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verbenaa · 7 months

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opus 4 (nothing compares to the sighs that fall from your lips)

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦:

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?”

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.”

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, 18+

𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 6.9k

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: exhibitionism, frottage/thigh riding, clothed sex, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, vampire bites, blood, soft dom astarion, tailor astarion strikes again

𝑎/𝑛: if larian can't give us a masquerade, then i will! welcome to my current fixation which has been this masquerade ball fic. idk there is no rhyme or reason to this, its just fun and indulgent and glittery. i hope you enjoy and please like/comment/reblog etc ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

ao3 here

masterlist

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The chandeliers twinkle brightly from the cavernous ceiling above as you float across the polished ballroom floor, slippered feet moving swiftly as your dance partner twirls you around, an arm wrapped tight around your waist while the other grasps your hand as he leads you through the elegant steps of a waltz.

Wine burns through your veins as it sings a siren’s song, the sanguine liquid slipping down your throat with ease this evening, the vintage aged to perfection. Melted wax drips from the tapers decorating the room, their flames no more than whirls of shining light as you spin around and around, gown fluttering with every elegant movement.

It wasn’t often you attended these sorts of events, despite the amount of invitations you’ve received over the years. Being the most recent hero of Baldur’s Gate had its occasional perks it would seem, and this ball was certainly one of them.

It was the same routine every time. You would open the frequently ostentation envelopes, perfect calligraphy written with expensive pots of colored ink on the front and oversized wax seals in golds and reds and blues on the back. Inevitably, after a passing glance at whatever solicitation lay inside you would feed it to your hearth, letting the fire gobble it up as it burns to black.

This particular invitation, however, had caught your eye. The envelope itself was nothing of particular elegance, though the black of the envelope and silver lettering did stand out among the others in your post box that day. The matching silver wax seal on the back opened easily with a quick flick of your letter opener, and a singular word on the thick vellum piqued your interest in a way that few ever did on these inane things.

Masquerade.

You can easily recall the way the word made your heart jump, mind moving to the imagined scenarios of your younger years, the adventures of storybook heroines always featuring stories of flowing gowns and glittering masks.

Your own gown flows around your form as you dance the steps, soft fabric laying perfectly against your curves as braided straps of silk rest over your shoulders. The skirt flows down around a high slit up the thigh, velvet the color of the deepest ivy brushing against the marbled floors with every movement.

The metallic threads glow in the candlelight, embroidered designs of liquid silver cascade in small clusters down the bodice and onto the skirt like little groups of stars falling from the sky. The low back of the dress leaves you uncharacteristically bare, almost everything above the line of your waist exposed, though the air is warm against your skin with all the bodies present this evening.

Your dance partner cuts a dashing figure, a vision of velvet and quicksilver in his own right. He looked made for the part—like some dark hero from a storybook come to life in front of your eyes.

Gods, he looked so handsome.

Your cheeks flush as you watch him, following his lead as his hands tighten around you, that familiar knowing smirk decorating his elegant features even with the dark mask he wears obscuring the top half of his features, claret eyes framed with black and silver.

You pull yourself closer to Astarion, filling your senses with his familiar and comforting scent as he continues to lead you through the steps with sleek perfection, footsteps confident and head held high under his disguise.

The dance ends, orchestra moving on from the dreamy waltz you had just turned about to on the floor, a lilting concerto taking its place after a brief respite. Astarion leads you to the side of the dance floor, a hand poised on your waist as you walk to the fringes of the room.

You touch his velvet-covered shoulder, the intricately embroidered doublet matching the color of your own gown to perfection, down the same argent threads. The two of you were certainly coordinated this evening, if nothing else.

It had taken little to convince Astarion to agree to join you, his own love for overdramatic and lavish debauchery too much to deny something like a masquerade ball. He had certainly wasted no time designing outfits for the two of you, spending extra moments throughout his evenings constructing and embroidering them until every detail was as perfect as he had envisioned.

“Astarion!” You whisper into a delicately pointed ear, an emerald earring glinting in the candlelight as you rest your hand on his bicep, leaning your weight into him. “Go get us more wine!”

“You absolute lush.” His smile is fond as he leans over to press a kiss to your forehead, careful not to disturb the delicate lace mask resting over your eyes, satiny ribbon tied behind your head in a pretty, perfect bow.

It was hard to deny his comment, especially when there was that delightful fuzziness that occupied your every sense, clouding everything in a wonderfully warm haze. You had easily lost track of the number of glasses you had imbibed over the evening, though you are fairly certain you simply misplaced some still half full goblets on the random trays of servers who wandered through the space.

Your thoughts swirl as he walks away from you in search of more spirits, his retreating figure a vision. He really was too handsome, dressed in his finery like this. Maybe you were wrong all these years to give your regrets to so many an occasion, if seeing Astarion dressed in the rich velvets and silks he deserved to wear was to be your prize.

A hand on your shoulder draws your attention, and you turn a moment later, reactions slowed by the alcohol still dancing in your veins. Behind you is a man, handsome enough—if only in a rather ordinary way—his warm brown eyes looking out at you from behind a mask of bright crimson as he gives you a friendly smile.

“I must ask how such a lovely gem such as yourself is simply wandering around alone on a night like this?” The words are meant to be suave and charming, though you ignore them, as uninterested in the man now standing before as you are in his words or the meaning behind them. Your eyes draw instead to a overflowing vase of flowers on a table behind him, a downright gaudy display of cultivated blooms bursting from an equally ostentatious vase.

“Do you happen to know what type of flowers those are behind you?” You point at them, not addressing the man’s prior words to you. He turns to look behind him with befuddlement, taking in the large arrangement with barely a blink of his eyes before he turns back, scanning up and down your velvet-clad figure.

“I’m afraid flowers aren’t my specialty.” His answer is short and no-nonsense, he was clearly a man uninspired and uncreative if that was the best he could come up with, the roll of your eyes mostly obscured by the lace covering your face.

“I don’t think I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting you before, may I ask your name?” He sidles ever a bit closer, and you take a measured step back in response as you cross your arms casually in front of you, head tilting to the side as you observe him.

“How could you know? We are masked, after all.”

“It would be my honor, my dear mysterious Lady, to have your next dance?” His words are polite, even with such blunt forwardness.

You are saved from having to answer by an arm wrapping around your waist from behind, that wonderfully delicious scent of bergamot and brandy filling your senses with his presence.

The man across from you looks affronted at Astarion’s arrival, eyes falling to the arm wrapped tightly around your body and the angular face pressing against the crown of your head.

“Darling, won’t you introduce me to your new friend?”

“Oh! My love, you’ve returned!” Your smile is beatific as you turn towards him, eyes meeting his own you look for your promised goblet of wine.

“You never mentioned you were…partnered.” The man—what was his name again?—says before you two, a frown etched onto his features.

“Well, you never asked. This is my—” Astarion cuts you off before you can finish.

“Husband.” There’s a prideful possessiveness to his words that strike your interest, though you fight the urge to roll your eyes all the same. You and Astarion may be life partners, but married you were not.

“Here you are, my sweet.” He holds the full goblet towards you as it dangles between his elegant fingers, wine threatening to spill from its silvered edges. “Now, let us continue our fête elsewhere, hm?”

You give the man a bored look before turning away, downing your wine quickly before moving to place the empty silver on the table behind him, the overlarge bouquet towering over you. Without a second glance, Astarion takes your hand in his, pressing a kiss to the back before stepping away with you into the crowd beyond.

He leads you to a secluded corner, the area obscured by the shadows of the lofty space. Astarion’s footsteps finally slow as you near the wall and he notices your raised brow, an expectant expression on your face.

“Married, Astarion? When exactly was our wedding day, just so I don’t forget the anniversary.” You speak wryly, an amused smile on your lips. “I’d hate to not get you a gift.”

“Well, we may as well be married. Don’t you agree?”

“I certainly don’t see a ring on my finger.” You make to look at your hand, a playful smile old your lips as you tease him. Astarion’s frown deepens, a look of childish petulance crosses his features, obvious even with the mask hiding his expressive eyebrows.

“Don’t tell me you’re jealous that another man was simply talking to me?”

“Darling, I think he would have done more than simply talk to you if you’d let him,” He rolls his eyes, exhaling a huff as his hands come to rest above the swell of your hips, bracketing your waist with those talented, nimble fingers.

“Besides, he wasn’t talking, he was flirting with you.” You could swear he was pouting, amusement building with every passing minute as you bite your lip to hide your growing smile.

“I hadn’t noticed, honestly.” Your shrug is a touch too put on, the casualness of the action at odds with the finery you wear as the smile you try to hide escapes, painting your features with a certain cunning that Astarion knows all too well.

“Oh, I think you knew exactly what you were doing, darling, letting that man flirt with you.” Astarion’s hands on your velvet covered waist tighten as he walks you backward, not stopping until your back meets the intricately wainscoted wall, the two of you partially obscured by the heavy drapery of a nearby balcony.

“You’re far too smart, my sweet, to be so unaware.” The rest of ball swirls on obliviously around you both, dizzying in its opulence as music from the orchestra begins its climb to a rousing crescendo.

A coy smirk is the only answer you give him, the incline of your head daring him to continue as the lace covering your eyes only adds to your mystique tonight. The wine running through your veins turns your body hot, your confidence brimming with the help of the alcohol.

“And so what if I did, Astarion?” His ornate mask does little to hide the spark flaring to life in his crimson irises, thumbs tracing circles dangerously high on your ribcage as he steps closer into your space, the flowing skirt of your gown brushing against his own finery as he pushes close.

“Then I suppose you leave me no choice but to give you a little lesson, dearest.”

One of the hands at your waist skates up, passing over your breast before brushing up the column of your neck, hand wrapping lightly around your throat as you lean your head up to look at him. His fingers brush over leftover scars from feedings past, and the sudden pressure on your throat has your body on high alert, heat licking at the bottom of your belly as you inhale a shaky breath.

Astarion’s mouth crashes down onto yours, stealing your breath as he kisses you with abandon. You answer his kiss with your own hunger, opening your lips to welcome his tongue. Your free hand comes up to brush against his chest, fingers tightening in the fabric to pull his body closer as your lips and tongue move against his own.

Your back is pressed hard against the wall behind you, the molded wood cool as Astarion crowds you, his chest pushed tight against your breasts. You widen your legs slightly and he quickly fills the space, a covered thigh coming to rest in between the slight spread of your own.

Astarion’s lips move to your jaw, your head tilting for him as the hand on your neck gives one last squeeze before brushing down your side until it finds your hip. The thigh between your legs presses in harder, and you thank the Gods that Astarion had the wherewithal to design a gown with such a high slit as you feel the fabric of his pants against your bare skin of your upper thigh.

The hand on your hip pushes you slightly forward and your covered center makes contact, the hard muscles of his leg rubbing deliciously against your core. You choke on a moan, and you can feel his smirk against your skin as his lips caress that spot behind your ear you love so much.

“Do you think you can do it? Ride my thigh with all these people milling about?” His words are spoken low into your ear as your eyes fall shut at the tone of his voice, the devious lust that permeates every word sending a shiver through your body.

You bite your lip as you tug him closer, burying your face into his neck. You move your hips, starting with a slow movement, barely enough to provide any relief. But you feel it, all the same, cheeks flaming as you focus on Astarion and his leg, the alcohol drowning out the noise of the rest of the ball around you.

What must you look like, you wonder, to anyone who happens to look on? You hope that the image of you together is only that of a pair of lovers embracing closely, too lost in their own world to care about anything else.

You can feel your wetness growing with every pass over his thigh as your hips undulate in soft motions, Astarion’s body pressed as close as possible to your own, shielding you with his form as much as he can from your place in the shadows.

The feeling is wonderful, enticing in such a public arena, but it is far from enough. Your arousal grows, the dampness seeping through your underwear and onto the dark velvet of his pants as his cock twitches against you, his length hard as it strains against the fabric.

You feel his hand come down from your waist to brush against the slit where it falls against your thigh, his fingers tracing up and down your skin in teasing passes.

Those fingers slide inside the skirt of your gown, grazing the outside of your thigh as they make their way towards your ass. Your skin is hot where his cool fingers touch, a blazing line of heat marking every movement they make as he caresses the flesh barely hidden by your underwear.

“How wet are you, darling?” His words are sinful as he whispers them in your ear, hand easing under the line of your panties to rub against your bottom, his fingers creeping ever closer to the place where your aching cunt connects with his leg.

“Astarion,” You whine in his ear, hand gripping the collar of his doublet. “Please.”

You don’t even know what you are begging for, but as Astarion’s fingers finally find your wetness you are unable to conceal the moan that falls from your lips. His fingers move, just enough to gather evidence of your arousal on his fingertips.

“Oh, you sweet thing. You like this, don’t you?” You can hear the smirk in his voice as his hand trails away from the center of you, brushing back past your underwear and out of your gown. He brings the fingertips up to press against his lips, tongue sneaking out to lick at the slight sheen that coats them.

Your mouth goes dry at the sight, your breathing hard as your eyes trace his features.

Astarion’s hand covers your own where it grips at his collar as his other adjusts himself in his pants, hiding his erection as best he can from sight. He pulls away from you, helping you adjust your dress with quick fingers. Your eyes catch upon the sight of your arousal on his pants, catching the light as he turns. You cheeks burn at the sight, your swallow audible.

“Follow me, love.” You don’t question him on where he is heading as he makes a line for the closest set of ballroom doors, pace quick as he weaves the both of you through the sea of bodies that make up the cities’ finest members of society.

“Are we going home?” You whisper quietly as you follow, unsure if you were ready to commit the incandescent aura of the evening to memory alone quite yet.

It had taken hours to get ready, time spent bathing together before pampering each other—applying scented oils on skin and through hair, Astarion helping you pin your hair into its complicated updo this evening taking almost an hour alone, his fingers applying the rouge to your cheeks and lips with care as he admired your features with the utmost affection. No, you certainly weren’t ready to leave quite yet.

“It would be a shame to end the evening so early, don’t you think?” Relief and joy spills through you in equal measure at his words, eager to continue tonight’s festivities, whatever they may be.

You walk through the main hall, hand in hand with Astarion, the wine still buzzing in your head as he draws you up the large, elegant staircase of swirling marble. Your presence goes unnoticed as you pass others dressed in their own finery, shimmers of glitters and gems, silks and tulles flowing past as you climb step after step.

You make it up the rise of the large staircase, skirt twirling as you spin around momentarily to take in the scene of the party now beneath you. Its a world of luster that takes your breath away, everything filtered with the heady glow from the candelabras and wine flowing aplenty.

With a tug on your hand, Astarion leads you away from the center of the room, breaking off to go down a smaller corridor to the side before cutting aside on one or two more until you are isolated, the noise of the orchestra below now faraway and faint.

The hallway feels hushed and hidden away, safe from the prying eyes of society as the candlelight sconces adorning the walls flicker, dancing fragment of light illuminating the narrow corridor. Astarion walks you back with hands on your waist until you feel the half-paneled wall against your uncovered back, the wallpaper ornate with scrolling vines and berries, vibrant reds and greens contrasting against the darkness of your gown.

Astarion’s head bends to your chest, pressing a tender kiss onto the swell of your breast, over the place your heart beats in three-quarter time.

“Have I mentioned how absolutely divine you look, darling?”

“Well, you did make the gown.” Your hand tangles in his hair, pressing him closer to your breasts as you arch into him. He buries his face into your chest, kissing and licking at the skin bared to him above the low neckline.

“It’s quite easy when you have such a lovely muse.” His nose nuzzles at the flesh of your breast, breathing in your scent as he groans against you, pressing his hips against your own so you can feel the evidence of his prominent erection.

Astarion bites down into the flesh of your breast that rises above your gown without warning, fangs piercing the tender skin that heaves with your breath as he drinks in the sweetness of your blood. It flows thick in brightly colored streams, a surprised moan ripping from your lips at the sudden action.

He sucks from the swell above your gown, blood dripping to stain the bodice as he licks and tastes the rich claret of you made all the sweeter from the wine, his hand drawing down your belly before dipping lower.

He finds that slit on your thigh, hand working its way underneath before moving to cup around your wetness as you cover your mouth with your hand, hiding your moans behind a palm as your eyes flutter shut.

Astarion moans at the dampness he finds there, fingers quick to push aside the gusset of your underwear to run his fingers through your slick folds, collecting your arousal on his fingertips, spreading your wetness up and down the expanse of your center. You can feel his erection pressing against you, still hidden by his pants as he relishes your body’s reaction to his actions, lips still licking and sucking at the skin of your breast.

The fingers at your core move to rub your clit, the light pressure a relief as you bite your bottom lip to keep quiet, eyes glancing to the side quickly before closing once more to indulge in the feeling, his mouth not letting up as he savors your lifeblood.

“Astarion, what if someone sees us?” Nerves make their way into your soft voice, barely a whisper as your body tenses slightly with unease at the prospect of being seen by another. Astarion’s head lifts away from your breast, fangs leaving twin pinpricks on your chest, blood pulsing from the wounds in time with your heart as his eyes draw up to your own.

“No one will recognize us, my dear.” A finger circles your entrance, and your knees threaten to buckle under the pleasure. “Though we can stop if you want to.”

You hesitate and Astarion’s fingers pause to give you time to think, his mouth still drinking from the blood leaking from your breast, tongue licking at any stray drops.

“No,” You shake your head, needing little time to ruminate on the decision. “Please, don’t stop.” You let the desperation you feel run into your hushed voice as you give him your consent to continue, your hands in his hair brushing through the strands as you buck your hips into his hand.

“Thank the Gods.” His finger pushes in, working its way into you with sinfully slow movements, your head hitting the wall behind you as you let out a hiss at the feeling. You can hear your wetness as his finger dives deep, the sound of it obscene in the otherwise silent hallway.

“Gods, you’re so wet,” He kisses against your collar bone, nuzzling into the skin there as he breathes in your scent. “Who knew you were such an exhibitionist? Absolutely filthy of you, sweetheart.”

You whine at his words, Astarion coaxing more quiet moans from your lips as his finger pumps deep inside you. His free hand trails up to your shoulder, pushing off the delicate strap of your gown before moving down to pull at your bodice.

Taking care not to rip the velvet, Astarion succeeds in freeing the breast he had fed on, hand coming up to weigh it in a palm as his mouth licks at the exposed nipple.

He sucks on the hardened peak as his finger pulls out of you only to be joined by a second a moment later, the stretch barely noticeable with your wetness aiding his smooth thrusts in and out of your cunt.

His fingers curl against your walls as his tongue licks at your nipple, laving the peak as he finds that special place, deep inside your body and presses into it.

He’s relentless as his mouth works your breast and his beautiful fingers fuck you, his other hand squeezing the breast still covered, fingers working underneath the fabric to brush at the nipple.

It would be so easy to come like this, a fact Astarion does not miss as he can feel your body’s reaction, the telltale tension building inside you. Slowly his fingers leave your heat, brushing up against your clit with slippery motions as you whimper at the loss of them. He presses one last kiss to the tip of your breast, still wet with his lingering saliva, before he lowers to his knees in front of you.

“Astarion, what are you doing?” Your words are breathless as your hands run through his hair, the mask on his face slightly askew.

“I still seem to be a bit peckish still, though for a slightly different taste.” Warmth rushes to your cheeks as they flush, the alcohol still floating through your body painting everything in that same warm haze that has surrounded you through the night.

Astarion’s hands glide up your legs, brushing over soft thighs as he grabs at either side of the underwear where it rests low across your hips. His eyes flick up to yours as he pulls it down, guiding the thin, lacy fabric down your legs. He’s unhurried, clearly not worried about being caught or seen as he takes his time while his eyes never leave yours. He steadies you as you step out of the panties, pocketing the damp lace with a roguish smirk and raise of his brows.

His hand wraps around your thigh, pushing it up and pinning it against the wallpaper as he holds you open to his gaze. Your pussy is absolutely dripping for him, the sight of his otherworldly beauty as he stares at the center of you, open for him, takes the breath from your lungs.

There would be no mistaking what was happening if someone were to come upon you now—Astarion kneeling before you, supplicant, as he bares you to himself—unmistakable to anyone gifted with eyesight.

Astarion leans in to press a kiss to the thigh he has pinned, lips moving across the smooth skin with the lightest of touches before skipping over your weeping core to kiss the opposite thigh. You whine at the blatant misdirection of his mouth, hips bucking in indignation with as much motion as you can manage.

“Oh, I’m sorry—did you want something, darling?” He moves his face away from your body to shoot a look upwards, his features smug as he sees the abject desire in your gaze tempering the glare you shoot down at him.

“I thought you were still hungry, dearest.” You keep your words sweet, not letting the aching want you feel bleed into your voice as your eyes narrow.

“Patience, sweet thing. I’m sure I’ve taught you about it once or twice before, have I not?” His head dips forward once more, breathing in the scent of your essence with a performative sigh. “Now, ask nicely. And do use your words and tell me what you want.”

“Astarion!” You start, exasperation building as you contemplate the words to say to appease him. He could be so demanding at times like this, a trait you found yourself caught between loving and hating in equal measure, though ‘loving’ did usually win out in the end.

You briefly debate making him wait for your words, watching his own impatience grow as you play coy, but this certainly isn’t the time or place for what could be a long, drawn out battle of wills on who would break first.

