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dragon-kazansky · 24 hours

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Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

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

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Thirteen - Passionate

♡♡♡

A garden party was a nice occasion. The joys of being outdoors while socialising with dear friends had a calming and charming air about it. You found it rather pleasant being in the outdoors.

The flowers smelled wonderful, and you couldn't help making mental notes of some of the flower arrangements for, perhaps, future uses.

As you stroll, you come across the Bridgertons. You smile at Violet as you get closer, though she is talking to Eloise, who sounds less than pleased with the topic of conversation. You decide to narrowly miss this conversation for now and walk past them to where Benedict and Anthony were talking to a couple of young ladies.

Both men seem to perk up at your appearance beside them.

"Hello," you smile at the pair.

"Good afternoon," Anthony smiles back.

"Enjoying the fresh air?" Benedict asks, also smiling. Smiles all around, how joyous.

"Yes, very. This is lovely."

Anthony waves over a servant with a tray of lemonade and hands you a glass. You take it with a soft thank you, missing the look Benedict gives his brother. Anthony elects to ignore Benedict as he smiles at you again. You sip the lemonade.

The sound of someone clinking their glass to signal attention has everyone turning around to look at Colin Bridgerton.

"Can I have your attention?" He asks, looking around at everyone.

"What's he doing?" You ask quietly to the brothers beside you.

"No idea," Anthony mutters.

"I would like to make a small but important announcement," Colin declares. He is standing next to Marina Thompson. "I have happy news to impart. I have asked Miss Marina Thompson to be my wife and she has accepted."

You nearly choke on your lemonade. Benedict and Anthony look at each other. Anthony, in particular, looks less than pleased by this.

People clap around them. You clap for appearance sake, but you look up at Anthony. "Did you know?"

"No."

Anthony steps forward to talk to his mother. You can't hear what they're saying. You look up at Benedict. "I wasn't even aware your brother was courting."

"Neither was I." He says with a little shrug.

Everyone moves to go congratulate the couple. As you pass Anthony, you look up at him. He offers you his arm and you both approach Colin and Marina.

You could feel him seething behind his calm exterior.

After the party, Anthony takes Colin into his study to talk to him. You have no idea what they discuss, but you can take a pretty good guess.

♡♡♡

The next morning, you went to the Bridgerton house to see Violet. After Colin's unexpected announcement, you wanted to know all was well with the rest of the family. They were already without a sister now. They did not need to lose Colin so soon, surely.

Lady Bridgerton was most pleased to see you at her door. She told you they hadn't even started breakfast yet and invited you in. Benedict was there with the two youngest siblings. You smile at him as you enter. He smiles back softly, seemingly pleased to see you.

"Take a seat," Violet says kindly.

You sit next to Gregory, opposite Hyacinth, who sits beside Benedict. The eldest son at the table hasn't torn his gaze from you at all.

"Tea, ma'am?" The butler asks.

"Yes, please."

A cup is poured for you.

"Are you hungry?" Violet asks.

"No. I ate at home. Thank you, though." You smile at her. She returns the smile and picks up the paper in front of her. "How are you all?" You ask.

"Uh, well," Benedict nods. You smile at him.

"Violet?" You looked at her.

"Hm?" She looks up from her paper. "Oh, uh, yes." She nods, and then lowers her gaze back to the paper.

Benedict gives you a look that you understand clearly enough. His mother has been better.

"I suppose it's too soon to hear from Daphne yet?" You ask.

"I'm sure they'll have made it by now. They'll be enjoying their honeymoon period, no doubt." Benedict chuckles softly.

You smile softly and look into your teacup. "I wonder what it's like..."

"The honeymoon period?" Benedict asks, looking up at you with slightly flushed cheeks.

"Being married," you correct him.

"Oh..."

Violet looks up at you with a small smile, her eyes sparkling. "When you marry your best friend, it's the most wonderful feeling of all."

You smile at her. "I want that."

"Youshall have it. One day, dear."

You are grateful for Violet and her kindness. You've never known a more warm and welcoming woman. Your mother was nice, certainly, but she was eager just to see you wed. Violet made marriage sound magical.

You sip your tea and listen to Hyacinth bicker with Gregory over a ribbon. Benedict tries to be the middleman and solve this peacefully. You chuckle at their antics. Gregory tries to get you to defend him, but you put your hands up and explain that you weren't here when the crime was supposedly committed. Benedict also comes to your rescue.

You smile at each other.

Colin walks in.

Conversation becomes quieter. You pour yourself another cup of tea and avoid looking up at Colin. You feel like this may be a little awkward. You grab a slice of toast for the centre of the table and butter it quietly, needing to keep your hands busy.

Benedict seems to realise what you're doing and says nothing to you.

"Good morning." Colin greets his family.

"Morning, brother."

Colin nods to you, too. You offer him a smile which you then hide behind the toast you had buttered.

"Colin, your engagement is in Whistledown!" Hyacinth exclaims cheerfully.

"Hyacinth!" Eloise scolds. You hadn't even seen her lingering in the back of the room.

"What? It is!"

"Very well. Everyone out, I think." Benedict says as gently as he can.

"Yes," Violet mutters.

Benedict calls your name softly. You nod and down the rest of your tea, taking the other half of the toast with you as you rise with the others. Eloise grabs her plate and glides past you quietly.

Colin approaches his mother as you all leave the room. When the door shuts behind you, yo turn to Benedict. "Will he be alright?"

"I'll let you know after."

You follow him down the hall.

The two younger siblings follow their sister into the drawing room. Benedict reaches out his hand to grab lightly at your arm, stopping you from going any further.

"Could I... show you something?" He asks.

You look at him, brow slightly furrowed, and nod. He smiles, that crooked little smile of his and guides you down the opposite hall, leading you toward an empty room. There was minimal furniture in there, which confused as to why he brought you here.

"I like to come in here for some quiet." He explains.

He offers you a seat on one of the chairs in the middle of the room and disappears for a brief moment. You look around the room as you wait. When he returns, he's carrying something.

"I don't usually show other people my work, for, I admit, I am not happy with it, but I would like to share a piece of me with you." He says, placing the book on the table between you.

For a moment, he sits there with his hands planted firmly on top of the book and then pushes it closer to you. You reach out and take the book carefully. His hand slowly slides from the cover, and you watch him become riddled with anxiety and nerves as his passion lays slowly in your hands.

You turn your eyes to the book and gently curl your fingers around the cover, pulling it open slowly, hoping not to disturb the pages. You start from the beginning. Mere scribbles of a person. You turn the pages slowly. Different angles. Different body parts up close. Eyes, noses, hands, lips. Nearly 6 whope pages are focused on hair styles on ladies. There are pages focusing on the folds of clothes and how they hand. Particularly dresses.

You browse the sketchbook slowly and carefully, taking I never details.

There is some evidence of torn pages within the book. You wonder how many times he sketched something and torn it out with anger with displeasure.

"Well?" He asks after a long pause of silence.

You lift your eyes to meet his. "You drew all of these?"

"Yes..."

You cast your eyes on the book again, admiring a sketch of a hand up close. The long fingers, the bend in the knuckles, the lines on the palm.

"You're very talented, Benedict."

You hear the breath leave his lips and look up to see the way his eyes light up with surprise. He clearly was expecting a very different comment.

"You think so?"

"Yes." You nod. "Very."

Benedict seems to relax immensely as he looks at you and then sits back in his chair, looking relieved.

"I want to create something people will remember and talk about for years to come," he confesses. "But I cannot. I do not possess such a talent."

"Nonsense."

"No, really." He leans forward again.

"Can I ask why you decided to show me this?" You ask, looking at the open book again.

"I trust you." He speaks softly. "Are we not friends?" He asks.

"Of course."

Hs lips twitch into a smile. "I trust you," he repeats.

"Well, I'm very glad you do." You close the book and hand it back carefully. "I trust that you will create something spectacular one day."

You had no idea how much your words meant to him or for how long he would end up carrying those words with him. If you could see the artist he wants to be inside, then surely one day it shall come true. Benedict swears on his heart that anything you day could become true just because they are spoken from your lips.

He hadn't even noticed his eyes had glanced at your lips, not until his eyes met your eyes again. You don't seem to have noticed.

"I think I've taken up enough of your family's time now. I mostly wanted to check on Violet after Colin's rather abrupt proposal."

"Yes..." Benedict wasn't entirely certain what you had just said, he just agreed. His mind was reeling.

Had he really just stared at your lips without realising he was doing it. Why does he feel the urge to look at them again?

You stand before he can get the chance.

"See me out?"

He snaps back to reality and stands quickly. "Yes."

You chuckle and begin to leave the room. Benedict follows you, pretending nothing is amiss. He was confused by his own behaviour.

You assumed it was a Bridgerton trait, if nothing else.

Benedict shows you to the door, and you step outside. Your carriage awaits. You turn and smile at Benedict.

"Do not give up."

"Hm?" He looks at you confused.

"Your art. Do not give up. One day, your work will hang with the greats."

Your words set his heart fluttering. He takes a deep breath and nods, not tristing his voice. You chuckle again and bid him farewell as you walk away.

Benedict closes the door and turns slowly, looking at the empty hall of the house.

"I need a drink."

"It's barely 9," Eloise says from the open door of the drawing room.

Benedict nearly jumped out of his skin.

♡♡♡

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#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

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waltricia · 16 days

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Finished the first pancake (season 1 rewatch) and have started my millionth rewatch of my dear dear dear season 2. So my next however many posts will be about the iconic Kanthony (Polin, you know I’ll come back to you.) And I really must begin with this:

🤩😍🧎

What a delivery, good LORD. It’s soul-stirring. It’s a shot of adrenaline to the heart. It’s ambrosia. Jonathan Bailey, the absolute fucking KING that you are, how the fuck do you do it? DAMN. I’m always caught between envy and attraction with that one. How Kate didn’t even flinch at that, I’ll never know. But of course the very fact that she does not hesitate for a second to come back at him with a devastating burn is why she is the queen of Anthony’s heart (and mine) and now the Viscountess Bridgerton.

👑🐝🙌

#DAMN #yes anthony i find your smile very pleasing #kanthony #bridgerton #bridgerton season two #bridgerton s2 #netflix #jonathan bailey #anthony bridgerton #simone ashley #kate sharma #kate bridgerton

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fayes-fics · 2 months

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Friends & Family

Friends + Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Anthony has a very important question to ask, but the universe appears to be conspiring against him. Threequel. Set a year after the first fic in this series

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Public sexual acts, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, woman on top, back-to-back orgasm. Also, on a non-sexual front, all sorts of emotions and thwarted proposals.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: This is VERY, VERY belated request fill for the divine @colettebronte. She has had the patience of a saint as I have grappled with this request for many months. I hope this is worth the wait, but to be honest, after this delay, I'm not sure anything could be. Thank you to @sorryallonsy for betaing. Please enjoy <3

“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, what is this??”

There is an undignified yelp, and a spatula drops to the floor with a loud splat. Apparently, he didn't hear you come in.

“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me… And what is the full-name business all about?” he exclaims, spinning around, holding his hands aloft as if in a hostage situation. The sight is made even funnier by the fact he is wearing one of your novelty aprons, complete with floppy bunny ears.

You have walked in from afternoon coffee with old friends to find your kitchen in absolute disarray. Pots, pats on every surface, opened containers, the contents of your spice cupboard all pulled out and haphazardly dotted around. There is a large pile of reusable shopping bags with half-open veggies in and what looks like a sourdough loaf cut open and likely going stale next to the complete wrong knife for the job at hand. There is almost no worktop surface that is left unused or covered in some sticky-looking residue from god knows what.

“I said yes to you making dinner while I was out; I did not say you could conduct some kind of controlled explosion in my kitchen,” holding your hands up in exasperated resignation.

Frankly, it’s a mystery why he offered to make dinner in the first place; you have never seen the man so much as boil an egg in all the years you have known him. And certainly not in the twelve months you have loved him. His idea of cooking is usually stopping at Whole Foods to pick up a hot rotisserie chicken.

He walks towards you with that adorable puppy dog expression, his perennial get-out-of-jail-free card. You pick a fleck of what you think is broccoli from his hair as he reaches you.

“Points for effort?” he pouts, a tiny smile toying with the corners of his mouth, seeking forgiveness. You let him pull you into his arms and kiss your cheek. “Do you still love me?” he teases, pulling back to shoot you that perfect-toothed charming grin.

“I’ll love you even more if you tidy all this up,” you counter, raising an eyebrow as he chuckles. “Although I’m intrigued. You have never once made dinner since we’ve been dating; why now?”

“Well, I wanted to do something special…” he says pointedly, pulling away to switch off the hob when there is a slight burning smell in the air.

“What’s so special about today?” You frown.

“Really?” He spins around to look at you, a slight pout as you wrack your brains. “What happened on this date one year ago?”

Ohhh…

You feel bad you had completely not realised it. Exactly one year ago to this day, you got together after many years of combative flirting. Heart melting in your ribcage as you suddenly realise this is him attempting to cook an anniversary dinner for you.

“You secret romantic, you,” you murmur, contrition and affection burning inside as you can't help but seek his touch.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he jests as he pulls you into his arms again and kisses your temple. “I have a reputation to uphold….”

“Of course…” you giggle, resting your head on his shoulders as you sway together in the bombsite that was your kitchen. “And here was me thinking you would do something far more risqué…”

“Such as..?” he prompts, intrigued by where your thoughts have gone.

“Oh, I don't know….” you run your fingers into his lush hair, pressing into him. “Maybe take me back to that same penthouse your friend owns. Maybe make it to that overpriced sofa this time…” his eyes flash dark and dangerous, licking his lips, and you feel compelled to continue, “Maybe even that enormous bed. And the balcony….”

He groans gently as his mind no doubt fills with the same images as yours. “Fuckkkkkkk….” he rues, “I should have done that. I’m definitely no Gordon Ramsey….”

You laugh and run your hands up his biceps. “Maybe not. But I do have a suggestion…” you offer, dropping your voice a little smokier.

“Tell me…” Anthony rumbles, nudging your cheek until your lips brush, fingers digging into your flesh where he holds you.

“Let's work up an appetite and then order from our usual. Tidying up can wait…” you whisper, mouth ghosting over his, fingers opening the top button of his shirt and toying with the patch of chest hair.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

You squeal gently as he picks you up and strides towards your bedroom. The little navy velvet box burning a hole in his suit jacket pocket can wait for another day. Perhaps.

—

During a boring editorial meeting the following morning, your phone buzzes in your lap.

AB: Can you be at mine at 7pm tonight?

Y/N: Yes… but why?

AB: All will be revealed 😉

AB: Come hungry for delicious protein

Y/N: Filthy. I like it. 😉😛

AB: OMG NO! Not THAT. Bloody hell…

Y/N: Shame…

AB: Well, okay, maybe a bit of that. Afterwards. 😉

Y/N: *victory dance* 💃

AB: I love you, you filthy animal 😛😘

—

You walk into Anthony’s kitchen at precisely 7pm that evening to find some very posh-looking man in a bowtie pouring some wine into the good glasses. The ones you are too scared to use.

“What is all this?” Your curiosity piqued.

“Cooking was a disaster, so this is recompense,” Anthony greets you with a hug and a brief kiss on the lips.

He looks handsome in his usual crisp shirt, undone just enough at the chest to be distracting, and custom-tailored trousers that cling to him just right. It takes some effort to tear your eyes away from him, but when you do, you now see a smorgasbord of cheese on his expansive, pristine white marble kitchen island, with fruit, crackers and all manner of chutneys.

“Oooh, lovely. Fancy cheese and wine night?” you guess.

“Indeed,” he replies warmly. “Baxter here is a world-renowned expert on such things. He will be taking us on a cheese world tour paired with the very best wines.”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you,” you nod to the man, then crowd into Anthony again. “The anniversary of our first proper date?” you guess, kissing his jaw, enjoying the slight rasp of stubble there.

“The lady is learning…” he ribs genially, taking your hand and pulling you along to take a seat on one of the stools.

Baxter speaks engagingly and knowledgeable, and admittedly, every cheese and wine pairing is exquisite. Just a bite from each, but after 10 countries, you are a little tipsy, leaning into Anthony and shooting him goofy smiles, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheekily grabbing his thigh where the fabric pulls taut right over his quad muscle so temptingly. You want to climb into his lap and wrap around him.

After an hour, the man politely takes his leave, mentioning he has left some more “adventurous” choices in sealed boxes in the fridge.

“What does adventurous cheese mean?” you tipsily ponder after the man has left. “Do you think it's abseiled down a mountain?”

Anthony laughs accommodatingly at your goofiness, taking your hand and leading you outside onto the balcony. “I assume strong-flavoured maybe. But I’m quite sure it's all bravado,” he assures.

You lean on the railing, looking down upon the Thames below, all of London seeming reflected in its inky depths, a thousand lights twinkling in its choppy waves, like a sea of stars beneath you.

“I could never tire of this view,” you declare wistfully, a warmth behind your ribs as he crowds into your back, placing a light blanket around your shoulders.

“It is yours to enjoy for as long as it is mine,” he breathes into your hair, kissing your temple and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sway together gently in the breeze, your hands over his, pushing back into his warm body.

“I love you,” you say quietly, turning to nuzzle his cheek.

“I love you too,” he responds immediately, “and I have for so long now; it feels wrong when you are not with me,” his tone ardent, gentle. “Wait here….” he whispers, a waver in his voice that makes you pause.

You wait patiently as he slips back inside, the breeze dancing through your hair as you inhale deeply and soak in the city. Although you are high above street level, the sounds are still there, like a background hum. It’s as energising as the country air at his rural ancestral home in Kent, just in a different way—so vibrant and teeming with life.

Anthony seems to be gone for a while, so out of intrigue, you wander inside to the fridge, grab one of the containers Baxter left and take it back onto the balcony before he reappears. When you peel it open, you are taken aback by the smell. It's very pungent, even out in the open air.

“There is an important question I wa…” Anthony freezes mid-sentence. “Dear god, what is that smell?” he exclaims, his face scrunching violently.

“Oh, I think it's the cheese Baxter left.”

You swing the container around so it's right under his nose and watch him go white as a sheet and then double over to one side, dry heaving.

“That's disgusting!” He gags, quickly putting something small from his hand into his trouser pocket as he coughs roughly, almost bent double.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” you frown, bringing the container back to your own nose, closer than you had it before.

Then, a wave of nausea hits you, too. It smells of decay and bad feet and turns your stomach so violently that you have to grab the balcony railing to stop yourself from stumbling.

“Fuck that's terrible,” you stutter, trying hard to keep down the rich wines and cheeses you have already consumed.

“Throw it!” Anthony blurts, somewhat frantic.

“Where?” you panic, holding it away at arm's length, desperate to stay upwind of it.

“Off the fucking balcony! Fling it in the Thames! I can't even have that shit in my bins….” he yelps before another wretch doubles him over again.

Gripping the container, you fling the contents as hard as you can, watching the blob of cheese sail downwards in an arc for twelve storeys, hitting the river below with a distant but satisfying plop. You both stand there wheezing and gasping as you reseal the container immediately, fearful of any residual scent.

“Dear god, am I going to inadvertently ruin every one of these special evenings?” he grumbles under his breath, sounding more like a rhetorical question than anything.

You have no idea what he could mean, but you don’t have the capacity to ask - you have to run to the cloakroom as the mere olfactory flashback makes you nauseated.

When you reemerge ten minutes later, full of regret and needing toothpaste, you find him in his en suite bathroom in a similar fragile state. You both crawl into his bed feeling delicate, curling up foetal and holding hands across the expanse of the bed, him muttering apologies.

—

III

The following week, Anthony takes you back to the same restaurant where you had your second date, one year to the day later. Seeing the pattern in advance, you wear the beautiful little black dress he bought you recently. And you are pleased to make him temporarily tongue-tied when you slip off your coat to reveal it, whispering coquettishly in his ear that you are happy to skip dinner and return to his.

“Oh, we will,” he rumbles, a promissory note that lights a fire low in your belly.

After perusing the menu, you decide to order the same dish you had last time. You are certain everything is terrific, but you remember it being so delicious it had you making noises only Anthony usually can. Also, you are hoping for a complete repeat of the same night from a year ago. Memorably, it was the first time he managed to give you three orgasms in one night—you are very keen to repeat that.

But rather strangely, Anthony’s energy seems slightly off, almost nervous. You can only assume it's apprehension that this night does not go as the previous two attempts at anniversary celebrations have.

While you are sharing a delicious starter, a familiar face over the room at the bar catches your eye.

“Is that Benedict?” you frown, causing Anthony to twist in your booth and look.

“Probably,” he sighs.

You are nonplussed by his reaction, so you take it upon yourself to wave to him, to Anthony’s seeming chagrin.

When Benedict wanders over, you notice his shoulders are hunched, a shuffled gait. Not the usual mister sunshine he is.

“Hey Ben, everything okay?” you check as he pulls up nearby, hovering a little.

“I got dumped,” he exhales. “So I’m drowning my sorrows,” he explains, holding his whiskey tumbler aloft in a rueful toast.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you grimace, knowing he has been more unlucky in love than not, which seems a shame; he’s a sweet, good-looking man but often gets used, attracted to people who take advantage of his giving nature.

“Anyway, I don’t want to interrupt your dinner…” he placates modestly, glancing at his older brother, who seems to be brooding.

“Don't be silly, you can join us,” you beckon him into the booth.

“No, he can’t,” Anthony interjects.

You frown at him. “Why not? It’s just dinner,” you dispute.

“No, it’s not; it’s our anniversary,” Anthony argues before turning to Benedict. “Brother, I love you and all, but would you kindly fuck off?” Anthony grouses, gritting his teeth.

“Anthony!” You admonish. “Don’t be a dick!” You roll your eyes. “Ignore your grouchy brother, Ben; of course, you can join us,” you offer again, seeing the hesitancy but also the sadness tugging at the corner of his eyes that means you are worried about leaving him alone.

He acquiesces, and as he wanders across to the bar to grab his jacket and join you, you scowl at Anthony. “He’s just been dumped. You could be nicer,”

“I could… just not tonight,” he says, almost harangued.

You decide not to dwell on why he seems unduly hung up on this evening’s plans, being so particular, watching him seem to fiddle with an item in his jacket pocket, then look askance across the restaurant, defeated.

“Anthony, are you okay?” You check quietly as Benedict walks back over.

“Yeah, I just….” He sighs and finally meets your eye squarely with a tinge of sadness. “I had other plans for us tonight. Not babysitting…”

At one point during the main course, Benedict excuses himself to the bathroom. Anthony has been mostly monosyllabic, almost sulking, and you feel guilty; perhaps he did indeed have other ideas for the evening.

You shuffle around to lean into him and grab his hand, placing it high on your thigh under the table, the message unmistakable.

“We can still have our plans for later…” you whisper hotly into his ear.

He seems to perk up immediately, his hand grasping your flesh in a way that catches your breath. “You always know what to say to make me feel better…” he murmurs, at once playful and reverent.

“Touch me…” you whisper, the need for him an instant, tart taste in your mouth.

“Here, in the restaurant? With my brother coming back to join us any moment?” His tone is incredulous but unmistakably aroused.

“Yes…” you hiss, pushing his hand up higher to the junction of your thighs where you burn molten for him always.

He growls when he realises you have made another style choice, this one scandalous—no underwear.

“I’ll do more than that, you wonderful minx,” he huffs, pulling your thigh over his lap under the tablecloth. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy and presses his thumb over your clit. You gasp and grip the table hard, just as Benedict reappears.

It certainly does wonders for Anthony’s disposition, like he is a different man now. Chatting amiably to his brother as you subtly try not to look flustered, dripping silently into his palm as he holds still.

“Whatever you did to put this one in a better mood, thank you,” Benedict jests at one point.

