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#am I still beautiful Sophie?

cashorrors · 1 year

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mary winchester to the tune of rosemary walten

#eris.txt #mary #am i still beautiful to you sophie? (dean)

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ohimsummer · 1 year

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My dad got me one of the pullovers I sent him so I’m bout to be wearing walten files or game theory merch real soon hehe

#an ‘am I still beautiful sophie’ or game theory fnaf shirt one of the two #low key hopin for the walten files sophie one I’m gonna wear that shit to death #also I got a bracelet and a ring from pandora hehe it’s shaped like a crown

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i-hate-accidents · 1 month

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i hate accidents: the beginning

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

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

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

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

content warnings: classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, positive/supportive families, allusions to alcohol abuse in [I.viii]

word count: 13.9k (of 38.8k)

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

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

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

reading tip: whilst the author is proud of it, she understands the intro to the first section is long. if you wish to get more straight to y/n and benedict's story, the author suggests jumping to [I.ii]. they won't be offended that you did heh.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you do not know how you got here.

well, that is not true; you quite literally walked from the markets and followed the directions that penelope had given you, but you did not think those directions would lead you here.

this is a mistake. i must have taken a wrong turn, gone up instead of down, made a left when i should’ve taken a right.

or perhaps this is a dream? yes! that has to be it! a dream! i must have lulled off and dreamt myself here, for whatever reason. once i close my eyes and open them again, surely i will be at home, or the markets, or the workshop even. surely!

so, you close your eyes shut.

you had been walking about the markets on your non-work day, some weeks ago, browsing the wares you wouldn’t (and couldn’t) buy, eavesdropping on any conversation of intrigue, observing the bustle of the crowd going about their day, mindlessly thinking of the next thing to write, daydreaming—when you had collided with someone. they had let out a squeak, their materials flying out of their hands, as you had fallen on your back, thankfully not hitting your head. in your periphery, you had seen how the person had crawled to your side and looked at you with urgency and concern.

“i am so sorry!” their voice was pretty. sweet and lovely. you lifted yourself up a bit to see the person you had collided with. they were also pretty— beautiful, red-haired, and hooded in blue.

their eyes widened.

“er, i meant,” they spoke again, but this time with an— irish accent? their voice was still sweet and lovely but very distinctly irish and distinctly different from their voice mere moments before. “are you hurt?”

“i am all right, thank you.”

“very well,” they said, still in their irish accent, “then i must be going—” and they shot themself up and turned, you assumed, to run away.

“wait! you’re a writer, yes?”

as you had hoped, the person in blue froze. they slowly turned to you again, apprehension and intrigue in their eyes.

“how do you know?” their voice was mangled between their two accents.

“unless you pluck birds for fun,” you stated as you collected the scattered materials they had dropped in the collision, “these are quills.”

you stood up, approached them, and held out their quills to take, offering a smile. the stranger took the quills and put them in their bag. they returned their eyes to you and returned your smile.

“thank you,” they responded in their english accent.

“i know how precious those are, so i am very glad to see they won’t go to waste. well, they wouldn’t have gone to waste either way; i would’ve taken them if you hadn’t turned around.”

that caused the person in blue to laugh.

“i assume you are a writer?” they inquired.

you don’t know what had overcome you; you don’t know why you had been so trusting of this stranger, especially with something such as your writing, but you had been. you reached for your then most recent, folded up quarto, kept between your bosom and your blouse, and offered it to the stranger to read. they took it, shifted their eyes from line to line, turned it to read the crossed lines, and then looked up at you, beaming.

“this is brilliant!— oh, forgive me; i did not even ask for your name.”

“y/n,” you extended your hand. “and you?”

the stranger seemed to stiffen but quickly relaxed themself, taking your hand in theirs and shaking them. they beamed still, but something of their smile had grown quietly mischievous.

“can you keep a secret?”

when you open your eyes, you huff out a breath in a poor attempt to assuage yourself from the reality of your situation: you are not dreaming. here you are—you—at grosvenor square.

you knew of your friend’s circumstances as she had shared it: she is a noble lady, a third sister of the featherington family, who has been writing scandal sheets of high society’s romps and happenings since her ‘debut,’ as she had put it (you hadn’t understood how she had used that word and became further confused upon her explanation of it), under a pseudonym called lady whistledown. penelope has been kind enough to let you read her sheets, and you find it ridiculous what these high society persons do for their lives and utterly brilliant with what wit, snark, and compassion even penelope commentates on that world.

but you did not ever, ever think that she would bring you to it, let alone into it. when penelope had said that you were to meet her most beloved friend, you had thought it would be in an obscure alley or a room hidden behind a bookcase in an unassuming shop—not the literal neighborhood in which she, and presumably her friend, lives! by your posture, by your clothes, by your very existence, it is blatant how much you do not belong here.

i should run. i am going to run.

and so you turn and start—

“y/n!”

—when you hear the sweet voice of your friend. you scrunch your eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling through your nose, and turn around and see penelope in a picturesque green dress, lifting up her skirt with gloved hands, scurrying down the pavement of her neighborhood towards you, beaming. despite the anxiety that rages within you at this very moment, your heart swells upon seeing your friend in such enthusiastic spirits, and you smile despite yourself.

“good day, pen.”

she takes hold of your bare hands in her gloved ones and gives them a squeeze. perhaps she can discern your nerves because you start to feel yourself calm ever so slightly by her gesture.

“i am so glad you are here,” she says.