“Fine. Pretty please, Astarion, will you do me the honor of licking my cunt until I come? Preferably before we get caught?” Your frustration mounts as you say the words though you find the strength to keep your tone as breezy and unaffected as his own, despite the slight embarrassment beginning to creep in as the elusive power of the wine fades ever so slowly with every minute that passes.

Astarion grants you your wish with a wide, feline smile, licking a stripe up the center of you, his tongue running through your folds before brushing lightly against your clit as he savors the taste of you.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

His tongue laps at your folds, taking his time to move up and down in languid strokes, never focusing on any one place. It’s a maddening feeling, a whine slipping from your throat as your hips roll, asking for more.

His tongue dips into your entrance, whorling around the opening as he tastes you, his moan against your cunt matching the one that leaves your mouth. Your hands tighten in his hair, hips writhing as his tongue thrusts inside you.

Astarion is eager to taste your essence, tongue flicking deep in your waiting wetness as hushed cries fall from your lips with every brush against your walls. You could sob from the feeling of the lightning hot pleasure that works through your body in time with every push of his tongue. He eats you out like a man starved, his mouth moving against your entrance as he works to plunge you closer towards ecstasy.

His motions are fast-paced, quicker than normal as he works to bring you to your peak, and you whine once more when he tongue leaves to lave at your folds instead. Two fingers are quick to replace his tongue inside you as he circles your clit instead, flicking the pearl simultaneously with perfectly timed thrusts of his fingers, curling up into that special spot.

“You really are so good when you set your mind to it, love.”

Your pleasure ratchets higher, a tremor running through your body as the leg supporting you grows weak with your impending orgasm, muscles in your thigh shaking slightly.

“Astarion, please don’t stop,” Your begging only serves to spur him on, tongue moving faster and his fingers curling faster with a repetitive motion that has your body tightening around him.

“That’s it, darling, come for me.” Astarion’s words are reverent, and you embrace them as you hurtle over the edge, euphoria rushing through your body, the feeling enhanced by the leftover wine as your fingers grip tight in his hair.

You come on his fingers and tongue, Astarion working you through the waves of your completion as they flow through your body, your cunt spasming tight as his tongue doesn’t stop licking at your clit. You bite the flesh of your lip, the delicate skin splitting under your teeth as you keep the sounds of your orgasm at bay, tiny dots of red spilling over your lips.

You uncurl your fingers from his hair, smoothing out the curls as your breathing evens out and your orgasm leaves you in a sense of pleasant euphoria. Astarion presses soft kisses against the skin of your inner thigh as his fingers finally slow inside of you before pulling out. He places one last kiss to your entrance, licking up the remnants of your come before he leans back and places your leg back down onto the ground.

He rises from the floor with a graceful motion, hands skating up your curves as his mouth crashes against your own. You can taste yourself on his lips and tongue as he kisses you, the flavor of your own blood and come dizzying.

Astarion licks at the blood on your lip, sucking on the mark as it bleeds. You open your mouth to him, his tongue tangling with your own as he deepens the kiss. Your hands work in a frenzy with his own to loosen his pants, the button finally coming free in your rush to free his cock from the confines of his clothing.

Astarion pulls his hardness from his underwear and you pump him, the velvety feel of his shaft warmer than normal as your blood courses through his veins. He moans into your mouth, hips pressing closer to you as you work his cock up and down, his precome shining in the light of the sconces as you spread the fluid on the heat of him.

His hands move down from your hips, brushing over your bottom as he grasps under the curve of your rear, squeezing.

“Up.” You are quick to obey, eager to feel him inside you as you jump up, Astarion catching you as his hips pin you in place against the wall, his hands supporting your weight in a tight hold against your ass.

The half paneling of the wall presses into your back as you push your dress out of the way, the skirt easily parting around the slit as you guide his cock to your waiting cunt, still wet with your come. Astarion stares at your mouth as you lick at the precome that coats your fingers, pupils blown wide as you take a finger into your mouth and suck.

“Like the taste, darling?” Astarion’s erection finds your entrance, your wetness coating the crown of his cock as he bucks in shallowly, the head barely pressing inside you.

“Always. I think I’d like to have a little more.” Your arms wrap around his neck as you roll your hips against his cock, taking him slightly deeper inside your waiting warmth as you lick at his lips.

Astarion lets out a low growl as he pushes inside you in a single thrust, gliding home as hips meet your own. You both moan at the feeling of him inside you, the satisfaction of Astarion finally filling you euphoric as you wrap your legs around his waist.

“Did you design this dress thinking about how you would fuck me in it?” Astarion sets a steady pace as he moves his hips, your own meeting his thrusts as best as you can with such a limited range of motion.

“Of course I did,” He licks at the blood drying on your lip. “I thought about how beautiful you would look coming on my cock wearing it, too.”

He pumps his cock harder, hips rutting against your own as your arms around his neck tighten, bringing him ever closer to you. Your lips meet once more, pressing against one another’s to silence the noises of pleasure breaking from your throats with every thrust.

“No one can make you come like I can, can they?.” His words come on an quiet exhale of exertion, tinged with the smallest bit os what sounds like possession, his lips brushing against your own with each syllable that leaves his mouth.

“Don’t tell me you’re still jealous, Astarion?” You can still feel the leftover fog from your orgasm, hands playing the hair at the nape of his neck, the strands soft against your fingers as you try catch your breath in vain, every thrust of his cock making it harder and harder to breathe.

“I want to hear you to say it.” The hands on your ass squeeze, cock hammering harder into your center. “Say: ‘No one can fuck me like you’.”

There’s a familiarity to the veiled desperation in voice, though its been years since you’ve heard it. You would know the sound of it anywhere, the cadence of his longing to be wanted and loved and cared for burned into your mind for eternity, settling there like a haze over your vision.

Your heart grows tender at his words, and you hold onto him tighter, pressing a kiss to his lips before giving him the words you know he needs to hear from your rouged lips.

“No one can make me come like you,” A kiss to the tip of his nose where his face rests close to your own.

“No one can fuck me like you,” A kiss to one cheek, then the other.

“There is no one for me but you, Astarion. Only you.” Finally, his lips—your love and passion pouring out onto him with the simple press of your lips against his, a hand coming to brush his cheek.

“Gods, I love you.” His thrusts grow sloppy as he grips your hips harder, mouth falling open against your own as his pleasure builds.

“I love you too.” You lips part with the tilt of your head backwards as Astarion hits a particularly deep place inside you, fingers curling hard into the fabric covering his shoulders. He thrusts faster, making sure to hit against the same spot on every push forward.

Astarion’s hand sneaks from behind you to press against your clit, rubbing quick circles as his thrusts grow frenzied, losing their rhythm as he chases his impending high, intent to bring you with him over the edge.

“Will you come inside me? I want to feel you.” You press a kiss onto the shell of his ears as you whisper the words, your tongue darting out to tease at the sensitive skin of the elegant point.

“Is that what you want, darling? My come?” His hips stutter at your words spoken so intimately as you clutch at him, the warmth of your cunt drawing him closer and closer to his peak.

“Gods, yes. Please!” You aren’t afraid to beg as his fingers strum fast on your clit as his thrusts hit deep, your vision clouding over as another orgasm nears.

“Then take it, love.” Astarion buries his face into your neck as he comes, hot spurts of his spend spilling deep inside your body as you ride him through his completion. The feeling of him coming is exhilarating, and his fingers don’t stop until you crest over with him, the contractions of your cunt drawing him in tight as you take all you can of him as he hides his moans into your skin.

You roll your hips on his still hard cock as you work yourself through your orgasm, Astarion still pumping his own shallowly inside you as he comes down, breath hot against your neck.

Slowly, the world settles back down, both you coming back to yourselves from where you stand against the wall, breathing slowing.

Astarion’s cock is soft as he pulls from you, his come sliding out with it to make a mess onto your thighs. Astarion watches as his come collects at your entrance, the fingers on your clit moving downwards to push it back inside you with a gentle motion.

“Waste not, want not, my love.” Astarion’s finger curls one last time to press against your walls as you squirm, your body overly sensitive in the aftermath of your orgasm.

He presses a kiss to your forehead before removing his finger, moving his hands to help you stand back on the floor with steady feet.

He pulls your panties out of his pocket, bending down onto a knee as he helps you back into them, gently lifting one ankle after the other as you still catch your breath, before he raises the ruined lace back up your legs.

He adjusts the skirt of your gown, making sure the velvet falls perfectly before he presses a soft kiss to your covered stomach. He rises, fingers tracing your form as he does, dragging the long forgotten silk shoulder strap back where it belongs as you work your breast back into the bodice.

“Astarion.” You touch at his cheek, capturing his attention as he looks back at you. His gaze is clear as his eyes meet your own, the beautiful crimson red of them soft as he searches your face.

“You really are the only one, Astarion. You are the only one I will ever love, until my dying breath. There will never be anyone else.” You watch as your words settle over him like a balm, the love you feel radiating into him as he accepts them into his own heart.

His features soften even as he scoffs at your words, his hand coming up to cover your own on his face despite himself.

“Oh, I know. Maybe I just wanted to hear you say it.” You let him lie, willing to let him keep this facade in tact.

“I’ll say it as many times as you wish.” Astarion’s hand takes your own where it rests on his face, pressing a kiss into the palm before lowering your joined hands.

“I’ll be sure to let you know, darling.” Astarion adjusts his own finery, settling the velvet back to rights as his eyes draw to the bodice of your ruined gown.

“Did you account for potential bloodshed when you designed the dress too?” You remark as you eyes follow his own line of sight, looking down at the blood staining the velvet dark with wet, sticky blotches.

“Let’s just be thankful that blood and wine look similar.”

“Nothing we can do about that bite mark though.” You sigh as you attempt to pull up the neckline slightly higher to no avail.

“Everyone will simply have to be left to wonder, then, won’t they?” Astarion bends down to press a fluttering kiss over the marks decorating your chest, squeezing your hand.

“Think you have another dance in you?” You squeeze at his hand back in response.

“I suppose we still have a few more hours before sunrise to wile away.” Astarion walks, gently pulling you after him as the pair of you make your way back to the glittering ballroom below. “Let’s go have some more fun.”

#astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x f!reader #astarion x f!tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x female tav #my writing #love u all thanks for reading kisses

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thebluemallet · 2 months

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EARLY Predictions for Bridgerton Season 4

BENEDICT IS OFFICIALLY CONFIRMED TO BE THE LEAD FOR SEASON 4!

I've had this in my drafts for a couple of weeks. But now that Benophie is officially happening next season, I have some EARLY predictions for the next season. I'll have more predictions when we finally have a clip or a trailer, but for now I'm gonna cast a wide net for what I think will happen in season 4.

1- MASQUERADE!

They really name-dropped that masquerade ball like Tahani Al-Jamil name drops her celebrity friends. And they mentioned it in the promo with Luke T. The masquerade ball is happening! My guess is it'll happen somewhere in the first two episodes of season 4. This will be where Benedict meets his Cinderella/mysterious Lady In Silver/Sophie Beckett.

The code name for season 4 is supposed to be Vauxhall, where we saw Daphne and Simon launch their fake dating plot in season 1. That was a public ball, which means that anybody who could pay the fee could get into it. Perhaps we'll return there for the masquerade ball. Makes much more sense for Sophie to be able to crash that instead of a private ball at the Bridgerton house.

Let's just hope her carriage doesn't turn into a pumpkin before she can make her escape.

2- A Possible Time Jump

In Benedict's book, he meets Sophie at the masquerade, she runs away at midnight, and then he doesn't see her again for another two years. I think a time jump could happen again. Specifically for a few of my upcoming predictions.

Also, it would add to the drama.

Can you imagine the reaction from the fans with the screen fades to black and then some text fades in that reads TWO YEARS LATER?

3- Kate and Anthony Might Not Make An Appearance Next Season

Possibly an unpopular opinion, but I almost dont know why they bothered with having Kate and Anthony in season 3. It seemed like it boiled down to "We're here! We're hot! We're horny! And we're fucking off now! Bye!"

At least when Daphne showed up in Anthony's season she helped drive the plot forward and tried to help guide her brother on the bumpy road to matrimony. Anthony had one half-assed conversation with Colin about his engagement to Penelope. Kate did most of the heavy-lifting when it came to important talks with the family. She did most of the talking to Colin the night before his wedding to Penelope. (Not that it mattered because all of her work was undone the moment Charlotte showed up to the wedding.)

Kate also gets credit for speaking with Eloise to try and smooth things over between her and Colin. And then they left their family for a third time to go all the way to India, a journey that's going to take them six months one way.

But with a time jump, that would give enough time for Anthony and Kate to go to India, have their baby, spend some time there, and then make the long journey back to be present after the time jump with a toddler.

(With how pregnant Kate was looking at the wedding, I would not be surprised if she gave birth at sea. She and Anthony did not think that plan through at all. And why the hell did they leave without attending Francesca's wedding??? And when the Queen was certain that a Bridgerton was behind Lady Whistledown???)

Anthony and Kate being absent would also be a convenient way to keep the Bridgerton House set around for a little while longer.

Anyway, sending Kate and Anthony off to India felt like a way to let Jonny and Simone do other projects for a season instead. Jonny himself is probably gonna be busy with all of the press for the upcoming Wicked movie. So if the announcement comes that they won't be around, I wouldn't be surprised.

4- Last Season for Queen Charlotte Queen Charlotte Lives Forever!

Bridgerton is not known for being 100% historically accurate. And let's face it, even if it were, people would still be complaining about the historical inconsistencies. But one thing Bridgerton is creeping up on is the year 1818. And it's in November of that year that the real-life Queen Charlotte passed away.

Season 4 will, I assume, start in 1816. If they do a one-year time jump, we'll get the rest of the season in 1817 when the main events of Benedict's book take place. If they do a two-year time jump, like they did in the books, then we'll be in 1818 and we'll be in the year we say goodbye to Queen Charlotte.

BUT, the showrunners have pretty much said that they've decided the show exists in an "alternate universe" and they're just going to keep Queen Charlotte around for a while.

The Queen lives. Long live the Queen.

5- Eloise Meets Sir Phillip Crane (?)

While the masquerade references were heavy-handed, the references to Philoise were more subtle. In episode 3x02, Eloise wears a dress that is patterned with the same flower that was gifted to her by Sir Phillip in the books. And in 3x05, when trying to make herself feel better about her betrothal, Cressida tells Eloise that the two of them can "flirt with widowers." The showrunners are slowly setting up the Eloise/Phillip dynamic--they have been since season 1. I think they'll set more things into motion in season 4 and set them up for season 5.

Eloise already expressed to Kate how she felt as if everyone was pairing off and leaving her behind. Benedict's marriage will end up being the tipping point for Eloise.

Phillip would have lived the life of a botanist/academic if it weren't for his brother's tragic passing. Perhaps his academic connections could play a part in Eloise's desire to meet new people and change the world?

If they meet in season 4, it could be the catalyst for them to begin to exchange letters like they did in the books. Which will ultimately set them up for their story in season 5.

Of course, this also means that Marina is going to have to die offscreen at some point 😐

6- Cressida Redemption (?)

One of my major gripes with season 3 was that they gave so much time to the threesome subplot that two other subplots seemed to have no real conclusion or were dropped completely. One of the subplots that didn't get wrapped up as nicely as it could have was Cressida's. We didn't see her reaction to Penelope unmasking herself as Lady Whistledown. She just kind of...left.

There is a long-standing fan theory that Cressida will have a part to play in the Benedict/Sophie story based on a piece of script that named Cressida's mother "Araminta". If this is true, then I think we'll see Cressida in some way next season. And maybe she'll get a happier ending. I never thought at the beginning of the show that I'd want Cressida to end up happy somewhere, but boy season 3 did a great job of making me actually sympathetic to her character.

7- Another Offscreen Wedding

One thing that I know frustrated Kathony fans last season was not seeing an onscreen wedding for Kate and Anthony. I mean, we saw a wedding, and Kate and Anthony were there, but he almost got married to the wrong person. The closest we got was Anthony disassociating so hard that he astral projected himself into an alternate reality.

The only onscreen weddings to canonical spouses we've seen have been the Daphne/Simon, Colin/Penelope, and Francesca/John weddings. But if anybody was hoping to see an onscreen wedding with Benedict in season 4, think again.

I believe that the drama of Benedict and Sophie's story will keep up through all eight episodes of their season. And, like Kate and Anthony's season, we'll flash forward in time at the end of the episode to Benedict and Sophie several months into their marriage. But we won't get to see the actual wedding.

8- Crossdressing Sophie (?)

Admittedly, this is less of a prediction and more wishful thinking on my part. This is the route I would go down if I was writing for the show, anyway.

Show!Benedict now being canonically pansexual has opened up the possibility for him to have an LGBTQ+ partner. But I have a slightly different idea. One plot point of Benedict's book is that Sophie, after running away from her stepmother's house, cuts off all of her hair to sell when she's desperate for money.

I think Show!Sophie could still get her hair cut off like in the book, and then go around disguised as a man for safety/freedom of movement/job opportunities. Then Benedict gets confused when he discovers Sophie in "boy mode" because he hasn't felt this level of attraction to someone since his Lady In Silver.

Maybe we'll get a Victor/Victoria scenario out of it (woman pretending to be a man pretending to be a woman).

Like I said, this is less of a prediction and more of the route I would go down if I was writing for the show. It probably won't happen this way. But maybe I'll give fanfic writers some plot bunnies.

#bridgerton #bridgerton speculation #bridgerton season 4 #bridgerton s4 predictions #bridgerton s4 theories #colin bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #polin #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #eloise bridgerton #sir phillip crane #cressida cowper #francesca brigerton #john stirling

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amostimprobabledream · 4 months

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A Pale Jewel (Astarion x Reader)

AU also available on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/56341306 It was too damn hot. You learned against a pillar, the fan in your hand working frantically to bring even a fraction of relief to your overly warm skin.

Really, it would be more practical to move across the ballroom to the open doors that lead out onto the huge balcony that lead out onto the gardens, with the white curtains fluttering flirtatiously in the night breeze. But that was easier said than done with how crowded and stuffy the room is. It seems as though every square inch of the elaborate marble flooring is taken up by rustling taffeta, silk, velvet and all other manner of fabrics in jewel tones, topped with glittering diamonds or lustrous strings of pearls. The fancy dresses some of the ladies were wearing took up so much room, like an overcrowded dock full of pretty boats bobbing on their own waves. The men, too, had gone all out for this ball, and while their sharp suits didn't take up as much space as skirts fluffed up with petticoats, but they were still flamboyant enough that it almost hurt your eyes to try and take in so much at once. You couldn't help but feel intimidated by being here, like any moment someone would spot something about you - a slip of the tongue, some small breach of etiquette like putting the wrong liquor in the wrong kind of glass, and all heads would snap in your direction, before cries of 'intruder!' would ring out. And then…what? They'd cast you out like a beggar? Form a circle around you to laugh and point? You knew these options conjured up by your fevered imagination were highly unlikely, but not impossible, and the uncertainty spread in the pit of your stomach like a blooming mould. You hoped your uneasiness wasn't obvious on your face - or if it was, it would simply translate into being uncomfortable in the stifling heat of the ballroom. You're not surprised that the friends you came with dispersed about the room to catch up with friends who were also in attendance. Your invitation had been extended genuinely, but it was something of a fluke, a last-minute cancellation that was instead extended to you. You tried not to take the others going off to talk to their acquaintances personally, though you did feel awkward and unguarded, standing here alone watching the people dancing.

As you intercepted a passing waiter to grab a glass of wine - not necessarily because you liked the taste, but because it would hopefully be chilled and give you a more obvious reason for why you're not dancing with anyone, you accidentally raised your eyes as you picked it up. Across the ballroom were three figures, also lounging beside a pillar. They're as finely dressed as everyone else here was, but there was something different about them, something that set them apart from the giddy revellers. The figure in the middle is the one that drew in your gaze, though. His suit was one of the more ostentatious ones you've seen, pitch black velvet with silver embroidery that seemed to shimmer with even the smallest movement, putting you in mind of the scales of a fish. The silver thread complements his hair, elaborately coiffed silver curls that must have taken quite a bit of time to get so perfect. There's something about his posture too, a subtle grace in his movements, back straight and an aristocratic, almost haughty, tilt to his head. And then, as you were observing the stranger, watching him gesticulating as he talked, he looked over. At you. You weren’t close enough to see his eyes properly, especially with the masquerade mask on his face that looks like liquid mercury, but there's no mistaking the prickle on your skin that comes from being watched. You stiffened, raising your wineglass to your lips in an effort to look casual. Mental images of the man pointing at you, the two beside him turning and laughing flooded your brain, but that isn't what happened. Instead, he smiled.

It was a slow, sensuous quirk of his lips, like watching honey being drizzled over fresh pastry. It would be sweet – perhaps overly so – but the heat of his stare and the slight unevenness of his smile, one side of his mouth rising higher than the other, adds a roguish, sultry flare that left you unable to look away.

Your fingers tightened around your wineglass, feeling your face growing warmer and it had nothing to do with the room’s overall stuffy humidity. Funny that something as simple as a smile and a look could have such a profound effect on you, especially when people doing so much more – a lustful up-down stare, compliments, resting a hand on your body, often left you indifferent at best or disgusted at worst.