“I just had to give the old grouch a hug and his favourite toy to keep him entertained,” you joke back, him not realising exactly how true that is. Anthony’s fingers flex deep inside you at your cheeky riposte, and you can feel his smirk as you have to cough to hide your moan.

“Well, thank you,” Benedict smiles, “you bring things out in my brother I never thought I would see. So whatever magic trick you are pulling, keep doing it.”

Anthony’s fingers curl hard against your g spot, and you have to laugh loudly to not scream.

“She’s the very best brother,” Anthony replies, lips brushing your temple as he flicks his thumb teasingly over your clit. “I hope one day you find someone as special as she is,” he offers, his first sympathetic noise to his brother of the evening.

“I should be so lucky,” Benedict adds quietly, tone pensive, glancing at his phone as it lights up by his elbow.

Anthony withdraws from your pussy; you whimper mutely, feeling bereft but also relieved, not sure you can act any longer. You watch as he brings those fingers up to his mouth and sucks them decadently as Benedict is distracted by his phone.

“Thank you for dessert, my love,” he thrums into your ear, “and the show,” he adds cheekily, your clit and pussy clenching, denied, so very aroused.

“Take me home right now, Anthony!” Your order is through gritted teeth, quiet but brokering no argument.

And he does.

—

A tide of relief hits you as the door to his sleek penthouse clicks softly open; tossing aside your umbrella and slipping off your shoes in the fancy hallway. It's been a taxing work day; all you can think about is climbing into the shower, then curling up and watching something mindless until Anthony gets home.

“Y/n…”

An enticing but distant call in that familiar voice.

“Anthony?” you respond, puzzled. “I thought you would be out late tonight?” you add, wandering forward, trying to find the source.

“Change of plan….”

You cross the open-plan lounge area with its floor-to-ceiling view across the rooftops of London. It's been more than a year of dating, and still, you aren't entirely used to the sheer scale of his place compared to yours. It feels like it takes ages to get across just his living room.

“Where are you?” you frown, hands on hips. It sounds like he's likely in the bedroom.

“Follow the sound of my voice,” he entices, and yep, it's definitely from that direction.

However, when you wander in, the room is empty, the early evening sun blazing onto the soft, luxurious white duvet on his vast bed.

“Getting warmer,” he offers, quieter now, and you recognise his voice has an echo. He can only be in his en-suite bathroom.

You round the corner into that tastefully masculine room - all slate and birch - to be greeted by a sight that makes your lungs feel too tight.

There, in his sizeable sunken whirlpool tub, is one Anthony Bridgerton. Very naked and very wet. Standing so that the bubbling waterline hugs his hips—acres of toned torso, water droplets meandering down the washboard of his stomach and glistening in the thatch of hair across his chest. You bite your lips without even realising it, shifting your stance as you feel a ripple of excitement over your skin.

“Hello, Ms y/l/n,” he preens, knowing exactly how much the sight before you makes you tongue-tied and aroused.

“Hello…” you stutter back, eyes still feasting. “What is the CEO of Bridgerton Enterprises doing taking a bath at….” you glance down to check your watch, “... 5:25 pm on a Thursday?”

“It's a special occasion…” he smirks, wading towards the edge of the tub closest to you. “I thought a bath would be nice.”

You can't seem to look away from the wake of waves cresting his Adonis belt as he does so. The sight of something delicious just below the surface is almost hypnotic.

“My eyes are up here, you know,” he mocks gently, tongue literally in cheek, as you cut your gaze to his triumphant face.

“Wh… what special occasion?” you manage to stumble out.

“Surely you recall what happened on this night exactly twelve months ago?”

When you look nonplussed - frankly, you can barely remember your own name right now - he mock sighs.

“I surprised you on my way back from the airport?” he prompts.

“Oh!” you suddenly cotton on, “it's been a year since we exchanged keys!”

He nods, and a fetching beam breaks out across his face. “Ahhh, the lady remembereth,” he winks.

“So this is how you’re celebrating?” your eyes again drag covetously down his body.

“No, this is how WE are celebrating…” he corrects and gestures towards a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket at one corner of the tub, along with two long-stemmed flutes.

You can't help but match his grin now. “Well, I can’t find fault with that idea,” you admit, taking a step closer until you are at the edge of the tub surround.

“Hmm, I thought not,” he says silkily, closing the gap between you.

Grabbing the back of your neck with a firm hand, he draws you down into a deep, sensual kiss. His mouth claims yours. You shiver as warm water trickles down inside your top from the hand in your hair. He crowds into you, soaking your clothing with the press of his body as you kneel on the sunken tub surround.

“Oh no, this is all wet,” he feigns, tugging lightly at your sleeve, “you will just have to take it off.”

“Hmmm. I rather think that is your doing. How about you take it off?” you challenge, the banter between you never seeming to get old.

“Maybe I’ll just pull you into the water fully clothed?” he posits, raising an eyebrow.

You laugh and take a step back, revelling in his undivided attention as you strip for him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression hungry; the only sounds are his panted breath and the bubbles roiling in the tub. You are down to your underwear, a new matching lacy set, as if you knew, on some subconscious level, it was a special occasion, when he lunges forward and makes you squeal as he effortlessly picks you up and hauls you into the huge tub with him. The warm, effervescent water is a balm and tonic, making your skin tingle.

“What is the point of celebrating anything if it’s not an excuse to get naked?” he offers silkily, cupping your jaw with both palms, his wet thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones, then his lips are back, plundering, seeking, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands roam your skin, arranging so you are straddling his lap, his cock a solid press against your inner thigh.

This is indeed how you always want to celebrate every milestone of your relationship—with wonderful, sensual intimacy. Anthony pulls back from the kiss, and you stare into his rich eyes, blissfully tracing the lines of his face with fingertips as he easily unhooks your bra and pulls it gently over the rounds of your shoulders. This close-up and soaked, his face is all sharp contours and smooth, lightly tanned skin.

“You are too handsome,” your internal monologue spilling out with a light mewl as his thumbs brush your nipples.

“I love you too,” he chuckles drolly to make a point.

“Oh yes, that too,” you append with a playful pout. Then, a more sincere “I love you.”

“Wonderful to hear,” he rumbles into your ear as his hands slide underwater to tug down your underwear.

He pulls you deeper into his lap, your thighs pushed wide around his slender hips. His rigid cock nudges your slit promisingly, and you wait with bated breath for his much-wanted invasion. But he pauses, and you feel the curl of his smile against your cheekbone.

“Champagne?” he teases, holding still.

“Now?!” you splutter. “How about you get inside me first?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” he answers, wry and laconic.

Any witty riposte you may have dies on your lips as he surges into your body, knowing you need no warm-up, ready for him the minute you rounded the corner of the room.

“Happy key day,” he murmurs as your eyes flutter closed and you moan loudly, him nudging that spot that makes you so addicted to him.

“Happy key day,” your response is a ragged exhale as you adjust to his deep invasion.

Every time it still feels like the first, like it's just too good, and you just want to cling to him and be fucked into oblivion or fuck him into oblivion. A potent, heavy feeling inside that makes you crackle with energy and feel sated at the same time.

“Fuck me, Anthony,” you sigh into his wet hair, pushing closer into his embrace, voicing your exact desires.

“With pleasure.”

You squeak as his hands grasp tight around your waist and haul you up until just his tip is still inside you, then slams you back down, a curse falling from your lips as he does. His handling is slightly rough in a way that feels perfect, his teeth glancing your earlobe before he sucks it into his mouth and bites lightly.

Then it's a wondrous carnal dance, your joint noises echoing up the slate tiles as you fuck wantonly. Taking over at one point and gripping the edge of the oversized tub, you ride him for all your worth, chasing that feeling only he, his cock, has ever given you. So addictive ever since that very first night.

“I only ever want to fuck you, always…” the words tumbling from your lips unbidden, no filter between your thoughts and mouth as you spiral higher.

Even in the full throes of passion, his expression softens as you confess it.

“Forever?” something vulnerable in his panted tone as you rise and fall upon him.

“Forever, Anthony Bridgerton,” you vow, sensing his need to hear it, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders, pressing all of your being into him, wanting your bodies to be forged together somehow.

His thumb slips between your legs, and you cry out as he snags your clit perfectly, eyes rolling, feeling like a live wire.

“I need to feel it; please give it to me,” he implores desperately, thumb flicking almost violently over your engorged pearl.

It doesn't take much more, and you are fracturing around him. Crying his name, fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his shoulders as you reach that high, unable to stop slamming upon him as you flutter, your whole body spasming in pleasure but unwilling to stop. Him roaring his approval as you squeeze his cock tight, rippling around him.

“Please don't come,” you plead to him, “I need more, Anthony, more,” a wrecked sob, wanting to orgasm again. He snarls, his teeth on your cheekbone, his grip tightening around your hips, staving off his orgasm as best he can.

You grab his face and babble nonsense, saying you need his cock forever, strung out on the edge, almost a mania in your being, needing everything he can give. He pants harshly into your open-mouthed, sloppy kisses as you keep riding wound so tight like a coiled spring, wanting to be speared open by him always.

“Marry me!” he cries as you both reach that peak together, an explosion in both of your beings, feeling him come inside you harsh and deep, moaning your name like a prayer.

You collapse upon him, the bubbles of the jetted tub tickle your skin as you heave breaths, wracked and sated to your very core. A high like you have never known.

“Did you just…. propose?” you stutter as your brain comes back online, his cock still buried inside you.

“Shit…” he laments. “That was NOT how it was supposed to go! I had it all planned out!” he decries, burying his face into your shoulder where you still sit upon him.

“Anthony….” there are no other words, shock tying your tongue.

He pulls back and looks contrite. “Please allow me a do-over?” his face so beseeching.

Raw emotion and victory crest hard in your veins, and you can't help but banter with him - as you always have, as you always will, until death do you part now.

“No, Viscount Bridgerton,” you rag, holding his face, “No do-overs. You will just have to live with the fact you proposed to me as we came together….”

His face is a jumble of warring emotions as you realise you have kept him on tenterhooks about your answer.

“…And you will just have to accept that I said yes with you still inside me,” you add silkily.

A handsome grin claims his whole face, relief and devotion coursing through him. “We can’t tell anyone,” he whispers as you resurface from another kiss.

“Our little secret,” you smile back as he finally slips from your body.

—

“You know I might be the first-ever Viscountess with a garden flat in Zone 3,” you chuckle, sitting in matching fluffy robes on his balcony, the sky a riot of colour as the sun sets.

A few minutes before, he had gotten down on one knee and produced a little velvet box. You squealed and said yes again, watching transfixed as he pushed a flawless, elegant three-carat diamond onto your finger.

Anthony frowns deeply. “Err, no. You are moving in here with me,” he asserts loftily.

“I’m not selling my place!”

“You can rent it out!” he waves dismissively.

“Urgh, tenants. Hassle.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay, fine, then we can just use it to store all of my stuff you hate, alright?” he counters, catching your gaze with a fiery challenge. Your insides ablaze that your trademark flirtatious antagonism will always be there, even once you are married.

“Oh, Viscount Bridgerton, you have a deal…” you whisper coquettish and swing off of your lounger onto his, straddling him and sealing the pact with a kiss.

“I’m just so glad I could finally make it happen.”

You flip around and settle between his legs, your spine on his chest, lacing your hands together over your robe. “What do you mean?”

He barks a laugh you feel echo into your back. “So this is not the first time I have tried to propose to you. Remember that disastrous cooking? Attempt 1. Cheese night when we almost died? Attempt 2. Benedict interruptus? Attempt 3.” He holds up a hand before you, counting each on his fingers. “I almost gave up.”

You laugh and realise with hindsight how he seemed off kilter on those occasions, a soft ache behind your ribs in empathy. “I’m so glad you didn’t. Give up, that is,” you murmur, running your fingers over his lovingly once he lowers his hand back to your belly.

“I jest; I would never give up trying to make you my wife,” he pledges solemnly into your hair, kissing the shell of your ear. “And I hope you will never give up on me, as terrible of a husband as I will likely be….” he demures.

“I can do that, old friend…” you tease, a callback to that first night you got together.

“Less of the old,” he chides, immediately picking up your invitation, an exact repeat of your words to each other that first night you got together, heart melting as you realise he remembers the conversation word for word, too.

“I've known you my whole life, Anthony,” you continue, that conversation etched into your brain, turning back over in his arms. “You can't lie to me…”

“I never will,” he goes offscript, and you exchange laden looks. Then, a dangerous smirk takes over his face as he leans closer. “But you can handcuff me to our bed anytime,” he adds, a nod to the joke you made that night.

“You wish, you lucky fuck,” you respond, aping his line.

He grins widely and pulls back, handing you a champagne flute from the nearby lounger table.

“From old friends to new family…” he toasts, sincere and ardent, clinking his glass softly against yours.

“Friends and family…” you smile, your diamond ring afire in the setting sun, as you take a sip and pull him in for a blistering kiss.

Anthony taglist pt 1: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @Mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor @hanji-emo-blog @y0ur-favgerman @Huffelpuffforlife @0x1harmonia0x1 @sya-skies @balladynaaa

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kaivenom · 15 days

Note

May I request something heart break high related please?

Pool Pals

Summary: a normal afternoon with Ant ended up with you two breaking into the Hartley pool

Pairing: Anthony Vaughn x reader

Warnings: breaking into places, usual parties and alcohol, they are canonicaly 18th so it's not underage drinking.

A/N: Answering this person (the first request on this blog) i am really happy to do this and contribute to increase the little amount of fanfics that this fandom has. Of course i will write about them and i will write more from now on.

Masterlist

At first, you two were hanging out on his garage, doing dumb stuff and not caring, then he said "let's break into the school's pool" and you said yes. It was exciting, just the two of you breaking the chains of your high school and like that, you were right in front of the pool. Everything would be dark if it wasn't because of the lights that came from the low of the pool.

"Oh my, we forgot swimsuits," you said slapping your forehead.

"Why we need them?" he looked at you with a smile and stripped himself into his underwear.

He threw himself onto the pool and gave you a gently hand to get into the water, with that adorable smile. You were a little self concious about entering with your underwear but at the end you did, and took his hand into the cold water.

"Are you shivering?" he asked you laughing.

"No, of course not, idiot."

You splashed him jokingly and suddently you started a water war. It was very funny, like time wasn't passing at all, each moment your bodies getting closer with the excuse of making the other one wetter.

At some point he wrapped you around his arms trying to made you stop, but neither of you could stop laughing, but his face was closer every second he twisted you with his arms. That little fight made the noise outside go unnoticed.

"What we have here?" suddently the door slammed open and an incredible amount of people entered the pool room, that voice was from Spider, "Man, you weren't answering my calls, i though you were dead, but when i tracked your phone and saw where you were i couldn't resist."

Now your relaxed oasis was full of people, drinking, partying and making noise. You didn't have the courage to get outside of the water and Ant was dragged with Spider. Now you are alone.

You spotted Amerie, Darren and the rest of your group and tried to get their attention. Once they saw you, help was provided and you finally had a towel to cover you up and went outside the pool. The next couple of hours you were with them, trying to ignore the fact that Spider ruined a beautiful moment. You couldn't talk anymore to Ant but you noticed his gaze on you.

"The police is here!!!!!" that was the sound of chaos, everyone started running and screaming.

Many people ended up on the pool trying to escape and you almost did that if it weren't for Ant's hand catching you. You two started to run and the towel fell off, you couldn't care less at that moment. The escape went for a couple of miles, until you didn't hear the sirens of the police anymore and you were sure you were alone.

That's when you realized the absence of the towel and tried to cover your body. Ant was fast thinking for once and got out his shirt to put it directly on you.

"Thanks," you said nervously.

"Nah, don't worry, it looks better on you." both of you smiled.

His hand went to you face and carresed slowly your cheek, his lips met yours in a sweet kiss.

"I've been wanting to do this all afternoon."

"Yeah, me too, but Spider..."

"Don't talk about him right now, you want to take a walk and find a nice place to seat and finish our hang out finally?"

"I would like it very much, but maybe i should go by my house before because i don't have pants right now."

"Nah, you look very good like that, but i can give you mine if you want."

His hand interlaced with yours as you two started walking down the street and laugh at Ant's jokes.

#hearbreak high #heartbreak high imagine #heartbreak high 2022 #heartbreak high 2024 #heartbreak high x you #hearbreak high x reader #heartbreak high s2 #hbh2 #anthony vaughn #anthony vaughn imagine #anthony vaughn x reader #anthony vaughn x you #heartbreak high ant #ant vaughn imagine #ant vaughn x reader #ant vaughn x you #ant vaughn

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nikkisheep · 6 months

Note

Are you going to make a part3 if to be alone with you?

To Be Alone With You Part 3

Anthony Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader

Benedict Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader

Warnings: Angst, smut, sexual tension, scandalous behavior, oral (f)

Summary: You can't have Anthony as he is betrothed to Edwina but his younger brother is slightly more inviting.

Tag List: @shealuna, @m-rae23, @littlepeanut03, @aellabridgerton, @sydney-m, @faatxma, @wildthoughtnananna

He is marrying your sister. He is engaged to your sister. He is to be her husband. You thought all of these things as you sat across from him, watching him make Edwina smile and laugh at a joke he said. You were fuming for some reason. Sure, he was the first man you ever laid with or kissed but he belonged to Edwina.

You turn to Benedict and smile shyly at him.

"Hello, how are you, Mr. Bridgerton?" You whispered.

"Please, call me Benedict," He said with a laugh, "I've been quite fine. How are you, Miss Sharma?"

You giggle slightly.

"Well, Ben, I have been swell. I have just been very lonely and I was thinking that I could accompany you to your art studio for a drawing?"

Anthony looked up from Edwina and watched you tilt your head back with a laugh and his lip twitched just slightly. He did not find your hand on Benedict at all the slightest of endearment. Benedict smiled and nodded. The two of you stood and left the room together to his studio.

---

"If you would, please lay like this." Benedict showed you how. You were completely clothed but every time the younger Bridgerton brother looked at you, it lit a flame in your belly.

"Like this?" You ask.

"Yes," He said breathlessly.

He moved to his canvas and started to sketch your figure but you felt the tension in the air. There was something that you wanted to do. Just to see how far he would be able to handle before he caved.

"Benedict," You start. He looked up to your eyes. "I feel as though it would be more accurate if I were to be wearing less."

He gulped quickly and nodded. "If that is what you wish."

You stood up and crossed the room to stand in front of him. You looked up at him, eyes locking as you press a hand on his chest. You spin around.

"Will you help me?" You felt him freeze behind you. You smile slightly at the thought of his hands on you. You needed to forget his brother and the fact that he was the one you really wanted. You needed to think realistically. Edwina was going to marry Anthony and you needed to find someone else as he had.

"Of course, Miss Sharma."

His hands froze in the air, slightly above your waist. Never touching. You reach back, head turning to look at him, and grabbed his wrists to place his hands on the corset. He shuddered and closed his eyes to breathe out deeply.

"Ben..."

"Do not rush me," He said with strain lacing his voice.

His hands move to pull the ribbons from the loops that they held the corset together by and you felt the dress loosening. The fabric of your dress loosened so it could slip from your shoulders and you shuddered at the sudden air on your bare skin.

"Do you wish for me to continue?" He asked, something that you never heard in his voice dripped from his tongue like honey.

"Yes," You whispered.

"Speak up, young lady. Do you want me to continue?"

"Yes, Benedict."

He pulled the fabric away from your body and each inch revealed new skin to him. His hands glided over your supple skin as he slowly undressed you. The tension was suffocating. You couldn't breathe but you didn't want to. You wanted this. You need this. You need him.

Your hands reach up and pull your hair from the pin that held it up. Your hair fell down your shoulders in waves and Benedict was enchanted. He felt as if you were bewitching him. You felt so right in his hands. His project. His canvas.

He put his hands on your bare shoulder blades and pushed you slightly forward so he could crouch down to lift your feet from the fabric that puddled down on the floor.

He lifted one leg and perched it on his knee. He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to it. He did the same with the other. He then stood up and ran his hand down your neck to push the hair from the area.

---

You moved back to the couch, breasts laying softly on your chest as it moved with each breath. You were not nervous at the way that Benedict was looking at you. He looked at you with a look of hunger. A look that his brother shared for you.

"Is there anything you need me to do?" You asked, watching his eyes struggle to look you in the eyes.

"No, just sit there and relax."

You did just that but you closed your eyes.

"Open those pleasing eyes for me, darling." He held the charcoal in his hand.

You opened your eyes and locked them with his. It felt like hours as he drew you, making sure to get every detail correct. Your breathing quickened every time his eyes ran down your body, memorizing every curve and line as if he will never see it again.

He stopped.

"Do I make you nervous, darling?" He smirked. He moved closer to you, stalking to you as you laid on the couch helplessly.

"No."

"Are you sure?" He smiled, bending down to be level with your face.

"Yes." You were in no way sure.

"Permission to touch you?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes," You practically moan.

---

He doesn't touch you where you were expecting. He wasn't like Anthony. He started at your neck. He ran his hands up and down it, pressing lightly at your sweet spot. He changed the different pressures. He moved his hands down to your breasts, your nipples to be more precise. He rubbed the pebbled bud in between his thumb and index finger. It made your pussy throb.

"If I were to touch you where I shouldn't, what would I find?" He tilted his head with a smile as he watched your body react to his touch. "Would you be soaked like a harlot to my touch or would you be a good, a true good girl and be cleanly dry?"

You looked at him when he gave a hard tug on your breast.

"Answer me, I asked a question."

"Wet, Mr. Bridgerton."

"It's sir." He corrected you as he moved to play with your other nipple.

"Yes, sir."

"Permission to put my mouth on you?"

"God yes," You cry as he places his tongue on your neck. Licking at the salty skin before moving to your collarbones to suck. He kisses your neck one last time before taking a breast into his awaiting mouth. Your back arches into him and your hands grab the back of his head to press him closer to your body.

Benedict picks you up to reposition your body to have your hips hanging off the couch and he knelt in between your spread legs. He looks at you and then licks a bold strip up your pussy.

You moan loudly as he moves his tongue against you. He made measured movements, licking at your sensitive clit before moving in circular motions. He added his thumb to your clit and his tongue dipped inside of you. He pressed and pressed his tongue against your g-spot and your legs shook on his shoulders.

"Look at me," he groaned into you. "Please look at me as I give you the pleasure you deserve and so desperately crave.''

You look down at him and his blue eyes stare back at you. He moves his mouth to take your clit into his mouth and he sucked it, hard. Your body arches and he places his arm to pin your hips down to the couch. He presses his face further into you, if that was possible, and his nose brushed against your core every time his jaw moved as he ate you like a starved man. Your moans began to become hard to contain as you held his head to you. You moaned his name as if it was the only thing you knew.

You felt your orgasm coming fast and you didn't have enough time to warn him as you climaxed on his face. He held your hips tighter as you rode your orgasm in waves. He kept licking and sucking at you. He kept going. He wouldn't stop. He made you have ripples of each orgasm that rolled over you. He made you feel boneless. As if you would just slide right off that couch if he let you go.

----

He grabbed your dress and helped you put it back on in a half-assed way. You both made a run to your bedroom and he held the door open when you went to close it.

"Come here," He whisper.

You moved to him, opening the door.

"Come by my room tomorrow after the ball."

You nodded.

His hands came up to your face, caressing your cheeks. He cupped your face and then leaned down to press his lips against yours for the first time. He hadn't kissed you at all during the art session you had. His lips were soft and warm as they moved against yours gently.

"I'll see you tomorrow tonight," He said before pressing a kiss one last time for the night to your lips. "Oh, and please, do not forget about coming to see me."

And with that he left with a smile on his lips. You turn into your room and can't stop smiling. You felt good. You felt excited but you could not help but remember your love for his older brother, your soon to be brother-in-law. You shake the thought away from you and fall asleep with a dreamy smile on your face.