“i am—— glad to see you,” you then lower your voice. you do not know why; it is not as if your lowered voice will help conceal your existence in this place. “are you certain i am permitted to be here?”

letting go of your hands, penelope swats at the question.

“the bridgertons and i care not about such things.”

“the— bridgertons?”

“yes!” she turns and gestures to the grand brick house with wisterias. “it is at their home, after all, in which we will be spending our time together.”

your jaw drops.

“we are staying inside the house? not simply meeting outside the house?”

this is not a dream. this is a nightmare.

penelope returns her eyes to yours, and it startles you with what tenderness she gazes at you.

“i understand that you are fearful, y/n. i had presumed you would not have come if you had known we would be here. but i would not have led you to bridgerton house if i did not think you would be safe here. the bridgertons are the most inviting, kindly family of the ton— of high society,” she amends upon seeing your confusion at the word ‘ton.’ their name for their world, it seems. “eloise has assured me that we shall be in her bedchamber for the entirety of our time together. and if you wish to leave, for any reason, at any point, i shall accompany you, and we shall leave together.”

with closed eyes you heave a sigh through your nose. you flutter your eyes open and offer penelope a weak, but sincere, smile.

“very well.”

penelope squeaks in excitement, taking hold of your hand once more, giving it another squeeze of encouragement, and leads you towards this bridgerton house as she so called it. she raps at the stately door thrice with great eagerness, seeming to knock in perfect tandem with your beating-too-quickly heart.

an elderly man opens the door, about to greet penelope and her guest, when a young femme shoves herself through the opening.

“thank you, giles!” she calls out as if the man is across the road and then looks at you, ferocity in her eyes. it ought to unnerve you, the whirlwind force of this stranger, but it doesn’t. you just return her gaze with a large, albeit a bit bemused, smile.

“penelope has shared so much about you,” the stranger states and takes hold of your hand. “let us get inside!” and yanks you into the house. she turns, looking straight ahead, and barrels forward, pulling you with her.

as the fiery femme seems to soliloquize excitedly to herself, you look back at penelope who merely wears an amused smile at her friend’s antics as she follows behind.

“oh!” the femme exclaims suddenly. she halts you both and sharply turns to you, still gripping your hand, grinning. “my name is eloise. eloise bridgerton.”

“y/n y/l/n.”

“excellent. now! with introductions all sorted—”

and she turns and barrels you both right, rather than heading straight ahead to the grand staircase as you had presumed she would.

“eloise—” eloise’s fervency had provided a reprieve to your anxiety, but the confusion in penelope’s voice puts you back ill at ease, “where are you—”

“it’ll take just a moment, worry not, pen!”

eloise leads you down a hall, noises and voices of all sorts coming from an entrance to a room, growing louder and louder as you approach until they reach the peaks of their volume as eloise halts you both once more, to your mortification, at the entrance of that very room.

“family, penelope, y/n, and i shall be in my bedchamber. we have much to discuss. please do not bother us,” eloise proudly announces to the entirety of the room.

silence falls. all eyes—and there are many eyes—are on you.

oh, my god.

you turn to penelope. her overall manner is calm and composed, but you can see the disquiet in her eyes. she peers into you, the apologetic look conveying, i did not know this would happen.

you turn back to the family.

a lady. a lady of older age. two gentlemen with a difference in age. a boy. a girl, the youngest amongst them.

how is it with a house this massive in the middle of the city that the entire family is present in this one room? well, the room is the size of the two floors of your home combined, if not larger, so in that sense it is sound—but your question still stands.

this has to be the entire family. surely. there are so many of them. this has to be the entire family. yes?

“no talking, no music playing, no fighting?” inquires a droll voice walking into the room, “has someone—”

you turn your head to follow the source of the voice and make contact with dumbfounded ocean eyes.

butterflies flutter in your stomach.

oh.

shit.

“y/n, this is my second eldest brother, benedict bridgerton,” eloise states. “benedict, this is my friend, y/n y/l/n. do not bother us once we are in my bedchamber.”

he stares and blinks at you but then assumes a gentlemanly posture and bows his head.

“it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss y/l/n.”

without any forethought you start to extend a hand to benedict until you hear penelope give a slight cough only you, she, eloise, and he can hear. receiving the hint, you retract your hand and pretend to swat at your skirt.

“err— yes. likewise.”

another cough.

“mis, ter?— brid… ger?—ton,” you articulate with complete and utter uncertainty of how this world’s introductions function.

he cocks his head and furrows his eyebrows at you, something like amusement playing at his features. he wears a lopsided smile that he is barely attempting to conceal. his expression should be infuriating. and it is. but, it is... charming, too. and welcomed.

you have never felt more embarrassed or more pleased in your life.

shit.

“before the three of you retreat to eloise’s bedchamber,” declares an authoritative voice, breaking your reverie. you turn away from ocean eyes and see the lady of the room approaching you. much to your surprise, she smiles. to an even greater surprise, her smile seems sincere. “i must insist that i introduce myself and the rest of the family to our guest.

“i am viscountess kathani sharma bridgerton, the lady of this house,” she curtsies with perfect elegance. “it is a delight to welcome you to our home, miss y/l/n.”

“thank you for having me— lady bridgerton. and you may call me ‘y/n.’ you need not use such, uh, formalities with me.”