Curiously, by the time you lowered your glass, he was gone. A potent, contradictory feeling of both disappointment and relief flooded through your body at the space where he was just standing. Perhaps it’s for the best – if a handsome stranger was capable of getting you so worked up just from a mere glance, you dread to think how big of a fool you could possibly make of yourself if you actually spoke to him, or even was just in his line of vision for too long.

“Ah, there you are!” a voice said.

You turned to see Lorna, who was the one who had invited you here, approaching you, slightly out of breath. She shot you a rueful little smile, fanning herself ineffectively with her hand.

“I’ve been looking for you, but it is so hard to see anything with all these masks and fancy clothes on display.” she said, apologetically. “Are you all right? You look a little flushed.”

“Oh, it’s just…so unbearably warm in here.” You replied quickly, with a little laugh that was just a bit too fast to be authentic, but fortunately for you, Lorna wasn’t the kind of person to pick up on little nuances like that. “Where are the others?”

“Oh, Demerius is over there, I think he danced with Melody before. Demerius!” Slowly, you turned.

Lorna’s group had mostly been welcoming when you joined them for tonight – you knew a couple of them already, and for those you didn’t know, you could tell one or two of them who were strangers to you were a little confused by the sudden change, but nobody had outright objected. And there was one of Lorna’s friends who had caught your eye, which was a little ridiculous since he’d barely spoken to you all evening. Lorna told you he was always a little standoffish with strangers, and that had made you hopeful that perhaps he might open up to you as the evening went on. The quality of being unknowable was an attractive one to you, there was a perverse sort of pleasure in trying to peer beneath the surface into whatever lay beneath. You’d always liked that over someone who wore their thoughts and feelings so obviously.

“How was dancing with Melody?” Lorna teased as he approached, brow faintly shiny with perspiration.

“Enthusiastic,” came his response, his eyes cutting between you and Lorna. “She found another rakish young noble to be swept away by when the song changed, so I thought I’d find a replacement.”

He was looking at you, the butterfly mask on his face doing a good job of concealing his emotions, but your insides give a peculiar kind of lurch as the implications of what he’s saying sunk in. You swallowed, wishing you had another glass of wine in your hand for courage.

“I’d love to-" you began.

“Lorna, will you dance with me?” he said at the same time as you.

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Lorna’s face flushed, and you knew she’d heard you. You could only cling onto the desperate hope that Demerius’s voice had drowned out yours to his ears, you didn’t think you could stand the embarrassment. Shame tinged you everywhere – your cheeks, your neck, your ears.

“-go. Outside! I think I’ll go outside!” you said loudly, smiling widely as though this would convince anyone that you were just fine, thanks. “You two have fun.”

You thought Lorna said your name, but you ignored her, almost shoving your way through the crowd. Shame had proven to have an unexpected benefit – now you were so driven by your urgent need to get away from Lorna and Demerius that you no longer cared if you knocked into someone or looked ungainly – getting out of here was the only thing that mattered. The other dancers swirling around almost seemed to mock you as you plunged past them, giddy laughter ringing in your ears.

Outside, it was dark and blessedly quiet. You weren’t entirely alone, several people had slipped out to get some reprieve from the activity inside, but nearly all of them were either in groups or couples. You could hear people giggling and whispering to each other in the shadows, the rustling of skirts or soft crunching of gravel as several partygoers wandered about the gardens – apparently there was a large maze near the back and some of the most daring guests wanted to try their hand at navigating it.

You weren’t interested in mazes, and approached the stone wall that wrapped around the balcony, leaning your elbow on it and taking in a couple of deep breaths of night air, the scent of the blossoms carried on the gentle wind helping to calm you down.

They probably won’t even remember that. You reassured yourself. They’ll dance, drink and forget all about it.

But that didn’t do much to make you feel less stupid, or less like you’re an outsider. You didn’t really belong there and for a second, you’d let yourself forget that, and the universe quickly corrected that mistake. You’re almost tempted to slip away right here and now, to get away from this gaudy place of masks and other such illusions, but you swallowed down the urge. Instead, you expelled a loud sigh and leaned forwards, listening to the sloshing of the fountain below you.

Vaguely, you couldn’t help wondering what dancing with the handsome stranger in the silver mask would be like, but dismiss that thought before it can take root. It would probably be utterly nerve-wracking – his posture alone made you think he was probably a decent dancer, and you barely knew the steps. You’d be more likely to step on his foot and offend him irreparably than dazzle him with any witty banter. Coming up with any while being whirled around would be a challenge, for one thing.

…But the thought of him putting a hand on your waist made your heart pick up the pace like a pony going from a walk to a trot.

Get a grip on yourself. You scolded yourself, folding your fan away. You’re acting like a teenager. “My, and here I thought all that glamour inside was impressive. It seems there is more beauty to behold out here.”

You nearly plummeted headfirst off the balcony in your shock, turning around at the sound of a smooth, amused voice.

It’s him. The stranger from before. Though he was backlit by the ballroom behind him, it’s not so dark that you couldn’t make out his face. He wasn’t handsome – he was gorgeous. Up close you could see that his skin looked smooth and flawless as marble, and behind that mask his eyes were a pretty shade of red, like a garnet.

You tried hard not to gawk at him like a slack jawed idiot, even though seeing him so close was even more intimidating then having him smirking at you from across the dancefloor.

“Oh, I just…wanted to get away from it all for a minute.” You said, inwardly congratulating yourself for managing to sound fairly casual. “I’m assuming it’s the same for you?”

“Oh, yes. It is wonderful to be admired by so many others, of course, but even I need a little reprieve from it now and then.” The man confirmed in his posh tones, though there was a subtly teasing, sarcastic edge to his voice that prevented him from sounding like those humourless prigs you sometimes got in high society. He strolled over and leaned against the wall in a pose that looked a little too polished to be natural. “And who might you be, darling?”

Your mouth twitched at being called ‘darling’ in that tone, and you told him your name. He hummed and repeated it like he was savouring it in his mouth like a fancy chocolate.

“I am Astarion,” he said, tilting his head. “A pleasure.”

Was it your imagination, or did he put an unnecessary amount of emphasis on that word?

You nodded and it was odd but you felt almost like you were drunk, trying hard to focus on the words he was saying and smile and nod in all the correct places instead of letting your imagination run away with you, but your errant thoughts that didn’t want to be tightly contained kept thinking that the moonlight made him look even better than he did indoors.

“I couldn’t help but overhear that little…exchange in there.” Astarion said abruptly, and you hated how easily your embarrassment came flooding back to you.

“Oh, that.” You said, as if you hadn’t been agonising over it since it happened. “Just got our wires crossed, that’s all- “

“It truly is shocking to know there can be people who are so stupid and uncouth.” Astarion said, steamrolling over your breezy attempt to downplay the moment.

“Wh- you think so?” you said, hoping he meant Demerius and not you.

“Oh, yes.” Astarion answered, turning to you with a sly smile on his face. “Were I to offer to dance with a lady, I would not do so by insulting her friend in the same breath. Especially not one as lovely as you.”

“You’re laying on the flattery a little thick there, aren’t you?” you snickered, pretending like you weren’t loving it.

Astarion knew – he always knew when his honeyed words were getting to someone, and the smile you were trying to hide, tugging at the corners of your lips, only encouraged him to keep going. He lowered his voice to a sultry purr.

“Indeed, my dear. For instance, I would take her hand like this…”

His hand fastened around your wrist, and he pulled you to him, his other hand settled on your waist like it was why you had one in the first place. A soft gasp left your mouth as you were suddenly pressed flush against him, though his grip wasn’t tight or painful and you could wriggle away if you so chose.

You did not.

“Please tell me you’re not going to start up a waltz.” You said, jokingly, your heart now thumping so loudly you felt like he’d hear it. “I’m a terrible dancer.”

“Oh, you can’t be worse than some people I’ve had the misfortune to encounter in a ballroom.” Astarion replied, with a laugh that you couldn’t help but find charming, it invited you to laugh as well. “But this is much more pleasant than sweating alongside some drunken patriar who doesn’t know his ass from his elbow.”

He wasn’t wrong – it’s more private, and cooler. His hands were pleasingly cool to the touch, and you’re struck with a powerful urge to put your palm on his cheek to see if it applies to everywhere on him. Astarion’s eyes swept over your body as he held you to him. He’d seen you across the room – you looked so adorably alone, like a fawn abandoned by its mother. A pretty, tempting thing for a natural-born hunter such as himself to follow, to track down…

But holding you here like this, he found himself rather enjoying the quiet intimacy of the moment. Oh, it’s one thing to swoon people in a bawdy, crowded engagement while they’ve drunk far too much champagne, perhaps engage in some naughty fun behind a pillar or in an adjacent room, the thrill of getting caught a delicious accompaniment to physical delights…but this is a different kind of fun.

His hand left your hand and instead floated up, a finger tilting up your chin. Your eyes were huge and dark behind your simple, but stylish, mask, and he smiled.

“Of course,” he said, in a soft, lilting voice that required you to lean in some more to hear better. Oh grandma, what big teeth you have… “There are other things to do besides dance…”

And he kissed you.

Except, like Astarion’s smile, calling it a simple “kiss” didn’t do it justice.

His mouth was smooth against your own, and the moment his mouth even slightly made contact with yours, a surge of tingles erupted at the point of contact. Your lips were easy to part, so shocked were you by the suddenness of what was going on. Astarion was masterful at getting access to your mouth and the thought of refusing didn’t once across your mind. Instead, you sank into it, a blissful sigh muffled against his lips. He chuckled fondly, the hand on your waist tugging in closer, and the rest of the world, the revellers around you clustered on the balcony or wandering down into the gardens and maze beyond, vanished from your awareness. Your waist felt hot where his hand was touching it, like a brand, and when his tongue slipped into your mouth it sent a shiver skittering over your body.

He bit your lip, gently, not hard enough to draw blood, it was just a little jolt that made the sweetness of the kiss all the better. His free hand slid over your body with an intent that could only be called lascivious, squeezing your body as if he was testing its firmness. Heat engulfed you, a very different beast from the mugginess you’d been suffering from before. When his hand slid over your breasts, held by the corset of your dress as they were, you didn’t protest.

“Darling…” he purred as he broke away to let you breathe, and you gulped in a lungful of evening air like someone thirsty will gulp down water.

You murmured something unintelligible – it was probably his name – and Astarion decided to up the ante. His hands latched around your waist and in one smooth, practiced movement, you were suddenly sitting on the stone wall. The stone was much colder than everything else and the chill bit into the undersides of your thighs through your dress, but you barely noticed. Not with Astarion insinuating himself between your thighs to keep kissing you, enjoying this newfound angle. He didn’t leave it at just your mouth, either – he nipped a line of playful little bites down your neck, on your collarbone, sending small fissions of pleasure with each one, like the aftershocks of an earthquake. Propriety flying out of the window, you responded by wrapping your legs around his trim hips, kissing him back with fervour until your lips started to feel numb, wrapping your arms around him and carding your fingers through his gleaming silvery hair.

You couldn’t even blame it on the wine – you’d only drunk two glasses of it since you got here. No, this was lust. Lust and the exhilaration of being seen. Of something you’d never have presumed for yourself being practically handed to you, and you seizing it with both hands. Literally, in fact.

It was hard to say how things might have gone. If Astarion had taken your hand and led you into a dark corner, you had no doubt you would have followed. He would have taken a lot more, and you weren’t sure if you could or would have refused. Not when you felt so good, not when he took notice of you when it seemed like nobody else bothered.

But then, when he had his lips pressed to your neck, Astarion paused, like he was listening to something. You thought maybe he heard a clock chiming and wondered what time it was now, and he suddenly stopped what he was doing, almost freezing like a deer hearing the snap of a branch.

Slowly, gently almost, he pulled back, away from you. Some of your lipstick was smudged across his mouth, though in a way that somehow looked Avant Garde instead of messy, and he ran a hand through his hair, smoothing it back into place.

“Astarion?” you asked, slightly confused, quickly closing your legs and sitting up straight.

He stared at you for a moment, and you couldn’t read his expression. It wasn’t the sultry come-hither smile he’d been giving you across the room, nor was it the playful half-smirk he wore when he was joking. It wasn’t angry or disappointed, either, which was something. If you had to name it, it was more contemplative.

“You are sweet,” he eventually said, but far from that being a seductive or patronising statement, there was something in his voice that was almost…rueful.

“I…did I do something wrong?” you asked, feeling silly and slightly helpless, like you’ve failed at grabbing a rope you were meant to use to climb out of a pit.

“No, dear, you haven’t done anything,” Astarion said, and his tone was assuring enough that it eased some of the sting out of the sudden withdrawal. He reached out and gently ran his fingers through your hair, a thoughtful expression on his face. “But duty calls, I’m afraid. I must go.”

You nodded, not wanting to seem childish or desperate in your desire for him to stay. You opted not to ask what possible ‘duty’ he could have at a masquerade ball, either. You decided it was none of your business and you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of seeming too curious. And Lorna was probably wondering where you were by now, no doubt she felt equally as embarrassed as you at Demerius and his faux pas.

“Alright,” you said, giving a quick lick of your lips, still feeling a tingling sensation from where his mouth had been.

“But rest assured,” Astarion hummed, drawing so close to you that you were barely inches apart. “Our paths will no doubt cross again, darling. Until then…”

He pressed a swift kiss to your knuckles, and you’d normally hate that, you’d find it cheesy and horribly presumptuous, but when Astarion does it, it’s somehow charming and made your stupid heart (and other places) clench in response.

With a last smirk, he left, disappearing back into the ballroom and being swallowed up by the light and drunken laughter. It felt like a mirage, like you came out here, passed out, and imagined the whole encounter.

…But your lips are still kiss-swollen and bitten, and your lipstick was smudged too, you could tell it was without needing a mirror to confirm it. You definitely didn’t do that to yourself, and you hugged the knowledge of it to your chest like a comforting pillow.

A figure appeared on the balcony, and you relaxed. Lorna.

“Oh, there you are! I was worried you’d gone!” Lorna said, making her way over to you. Her skin is shiny with sweat and her hair is starting to fall out of its elegant style. It seemed that Demetrius might not have been as graceful as he might have looked at first glance. “Why are you sitting out here alone?”

“I wasn’t alone. I was just talking with someone, actually.” You replied, slightly defensively. “But he had to leave.”

Lorna examined your face and a sly smile crept across it. You touched at your mouth self-consciously and pink came off at your fingertips.

“It looks like you had plenty to say,” Lorna said in a teasing voice, her eyes alighting on the love bites that now littered your neck.

“Shut up…” you said without heat, a smirk pulling at your lips.

“Come on – I think I’ve had enough dancing for one evening, and there’s a terrible argument going on inside.” Lorna said, holding her hand out for to you take. “What say we get something to eat, and you can tell me all about your mystery man? Do you think you’ll see him again?”

You accepted her hand and jumped down from the wall. You glanced up at the bright, full moon above you and thought of Astarion’s words, his voice teasing – promising? – he’d see you again. Your hand ghosted across the necklace you wore, the pendant hanging just over your loudly beating heart.

“I hope so.”

#fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #Reader Insert #bg3 x reader

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futurecorps3 · 1 year

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okay but imagine meeting nikolai at a masquerade ball :00

𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐝𝐞

Masterlist<3

Summary: A pleasant surprise in the masquerade's ball. Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x fem!reader Warnings: None I think!! Word Count: 1.4K Requested: Yes

A/N: THE ROMANCE THAT MASQUERADES CARRY HAS ME ON A CHOKEHOLD SINCE I SAW THIS REQUEST TYSM NONNIE! hope u like it and don't mind it's a bit short. <3

˚ · • . ° .

The corset was far too tight. She didn't get to wear her favorite color. The heels were killing her. More than two men had already approached her with terrible openers and she just wanted to go home. Y/N was really trying not to be selfish. She truly was; this night was very special for her father, as the masquerade ball was the first royal event her family could attend.

After years of bad luck with her parents' work, somehow, with savings and a recent escalade of people needing construction materials from all over the continent, they developed a small fortune into a big family-owned business that produced lots of money, meaning they went from being a middle-class family in Os Alta to making business with nobles on behalf of the king.

Word got around, and long-story short, his youngest daughter was forced to attend this ball with her parents. Looking around the room, there was no way they fit in here, but it was a dream of her father's, so she opted to get a tad tipsy with champagne and dance a little before she could go home. The room smelt like booze, expensive perfume, and laughter could be heard from every corner.

What did they find so amusing? From her point of view, the things she now had to get used to were pointless, boring and merely there to make positive appearances with the royal family, who wouldn't bat an eye at them, scarcely noticing their attempts. The girl sighed, watching some other boy in a fancy suit and golden mask approach her from the front, ready to reject him "nicely" as her father had suggested.

Then, a voice.

"This is all incredibly stupid." Simple.

Y/N turned around, finding a blonde head of hair with a blue mask staring at her. He was sporting a uniform like jacket with some medals over it and golden details all over... a general's son, surely. She wasn't sure if he was speaking to her or just wondering out loud since he was sweaty and short of breath, probably from dancing. However, he seemed to have read her mind, and that was enough to start a conversation.

"It is, people trying to impress people who won't even look at them directly in the eye." She chuckled, sinking into her glass of champagne, to which the boy gave a surprised stare. "You seem to have it against the royal family". Oh no. This was in no way a good start, or the setting to voice her complaints about the general injustice lived in her country.

"No! Not at all! I just-" "It's okay. I get it. They think they're too good for anyone, even though all these people are the backbone of their country, not the institution they represent. Ravka would be nothing without its people". A sigh of relief. Did this mystery man get it? He surely wasn't poor or looked like he could care less about social injustice and unfair judgments.

"How would you know?" She questioned, and he was amused, very amused. "Well, let's say I've done my own research over this land, contrary to my family's wishes". His family's wishes? Military men and women came from usually underprivileged areas. Maybe he was the son of some snobbish general who didn't want his precious boy to hang around peasants, but he decided against it.

Suddenly, he enveloped her hand in his, kissing the back of it while looking into her eyes. "Nikolai Lantsov", he introduced himself, lowering it back next to a seemingly limp body.

Oh.

People said he'd show up, but no one really believed it after many failed reunions who promised the prince's attendance. She should bow, her mom told her that she should if she ran into some member of the royal family. Her body reacted to her thoughts, grabbing a fistful of fabric around her and bending her knees in a polite bow. "Moi tsarevich... I'm so sorry, you must know I don't think sorely of our king and queen, it was merely an observation. Apologies".

Nikolai was awfully quiet. Y/N's head was down and all she could see were his shoes and people passing by. Then he laughed. He laughed. "Come on, dear, get up" he offered her his hand and stood straight once again, red in her cheeks. "First of all, call me Nikolai-" "Y/N" "-call me Nikolai, Y/N. Second, no need to apologize as I do think sorely of my family's ruling over the country. And third, that's not how I wanted to make you blush so please calm down, it's okay".

How could that ever be okay? Yes, the younger prince was greatly known for having major discrepancies with his parents and the model of government that was being followed, but it was only okay if HE said it. Not some random girl who just showed up and ran her mouth over the literal king and queen of her nation. She always found a way of fucking up.

"I always talk too much, I'm really sorry moi tsa-" "Nikolai". It felt wrong in her mouth, to be on first-name terms with such an important figure. She said it anyway, that charming smile of his making her weak on the knees and forgetting any kind of stupid hierarchy she was supposed to follow. "Nikolai".

"Why do you assume that's a bad thing?" he said, taking two glasses of whiskey from a waiter who was passing by, downing one and giving her the other "Hm?". She didn't quite hear the question, too focused on how his hands looked with so many pretty rings to the way his eyebrows furrowed briefly at the burning liquid. "Why do you assume talking too much is a bad thing?"

Well, that was new. This entire exchange was, really.

"Well I-" no words. She didn't know. He laughed. "You've been told it is, and I think it to be awfully human, therefore awfully lovely. We like being heard, and there is no reason why we shouldn't be". Another blush crept up her cheeks. Was he always like this? Y/N found, years later, that he had a certain fixation on questioning anything and everything around him.

He questioned limits, pre-impossed ideas, authority, words and virtually anything those beautiful blue eyes laid. Nikolai was that kind of special you find once in your life. "Do you uhm... want to get out of here?" she spat, not really thinking anymore. She wanted more of that. Whatever spell his charm casted upon her was doing wonders. "To where, exactly, darling?" he said, raising his left eyebrow slightly.

Teasingly.

"No, no! By no means am I suggesting something of such nature... I just want to talk to you" "We already are, love" "I'm aware, love. I mean, away from the noise and all these creepily masked people". Silence for a tiny moment. Then he offered his arm out to her, placing the glass he was holding previously on a table and directing his new acquaintance to the back exit.

When they got to the garden, the moon was up and she was the only witness to such an enchanting night for the young prince and the girl. At the time, their lifes didn't fit at all. Two opposites. But oh did their souls knew how to dance. Nikolai found himself at peace, away from the facade he kept around and the appearances to be kept long forgotten as he laughed with Y/N.

"You talk like a book," he said, smiling as they sat near one of the many fountains. You could hear the water streaming down cobblestones and some noises coming from the bushes, the noise from the party becoming merely a background behind their chat. Y/n couldn't help but laugh. "What is that supposed to mean?". Their thighs were touching and she could feel Nikolai tense up a little.