#anthony bridgerton x sharma!reader #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female!reader #bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton smut

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murdockparker · 18 days

Text

Roses and Regrets Part 2

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: What a pleasant life it is, to be a widow with no obligations. Getting new dresses, making unlikely friends, what a treat.

Word Count: 3.9k

Rating: 18+!!! MINORS DNI (I will haunt you)

Warnings: female masturbation, yearning, Reader decidedly hates Anthony (what's new??) , maybe a bit of angst

A/N: oops my hands slipped and this is what happened. sorry bout that, bruv!

first part - next part

—

“You should have seen him, Meg.”

Her lady’s maid nodded along to Lady Barlow’s rant, having heard the interaction in nauseam since she returned from the park. From his appearance to his demeanor—Meg assumed she might as well have been there. Carefully, she continued to remove the pins from the dowager viscountess’ hair, the very same that she had placed in the morning.

“I am sure Lord Bridgerton was certainly unagreeable,” Meg droned, accidentally snagging her lady’s hair. “Sorry, ma’am.”

“You know, you don’t have to do all that, I am a perfectly capable woman,” (Y/N) laughed, looking at her maid in the mirror. “And he was, unagreeable, if you must know.”

“He is alway unagreeable,” Meg said, exasperated. “My lady, please take no offense, but I think this talk of Lord Bridgerton must cease.”

“You do not have to ask me twice,” (Y/N) snorted. “I wish for nothing more than to stop speaking about that oaf.”

Meg blinked. “Right. Of course.”

“You… you do not believe me?”

“I believe you believe it to be true,” Meg carefully stated, hands by her sides. “We have a good friendship, ma’am, and I am ever grateful that you allow me to speak my mind—”

“So speak it,” (Y/N) said, voice tittering on a giggle. “I shall not take offense, I swear it.”

“You have done nothing but speak of Lord Bridgerton since you arrived from your visit to the park,” Meg began, choosing her words carefully. “Save for when you had your meals, hard to speak over soup and the like. I, for one, am exhausted hearing about it. Perhaps a respite from the topic?”

“Imagine how I feel,” (Y/N) finally laughed. “That man makes me insane.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I pray whenever he marries—oh that poor woman—I hope she can teach him some manners.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Perhaps I should send him a book on it? Manners, I mean.”

“Good idea, ma’am.”

“Meg, you are not hearing me.”

“Oh I am hearing you,” Meg nodded. “I am just choosing not to listen.”

She bit her lip, eyeing her friend’s faraway glance. Glassy, almost. “Perhaps… I suppose I should drop the topic for now?”

“It is late,” Meg shook her head, nearly dropping out of a trance. “I have mending to attend to, if you do not mind.”

“You hate the mending.”

“Picking and choosing my battles, ma’am,” Meg smiled politely.

“Admirable,” (Y/N) said. “I suppose it is late…”

“Might I fetch you some more tea before you retire?” She set the last pin down amongst the vanity. Covered in expensive oils and products, it’s a wonder that anyone could find anything at all on the surface. Thank God Meg knew the contents like the back of her hand.

“No… I fear it will keep me up all night, but thank you, truly,” (Y/N) said.

“Goodnight, my lady.”

And then, she was alone.

Snuffing her candle, she hopped into her bed. Thankfully she never shared this one with Lord Barlow—that was reserved in the wing across the estate—leaving this bed untouched by such a soiled man. It was pleasantly plush and covered in endless pillows, she wondered if the royal princesses slept in beds as nice as this one—nicer, probably. More pillows, if she had to wager.

Sheets pulled up to her chin, eyes focused on the ceiling, she tried to chase sleep. Her mother had taught her a trick when she was young, imagining rabbits chasing around the room and counting those—perhaps it was sheep? Regardless, she tried counting. She only made it to twenty nine before flipping onto her side, exasperated by the count.

Sleep never came.

The covers melted off of her body in an instant, floating over to her door to ensure it was locked. Quietly, oh-so quietly, she turned the latch. No need for the staff to interrupt her… sleep. She hardly had to turn to such matters, but when exhaustion cycled her brain and not her body, leaving her tossing and turning all night, she really had no other choice.

No other choice, she reminded herself.

She laid on top of the covers this time, rabbits and sheep all but forgotten.

If there was to be one positive of marrying, it was the sheer fact that she was able to fully understand her body as a woman. While the marital act itself was entirely loathsome—a chore with Lord Barlow that happened infrequently during their marriage to try for an heir—the act of doing it alone?

Why the idea alone just got her heart pounding.

She never had anyone to teach her these things, her mother passed before her marriage, so there was no ‘wedding night talk’. Everything that Lady Barlow had learned was from her sheer will and determination—a chase for something she never quite knew she was racing towards. Her husband? He had never been any help. A few grunts and thrusts before he would spend himself inside, collapsing on top of her for the night.

She refused to give her late husband much thought—not when her hands were on her breasts, one slinking lower to touch a more delicate area.

No. She needed to focus her thinking on something else. Something to get the job done, send her to sleep sooner than later.

The gentleman. The faceless one that she imagined in place of her own hands. It usually sped things along if she focused on a generally well-looking fellow and how he’d touch her instead of just chasing her own feelings with her fingertips. Saved her wrists a lot of pain too—occasionally she felt like she was back practicing her penmanship, writing lines all day with her governess—the ache was fairly similar. Although, one pain caused a higher embarrassment than the other.

Decidedly happy with her diversion of thought, she made quick work on the bottom of her nightdress and pulled it up to her stomach. (Y/N) had never the need to sleep with drawers, feeling a dress was more than enough. Besides, it gave her easy access on nights like tonight. Her fingers danced with her lower lips, already damp with arousal.

She sighed at the first contact, the pure ecstasy of running her fingertips across her glistening folds. In her mind, he was doing this to her, the nameless man who wanted nothing more than to give her what she needed. With slow and tantalizing circles, she teased her clit, gasps leaving her lips involuntarily, her eyes rolling shut before she could even think. Her non-dominant hand continued to grasp at her breast, squeezing and rolling the flesh until she was utterly mindless.

The climb was thrilling, it was suffocating and all encompassing. How she dreamed she could experience this with someone, feel this pleasure with another, both giving and taking exactly what the other needed. She groaned again, feeling herself getting closer to the edge, her circles faster now, the gentleman making good work on her neglected center.

“Gods,” (Y/N) cried, trying her very best to keep her voice down. She didn’t need Meg inquiring about her, not when she was so worked up and so, so close.

And then… the fall. Everything was white and her heart felt like it was bound to beat out of her chest.

Brown eyes.

As she fell into a peaceful slumber, for no reason in particular, she decided her faceless gentleman had brown eyes.

—

Breaking her fast was usually rewarding, the chefs at Barlow Estate were some of the most talented in the ton—of course, only in her humble opinion, not that she had much to compare it to. When she first married Lord Barlow, having such fulfilling meals first thing in morning was almost worth marrying such an oaf. Almost.

“Did you have a good sleep, ma’am?” A butler asked, taking (Y/N)’s empty plate, replacing it with one full of fresh cut fruit.

“Oh!” Her face flushed. “Y-yes, James, of course. I always have a pleasant sleep.”

“You look well rested, ma’am,” he nodded.

“My lady,” Meg spoke up, gaining the attention of Lady Barlow from her fruit. “You have an appointment at the modiste early this afternoon.”

“I don’t recall making an appointment,” (Y/N) held her hand still, half of an apple tight in her grasp.

“I made the appointment, ma’am,” Meg said. “You are in need of new dresses—”

“Is there something wrong with the way I dress?”

“Of course not,” Meg said quickly, her face growing slightly pink. “It is just, since the late Lord Barlow passed you have been in mourning attire—blacks, blues, the entire dreary ensemble. I figured it would be best to get dresses that suited more the colors of the season.”

“I am unsure if you noticed,” (Y/N) said, taking a small bite of her apple. She chewed it quickly. “But my dress today is green.”

“I did notice,” Meg nodded politely. “It is a lovely color, but perhaps a lighter blue would be nice? A purple?”

“Perhaps you should listen to her, ma’am,” James interjected. “The family account has not been used since after your wedding and the mourning attire—”

“And I can use that money elsewhere,” (Y/N) raised her brow. “I’m sure the new viscount will be pleased I am not blowing his money so frivolously, I do not see the need for new dresses.”

Meg sighed, giving James a trying look. He shrugged. “Humor me. Just one dress.”

“Fine. One dress."

Somehow, between the carriage ride to the modiste and the tailoring of a beautiful purple display piece, Lady (Y/N) Barlow was talked into three new dresses. A sharp pinprick to her left leg brought her back to her senses.

“Oh! Lady Barlow, I do apologize,” Madame Delacroix said. “You must keep still as I pin your hems."

“I will try my best,” (Y/N) smiled, glancing down at the woman working hard on her new dress. “How fortunate the display dress you had fits so well.”

“Oui, how fortunate,” Madame Delacroix nodded. “A few pins and stitches and it will be perfect. And this color is very flattering—I am certain the men of the ton will turn their heads at this.”

She fought the urge to roll her eyes. “I have no need to turn heads, Madame,” (Y/N) said curtly. “I am simply just refreshing my wardrobe.”

“Oh, no one has the need to turn heads, save for the young ladies,” Madame Delacroix giggled, it sounded almost fake, forced. “But my work will do that regardless, so do expect that Lady Barlow.”

“Joy,” (Y/N) sighed, tilting her head at her reflection. While it hadn’t been an extraordinarily long time since she debuted—a shake over three years at the most—she was no longer the young girl from her first season. Her curves have filled out, her features more defined, so this particular cut was suiting her just fine. Madame Delacroix was the best modiste for a reason, knowing just how to make the ladies of the ton sparkle.

The front door swung open, a sea of blue flooding in the entryway. “Ah, Lady Bridgerton, I shall be with you in a moment!” Madame Delacroix called out.

(Y/N) froze at the mere mention of the Bridgerton name.

“Take your time, Madame,” Lady Bridgerton cooed, practically shoving a book of fabrics in her daughter’s face. Eloise, (Y/N) recalls, the second eldest daughter of the brood. It was her first season. “We’ll be patient.”

“Shall I pull another dress, Lady Barlow?”

“No,” (Y/N) shook her head wildly. “I rather think I am finished for this afternoon. Please add the dresses to my account—”

“Lady Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton said kindly. “How lovely it is to see you.”

Fuck.

“Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) curtsied, feeling far too proper. “Likewise.”

“What a lovely color that is on you,” she said, eying the girl up and down. “I take it you are out of mourning then, yes?”

“Have been since the Danbury Ball,” (Y/N) nodded. “But I gather Lady Whistledown has already made that public knowledge.”

Lady Bridgerton's cheeks flushed, like a child with their hand caught in the biscuit jar. “I cannot say that I find myself reading that gossip rag often, but—”

“Oh Mother,” Eloise groaned, looking up at the ceiling in frustration. “You read Whistledown just as often as I.”

“I do not blame you, Lady Bridgerton,” (Y/N) quickly added. The older woman’s shoulders relaxed. “For the many months I was in mourning and not socializing, Whistledown was my way I could keep up with everything. I very much would like to thank her, should I ever get the opportunity.”

“Yes, well,” Lady Bridgerton cleared her throat. “In any case, if you happen to be free tomorrow afternoon, would you like to join me for tea?”

“Tea?”

“I remember how it felt when—” she stopped herself, eyes becoming glassy. “Becoming a widow so suddenly is difficult. I would like to bestow my wisdom upon you if you’d allow it.”

“You are not quite old enough to be bestowing wisdom,” (Y/N) laughed lightly.

“I beg to differ,” Eloise mumbled.

“Flattery, Lady Barlow, will get you everywhere,” Lady Bridgerton smiled, elbowing her daughter lightly. “And you already have the invite, no need to lay it on so thick.”

“That is very kind of you, but—”

“So, shall we say noon tomorrow?”

The Bridgertons, as Lady Barlow gathered, were a difficult lot to say no to.

“Noon. Sounds perfect.”

—

It felt odd, being in the drawing room of Bridgerton House. She only ever had the fleeting thought that she’d ever sit here the once—ages ago during her first season. Now? Now she was sitting and drinking tea with Lady Bridgerton as if nothing was wrong in the world.

“You have a lovely home,” (Y/N) said, holding her teacup a little tighter than she should.

“Thank you,” Lady Bridgerton said voice full of appreciation. “Tell me, Lady Barlow, how is your family?”

“My family?”

“Oh, forgive me for asking,” Lady Bridgerton clarified. “I just had realized that I know very little about you, you were only in the season for such a short time before you married. I figured your family was a good place to start.”

“No, no,” (Y/N) put the cup down. “I understand. Seeing as everyone knows about your family,” Lady Bridgerton chuckled at that, “I should only fill in some blank spaces, I suppose.”

The elder dowager nodded her head, tipping her cup at the younger widow to continue.

“No family, I’m afraid,” (Y/N) said, her voice wavering on sad. “Mother passed a few years before my debut, Father just last year. No siblings, so… just me I’m afraid.”

“Goodness,” Lady Bridgerton pressed a hand to her heart. “Your father and husband in the same year? I am truly sorry for your losses.”

“My mother was the true loss,” she said honestly, her voice practically lifting. “Kindest soul to grace this Earth, I mourn her every day. The others? I do not doubt anyone has missed them.”

“Lord Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton dropped a spoonful of sugar into her cup. “He was an odious man. When I had heard he had taken another wife—it was quite the story around the ton. I was beside myself.”

“I happen to be number three,” (Y/N) said matter-of-factly. “Number One and Two both died in childbirth, trying to give that man his beloved heir. Never worked out, and I cannot say I am crestfallen I never came to be with child, either. The new Lord Barlow is quite well suited for the role regardless, I am told, so I suppose it has worked out for the best.”

“Yes,” Lady Bridgerton had a small smile against her lips, “I can imagine so.”

“Does your son,” (Y/N) coughed, correcting herself, “Lord Bridgerton, does he know I am here for tea?”

“Oh my son is not always privy to my social calendar,” the older woman winked. “He is probably out galavanting and trying to find a wife.”

“A wife?”

“Oh, yes,” Lady Bridgerton nearly beamed. “Lord Bridgerton is finally looking to marry—even after all these years of begging him. Something just clicked last season, I suppose. Perhaps Daphne, the duchess, marrying finally gave him the right idea?”

(Y/N) nodded politely. “I’m sure you’re thrilled.”

“I only wish for the best for all eight of my children,” she nodded, “so seeing him look to marry makes me ever hopeful.”

“Mhm,” (Y/N) sank into more of her cup, polishing it off.

The grand clock ticked away.

“I apologize if this all makes you uncomfortable Lady Barlow,” Lady Bridgerton started. “It is just… when Edmund passed, I had my family and wonderful friends to support me. I figured, perhaps, having another friend would not be the worst thing?”

“Lady Bridgerton, you are very kind for checking in with me, and I very much appreciate this tea,” (Y/N) said honestly. She felt like she could jump out of her skin with anxiety, but tried her very best to keep it under control. “But… as you had alluded, it is no secret that Lord Barlow and I were not a love match. There is no need—”

“Being a widow is hard,” Lady Bridgerton cut her off. “It is rotten work and you feel like a shell of yourself, only having a title such as ours because of who we married and not in our own right. Tell me, do you plan on remarrying?”

“No.”

“No?”

“I am quite content with my life,” (Y/N) said thoughtfully. “Widows have all the freedom in the world, I am allowed many opportunities because of it—far more than when I was simply a little thing on the Marriage Mart.”

“I suppose that would be… correct,” Lady Bridgerton treaded lightly. “However, do you not wish for a family? The support of another?”

“It is not that I do not wish for a family,” (Y/N) said truthfully. “I am sure part of me does, but it is more the matter of everything that comes with it.”

“I could never imagine going about life alone,” Lady Bridgerton said. “After Edmund… I am just grateful my children were here to keep me sane, grounded, even.”

“Children can be a blessing…”

“But children,” Lady Bridgerton added quickly, “they are not for everyone. I hope you find happiness in whatever you need.”

“Thank you,” the young viscountess said sincerely. “You have such a wonderful life, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Violet,” she corrected. “Please, call me Violet.”

“Oh,” (Y/N)’s cheeks darkened. “Violet, then.”

“We are friends now, after all,” Violet smiled kindly, the kind of smile only a mother possessed. She waved for the tea to be replaced, a butler practically rushed to fulfill the viscountess’ request. “More tea?”

“I would love some more,” (Y/N) said, feeling lighter than air. Perhaps having a friend was a good step forward, a leap into the right direction.

The door to the drawing room slammed open.

“Mother, I just received our balance from the modiste and—”

Much like he owned the place—and in a way, he did—Lord Bridgerton took command of the less-than-quaint room and had all eye on him. His own eyes—his brown eyes—were trained solely on the widow sitting beside his mother, his mouth agape.

“Oh Anthony, you cannot just barge in here,” Violet scolded, “we have a guest.”

“I see that,” he seethed, shoving his hands behind his back in faux-decorum. “Lady Barlow.”

“Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded stiffly, not bothering to raise from her seat.

He ignored her, turning swiftly to his mother instead. “May I have a word alone with our guest, Mother?”

Feeling the tension in the room rise, Violet sighed, giving into her son’s request. “I believe I should check on the governess, anyhow,” Violet said, rising from her seated position. “Behave.”

Anthony brushed his mother’s whispered warning off, tilting his head to the staff, all leaving the room at his command. The door had barely clicked shut before he stepped forward. “Since when are you friends with my mother?”

“Since when do you care about who I spend my time with?”

“Since that company is my mother,” he said cooly. “I would have thought you were just so turned off by the Bridgerton name that you would ignore all of my family—”

“She is a nice woman,” (Y/N) rose, crossing her arms. “How you managed to turn out the way you have despite that is beyond me.”

“You are in my home,” Anthony pointed. “You insult my character and you dare try to befriend my mother?”

“Dare?” She laughed. “Am I not allowed to have friends?”

“Not with my mother,” he stepped towards her.

“Your mother,” she smiled forcefully, “Violet, has been nothing but kind to me today. She was merely looking out for me—offered me some good advice.”

“Advice?” He laughed. “On what planet could someone many years your senior offer you helpful advice?”

“You could not settle with just insulting me, so you had to insult your own mother? She is not yet elderly—”

“Yet she is older than you,” he corrected, his cheeks pink from his mistake. “Do you not have friends your own age?”

“Do you not have something better to do?”

He huffed, squeezing his wrist in restraint. “I came here to speak with my mother—”

“Yet you shooed her out of the room and decided to speak to me instead,” she countered, stepping closer. “To insult me? To threaten me? Whichever, I suppose, I will never understand. I decided to take tea with Lady Bridgerton because she offered it—offered advice on being a widow, something you have already known about me.”

“I wouldn’t wish for her to hear our conversation, besides, her advice could not have been that helpful,” Anthony snorted. “My parents were in love, her trials of being a widow pales in comparison to your situation—”

“The one in which I also lost a husband? The sole definition of being a widow?” She said, her arms tight against her chest. “That situation?”

The grand clock—that damned grand clock—chimed in the uncomfortable silence, a new hour beginning.

“I may not have loved Lord Barlow,” she admitted. “He may not even have been a friend to me, but I still am a lady who has lost her husband—a lady who has so much as lost her way in this fucked world, a world where a woman cannot simply be without one. Your mother was simply being kind.”

“I did not mean…” Anthony’s posture softened, even just a bit, words caught in his throat.

“But you did,” she pointed. “If you hadn’t meant it, you wouldn’t have said it. My, Lord Bridgerton, you certainly have a way with words, much like you always have, it seems.”

“I beg your pardon?”

She looked at the clock. “I must take my leave. I am expected to be back home soon, the estate certainly cannot run itself, seeing as my husband,” she nearly spat the word, “has left it to my care. What a thoughtful man he was.”

“I—Lady Barlow,” Anthony started, unsure of where he was going with it. “Please accept my apologies.”

“Keep them,” she smiled. “They are nearly as useless as you are. Excuse me.” Lady Barlow opened the door with haste, nodding to the staff members who were waiting outside. Her lady’s maid, Meg, followed only a few steps behind her, her attention caught on the wounded viscount in blue.

Anthony practically dissolved into the arm chair, unsure of what to do next. He had half a mind to go to his study to drink, to pour over the invoices that had him enter this room in the first place. His interactions with Lady Barlow usually left him buzzing, his blood boiling and his ego only partially wounded. How he was left feeling so defeated was beyond him.

“A way with words?” He mumbled to himself. “I never wish to understand that woman.”

Yet, a part of him nearly screamed the opposite.

How peculiar.

—

Roses and Regrets Tag List:

@creative-heart , @sunshineangel-reads

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#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #x reader #oopsies #didn't expect to write some steamy bits already in chapter 2 but oh well!! reader is pent up i guess

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newtonsheffield · 1 month

Note

while I know all the Bridgersibs are ultimately happy for Anthony (esp now that he’s less of a hardass because he’s distracted by his beautiful wife LOL) I can’t wait to see the look of exasperation on their faces the 1000th time they’ve seen Kanthony giggle and kiss like lovesick teens on a random Tuesday afternoon. I know Eloise is the snarkiest about it at least 😆

Oh they’re super happy for Anthony. There’s such a difference in him after he tried to burn down the entire ton to be with Kate. He’s calmer, he’s more relaxed and they all love Kate. They loved her before it was certain that they’d be married. They love how she rolls her eyes and ignores Anthony. They love how she has no shame in taking a sly little dig at someone who expresses their concern and delight to find her still in England.

“Well, Lord Bridgerton and I have decided that our marriage might work best if I were to stay in England. A distant marriage isn’t suited for us I fear.”

Eloise and Francesca found themselves hiding their laughter behind their hands very poorly as the other woman gaped at Kate who seemed entirely unbothered as she sighed.

“Girls, your mother is expecting us for tea, we’d better be getting along.”

“I think you’re who I’d like to be when I grow up.” Eloise said still laughing as they made their way down the street. “You always seem to be able to get things exactly the way you want them. Anthony told me many times I couldn’t have a dog as he wouldn’t allow one in the house. I found Newton on the sofa the other day.”

Kate scoffed. “I find the trick to dealing with your brother is ignoring him and doing exactly as you mean to any way.”

They love Kate. They love that she gets so involved in their family games, they love her.

But the thing about Kate and Anthony is… they’re also Kate and Anthony.

They’re always tossing one another smiles and looks across the room and they sit after dinner with their heads bowed together giggling at something or other. Some private joke between the two of them.

It gets to be a bit much some time.

“Oh please!” Benedict groaned one night at the dinner table as Anthony grinned at his wife beside him. “No more I beg of you!”

“Yes!” Eloise hissed, “Some of us, are eating.”

“Some of us,” Anthony said easing his eyebrows, “Should be thankful that their brother hasn’t mentioned the articles I found tucked into a book calling for revolution.”

Eloise fell silent but Benedict only tutted, appealing to Kate. “Kate, I love you. You know I do. I would… fight a duel over you with Anthony if I thought you’d have me.”

Kate rolled her eyes. “I doubt that.”

Anthony looked affronted, “Don’t tempt me.”

“If you’ve ever cared for me,” Benedict carried on, “Please, please go and sit at the opposite end of the table.”

Anthony scoffed, “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

“Who are you?!” Benedict hissed, “You used to care about propriety!”

Kate gave Benedict a slow smile, winking at Anthony. “No, darling. Benedict’s right, this isn’t proper.” She turned down the table still smirking. “Violet would you swap with me?”

Violet looked a little wary but stood and took Kate’s seat so Kate was sat at the opposite end of the table from her husband, the entire family between them. She cleared her throat, talking loudly enough that they all had to hear.