“very well; then you may call me ‘kate.’”

you furrow your eyebrows. she had introduced herself as ‘kathani’ but now asks you to call her ‘kate.’ it makes you think of mama and papa; they shared with you once how they had chosen to go by different names upon emigrating to england. when you had asked why, they simply replied that it would be easier for others in this country to address them.

“may i call you ‘kathani’ instead?”

surprise flashes over the dignified demeanor of the viscountess. she regards you with softness in her eyes.

“yes. yes, you may.”

resuming her full composure, kathani guides you to the eldest of the gentlemen and introduces him as her husband, viscount anthony bridgerton, the lord of the house. he offers you a small smile with a bow of his head and greets you ‘good day.’ you try not to wince at his decorous use of ‘miss’ with your first name, but you suppose it is merely in these people’s natures.

kathani continues and leads you to the lady of older age, introducing her as dowager viscountess violet bridgerton. she dips into a lovely curtsy and, on her rise, gazes upon you with a gentle smile. you feel compelled to respond in kind, but it would certainly not be as graceful as hers, and worse, she may interpret your slovenly attempt as a lark. so, you refrain.

the viscountess next introduces you to mister colin bridgerton (you summon all your self-restraint to keep your countenance neutral—this is the boy who hurt penelope); then to mister gregory bridgerton (he bows so ceremoniously towards you, you cannot help but be endeared by his resolve); and lastly to miss hyacinth bridgerton.

“why are you dressed like that?” she inquires.

“hyacinth!” the dowager viscountess reprimands. she must be her mother. she sounds like a mother. it reminds you of how your mama reprimanded you and your siblings as little ones; the memory and the exchange make you hold back a laugh.

“what! what did i say wrong?”

you ought to feel self-conscious, your lower standing brought into further display to everyone in the room, but you detect neither malice nor judgment in the young girl’s voice. just genuine curiosity. so, you smile.

“my family and i have different means to clothes, amongst other things. i wear these when i work or go about my day. though,” you regard your attire and then— hyacinth?, feeling the glimmer in your eye, “it makes for running around and playing make-believe quite easy.”

“make-believe! gregory, do you hear that! miss!— miss—“ she turns to you with a cocked head.

“y/n.”

her eyes shine once again.

“miss y/n plays make-believe! we must play!” hyacinth latches onto your hand and, with remarkable strength for a child who cannot be older than two and ten, pulls and drags you towards the entrance of the room. “come along, gregory! wouldn’t want to be the last one there!”

“no fair! you cheated!” the second youngest shouts back, dropping all previous ceremonies, and scrambles towards the entrance.

“hyacinth! y/n is not your playmate! she is here with me and penelope!”

“plans do change, dear sister,” hyacinth retorts. eloise’s jaw drops, and the rest of the family bursts into laughter. the entire exchange warms your heart. in so many ways, they are so proper, so wealthy, and yet they are not all so different from your own family. they seem to really care for one another.

“when did you get so smug!” eloise shoots back.

“small wonder where she could’ve learned that from,” you hear colin, the traitor, murmur. turning your head, you see him give amused, pointed looks to eloise and kathani. the latter grins wickedly, and her husband beams at her with pride.

“there are only so many hours in a day!” hyacinth complains. you face her once more, still holding her hand.

“what about this? i will play with you and your brother for an hour, and then i will be with your sister and penelope for my remaining time here. i want to honor the wishes of each of my new friends.”

hyacinth considers this with much theatricality to her expression. she then grins.

“that is an excellent plan,” she remarks, looking to eloise for her thoughts. you follow her line of sight. eloise rolls her eyes and sighs, but a smile rests on her lips.

“very well, then.”

feeling peace restored, you smile in return and, in doing so, in your periphery, catch the ocean eyes of the second eldest brother. benedict. he is looking at you. why is that? you feel your cheeks flush and the tips of your ears heat. his gaze is somehow gentle and intense and indecipherable all at once, and the flutterings in the pit of your stomach grow, and intensify, and start to overwhelm you—

when you are tugged back to reality with a tug forward.

–

< hyacinth leads y/n through the house to the gardens with gregory by her side. y/n is both uneasy and in awe of the things she sees. eventually, they arrive in the gardens. y/n notices two swings hanging off of a large branch of an old tree and is utterly endeared by the sight; it confirms what she has been thinking: though the bridgertons are wealthy, they are warm and welcoming.

< just as hyacinth declares that she has found a suitable spot for make-believe, two male voices ask if they may join. hyacinth, gregory, and y/n turn and see benedict and colin approaching. colin shares that though y/n seems lovely, it would be unwise of the family to leave the two youngest with a stranger; though y/n agrees with his family’s caution, she refrains from wanting to strangle the person who hurt her friend.

< gregory whines and asks if they can begin before eloise complains. hyacinth agrees and says that they need to assign characters. y/n suggests that hyacinth should be a sorceress and gregory should be a knight; these proposals delight the youngest bridgertons. y/n volunteers herself as the villain and decides to be a banshee; she turns to the elder bridgertons and asks what they wish to be.

< before they have a chance to respond, hyacinth proposes that benedict should be the princess who has been captured. benedict indignantly asks why, and hyacinth simply states because he is the most sensitive of the family. sensing how the sibling argument is about to evolve, y/n intervenes and suggests that, like a sensitive princess, perhaps benedict is merely in tuned with his emotions, even amidst adversity; it is, in its own way, a compliment. benedict’s eyes become indecipherable upon the comment, but he wears a small sincere smile. gregory then proposes that colin is y/n’s changeling henchman.