"You do! There are some... things you say that seem taken out of a poetry book." "Like what?" Her cheeks warmed at that, waiting eagerly for an answer to one of the most creative observations someone had made about her. "You said that if love isn't passionate and extraordinary, then it's a waste of time because there are too many mediocre things in life and love shouldn't be one of them" "It's just what I think" she shyly replied, fidgeting with her mask, long gone since they started their walk.

"Then that pretty little mind of yours must be a thrill to discover" "Would you?" "What?" "Like to discover it" "I'd love to, dear" Nikolai smiled sweetly, blue orbs swimming in hers. It was the night the fox found shelter. The night they fell in love.

#nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai lantsov fluff #nikolai lantsov ff #nikolai lantsov imagines #nikolai lantsov smut #nikolai lantsov #paddy gibson #paddy gibson x reader #shadow and bone season 2 #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone imagine

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hanafubukki · 7 months

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It’s funny to me how in all the timeline/variations we can follow as MC/Yuu, we get stuck with the one where the twst boys are forging these bonds and barely know the other nrc students outside their dorms.

While in events, we see the twst characters interact and have fun chaotic fun.

I mean it’s fun seeing the bonds form and the characters are forced together through main story.

But I feel bad for Main Story!Yuu a bit 😂, having to go through all this chaos in a short amount of time and no vacation for them.

At least Events!Yuu gets a vacation…kind of 🤣

It’s funny because I would love to also see and follow the Masquerade!Yuu timeline where they told Malleus to calm down so casually, was saved by him, got to attend a ball with the nrc students, and hear them sing and dance with them. What was their adventures like?

Or imagine Fairy Gala!Yuu who got to dress up and sneak into the fairy event?? I bet Bean’s Day!Yuu had alot of fun almost beating Azul.

While we see Main Story!Yuu suffer through all the chaos 😅😆

[It also implies that all the Event!Yuus have lived through their own version of the Main Story too (depending) and the bonds that came from it.]

#it also implies these event!Yuus haven’t found a way home either #twst #twisted wonderland #twst yuu #twst mc #twst you #twst x you #twst x yuu #twisted wonderland x you #twisted wonderland x Yuu

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eleanor-bradstreet · 1 year

Text

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 2: The Masquerade

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer From a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 8.1k Masterpost Previous chapter Next chapter

Author's Notes: THANK YOU for your incredible patience while I took forever to write this next chapter. It's the most daunting one in the whole story for me (and potentially the longest), and my summer has been full of travel and distractions. But I'm committed to keeping this story rolling! I do need to write chapter 3 which should be comparatively short, and then chapters 4-15 are already written and just need tweaking. Expect more frequent installments soon, though I do need a bit of time to focus on a Halloween fic for y'all 😉

As a reminder, text in italics are quotes from AOFAG and are the work of Julia Quinn.

Lastly, if we're manifesting things for Benophie in the show, the song I imagine them waltzing to at the masquerade is the VSQ cover of Young and Beautiful - it's so mysterious and romantic and gives voice to Sophie's anxieties. Enjoy 💙

Sophie was no stranger to courage. It was courage that had bolstered her through her lonely childhood at Penwood Park. Courage that enabled her to face each morning knowing she would most likely be subject to Araminta’s abuse. But what drove her to sneak into the Bridgerton masquerade was something different. Courage was an element of it, but she also had the odd and wonderful sensation that she was somehow destined to attend. A sort of magnetism pulling her back to Genevieve’s shop then down the street to the wisteria-clad manse glowing with candles in every window under a starlit night.

It had proven surprisingly easy to accomplish her ruse. She had dressed Cressida in her iridescent mermaid costume then helped Araminta into a garish Elizabethan gown. Both of them fussed and snipped at her, demanding assistance and criticizing when it was provided. Lord Cowper kept his ensemble comparatively simple with a black horned mask that Sophie found to be an accurate reflection of his true character. Soon enough all of them bundled into their carriage, leaving her alone for the evening. Sophie knew to make for the modiste’s shop as quickly as she could, and only dithered when it came to selecting the shoes Gen had told her to bring. Neither of her sorry two pairs would suffice for a ball which meant borrowing a pair from her employers. She felt safer using Cressida’s except they all proved too large, to the point Sophie knew she would be tripping over herself. Araminta’s shoes fit comparatively well but her stomach lurched at the thought she may discover they had been taken. She reminded herself that she was the one tasked with cleaning them so she could easily replace them once she returned. Memories of a stinging slap dealt that morning solidified her resolve and she selected a pair of silk slippers in a pale blue-grey with diamond clips that complemented the silver gown she knew was waiting for her.

Wrapped in a cloak, she had scurried to Gen’s door and the proud smile on her friend’s face gave her a burst of excitement for what was to come. The modiste slipped her into the finished gown, somehow impossibly more breathtaking than it had been before. Sophie couldn’t tear her eyes away from the mirrors in the shop, bewitched by how the fabric caught the light. Gen had procured all the trappings, outfitting her with elbow length silk gloves, starry earrings and jewels for her hair which she helped to coif atop her head in an elaborate style. She even swiped rouge on her cheeks and stain on her lips, something Sophie had never tried before, and by the time she was done Sophie didn’t recognize her reflection even before the demi-mask was fitted over her eyes. She was an elegant silver stranger and one who looked every bit deserving of entry to a ball.

With a kiss on the cheek Genevieve sent her out into the night and closed shop to attend a party of her own, the likes of which Sophie could only guess at. Though her heart was pounding as she treaded the cobblestones up to Bridgerton House, she knew it was from excitement as much as nerves, and when she was waved into the main hall without question, it nearly stopped altogether. It was a sight far better than she had imagined. A candlelit scene of ivory grandeur with masked guests milling across the lacquered floor and up the grand staircase, dancers in the center and towers of treats and champagne to each side. It felt as if she had stepped into a dream and she never wanted to wake up.

She was knocked from her reverie by a young lady who appeared at her side, costumed as a Grecian muse. “My, what a beautiful dress!” She commented.

Sophie swallowed, suddenly fearful that her very voice may betray her identity, but instinctively she responded. “Thank you.”

When the girl only smiled and moved away, she breathed a sigh of relief. Who here could possibly recognize her voice aside from the Cowpers? She scanned the room but they were nowhere to be found. The lady who had spoken to her was at a table by the wall selecting a dance card. Not wanting to attract suitors, Sophie moved past the cards and weaved her way toward the nearest refreshments. Her eyes were so fixed on the array of delicacies that she failed to register how many heads turned to watch her.

The tiered display before her boasted a variety of sweets unlike any Sophie had ever seen. Candies and fruits, chocolates and tarts, even ice cream were all for the taking. Until that moment the only treat she had ever eaten was marzipan, a controversial candy that both her father and the Cowpers kept on hand for guests but despised themselves and so were none the wiser when she snuck pieces. Spoiled for choice, she seized a raspberry tart and had to fight from moaning at its rich sweetness. Then she nibbled on a chocolate, then a lemon cake before she stopped herself, realizing it would be unladylike to gorge herself and thereby risk revealing that she did not belong. She switched to a flute of champagne, another luxury she had never sampled before but quite enjoyed, and began to move about the perimeter of the room.

The sea of costumes was so varied and elaborate, Sophie felt confident she did not stand out too drastically. Among the women there were queens and faeries, flowers and creatures of myth, all hidden behind demi-masks or veils. The gentlemen presented as an array of devils and jesters, satyrs and knights if they weren’t simply wearing their tails and a mask. Sophie listened in on their snippets of conversation. Courtship gossip among the women and business among the men. The young ladies whispered their opinions of the bachelors and the bachelors largely stayed silent unless they were mumbling about retiring to the smoking room. Behind them in the center of the hall were the dancers, swishing over a bee motif painted onto the parquet floor. The song was a sprightly one, spurring couples to hop around their partners while grasping hands and looping arms in a complex sequence. Sophie was transfixed, marveling at how it reminded her of a music box come to life. Everything was a feast for the senses: the twinkle of the candles, the strings of the musicians, the bubbles that tickled her tongue and the silk that wrapped around her skin. This was the life she had read about in Whistledown. This was the life she could have had as her father’s daughter if things were ever so slightly different.

A footman collected her empty glass and she felt herself calming. But that calm was immediately shattered when she noticed not one, not two, but three young gentlemen approaching her from various points in the room. It was then she realized that card or no, they would ask her to dance. It was also when she remembered that she did not know how to dance. And it was then that she began to chastise herself for forgetting this crucial fact before sneaking into a ball. She had been so caught up in the thrill of simply observing the masquerade and so used to being overlooked that she had not contemplated the possibility that a man may ask her to dance. If she attempted to, it would immediately become obvious that she was an imposter. Her mind started to race, eyes pinging between the three admittedly handsome gentlemen who drew closer and closer, looking at her as if she were a piece of meat and they were starving lions. There was nothing for it - she would have to hide. Backing away as gracefully as she could, she scurried around a cluster of guests, lifted two more flutes of champagne and darted down a hall where open french doors promised a swift escape.

---

[Shift to Benedict’s POV as written at the beginning of Chapter 2 of AOFAG. He is begrudgingly attending the masquerade, aggravated that he cannot be distinguished from his brothers.

…he sometimes wished he were considered a little less a Bridgerton and a little more himself.

Violet asks him to dance with Penelope who is unfortunately dressed as a peacock. On his way, he is cornered by rude debutantes.

“A Bridgerton!...Which are you? No, don’t say. Let me guess. You’re not the viscount, because I just saw him. You must be Number Two or Number Three.”]

Grimacing his way out of yet another insulting and inane conversation, Benedict tucked himself into a corner under the stairs. He should have pushed forward to go humor Penelope Featherington but he had lost sight of her and he didn’t know if he would be able to bite his tongue through one more chance interception by an air-headed debutante or her mama. All of these ladies simpering over a man who they could not name while their mothers’ half-smiles betrayed that they saw him as little more than a consolation prize now that his titled brother was taken. He pitied them, knowing it was what they were all raised to do. But he also pitied himself for being the focus of their attentions. He supposed it was inevitable that he would find himself playing the marriage mart one day and it was precisely as miserable as he had imagined it would be, if not more. But having failed in his pursuit of art, the one thing that had stirred true and enduring passion within him, what else was he supposed to do? Perhaps a wife would make him feel grounded, grant him a new sense of purpose. But none of the young ladies he had met throughout the painfully long London season had been able to produce any feeling in him that was even a fraction of what he felt when he daubed oils on canvas, or sketched a flower, or studied a Turner sky.

With a rueful smirk he wondered if he would fail at becoming a husband too. He hadn’t the merits to get into the Royal Academy without a bribe; perhaps he didn’t have the merits to succeed at the marriage mart either. As eager as the women were to throw themselves at his feet, he didn’t know if he could hide his true feelings well enough to make it to an altar. Feelings of disappointment, lack of inspiration, and invisibility. The dreadful suspicion that he was not destined for the productive life of artistry he had always imagined. He was only a Bridgerton, one of many, and the most he could hope to achieve was some form of domestic happiness, if any woman would tie herself to such an empty shell of a man.

His stomach sank as he heard his surname giggled in a nearby pack of debutantes. It was all too much, he needed fresh air. As he turned toward the back hall he felt an odd tingling sensation in his limbs and all of his focus seemed to narrow on the french doors. Perhaps he had drunk too much, perhaps it was too hot in the room, but it was not an unpleasant feeling. Rather, it was a feeling of certainty. Certainty that he must go outside and his feet were itching to carry him there. He did not protest and in a moment he was through the doors and in the cool air of the back garden.

On instinct he walked toward the massive elm tree, planning to rest on the swings hanging from its branches. Scattered torches and a pearlescent full moon helped to illuminate the garden, making it a peaceful respite from the crush of people inside. He assumed he was alone but realized he was mistaken when he rounded the rose bushes and beheld an odd sight. It was a woman standing on the paving stones with her back to him. She was dressed in a silver gown, antiquated in style but made of the most mesmerizing fabric that seemed to absorb the very moonlight and make her glow. Her head was turned toward a large window of the house through which could be seen the dancing couples inside. She was mimicking them, slowly, jerkily, raising her arms and stepping to and fro with an invisible partner, stumbling every few steps and then hissing at herself as she tried to match the movements once again. It was clear she was trying to learn the dance and failing spectacularly.

Benedict couldn’t tear his eyes away. Even without seeing her face he could tell she was a beauty. But more than that, she was the most curious creature he had come across at any event of the ton. So many questions immediately arose. Who was she? How atrocious had her dancing master been? Why wasn’t she chaperoned? Whatever the story was, he simply had to know it.

He stepped closer and cleared his throat, hoping not to frighten her.

“Are you in need of a partner?”

“Oh!” Instantly she whipped around and nearly jumped a foot in the air.

Benedict’s breath caught in his throat. He had been right about her beauty, it was evident even behind her demi-mask. But it wasn’t simply the trappings of her stunning gown, glimmering jewelry or scarlet lips. It was innate, some kind of light that animated her from within. It called to him like a lighthouse across a stormy sea and he was transfixed. He had never experienced such a powerful sensation upon first seeing a woman. Sophie stuttered, embarrassed to have been discovered tromping around in the garden and nervous that her behavior was about to reveal her as a trespasser. The fact that her inquisitor was tall, dark and handsome was also causing her mind to stall. She offered a meager explanation. “I…I am not familiar with this step, so I was…trying to learn.”

Her voice was the sweetest music Benedict had ever heard. It made him feel weightless, electrified. Akin to how his favorite landscapes left him gaping in awe, but even more visceral. He realized he was staring at her, agog, and snapped himself back to attention. “And you did not want to ask any of the gentlemen inside to teach you?”

“I didn’t want to seem silly. Though I suppose, I have already failed at that.” She dropped her eyes and blushed and Benedict felt heat surge through his own skin at seeing its beautiful hue. What was it about her that made him falter when every other young lady made him want to run? Who on earth was she?

“I don’t recognize you. The same array of people always come to these parties.”

“Ah, then my disguise is working well.” She arched a brow with a mischievous little grin.

Benedict felt his stomach flip with delight. “What is your name?”

Sophie prickled. She would need to be crafty with her answers to maintain her anonymity. The consequences of being discovered were dire, but perhaps that was what gave it an undeniably exciting edge. She had learned to hide herself in plain sight with the Cowpers. Surely this wouldn't be much harder. “Is a degree of mystery not the purpose of a masquerade?”

His lopsided smile set her at ease. He wouldn’t interrogate her; he was amiable.

“Very true. So you are going to make me guess?”

“I think it would be a fruitless endeavor.”

Benedict marveled at the beautiful stranger as the intrigue grew deeper. She was the first debutante who had reacted to him with anything other than fawning desperation. She was playful. She was a breath of fresh air.

He stepped closer, folding his arms as he looked her up and down. “Well, you have already given me a significant clue. A young lady in society who does not know the quadrille. That is unique indeed.” She straightened her mask and he noticed her unadorned wrist. “And no dance card. You are truly committed to remaining as anonymous as possible.”

“All in the spirit of the event.” She turned quickly and walked to a nearby table where two flutes of champagne sat unattended. She drank down the remnants of one a bit too eagerly, betraying her nerves.

“Is someone joining you?” Benedict wondered if he had interrupted the flirtations of another suitor. If so, the man was a fool to take his eyes off such a creature for even a moment.

Sophie followed his gaze to the second glass and felt herself flush at being caught indulging so brazenly. She picked it up and carried it back to him. Now that he knew she could not dance, she could relax and enjoy his conversation at least.

“You have joined me, Mister…?”

He accepted the glass and huffed a laugh. “Oh come now, my disguise is not nearly as good as yours. You don’t have to be so coy.”

The woman continued to stare at him blankly and the puzzle of her grew infinitely more bewildering. Could it be possible that she truly did not recognize him? Even if this was her first event among the ton, she could not have failed to hear his name on every other woman’s lips as they chased him through the ballroom. Nor could she be so ignorant about her hosts. They were at his bloody house after all.

His brow knitted in disbelief. “You truly do not know who I am?”

“There you are!” A voice called out suddenly.

Sophie’s stomach lurched into her throat. She’d been found out. She’d be thrown into the street, and tomorrow probably into jail for stealing Araminta’s shoes, and–

A second man marched around the rose bushes also in tails and a black demi-mask, shorter and broader than the first but also remarkably handsome. He stomped up to confront the other.

“Mother has been looking all over for you. You weaseled out of your dance with Penelope and I had to take your place.”

The taller man smirked. “And did that put you out terribly, brother?”

Sophie looked from one man to the other. Even under their demi-masks, the familial relationship was more than obvious, and she realized in a blinding flash that they must be the famed and coveted Bridgerton brothers. But which brother was her visitor? Benedict. He had to be Benedict. She sent a silent thank you to Lady Whistledown, who’d once written a column completely devoted to the task of telling the Bridgerton siblings apart. Benedict, she recalled, had been singled out as the tallest. Sophie began to assess him anew, the most eligible bachelor in the ton. Remembering that Gen had shared a dalliance with him, she could understand the appeal.

“It was better than any of the alternatives, I must say,” The man who must have been Colin Bridgerton shrugged. “If you flee the party and leave me to that pack of she-devil debutantes, I swear I shall exact revenge to my dying day.”

Benedict laughed and Colin turned to Sophie with a start, realizing that they were not alone. “Oh pardon, present company excluded. I apologize, Miss.”

He bowed politely and she returned her best curtsy.

“No offense taken, sir.”

The annoyance melted out of his eyes - a captivating shade of blue - and his voice grew silky as he stepped toward her. “Might I request an introduction?”

“I doubt you’ll meet with success.” Benedict snickered. “I would like one as well but the lady is committed to the spirit of the event and will not share her name.”

Colin frowned at her playfully. “Not even a false one?”

Sophie grinned, enjoying their little game. She had never received so much attention from any member of the upper class, much less two suave and flirtatious bachelors. It made her bold. “If you really insist, I suppose I could tell you something.”

“But not the truth?” Benedict asked.

“This isn’t a night for truth.”

Colin leaned in with a devilish smirk. “My favorite kind of night.”

Benedict rolled his eyes and tugged his brother upright. “Shouldn’t you be with Penelope?”

At this, the younger grew flustered. “I…well…”

“It would be the honorable thing to do, making sure the young lady is asked to more than just one dance this evening.” At the end of his argument Benedict folded his bottom lip into an exaggerated pout and Sophie felt her insides flutter.

Colin seemed possessed by a new sense of chivalry. “Very well, I’ll take my leave. And fight back through the pack of ravenous wolves…”

“Wolves?” Sophie laughed, turning to Benedict. “Is that what drove you out of doors as well, sir?”

“I suspect it is.” Colin grinned and clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Our mother would like nothing better than to see this one married off.”

“Brother…” Benedict’s grip tightened around the champagne flute.

“Would you take pity on the poor, long-suffering woman and chase him up the aisle?” Colin shot a wink at Sophie.

“Have you been at the tea again?” Benedict grumbled under his breath, staring daggers.

Sophie couldn’t remember being so entertained before. “I believe I shall have to get to know him better first, and take the full measure of his character before any chasing shall commence.”

Her co-conspirator released a loud sigh. “Then alas, I fear he may be found wanting and remain a bachelor forever.”

“Are you quite finished?” Benedict snipped.

Sensing the end of his patience, Colin slapped him on the back and desisted. “I am.” He turned to Sophie with a beaming smile and bowed once more. “Enjoy your evening.” Then he was gone as quickly as he had appeared, leaving them alone in the garden.

Sophie allowed a giggle to escape. “It is charming to see two brothers who get on so well.”

Benedict took a large swig of champagne. “You’d call that getting on?”

“I would.” Sophie smiled softly. “I have no siblings myself but it’s clear the jesting stems from a place of love.” Indeed, Sophie felt herself surrounded by love at this house. A love of family and community that she had always longed for but always been denied. It was bittersweet to be wrapped in it, knowing it would only last for one evening.

He quirked a brow. “Another clue. She has no siblings.”

“That cannot be that rare.” Sophie spluttered, chastising herself for her misstep.

“It certainly narrows the options.”

“Well, it is the last thing I shall share about my identity.” She set her chin defiantly and Benedict found it to be quite the most adorable expression. Now he was determined to know everything about her, however long he had to play her game.

He stepped toward her again, lowering his voice. “Why so many secrets?”

“I told you, this entire night is meant for secrets. Though I believe I have uncovered yours.” Sophie said with an enigmatic smile, truly warming to her role as a mysterious stranger.

“Oh yes?”

“I know who you are.”

Benedict shrugged. “I assumed as much.”

“I didn’t at first,” she confessed.

“What gave me away?” With no discernable parents shoving her in his direction, Benedict wondered how she had deduced it.

Sophie grinned, victorious. “The fact that you are here with your brother. That you look so alike. And are both being hounded by the young ladies.”

“We look alike even with masks on?”

“Even with masks,” she nodded. “Lady Whistledown writes about the Bridgerton brothers quite often, and she never passes up an opportunity to comment upon how alike you look.”