“As I was saying, Darling: You look very handsome tonight.”

Anthony grinned as his siblings groaned, “You’re right Benedict. I do prefer this.”

“Yes!” Kate called out, “This is much more proper!”

“Thank you, Benedict.” Eloise sighed, “Thank you for this.”

“This isn’t exactly what I meant, obviously.”

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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sc0tters · 7 months

Text

In The End | Mat Barzal

summary: ultimately in the end fate realised that you were simply better suited for the man in New York. At least this one had your heart.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing, mentions of cheating.

word count: 1.59k

authors note: you guys probably haven’t been waiting for this one but the final part of this series is now here! Honestly it started off as a fun take on a request but I’m so glad that it bloomed into something more. We might not love Tito in this series, but he deserved the sorta ending he got.

part one | part two

What the fuck is going on y/n?

That was the last thing you had heard from Mat before he walked out of your apartment.

Two months had gone by and you had convinced yourself that this was for the best. Without Mat, it meant you had the time to truly focus on your relationship with Tito.

And that was going really well, Anthony and you spent three weeks in France where you found a ring in his suitcase.

Whilst no proposal came you were relieved to not have to turn him down. Time and time again you found your mind slipping back to Mat and you grew to hate yourself for it. How one night could make you so unhappy as you longed for the boy who wanted nothing to do with you.

But what you didn’t know was that Mat was longing for your message, your phone call, anything that showed him that you were done with Anthony. Yet as the posts came along highlighting the best moments from your trip he lost faith.

With weeks until the season was meant to start up again you thought that this was a battle that you were going to win “babe can you go get that?” Anthony called from the kitchen hearing his phone ring in the bedroom.

You thought nothing of it truly, so you stopped doing your makeup and went to his side of the bed to grab his phone “what the fuck?” You asked seeing Jenny🥰 appear as a FaceTime call.

Stupidly you answered with not a thought in your mind as you had more questions than answers “oh my god!” She shrieked seeing you appear on the screen instead of Anthony.

The girl was in nothing but some lingerie as she was forced to quickly find a robe to cover herself up. Anthony came back into your bedroom as you hadn’t responded to his messages of concern “baby?” His voice was nervous as he was met with the sight of your back.

You hadn’t realised that you were crying when you turned around to face him “h-how l-l-long?” You croaked out as you turned the phone around so that he could see what you had seeing.

His face dropped at the sight “I can explain-” Anthony reached out for you but you pulled away “answer my question?” The hockey player sighed as he watched her hang up the call.

If there was a moment that he knew that he was going to get caught then it would have been this one “we started in February.” Anthony confessed as he sat on the bed “and your ring?” Your lip quivered as his eyes widened.

Anthony let his head fall to his hands “for her.” In that very moment your sadness turned to anger “look I’m sorry-” the hockey player went to apologise but you cut him off “go find her.” You blurted out making his eyes go wide.

Your fingers ran through your hair “if you don’t love me anymore go be happy with her.” The logical part of your brain was only thinking about Mat.

The hockey player looked up at you “you’ve got someone too don’t you?” It was the fact that the spark that Anthony once lit in your eyes came up when you told him to go find her.

All you could do was nod as the boy got up to hug you “go get him.” Anthony smiled as you wrapped your arms around him giving him a squeeze “good luck.” Was the last thing you said to him before you left the apartment.

New York seemed to be on your side as the weather was warm but the cool breeze helped you as you ran through the city “pick up please!” You groaned as it went to voice note again.

Hey it’s Mat, I can’t come to the phone right now leave a message!

You grumbled something under your breath as you hung up feeling defeat slap you in the face as you sat on the sidewalk as your feet grew sore after you were met with nobody at Mat’s door.

It looked like you were an emotional girl who had just been dumped or something as your hands buried your face hiding it from the world.

You wanted to cry as cars whizzed past you “girl come with us!” Some random girls smiled at you as one of them held their hand out for you to grab.

They looked like they couldn’t have been any older than you so with their friendly faces you nodded getting up to face them “where are you going?” You asked wiping your eyes as you realised that your cheeks were wet “Still Partners over there!” The girl who helped you up explained as you could hear the sound of music coming from the bar.

So you followed them curious to know what caused the big crowd of people at the bar.

The soft sounds of a guitar played over the hum of the crowd “they’re really good.” You mumbled surprised when you were met with nods of agreement.

Your real shock of the night was when you finally got to see them, most of the members of the band were people you hadn’t met before. But of course there stood Mat, guitar in his hands and a look that was once nervous but then turned happy as he saw you.

Mat had this grin on his face as his eyes never left you “hi,” you mouthed sending him a salute as the boy responded with a nod trying to focus on what he was playing as your presence got rid of most of his nerves.

The hockey player practically jumped off the stage when their performance was done as he made a beeline for you as you stood by the bar “you did so good!” You smiled ordering him a beer to congratulate him.

Mat couldn’t believe that you were stood there in front of him “why are you here?” The Canadian wrapped his arms around your waist pulling you into a hug “I came looking for you.” Now that wasn’t exactly the reason why you were in the bar but as the girls you hung out with waved goodbye you couldn’t help but smile “f’me?” Mat repeated as though you spoke a foreign language.

You looked up at him as you nodded “Anthony and I broke up.” You awkwardly explained as your ego tried to hold onto the fact that he let a smirk form on his lips for a quick second before he let you two sit down.

In that very moment the boy let his hand run up your knee as he looked at you like you two were the only people in the packed out bar “how do you feel about it?” Mat didn’t know if you were there for some kind of comfort or instead for what he hoped you would eventually say, that you would be there for him.

Whilst a million answers seemed to come to your mind you couldn’t help but shrug “relieved, a little embarrassed even-” you raked your fingers through your hair as Mat cut you off shaking his head.

He wrapped his fingers around the freshly poured pint glass that they bartender had placed in front of him “did he do something stupid?” The Canadians question made you feel dumb “he fell in love with a girl in Vancouver.” Was all you needed to say for Mat to bring his hand to his mouth.

Although he was surprised, he couldn’t say that he was fully shocked. Anthony hadn’t mentioned you in their weekly calls since February “which is sort of comforting cause then I don’t feel bad admitting that I love you.” You were very much so the kind of girl who kept your cards close to your chest but in that very moment you wanted Mat to know exactly where your head was at.

Mat slowly nodded as he took in the information “I tried to tell myself that if I ignored you and just worked on Tito then I’d be able to ignore you.” The ramble that came from your lips seemed to be like a weight that was lifted off of your shoulders “but the truth is that I grew to resent myself for pushing you away.” At this point you hadn’t realised that tears were rolling down your cheeks for the second time tonight until Mat leaned over and brought his hand to your cheek.

His calloused finger wiped away from your cheek as Mat frowned “you never pushed me away.” He cooed slotting his legs between yours as he got himself as close as he could to you.

The Canadian tilted your head up as he was now stood “fucking love you baby.” Mat’s confession had a grin on your face that probably gave the Cheshire Cat a run for his money.

You made the next move as you pushed yourself up on the chair letting you peck his lips “hey I tell you I love you and that’s how you respond?” Mat playfully scoffed letting his hands land on either side of your stool locking you in.

A giggle left your lips as you leaned forward again this time meeting his request as your arms wrapped around his neck pulling him down with you. Your tongue ran over his lower lip as you seemed to be in control of it until Mat pulled away “that’s more like it my shining star.”

#mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x reader #hockey oneshot #hockey imagines #nhl oneshot #nhl imagines #oneshots #imagines #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #amber writes fics

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goforshexgo · 4 months

Text

Smart one

You were up studying for a test, strange maybe for your other vk peers except for Carlos, but you cared about your academics and liked to do well academically. Halfway through your notes you heard someone start knocking hard on your window, it was Jay Al Jafar, one of your closest friends and the boy you had the fattest crush on. Not like you'd admit that, though. You rolled your eyes as you got up and opened it.

"Man, how many times do I have to tell you not to knock so damn hard, Jay." You scolded as the long haired boy climbed through your window, grinning.

"Yea yea, 'It's held together by broken hopes and dreams.'" He quoted as he walked further into your gloomy room before sitting on the dilapidated footboard of your bed and crossing his arms as he gazed at you with his signature smile. Rolling your eyes again, this time with an additional head shake and a smile. You sat back down at your desk and started your studying again.

"What do you want Jay ?" You asked but it sounded more like a statement, earning a pout from your dark haired friend.

"How lowly do you think of me to think that I came over to see you just because I wanted something from you ?" Jay pouted as he feigned hurt before a charming smile overtook his again as he walked over to the run down desk you sat at

"Very. Now what do you want ?" You questioned again not bothering to look up at Jay, who was now standing next to you, his hands planted firmly on the desk as he looked down at you.

"Anthony got this new watch, I want it." Jay confessed with his signature smile, the smile that you loved hated. "And he's throwing a hellraiser tonight."

"I'm not going to a party just to help you steal his watch." You told him flatly continuing to look down at your tattered text book and notes that smelled of mildew.

"Oh c'monnn, you owe me anyway." Your head snapped up to him upon hearing his words. You didn't owe Jay shit.

"I don't owe you shit, Jay." You asserted pushing back in your chair to cross your arms across your chest. Jay chuckled before moving his face closer to yours.

"Oh come one, just this once ?" Jay pleaded, looking at you with the prettiest brown eyes you swore you ever saw.

Hiding the flustered feeling you feel at his proximity you spoke.

"Oh, just this once ? You know it funny because I remember you said that when you asked me to try to steal one of Cruella's coats ? Oh, or when you tried to steal from Gothel and you got me to distract her ? Oooo, or what about the time you tried to convince me to sneak you into-"

Jay cut you off before you could finish the long list of "Just this once's"

"Okay okay, so it's not just this once but I swear it's worth it."

You stare at him with a bored expression as he talks

"And why is that Jay ?"

"Uh, because you get to spend time with me."

"Get the fuck out Jay."

"Come on, you know you want to spend time with me."

His voice sing-songy

You wanted to spend time with him, bad. Like embarrassingly bad. You'd never admit that though.

"Nah, I'm good."

You rejected

"C'mon... please ?"

Jay begged as he grasped at your hands, and VK's never said "please."

"Fine, but you owe me Al Jafar ."

You asserted as you stood, a finger pointed at his chest

"Yes ma'am."

When you got to Anthony's party it was already in full swing. The lights were dim and moody, the music was blaring and kinda shitty because of the busted speakers that the people of Auradon threw away to the people of the isle, and the air smelled of mold, sweat, and expired perfume along other expired hygiene products. Bodies danced and grinded, others stood in corners and chatted or tried their best look as evil and pretentious as possible.

"What now Jay ?"

You questioned as you looked around at the party that went on before you

"Gotta find Tremaine."

Jay answered as he grabbed you hand and walked into the party.

You felt your stomach leap as he made contact with you, frantically looking down where you two were now connected, then smiled to yourself small-ly

The two of looked around for three minutes tops, Jay still holding your hand, before he turned around to you.

"Can't find him, wanna dance ?"

He offered casually.

"We looked for less than five minutes."

"And we couldn't find him, so do you want to dance."

With a roll of your eyes, you agreed and began to dance.

"Was this your plan all along, Al Jafar ?"

"You really are a smart one, huh?"

I changed my mind for the plot of this fic last minute so I'm sorry the ending is lackluster. Also I haven't written fanfic in years. ISN'T HE JUST DREAMY THO 😍😍

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whispersoftheton · 11 months

Note

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

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

Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader, Benedict Bridgerton

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

Word Count: 1.5K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A portrait?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton netflix #anthony bridgerton fluff #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton fic #bridgerton season 2 #anthony bridgerton angst

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stories4you04-x · 29 days

Text

Dearest Readers,

When overhearing being the wife of Anthony Bridgerton was like a dream I thought it wasnt true. A dream that one must dream of living. He is according to his wife the most caring and loving husband but when in public he is different. He had a different personality. A sense of regality one dreams of achieving. One that his newlywed wife Y/N could easily match for events and balls during the season. But this article is how he dropped this facade in public...

"Anthony do you feel up to a walk today the weather is ever so lovely" Y/N announced to her husband who was sat in a chair reading the book he was currently reading. "Yes the weather is lovely today I believe a walk would be quite nice" Anthony said whilst placing his bookmark in his book and settling it on the table beside him. It only took a few minutes for the newlywed pair to get ready.

They walked hand in hand in the local park which was surrounded with other people. As they walked people bowed or tipped their hats towards them as there was an aura of regalness that surrounded the pair. "Anthony look Hyacinths we must pick some for your mother she does love this flower" he smiled at the way she practically dragged him over towards the flowers. "Very well I guess we should mother has been feeling a little down recently maybe these can lift her spirits" she nodded and started to pick ones that looked big and full of life without a care in the world. However Anthony looked around and noticed a few bees buzzing around the flowers. "Y/N please be careful" she turned around to him "whatever for?" He looked panicked and said "there are bees" she smiled "they will be fine im not making them angry" she continued to pick them not realising the one she had picked had a bee nestled withing one of the flowers which travelled onto her collar bone.

Anthony had turned around to look at his wife as she had stopped to bask in the sun she smiled at him until she saw his face drop and she looked confused at him "Anthony whats wrong?" He shouted "Stay still please" His wife started walking towards him "why what's the matter my love?" He had tears in his eyes "please just stay still" she looked down as she felt something crawling on her and she realised a bee was on her collar. She wafted the bee for it to fly away. Anthony got scared as he heard her cry "ouch it stung me" he couldn't breathe "no no no no Y/N stay with me please" he pleaded holding onto her face "love what is the matter its just a sting I am fine" It wasnt until he was fully panicking on the floor within his wifes arms that he began to calm "but you got stung you could die" she seemed shocked at how he announced the statement "love you can't die from a sting unless the person is allergic" he calmed slightly "what can I do to get you to calm fully" he thought "can we get a doctor to check please my wife I can't loose you" she looked into his eyes as she held him "of course we will go straight away but let's enjoy the sun for a little longer"

She was getting a full body check by the doctor under Anthony's orders. He waited outside pacing back and forth whilst his two brothers benedict and Colin sat in the nearest chairs "Anthony sit down she is going to be fine" Colin pleaded. "No my wife is in there she got stung" he started panicking again until Benedict stood and grabbed Anthony's shoulder and forced him into the chair "she is going to be fine if something was to happen it would have happened by now so calm down and sit still for a few more minutes the doctor should be done soon" Benedict then sat in the other chair. Violet heard all the commotion upstairs and went to find out whatever was happening "sons what is happening?" Anthony stood and hugged his mother "Y/N got stung picking those Hyacinths for you downstairs and she is with the doctor right now she said she was ok but I'm scared I can loose her too mother" she placed a hand on his cheek as he released from the hug "Anthony your wife is a strong woman if she says she is ok then she is perfectly ok" he nodded and sat back down.

A few minutes later the door opened Anthony jumped out of his chair. The doctor said nothing but nodded towards the four standing at the door "go Anthony" his mother said pushing him towards the door. "Y/N love is everything ok the doctor said nothing" he walked towards the bed where she was laying "perfectly ok" she smiled and he released a breath he did not realise he was holding "However..." his breath hitched again "...there was something he found. He was quiet because I swore him to secrecy until I told you and the family" he was stressed "love what was it?" She smiled at him "I am with child" his jaw dropped and a few seconds later his face contorted into a smile "A... A baby?" She nodded "You are to be a father" she announced and he cheered ran out the room and told everyone outside. She could hear the claps and cheers outside and he ran back in and gave her a kiss full of passion "Anthony calm down I know its exciting but I don't want to have to call the doctor back because you have hurt yourself"

It took a few days for the news to be spread and be written into Lady Whistledowns article. The newlywed couldn't have been more happy for a singular bee sting to be the product of such big news.

A/N I am rubbish at writing I don't know where I just got this inspo but I just had to write I hope you enjoy 😊

#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x female reader #netflix bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #colin bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #violet bridgerton

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dragon-kazansky · 14 days

Text

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season one

Chapter Three - Becoming acquainted

♡♡♡

When the letter arrived at your house, your mother squealed with delight. This was the most exciting thing that had ever happened to her, it would seem.

Though you did make a point to remind her, this is not what she thought it was.

Still, you were dragged off to be cleaned throughly and dressed in your best gown for the occasion. Your mother saw to every detail. It was tiresome.

You said not a word the entire time.

Once you were dressed, she guided you to the carriage. For the entire ride, she told you what to do. You spent the whole trip looking out the window, wishing to disappear. You had been looking forward to a nice dinner with an intriguing family, but you knew your mother would make this unbearable.

The thought to befriend Benedict and Daphne had crossed your mind after they left last night. That's what you would look for in them. Friendship.

When you arrive at their home you are left in awe of how beautiful the house was from outside. You follow your mother up to the front door and wait to be let in. You step inside and find yourself further in awe. Their home was lovely. It felt cosy.

Lady Bridgerton comes over to greet you both. "I am glad to see you here. Please, come inside."

You're led into the drawing room where everyone is sitting and chatting. You find yourself startled to see the Duke of Hastings present. He greets you with a nod. You nod back.

Violet introduces you to the rest of the family. Anthony greets you the same way as the Duke. Benedict offers you a small smile, though you're not sure if he's actually pleased to see you or not. Colin kisses the back of your hand, and you smile. Daphne smiles softly at you. Eloise says nothing. She just looks at you, a book in her hands. Francesca gives a soft smile. Gregory and Hyacinth both say hello to you.

Violet urges you to join the others until dinner is ready. You look around the room and find there are no available seats. Benedict realises this, too, and stands up. "Please, sit here."

You thank him quietly and sit down where he had been. The seat was warm. He must have been sat in here a while.

Conversation proceeds within the room. Anthony is talking away the Duke. Eloise has her nose back in her book. Benedict stands behind you, his hand resting on the back of the chair.

"I didn't realise your family knew the Duke of Hastings." You said softly, looking up at Benedict.

"Anthony and he were friends back in Oxford. Do you know him?"

"Not personally. I've heard much of his father, though..."

The subject was a sore one, so neither of you said any more. You glance at the Duke. He looks like he would rather be anywhere else right now.

Benedict brings your attention back to him. "I'm sorry about my mother."

"Don't be." You smile. "I know how it is."

Benedict smiles, too. "Still, I will admit, I am pleased you are here."

"You are?"

"I'm very fond of making new friends. Does that sound good to you? My sister could also perhaps use a friend right now too."

You glance at Daphne and then back at Benedict. "Yes. That does sound rather nice. I hear the Bridgerton's are quite the friends to have."

Benedict smiles. "I think we are."

You both chuckle and smile at one another. From Violet's point of view, she believes you two are getting along quite nicely. The Duke has yet to speak to Daphne at all.

The bell for dinner is rung, and you all rise. You walk with Benedict to the dining room. Your mother joins Lady Bridgerton.

Benedict pulls out a chair for you, and you sit down. Daphne sits beside you and Benedict across from you.

The Duke is seated on the other side of Daphne.

Dinner is lovely. The whole family is sitting together at the table. Conversation flows naturally. There are smiles and giggles.

The conversation turns to Lady Whistledown.

"Haven't you heard what we're talking about? For all we know, Whistledown may be some interloper living in Bloomsbury, of all palces." Colin says.

You chuckle.

"What should be so terrible about Bloomsbury?" Benedict asks. "That people ther actually work for a living?"

"She does seem to be someone with access." Daphne points out.

"Who knows if Whsitledown is even a she?"

"Fair point." Anthony chines in.

"Because she is simply too good to be anyone but a man?" Eloise asks.

Benedict pulls a face at Eloise. You chuckle.

"Well, I think it rather obvious that the writer is Lady Danbury." Francesca says firmly.

"Lady Danbury enjoys sharing her insults with society directly." Daphne adds. "She would never bother herself writing them all down."

"Could it be Lady Featherington?" Hyacinth asks.

"No!" The whole table explodes into laughter.

"You have yet to read what Whistledown writes of the Featheringtons, little sister." Eloise tells her.

The table fills with different conversations now. Everyone is talking to each other about different things. You listen mostly to Benedict and Colin.

"I'm to spar Jackson himself." Colin says.

"You?" Benedict looks at him with disbelief.

"Is that envy I detect in your voice?"

You chuckle at the brothers. You're so focused on them thst you don't notice Daphne looking at the Duke beside her.

"Judgement, brother. I shall need to witness this." Benedict says.

Colin rolls his eyes, and you laugh again. Benedict looks up and smiles at you. "You'll come, yes? We shall watch as my brother fails in this endeavour."

Colin looks at you. "Please do not feed into my brother's terrible influence."

Benedict pretends to be hurt as he puts his hand on his chest. "You wound me."

You giggle. Benedict and Colin both chuckle with you, smiling at their own banter.

Things are getting tense beside you between Daphne and the Duke. You look at your plate, trying to ignore the atmosphere building.

"You are a rake... through and through." You hear Daphne say. "Tell me I'm wrong."

"Who is to refrain from thinking about whom again?" The Duke asks.

"I assure you. I am anything but interested in you." Daphne states.

"Good."

"Quite."

"And I am anything but interested in you, the eldest sister of my oldest friend, yet another subject of a certain writer. Chaste, neat, desperate."

You glance up at Benedict and Colin. Colin glances at Anthony, Benedict looks up at you as if checking to see if you're okay.

"I shall have you know-"

"To marry, that is." The Duke cuts her off. "Tell me I am wrong."

Elosie laughs, but the look her mother gives her soon had her quiet again.

"Hastings, I'm so glad you decided to join us this evening." Anthony says, breaking the tension. "It was most spontaneous of you."

You feel yourself relax again.

"Not at all." Simon responds. "With Lady Danbury accepting your dear mother's gracious invitation on my behalf... Well, however could I have declined."

Anthony looks at his mother, not looking too pleased with this news.

"You must stay for dessert. You too," she addresses you.

You smile. "Thank you."

"It's gooseberry pie, Your Grace." Violet smiles at the Duke.

"Ah! Lovely!" He sounds pleased.

Violet chuckles.

After dinner, you find yourself back in the drawing room. You're standing by the window with Benedict. He had been telling you a little bit about the house.

"It seems your mother has become quite acquainted with my own," he says, guiding you to the sofas.

"Yes. They spent a good portion of dinner chatting."

"I do believe mother only intended to invite you tonight," he chuckles.

"Yes. Well, mother is quite... eager to see me married. She thinks I stand a chance with one of you." You chuckle. "Fear not, I am not after your hand."

Benedict chuckles. "I do think we may become rather good freinds."

"You do?"

He nods with a smile.

"Then I am delighted to earn your companionship."

You both chuckle.

"You're welcome anytime." He tells you.

"I feel rather honoured."

"You should," he grins.

The hour starts to grow late. Violet passes by the doors of the drawing room. For a moment, she thought you and Benedict were alone in there, but as she comes closer, she spots Eloise reading in one corner, and Francesca working on her embroidery.

Violet enters the room. "I hope dinner was alright."

You look up and smile. "It was lovely. Thank you for inviting me."

Violet comes a little closer. "Well, any friend of my sons and daughters are welcome in my home." She glances at Benedict, who smiles at her.

Lady Bridgerton understands that her son has no intention of courting you. Nor do you seem to have any interest in him that way. However, a mother can hold onto hope.

"Benedict, why don't you escort her home?"

You rise from the sofa with him and bid goodnight to his sisters, who both say goodbye in return. Violet sees you both to the door. Benedict takes your arm as you exit out onto the street.

It only dawned on you that your mother was nowhere to be seen. Benedict realises you're looking for as you exit his home.

"It would seem she left a little earlier. Apparently, you were enjoying yourself so much with us. She decided to let you stay a while longer."

You smile. "Is that so?"

"I'm guessing. I have no idea." He grins.

Benedict takes you home, making sure you get inside safely. Before you leave his side and head in for the night, he asks you a question.