< make-believe ensues, and it is very sweet and very silly. eventually, gregory is called in for latin tutoring and thanks y/n for the fun with a deep bow; hyacinth is called in for pianoforte lessons. >

hyacinth launches herself at you with a hug. pulling back from the embrace, she beams.

“we must continue when you return next!”

before you can even start to reply, she turns and skips off towards the house. you hear how gregory makes a comment about coming in first, and suddenly the youngest bridgertons are in a race against one another, shouting taunts and insults. you can’t help but smile.

“they seem to quite like you.”

your smile falls. you turn and face towards the two elder bridgertons, the traitor being the one to have spoken.

“colin bridgerton,” you begin, “yes?”

he smiles and nods. you surge forward and shove your finger into his face, his smile now wiped.

“if you ever hurt penelope again, i shall make certain that it is the last time you ever do. do i make myself clear?”

when he does not respond, you repeat yourself, and he slowly then quickly nods. satisfied, you turn towards ocean eyes and point your finger at him.

“and you look after him.”

“what did i do?”

“be a proper elder brother and serve as an example for your misguided sibling. understood?”

“i— yes. of course. understood.”

you smile again.

“wonderful. i am glad we three are in agreement. it was good speaking with you, gentlemen. good day.”

you turn away and start to walk towards the house.

“i quite like her too,” and you hear the restored smile in the third bridgerton’s voice. “what about you, brother?”

you hasten your steps towards the house. though mere moments before you had felt emboldened and brave, you fear hearing benedict’s response. you do not why.

–

< eloise, penelope, and y/n extensively discuss literature and writing; upon talking about women writers, y/n shares how she does not fully see herself as just a woman. >

“so, what are you?”

you wince. you have kept good on your promise and joined eloise and penelope in the former’s bedchamber, but you are swiftly wishing you had been able to stay with hyacinth, gregory, colin even, and benedict. you had attempted to explain an aspect of yourself to eloise but not to very much fruit, it seems. you want to hide and escape and run from this place—

“eloise.”

—when penelope comes to your defense.

“what? what is it?”

“perhaps you could have phrased your question with more tact and thoughtfulness.”

eloise looks between the two of you, concern flooding her eyes.

“did i— did i not?”

penelope turns to you.

“are you comfortable to answer?”

“i would prefer that i didn’t.”

you hope that your eyes are sufficient enough to convey the immensity of gratitude that you feel towards penelope in this very moment.

“y/n,” begins eloise, “i did not realize—”

“and what are you three gossiping about?”

you jump, penelope squeaks, and eloise growls a noise of exasperation. turning towards the voice in the doorway, you are visited, once again, by the third and second bridgerton siblings.

“and what makes you think we are gossiping?” demands eloise, “because we are w— people?”

you feel the corners of your mouth tug upward. at least she is trying. wanting to keep the attention on benedict and colin rather than yourself, however, and with genuine curiosity, you cock your head at the two gentlemen.

“do you two always come in a pair?”

“not always,” replies benedict. and he smiles at you, “today is merely a special occasion.”

stupid butterflies.

“speaking of such,” colin proceeds. “kate has requested that the three of you join the family in the drawing room.”

< the five of them make their way to the drawing room. kate shares that, on behalf of the family, she would like to invite both y/n and penelope to dinner. though at first honored to have been invited, upon hearing “dinner,” y/n realizes how late it has become and looks out the window: the sun is halfway set. she apologizes and says that she cannot stay because she resumes work the next day. her latter statement renders some of the people in the room confused, but kathani states how she understands and that y/n is welcomed to join dinner whenever she visits.

< seeing how confused y/n is, anthony shares that y/n is welcomed to visit their home whenever she is able and whenever she would like, and the rest of the family pipes in with how delighted they would be if she does. not knowing how she deserved such kindness from people who were mere strangers at the start of the day, y/n thanks the bridgertons and says that she would love to. penelope chooses to stay for dinner and says that she will see y/n next week. y/n affirms that she, and the bridgertons, will.

< kathani and benedict offer to escort y/n to the entrance. y/n walks down the steps and passes the gate but, before she goes, takes one last look at number five until next week and sees benedict still in the doorway. y/n notices, but reprimands herself for perhaps imagining it, that his smile grows when his eyes lock with hers. with flutterings in her stomach, y/n offers a wave. he gives a small wave back. she turns and goes, smiling all the way home. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“benedict has been making more appearances as of late,” penelope remarks.

the three of you all look up—you and pen from your writing, eloise from her reading—to see benedict entering through the doors and heading towards the other side of the drawing room. he looks over at you— at you all and offers a smile before he plops himself down onto a chaise and begins to draw.

“yes, it is strange,” eloise considers to the two of you. “for so long he had been moping about, locked away in his bedchamber aside from mealtime or the occasional visit to the drawing room. he’s even picked up his charcoal again.”

“again?” you inquire, averting your gaze from the artist to your friend. “had he stopped prior?”

“he had entirely put it down after—” eloise sighs. whatever memory she has recounted, it does not seem to be a pleasant one. you look to penelope; you sense that she shares a similar sentiment by the sad look in her eyes. you are curious but you choose not to press.