Ah, she was a Whistledown reader, though that didn’t help him parse her identity among the young ladies of the ton. He had never read the scandal sheet himself but was unsurprised that it contained discussions of the Bridgerton resemblance. He had heard it all his life, how similar he was to his two eldest brothers. The three of them were often called by the others’ names, even by their own mother on occasion, with everyone typically defaulting to assuming they were all Anthony, the Viscount. He and Colin had used it to their advantage from time to time, wielding perceived status to get preferential treatment or making handshake deals to embroil Anthony in some ludicrous business venture. He of course could see the clear distinctions between each of them but it seemed society could not. If anything, he knew he most closely resembled his late father and it caused the greatest pain when someone slipped and called Benedict by his name. It was all something he had learned to live with. He loved his family dearly but his visibility as a Bridgerton often made him feel invisible as Benedict.

He steeled himself to be wounded again by this lady in silver. “And do you know which brother I am?”

“Benedict,” she smiled brightly. His heart skipped hearing his name on her lips. In the soft glow she cast, he finally felt seen. “If indeed Lady Whistledown is correct when she says that you are the tallest among your brothers.”

He swallowed to try and hide his excitement. “You’re quite the detective.”

She shrugged. “I merely read a gossip sheet. It makes me no different from the rest of the people here.”

He wanted to chuckle at how she voiced his precise thoughts aloud. Perhaps she was an enchantress with the power to read minds. Whoever she was, dream or reality, he needed to know more. Downing the rest of his champagne, he set the glass aside and moved closer, trying to study the contours of her face and color of her eyes behind her mask.

“And if Lady Whistledown were here and saw you tonight, would she know your identity?”

The woman backed away, playfully but pointedly drifting across the grass toward the elm tree. “I’m so well disguised that no one would recognize me right now.”

He continued his pursuit. “What if you removed your mask? Would she recognize you then?”

“I’m not going to answer that.” She walked backward slowly, always staying paces ahead of him.

He returned her wry smile. “I didn’t think you would, but I had to ask nonetheless. Dare I ask what else you know about me from Whistledown?”

“Are you fishing for compliments?”

Sophie’s nerves were running haywire at being chased with such evident intent by a gentleman. And not just any gentleman, but Benedict Bridgerton himself. She had never planned to flirt nor attract the attention of gentlemen at the ball. She had only wanted to observe it, to soak in the atmosphere, to forget the life of Sophie Beckett for a few hours. But now the most coveted man in the ton - a man far more charming and beautiful than she had presumed - was stalking toward her with hungry eyes. She should have been terrified at being discovered or even compromised, but she wasn’t. She was enjoying this. Perhaps she could blame the champagne for the heated, buzzing feeling throughout her body but whatever it was, it left her heady with confidence and craving more.

Something bumped into the back of her legs and she turned to see that she was standing by a pair of swings hanging from the branches of the looming tree above. He had her cornered. But he was nothing but a gentleman as he held the swing steady and gestured for her to sit. With the volume of her skirt she could do little but perch on the seat and hold onto the ropes to keep her balance. He lowered himself onto the swing next to hers and rocked lightly to and fro with a cheeky glint in his eyes.

“If I cannot know anything about you, at least I might know what you know about me.”

Sophie pondered a moment. Her immediate thoughts were what Genevieve had shared. That he was sensitive, talented and good. But of course she could not reveal that she had learned such things. She had to rely on what had been reported in Whistledown, which had conveniently been confirmed by Colin. “Your name has not been seriously linked with any young lady, and your mother despairs of ever seeing you married.”

The way his shoulders slumped banished her assumption that he simply didn’t want to end a rakish bachelor lifestyle. The burden to marry weighed on him more heavily for some reason.

“The pressure has lessened a bit now that my brother’s gone and gotten himself a wife,” he explained.

“The Viscount?”

“Mmmm,” he nodded. “And anyway, I’m sure at some point I’ll find the lady suitable enough to keep my house and bear my children.” He kicked at the grass, dispirited.

“Among the ravenous wolves?” Sophie chuckled, trying to brighten the mood and coax the truth out of him. “It sounds as if that traditional sort of life would be unappealing to you.”

Benedict shook himself out of his ruminations and sat up straight. He felt so at ease with this mysterious guest that he had let the mask of debonair suitor slip. He must be cautious in revealing his true feelings especially if he hoped to secure her hand, the only one that was making the prospect of marriage seem in any way appealing. He spluttered, “Well…I only…”

She cut him off. “Do not worry about offending me, Mr. Bridgerton. I am not here to find a husband and I’d much rather have your honesty than your flattery.”

Who on earth was this miraculous woman? A young lady who was not scheming for a proposal but rather seeking to know him better. The first and only he had encountered in the marriage mart. He felt as if he had discovered a unicorn and effortlessly opened his heart to her.

“I suppose there are other pursuits in life that interest me. To travel the Continent and see the artworks of the great masters. To seek out beauty in all its forms and capture it. To do something worthwhile with myself, have an occupation. Shocking as that may be, I feel that I would find it fulfilling.”

While his desires may have confused many of her peers, the lady in silver only smiled. “I think it’s admirable for anyone to hold an occupation. It shows a great deal of character, not to mention independence. And in this independent life of yours, there would be no room for a wife?”

“I didn’t say that,” he clarified. “I have never disdained romance, as it appears you do. If you’re not here to find a husband, then what are you here for?”

“To enjoy myself.”

“Simple enough,” he smirked.

“Yes,” she sighed. “If only I knew how to dance.” The pointed challenge in her eyes lit a spark within him. She was a smart little thing, a force to be reckoned with. He would not shy away. He bounced to his feet and stood before her.

“I would teach you gladly but be forewarned, I will teach you badly. I never took to it.”

Sophie laughed. “Have you two left feet, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“Why do you think I find myself still unmarried?”

“Surely your dancing skills cannot be that atrocious. Could it be you have some nefarious personality traits that are driving the women away?”

Benedict sniggered. “Hmmmm. Perhaps I am too rakish. Too predisposed to indulgences.”

“Does that not describe just about every gentleman in the ton?”

“Are you saying that I’m indistinguishable?” His lip folded into a hilarious pout again.

Sophie was enjoying their sparring immensely. “I’m saying it must truly be your dancing that is to blame.”

Then he bent and extended his hand. “Let me show you and you can judge for yourself.”

She rose with a rustle of silver skirts and allowed Benedict to guide her back across the lawn to the paving stones, the two of them walking in comfortable silence. She felt like a princess - a reckless princess - and so when he asked her to dance, she put her hand in his. And even though she knew that this entire evening was a lie, that she was a nobleman’s bastard and a countess’s maid, that her dress was borrowed and her shoes practically stolen - none of that seemed to matter as their fingers entwined. For this moment, at least, Sophie could pretend that this gentleman could be her gentleman. It was nothing but a dream, but it had been so terribly long since she’d let herself dream.

Standing across from the house window once more, they turned to face each other. Sophie swallowed hard, suddenly aware of how tall and how close he was. The moonlight shone behind him, cutting a striking silhouette with glinting pale blue eyes set behind his black mask. Never releasing her hand, he guided it into place.

“Put your hand here on my shoulder. Just a touch lower, there you are.”

Then his hands moved, one to her waist and one to extend their arms to the side. Sophie couldn’t help but shudder at the expanse of his grasp.

Benedict dropped his voice, instructing gently. “Now, listen to the music. Do you feel it rising and falling?”

Drifting out from the house Sophie could hear the musicians’ strings playing something light and hopeful. She concentrated and began to sense its rhythmic pattern.

“I feel it.”

Benedict smiled. “Good. Now watch my feet and let me lead you. One, two, three; one, two, three.”

As if on queue Sophie stumbled after just a moment, tripping over Benedict’s feet. “Oh! I’m sorry!”

His hold tightened around her to keep her from falling but he couldn’t help bursting into laughter. “See? I am an awful teacher. Perhaps you should return to watching the dancers inside. What are they doing now?”

Sophie couldn’t keep the smile from spreading across her own face, realizing she had never met such a good humored man. A nobleman who didn’t scold her for a misstep and even blamed himself instead. He was so playful, so easy to talk to. Despite the outrageous risk she was taking with this entire evening, she had never been more comfortable around a member of the gentry. She turned to peer into the ballroom and watched the flurry of dancing couples moving around one another. Their hands and arms entwined in a series of looping motions, palms meeting to raise over their heads before sliding back down to wrap around the ladies’ shoulders.

Knowing they were entirely unsuited to the task and giggling at each other with mischief in their eyes, she and Benedict attempted to mimic - or rather mock - the dancers inside. They grasped at each other’s elbows and wrists, fumbling to change holds and laughing as they found themselves tied in ridiculous knots and unable to glide into the next motion. Benedict pranced like a peacock and overexaggerated a deep bend of the knee as the men inside artfully swept a leg behind themselves. Next, the ladies twirled, grasping the mens’ hands and floating in a circle to revolve around their backs. Benedict extended his hand with a flourish, Sophie took it and then began skipping like a child around him, skirts bunched in her fist. They were laughing so much she was sure the champagne was to blame, which was practically confirmed when she rounded Benedict’s other side and promptly tripped on her dress, pitching to the ground.

But he caught her, swiftly and easily moving to cradle her in his arms. Their laughter died away as they gazed at one another, catching their breath. For the first time Benedict was close enough to determine the color of her eyes - they were green. A deep emerald green that sparkled as richly as her silver costume. He was nearly overcome with their light and the feeling of how perfectly she fit in his arms. Barely keeping his wits about him, he lifted her gently back to her feet.

“Lord, I never expected to find the one person worse at dancing than me,” he chuckled, trying to tame the maelstrom of emotions swirling within.

The woman returned a shaky smile. “Well I hope it serves as a boost to your confidence.”

The tremor in her voice gave him a glint of hope. Could she be feeling the same way he did? Did she too sense an overwhelming connection between them? Something he was ready to label as destiny. She hadn’t spurned any of his advances. No indeed she had flirted back at him, toying and challenging, matching his wits and his energy. She was not eager to marry him for his family or position, she was able to pick him out among his brothers and she supported his dream to do more with his life than simply wile away in domesticity. She made him laugh, she made him feel alive, she made him feel visible. Everything he had been searching for and had abandoned hope of ever finding, all embodied by a nameless lady in silver who had appeared in his garden like a gift from the heavens. She was a star, and he wanted to pick her up and hang her in his sky to guide him.

He stepped close and wrapped an arm around her waist, just wanting to hold her again. “Shall we try again? In earnest?”

Sophie was transfixed, something blooming inside her chest from the moment he caught her. This already exceptional night had taken so many unexpected turns. She had never expected to speak at length with any attendee of the ball, much less the most prized bachelor in society. And she certainly never expected a private audience with him for the whole evening, nor the feelings it would stir within her. So quickly he had banished her assumptions of what such a man would be like. He was nowhere near as snobbish as she imagined he had a right to be, nor was he the dour figure she had supposed when Gen told her he probably disdained attention. He was passionate, animated, with a comic disposition and a large heart. He disdained attention because he wanted more and felt out of place - feelings she could relate to very well indeed. He was good-natured, forgiving, gentle. And as if that weren’t enough, he was the most handsome man she had ever seen despite that she could only view half of his face beneath his mask. Though she knew the Bridgerton siblings were famed for their looks and she had only seen one brother to compare him to, she knew that Benedict would always have drawn her eye above all.

She was in danger of losing her heart to him. She feared it may have already happened. But there was no happy ending to this story. She could not reveal herself nor enjoy his company for any longer than this one night. But with his arm around her and his blue eyes holding hers so warmly, she could not bring herself to care. The musicians inside were playing a new song, something resonant and soulful, full of longing and magic. She would fit an entire lifetime into this night.

“Alright, one last go.” Bringing one hand to his shoulder and lacing the other with his, she took her position and stared down at their feet again.

“Look up,” Benedict encouraged.

She shook her head. “I will stumble.”

“You won’t. I won’t let you. Look into my eyes.”

She followed his soft command and raised her eyes to meet his. Mesmerized, she couldn’t look away. She could barely breathe. She was dimly aware that they were moving, that he was guiding her through a waltz slowly and fluidly. Suddenly their feet knew precisely how to carry them. Benedict never blinked, determined never to let this silver blessing out of his sight or his arms until she understood how she had enchanted him. Everything around them was bathed in moonlight, making her shimmer like a precious jewel in his hands.

“What do you feel?”

“Everything,” she breathed.

“What do you hear?”

“The music. I hear the music as I’ve never heard it before.” She moved light on her feet, the romantic call of the strings making it seem as if she were floating across the paving stones.

Benedict’s heart was pounding, desperate for her answer to his next question. “What do you see?”

Sophie froze, paralyzed by the impossibility of putting it into words. As their steps gently stopped and they stood inches apart, everything about him was thrown into sharp focus. She saw everything she had never dared to hope for. A man who showed interest, a man who was kind, a man who could free her from her miserable life. If only she was not who she was. Her skin tingled where he touched her, and the air grew thick and hot. This was desire, Sophie realized. This was what she’d heard fellow maids whispering about. This was what no gently bred lady was even supposed to know about. But she was no gently bred lady, she thought defiantly. She was a bastard, a nobleman’s by-blow. She was not a member of the ton and never would be. Did she really have to abide by their rules?

As Benedict’s lips parted and his head lowered toward her, she knew he was moving to kiss her and she would allow it. She craved it. It was enough to ruin a reputation, but what sort of reputation did she have to begin with? She was outside society and she wanted one night of fantasy. One kiss to savor for the rest of her pitiful existence.

Their breaths gusted across each other’s skin, lips barely an inch apart. Sophie was certain her heart was thundering loud enough that he may hear it. The music swelled. She closed her eyes. Then she felt his long, slender fingers cup her face and begin to slip under the ribbon tying her mask.

Alarm bells sounded in her mind and she lurched backward, bringing a hand to press her mask firmly to her face. She could not be discovered. Despite how everything in her body was crying out for him, she would not allow it. In the commotion a lock of her hair fell loose and dangled over her shoulder. After securing her mask she began trying to pin her hair back in place, fingers slipping in her silk gloves.

Benedict stood befuddled, watching her fumble with her gloves and hairpins. She was truly committed to not revealing her identity. A thought flashed through his mind that perhaps she was hiding some kind of deformity. At this point, he did not care. It would not make him feel anything less toward her and he was determined to woo her.

“Blasted things…” Sophie cursed under her breath as her hair continued to slip out of her grasp.

“Allow me.” Benedict reached forward and softly took her wrist, slowly sliding the glove down from her elbow to pull it off. Sophie stood trembling as he kept her hand in his and brushed his thumb across her knuckles, their skin meeting for the first time. Then he bent, keeping his eyes locked on hers as he pressed a deep, warm kiss to the back of her hand. Her breath hitched, feeling an electric current spider out from his lips across every inch of her skin. This was already a bold move but he took it even further, turning her hand over and lavishing her palm with another sensuous kiss - making his intentions clear without a single word.

“Who are you?” Benedict rasped. “I have to know.”

“I can’t say.” Sophie felt torn in two - her heart and body tugging her forward into his arms while her mind and reason held her back.

Benedict felt the heat rising under his collar. He didn’t want to learn her name simply to beat her at her game. He wanted it so that he could know who had stolen his heart so quickly and completely. So that he could keep her in his life and sing her praises. He would not end the evening without making his feelings known.

He gripped her hand tighter, pressing in close, his voice urgent. “I want to see you tomorrow. I want to call on you and meet your parents. Do you understand what I’m saying? I need to know you. I want…”

“Don’t say anything more! Please. Not another word.” Sophie cut him off, tears pricking at her eyes. This was all a mistake, a dreadful mistake. She never should have remained in the garden with Benedict, should never have flirted with him, should never have let it go this far.

“Then tell me your name,” he pleaded desperately. “Tell me how to find you tomorrow.”

The sobs were rising from her throat, anguished at how much pain she was causing them both. At how unfair it all was. “I…”

Her voice was drowned out by a booming clang from within Bridgerton House, followed by the guests inside erupting into cheers and laughter.

“What is that?”

“Midnight. Time for the unmasking.” Benedict explained, turning to her with hopeful eyes.

“Unmasking?” Sophie’s mind whirred, horrified. No one had ever mentioned an unmasking. It wasn’t reported in Whistledown and Gen hadn’t warned her. Perhaps it was something that everyone of good breeding inherently knew about a masquerade. Clearly she was not one of them. She had been so wrong to attempt this, so ill-prepared for what would happen. Now she would be out of place for not revealing herself.

As she panicked over what to do, Benedict pulled off his own mask and her crisis deepened. He was beautiful. Impossibly more beautiful now that she could see the boyish mirth in his face, the inquisitive slant of his brow, the way his crystal blue eyes were framed by the most endearing creases, evidencing a lifetime of smiles.

Benedict’s hope deflated as the woman stared at him, stock-still. “Are you alright?”

“I have to go,” she choked, barely audible. Then she gathered her skirts in her hands, turned and fled into the house.

“Wait!” Benedict leapt after her, feeling like a man possessed. He could not lose her, the only woman who had stirred him to the depths of his soul. The only one who he could be prevailed upon to marry. She held his future. She held his heart. He couldn’t let them vanish.

He tore back through the house, catching glimpses of her silver form sweeping around each corner. She was remarkably fast. He burst into the ballroom and had to scan to find her among the riot of costumes and noise. The candlelight glinted off her dress as she pushed steadily through the crowd, already halfway to the door, and he dove in after her. He abandoned any care of being polite and began shouldering his way past guests, even knocking into his brother Anthony who promptly began to admonish him but Benedict pressed on, deaf to anything but the chanting in his mind. No, no, no. He could not lose her.

Sophie dipped and sashayed around the crush of partygoers, moving as quickly as she could for the exit but not wanting to cause a scene. The genteel crowd proved their manners by parting easily as she passed. She cast glances back over her shoulder, seeing Benedict trying to catch up with her but people were less inclined to clear the way for a man. Her heart was in her throat, unsure if she could escape without being caught by Benedict or the Cowpers or anyone else who found her behavior curious. The large front doors were in sight and she turned one final time to see Benedict’s path blocked suddenly by a severe looking woman with a scarlet costume and a cane. She would make it.

Barely maintaining composure, she slowed her pace as she approached the doors and nodded politely to the footmen who opened them and ushered her out into the cool night. She scurried down the stairs, mask still on her face as she began to soak it with tears. Confused and frantic, she gave over to her instincts which were drawing her away from Grosvenor Square and back to the modiste shop. Though she knew it was her only course of action and she knew she had let the entire evening get out of hand, she couldn’t help but feel fractures splintering her heart with each hurried footfall on the cobblestones.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @yellowprimrose @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon #masquerade

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tinalbion · 2 years

Text

“Wildest Dreams” ||

Jareth the Goblin King x GN!Reader

Rating: None; slight mention of ‘unfit’ household / childhood

Length: 4.5k

Summary: You’ve had a creative imagination since you were a child, but your mind always leads back to one thing: A Goblin King surrounded by goblins of all shapes and sizes. What makes you dream of such things, and what were to happen once you begin receiving letters from a man who only signs as ‘Your King’?

A/N: This was inspired by a comfort letter I received in character from Jareth at the Goblin King masquerade ball I attended, this popped into my head and wouldn’t leave, so this came to be. If I am inspired and people tend to enjoy it, I will continue with a part 2.

Tagging @lackingspace <3

You stared at the letter for what felt like hours, the sun rose and set, and all you could do was stare at the writing on the parchment.

In your other hand, your fingers played with the key attached to the parchment with a royal purple ribbon, your fingers mindlessly twirled it around while your eyes reread every single line.

You figured that all of those wild dreams you had were just that: dreams. The imagination of a child that stuck with you well into your adulthood. It only meant you were creative and had an overactive imagination, but to receive this letter on your birthday once again, well, it was almost unsettling to you.

'If you ever wish to escape your everyday life, just clasp the key and speak into the night, your King will come.'

You've dreamt of him before, the Goblin King that whisks children away to turn into goblins, but he seemed so beautiful to be a king of such creatures. Either way, he came to you every so often and you figured once again it was just dreams. He would treat you nicely and carry you off into the mazed garden, where he would watch you as you twirled around the water fountain and you brought color to his dull world, you'd see him smile at you when you'd catch him staring.

It was just dreams, you'd say, yet you would think of him as someone who could truly be out there, searching for you. Your friends all called you delusional and figured you still believed in invisible friends, maybe you just never grew up, and they were partially right. The day you were taken by the Goblin King because your older sibling wished you away, there was a part of you that remained there, locked away in the dungeon of his castle.

But ever since you turned 18, you'd wondered if they were dreams that your kind used to cope with the abuse you suffered at the hands of your sibling. It was typical of them to roughhouse with you or to make you take the fall for broken or damaged items, hell, they despised you sometimes and you didn't understand why. You couldn't help that you existed. So you dreamt of a magical place that other people took for granted, and you thought that was normal.

So the night they said those words and figured you'd be better off in the labyrinth when they didn't come for you and didn't fight through the Goblin City to bring you back, Jareth felt pity for you. As much as he figured it wouldn't bother him, he'd done this so many times before, the way he looked down at you as you looked around in confusion rather than screaming got him thinking. He held you in his arms and watched you carefully, you got along with the goblins that surrounded you, you had even laughed with them as you sat in his throne room, and yet he waited to see if you would have been rescued. Once it hit the twelve-hour mark, he had stood from his seat on the windowsill, his cape trailing behind him as he bent down and scooped you into his arms.

When the goblins wanted to question him about his intentions, he whipped around with a fierce gaze and shut them right up. With you in his arms, he vanished from the room and appeared in the center of yours, your crib empty and messed up. He set you down and you settled in nicely, but your wide eyes stared up at him curiously. When he looked down at you and placed his slender finger in your tiny palm, you squeezed it and smiled.