"Will you be attending the ball tomorrow?" He asks.

"I believe so, yes."

He smiles. "Save me a dance?"

You chuckle. "Of course. We have to help each other, no?"

Benedict smiles and watches you go inside. Even when the door shuts behind you he remains standing there for a moment.

Yes, you could help each other. You could help keep his mother at bay for a while, and perhaps he can help bring some attention your way.

Sounds like a plan.

♡♡♡

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi

#Bridgerton shade of blue #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #female reader #dragon writes

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charliehoennam · 25 days

Text

the road trip.

Pairing: Anthony Swofford x F!Reader

Summary: Tony and his girl decide to make the best of the time they have to together before the longest deployment he's ever had.

Warnings: nsfw smut, p in v, creampie, oral (both giving and receiving), unprotected sex, language, 18+ ONLY

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

You woke up to the sound of running water coming from Tony's bathroom down the hall.

Being a natural morning bird, you weren't surprised to find his side of the bed empty, but you did wonder if he was able to get much sleep after your lovemaking.

As the warm water rained over his head, Tony closed his eyes dreading the day he'd have to say goodbye. It filled his heart with an agonizing anxiety just knowing that you'd be alone for such a long time.

Although he loved serving his country and following his father and grandfather's footsteps, he'd never thought he'd actually contemplate retiring from the service.

Dressed in only his army green t-shirt, you slid out of bed and knocked on the bathroom door, snapping him out of his dull trance and chasing away his worries. He smiled to himself knowing you were awake and told you to come in.

"Babe? Mind if I take a leak?" you smiled softly grabbing your toothbrush and his toothpaste.

"Not at all, sunshine. Knock yourself out. You wanna join me?"

"Lemme pee first then."

"Just pee in here," he smirked. "I ain't opposed to golden showers."

"Ew, Tony!" your laugh was partly muffled by your brushing as you sat on the toilet to relieve yourself. "I am not going to pee in the shower."

"Not even if it turns me on?"

"Well, I'd have to think about it. I can't just pee on command" you mumbled back.

"You'd really do that?" he asked surprised popping his head out from behind the shower curtain.

"For you, yeah."

"I was actually kidding, but I'm flattered" he grinned.

Despite last night's news, he seemed to be in a much better mood.

Tony was actually just determined to enjoy the day and make it the best you've ever had. You didn't know it yet, but it was going to be a very special day.

You chuckled in response as you flushed and walked to the sink to rinse your mouth.

"I'd do anything for ya, babe. You know that."

"Anything, huh?" he smirked watching you slide his t-shirt off from your body and toss it to the floor. "Why don't you come in here then and do something for me?

His dick couldn't help but twitch at the sight of your naked body. It was just his instinctive reaction to you, but it already had him stroking his cock to harden up.

"You are just always ready to go, aren't you?" you giggled stepping in the tub.

"I can't help myself, baby. Look at you. You're fucking beautiful."

Tony stared at you with hungry eyes as he stepped aside to make way so you could enjoy the water first; his hand never ceasing his movement below his hips as he watched the water trickle down over the curves of your breasts.

"You think so?" you smirked at his eager cock.

"I know so, sweetheart. So fucking sexy and beautiful. But what I really love is knowing you're all and only mine."

You nodded as you closed the space between your body, letting your perky nipples graze his chiseled chest.

"Yes, I am. I'm all yours, baby."

Dipping his head down to kiss you, you welcomed his tongue and let it dominate your mouth.

Feeling his cock poking your belly had your skin burning hotter than the water that now felt cold against you.

Your hand reached down to replace his and continued the firm stroking it as you knelt down.

Tony was so much taller than you that you couldn't comfortably reach his cock on your knees.

Already aware of the height differences between you, he sat on the edge of the tub on the opposite end of the shower with his back against the wall to allow you more comfort.

You thanked him with a smile that melted his heart like a flame held against wax.

He moaned when your tongue licked over the sensitive vein on the underside of his shaft. With his knees spread wide open, he let you effortlessly lull him into pleasure.

You took your time to cover every inch you knew he loved.

You sucked on each of his sensitive heavy balls, using your lips to delicately tighten around them, sending a wave of pleasure through his core to force out a breathless 'fuck' from his lips.

You teased the soft skin between his dick and balls with your tongue until he was begging you to suck him, desperate for your warmth.

Although you knew you could torture him like this, you decided to be nice today and obliged by taking his tip into your mouth. Your head bobbed up and down his deliciously thick and heavy cock as his hands gently gathered your hair to hold it back for you. It wasn't just to help you; he just loved watching your cheeks hollow out and your jaw hang open around his thick dick.

The moans from your throat vibrated down his legs into toe-curling pleasure.

"Fuck, baby. You know how to suck my cock just right" he breathed.

You chuckled muffled by his cock until you lifted your head up to press his tip against your lips to let your spit dribble past your lips, letting him watch his salty precum mix with your saliva.

"Look so fucking pretty with my cock in your mouth. You like that, baby?" he smirked praising you as he stared at your tongue twirling around his excited pink head. "You like sucking my cock?"

"Fucking love it. I love it even more when you come in my mouth. Make me swallow it all."

"Jesus, fuck..."

He gently pushed his dick back into your mouth, even more turned on than before just listening to your filthy words. He couldn't take it anymore.

He stood with your mouth still latched onto his cock and bent his knees for your comfort, urging to intensify the act.

You were so wet and warm on his cock and it drove him wild.

You loved it when he couldn't control himself anymore, surrendering himself to the pleasure.

You reminded yourself to breathe through your nose as his hips snapped ruthless against your face. As you cradled his aching balls, he shoved his cock down your throat over and over and over again, bottoming out completely despite your tearful gags.

Drool dripped from the corners of your lips and onto your chest, drawing strings of saliva and precum every time he pulled your head back before burying his dick down your throat again.

His hand tightened around your makeshift ponytail, tugging at your hair harder as his desire grew more and more with the gagged moans as he stuffed your mouth with cock.

He growled as he finally came in the back of your throat, holding your head all the way down his cock until he was sure you swallowed the large load.

Pulling away to let your breathe, he used his hand to milk the final drops against your red plushy lips and smirked darkly as he watched you lick it up, flaunting the pearly white drops against your tongue with teary eyes locked on his before swallowing it down and holding your tongue back out.

He smiled down at you and stroked your cheek with his thumb

"That's my girl. Taking cock like a champ. Think your pussy can take it well too?"

"Yes, sir" you smirked widely at the thought.

"Gimme a taste of it first, baby."

He helped you back up to your feet and knelt in front of you. Hook your leg over his shoulder, you set your foot against the tub's edge to balance yourself.

"Such a pretty little pussy all for me" he whispered against your mound before delving his tongue into your folds.

If there was one thing Tony excelled at, it was eating pussy. You tried not to think too much about it since it kinda made you jealous. But the way his tongue worked over your sensitive nub and licked your juices from your entrance was enough to silence those worries and make you melt into him.

It didn't take him very long to have your legs spasming from an orgasm, but it gave his body enough time to recover and harden again.

His shit-eating grin showed how proud he was for turning your pussy in a drenched slippery mess of juices.

Holding on your thigh as he stood, he effortlessly lifted the other with his free.

With your hand clasped around the back of his neck, he slid you up against the wall tiles with your legs spread opening over his arms. You slid a free hand down to align his dick to your soaking cunt, allowing him to slip it past your welcoming lips.

"Pussy so wet, it just slides right on in there" he smirked proudly at you.

"Like a glove" you moaned holding onto him.

As he pinned you to the wall, his hips slammed against your ruthlessly.

The bathroom was filled with panting breathy moans, echoing slaps of wet skin-against-skin as his balls smacked against your ass and the metallic rattling of his dog-tags hanging from his neck.

His lips were merciless against yours, mauling them with feverish kisses until your lips were swollen and sore.

He was hitting all the right places; the position he held you allowed him to fuck you raw and deep, tickling that specific spot in your core that made you come undone.

You begged him not to stop. You begged him to cum in your pussy and fill you up again. You reminded him how good he stretched your cunt out.

He tightened the grip on your ass as he held you firmly in place to fuck you harder.

Lowering his head, you followed his gaze to watch his beautifully angry cock brutalize your sopping pussy.

"Y-you fuck me s-so good!" you moaned loudly throwing your head back.

You could feel it building up again. The searing toe curling pleasure was beginning to ripple through from your core, forcing your fleshy walls to tighten around him.

You gasped as your body trembled from the pleasure, but he wouldn't stop. Tony refused to stop until you got what you asked for because his girl always gets what she wants.

"Tell me what you want, baby" he panted watching your breasts bounce wildly with every thrust.

"Fi-fill me up again, T-Tony. Please! Please! Please! Cum in-in my pussy, Tony!"

Hearing you beg sent him over the edge with a husky low growl that sounded as animalistic as the sex.

His hips thrusted into you once, twice, three times as your pussy milked his cock of every drop of cum he could release into your womb.

Stilling his thrusts, he held himself inside your pussy to keep his load in place while he lifted his head to capture your lips in a passionately tender kiss, letting the water rain down over his back to soothe and calm you both from your high.

The intense shower sex left your legs wobbly as you got dressed in a part of denim shorts, a cute flirty top and a pair of low top sneakers.

Tony dressed himself in his favorite jeans and white t-shirt with a pair of black sunglasses hanging from his collar. The most important item was tucked secrely in his bag, hidden away from your eyes.

He thought about leaving it in his pocket, but since you'd be going on ride at the pier, he was worried it could slip out and be lost forever.

Thanks to the late start in the shower, you opted to have breakfast on the road, stopping at the highway Denny's for a quick bite.

The drive to Santa Monica consisted of talk, music and laughter. Having bought a camcorder, you decided to turn it on to film bits and pieces of your road trip.

You'd done it many times before and Tony welcomed it, agreeing that it would be nice to document your intimate moments so he could watch them while overseas or even share it with your family if it came to having one together.

During the drive, you debated which rides and foods to try first, which radio station to listen to, if The Backstreet Boys or Christopher Cross sang 'Sailing' better after singing along to it.

There was never a dull time with Tony. He just felt like home. Like you could talk about anything and everything and still be so interested in everything he has to say.

Tony loved that you were so comfortable and down-to-earth around him instead of constantly worrying about if you looked pretty or how you sounded in sharing your thoughts. He adored that you were willing to speak your mind freely and respectfully debate him if he had an opposing opinion.

You weren't just arm candy to him or someone to flaunt off. You were his best friend; the one person in the world he felt he could be himself around.

There was a level of comfort between you that blossomed organically and effortlessly. Neither of you were afraid to be yourselves because that's what you loved the most.

As you reached the hotel, you realized why Tony hadn't told you anything about it. He wanted to surprise you and he knew you wouldn't have agreed to stay in a fancy hotel only for two days.

"Tony, you said you got us a simple hotel. This is not a simple hotel."

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I just wanted to do something nice for us. It's for a night. Might as well treat ourselves" he smirked slyly as the valet opened the car door for you.

Walking into your room, you were speechless. The room was elegantly simple, but the oceanfront from the balcony was beyond breathtaking.

You instantly gravitated to the balcony and stepped out onto it. Gasping at the view, you held the railing in awe.

Tony followed you quiet and wrapped his strong arms around your waist, enveloping your frame.

"Do you like it?"

"I love it, Tony. But you didn't need to go all out to impress me. I would've been happy with something simpler than this."

"I know, babe. But you deserve more and if I can spoil ya, I will." He smiled as he pressed a kiss to the back of your head.

"I figured we could spend the day today at the pier. Then enjoy a relaxing night in the hotel's hot tub. And relax on the beach tomorrow. What do you think?"

"I love the sound of that."

#anthony swofford x reader #anthony swofford x you #anthony swofford x y/n #tony swofford x reader #tony swofford x you #tony swofford x y/n #jarhead #anthony swofford #tony swofford #jake gyllenhaal smut #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal fanfiction #jake gyllenhaal fanfic #jake gyllenhaal #jake gylenhall

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fayes-fics · 1 year

Text

Lessons Applied

Lessons Series Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (threesome)

Summary: it’s time the Viscount learned a lesson…

Warnings: 18+smut, minors DNI, threesome, d/s relationships - sub!Anthony dom!Benedict switch!reader, dirty talk, light bondage, pussy spanking, hair pulling, handjobs, edging, nipple clamps, fingering. cockwarming, anal sex, vaginal sex, double penetration. Watch out, there are also some emotions in this one.

Word count: 10.0k (I'm so sorry...)

Author's Note: Please read the warnings, and if you are looking for something romantic and vanilla, please look elsewhere. If you don’t mind DP filth, step up. Thank you to @colettebronte for her invaluable advice when knocking this into shape. I'm still not sure I like this, but I can't mess with it forever. So my apologies go to @iboopedyournose, who gave me a brief for this installment where Anthony has the tables turned on him and is submissive. Enjoy <3

You are on the balcony observing Anthony Bridgerton as he effortlessly makes his social rounds at the latest soirée. Your bottom is still smarting a little from the riding crop he used on you last night.

There is movement behind you, and you know who it is by cologne alone. You can’t school the smile tugging at your lips.

“Can’t sit down yet?”

“Not comfortably. He was particularly harsh,” you reply dryly.

“Mmm, yes, I thought it a little excessive,” Benedict opines softly, drawing up next to you. “You should turn the tables; give him a taste of his own medicine,” he chuckles.

“Hah!” you laugh, glancing sideways to catch his handsome profile as he scans the crowd. “You are very droll.”

“I mean it. For the right person, he would be willing to cede control,” Benedict says quietly, not wanting your inappropriately intimate conversation to be heard by others milling in the vicinity.

“Really?” you feel sceptical about it. In all of your time with Anthony, he has been a classic dominant even before Benedict became part of your dynamic. But Benedict knows his brother much better than you.

Below, the master of ceremonies announces for everyone to gather in the gardens, and the balcony starts to thin out as people move towards the staircases.

“He’d only do it for someone he truly trusts. And I think that might be you,” Benedict’s tone is affectionate as you both track Anthony’s movements out of sight.

“Hmm, I’ll try it, on one condition,” your mouth ticks into an amused pout as you twist to face him.

He turns to face you as well, smirking in a bemused fashion. “Name it.”

“You help me,” you cross your arms and raise an eyebrow in challenge.

It is just the two of you left now on the balcony as the crowd files out of the French doors beneath.

He chuckles and then leans close, his lips near your cheekbone, and his hands settle on your waist. “Do I have to submit to you too?” His voice is a teasing murmur.

“Do you want to?” you whisper back, touching his forearms.

“Hmm, maybe someday,” he offers thoughtfully, his fingers squeezing you gently. “But I think I’d prefer the privilege he had that first time we met. He got to do whatever he wanted to you, but I had rules. I want him to be the one under rules, and I get to do whatever I want.” He runs a thumb slowly down the front of your dress. “And I want him to watch as I destroy you, darling girl.”

You are panting at the thought of Anthony under your control as Benedict unleashes his full potential.

“God, yes,” you breathe, swaying close to his face, hungry to kiss him.

“Mmmm, not here, not now,” he intuits your desire, his breath hot on your face. “Save it for our session. Anticipation makes it so much sweeter, I find,” his voice almost an octave lower, his hand hovering over the junction of your thighs through your dress. “But if you need a little something to tide you over…” he adds, eyes glittering with menace.

You nod enthusiastically.

Double-checking that the entire room is empty now, he yanks your dress up and sneaks a hand under the hem. Somehow he expertly locates your clit and pinches it between his thumb and pointer finger. Hard. Almost painfully. You gasp and stutter.

“This is mine, do you hear me?” his tone utterly authoritative.

“Yes, sir,” you quiver.

“You do not have permission to touch it until our next session, understood?” he intones.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he rumbles, and the fingers are gone before you can even register your thoughts.

He sucks them into his mouth, staring you down, watching your pupils dilate and your mouth open a fraction—he loves to tease you.

“I will know,” he warns, “just one look at you, and I will know if you disobeyed me.”

“What will you do if I disobey?” you whisper fervently.

“I would probably tie you down, worse than you will to Anthony, tease you until you screamed the damn walls down. Just keep taking you so close to the edge of bliss but not letting you over,” his deep voice a warning bell to behave.

“And If I’m a good, obedient girl?” you query, already breathless.

“I will make you come so many times you pass out,” his devastating crooked grin in full effect.

“Sir, you are dangerous,” you smile in response.

“Says the woman willing to punish my brother,” he lobbies back playfully.

“Only if you help me,” you remind.

“Nothing will give me greater pleasure, my girl,” he assures lightheartedly, offering his arm to walk you outside to the festivities.

—

“My lord,” you bow and signal Anthony to sit in the wingback chair in Benedict’s bachelor lodgings.

At the end of the soirée, Benedict had suggested you all go back to his for a nightcap; as he did so, he had sent you a conspiratorial wink.

Anthony frowns, bemused by your theatrics, but takes the proffered seat.

“How is your bottom, darling girl?” he smirks, pulling you down to straddle his lap, pushing your dress above your knees so you can do so.

“Not great,” you pout, placing your hands on his shoulders as he huffs a laugh.

“Then do not be such a naughty one,” he replies, hands running heavily over your body.

“Well, that is just the thing. I do not think I was that naughty,” you counter, heart fluttering a little as you unbutton Anthony’s waistcoat; Benedict moves to stand behind the chair, catching your eye with a quick smile.

“Is that so?” Anthony's smirk grows bigger, his eyes sparkling, loving when you are a little mischievous and wilful with him.

“No, in fact,” you roughly tug the waistcoat down his arms so they are trapped in place, “I do not think you were fair at all,” your voice lively but with a hard edge.

“Does my girl have a problem with her lord?” his ask laced with intrigue, chasing your lips with his own.

“Maybe your girl wants her lord to behave himself for once,” you whisper as seductively as you can, teasing with your lips but never letting him meet them.

“Oh, does she?” his tone is low and mirth-filled. “What does she want him to do, hmm? Submit to her will?” He doesn’t seem to be objecting; in fact, he seems rather engaged with the tease of it all.

“Yes,” you say boldly, holding his arms firmly trapped, finally allowing his lips to land on yours. You kiss him deeply, setting the rhythm, and a thrill runs through you when he lets you, your lips and tongue chasing him for a change.

“Maybe he just might,” is his quiet whisper, and the euphoric buzz in your veins is electric.

Benedict was right. You don’t look at him, but you allow one hand to slide out of Anthony’s hair and reach for him over the back of the chair as you move to kiss Anthony deeply again. Instead of just perhaps holding it as you might expect, Benedict takes your hand up to his mouth and sucks your fingers obscenely, lathing his warm tongue over and between them. It makes you push deeper into Anthony’s lap as you kiss, plundering his mouth and rocking your core over his growing bulge, loving the power you have over him pinned under you.

“Oh darling girl,” Anthony sighs, sounding under a spell as you release his lips, and Benedict lets go of your hand, “you are doing so very well at this,” he flatters. “What are you planning to do?”

“Well, my lord,” you manoeuvre him out of the waistcoat, toss it aside, then grab his braces and twine them around your fingers. “Maybe I tie you down a little? Maybe I punish you just a little.” As you whisper, you watch his pupils rapidly dilate and feel his breath go ragged, his chest heaving slightly under you.

“My wonderful filthy girl,” he pants, “I have taught you so well.”

“Mmmm, I am a keen observer, and tonight you do not call me girl,” you trace a thumb over his lips, “you call me lady.”

“Yes, certainly, my lady,” he answers with a smile.

“Oh yes, that’s it,” you gasp and delve in for another bruising kiss, pushing down his braces around his hips, basking in how compliant he has become under your touch. You grasp his hair near the scalp, and he hisses onto your lips. “Now I have rules for you tonight, my handsome boy.”

His eyes flash at the new title you have bestowed on him. “I’m all ears, my lady,” Anthony says sotto voce, complying as you pull up and remove his shirt.

“You don’t get to touch me unless I say you can. You don’t get to touch yourself unless I say you can. But I can touch you whenever and wherever I want. Understood?” you bark as your eyes roam his toned torso.

“Understood, my lady,” he confirms with an almost blissful smile. “What about my brother? Is he to submit to you too?”

Benedict rounds the chair swiftly and grabs your hair, pulling your head backwards, so you look up at the sharp underside of his jawline.

“Oh no, brother,” Benedict responds with a bemused lilt, “she’s mine. You get to watch.”

Anthony groans, “I love watching you be fucked hard, my gi… my lady,” he amends quickly.

You smile at his correction and recall how Anthony’s eyes had burned into you, stroking his cock fervently as his brother fucked you for the first time a few weeks ago at Aubrey Hall.

Benedict releases his grip as you stand up from Anthony’s lap and place your left foot lightly on his knee.

“Remove my shoe,” you order softly.

He smiles at you and delicately grabs your ankle. His hand is warm through your stocking as he pulls the shoe off your heel, then slides it off your toes, placing it gently on the floor.

“Well done, my darling boy,” you smirk and watch him take a hitching breath as you push your dress up slightly and grab the ribbon holding your stocking above your knee, unfurling it slowly.

You know from where he sits that he can see up your chemise to your bare cunt. You watch his eyes track up your inner thigh.

“Do you like what you see?” you tease lightly as the ribbon falls away, and you push the stocking slowly down your leg until it pools on his thigh.

“Yes, my lady,” he answers keenly, licking his lip.

You see a wash of disappointment on his face as you lower your leg, but it’s only temporary, as you kneel and wind your stocking around his wrist and the arm of the chair—tying it in a neat bow after a few loops. The look on his face is now priceless, and Benedict chuckles from where he is leaning a few feet away.

You put your right leg up on Anthony’s other knee expectantly, and he knows instantly to remove the shoe, which proves a little trickier now one-handed. As it clatters to the floor from his hand, you inhale sharply as Benedict suddenly crowds into your back as you undo the ribbon on your stocking.

“Did you touch yourself since I warned you not to, my girl?” his tone sinful, a large hand wrapped loosely around your throat, his lips trace the shell of your ear, and you freeze your motions.

This is all for show. Benedict only warned you three hours ago; you’ve had no time alone since then to touch yourself, and he knows it. You push your body into his solid frame, clit throbbing as you feel his rigid cock slide across your tailbone.

“No, I promise, sir, I’ve been good,” you murmur.

His free hand tugs at your dress, pulling your hem all the way up around your hips, so your lack of underwear is apparent. Anthony is already breathing unsteadily; his trousers painfully tented. The hand at your throat releases and smears down your breastbone, the fingers spidering inside your dress and pinching your nipple, Benedict’s teeth grazing the cord of your neck.

“Undo my ribbon,” you call to Anthony, and his free hand shoots forward to unfurl the ribbon on your thigh.

Anthony’s fingers trace seductively down your leg, taking your stocking with him as Benedict teases your breast, flexing his fingers expertly, making you squirm into him. You know he is enjoying the liberty to play with your body as his brother watches on, powerless to participate.

“I love how you writhe when I squeeze your nipples,” Benedict drawls right in your ear, “I could do this for hours, just tease you, but I suppose I should let you tie him down properly,” withdrawing his hand from inside your neckline and giving you an insouciant bite on the neck.

You bend over provocatively, pushing your bottom right into Benedict’s crotch as you take the other stocking from Anthony and secure his right hand onto the chair. He is now tied down at your mercy, and the sight causes a hot wave of want to gallop through your chest. He could fight out of the stockings easily, it's a symbolic hold as much as anything, but he doesn't. He sits there docile, looking up at you through heavy lashes and a soft pout, cock straining against his trousers, the chest hair across his pectoral muscles rising and falling with his rapid breaths. You want to climb on and ride him so hard he cries your name.

“Kiss me right now, my lovely boy,” you command.

