw-like fingernails. Scales falling from your eyes. Everything feels new. You had been plodding through life as if in a haze, doing what was expected of you. Here, in the castle, the expectations are simply- Stay. You adapt to his schedule; the nights are yours and his. He takes you places and you blush, feeling more like some virginal debutante being paraded by her affianced. The Count likes showing you off. He teaches you how to dance. In the high society, you think, either a man dancing with a man is more acceptable, or the Count is simply a man of such status that none would dare rebuke him for being with you.

Being with you.

Dracula and Renfield.

The first time he takes you to bed you weep with joy and relief and maybe a little shock when he bites your neck. But even in that there is a tenderness you never knew before. He holds you close after and whispers things in a language you don't know but somehow understand.

The night he offers to promote you, you silly thing, you are already so in love with him. You can admit it to yourself, finally- yes, you are in love. Guilt and shame have a different tactic now, they stab at you with thoughts of your wife and daughter. So you're able to keep enough wits about you to ensure that, whatever this promotion is, your pay will go to your family as it has been. The Count is so magnanimous and gracious that he extends the payment plan- your daughter will never have to work a day in her adult life.

You've done right by them. Now you can do right by yourself.

"Yes."

You agree to the promotion- The Count says he will make you a "familiar." You're not sure what that means, but your trust him, of course. Why wouldn't you?

You drink his blood as he commands and it burns all the way down and tastes bitter as rotten fruit. And it does something to you. Your eyes roll back and your nervous system twists around inside every fiber of your being. Hallways in your mind straighten out and useless memories are papered over. It makes you better. You sit at the Count's feet like a loyal hound and he scratches your scalp with his claws. You know things now. Vampire. The Count is your Master now yes. Vampire. You will find him food now yes. Master. Master master master master

The first time he takes you to bed as his familiar you keep up with his stamina. There's something more animalistic this time, in both of you, but you swear the tenderness is there, too. He still holds you after he licks the blood from your chest and neck.

But.

You're new to this, this "familiar" thing. It's as though you're learning how to be alive all over again. Unlike becoming a lawyer there is no school nor education nor books that can tell you how to do this work right. You try, damn it. You bring back several bodies of a higher class, assuming their blood will be to his liking. It is not. He does not like that you killed the prey.

Before you can say anything, he strikes you. Hard. His claws rip your face. You stumble, back to the wall, hot blood pouring down your face, seeping in to your shirt. He's never done that before. Even in the throes of passion he's never raised his hand to you like this. Master grabs you by the throat and lifts you up with him as he levitates.

His claws dig into your skin. Break your skin.

"Do not fail me again, servant" he hisses.

He squeezes. Your panicked panting stops as he crushes your windpipe and he drops you to the floor. The back of your skull cracks on the stone floor and your vision fails. Your brain is babbling nonsense as it loses bloodflow and oxygen. As your body spasms, as your nerves fire desperately, Master looms over you, his face drawn with concern and pity.

"I hate that you make me do this," Master sighs. He licks your blood from his fingers. "You need to learn quickly if you are going to continue in this position, 'kay?"

You think you nod. May have just been an involuntary twitch.

Master slashes his palm open and straddles your crumpled body and gently caresses your throat, his blood mending what has been destroyed.

"You know I care for you," he coos.

You believe him, of course. Why wouldn't you?