He hadn't thought of anyone but you since then, he wished that your family would care for you deeply and that your sibling wouldn't be so harsh on you, yet that wasn't the case. Time for him in the labyrinth passed differently, so he practically watched you grow, and with you, something within him grew. He felt fondness, something he hadn't even thought would come with this job, and he successfully dodged it for so long. His other special case, the one other time he allowed himself to feel, was when a girl wished her little brother away, but she was stronger than Jareth had even hoped for, and she wriggled from his grasp.

That was so long ago, but now as he watched you from the crystal in his hand, he didn't know how to feel as you reread the letter again and again. His heart almost pounded wildly as he watched your fingers twirl the key around, he could sense how you contemplated the words written for you, how you wished you could believe it, and maybe you'd surprise him and call out to him.

He would wait, and so he did.

Funnily enough, he didn't have to wait long.

As you sat in the center of your bed, your hand holding onto the key tightly, you closed your eyes and almost began to laugh at how ridiculous you felt.

"God, what am I doing? This is stupid… But…" you sighed and sat up straight, then closed your eyes again, keeping them shut. "I wish the Goblin King would whisk me away to the castle…"

Nothing happened at first, your eyes opened and you were still surrounded by the darkness, so you let out a disappointed sigh. With a shake of your head, you stood up and felt your feet tap onto the floor that wasn't yours. The next time you blinked, your world melted away to reveal a warmly lit hallway that looked as if it could be inside a castle. Sconces that held torches lined the wall on either side, so you looked both ways down the hallway, curious as to which direction you should go to get out of there, but something pulled you straight ahead, so you followed that feeling, and examined the walls as you did.

They had been lined with cobwebs and there had been some clutter here and there, but overall it was like any other castle. You wanted to rush to the first door you saw to find answers, but something about this intrigued you, and you couldn't help but feel a sense of wonder. Your fingers slid across the cool stone as you rounded the corner, you were greeted by a large opening that led to a familiar garden, and a large water fountain sat directly in the middle.

You had seen this before in your dreams, where the king of these lands had kept you safe from the walls beyond the castle, and you smiled as you neared it.

"This isn't real…" you tried to convince yourself, even if it was growing more and more doubtful in your mind. "I mean… can it be?"

"It's quite real if you believe that it is," a voice said behind you, which caused you to jump and yell out. "There is no way to tell if it's not." He smiled at you, which revealed a crooked grin as his sharp eyes watched you.

"I… I've been here before, haven't I?"

"Have you?"

You scoffed at the vagueness of his responses, but there was something inside of you screaming, telling you the obvious answers to your questions. "You're him aren't you, you're the Goblin King."

"Yes, that much is obvious."

"Why have you written me all those letters?"

"The same reason you seem bound to this place, there is a part of you that dreams of this castle, and therefore a part of you that longs to be here. Can you not feel it when you wake?"

You stood near the edge of the fountain and looked at him, truly took a good look at him, and thought. He was right, you always did seem to be happy when you were here, and when you woke from your dreams, you felt the ache within your chest the further you pulled away. It was outrageous to think you'd long for this place that you'd only visited in dreams, how was it even possible?

"Y/N, you came here on your own accord this time, without the help of sleep to guide you, which means you wanted to be here."

He waved his hand and suddenly a crystal ball appeared in his grasp. It had looked fuzzy at first from where you stood, but the more you focused on the images in the reflection, the clearer it became. It had been flashes of your childhood and how you had been taken here as a baby, you backed away and leaned against the stone of the fountain.

"That was real…" you muttered aloud. "All of it."

"Indeed," was all the king said.

You looked up at him and stared if only for a moment. "I've known you my entire life, I've felt you all my life as if you'd been watching me."

"I have, I've always kept a watchful eye on you, Y/N."

"Then why didn't you save me from that awful house? Why didn't you let me remain in the castle as a Goblin? Anything would have been better if I'd been out of there."

"You may not be able to see it right now through jaded eyes, but I can tell you that your humanity and your mortality shouldn't be taken for granted. You needed to come here on your own of your own free will."

You nodded slowly, not wanting to overthink it, but you focused on his words and couldn't help but agree. Would you have been so willing if you had been turned into one of those creatures without your thought in mind? You wouldn't be so happy if you had no choice in the matter, so you released a sigh and bit your tongue.

"You're right, I guess that makes me happy you kept that in mind. Thanks…" The more you looked at him, the more detail you saw in his face of how sharp his features were, but something in his eyes and the way they fixated on you made you feel aflutter. You had always thought that the man in your dreams was going to be your 'knight in shining armor come to take you away', you just never realized that it could very well be a king of goblins coming to claim you to live in his castle.

The King didn't move from his spot a few feet away, instead, he remained quite distant, wary. He wanted to gauge your reactions while refraining from overwhelming you, he was just impressed that you arrived so soon. His eyes flickered down and saw the small key still in your grasp, and there was a small pull on the corner of his mouth.

"In lighter news," he began as he shifted, "you're welcome in the castle for as long as you deem worthy, all you need to do if you want to go back is to wish it with that." His eyes flickered back down to the key and he gestured toward it. "But if you're weary and need to rest, feel free to follow me to the great hall if you'd like. There's some food and drink to your liking that will be served."

You took a step forward and felt your stomach grumble, just now remembering that you hadn't really eaten tonight due to not wanting to hang around the dinner table for too long, so you slunk back to your room with minimal food in your stomach. "I could go for a bite…"

The king spun dramatically as his cape fluttered around him, then he walked ahead of you just fast enough that you wouldn't clip his heels. The click of his boots echoed throughout the halls as you followed obediently behind him, unable to truly say anything. What could you say to this situation anyway?

"Say, uh, what should I call you? I've felt like I've known you forever and yet don't know your name."

He continued to walk but peeked over his shoulder at you, his piercing eye caught your gaze. "You may call me anything you like, though my name is Jareth."

"Oh, forgive me, but thank you for your hospitality, Jareth, er, your Highness. Feels weird."

He chuckled as he turned back and continued to guide you. "All things will feel strange until you get used to them, it's nothing though, I shan't charge you with treason for not knowing my name, I promise."

"I'd be worried to find out what kind of kingdom you run if you DID charge people with treason for such a thing," you laughed. "But I do like your castle."

"You enjoyed it here as a child as well, glad to know some things haven't changed."

And then you fell silent for a while until you both turned a corner and walked into the great hall, where there had been a long table in the center of the room, only one place setting truly seemed as if it belonged there, but there had been an obvious second placement set up right beside the head of the table. On the surface, several covered silver platters shone dimly against the candlelight, and other platters that had been revealed all smelled delicious.

You took a deep breath and sighed when you smelled the savory foods, your stomach growled louder this time, and your face glowed with embarrassment. "Sorry," you said instinctively.

"Don't be, you must be hungry. Come, sit with me."

You followed and sat into the chair he pulled out for you, very unkingly yet you found it a kind gesture. As you settled in and stared down at the setting, you wondered if this was food made for human consumption, but once you saw Jareth sitting on the chair as he watched you carefully, he lifted his chin as you raised a cover.

“Is it not to your liking?”

“Is it… is it for humans?”

He chuckled. “Of course, it is, Y/N. You are a guest and I wouldn’t go as far as serving you food you cannot ingest.”

You looked down at it and smiled when it was a comfort plate you liked growing up, despite you being older now, the mere thought of it brought a smile to your face. As you started to bring forkfuls to your lips, only then did he begin to feast alongside you, but he remained only interested in you and what you were doing.

“So uh,” you began after you wiped your mouth with a napkin, “why do you write me almost every year on my birthday?”

Jareth leaned back further in his seat and watched you curiously, truly wondering how he should respond to your question. How could he say that he was keeping you at arms length because he felt something for you, something he hadn’t felt in years since the one girl who he tried to give his affections had torn him down and left him alone upon his throne, yet here he was thinking of you constantly? There was something in you that he couldn’t shake from his thoughts, and the more he watched you grow up and the more he saw the true, raw power within you, it only made him ache for you further.

“I know what it’s like to not have a childhood worth telling, and the day you arrived here was one that changed me, nothing more.”

He was rather tight-lipped about his thoughts on the matter, but you didn’t mind, seeing him here as he just stared seemed rather mysterious, but you didn’t feel uncomfortable in his presence but quite the opposite. You trusted him more than you could ever explain to anyone like he would know all of your secrets and keep them close to his heart, but there was something unspoken between the both of you that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You offered him a smile and pushed the plate away, having eaten your fill of food, now you just wanted to explore his world, and as if he could sense your thoughts, he stood from his chair and offered his hand.

“I will ask of you one thing, little one,” he said in a hushed tone, “that you always be honest with me. I may seem reserved, but in due time, I will be open with you, so long as you can do the same with me.”

Without hesitation, you nodded in agreement and offered him a small smile. “Of course, you whisked me away from that awful place, you offered me more than I deserve all those years ago, and I can’t thank you enough.” As you grabbed his hand and he pulled you to your feet, you stumbled slightly only to be caught by him, your bodies so close to one another that you felt the current of excitement and your nerves were on edge.

As much as he didn't want to, Jareth pulled away and once again began to guide you away and into the depths of his castle. As you tried your best to keep up, your attention was pulled every which way you looked whenever you'd see an open door, and you had seen so many things in a short amount of time!

There were goblins doing all sorts of chores, there had been some cooking, others causing a disturbance in one of the pantries, and even some that had been training in combat, albeit rather poorly. You couldn't help but stifle your laughter until you walked past a room door that had only been slightly ajar, and once again, your curiosity got the better of you. As Jareth continued to glide down the hall, he took notice of your now quieted footsteps, so he pretended as if it didn't catch his attention while he rounded the corner.

He knew the room you'd stumbled upon, one that he'd visited many times as you grew, it was the one place he sought solace when he desired it the most. As you pushed the door open and it gently creaked, it revealed a large desk cluttered with papers and a quill, several ink bottles, amongst other trinkets. There had been a shelf lined with several glowing crystals, all of which sat atop a small round wooden pedestal each lined with a soft velvet cushion. Your eyes looked upon each one, all of them having the same swirling, misty look inside of them, so you walked away and continued your search as your eyes settled on the shelf that held more trinkets and some books scattered about.

Each spine of a book was intricate in design and the covers seemed as if they were the first edition from the timelines they originated from, none of which had any titles or authors engraved on their covers. Your fingers slid across the spines but you didn't dare pick them up from their resting place, you admired them as you continued to look at each small treasure or bauble. There had been random pieces that looked like they came straight from a fairytale, like a hunk of wood that was carved delicately into a knight upon a horse, there was a ceramic creature that seemed ages old but still in prime condition, one that seemed it could have been from his childhood, but there really wasn't much else besides the mess on the desk.

You would respect his privacy and leave that alone, but as you walked by, there had been several scribbled-out drawings smeared with charcoal that sat slightly scattered on the corner of the desk. As you passed, you saw that they had been figure drawings of a couple, one seemed so far away from the other as the other danced off in the distance, it seemed almost as if the closer figure was yearning for the other. Your eyes sat upon the drawing for a moment and felt something stir within you, you just couldn't tell what it was, but now that feeling was replaced with fear of being found out of your snooping.

It was high time you got out of there before you were caught, so you squeezed out of the door and placed it back where you had found it, then smoothed out your shirt and made your way back to Jareth's side. As you rounded the corner where you saw him last, you practically ran into him as he leaned against the wall, as if he were waiting for you to come back.

"Ah, there you are, I thought you'd get sidetracked in there to the point I'd have to chase after you. Find anything interesting?"

Your face flushed as you stood there, caught red-handed and filled to the brim with embarrassment, unable to find the right words to say. "I did," was all you could muster.

He hummed and pushed himself from the wall and began to lead the way once again. "If you truly decide you don't want to go back, then would you like me to show you your quarters?"

"You'd give me a room here?"

Jareth turned to peek over his shoulder a little as he smiled. "But of course, unless you'd rather sleep with the goblins in their pile. They'd always welcome another."

"No!" You shouted loudly, suddenly. Then you flushed again and felt heat warm your cheeks. "I didn't mean it like that, I just–"

"I know very well what you meant," Jareth said abruptly, "but don't think I'd let you sleep in a goblin pile, much too unsanitary for you. I will show you to your room and then you can decide from there what you'd like to do. Sound fair?"

You nodded. "Yes, I think that's fair." While he finally arrived at the destination of the room you'd stay in if you so chose, you realized a large set of doors sat several feet away at the end of the hall. "What's in that room?"

"Those are my chambers."

You stiffened and realized his room was just near yours, this was no mere coincidence, was it? Ignoring those questions, you then pushed through the door to yours and peeked inside, and you smiled once you laid eyes upon it. "Oh wow, it's like the room I always wanted…"

Jareth smirked and leaned against the doorway as he watched you test out the bed, the mattress feeling plush and comfortable, and he watched as you flung onto your back and just laid there happily.

"This is perfect, Jareth, I love it. It'll be nice to have space for myself, especially when my sibling is in town. I plan on moving out, you know. I've been working so much just to afford my own place, it's going to be worth it."

"Why don't you remain here, Y/N?"

You sat up and stared at him for a moment in bewilderment. "Stay…here?"

He simply nodded.

"How would that even work? I don't, I mean, how does your kingdom work? Would I work here to earn my keep, what would I do? It's so different from home."

"You do ask many questions, I admire your curiosity. But it would be simple, you could do whatever it is you wish; explore the Goblin City, remain on the castle grounds, you would only work if you so chose to, but it wouldn't be necessary."

"What, all of this in exchange for what? I appreciate the hospitality, but what would you gain from this?"

Jareth straightened and continued to look at you. "It's simple, you claim your spot by my side. Fear me, love me, do whatever I ask, and I will be your slave. You do feel it, don't you? The feeling we both get when you arrive here in your dreams, it's an inevitable pull even since you came here that I cannot escape."

“Those are– those are dreams, aren’t they? Something in my subconscious that happens as I sleep, it means very little in the waking world, does it not? Just because I, well uh, never mind…”

Jareth had caught your hesitation, the way you broke your gaze as you sat on the bed and played with the hem of your shirt only gave him the opening to walk up to you, and he looked down at you with a soft expression when you refused to meet his gaze.

“You don’t understand what I’d give up for you, I have given you so much already and I would continue to do so if you just asked."

The thought of this powerful man standing before you, a king of all things, willing to give you the world and throw it at your feet if you so wished it, how did you end up in this predicament? And what was even more incredibly mindblowing is that you were considering it.

"This path that has been placed before you is yours alone to decide, whether you deny me and the labyrinth, or you remain here with the power to come and go as you please, that is solely up to you."

"So I'm not trapped here forever?"

The king scoffed at the word. "Of course not, you are not to be my prisoner, Y/N, you are to be welcomed in the castle, in the Goblin City, whenever you please in these lands."

How could you say no to something so deliciously tempting?

"What if I say yes?" You asked unsurely, your voice trembling slightly in fear you were to promise something you weren't sure you could quite agree to.

Jareth tilted his head as he looked down at you, he reached out his hand a crystal appeared in his grasp, and he held it up just enough to allow you to focus on the reflection inside. Only you could see the images that played within the sphere, but what you saw was only confirmation of your dreams.

"It shows you your dreams," he stated, "and this is not an offer for an ordinary person, you're the furthest from ordinary."

You looked up at him and smirked. "I suppose I could take that as a compliment."

He only smirked, revealing a smile you had only recalled in your memories, you were comforted by him at this moment to the point that you reached out for the crystal as he held it, but he clicked his tongue before your fingers touched it.

“If you take this, Y/N, you will be accepting your fate here in the Underground, so do not make this decision lightly.”

Your hand was frozen just inches from the crystal as you stared up at him, your expression unwavering as you offered a small smile to ease his ferventness as he leaned toward you, but you were unable to do much other than smile. He had taken your breath away once again and this is what it had built up to after all this time, so what would you do: would you wish yourself away from this place, to never see the Goblin King and his castle again, or would you give it all up to remain here?

#tinalbion writings #jareth the goblin king #jareth x you #jareth x reader #gender neutral reader #jareth fluff #jareth the goblin king fluff #jareth oneshot #jareth x GN!reader #jareth imagine #jareth the goblin king labyrinth #labyrinth movie

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sugarpea12345 · 10 months

Text

Cinderella (JJK x Reader)

Just a small blurb! Some features are inspired by a story on Quotev! There are some components to the blurb that not everyone may be comfortable with. Please read tags carefully! Im not a writer, so I have no intention to write a story on this. If any one wants to, though, I'll definitely appreciate a link! lol

also not edited so please forgive any misspellings

Tags: mentions of abuse, mentions of negligence, mentions of death, bullying, step-brother stuff I guess, mentions of devil (?), fem reader

IMAGINE

You were the daughter to a marquess and marchioness. This afforded you a life of luxury but not the highest standing either, keeping you humble.

Unfortunately, your father dies under suspicious circumstances and your mother quickly remarries. Your kind nature sympathizes with her decision even if you don’t agree with it.

You do your best to be accommodating and kind to the man, but he’s cold and indifferent to you. You meet his two sons in the wedding.

Toji and Naoya are mean. They bully and tease you. Often pulling at your hair or pushing you down. You would beg to sleep with your mom; cling to her throughout the day. As long as she was around, they wouldn’t tease you.

Until she wasn’t around anymore either. Contracting a mysterious disease, your mother withered away and within a week, she passed away.

As the last (L/N) member, you have inherited every asset. For this reason, the Zenin patriarch keeps you around. Yet, he punishes your existence by stripping you of every luxury you had. All your dresses and accessories sold or burned. You were kicked out of your room and forced into the servant’s quarters. Speaking of the servants they were all fired. Everyone of their duties reassigned to you.

Toji and Naoya were ruthless in your teenage years. Their bullying becoming more violent and humiliating. You were more rebellious at this age, and so multiple scuffles ensued. Fortunately, once they were in their early 20’s they had become more subdued. They still bullied and overworked you, but it was a lot easier now.

It was around this time that Prince Satoru begun to face pressure to marry. His father would only step down as king when Satoru had proved himself as reliable and responsible adult. And one of the ways he expected him to do this was to marry.

Deciding to host a ball, he invited every noble family. It was to be a three day celebration, to give Satoru ample time to connect with the people whilst finding a partner.

Receiving the invitation, Naobito demanded that both his son’s attend. He forced you to go into the city to pick up their suits and masquerade masks.

Heading into the city, you see the city’s outcast. Born with piercing red eyes and strange markings on his skin, he was ostracized. It was said that his mother had made a deal with the devil, hence her firstborn looking like one. He was verbally abused and neglected by the people, so when he could, he escaped into the forest. No one knows what he does there. He leaves the forest only in the rare occurrence that he needs something from the village.

He is welcomed with shut doors and silence. Most of the people hide, and those who stay open refuse to sell to him. Wearing a ratty and old cloak, he walked slowly into the now quiet city.

Seeing him, you mustered up what little personal money you had and bought him a new cloak. With the remaining money, you purchased some apples and oranges. Placing them in your own basket, you handed it to him.

Silently, he took it and left the city. You waved at him, before going in with the seamstress. As you put in the order, you had to around for it to be ready. You were planning on using your money to buy a sweet, but now that you had none, you didn’t know what to do.

As you idly walked around the bakery, you bumped into someone. He’s tall with long black hair. You profusely apologize, blushing at how handsome he is. He laughs at your attitude, letting you know that it was ok. Patting your head, he can’t help but stare deeply into your own eyes. This, obviously made you blush even more.

Chuckling, he invites you to the bakery. Red in the face, you shake your head profusely, letting him know that you had no money. You run away before he could respond.

Hiding in an alley, you look back at the memory and cringe. How could you act like that?! You acted like you have never seen a man! Holding your head in your hands, you slide down the wall and marinate in your embarrassment.

You were so engrossed in your emotions, that you didn’t notice him approach you with a small pastry in hand. In his other hand was another, bigger bag for pastries. Sitting next to you, you both share the one pastry and have a lovely conversation.

Soon enough, you both go you own ways. You pick up the suits and the masks and head back home.

When the night of the first ball came, you excitedly headed to the foyer, wearing your own homemade dress. Made from scraps of fabric and reused older clothes, you managed to make a decent dress. Toji couldn’t help but frown at the thought of other men seeing you

You were undoubtedly a pretty girl. Besides some scars from rough housing with Toji and Naoya, you were perfect. A part of him always liked you. You were kind, compassionate, and outgoing. And as you matured, you flourished into a kinder and prettier woman. Maybe that’s why he liked bullying you so much. He knew that any man with eyes would like to court you, and as your stepbrother he knew he could never cross that line. So instead, he opted to make you undesirable. Yet, seeing you in a ‘new’ dress, all dolled up, made him realize there was no way to make you undesirable.

Naobito, though, was enraged. Grabbing your arm, he roughly pulled you to the abandoned tower. Throwing you into the room, he grabbed at your dress, the seams coming apart easily. Forbidding you to leave, he locked the door and left you there crying.

Seeing the carriage leave, you sat in the darkest corner of the room. You sat with your knees pressed to your chest. You nearly cried yourself to sleep. Drifting off, you are rudely awaken by the window blowing open. In its wake, was the outcast. The man with red eyes.