He smiles so happily and leans forward joyfully, meeting your lips again as Benedict surges his cock onto your bottom and maps your body with his hands. He starts to pluck open the buttons at your shoulder blades, each relenting with a small rock into Anthony's kiss. His hands round your shoulders, roughly tug your dress, and chemise down together, sliding until they hit the floor. You are naked now except for your stays, which feel too hot and tight over your breasts as you inhale deep at the sensation of Anthony's tongue and Benedict's greedy hands.

“Darling girl, you still have marks,” Benedict says quietly, his touch a gentle glide over the globes of your bottom.

Anthony breaks the kiss, his face contrite. “I am so sorry, my lady,” he whispers, ashamed.

“It is all right, my boy,” you assure, running your knuckles along his jawline. “But you will learn not to be so harsh again.” Your tone takes on an undercurrent of steely determination that makes his face morph into one of both admiration and trepidation.

“As much as I wish to spank this beautiful bottom, I think it needs a little longer to recover,” Benedict sighs and leans down to kiss your back, making your breath catch with the tender action. That he can make you feel so cared for causes a slight bloom in your chest, which feels too dangerously close to devotion. All you want is for the sentimental ache to be replaced with an erotic zing, a thrill of some kind that feels less emotionally vulnerable. You twist to look at him over your shoulder challengingly.

“Then fuck me right now instead,” you goad, knowing that being wilful with him always brings out his need to dominate.

He snarls and pulls you upright, backwards a few steps from Anthony, then spins you around, trapping you with his body, a hand snaking between your legs.

“I will,” his voice dripping with menace, a finger teasing your clit. The power dynamics at play are so beguiling as you switch between the domination of Anthony and submission to Benedict. You want to shock them both. Say or do something that makes them both crazed, feral—poking the proverbial bears under your thrall.

“Call me something derogatory,” you plead, almost ashamed of your request.

Benedict’s middle finger presses higher, pushing your clit against your public bone. You inhale sharply, and when he doesn’t move, you hold his gaze and slowly rock on his finger, loving the sensation of your clit being so trapped.

“You wanton little whore,” he growls.

That word on his sinful tongue causes a shiver down your spine and makes you flood over his hand.

“Only for you, sir,” you whisper back, sliding back and forth a little more, so you rub yourself from his fingertip to the base where his finger meets his hand, undulating your hips. “And for him,” you add, looking over your shoulder at Anthony, who is watching you with hooded eyes, longing to palm his obvious erection. The fact that he is so turned on watching you makes you moan, and your cunt clenches around nothing.

“I felt that,” Benedict purrs, surging his cock forcibly into your hip, moving his fingers back and sliding two easily along your slit. “Only we can touch you here,” he warns, and you are staring into his hazy blue eyes as two fingers suddenly spank your folds, making you squeal in surprise.

He spins you around to face Anthony, and you see his almost crazed wild look just as Benedict’s fingers spank you again. This is practically theatrical; he is putting on a show, aroused by the power dynamics and finally having free reign over you. Anthony’s gaze is licentious at the apex of your thighs. He watches you honeying over his brother’s questing hand as you gasp loudly, another spank there, wrapping both of your hands around Benedict's forearm.

“Please, sir,” you appeal for clemency.

“Don’t pretend you aren’t loving this,” he blazes, “you are drenching my hand.”

The sound of the wetness pooling there seems to echo around the room as he slides his fingers through your folds, teasing your clit with each pass. Anthony's responding moan is savage, gaze locked on you as you writhe hard. Benedict's eyes cut over to his brother.

“Isn’t she just beautiful like this, brother?” he taunts, “You should feel this; it’s exquisite.” Suddenly his hand is gone from between your legs, and he is sucking the fingers into his mouth with an appreciative noise. “And the taste is so delicious,” he adds.

Benedict’s large hand lands on your shoulder, and you feel the dampness of your arousal paint your skin as he presses down there until you kneel, still facing away from him. His other hand slides into your hair and pulls roughly.

“You always look so fucking good on your knees,” Benedict's voice is gravelly. “I have half a mind to use your mouth right now. Doesn't she look amazing, brother?”

“You are a goddess, my lady,” Anthony asserts, eyes glittering as his hands flex in their bindings, almost as if they want to dive forward and drag you to him.

“And don't you forget it,” you murmur, even as Benedict pulls your hair as if you were his puppet, forcing you to look up and back at him.

“Tease him, my girl,” Benedict recommends as he gazes down at you imperiously, “do what he made you do to me in my library.” The memories come flooding back—Anthony ordering you to fondle Benedict's cock repeatedly but never allowing him to release until he came down your throat, shaking with need. “You remember, don't you?” Benedict continues, “make him desperate and writhing, feeling the exquisite pain of being so close to ecstasy but denied it. Over and over again, until it bleeds into something so heady, your whole body wants to burst.”

The words fall out of him from experience, This feels like payback, and you look up to see the disquiet in Anthony's eyes—the karmic moment of realising that harsh lessons have a way of coming back to haunt one. And you want to do it. Edge Anthony until he is craving and needy, a panting wanton mess just for you. You remember the teeming desperation of Benedict’s kiss as you denied him over and over as Anthony ordered you to keep going. This will be the exact reverse.

Benedict releases your hair, and you fall forward onto your hands. Your gaze holds Anthony’s as you slowly place one hand before the other, prowling cat-like over the hard polished wood floors towards him. You watch his whole frame move with each inhale and exhale, like the act of breathing is laborious but also somehow pleasurable. You run your hands over his legs, loving the feel of his muscles tensing as he squirms, tied down in the chair.

“Hello, my pretty boy,” you tease with a smirk, “do you know what I'm going to do?”

“Yes,“ his whisper is ardent, and you can't help but hold his fiery gaze, surging up to capture his lips in a searing kiss.

“Please, my lady,” he pleads as your hand falls to his crotch, the heat seeping through the material as his cock strains against it.

He makes a noise that is all animal as you squeeze him and start to pull open the buttons at his hip roughly. As you suspected, he's not wearing underwear, and his familiar cock springs out, already leaking so very eagerly. You take him in hand, and he growls. The chair squeaks under his thrust into your loose grip.

“Nuh uh uh,” you tut, the pointer fingernail of your other hand catching deliciously on his pursed lip. “You sit still like a good boy, and maybe I’ll take you in my mouth too.”

“Please…” his broken groan is lewd; you can see him fighting every cell in his body to stay still for you.

You begin a languid rhythm with your fist, and he closes his eyes, bites his lip and whimpers just a touch. His cock is so red and leaking so profusely that you genuinely wonder how long he will last. With your other hand, you tug his trousers further, and he pushes up his hips to allow you to slide them under his bum, and you have to temporarily release his cock to pull them down his legs and off. Now he is fully naked and looks glorious. He whines loudly as you re-grasp his shaft and start to pump again.

“You look so stunning naked, my darling boy,” you murmur, your other hand swirling a pattern in the hair on his chest, and his whole being seems to swell with pride.

“Thank you, my lady,” he responds humbly, and something about him being so meek makes you want him so much you just want to fuck him right now, ride him regardless of the consequences.

You keep hold of his cock and push up to kneeling. Anthony senses you want to talk to him and moves forward in the chair as much as possible while tied down.

“I want to ride you right now,” you whisper hotly but so quiet; it’s just for his ears.

The hitch in his breath is like poetry. “I want that more than air, my lady,” his voice a broken breeze over your face.

“I’ve never seen your cock so red and wanting; it looks delicious, my wonderful boy,” you flatter.

“Please, please take me into your beautiful mouth,” he is wrecked. So desperate for you; you can feel it in your bones. His body is calling to you, his lips pleading.

“Remove your hand,” the commanding voice from a few paces away interrupts your thoughts, and you obey without question, so conditioned to be the perfect submissive yourself. Anthony whines loudly at the loss of contact. “Sit back on your haunches and stop whispering to him,” Benedict orders, and you can hear the jealousy woven into words. He doesn't like that you are sharing an emotional moment with Anthony, and it makes you want to laugh at the irony—that is precisely what you shared with him when he was in Anthony’s shoes. He probably doesn't even see his own hypocrisy and certainly wouldn't appreciate you pointing it out.

Benedict moves behind you, long fingers plucking at the strings of your stays, loosening the criss-cross laces holding your last piece of clothing. It's somehow fitting that you and Anthony are both going to be naked before Benedict has so much as removed a stitch of clothing save his jacket. And again, a mirror image of that moment in Benedict's library, just next door, all those weeks ago, when you and he were naked as Anthony barely removed a stitch to fuck you. Suddenly you realise why he wanted to return here tonight, to redress the balance in the same building.

“You may touch him again,” Benedict chimes and instantly, your hand is back on Anthony, who whimpers with relief, leaking over your knuckle, his wrists flexing under their bindings.

Once again, you feel the weight of Anthony’s stare, and your eyes cut away from his cock to meet his—a ring of burnt umber iris around his dilated pupils. He seems to be silently begging you to let him release, but you both know it won't happen. There is something so beguiling about his desperation, though.

“Do not let him come,” Benedict warns cooly, and you slow your hand.

Your stays loosen to the point they fall down your arms, and Benedict stops your ministrations to pull your hands off his brother entirely and remove your last scrap of material.

“Look how sensitive her nipples can be, brother,” he riles his sibling as he snags them both almost painfully between the tips of his pointer and thumb. You inhale tremulously and grip Anthony’s knees hard, instinctively leaning back into Benedict, even as your eyes still hold his brother’s. His chin rests on your shoulder as he keeps teasing you until they are stiff peaks, you writhing slightly under his touch as the buzz of pleasure-pain grows. He is not gentle, and it's precisely what you need.

“I may have been in France lately,” he adds conversationally, addressing you both. “Tell me, my girl, have you read Justine?”

Your breath catches in your throat. The scandalous book by the Marquis de Sade was your sexual awakening.

“Yes, sir.”

“Mmm, good,” he rumbles as he continues to pull on your nipples to the point you gasp. “Grab him again. I shall be back.”

Even though Benedict leaves the room and is out of sight, you grab Anthony's cock as you were told and stroke him again.

“My lady, please let me come,” his eyes so large, his long lashes blinking so appealingly as his toned chest heaves.

“No,” you retort quietly as your nipples throb and miss Benedict's fingers, “I have more plans for you.”

“What plans?” he almost stutters, ragged.

“I cannot go tonight without this sublime cock being inside me,” you admit as Benedict reenters the room with a little box, a small bowl of water and a bottle of clove oil. You recognise the product - it is used to make anal penetration comfortable, and your heart leaps into your throat. You have not crossed that line with either of them yet.

“Release him,” he commands, and you do so.

Anthony almost howls, a vein in his temple throbbing, all the tendons in his neck tensing. Part of your heart goes out to him; part of you wants to keep him like this all day. Teeming with need and so wildly ravishing when so on edge.

“Turn to face me. Stay on your knees.” You do as bidden; Benedict feels so tall as you kneel submissively before him, keeping your head bowed. “Look at me,” and you lift your sights to him, not missing the straining bulge at your natural eye line.

He snaps open what looks like a jewellery box and holds out a small metal item, almost resembling an earring but with a small round loop and a teardrop blue jewel hanging from two prongs.

“Do you know what this is?” he asks, holding it closer to your face.

“No sir,” you admit honestly.

“I remembered how much you enjoyed it when I slipped your hairpins over your nipples some weeks ago,” he smiles, and you blush at the memory. “So I purchased you a special gift in Paris recently. It is designed to clamp onto your delightful nipples,” he explains as you feel your body tingle at the idea. “They can be adjusted to make your pleasure more… acute,” he smirks.

“Oh, thank you so much, sir. They are splendid. Please put them on me,” you beseech, and a tart-tasting thumb hooks into the corner of your mouth.

“You are such a good obedient little thing, aren’t you?” his tone impressed, and you blossom under his praise.

You would do anything to please him. You shuffle forward on your knees and nuzzle your face onto his straining cock, as it almost threatens to tear the seams of the wool.

“Not yet,” he clucks, “you get your treat later,” he proclaims, pulling you away as you attempt to suckle him through the material. “Shoulders back,” he taps your skin, and you do so, presenting your breasts to him. “Good girl.”

Those two words are always catnip to you; you want to do everything he says when they roll decadently over his tongue. He could parade you naked in public on all fours, like a little pet, and you would do it.

“What delightful thoughts are running through that sharp mind of yours,” he asks with a knowing smile, stroking your cheek fondly.

“Just how much I enjoy pleasing you, sir,” you reply truthfully without giving specifics.

Suddenly he grabs a nipple and slips the clamp over it. The pinch and pressure he selects takes you by surprise.

“You’ll have to give me more detail than that, or I slide this tighter,” he cautions.

“How I would do anything for you, sir,” you amend, your voice going a little reedy as your nipple starts to tingle and throb lightly with your pulse.

Before you know it, the other nipple is trapped with the same force. You gasp as both start pulsing. It makes your clit throb, too, in sympathy almost.

“How I would let you parade me naked in public,” rushes out of your lips with a hiss before you can stop it.

“My darling girl,” his voice suddenly rough. “I want that; everyone should know you belong to me.” Behind you, Anthony growls. “To us,” Benedict amends quickly with a nod.

That Anthony thinks he has a right to claim you when he is tied up submissively makes you want to laugh.

“Sir, may I have your permission to deal with my defiant boy?” you request drolly.

Benedict barks a laugh. “Granted, my love.” It’s the first time he’s used such a term of endearment, and your eyes dart to his. You see a sliver of panic slicing the usual calm of his demeanour, the dominant mask he wears slipping a fraction. You don’t want to say anything to jeopardise the moment, but something feels tender and taut like an invisible cord could snap if you react wrong, unravelling the wonderful scene you have built together. You opt to ignore or treat it as if it means nothing.

“Thank you, sir,” you respond brightly, and he seems to exhale a relieved breath.

Your nipple throb as you swing around on your knees and address Anthony.

“What makes you think you may lay claim to me, pretty boy?” your voice steely. “I think you may be forgetting who is in charge of you here tonight,” your eyebrow almost at your hairline, so excited to see how he will react.

“I’m sorry, my lady,” he bows his head. “I am so used to thinking of you as mine. I am, of course, yours,” he assures, not daring to meet your gaze.

His long-abandoned cock throbs in his lap. He has sat patiently without reward as Benedict clamped your nipples. But you want to punish him some more before you reward him with your body.

“Sir, do you have any clean paintbrushes?” you ask over your shoulder to a bemused Benedict.

“Of course,” and he walks to his easel returning with a medium bristle brush, handing it to you.

“Thank you, sir” you smile up at him, and he pets your hair affectionately.

“More importantly, what are you planning to do with it?” his tone amused.

“I’m going to make my boy here a moaning ticklish mess,” you reply with a wicked grin.

Anthony groans as you immediately run the bristles lightly up his inner thigh, the muscle quivering.

“Maybe this gentle torture will teach him that sometimes the harshest punishments of them all are the softest,” you say pointedly to no one in particular. Still, the ironic laugh from Benedict suggests he appreciates it. You swirl the brush over the head of Anthony’s cock, and he groans gutturally, heavy puffs out of his nose. “And you don’t need to leave heavy marks on someone to teach them a lesson.”

“Oh dear brother, there are most definitely some lessons being applied here,” Benedict says with a wry smirk, perhaps a touch uncharitably, revelling in his freedom as his brother is teased so thoroughly.

Anthony leaks again over the bristles of the brush, and you paint his precum down his shaft as he pants and squirms harder.

“Please, my lady,” he implores on a jagged exhale, “please do not tease me more. I promise I have learned my lesson not to treat your body so harshly.”

“And do you promise that if you ever leave such harsh marks on my body again, I have every right to do the same to you?” It's a daring proposition you make, knowing he’s hardly in a position to negotiate as you slowly drag the bristles over his balls.

He snuffles, and you can see him warring with the idea, his eyes a maelstrom. “Yes, my lady,” he agrees through clenched teeth.

“Good boy,” you compliment and push up to kiss him hotly, invading his mouth with a predatory kiss.

“Well, I think he has earned a show,” Benedict opines rhetorically, “And it’s high time this lovely girl had an orgasm,” he adds, taking the brush from your fingers.

He walks away and drags another wingback chair right in front of the one Anthony is tied to. Then he sits in it while you are still kneeling between them.

“Climb into my lap, darling girl,” he coos invitingly, and you obey instantly, curling into his lap almost catlike. He kisses you hard and heavy, a hand holding your jaw. “Face him,” Benedict nudges your nose as your part. You twist and face Anthony as you perch in his lap. “Now open those legs wide and show him your pretty cunt, do it,” the words are murmured warmly in your ear, and you obey. Bringing your feet onto Benedict's knees and splaying your thighs out wide. “Good girl,” he flatters, and you moan as his fingers slide over your pubic hair and into your folds.

You know this is to rile Anthony even more. He cannot even touch himself as you are being pleasured.

“Be nice and vocal now; show him how good this is,” Benedict lectures, his fingers instantly making you flex your toes around his kneecaps, and you savour the heat of his cock branding your lower back as he circles your clit with just the perfect amount of pressure.

‘It feels so good, sir,” you raise your arms and wrap your hands back around his neck without prompting, which he greatly approves of, the jewels of your clamps catching the light and sparkling brilliantly as you flex with each touch.

“Good girl, cling to me; look how pretty your nipples look. All swollen and sparkling with my jewels,” he compliments, staring down the plain of your body. “Now tell me what you want.”

“I want your fingers inside me, sir,” you respond, ensuring you hold Anthony’s gaze, jealousy and covetousness written all over his features.

Benedict does as you ask, sliding two long elegant fingers down your labia, hooking them into your pussy. His thumb pushes gently on your clit, moving his whole arm as he teases you with expert strokes. He knows exactly what you need and wastes no time taking you right where you want to go.

“Is that what you need?” his voice like rich honey.

“Oh god, yes, sir,” you nod and bite your lip for Anthony’s benefit, playing up just for your captive audience.

“Talk to me, pretty boy,” you call to Anthony.

“You look angelic, my lady,” he responds instantly.

“Tell me what you would do to me if you were free,” you goad, wanting him to talk explicit detail as Benedict expertly plays your body like an instrument.

“I would like to be on my knees between your legs, my lady. I want to bury my face into your beautiful flower, enrapture myself in your aroma, drink your nectar, caress your petals with my tongue,” he offers, his voice low and gravelly.

“Yesss,” you hiss, your mind conjuring the image of him knelt before you deferentially, his wrists bound together behind his back with your silks as his mouth brings you untold pleasures. You move one hand from around Benedict’s neck down and push it between your bodies, grabbing his rigid cock through the wool of his trousers, needing to feel steely power under your fingers. As you do so, you stare at Anthony’s cock, almost pulsing in time with your moans.

Benedict growls as you palm him, and his hand inside you speeds up. The room fills with the sound of his movement in your wet channel and the scent of your arousal. Your moans getting louder and more urgent. Anthony’s knuckles turn white where he grips the arms of his chair, his eyes trained between your legs.

“I bet your boy wishes this was him,” Benedict baits, “his fingers inside your gorgeous cunt, you grabbing his cock….”

You giggle and blow Anthony a kiss, knowing the jibes are winding him up even further.

“So close, are you not?” Benedict mutters richly in your ear, somewhat superfluous; he knows your body so well now that he can sense all the signs of your impending orgasm.

You nod, panting loudly, climbing that invisible ladder where your skin feels flushed and your lips tingle. Benedict's other hand suddenly spans across your chest, and he is able to flick both clamped throbbing nipples at once. The jolt is like fire—the catalyst that hurtles you breakneck fast, screaming almost instantly.

“Make a good show for him.”

It’s the last thing you hear before the rush of blood in your ears, and you convulse hard, throwing your head back and shuddering full-bodied on his lap. You writhe, trying to evade the intensity, but he holds you open with his body strength, drawing it out into something that makes you scream again, leaking onto his fingers as he spouts encouragements.

Spent, you slump back onto his chest, gulping deep breaths and pleading for him to stop. He stills his motions and withdraws his fingers, taking them to his mouth and licking them clean obscenely, staring down his brother, who is breathing raggedly. After a few moments, when you return to normal, Benedict senses your need for something else.

“What is it, my girl? What do you want?”

“I want to fuck my pretty boy,” you stumble as he caresses your face, your speech still drowsy from your orgasm.

Both men make a noise that exhilarates every ounce of your being.

“I will allow it,” Benedict concedes, “with one condition…. I get to fuck you too.”

Your brow knits. “Of course, you will, sir,” your voice portrays how facile you think his request is.

Benedict grabs your jaw to the side to ensure you look at him, into his eyes. “Oh no, you don’t understand,” he chuckles darkly. “At the same time,” he specifies, and your stomach feels as if it has taken flight.

“Sir…?” your disbelief a broken whisper, staring at him, mouth agape.

“You heard me. You will take both of us at once. And I get to choose which place I want.”

“But sir….” You begin to protest, nerves flaring.

“Give me your colour,” he demands, cutting right to the point.

“Green,” you mumble your truth.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I thought,” he smirks.

You climb off Benedict’s lap and go to Anthony’s, like a safe harbour in a storm. Even though his hands are tied down, he strains his fingers to touch you, and you lace them with yours, taking comfort in him.

“I am nervous,” you confess quietly, sitting on his knees.

“Do not be my lady,” his tone pitched to reassure. “You know your sir would never hurt you,” he reminds.

“I know that; it's the intensity,” you answer. “You are both blessed with, how should I say, a familial trait of impressive size. I fear my body may be unable to accommodate you both at once.”

Benedict is suddenly close behind you. “Is your word closer to yellow or even red, my girl?” his commanding voice replaced with a gentler tone of concern.

“No sir,” you state clearly, “I just…. I have never experienced penetration into my other place beyond fingers.”

Benedict looks at his brother. “You have never…?” he asks quietly.

Anthony shakes his head.

“My apologies, darling girl,” Benedict mutters, “I made an error in my assumption. We do not need to do this…” he places a tender kiss on your shoulder.

“NO!!” you exclaim rather more forcefully than planned, taking them both by surprise. “I want to do this,” you clarify, “more than anything. I will just need for it to be slow.”

The brothers share a look you have long since realised is their silent communication. Somehow they know how to care for you without breaking the scene. It is why you cannot resist playing with them—the wonderful way they can both intuit your needs and work together to take you places you have never dreamed of. It's why you are so desperate to take them both at once; you trust them implicitly to make it unforgettable for you.

“You are a wonder, my lady,” Anthony murmurs, his eyes shining with reverence, squeezing his fingers around yours.

“Truly special, my girl,” Benedict adds, rubbing a soothing pattern over your spine. “I have a suggestion for how we can do this.”

“Tell us, brother,” Anthony breathes, his status as the elder statesman of the family somehow seeping out into the way he says it.

You realise it must be a strange dynamic that, as firstborn, he is willing to submit to the will of his younger brother for you through you. Your admiration of him ratchets higher as your gaze falls again to his hands and how he has continued to respect the hold you have placed him in; a few easy moves, and he could be free.

Unsure how to process the feeling, you surge forward and capture Antony’s lips in a searing kiss that takes him by surprise, as he does not respond for a split second. Then he is opening under your assault, and its fire in your lungs, burning bright. With the hand not holding Anthony’s, you reach blindly back for Benedict, and sweetly he brings your hand to his jaw and holds it there, leaning his face into your touch. Your tongue spars with Anthony’s, and it takes every fibre not to climb onto his cock, but you want to hear what Benedict has to say about how this can be done. Breaking your kiss with Anthony but keeping your hand tight in his, you whip around and pull Benedict down into a similarly passionate kiss, your nipple clamps dragging delightfully through the ruffles of his shirt as you press your body into him, moulding around him, his hands hot on your skin.

“What do you suggest, sir?” you pant over his mouth, squeezing Anthony’s fingers.