“it has been quite some time since he’s last drawn. but now, whenever i see him, whether in his bedchamber or the billiards room or some other room in the house, he’s drawing. he frequently arrives to mealtime with charcoal stained fingers—much to the chagrin of mama and anthony.”

you all laugh. benedict looks up at you three, and from here you can tell he wears a curious expression, no doubt wondering what you are laughing about. when he exaggeratedly arches an eyebrow, eloise just makes a face at him. benedict rolls his eyes, smiling, and for the briefest moment, you feel as though he is looking at you. but you’ve always had an active imagination. when you blink, he has returned to his drawing, a smile still on his lips.

“i wonder what has changed?” eloise softly says, still looking at benedict. for all her fire and spirit, you see how deeply she cares for her second eldest brother.

“perhaps he has found a muse,” penelope poses rather than queries. you shift your gaze from eloise to penelope, and you’re curious about her expression. she seems... delighted? benedict finding his passion for art again does sound delightful; you know firsthand how difficult it is to pick yourself up from a slump. but that’s not what she seems delighted by. she just looks at you. with a soft smile. why? what does benedict have anything to do with you?

you feel your cheeks and the tips of your ears flood with warmth. you don’t know why, but penelope’s expression unnerves you, in a pleasant sensational way.

you clear your throat.

“i am happy for him,” you say, returning to your quill and folded quarto, haphazardly writing down whatever words come to your mind.

ocean. charcoal. smile. flutters.

shit.

it is not until what feels like an uncharacteristically long moment later that you hear penelope resume her writing and eloise resume her reading. you try not to imagine what they could have silently exchanged with your gaze averted.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you suck in a sharp breath and shoot out of your seat.

“you do not!” you shriek, hastening towards kathani, eloise, and the stack of books they have just settled onto the table. you had arrived early to the bridgertons’ home, at the invitation of kathani, so early that the rest of the family seems not yet to be awake.

(which is strange, you find, as it is nearing 8 o’clock. most mornings, at this time, you are already well into the bustle of work.)

kathani had prefaced, rather enigmatically, that she and eloise had a surprise they wished to share with you. you had your suspicions as to what it could be related to, and with each passing moment, you are suspecting, very excitingly!, that you are very correct.

“indeed, we do,” kathani grins and gestures to the stacks.

taking no hesitation to the offer, you grab from the top of a stack and open to the title page.

the dramatic works of william shakespeare. vol. 2: a midsummer night’s dream / the merry wives of windsor / much ado about nothing.

you shriek again, this time accompanied with hops of excitement, flipping to the final third of the book.

“much ado! this is the one i’ve read!”

dorothea, a fruit seller, had offered a copy of it to you (at a lowered price, she had emphasized) when she had learned of your liking to stories. she grandly stated that she had started to write down the dialogue during low-attendance performances at the theater and then brought her handiwork to be typed and printed at a not-to-be-named press. but if the pages’ handwritten annotations alluded to anything, you suspected that she had managed to purloin a performer’s copy of the script. you felt a bit of pity for the poor performer who misplaced it, but you respected, and still respect!, dorothea’s moonlighting.

you shoot your head up from the book and are greeted by the grins of your two friends. “which one has romeo and juliet?”

this past autumn you had overheard several candlemakers at the markets animatedly discussing the ‘incandescent’ portrayal of the titular character by an actress from ireland. a performance, described as ‘incandescent’ by candlemakers! embodied by a storyteller who has emigrated here! hearing all those wondrous things made you insatiably curious to one day read the text that made such wondrous things happen.

“i believe,” eloise says, pulling the second from the bottom of a stack, “it is this one.”

you twitch your fingers; you have to refrain yourself from snatching the book from your friend’s hand. when it is in yours, you open to the title page and feel your eyes, along with your smile, widen.

“it is, it is! oh, this is extraordinary!” you flip furiously to your desired page and, once you find it, start to read,

prologue. two households—

—when you hear kathani say, “we had thought of starting with that one.”

that makes you rip your eyes away from the words and look up at the two ladies.

“‘starting with’?”

“when eloise, penelope, and i learned of your eagerness to read shakespeare,” elaborates kathani. her saying that makes you flush; you had not realized with what apparent enthusiasm you had spoken of the poet. “the three of us had discussed that the four of us could read his plays together. if you would like, of course.”

your jaw drops. you cannot help the squeal that emits from your mouth. hopping once again in your excitement, you throw yourself at your friends and wrap your arms around them both.

“if i would like! i would be delighted!”

you pull back from your hug with the two ladies and are greeted by gleaming eyes and wide grins. you feel how your expression matches theirs. it has only been a little over a month of your friendship with eloise and kathani, and the rest of the bridgertons at number five, but they each have somehow found a way to carve themselves out in your heart. and if this most recent kindness by eloise and kathani indicates anything, perhaps you have found a way to carve yourself out in each of theirs.

(and you promptly ignore the thought of what that could possibly mean for ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands, flutterings within you be damned.)

“how shall we allocate the book?” you say aloud out of genuine inquiry and a deep desire to revert your heart, mind elsewhere. “shall we read passages aloud and then pass it on to the next reader?”

< eloise makes a remark that indicates her confusion at y/n’s question. kathani, who is more privy to the situation, shares how she has her own copy as do eloise and penelope. the stack that they’ve brought is an extra set that the bridgerton house has that y/n can use. this perplexes y/n. she cannot understand how a household can have multiple copies of a book, let alone copies of a whole anthology of many books. before y/n can doom-spiral into thinking, penelope arrives at the entrance of the drawing room. reading of romeo and juliet commences.