Startled by his appearance, you get up. He calms you, letting you know that for you kindness, he would pay you back. After years of solitude, you were the first to help him unprompted. He hates owing people favors, so he was here to repay you. Transforming your dress into an elegant silver dress that sparkled in the moonlight. To top it off, your shoes transformed into glass heels. You thanked him profusely, hugging him tightly.

Unlocking the door and spawning a golden carriage, you headed to the ball. Before you left, he warned you of your time limit. You had one goal, meet the dark-haired stranger again. You didn’t know how he felt for you, but you like this was the love of your life. You had fallen fast and hard for him. You didn’t mind if he doesn’t love you, you just wanted to see him one more time

As you get to the ball, your one goal is the find him. Yet, you were immediately distracted by the food. It had been years since you were able to dine like this. As you picked at the food, you enter a scuffle with a stranger. Like everyone else, he was wearing a mask, so you had no way to identify him. You two argued slightly over a strawberry pastry, before the final song of the night began to play.

Leaving him behind, you head to the center of the ball room, with the stranger right on your heels. Grabbing his arm, you two danced. While you hadn’t been to a proper ball in years, you once were trained. You were clumsy, but not necessarily lost.

Also, it was easy to ignore your occasional mistakes as your smile and laugh enraptured the whole room. Namely, your dance partner particularly couldn’t look away. You were so carefree and passionate, something he had lacked for years. Holding on to your waist tighter, her pulled you in closer. Just as he neared his face closer to yours, the clock rang.

Abruptly, you pulled yourself away from him. He looked at you stunned and even hurt. Before he could pull you back, though, you began to run away.

As you made your way past the people and towards the entrance, you stumbled into the dark-haired man. Despite the mask, it was easy for you to recognize him. At his side stood an ethereal white-haired woman. Holding onto his elbow, they both looked stunning. This must be his betrothed or something. Hurt at the revelation, you pushed past them.

Getou fought the urge to chase after you. It was clear that you were upset and it pained him to see you like that. He also felt drawn to you after your meeting. He had hoped to see you here. Unfortunately, he had been pressured to attend with Mei Mei. Choosing to remain civil, he continued into the ball.

You made it to the carriage in time. While the evening was amazing, you struggled to smile. You were thankful for the experience, but you were also just as thankful that it was over. Come morning, and you would return to being the maid at the (Y/N) household. It would all go back to normal.

Or so you thought. Unfortunately for you, keen blue eyes of Toji had recognized you and watched you all night.

#jjk x reader #jjk #gojo x reader #geto x reader #toji x reader #x reader #imagine #fem reader

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slutforalastor · 4 months

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Unmasked

This was a piece done for the Pride Ring and Prejudice Regency-Era Collaboration for Bapple's Orchard!

Hope y'all like radiostatic

There was a saying shared in hushed whispers between the servants of the esteemed Master Ardoin; "absent his grin, he's been done in." In the privacy of our own quarters, we'd repeat it to ourselves and each-other after receiving a tongue-lashing that could curdle a cooling torte, his amicable smile never faltering. Should we ever see him with any other expression besides that tirelessly jesting thing, it was to be taken as a sure sign that our benefactor had been replaced. A dry and nearly humorless observation, as far as gossip went, but it required a remarkable bit of guile on our collective parts; after all, the previous favorite to spread like a germ from ear to ear was that his very shadow could hear what his owner was too preoccupied to. I preferred that one; I confess that on nights that particularly favored one's imagination for the supernatural, I saw the thing framed by candlelight and wavering with motions not matching the movements of its puppeteer.

But I ramble, as I am so often wont to do; so shared was our penchant for it that my master referred to my tangents as "endearing meandering". I have to wonder if he recognized that the only thing I used more than my mouth was my ears. I offer all of this by way of exposition to better frame that which I intend to share; the only letter he ever published. Permit me the opportunity to further expand on this, that the story told between the margins of this letter might be worth the expense of it all.

***

"Are you certain you need to fuss over your appearance so much when you are preparing to attend a masquerade ball?"

"Even typical balls feature masks, and the mask of subtly enhancing ones shortcomings is no exception. Perhaps my face will not stay covered. It's enough to make one wonder: why do we insist on these preposterous gatherings at all?"

Alistair Ardoin had long fostered a most bothersome habit for those that endured his company; asking questions he already knew the answers to. The young man, inspecting his reflection for imperfections, was clearly on edge. His thin, pointed nose is turned up at the amount of starch in his collar. His deep brown, nearly black eyes have their brows furrowed around them from focus and irritation. He brushes falling locks of his brown hair out his face, one hand still tightly clenched to the upturned fabric around his neck.

He was all for the gildings of social events; the opportunity to impress and delight with his candor and cadence. It was the unspoken purpose of them, to find and court a suitable mate, suitability mostly falling to how much the parents cared for the prospective suitor, that he took such issue with. He had never been much for what passed for romance, perhaps because he was born to play a different sort of role. A privileged few were privy to the truth of Alistair Ardoin, and I was among this cadre. I'd tended to the roots that fed the flowering tree he called his performance; the doubt he felt for himself and for his world, the reluctance to be beholden to expectations, the fear of reliance on others as mere unstated deference. Such anxieties were coming out, apparent from the way he fretted over his appearance and cursed the need for these wretched events in the first place.

"You're always telling me it's not always my place to question matters I can't influence, sir. Perhaps this is a time where it's not your place to question such proceedings."

"I will allow that slip of the tongue because I have no way to rebuke you, Husker, but I resent the reality you present. That I cannot influence it is, in fact, why I am questioning it."

"And so often, the revelation of not being able to influence this reality is the answer that such queries are seeking out."

"A third time speaking out of turn will leave no need for query, Husker."

"I am not so blind as to ignore a line drawn, sir. Are there any further preparations I need to attend to?"

Alistair finishes preening his clothes, moving on to fussing over his hair, the placement of his cologne. "Will that gossip rag magnate be attending the festivities this evening?"

"I should think so; it is an event meant for socialites, both of the established and aspiring sort."

His expression darkens in the mirror. "Is that what V. Oxton would consider himself? I suppose when you print sordid half-truths and whole-lies, it's no trouble to bend language to suit your own fancy. To think that the printed word could be utilized to such malevolent ends. Truly, no medium can long exist in dignity before being wrung of all traits excepting its base function. It is a disgrace to the Ardoin legacy."

"Eloquently spoken, Master Ardoin."

"I intended it to be so." Stepping away from the vanity mirror, he brushes off his chosen outfit for the evening, dark and slimming with eye-catching red embellishments.

"f I could be so bold, though, master, you've yet to even meet this V. Oxton fellow. Perhaps you should not be so hasty to cast aspersions."

"Perhaps it shall be at my discretion to cast them as I see fit. For now, we depart to this wretched obligation."

The estate of Zeriah Stiahl beckons the carriage through her gates, the diminishing sun granting the wrought iron and cobbled stone spectral shadows. Many of the most notable barons and industrial titans of Pruthring are already converging on this event, some being escorted across the grounds, a few already being ushered through the doors, and the less punctual still being directed past the entrance. Husker and Alistair are appropriately covert in observance of the masquerade's tenets, the master donning the countenance of a buck with a rack of impressive antlers and the subordinate choosing the appearance of a black cat. At the door, servants impersonating lesser demons, masks twists into expressions of malice, agony, and malfeasance, guide guests into the reception hall. Within the dim gathering, quiet conversations are thrown from wall to acoustic wall, assaulting Alistair like cannon fire. "I heard Lucien the First still has yet to return from his self-imposed isolation; they're starting to prepare Charlotte to take the throne… Rumor has it Camille has been profiting from this ghastly war by selling weaponry to both sides…"

All around him are easily entertained herds, waiting for the next scrap to tear into like carrion eaters, flapping from carcass to carcass, squawking endlessly. How it disgusts him. If he's meant to entertain this chatter, it will be with the humour of one that's enjoyed a few drinks.

"Husker, permit me some reflection with my drink," he directs, his dutiful right hand finding a spot further down the bar. At the far end, Alistair nurses a glass of rye, neat, allowing the conversation to pass over him much akin to the currents of a stream over an embedded stone. Despite the available seats, he's joined by a figure in the next seat, masked in a oblate shroud painted with hypnotic swirls painted across the material, shimmering in the dim light.

"Leaves one rather exhausted, doesn't it?" The hypnotic being wonders, more in Alistair's direction than to the man himself.

"Alcohol? I suppose eventually it would."

"Astute observation, although I more meant the festivities as a whole rather than the best part of them." He punctuates his emphasized words with a prolonged draught from his own glass.

"I suppose they're much the same; eventually exhausting."

"It all feels so trite, doesn't it? Nothing of real import happens here; they've lulled themselves into a false impression of security. None have any desire to push themselves, to gain real control, real influence."

Alistair's intrigued already. "Have you sought me out specifically, or has the alcohol just loosened your tongue?"

"Well now, how would I manage the feat of deducing exactly who you are under that mask?Why, you could be that feckless rag publisher Oxton, in which case you'd have quite the headline for tomorrow's paper: Hypocrisies of the Wealthy and Influential; Lavish Parties An Evergreen Hardship.

"I can assure you I've nothing to do with that embarrassment to the printed word."

"Surely not; he'd be strutting like a pampered cock, probably on the lookout for Zeriah himself, hoping to find himself in the graces of old money."

"So we understand each other, then."

"Do we? What an honor that would be. I confess I have little expertise in courtly matters; my fortune and status is not nearly as established as some of the other families."

"It means precious little; it seems to me you could do far more with your outlook than any of these could with their vaster riches and further-reaching influence."

"I hope your praise is genuine, my good man."

"I'm not in the habit of purveying falsehoods." Alistair takes another pull from his glass, sneaking better looks at the man out of the corner of his eye. He's tall, lanky, dark trousers, white undershirt, and a blue riding coat. He's got a top hat with an emblem of an eye stitched into it, ironically the only eye-catching feature of his ensemble.

"Might I inquire as to your name?" Alistair asks the masked stranger. The stranger wags a finger at him in response.

"Come now, my good man, the entire purpose of these gatherings is an air of mystery. Grant me the small favor of maintaining such a fleeting fancy for myself. It is ever so entertaining."

Alistair is already enthralled. So often conversations with his so-called peers devolve into dry discussions of politics that will do nothing to affect their wealth, social matters that only shake their particular sector of the web of relationships that bind them, or else contrivances that simply aren't worth his attentions. Finally, a man that operates on his wavelength. Perhaps a bit of bait to lure in this sporting catch.

"I cannot help but feel that we are developing quite a bond already. It would help me to know to whom I am speaking with, should obligation sow a divide between us over the course of the evening."

"A noble attempt, but you forget the novelty of my mask; I have no doubt that no other attendee has hidden their face under something precisely like it. Should we be separated by fate, you need only seek out my enamoring facsimile once more."

Alistair balls up the fist that isn't clutching the last few sips of his rye. It isn't often that he doesn't get what he wants. However, he isn't dealing with the type that is meant to take his wrath on the cheek and soldier on. He recognizes the need to stay his temper.

"Too true. A shame, it isn't often that providence grants me a meeting with one whose outlook did not chafe with my own."

"The night is still young. Tell me, would you care to dance?"

Alistair's heart catches, his unconscious actions interrupted by the reaction of his synapses. It is an unwelcome and unfamiliar sensation; he has never thought anything about that particular diversion. In his mind, it has only ever held the pitiful station of being the truest form of going through the motions. It brings him no revelry, no reckless abandon, nor the apparent desire it is meant to leave swelling in the performer's chest. It is merely a recitation memorized by the legs and arms. Yet now, the idea intrigues him. But he must not make it so easy for this gentleman. He knows exactly what he meant, but he will play coy, just to be sure. "I see no maidens with whom to do such a thing with."

"I can see why you'd be confused. My intention, however, was to ask if you would dance with me."

The certainty, spoken without hesitation or shame, sends him into fresh fits. Just who does this man think he is? It could be anyone, without so much as a name, and yet Alistair is letting himself be lured in by some ethereal pull. "Surely you can't expect me to dance with another man?"

"You'd be correct, I cannot expect such a betrayal of our customs, which you hold in such esteem. It would be far more accurate to say that I can only hope you would choose to dance with another man."

Alistair ponders for a moment, then drains the remainder of the spirit in his glass. "I suppose the drink has made cooler heads do more foolish things."

"Too true, sir, good chance this exchange could be entirely blamed on the whisky."

Leaving his seat, Alistair walks nearly arm-in-arm with this strange companion he's found. It is too early in the evening for the group to revert to the Country dances that have remained so popular. This dance is far more intimate, compact, reserved. It is a moment meant for two that happens to have an audience; there is no pretense of required participation. This is entirely a statement of intent. And the stranger's invitations are quite intentional indeed; the way he guides Alistair's arm around his waist, grants him the privilege of the masculine role in the dance, allowing Alistair to treat him much the way the prescriptions of his upbringing would demand he treat a more typical dancing partner. In fact, although Alistair is unable to gauge his reactions, the feeling of his body against him when the steps require closeness tell him that yes, the hypnotic stranger is enjoying this very much. In a hushed whisper, he asks him "what do you gain from this?"

"Can a man not enjoy a dance now and then?"

"Do you not fear the consequences of this?"

"Not as much as I fear the consequences of allowing you to slip between my fingers."

"You know nothing about me that would spur such possessiveness."

"A picture is worth one thousand words, and the way you were huddled over the bar was a work of art all its own."

Another stir from his restless heart. Alistair wants to throw off this stranger, leave this senseless, empty assessment of how well they remember the arbitrary rules written by those long dead, abandon this embodiment of pretense. Greater still, however, he wants to do just such a thing with this mysterious accomplice alongside him.

"I see no reason to remain here; I shan't be missed, and none will be able to even confirm I was or was not here. We needn't an audience for whatever you would call this peculiarity between us. Won't you accompany to my estate?"

The stranger laughs, bringing Alastor's hand to where his mouth would be but for the barrier put up by the mesmerizing covering against his face. "I had hoped you would ask me just such a thing."

Collecting Husker from the other end of the bar, he makes haste for his carriage. They spend the journey back to the Ardoin estate discussing all manner of things; their exhaustion with tradition, their aspirations, their careers, their desires. There is much more overlap than anticipated, and Alistair can hardly wait to get him through the door.

***

The two men make merry, sharing the better portion of a bottle of scotch far in the depths of Alistair's cellar. Their masks come off, and the stranger is a vision even still; piercing blue eyes, cropped black hair, a wicked trickster grin. They've sprawled across the sofa in the drawing room, Alistair humming a minuet he once heard. Vance is draped over the back of it next to him.

"Do you know what would soothe me, truly?"

"I truly pray that it is not more alcohol yet, I do believe if I were to attempt to fetch it, I would fall to my death down those stairs for want of sobriety's stability."

"No, no, I am quite drunk enough. I was thinking of where I might like to retire. A cottage near the cliffs of Dover, by the shoreline, where I could have reign over myself and myself alone. The only kind of power that is absolute."

"Perhaps you needn't live there alone."

The stranger smiles, and lays his head down across Alistair's lap. After a night of defying conventions, coupled with his stifled inhibitions, Alistair welcomes this, absentmindedly stroking the stranger's hair.

The stranger.

"Something occurs to me."

"Best seize it, then, before the occurrence is mere past tense."

"Our agreement was a dance for your name. Are you a man that doesn't keep your promises?"

"Come now, I'm many things, but scoundrels shan't count me among their numbers. I will give it to you. Though I dread how it might affect the evening that's been shared between us."

"How could it?"

"Because my name is Vance Oxton."

Alistair's hand moves away from his hair, his body to the edge of the sofa, leaving Vance's head against the cushion. "I suppose you've got quite a story for your paper then, you fiend. Trying to ruin me, is that it?"

"Hardly. As a matter of fact, I believe that you and I could have quite a fruitful business partnership."

"Was such a meeting as this your intention from the beginning? How did you know that it was me there, then?"

"You flatter yourself; I would consider this fate more than an orchestrated occurrence. I wasn't at all sure of the identity beneath the mask, but as I see it, I've found a new friend and potential equal in the field."

Alistair rakes his fingers across the fabric of the furniture, gritting his teeth. "You speak of friendship as though that word functions without an acknowledgement from both parties. I have no respect for your methods and lesser still for your willingness to deceive."

"Alistair, please," Vance begins, bring himself upright with unsteady arms.

"I demand you see yourself out with haste, Mr. Oxton."

Vance's face, twisted with grief, does as is requested of him.

For a time, none save for myself were aware of this occurrence. The master always endured periods of ennui and solitary reflection, but none were so profound as the time after the masquerade. What made it most perturbing was the fact that his smile had faded like the last vestige of an ember dancing across a melted candle. He began taking deliveries of the Oxton Observer, as though waiting for the inevitable tarnishing of his reputation at the hands of the magnate. To his surprise and increasing worry, the news never broke. In place of that severance was his heart, torn by his unwillingness to tug at the rusted chain that bound him. I wasn't certain that he would ever unburden himself of his bondage, until I awoke to him completely absent the estate. It was the same evening as when the Masquerade had take place a year prior, May 11th. As was customary, a copy of his own newspaper made its way to our step, and as was a routine so ingrained in me that my own concern and barely-repressed grief were not enough to stay it, I read the headline. And I knew I needn't search for him after I read the rest.

Elsewhere, at that same moment, Vance Oxton was seen for the final time, departing the offices of the Oxton Observer, a carriage bound down an easternly road. It was considered crass to consider the two connected. But I knew better; I have always known better. I remain faithful as I ever was.

****

"To the one that wore the hypnotic mask one year ago,"

I have not always been too proud to admit when I was wrong. In this instance, I find my pride too wounded by an emotion yet more powerful; regret. To say that I live in regret of the progression of the evening we shared is to understate the torment I've endured to the same degree as summarizing the Odyssey as a journey across the sea. I live in pronounced fear that my haste to send you away has forever spoiled the banquet of life we were meant to take our fill of. If by some divine miracle my folly would be a lesson in humility rather than the decisive blow that renders me meant to endure my foolishness in isolation, I pray you join me in that place you confessed that you would retire to, if such a chance arose. Such a chance presents itself to you now, if you would only seize it. Let the silence I cause to descend around us be lifted.

Yours,

Alistair Ardoin."

#radiostatic #alastor hazbin hotel #vox hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #regency au #masquerade #pride ring and prejudice

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velvetfoxgames · 11 months

Note

Only if it’s not too much trouble- would it be possible to know what the Halloween emails said? Looking forward to the game!

The photo edits of their costumes are a little too cursed to share, but here's the emails in the order they were sent:

BROOKLYN

Greetings.

Halloween is just around the corner. I will be attending a Hallow's Eve ball. It will require masquerade attire, rather than costumes, which is a bit boring. But I’ve coordinated an outfit with a black, gold and white mask. It’s an authentic Italian mask I had delivered from Rome. Besides that, unfortunately I don’t think any of my associates will be dressing up this month for meetings. I’ve decided to wear Halloween-themed ties, and I’ve also designed a few boutonnieres that will use darker colored flowers from the garden. This way I’ll still be keeping with some of the Halloween spirit.

I hope you’ll be engaging in Halloween activities this year. If you’d ever like any costume advice, please feel free to message me. I can recommend some historical ideas. I’d imagine you’d look rather nice in a 1910s Victorian outfit.

Be well and enjoy this month’s festivities.

Yours truly, Brooklyn Hayes

MILO

Hi. It’s almost Halloween. People at my work are dressing up and having a work party. I’ll be wearing a plaid shirt and jeans. So I’ll be a lumberjack.

I’ve never done much on Halloween before. And I haven't been trick or treating. If there’s anything you think I should try to do this year…I might listen. You usually have good suggestions for things. And a corn maze or something wouldn’t be too bad.

At the very least, I hope you do something fun in place of me.

Talk to you later.

-Milo

RORY

Hi. Halloween is in a few days.

I don’t usually do much for it, but someone is making me go trick-or-treating with them at a mall, even though we’re way too old for that

-_-

I’m also being forced to dress up. So I’m going as Eddie Munson from Stranger Things. I even have a wig. But don’t expect any pictures, because I don’t want that immortalized.

If it was up to me, I’d go to this haunted house nearby. It’s supposed to be really good. I’m actually not sure if you like scary things…? I don’t know. But maybe someday…we could go.

Whatever you’re up to, hope you have fun. Be careful.

Rory

ALEXEI

Hello,

Halloween is only a few days away now. I was doing some research on it the other day. Did you know that Irish immigrants helped bring Halloween to the US? And that jack-o-lanterns were originally hollowed turnips with lights in them to ward off spirits? Halloween is a celebration with a very interesting history. I don’t usually do much for it, but someone I work with decided to get me a costume this year. He thought it would be funny if he dressed me up as Chucky from the movie. I’m not sure why he thinks it’s funny. I have not seen that movie. I know a wig will be required.

I’ll be working on Halloween, but maybe I’ll send you a picture of myself, otherwise I don’t think too many people will see me dressed up.

I hope you have a good Halloween and do a lot more than me. I’d maybe like to see a picture of your costume as well.

Talk to you later and take care, Alexei

TOBIAS

BOO!!!