Benedict's lips run over your cheek and land hot on the column of your neck. “My brother should be the one you explore new territory with; I think you should take him inside your bottom while I fuck you, darling girl.”

You love the idea. And so does Anthony, based on the noise he makes. You twist slightly to meet his gaze.

“My lady, I want that. So very, very much. Please.” He whispers, his eyes imploring.

“I want that too,” you concur as Benedict’s lips run down to your shoulder.

“I believe you may find this easier laying down,” Benedict counsels, “my chaise over there may be best,” signalling a piece of furniture reminiscent of the one you all used in his art studio at Aubrey Hall. “But you could not tie him to it, alas.” he ends drily.

“I believe he may have learned his lesson well enough to be untied now,” you state, moving to unwrap the silk stockings over Anthony’s wrists.

Anthony looks overjoyed as his hands are finally freed, and without asking your permission, he bands his arms tight around you and stands, wrapping your legs and arms around him like a vine.

“My darling lady,” he dotes as he walks you over to the chaise, nuzzling your face.

“My beautiful boy,” you smile, running your fingers over the contours of his face, something so profound at that moment.

This night seems so emotionally charged compared to others. As if this final hurdle of intimacy between the three of you represents a new chapter. You know these men will be so physically close doing this, with just you between them, that must represent a new level of understanding between them.

“I need you both so much,” you admit honestly as Anthony sits down on the chaise with you in his lap.

“We need you too,” Anthony responds, his voice a little tight, and his lips find yours again in a sweet kiss as if sealing a pact as he shuffles to lay down with you on top of him.

“We really do,” Benedict concurs as he draws up behind you. “Let me prep you, my wonderful girl,” Benedict says gently with a quick kiss on the slope of your shoulder.

You whisper your consent and widen your stance on top of Anthony. Benedict pulls your cheeks apart, and you jump slightly at the sensation of oil being poured there. You release a calming breath as Anthony whispers reassurances, your fingers entwined with his, your lips tracing his cheekbone, feeling a slight rasp of stubble there.

You groan as the sensation you have felt only once before, a swirling around your tight ring of muscle, then gradually fingertips applying pressure there that your body doesn't want to yield to.

“Relax, my girl,” Benedict’s voice is a soft tutor, “take a breath, let me in.” You do as asked and moan as a finger breeches inside you, fighting your body’s urge to push him out. “That's it,” he adds, and you relax into the invasive feeling, his finger moving deeper as another joins it.

You hum and close your eyes, rocking slightly back onto his hand, starting to enjoy the unusual sensation, the drag of his knuckles against your passage.

“Yes, darling girl, take me all in,” he says velvet dark, “you are doing so well.”

Anthony strokes your hair and peppers light kisses on your face as you gaze at him with no doubt blown pupils and wide eyes, getting used to being filled somewhere new. Benedict adds a third finger and starts to make a scissoring action inside, and you can’t help but groan at the stretch as he pours more oil around and into your body.

“Anthony…,” you murmur his name, not your titles, on reflex, feeling susceptible, and he smiles reassuringly.

“You do this so well; I cannot wait to try this new experience with you,” he offers honestly and kisses your lips delicately.

“I think you are ready, my girl,” Benedict states quietly, his fingers deep in you, spreading your muscles and coating you with more oil. “Rub some of this on his cock,” he coaches, placing the bottle in your hand and gradually withdrawing his fingers.

Anthony whimpers lightly as you lubricate his cock, ensuring it is glistening and shiny, looking somehow more appetising now than ever. Benedict cleanses his hands in the small bowl of water, then sweetly helps you to your feet to lay down backwards on top of Anthony. All you feel under your spine is the tickle of his chest hair and the play of muscles across his toned chest as you settle over him, glancing at the ceiling as if in a short prayer.

“Whenever you are ready,” Benedict whispers, “take him into your body, my darling.” Once again, it's a term of endearment without the girl moniker that you try to ignore.

You shuffle on top of Anthony, who just holds your waist loosely. Taking a deep breath, you line him up. They are quiet as you do, giving you the space and time to do this at your own pace. You place your other hand over Anthony’s as you feel an entirely new sensation of his cock sliding bluntly between your cheeks.

“You are doing wonderful, my girl,” he reassures, grasping your fingers between his, and you give a brief nod in acknowledgement.

You groan as he breaches your body and puff out air. It’s all heat and pressure. It feels so different, not unpleasant, just… odd. Anthony groans, too; his forehead rests on your shoulder as he seems to babble nonsense words. It must be intense for him too. So slowly, you sink down, taking time and deep relaxing breaths. Inch by inch, you sink lower, cataloguing each reaction your body has. After what seems like ages, you reach his root and let out a long low whimper—feeling so invaded and stretched.

‘Well done, darling girl. Benedict touches your face dotingly, and you beam up at him, the praise doing wonders for you. “Brother, you should hold her open,” Benedict advises, and Anthony moves his hands down to either side of your legs.

“I hope you like my hand imprints on your thighs, my lady,” he says softly into your neck. You don't have a chance to ask what he means before Benedict is giving orders again.

“Hook your legs up his onto his arms. My brother will hold you,” Benedict lectures, and you slowly move into position, moaning as you feel Anthony flex inside your bottom as you do so.

Anthony’s strong fingers wrap around your inner thigh, and then you gasp as he pulls his arms upwards and outwards. You feel a slight burn in the tendons of your pelvis, legs forced so obscenely wide open and exposed.

“Perfect,” Benedict opines and stares at you. “I wish I could paint this moment. Look at you, all open and leaking, desperate for another cock.”

You can't stop the noise you emit; it's apprehension, want and nerves all wrapped in one. He starts to strip, enjoying his captured audience of you staring at him, almost open-mouthed. Your mind is still turning over the idea of taking both of them at once. As he roughly unbuttons his trousers, you find your voice.

“Sir, I'm not sure I can do this,” you pant, nerves flaring as his sizeable cock stares you right in the face. You feel so very full, impaled as you are on Anthony.

“Yes, you can,” he answers gruffly. “You know your safety word,” he warns.

You clamp your lip between your teeth—that is the last thing you want to say. It’s like he senses you need a slight roughness of tone in this moment, a balance to the unspoken emotions bubbling away this evening.

“You know you can do it, my lady,” Anthony’s soft voice rings in your ear. “I’m right here, with you, inside you; you feel so wondrous.”

“You feel so good, too,” you whisper, surprised that is the case. The more you adjust to the feeling, the more you enjoy it.

Then Benedict is climbing over you, all warm skin and lithe muscles. He is careful not to put too much weight on your body, his lips finding yours in a kiss as you feel his cock nestled hot on the apex of your thighs.

“Alright, sir, I'm ready,” you murmur as your lips part, and he cups your jaw, the blueish ring of his eyes flaring as his pupils dilate.

“I will go slow, I promise,” he rumbles, his thumb swiping tenderly over your cheek, and you feel his speech vibrating your ribcage.

Your body feels so hot pressed between them, Anthony's chest hair tickling your back as Benedict's warm skin covers yours, dragging your jewelled clamps, your nipples still throbbing insistently. And then you feel him reaching down to guide himself into your body.

You groan loudly as his tip nudges into your cunt. You have never felt so stretched in that region before. A curse falls from your lips, and Benedict pauses, allowing you to get used to this small amount.

“Are you alright?” he checks, his voice filled with affectionate concern.

“Yes sir, it's just…. it's so much,” you reply truthfully.

Anthony’s hands holding your thighs up and open, caress your skin in a soothing pattern as Benedict starts to move again, sliding deeper inside you. You have no words to describe the feeling except utterly full. Anthony is making small panting sounds under you, and you know they must be able to feel each other; you can feel them pressing against each other through the wall of your body. You make a long, continuous whining noise as he pushes further until finally, Benedict rests entirely inside you.

“Well done, my wonderful girl,” Benedict gusts, sounding a little breathless already, “you feel so exquisitely tight.”

They both make sounds of pleasure as you move to kiss them both, swivelling to capture Anthony’s lips and then Benedict’s. You have never kissed them as much while you play as you do tonight. Something indeed so profound is happening between you.

“Im going to move now, slowly,” Benedict advises.

You find yourself incapable of words, so you just nod, one hand covering one of Anthony’s on your leg and the other resting on Benedict's shoulder.

You feel him withdraw slightly, then surge back in; your mouth falls slack, and your eyes roll back. Nothing could have prepared you for this. How it feels, how the motion and fullness pulls all your skin taut, your clit being pulled down towards his shaft so strong that you may not even need anyone to touch it to come.

You whine a curse as he repeats the motion, and you just know you won't last long like this, your body already so overwhelmed. Anthony behind you is already moaning gently too.

“Go faster, sir,” you goad, greedily chasing what you feel is headed for you.

“Are you certain?”

“Yes,” you answer with clenched teeth, “give it to me, sir, to us,” knowing the friction and tightness will probably be enough for Anthony without moving.

And that is the permission he needs.

Benedict starts to fuck you properly as he always does, and you cling on for dear life as he wrenches the most debauched noises and the most extreme sensations from your body. Every ounce of your being feels on fire, and you are hyper-aware of everything, the puff of their breaths on your damp skin, the noises each of them make, the pressure and intense pleasure you feel as Benedict ploughs into your cunt repeatedly while Anthony holds your ass open. And then Anthony begins to ripple under you, fractional surges into your body, and you lose all sense. You go limp and slackjawed, just letting them both take you somewhere that is so far away and yet so rooted in your body.

You know you are moaning and babbling nonsense, and you know they are wrenching the most filthy noises from your body, and you just don't care. All you want is for them never to stop. No words are spoken; in fact, you have temporarily lost the power of speech, so engrossed in just chasing all the feelings in your body, getting lost in the fog of both men moving inside and around you. All three of you are panting and moaning in unison as the rhythm you hit together adds another layer to the explosive dynamic. Over and over and over, you move as if one, some carnal dance that is astonishing and almost mystical. This is something so other, so uniquely shared and incredibly intimate, that you know things could never be the same between you again.

“Please…” you gasp, broken and panting, and they intuit precisely what you need. Benedict kisses you hard, all tongue and biting intensity, as one of Anthony’s hands snakes to your breast and pulls off one of your clamps.

The rush of blood to your nipple as it is released makes you yell out and convulse around them, and they both groan so deeply your whole body vibrates.

“Holy f….” Anthony’s curse is broken and wrecked. “Do that again, just please, please do that again.”

“Take off the other one,” you implore desperately, and Benedict's fingers find the other clamp and yank it off roughly, and you scream. The throbbing in your clit is almost painful and in sync with your nipples.

“Oh my god,” Benedict groans, his hand roughly cups your breast, his mouth falls to your nipple, he sucks hard and then bites down, as Anthony snakes a hand between bodies, and as soon as his thumb brushes your clit, that is it, you are gone.

The intensity of your orgasm is almost frightening. Your whole pelvis convulses, contracting and rippling around both of them to the point they howl more like beasts than men. Every cell in your body feels changed, altered, broken and rearranged in a new pattern, your skin hums like static after a storm, and your heart feels ready to burst out of your chest. All you can hear is the rush of blood in your ears. You know the boys are calling out, but they have stopped moving, the crush of you tightening like a vice around them, faltering their movements. Vaguely, you feel something warm bloom in your bottom, and Benedict withdraws from your body suddenly.

When you return to presence, they are both breathing so hard your body is being pushed with their chests heaving, and you feel sticky wetness all around your thighs as Anthony slips from inside your body, and you groan at the change of sensation there.

“I… I don’t have the words for that,” Benedict admits, his head slumped onto your breastbone, sounding so overwhelmed.

“Same brother, same,” Anthony chimes in over your shoulder, his voice so rough that he clears his throat.

You cannot even speak, rendered dumbfounded, earth-shaken, mind-altered. They seem to accept your muteness, and their soothing hands skim your body silently as you all absorb the intensity of the experience you just shared. Your insides ache, but in a way that you are desperate to feel again. Part of you wants to pipe up your usual witty remark about ‘same time again tomorrow, boys’, but another part of you stops short. The atmosphere feels too precious to be glib, too tender and profound to dismiss with humour.

And as they help you to your feet, they are extra loving, with lots of kisses and tender touches. Anthony goes to sanitise and relieve himself, and while he is gone, Benedict sees you stifle a yawn and convinces you to do something you never have before. To rest in his bedroom, Anthony joining you.

You argue that it will just be for an hour, and then you will leave, but you fall asleep almost instantly. Sometime later, you awaken in the middle of the night and are sandwiched between their warm bodies. Both look so angelic as they sleep soundly, their limbs wrapped around yours. And for the first time ever, you choose to stay—to spend the night. As you drift back to sleep, your only thought is how a large part of you wants this, just this, always.

Anthony & Benedict taglists: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @queenofmean14

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

Text

a/n: part two for this request - "may i request a fem reader x anthony lockwood where reader is a super talented fittes agent who constantly trades barbs with lockwood but he soon realises she fancies him so he ends up teasing her during missions by doing small stuff like pulling her close and calling her babe when no one is around - since quite a few of you wanted one! if you want to find it on my masterlist, it's called Love, simply because I'm terrible at naming my fanfics lmao. i hope you enjoy!

warnings: mentions of death/suicide (very vague), language female reader taglist: @cassiopeiia24 @nessa-stark @galactidiot @randomfanficreader @tom-foolery-time

part 1

Loneliness. Terrible, suffocating loneliness. It's thick and cloying and it's getting harder to breathe. God, your throat is closing up and your lungs hurt, weighed down by this strong sense of isolation and abandonment. How are you meant to function when it's so powerful, so heartbreaking? It's overtaking your heart, filling your lungs, intoxicating your blood.

With a feeling like whiplash, you're torn from your vision, and your hand is tugged away from the tree branch and placed on someone's chest. You can feel someone's heartbeat, steady and reassuring, and your own slows. Breathing is a little easier now.

"You're okay, love. I'm here."

The voice shakes you out of your daze, and your eyes snap open, only to be met with the face of Anthony Lockwood.

The setting sun is working wonders on him. Gold and orange rays of light fight for dominance on those high cheekbones and the tip of his nose. His dark eyes swirl with hues of copper and caramel. His lips, turned down slightly with worry, hide the possibility of a bright smile as you look at him.

"Don't -"

"Call you that," he finishes. "Yes, I know. You realise that the more you tell me not to, the more I will."

You scowl at him, but you don't move. A month ago, you would've pulled out of his grip and away from him within a second but, now, you can't bring yourself to.

He knows this all too well, and he revels in it. More often now does he find some excuse to have you touch him. Oh, (name), pass me some salt bombs, won't you? Followed by a not-so-subtle brush of fingers. Do I have lavender in my hair? Get it out, please, the scent becomes too strong sometimes. And there's usually no way for you to get out of shaking it out of his hair because he often puts your hand there himself. Let me walk you home. Then he'll drape an arm over your shoulders, keeping you close or safe as he calls it.

Maybe you've bolstered this attitude of his because more often than not, you don't object. Yes, you'll call him an idiot or a twat or something more insulting, but you've come to welcome these touches, however fleeting they may or may not be.

So, now, with your fingers splayed over his white shirt, it's almost as if you can't bring yourself to move. It doesn't seem like Lockwood is particularly fussed about moving, either.

"What did you see?" he asks, eyeing you carefully. "Something seemed different."

Despite your team's displeasure about paired up so frequently with Lockwood and Co for certain cases by DEPRAC, you haven't been too bothered by it. You and Lockwood have begun working like a team, figuring out each other's tells and habits while still throwing insults and remarks back and forwards. He's become used to watching you use Touch to figure out where sources are, learning how your body reacts in accordance to different things.

You don't want to tell him that this particular vision fed into your own feelings, so instead you say, "It was just stronger than usual. We're close. Very close."

At last, his hand releases yours, and he places his hands on his hips, staring up at the towering tree before you. Members from both of your teams linger around the whole park, scouting out for any clues as to where the source is, seemingly with no luck. The reason for that is likely the pairings. Lucy and Kat and Ned, George and Bobby and Kipps. None of them are getting on particularly well.

"You think it's the branch itself?"

"I'm not sure." You flash your torchlight on the thick branch. "This guy, well, you know... His body was found here after days of just..."

"Hanging there."

"Thank you for that input. But yes. It would make sense. The rope had to be cut off because it was tied so tight. And the emotions were extremely strong, so it would be my best bet."

"Well, whatever you say, love."

You purse your lips. "You're insufferable."

"You love that about me."

Fighting down the urge to strangle him, you pull your silver net out of your belt. "I say we place the net over the branch, see if the ghost still appears. If it does, well, we're fucked, to put it simply. I'll be completely clueless. But, if it doesn't, then we can secure it in place overnight and get someone to remove the branch in the morning."

"Aye, aye, captain."

"Shut up."

Lockwood grins at you then, so bright and dazzling that for a moment you're frozen.

Maybe it affects you the way it does because it's something you've lacked for years. You can't remember the last time someone smiled at you with such joy before Lockwood, as if you've done something to deserve it.

Gently, he takes the silver net from your hands and swings out over the branch before stepping back and looking at it like he's just finished some incredible piece of art. You roll your eyes, glancing back at your teams again.

"I think Barnes pairs us up on purpose," you say. "He knows we don't all get on."

"We get on tremendously," Lockwood remarks. "We went from you insulting my clothes and face, and me making fun of your moods, to being the best of friends."

Frowning, you say, "I wouldn't say 'the best of friends'. I tolerate you, Lockwood. And your face and fashion haven't improved over this last month, I hope you know. I mean, come on, grey tie and pink socks? It's like you're taking inspiration from some raw salmon. Do I have to buy you some socks for your Christmas?"

He nudges your shoulder with his. "You hear yourself? You're on about getting me a Christmas present!"

His fingers brush yours then, and you almost jump from the contact. His hand is warm against the back of yours, and your fingers twitch slightly with the urge to entwine with his, even if part of you is telling you not to do it.

With a jolt, you step away. "Let's wait for this ghost. I'll let the others know about the plan."

There's something in his eyes, an unfamiliar spark within their darkness, that sends heat to your cheeks and a flutter in your stomach. But you turn away, adamant that you won't fall for his charm or whatever this is. You won't. Maybe.

"Oh, I've been looking for that!"

You turn as you throw a bag of pasta into your shopping basket, stopping short when you see Lockwood standing on the opposite side of the aisle. He's dressed in his usual shirt-trousers-ridiculously-long-jacket get-up, grinning with a basket hooked over his arm. For a minute, you're confused about what he means, and then you realise which hoodie you're wearing. His grey one.

In your defence, you thought you had picked up your grey Fittes one and had been a little confused by the length of it on you, but now you realise that it is not yours at all but the one he gave you a month ago. The one you keep forgetting to give him.

"Oh, yes. Um, I'll get it back to you soon."

He laughs and says, "You've told me that for weeks now. You might as well keep it now, love."

You glance down at the hoodie, fingers fiddling with the old hem. "I'll get it back to you."

"Whatever you say."

His smile is blinding, and you find yourself smiling, too. It's only a little tug at the corner of your lips, but you can see the happiness in his eyes at the sight of it. It makes something in your chest feel warm and proud and loved.

Loved. The word sends sparks down your spine. When was the last time you felt like that?

"Well, I have to get going," Lockwood says, gesturing to his basket. "George is getting tetchy and we have almost no food left in the house. I'm worried I'll get home and the house will have been destroyed in his rage."

You snort. "Kipps is the same at the Fittes offices. I try and steer clear of him when he's in a mood. He's worse than me."

"Worse than you? Sorry, love, but that's hard to believe."

"Oh, be quiet." You give him a look, and humour glints in his eyes. "I was going to offer to give you warnings of when he's particularly irritated, but I won't, now. You can just suffer."

"You have to admit," he says, "that Kipps is awfully funny when he's mad. He goes red as a tomato."

"He does."

Lockwood's smile softens to something more private, and your heart skips a beat. You want to curse at yourself. It's been a month of spending more cases together, of him walking you home late at night or catching you unawares, and already you feel differently about him. Once, you saw him as nothing more but an arrogant boy whom you couldn't stand, whose very presence had you on edge. Although you enjoyed taking the mick out of him and riling him up, you wanted to keep your interactions to a minimum.

But now?

God, you're not sure what changed. Maybe it's the way he smiles at you like he's proud of you for everything you've done and gone through, and so endlessly happy with you for simply existing. Maybe it's the gentle touches of reassurance and how he has somehow come to know your tells of nervousness or apprehension. Maybe it's how he's come to know you so well, well enough to slip little snacks you like into your kitbag for you to find on later cases when it's just you and your Fittes team.

Even now, you can spot your favourite biscuits in his basket - biscuits you're aware nobody in his house likes.

"I'll see you around," Lockwood says with his enchanting smile.

It brings out a slightly bigger smile from you. "See you, Lockwood."

As he brushes past you, his fingers twitch as if to latch onto yours, and he says, "Call me Anthony from now on, love."

"All right," you murmur. "Anthony."

"I'm going to kill you one day."

Lockwood breathes a laugh, peering around the corner of the street. "Who would provide you such amazing entertainment if not for me?"

You draw your rapier. "Anyone. Quite literally anyone. You know, there's this thing called salt, and Kat puts it in Bobby's coffee when he's not looking sometimes. However, now is really not the time for that. Are those Rawbones still looking for us?"

"No."

"Oh, good."

"Well, not really. They've found us."

A horrible wail pierces your ears, one that Lockwood can't hear, and you flinch, glancing past him and to the ghosts that are leering at you. Rawbones, terrible variations of Wraiths, with no skin and bulging eyes. The sound of their teeth grinding sets the hairs on your arms on end., and the glare you send his way is scathing.

"I told you we should've just left!"

"Nonsense." Lockwood's rapier is moving fluidly in front of him, keeping the Visitors at bay. "You're the best agent I know besides myself. We can handle these."

Scowling, you throw a salt bomb at each of the two Rawbones. "Just because we can, doesn't mean we should. We've no way of finding a source!"

"Hey, think about it. If these guys kill us, then at least you won't have had to get your hands dirty killing me. Either way, we can dispatch them easily."

You glower at him and throw another salt bomb, watching the flakes disintegrate parts of the other-light and speckle the ground. "Who would even want to haunt a street with a greasy chippy and stinking public toilets?"

He grins as he looks back at you. "Maybe they were particularly fond of the chippy. Can't beat fish and chips on a Friday night. Are you a mushy peas or gravy kind of girl?"

"At the moment, neither!"

One of the Rawbones takes its chance with his peas-or-gravy distraction and launches towards Lockwood, but it never gets the chance. With all your force, you shove him out of the way, and you both slam into the wall. A harsh chill overtakes you, and you're dimly aware of a tingling pain in your arm, but you ignore it, throwing another salt bomb.

Lockwood takes up holding them back with his rapier, and it's then that you notice your jumper's sleeve steaming, a section of it burned away by ectoplasm. You hadn't been expecting to be out so late and for so long, so you didn't think to bring your thick jacket with you. Regretting your decision, you stare as the skin of your arm starts turning blue.

"Anthony?"

"Mm?" He doesn't look away from the ghosts.

"We - we have an issue."

"Do we? I think we're handling this quite well. My shoulder hurts from slamming into a brick wall, but -"

"Anthony!"

He glances back at you, his eyes immediately drawn to your burned and smoking sleeve, and the blue, swelling skin beneath. He pales momentarily, gritting his teeth, and something overtakes his expression. Anger. But not at you.

"Cover your ears and get back behind that bin over there."

"You can't be serious. It's surrounded by mouldy bananas and -"

"Go!"

The urgency in his voice has you moving before you even realise it. Ducked behind the big bin a few feet away, you peer around it and try to block out the horrible smell. Lockwood is still holding off the pair of Rawbones, but he's holding something in his free hand. It's only when he's running over to you to take cover that it was a magnesium flare.