< just as y/n finishes reading the scene in which romeo and juliet meet for the first time at the capulet ball and then kiss, y/n notices in her periphery benedict approaching the four. kathani remarks how unusually early he is to be awake and ready for the day; y/n notes to herself how there seems to be some sort of mischief in the viscountess’s smile. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“i shall be y/n’s teacher,” the viscount declares.

“you were adamant on her not fencing, and now you are insistent on being her teacher?”

“it would be hardly appropriate, colin, for two young unmarried men to be in such close proximity to a young unmarried lady, as proximity of teacher and student in fencing would require.”

“are you always this— antiquated?” you inquire.

that earns a snort from kathani. anthony, looking betrayed, turns to his wife; she merely shrugs in reply, mirth shining in her eyes. he turns back to you, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth fully frowning.

“and what do you insinuate by that!”

“are you so distrustful of your own brothers, the ones for whom you have served, and still serve, as a model, that you think they would take advantage of me in such a situation—”

you sense how the eldest bridgerton is about to retaliate and arch a severe eyebrow at him in response; you refuse to be interrupted.

“or are you so unbelieving in persons of feminine dispositions that you think i shall be compromised by the mere closeness of a body different from my own sex?”

there is a silence, and though you cannot see them as you stare down the viscount, you can feel how the others exchange delighted glances with one another and hold back their laughter.

“you have two choices, my lord,” you offer.

“neither of them are suitable! and do not call me ‘my lord’!”

“is that not the proper way to address you?”

“it is, but you—!” he huffs out air through his nostrils, like an indignant dragon in a fairytale; it is a very silly, very amusing sight. “we have not even begun the lesson and you are already the most exasperating student i’ve ever had!”

you turn to colin and benedict, grinning.

“you two must have been saints then.”

“would you expect any less?” colin grins back.

your wide smile remains intact until your eyes fall on the expression of benedict. you are entirely uncertain of what emotion he could be possibly feeling until he seems to realize where he is, and how you are looking at him, and breaks out into a brilliant smile with matching brilliant ocean eyes. you quickly snap your head away from him, ignoring the fluttering of butterflies summoned within you upon the shift in benedict’s expression, and turn to anthony.

“shall we begin, then?”

–

it turns out that you are quite the quick learner when it comes to fencing. after putting on a fencing vest that had previously belonged to benedict—

“because you are the shortest of the three of us, brother,” remarked colin after the second son inquired why it had to be his former vest that you were to wear. benedict scrunched his nose and eyebrows in displeasure. (perhaps you should have taken offense to his opposition, but it was truly of no personal consequence to you and the reaction it created in him was truly adorable.)

“i am not!”

“you are, indeed,” anthony deadpanned.

“prove it!”

and the three eldest sons of the esteemed bridgerton family stood next to one another, comparing their heights. you turned to kathani, eloise, and penelope.

“are they always like this?”

“idiotic?” eloise deadpanned, sounding remarkably like her eldest brother.

“indeed, they are,” grinned kathani.

—over your blouse, you are immediately put to lessons. anthony explains the basic concepts of fencing and then demonstrates elementary strikes and parries, occasionally adjusting your stances to the proper forms. noting how quickly you took to the lessons, he calls for a match between the two of you to observe how you would apply your skills in combat.

“you are retaining information exceptionally well, as well as executing the techniques rather impressively,” states your teacher as you deflect his strike. you try to hide your gladness in his praise as you smirk and push his blade away with the terzo of yours.

“ah, so my sex is not a detriment to my abilities; that is good to know.”

you hear snickers and snorts from around you.

“i said nothing of the sort!”

“did you think it?”

your opponent frowns further, slightly turning his head away from you to steal a glance at his wife. he turns back to you.

“i did,” he admits defeatedly.

“it takes a true man of honor to rise up to his folly,” you remark honestly, as you strike anthony’s arm with the tip of your sabre. loud cheers burst from the onlookers and an aghast but proud look emerges on the countenance of your teacher; you grin, “and a fool to leave his defenses so easily open.”

impressed by your display of sport, and seemingly overcoming his antiquation, at least for the moment, anthony decides that you will match against colin and then benedict.

“how are you to improve if you are to face the same opponent?” claims your teacher with his usual air of annoyance, but you detect his pride in your accomplishment.

it is also decided that the matches will end when one scores a point.

and so, you face colin. it is easy to keep pace with him, not due to lack of skill on his part but complete and utter determination on yours. you tried to convince yourself, in the beginning of your match, that the remnants of your anger towards the third bridgerton brother, and how he treated your friend, did not fuel your determination to score the point— but it did and does. and successfully so, as you strike colin in his left shoulder. perhaps you do it with too much force as the strike reels him off balance (and perhaps you are delighted that it has done so), but he quickly resumes composure and flashes you a grin.

“i see more and more everyday why you and pen are friends.”

that softens your heart. you should be dubious of his charming remark, but you aren’t; it is too sincere, as is he, and you begin to see, even if minutely, why penelope cares for him.

“she has good taste in the company she keeps, i’m learning.”

that makes him laugh, as it does the others, and you look over and see how pen’s countenance shines with joy. that is enough to put your anger towards colin at ease, and turning towards your defeated foe once more, you return his smile and bow your head. bowing his head in kind, colin leaves, and in his place arrives your next and final opponent; he is smiling like a boy.

“best for last?” he remarks as he prepares his starting position. you roll your eyes, ignoring the warmth that starts to fill the center of your chest.