Happy Halloween B)

Well almost Halloween

I’ll be heading out to one of those celebrity costume parties tomorrow. You’ll probably see what I’m dressing up as in the press but maybe I can tell ya now ;)

I’m goin as a cowboy C):) and let’s just say the vest I’ll be wearing won’t have anything underneath. Are u picturing it? Good B)

I'd like to know what ur going to be. Bet it’s cute. If you were coming with me to the party we could dress in matching outfits. Don’t know if you’d have much fun tho. Those celebrity parties are actually kinda boring. I think Id rather join with whatever ur doing

Don’t get into too much trouble tomorrow. Message me later. If ya can

Adios partner B)

LEO

HAPPY HALLOWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 👻

Hey hey I hope you have a great day today!! Idk if you’re planning to go out or not but either way I hope you dress up or eat lots of candy or watch some scary movies!!! Do something fun because I want you to have the best day possible ^^

My friends and I are having a dnd night at one of their houses. Halloween campaign! We’re dressing up as video game characters lol I’m Link :D

Since we’ll be at a house we can hand out candy. Someday maybe next year I'd like to do something with you? We could go to a pumpkin patch or check out fall colors…just been thinking about it.

Anyway have a good Halloween!!!!!!!!!! Hope I can talk to you later ^^

-Link (Leoooo)

#infinite blue #ask #main six #velvet fox games #tobias #rory #milo #leo #alexei #brooklyn

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wyyvernn · 1 year

Note

Hello! How are you? I just want to say a couple of things. First things first; I love your AC content, I was just reading your Vampire Haytham Headcanons and I just wanna ask a question or two.

1. Would Connor aka be a dhampyr in the AU? Since he is Haytham's and Ziio's son or would he be human? An assassin/vampire hunter? 👀👀👀👀👀

2. Would he want to turn his S/O into a vampire or would he keep them as a human? If he does turn then how would it work? Would Haytham even want to have a coven of vampires?

3. Is Haytham the first of his kind? Was he born as a Vampire or was he perhaps turned? If he was turned; who made Haytham a vampire? Who would be the frist Vampire in this AU?

4. What would happen if he was attending a masquerade ball with S/O? What would he during such event as a Vampire?

I am so sorry if these are stupid questions but I'm wayy to invested into this AU! Here, take these

Have a good day/afternoon/evening/night!

A/n: Hiyaaa! I'm good! These aren't stupid questions! And I'm glad that there are a few interested in this AU! Also TY THOSE ARE SOME CUTE GIFS EEEEEE

1. Oohhh good question, I never really thought that far haha but now I'm thinking about it, I would think that Connor is most likely a dhampyr since when I was writing the headcanons, I imagined Haytham being a vampire for sometime, definitely before he came to America.

2. If his S/O wasn't a Templar and didn't have any intention of joining then I think probably not. I don't think he would want to involve them in a cause that is clearly dangerous and requires the upmost devotion. It's not exactly a decision to be taken lightly or without trust. Maybe if they joined the Order and asked him to turn them then I could see him doing it as part of the initiation process but also because he wants them by his side forever. In my headcanons, I sort of just thought of the entire Order as vampires. Those who are interested in becoming a Templar; however, have no idea about the Order having vampires within and either join once they can be trusted or are killed off when they realise the truth and try to back out - as a precaution, of course.

3. Since I imagined him as being a vampire for some time, I would think that Reginald Birch would be the one who turned him eventually once Haytham grew old enough, experienced enough. Maybe after he finished his training or after his first kill.

4. I think the only real reason Haytham would go to such an event is for some kind of Templar business. Maybe a traitor needs to be assassinated or the host is holding important information that is useful to him. But I can also see him blending in with his S/O, whisking them away in a dance, if only for a short while to cross the dance floor. A thousand pardons here, a thousand pardons there, sorry madam, excuse me gentlemen... he's more focused on the mission at the end of the day. These types of events don't interest him much. (But man, now you have me wanting to draw him in a mask hhhh.)

#haytham kenway x reader #haytham kenway #assassin's creed 3 #assassin's creed iii

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fllagellant · 4 months

Text

like . Okay sorry the Witcher trees ( yeah sure we can call it that ) thoughts are breaching containment , but like . I still want the two of them to have those talents . I still want Wyll to be a dancer . I still want Giilvas to play instruments .

Sure , ln my mind palace , Ulder has been dead for a while . The generation of Ravengards Wyll was born into is one of the oldest currently in the family , and he still looks young , and it’ s not like he is often discussed at family dinners . So he isn’ t trying to get back into contact with them and no one is inviting him down to the gatherings ( there is also the mizora lore I made up also for why he doesn’ t try to get into contact . Don’ t worry about it .. ) but he still Knows . You know ? He still finds himself drawn to contracts that take him to higher society , sometimes . He’ ll watch over a masquerade ball on the off chance that the fear of some sort of ghoul appearing , and because he .. he doesn’ t miss it . He’ s never attended one before . But he wonders what it would be like as a guest of honour , and not the bodyguard . He’ ll take the jobs that lead him into castles and sprawling estates , just to think about it . If he wasn’ t a Witcher … but , of course , he still does pick up the art of ballroom dancing . He just does . Something he ended up trying to learn , that he ended up getting to do once or twice out in balls and parties with his face hidden … he’ s a natural at it , and can dance for far longer than anyone else ( I still want him to get the record he mentions … little did they know he had a slight advantage … )

And for Giilvas . He already has the callouses to start playing no problem . He is musically gifted , he can pick up instruments easy and can sing good ! But how he first gets into it … okay it is Giilvas he might have just ended a dare with a bard in a tavern and had a “ oh shit ! “ moment but . Idk . He’ s also just drawn to it . I don’ t think you could stop him from making music forever , even with the Witchering .. I know in the normal universe giilvas lore he is his own bard and writes his own songs but I think it would take Witcher Giilvas faaaaar longer to get to that point . But he still picks up instruments as he moves through it all . He hangs around by street performers or near whatever entertainment is at a tavern . He watches mummers performances when he can find the time . He’ d end up with a violin of his own at some point . Let him be free and be a fiddler on his travels .. “ I just do this because I get bored , nothing special “ <- guy who is about to wow you with his performance . And I mean . He works more in cities anyways . He would get used to the preformer culture he would find there .. he’ d end up surrounded by it at Some Point

Okay yeah ramble done can you imagine Wyll trying to teach Giilvas a ballroom dance for me . Bonus points if there is blood . Post contract courtmanship dance ?

#giilvas #wyll ravengard #willow trees

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diomaster69 · 1 year

Text

Diluc, Kaeya and Wanderer - Cinderella

youtube

King Krepus Ragnivindr has decided it was about time his son was to wed. He decides the most efficient way to do this is to host a masquerade ball. He invited every eligible unmarried person in the kingdom of Mondstadt in hopes of finding his son a spouse. Diluc can only pray to Barbatos that he may find someone worthy of love.

Meanwhile, a young person is at home. They are cleaning the house from top to bottom for their stepmother and stepsisters. The three ladies are beautiful but are vain and cruel at heart. Y/n's father died from an illness years ago, so they are stuck with a wicked family. There was a knock on the door, Y/n opened it and was surprised to see the King's advisor, Jean.

"Prince Diluc Ragnvindr has invited you to an exclusive masquerade ball-," Y/n couldn't hear the rest of her words, their stepsisters and stepmother squealed in excitement. All they had to hear was the prince and they were ready to leave.

Of course, when the step sisters heard the news they were as excited as Y/n. Their stepmother scoffed at the idea of Y/n going and she decided to make a deal with them, "Y/n, if you can scrub and dust this house by the end of the night and find an outfit and mask suitable enough for the ball, you may go.”

Y/n's step sisters cackled at the very idea of Y/n being able to get all this done. Despite their merciless teasing, Y/n was able to do as their stepmother told them. Of course, their stepmother still wouldn't allow them to attend the ball. She had locked Y/n up in their bedroom while she and her daughters left.

And so, Y/n sat at the window, staring at the stars for the rest of the night... that would have been the case if this blue-haired man hadn't been walking around. He had just noticed this individual looking up at the sky. And so he began talking to them, "Excuse me. Are you not attending the ball tonight?"

Y/n's head looked down at this man, thinking how strange it was he was wearing an eyepatch, "No, I wasn't allowed to. I'm locked in my room, if I wanted to go I wouldn't be able to."

"What if I got you out and helped you get to the ball?"

Although this piqued their interest, they rolled their eyes, "I've seen you before, but I don't even know who you are. Why would you help me? We're strangers."

The blue-eyed man smirked, thinking to himself before speaking, "I am Venti, Prince Diluc's bard for the night."

"Why would you be wandering around Mondstadt?"

"I was just on my way to the ball. Now would you like me to assist you?" The man smirked, smoothly lying. Y/n was a bit suspicious that a well-dressed man was a bard but agreed, they jumped from the window into the man's arms, "Wonderful. Get dressed and we shall go."

"I haven't got an outfit, I'm afraid it was ripped to shreds,"

"Well, you can't go to a masquerade ball without a mask and an outfit! Don't worry. I know the perfect place," He gently grabbed Y/n's hand and led them into a deep part of the forest until the pair reached a well.

"It's a well," Y/n said unenthusiastically.

"Ah ah~ It's no ordinary well. This is the well of a magical fairy. All you have to do to summon her is wish for something. So. Wish for an outfit to the ball, and perhaps a carriage to get there while we're at it,"

Y/n just side-eyed him while silently wishing in front of the well, hoping this works and he isn't just messing with them. They opened one eye to see nothing had changed about the well, "Venti, you lied!"

"Are you sure about that?" "Venti" smirked before making them look back at the well to a very angry fairy. This fairy certainly wasn't one you'd imagine from a fairy tale. He was a short, furious, hat-wearing man.

"Who summoned me this time? I swear I'll never forgive that stupid fairy for cursing me and making me take her place!"

"Well someone’s in a bad mood," The fairy man snapped his head towards "Venti".

"Oh great, it's you. What do you want this time?"

"This kind person here is the one requesting something," Y/n awkwardly waved as "Venti" pointed to them.

"And who are you? A lowly human?"

"I'm Y/n. I didn't want to summon you. I thought this man here was pranking me but apparently, you're a fairy who can help me,"

"I don't help anyone just cause they ask nicely. I only helped this guy once because I owe him my life. But he's also the reason I'm a cursed fairy," The fairy glared at "Venti ", "Wanderer at your service. What can I do for you?"

"Well... Wanderer. I was hoping I could get an outfit for this ball... and maybe a carriage?" Y/n shyly asked, worried about this fairy's outbursts.

He merely sighed, "Alright, done and done. What else?"

"Um... I guess that's it. Oh, I’d like it if my face can’t be recognized with the mask on too. What do I need to give you in return?"

Wanderer was just dumbfounded, "Is that it?" He thought for a second, "Then... in return, I wish for you to take me as your date."

This caught "Venti" off guard, he dryly chuckled, "I didn’t realize you would fall easily for a ‘lowly human’. You just met! At least take them out to dinner first.”

Y/n and Wanderer became flustered with Y/n lightly hitting “Venti”, “Don’t just say things like that!”

"Shut it! I meant as an acquaintance. I've been wanting to leave this god forbidden well. Now do we have a deal or not?" Wanderer held out his hand to seal the deal. Y/n nodded and took it. Before long they were surrounded by blue-colored winds which completely changed their outfit. It was white and gold themed, each piece beautifully detailed along with the mask on their face. Alongside Y/n was a fancy white pumpkin carriage.

Once the winds had gone, Y/n turned to face Wanderer, who was wearing a matching outfit. "Venti" sighed before putting up his facade again, "You two look wonderful. Shall we get going?"

"We? Who said you were going?" Wanderer gave "Venti" A death glare while assisting Y/n into the carriage.

"Eh? I'm a part of the ball am I not?"

"He says he’s the bard, he'll be performing tonight. Just let him in," This made Wanderer turn his head towards "Venti" with suspicion before giving in and letting him inside the carriage.

The three finally arrived at the castle steps. Y/n rushed ahead of the other two, excited to see everything, the castle was simply magnificent. Wanderer looked at "Venti" as he made his way up the steps with him, "Why are you lying to them? What's the point?"

"Me? Lying? Why would I ever do such a thing?"

"Don't pull my leg, you know what I'm talking about. Why not tell them you're the Prince's brother?"

"Hm... Truth be told, I noticed them a while ago. I must admit, I think they're quite enchanting. However, I don't like the idea of my princely title getting in the way. I believe it would be best if I put on this play for as long as I can,"

"Until what? Until you get tangled in your web of lies? You really think they'd like someone who just lies their way out of everything?"

"Oh? And you think they'd like a fairy who throws tantrums as you do?"

"They’re more likely to fall for me than you,"

"Oh? Has the great fairy fallen for the sweet Y/n?"

“Don’t be absurd!”

Meanwhile, Y/n had been admiring the architecture. From the pillars to the patterns in the ceiling. That is until they bumped into the redhead of the night who was dancing with one of Y/n's stepsisters Y/n fell to the ground and so Diluc stopped dancing to help them up.

"Uh- excuse me! You were dancing with me. Why are you helping this peasant?" Diluc simply gave her a stoic look as Y/n took his hand, he was clearly uninterested in their step-sister.

"Pardon me," Was all he said as he went off to dance with Y/n, "I apologize for my dancing partner's harsh words. I hope you're alright. We bumped into you quite roughly."

Y/n's heart just beat faster, the Prince was a true gentleman. This was the first time Y/n had ever seen him, there were no pictures they could see of him. He was the standard of beauty. The way his long red hair just moved along with him as the two danced the night away. Truly breathtaking. The two needed no words, they were able to dance perfectly in sync as if they were made to complete each other.

Wanderer and "Venti" were nearby, watching the two. The sight of the Prince and Y/n dancing made Wanderer laugh, "Are you jealous, Prince Kaeya?"

"Not at all. Just because they dance well together does not mean they're fated to be together," Now, Prince Kaeya was able to smoothly cover his true feelings up but he couldn't help but feel the ache in his chest seeing his brother whisk the one he had fallen for so long ago away.

Wanderer was simply not convinced and decided to push further, "I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I can just see that they were made for each other."

"Aren't you supposed to be a fairy godmother? It’s not very godly of you to not help a poor soul in need,"

"Shut it. Buer was, not me. But we all know what happened. Not helping you should be considered payback for what you've done to me,"

"Whatever you say, Wanderer. I'll be in the gardens," Prince Kaeya excused himself.

Y/n could hardly take their eyes off Diluc's. The red eyes were full of passion and ambition. Diluc smiled at them, "So I'm assuming you're here for the potential to be my spouse?"

"Wait- what?" Y/n was taken aback, stopping their dance, "I had no idea this was meant to be a matchmaking type of ball!"

Diluc was now equally confused, "So... you didn't come here to try to marry me?"

"No! I just wanted to get out for once and didn't even think I'd run into you! Not that I'm complaining of course,"

"Oh. I see. Then… if you'd like we can explore the palace?"

"I'd love that actually," Diluc guided them through the palace, ignoring anyone who asked him or Y/n to be their partner. From the throne room, through the halls, until they both reached the gardens. The pair were chatting about the architecture, getting quite close. Diluc was just about to see what Y/n looked like without the mask until they spotted Prince Kaeya. Diluc approached first.

"Ah, Y/n. This is-,"

"Venti? What are you doing here?" Diluc raised a brow and Kaeya immediately stood up.

"Kaeya. Care to explain why this lovely individual is calling you by the name of our bard?"

"I can explain," He calmly stated, gathering himself, "Y/n. I may have lied to you."

"What? Why? Who are you then?"

"That is my brother, Prince Kaeya of Mondstadt."

"You were the other Prince!?" Y/n nearly fell over if Diluc wasn’t holding onto them.

"I apologize for lying. I didn't want my title to intimidate you... to be honest I... never mind that. How are you enjoying the ball? I see you've got my brother in your arms. I take it you two shall be wed?"

Y/n became flustered immediately, "Oh no no! I didn't even realize this ball was meant to be with Prince Diluc until five minutes ago!"

"Oh? So I still have a chance then?" Kaeya smoothly replied.

"Brother! Must you be so impolite?" Diluc frowned. That's when Wanderer arrived in the gardens, pulling Y/n aside as the brothers bickered.

"Y/n, I heard this lady talking about you. I think she knows who you are and plans on going home as soon as possible to make sure you're still there,” He looked behind himself just in case, “Is that why you wished to not be recognized with your mask on?”

Y/n sighs, "That must be my stepmother. She didn't want me coming here in the first place,"

"Then I must get you home quickly before she knows,"

Y/n looked back at the bickering brothers, “But what about-,”

Y/n’s stepmother was seen coming out of the ballroom with their step sisters towards the gardens. Wanderer had grabbed their hand, making a run for it. Amid their running, Y/n’s shoe slipped off. They looked back at it but Wanderer made them keep going, telling them to ignore it. The royal brothers frantically left the gardens, looking for the two, shouting their names.

Wanderer used his powers, and blue winds surrounded the two of them, suddenly appearing at his well. Wanderer sat them on a log and sat beside them, “Sorry for dragging you away like that. I didn’t want your stepmother to find you out. Figured it’d be a huge pain for you.”

“Well, you aren’t wrong. I should probably find a place to hide this outfit huh?”

“You can hide it with me if you want,”

The two of them sat in awkward silence until Y/n piped up, “I remember you said Ven- I mean… Prince Kaeya was the reason you’re a fairy godmother. How is that?”

Wanderer stared at Y/n, making them flinch and almost taking back the question if he hadn’t piped up, “Buer... Nahida was the original fairy of the well. At some point in my life, I was a poor boy just begging on the streets for scraps to eat. I think I passed out from starvation until young Prince Kaeya found me. He took me to Nahida’s well and she saved me. Because she and the prince saved me I felt I owed them. I asked what I could do in return. Nahida asked me to temporarily take over for her. She said she’d come out when I find… When I find something. She currently resides in the well, no idea when she’ll come out again.”

“What’s it like in there?”

“It’s beautiful. It has a nice palace that I normally live in. Nahida’s been in her room so I haven’t seen her in there much,”

“You said you helped Prince Kaeya once. When was that?”

He thought for a moment, “I’m sure if I told you, he’d try to kill me.”

“Tell me!” Y/n demanded.

“Alright, alright! When we were both a little older and I was still this cursed fairy thing, he was on the run from the palace. He had asked me to grant him the ability to be so charismatic because he wanted to be able to leave the palace whenever he pleased without anyone questioning him. I thought it was a stupid request but I granted it regardless,”

“I guess even younger Princes still have things to get away from,”

“Yes, I suppose so… he seems to care about you a lot you know. I’ve heard him talking about you for years, I feel like I practically know you without properly meeting you. It’s kind of annoying.”

Y/n froze, “Wait, what? Years? I just met him tonight!”

“Believe it or not, he’s watched you for years. Creep. Anyways, I think it’s best if we get you home, it’s past midnight and your so-called family is probably going to arrive home soon,”

They nodded. Wanderer took their hand and led them out of the forest, using the winds to lift them back into their room and magically changing them out of their ball outfit back into their rags. He waved goodbye to them and disappeared just before their stepfamily could see him.

“Y/n! We’ve returned. I hope you’ve finished your chores,” Y/n’s stepmother announced as she barged into the house.

Y/n, back in their usual rags stood in the spotless home, stunning their family, “I was just relaxing by the fireplace, I hope you all had fun.”

Their step-sisters ignored Y/n and went up to their respective rooms. Y/n’s stepmother was still suspicious of them. So, as soon as Y/n went up to their room in a tiny and cramped attic, she locked the door. The next morning, the Prince and his assistant went all over the kingdom in order to return the shoe to the rightful owner and find the one who stole the Prince’s heart. Though it would be a while before they reach Y/n's home.

Y/n was lonely, being starved in their room, rarely getting a meal. That would be the case if Wanderer, for whatever reason, kept them company. He brought them food and newer clothes, he took care of them. It was strange but Y/n didn’t question it, afraid they would offend him. Though they did wonder, where had Prince Kaeya gone? It had been nearly a week. A quiet morning was interrupted by chattering downstairs.

“Oh do come in! I’m sure my daughters would fit the shoe you’re speaking of!” Y/n’s stepmother enthusiastically spoke. It seemed the Prince and the advisor were here. If only Y/n could leave. They jiggled the door knob though it didn’t budge. They tried for the window but for some reason, it was as if the window was glued shut. Y/n began having a hard time breathing, feeling too claustrophobic.

With a gust of blue wind, Wanderer had appeared. He quickly made his way to Y/n, holding them in order to calm them down, “It’s alright, I am here now. I can get you out of here and you can try on that shoe and be safe with the Prince. I know you’ll be happy and safe.”

“But what about you? What happened to Prince Kaeya?”

“Don’t worry about me. Kaeya… he was forbidden from leaving. The King found out he had been sneaking out and locked him in his room. But I’m sure you’ll be able to see him too once you’re out of this place.”

“Wanderer?”

“What? Tell me what to do and I’ll do it.”

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for disappearing for so long. I was working on this story and it took forever to finish. But I'm glad I did, I'm kind of proud of it. Hope you all enjoyed it, there will be different endings that will come out soon.

Also if you have any questions please leave them in the comments below. I packed a lot of lore into this story (for no reason) and I'd love to answer your questions.

#wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader #x reader #kaeya x reader #diluc x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #kaeya alberich #diluc ragnvindr #Youtube

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