An explosion shakes the ground, and although you had covered your ears, they still ring loudly. You can't hear what Lockwood is saying, but he drags you away by your good arm and down the street in the opposite direction from the ghosts. They're not gone permanently, but the flare has given you enough time to make your escape.

It's only when you're a few streets away that you both stop to catch your breaths beside an old phone box. You're struggling, feeling as though you're trying to breathe through a single straw, and your skin feels weird. Overly aware of the inner workings beneath it.

"Anthony," you repeat, but your voice isn't as strong.

Your legs are shaking, and you can't feel your arm anymore. You can faintly hear him speaking in the phone box, asking for an ambulance, and then he's in front of you, catching you as you stumble against a shop wall and to your knees. He tears the sleeve off your jumper, preventing any more ectoplasm from getting on your arm. Not that it would make a difference. It's already getting worse.

"You'll be all right, love," he promises, holding you close to his chest as you shiver. "An ambulance is coming. They'll be here soon."

You don't have the energy to speak, but you manage a small nod.

"They'll give you an adrenaline shot, and you'll be fine. You can get right back to insulting me."

His shirt is warm beneath your hand as you grip it weakly. It's a strange sensation feeling your organs slowly stop working. Already, your pulse sounds weaker in your ears.

"Hey, stay with me."

Your eyes find his and, for a moment, everything's all right. They're warm and soft and so, so comforting, and he's giving you that private smile he's taken to sharing with you. His cheeks are rosy, and salt is dusted in his hair like snow. Your lips tug in a meagre attempt at a smile.

"You're an asshat," you manage. "We should've gone the way I said."

He breathes a laugh. "Yeah, we should've."

His hand brushes hair from your eyes, lingering on your cheek for a moment, and you lean into the touch, relishing in the feeling of his pulse against your skin. If you don't think too hard, you can pretend it's yours and that your organs aren't on shutdown.

"Hey, look," Lockwood says gently. "See the lights, love? Ambulance is here to help you. You'll get that adrenaline and you'll be fine."

And you know you will be. His voice is so genuine that you know he's not just saying it to ease your mind. You've seen agents and civilians with ghost-touch, seen their skin turn blue and swell and their lives slowly drain away when the ambulances took too long to reach them. But you'll be okay. As long as Lockwood stays with you.

Giving Anthony Lockwood your address was the best idea you've ever had.

He knows where you hide your spare key outside of your flat, so he lets himself in as you lounge on your sofa, watching the news on your old TV. For now, you're out of action, your arm still taking time to recover from ghost-touch, though you're all right in most other senses.

Your arm aches still and has taken to staying a faint shade of blue, and sometimes you have the unshakeable fear that you've not been cured of the ghost-touch, but you always come out of it fine.

The one benefit of being on sick leave is that Lockwood stops by every single day without fail with a coffee from your favourite café, along with a fresh packet of your favourite biscuits and a newspaper. You're not big on reading the newspapers, but you figure he brings them simply because his face is appearing in them more and more, and he wants to show off.

"Oh, you're an angel," you murmur as you take the coffee from his hands, taking a long sip of it and sighing contentedly.

He beams at you, scattering the biscuits onto a plate. He does that so you can gradually eat them over the day without having to struggle to pick them out of the packet, but you're sure he knows that you scoff them all the minute he leaves. As soon as you're back out of your flat and working, you're going to have to get back to your morning runs. Maybe the runs can be you running to the shop to buy more...

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he says, bringing the plate over and setting it on your coffee table. "I'll pretend you've said it because you adore me so and not because I've turned into your slave."

You smile sweetly over the lid of your cup. "You don't have to get me stuff. I've told you this. It's your fault for being a stubborn ass."

He laughs, sitting at the end of the sofa, just beside where your feet are curled up. "And there's the name-calling. Glad to know you're getting better, love. Besides, if I can make life a little easier for you, I may as well. Now you owe me."

"So it's not out of the kindness of your heart, then?" You roll your eyes, taking another sip of coffee. "And I thought we were friends."

Raising an eyebrow, he says, "Just friends?"

For a second, something in your chest constricts and you can't look at him. "I mean, if you really want to say best friends, you can go for it, but I'm not really in the business of -"

"Just shut up and admit you like me already, love. It's agonising watching this play out."

You freeze, mouth slightly opened and eyes wide. Lockwood looks at you with a smug expression, eyes glittering with something - mischief, glee. Swallowing the lump in your throat and closing your mouth, you look away from those dark eyes of his.

Growing up how you did, it's always been hard for you to discern your feelings beyond irritation and anger. The more time you spent with Lockwood, the more things you felt and the more confusing everything became. Finally, you had a friend, someone you could laugh with and explore a part of you that you've never been permitted to. You've found out that you like things you never thought you would, like walking home in the dark, pulled close to someone's side. Shopping with the hopes of seeing the people you know and care for. Reading. Feeling someone's arms around you. Being smiled at in a way that makes you feel warm and mushy inside.

Lockwood has been the one to start the change, to awaken these feelings inside of you. Before him, you were lonely. Horribly so, and your anger was a way for you to mask that. But ever since your time spent together, one particular feeling has always stood out, and you've never been able to understand it.

Love.

You're not really sure what love is, but you know you feel it when he's around. When he grins at you in that special way of his, or when he plays with your fingers on long walks home, trying to figure out what each line and crease means as if he's a palm reader. When he keeps you close to his side and steps in front of you, shielding you from ghosts even though you're more than capable of taking care of yourself.

Love might be the feeling of happiness in your chest when you look at him. It might be the flutter you get in your tummy when his name is spoken, or his skin touches yours.

"I..." You struggle with the words.

But he understands. You know with the way the corners of his lips twitch and his nose crinkles that he understands. You've never been good at communicating verbally, something he's begun to learn.

"I've known for a while," he says. "I'm irresistible, after all."

The humour helps ease the whirlwind in your mind. "You're insufferable."

He leans over, his fingers brushing yours before latching on. You've had this exact conversation before. "You love me for it."

You do. You really do.

So you don't move away when his face nears yours, watching as he slowly comes closer, closer, closer. His eyes are so bright, speckled with so many shades of bronze and copper and gold, and so happy.

No, you do move. You lean forward, and all of a sudden your lips are on his and his hands are pulling your face impossibly closer and you're clutching onto him with your good hand. And you're spiralling, down and down into this feeling people call love, falling onto it like a soft bed you've never had the privilege to sleep in before. There's an ever-so-faint taste of bitter tea on his lips, which are so soft it shouldn't be real.

But it is. It's so, so real, and you're kissing him. He's kissing you. The world melts away. You feel like you're exploding in bursts of colour and flowers and stars until you're nothing more than the air that surrounds you.

And when he pulls away, you smile wider than you ever have before.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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wellgoslowly · 11 months

Note

Hello! I love reading your stories and I was wondering if I could get a request please. It’s for Lockwood and Co. One day, Lockwood stumbled into a small bookstore because it was raining and there he finds the reader (and her dog, a boxer please) who owns the bookstore and they start talking and the reader doesn’t think anything about it (because she talks to all her customers the same way) but Lockwood starts showing up more often at the bookstore to just to talk to her and slowly but surely they start falling for each other. Thank you so much!!!

Bookstore Girl

a/n: this is by far the longest request I've written to date! I'm very proud of it and I'd defo be interested in writing a part two. I also just love me a good bookstore romance so this was super fun to write! i listened to the song bookstore girl by charlie burg a lot while writing this!! also there's quite a bit of tea related discussions and I have never made tea so pls don't scream at me I am simply american and unexperienced.

pairing: lockwood × fem!reader

word count: 3.3k

warnings: none

notices: a character in this oneshot uses neopronouns [ey/em]!! if you don’t know what they are, please check this out- and if you don’t support people who use neopronouns, do not interact. If you comment hate, you will be blocked. neopronoun users are valid and loved on my blog, and I won’t tolerate hate of any kind. if you use neoprouns- know that I love you and you will always have a place in my writing (as a person who goes by they/she/ey)

tags: @ikeasupremacy @oblivious-idiot @givemea-dam-break @tangledinlove @neewtmas @losticaruss @waitingforthesunrise [if yall want to be tagged when I post requests, lmk in the comments! also sorry if I forgot anyone!!]

It was a slow, rainier-than-normal London afternoon when you first met Anthony Lockwood.

“Hi there… Would you happen to have anywhere I could sit and… dry off?” You had been shelving what was left of a new shipment of classics you had just received when you’d heard a distressed patron behind you. “Oh yes, of course.” You said as you turned to face the customer, suppressing a laugh at the sight before you. A handsome figure stood behind you, their dark long coat absolutely dripping as they wrapped it around themselves, trying to salvage some sense of warmth. “We have a cafe in the back, follow me… and try not to drip too much.” You joked, and goddamn, of course the pretty customer had a pretty laugh.

“Apologies, uh… ma'am.” He said, noticing the pronoun pin on the strap of your apron. “I was just walking home and the storm came out of nowhere and one of my roommates broke my umbrella last week… long story.” They explained as you led them to the small cafe situated in the rear of the store. “Would you like anything? Cocoa, Tea?” You offered as they sat down at a small table near the entryway. “Oh, tea would be perfect, thank you.” They spoke, and you couldn’t help but notice the rapier attached to their hip as the sheath scraped gently across the hardwood floor.

“How do you take it?” Nellie, your best friend, business partner, and head barista, asked from behind the counter. “Hm- surprise me. However you take it is fine.” The customer said with a smile. You slipped behind the counter, brushing past Nellie as ey flitted about looking for the secret stash of eir favorite tea that ey always keep hidden, only taking from it on “special occasions”. Nellie winked at you as you slipped into the backroom, looking for the spare blanket you always keep back there for cold winter days. You rolled your eyes and shooed Nellie away, causing em to laugh. Finding the soft reserve blanket, you turned to take it to the sopping wet customer, only to find Nellie blocking your way.

“What are you doing?” Nellie asked, a slightly mischievous glint in eir eyes. “Getting our dripping wet customer a blanket. Why?” You asked, suspicious of Nellie’s train of thought. “He’s nice. Asked me my pronouns and told me he goes by he/him. He’s pretty cute too.” You scoffed. “What does that have to do with anything?” You laughed, causing Nellie to roll eir eyes at you. “You never let anyone use your blanket, not even me.” You laughed again. “Yeah, Nellie, well, you’re never sopping wet when you ask. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend to our customer.” You say, brushing past Nellie and ignoring eir laughter as you walked out of the backroom.

When you returned to the main floor, you noticed that the customer was no longer alone. “Bruce, leave the poor guy alone.” You laughed, watching as your dog, a Boxer, jumped up, front paws landing on the customer’s lap as the customer laughed. “It’s not a problem, honestly. He’s quite cute.” You smiled, handing the blanket to the customer, who took it with a soft “thank you” and an appreciative smile.

“I'm glad you think so. Some of our older patrons don't like that we have a dog around, but I could care less.” You say, bending down slightly to pet Bruce on the head as he jumped down from the customer's lap. “Is he yours?” The customer asked as he wrapped the blanket around his body. You nodded, sitting down at a chair opposite the patron.

“Yep. This place, too.” You said with a cheerful smile as Bruce jumped into your lap. “Oh! I had no clue I was in the presence of the owner.” You laughed, scratching behind Bruce's ears. “No, I'm serious, that's really cool. I run my own business too, but it's not… quite like this.” He chuckled, almost to himself, glancing down at the rapier on his hip.

“Wait- you run your own agency?” You asked, intrigued. You had vaguely heard of agents running their own agencies, but you hadn't necessarily believed that someone your age was capable of running something like that. And yet it kind of made sense, taking in his appearance- the long coat, white button down, black tie, and slightly too-tight pants gave the desired effect of making him look slightly older and a bit more authoritative.

He smiled and stuck out his hand. “Anthony Lockwood, of Lockwood & Co, at your service. Most people just call me Lockwood.” You smiled, shaking his hand in turn as Bruce grumpily whined at the loss of your hand. “[Name], of Read Rose Books. Pleasure to meet you, Lockwood. You know, I think I've heard of you. You did the Annabelle Ward Case a while back, right?” He nodded, a sparkle appearing in his eye at your mentioning of hearing of his agency. “Yes, that was us. It's a pleasure to meet you as well, [name].”

“And I'm Nellie.” Nellie had a knack for sneaking up on you at the worst times, and that day was no exception as Nellie had somehow crept up behind you without a sound. ~~The customer~~ Lockwood himself didn't seem to notice Nellie's presence, jumping about 3 feet in the air at eir arrival. Nellie set down Lockwood's tea, and he thanked em before taking a sip.

“Oh my god, this is amazing.” He said, turning to Nellie. “How did you do that? I've never tasted anything like it before.” You could see Nellie beam at Lockwood's praise, and you couldn't help but smile. “Secret recipe” was all Nellie said before ey flounced back behind the counter.

Lockwood chuckled, taking another sip. “George- one of my housemates, would love em. He's really into cooking too- makes all sorts of elaborate meals that always taste amazing.” You chuckled, looking back at Nellie. “Even I don't know what Nellie puts in there- ey've never told me.”

“If there's anyone who could get the recipe out of Nellie, it's George. He's an insanely good cook, and he loves tea more than the average person.” You both laughed softly before Lockwood spoke up again.

“Speaking of George, do you have a phone I could use to call home? Just to tell my housemates where I am.” “Oh, of course! Follow me.” With a distressed whine from Bruce, who had to depart from your lap, you got up off you chair and led a blanket-clad Lockwood over to the front desk, where your store phone was located. “Thank you so much, I should be quick.” He said, picking the phone up. “Don't worry about it, take as much time as you need.” You assured him. “I'll be right over there stocking some classics if you need me.” He nodded, and you walked back to where you had been dutifully stocking the beautiful new editions of Pride and Prejudice, making a mental note to leave one aside to purchase later for your own personal collection.

You were still within earshot, so you could hear most of the conversation that Lockwood was having (not that you were purposefully eavesdropping, of course- it was very quiet in the store so it was very hard to try and not hear his conversation. You did try, though.) Lockwood's conversation started with a “Hi George, I wanted to let you know that I'm ok-” before Lockwood was promptly cut off by a loud voice shouting at him, causing Lockwood to jump and have to hold the phone away from his ear for a moment.

“Hello to you too, Luce. Look, I'm fine- I got caught in the storm and *someone* broke my umbrella on that case last week so I had to seek shelter before it got too bad. Don't worry- I'm at that bookstore in town… The one George has been wanting to check out? Read Rose? The staff has been very nice and helped me to warm back up but I'm not sure when I'll be able to come home with how the storm is going.” A moment of silence followed as someone- Lucy, you assumed- spoke to Lockwood. The quiet was broken only by the sound of books being pushed into their respective slots on the shelves.

“No, no, Lucy, you are not coming to get me. I don't care if you broke my umbrella, I won't allow you to walk over here in the rain- Lucy? Lucy?!” And then Lockwood let out a frustrated sigh and put the phone back down on the receiver. You looked back up at him, stifling a laugh at his exasperated expression. “I guess one of my housemates is coming to retrieve me.” He laughed, running a hand through his still-wet hair as he looked outside at the still raging storm. “From what I could hear, they sound very stubborn.” He chuckled. “Oh, she is. Lucy is insanely stubborn, believe me.” You laughed, liking the picture you were putting together in your head of this Lucy already. “To be fair, something tells me you're fairly stubborn yourself.” You chuckled. Lockwood gasped, putting a hand to his heart. “You wound me.” He said, and you both fell in to laughter.

Your laughs subsided after a moment, and you fell into a comfortable silence as you stocked and Lockwood walked around, perusing the aisles of books. You two stayed like that for a couple of minutes, and you had never been more content to just be quiet with someone before. “Now I understand why George has been bugging me to visit here for so long. We haven't had much time- cases have been piling up so George is either at home or at the Archives most of the time these days.” You nodded in understanding as he took a book off a shelf near you and examined the cover.

“I get it. Not the agency work- I don't have any Talents. The stress, I mean. My grandmother owned this place and passed it down to me when she passed. Every day there's something new to take care of or a new problem that comes up.” You laughed as you put the last book on the shelf. Lockwood laughed as well. “I know exactly what you mean. You love it though, don't you?” He asked, turning to you. He smiled as your eyes met his, and you gave him a smile in return. “Yeah,” You said softly. “I really do.”

He grinned, and was opening his mouth to say something when there was a sudden noise at the door, and then there was a borderline soaked girl holding an umbrella standing breathless in the doorway. This must be Lucy, you thought to yourself. She was obviously righteously pissed, her hair dripping as she tried desperately to control the bangs that were matted to her forehead. “Lockwood, you idiot.” She said, shoving the umbrella at Lockwood and turning to face you. She sent a look Lockwood's way, which you translated to say something like “who is this?”. Lockwood smiled.

“Lucy, this is [name], owner of Read Rose Books. She and her friend Nellie have been very welcoming and helped me to get warm. [Name], this is my associate, Lucy Carlyle.” Lucy rolled her eyes, elbowing Lockwood in the ribs and whispering something like “you can just introduce me as your friend, you dickhead” before she turned her attention to you, smiled, and stuck out her hand for you to shake. You did, softly saying “nice to meet you”, as did Lucy. “Thank you for taking care of this one.” Lucy said after your handshake had ended, pointing to Lockwood. You laughed. “It was no problem at all, really.”

Lockwood moved to return the blanket you you, but you refused. “You need it more than I do. Just make sure to return it whenever you can, ok?” He smiled appreciatively, nodding in understanding before Lucy grabbed him by the arm ans hauled him to the door. “Thank you again!” Lockwood yelled at the same time Lucy said “Have a nice night!”, and then they were out the door and the shop was silent again.

Nellie was there within seconds, pressing a warm cup of cocoa into your hand. “I'm never getting that blanket back, am I?” You asked em softly. “Probably not, no.” Ey agreed.

---

It was a week until you saw Anthony Lockwood again.

It was sunny outside this time, and you had a pretty nice crowd going inside the small Read Rose venue. You were just finishing up a customer's transaction, barely had the words “have a good one” out of your mouth, when you saw him enter the store. He had on the same outfit, but his hair was more styled, in a totally not attractive way. He was entering the shop with someone who you didn't recognize. They were slightly shorter, with brown skin and curly dark hair and glasses.

You noticed the second that Lockwood found you, watching his eyes light up and a smile form on his face as he waved. You waved back and returned the smile when you saw what Lockwood was carrying in his left hand.

“I was thinking I'd never see that blanket again.” You joked as Lockwood and his companion walked up to the front counter. Lockwood chuckled. “I see how little faith you have in me.” He spoke as he passed the blanket over to you. “Well, she's not exactly unfounded. Remember that time I leant you a sweatshirt and I didn't get it back for a month?” You laughed as you placed the folded blanket on a shelf beneath the counter, not seeing Lockwood sharply elbow his companion in the ribs.

“Anyways, [Name], this is my best friend and business associate, George Karim. He's the one I told you about that's really good at cooking. ” You reached out your hand for George to shake, but he ignored it and turned to examine your store. Within seconds, he was walking away to an aisle that had caught his eye, leaving you behind with Lockwood as you yelled out a rushed, “it was nice to meet you!”

Lockwood smiled apologetically. “Don't mind him. He's au- he can be a bit brash, but he's a good guy, once you get to know him.” You smiled back as you waved your hand in a dismissing manner. “Don't worry about it. I hope I do. Get to know him, that is. Lockwood & Co. seems like a very fun bunch.”

All Lockwood could do was smile before George returned, informing you that they would be back soon but they had a case that night that they had to prepare for. You nodded in understanding. “I'll look forward to your next visit. Be safe out there.” One last dazzling smile from Lockwood and he was gone, being borderline pushed outside by George as you laughed.

---

It went on like that for weeks- at least once a week, Anthony Lockwood would wander into your shop, only once or twice actually buying a book. You got to know each other fairly well- you learned that he hated sugar in his tea, that he always wore pink socks, that he didn't always wear suits, and that he started wearing [favorite color] ties whenever he came to visit after you told him it was your favorite color.

You learned that his favorite genres were classics and mystery (and that he had a bit of an obsession with gossip magazines). Often times, he would come in right before closing a couple times a week and sit and read with you to pass the time before you closed and walked you to your flat a block away.

Every time this happened, Nellie would leave work a half an hour before you and give you a set of totally non-subtle winks before flitting off into the sunset. Lockwood never seemed to notice eir suggestive winks, and if he did, he never appeared too flustered.

Nellie would corner you every morning after, grilling you for every detail. “Why do you even care?” You would say, laughing as you unlocked the storefront. “Because a super hot guy is obviously falling for my best friend!” Ey would exclaim, and you would roll your eyes and laugh it away, making sure to change the subject while you tried not to dwell on the possibility that Nellie was right.

---

“Well, well, well, if it isn't my favorite bookseller. Do you ever take a day off?” You laughed from your perch on one of the bookshelf ladders, looking down to see Lockwood standing below you, a smile on his face and his hands on his hips. You laughed. “Hi, Lockwood. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You bent over, grabbing a book to put up on the top shelf.

“I was sent by George to search for a book he was looking for.” Came the reply, not an uncommon excuse. You turned to reach for another book to stock, but you realized that Lockwood was holding out a book for you. “Thank you.” You said softly, and he looked up from the synopsis of a book in his hand to smile at you. “Of course. It seems you're a bit of a workaholic- I'd love to help in any way I can.” You laughed as you shelved the book.

“You're one to talk. Pretty much every time you come in here you've got that getup on and intense bags under your eyes.” You joked as you descended the ladder, taking the empty box from Lockwood's hands.

“Well, one needs to be a little bit obsessed to lead a top agency, don't they?” He asked, following you to the cafe. Nellie brightened as ey saw Lockwood trailing after you, calling out and asking if Lockwood wanted anything. “Yes, please, Nellie. Could you by any chance make your secret recipe tea to go? I really need to get going, but I was in the area and I just wanted to stop by.” Nellie smiled. “Aye aye, captain.” Ey said before they started the tea making process.

“I thought you came in to look for a book for George.” You said, turning to him with an eyebrow raised and a smile on your face. You giggled as you watched Lockwood flush. “Ah, yes, well, you see-” He was so caught up in his mumbling that he didn't realize that Nellie had appeared next to him, a bag in eir hand. “Jesus, Nellie.” Lockwood jumped, and Nellie chuckled. “Not Jesus- people do often get us confused.” Nellie joked before pushing the bag in front of him.

“What's this?” Lockwood asked, cocking a brow. "A gift for you, George and Lucy. For being such great patrons.” Lockwood smiled. “You really don't have to-” Lockwood started to speak, but Nellie interrupted him. “I insist.” Ey said before turning and running away before Lockwood could fight anymore.

Lockwood turned to you and scoffed. You chuckled. “Ey really like making baked goods for people.” You explained. Lockwood smiled, and the two of you lapsed into a comforting silence, taking in the slow crowd that filled in and out of Read Rose Books.

After a moment, Lockwood broke the silence. “Are you- would you be amenable to visiting Portland Row tonight?” His question caught you off guard, but you smiled nonetheless. “I could be convinced. Why? What's in Portland Row?” You asked, turning to look at him. He smiled softly, a soft flush dusting his cheeks. “Lockwood & Co. We just finished a pretty big successful case so we're throwing a small get together at the house, if you wanted to come?” He asked, and you could sense the nerves radiating off of him. You smiled, nudging his shoulder as you turned to face away from him, trying to draw attention away from the blush that was slowly spreading across your face.

“I'd love to.”

eeeek thank you so much for reading!! pls leave feedback, it truly makes my day :) also if you want to request or see my other works, my masterlist is linked in my about me post which is pinned :)

I love you all so much, remember to stay hydrated, and I hope yall have an amazing day!!! mwah

xoxo linnie <3

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