“this shall determine that,” and settled in your starting position, you and benedict begin your duel.

you have observed something of the eldest bridgerton brothers in your matches against them. anthony struck like fire, bombastic and ferocious. colin stood his ground like earth, his guards resolute. and benedict—

benedict moves like water. free. fluid.

as if he is dancing while dueling.

both you and he have reached a stalemate. you have managed to parry every one of his strikes, and he has managed to deflect every one of yours. you can feel how those watching are holding their breaths, waiting for someone to land the point.

you try not to startle when you hear benedict’s voice as you guard against his strike.

“it takes quite an astonishing person to earn the praise of anthony bridgerton.”

“are you so surprised that i am such a person?”

“quite the opposite, y/n,” he catches one of your strikes and grins at you. “i think you are entirely perfect in that regard.”

you roll your eyes once again but cannot help the blush that you feel spread across your cheeks as you push back his sabre with yours.

“do you honestly think charm will win you the point?”

“do you find me charming?” you ignore the heat that creeps up your neck and the voice in your head that has already answered his question far too quickly for your liking. “no, i do not think so lowly of such a formidable foe.”

and he winks at you.

and somehow, without you realizing how you got there, benedict strikes the center of your chest.

“but a little distraction does help.”

his point earns a round of groans and bleats from the crowd. instead of looking offended, benedict just laughs and approaches you, gloved hand outstretched, a boyish smile once again on his face. despite your loss, you cannot help but smile too. you place your gloved hand in his.

“it was a pleasure to duel with you.”

“yes. likewise.”

perhaps you imagine it, but you feel his thumb swipe against the side of your hand. it is featherlight, hardly felt with both your and his hands gloved, but felt nevertheless. before you can process the sensation any further, he lets go of your hand. with another smile, he bows his head at you as the crowd of people approach you both, penelope raving about your matches, eloise expressing her wish to fence now, anthony already commenting on what you could do better in your next match.

and without you realizing it, you gently swipe against the side of your gloved hand.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

"mama? papa?"

it is a rare occasion when you, mama, papa, and your sibling eat together, and an even rarer occasion to do so for a second meal, but this night was such a night. the three of them halt their conversation and look over to you.

"how did you know you were in love with one another?"

there is a small silence, but then, without looking at one another, they smile in tandem.

"it was at first sight, really, for me,” your papa says as he offers his hand to mama. “as trite as that sounds."

mama takes his hand into hers.

"i as well."

"when i looked into your mama’s eyes, i knew that something was different. that my life had changed."

"for the better, dearest?"

papa laughs heartily.

"no, actually. it has been misery ever since."

you and your family laugh as mama playfully slaps at papa’s hand. it warms your soul every time they do this, when they tease one another and are light because of the other. it makes you believe in love each time.

mama and papa lace their fingers together again, smiling, still gazing at one another. as if it is just the two of them in their own world. mama, turning her smile from papa to you, speaks again.

"the flutterings in my stomach wouldn’t quiet, and they only intensified as we approached closer to one another that day and grew closer to one another with time."

she looks nostalgic until something mischievous quickly overcedes her countenance.

"why do you ask, my dear? has someone captured your eye?"

"or, better yet, your heart?" papa tags along.

ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands flash by in your mind.

"no!" you say too hastily. "no, of course not. it’s— for one of my writings, is all."

you repeatedly poke at your bit of boiled chicken to avoid any further inquisition from your parents’ gazes.

–

sat by your window, you stare up at the night sky when the voice of your sibling infiltrates your dreaming.

“it’s one of the brothers, isn’t it?”

you whip your head over to them. they don’t even look at you; they are preparing for bed.

“pardon me?”

“is it the artist brother?”

“what!”

fluffing their pillow, they smile.

“so i am correct.”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“that is not true. you said ‘what.’”

“that reveals nothing!”

pleased with the setting of their bed, they ruin their work by plopping their bottom onto it as they finally face you in what you realize now is a confrontation.

“of course it doesn’t, the word on its own. your reaction, however? could not be more transparent of your feelings.”

“i have no feelings!”

“is that why you asked mama and papa about being in love? because you have no feelings and you need to be told what they are?”

“i!—— i am going to bed!” you lift yourself up from your seat at the window sill, turning away from the peace of the night sky, and crash onto your bed. you lay on your side, faced towards the wall, refusing to make eye contact with your sibling. you lift up your sheet with too much force and lay it over your body and head. “good! night!”

after some silence, you hear the creak of your sibling’s bed and, a moment later, feel a featherlight touch on your upper arm. you give it a thought, and perhaps against your better judgment, you lift off your sheet, turn, and are greeted by the gentlest of expressions from your sibling.

“i think it is wonderful, y/n. whoever it is, they are very blessed to have your affections.”

your heart swells. you love your sibling.

“how did you know it was the artist brother?”

“so i am correct!” they smile with a shrug. “i deduced based on how much you’ve been writing about paint and charcoal as of late.”

you almost shoot upright from your bed.

“you’ve been reading my writing?”

“well, if they weren’t to be read, why do you leave them spread out on the table?”

“because there is no other place to store them!”

“and how good that is, or else i wouldn’t be able to read your fantastical stories or have been able to discover who your beloved is.”

“you are impossible!”

they kneel next to your bed and place their head on your shoulder.

“i love you too.”

you exhale the last of your frustrations, adjusting yourself a bit so that your sibling can rest their head more comfortably. without realizing, you stroke their hair, just as you always have.

“i quite like the story about the mushroom family,” they state after some time. “i’m happy that the middle mushroom child befriends the peony and then the hyacinths. i am happy they are happy.”

you feel your eyes start to drift.

“his name is benedict, by the way.”

you hear your sibling’s need for sleep in their reply.

“that’s a lovely name.”

“he is,” you murmur as the peace of the night falls over you.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“good day!— robert?”

“good day, y/n!” and robert holds the door of bridgerton house open for you to pass.

“pardon the confusion in my greetings—”

“no offense taken on my part!” the late adolescence beams. you grin back. with how utterly enthusiastic robert is all the time, one would think it is part of some ruse. but it is not; he is just that genuinely delighted by life, you’ve observed.

“i am grateful. i had expected to be greeted by giles, is all.”

robert frowns. you feel the corners of your mouth tug downward in response, concern starting to swell your heart.

“he is ill at the moment.”

“ill! with what?”

“i know not. i had admitted the doctor perhaps not even a quarter of an hour ago. but worry not too much, y/n! from what the viscountess has shared with the servants earlier this day, giles shall make a quick recovery. and lady bridgerton has yet to be wrong in anything!”

relief floods your body. giles is of elderly age, so it calms you to hear that his ailment seems not to be too severe. and you can’t help but smile not only by robert’s sunny temperament but also by his rightful faith in kathani.

“that is all good to hear.”

“shall i announce you to the drawing room?”

“oh god no. i am quite all right, but thank you.”

“understood! then i must pardon myself; i must retrieve miss bridgerton and miss featherington.”

“‘retrieve’? are they not in the drawing room?”

“i was informed by dowager lady bridgerton, who was accompanied by miss bridgerton and miss featherington themselves at the time, that they would be in the gardens until your arrival and to retrieve the young misses upon your arrival.”

“i see. well, i shall be in the drawing room then. thank you again, robert.”

“it is my pleasure, y/n!” he beams once more and takes off to complete his task.

how odd, you think to yourself. this day seems rather unusual to the ones you’ve had thus far at bridgerton home. and it is hardly even noon! you become lost in your thoughts as you approach the entrance to the drawing room—

when you are greeted by benedict, and benedict alone, lounging with his legs thrown over the arm of a chair, staring sternly at the page he draws on.

“oh,” is all you say.

benedict snaps his focus from his book to you, his countenance transforming from deep concentration to frustration to genuine surprise in a mere moment. he scrambles up from his seat, book in one hand and charcoal in the other, posture now proper, and he bows his head.

“miss y/l/n.”

never before have you been alone in a room with a man. a gentleman. a gentleman with a handsome face, charcoal-stained hands, and beautiful ocean eyes.

you roll your eyes.

“blimey, it is just me. there is no need to bow. and why are you calling me miss y/l/n?”

benedict smiles.

“all right. y/n.”

shit.

perhaps that was a mistake.

“where has your family gone?” you inquire as you go to sit in the chair parallel to his, ignoring the flutterings within your stomach. “it is uncommon to enter the drawing room of bridgerton house and not be greeted by talking, or music playing, or fighting.”

smiling, benedict falls back into his seat and resumes his drawing.

“hyacinth is with her reading tutor; gregory is with his fencing instructor; colin is eating some sort of pastry, i am certain, in town; anthony and kate are likely— preoccupied—”

you snort; benedict’s smile grows broader as he smudges charcoal with his thumb, a small furrow in his eyebrows now forming.

“and mother has managed to rope eloise into learning about the flowers of the gardens, and eloise, being eloise, has roped penelope into doing the same.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“why have you chosen the drawing room as your whereabouts?”

benedict cocks his head towards his drawing.

“it’s in the name of the room, is it not?”

“ah, a man of wit, i see.”

“i am a man of many attributes, y/n.”

ignore the butterflies.

“such as?”

“what attributes would win your favor?”

“so that you may lie to me and say you possess them?”

“of course not; the list is merely too long and i shan’t bore you with a soliloquy.”

“so, a man of thoughtfulness.”

“oh yes, a myriad of thoughts.”

“name one.”

“how much i am enjoying our conversation.”

and benedict shifts his ocean eyes from his drawing to you, a smile on his lips. he is being playful, but you detect no deceit in his expression. it infuriates you, really. how charming he is. how endearing. how sincere.

you return his smile.

“as am i, benedict.”

you sit in comfortable silence a moment more until benedict breaks the gaze, returning his oceans eyes and smile back to his drawing. his smile, however, does not last for very long.

“this sketch, on the contrary—”

and he rips out the paper from his book, crumples it in his hand, and throws it onto the carpet of the floor, giving his deed not another moment’s notice. he puts his charcoal to a new page in the moment next.

your smile falls.

“do you know how much paper costs?” you demand.

benedict looks back up at you with scrunched eyebrows and a smile having returned to his lips. he tilts his head.

“why? should i?” he inquires. nonchalantly. delight in his ocean eyes.

as if you are making a jest.

as if this is amusing. as if this is nothing.

it reminds you of a recent memory.

eloise had generously given you sheets of paper. hitting a stride in your writing and wanting to continue, you had asked, after much internal deliberation, if you could have a ripped half of a quarto upon running out of all negative space on your current one.

“have a foolscap. have a whole lot of them, actually,” she said easily, taking a good chunk of her stack and handing it off to you.

“eloise, are you certain?”

“of course. it is just paper, after all.”

“right. yes— of course. thank you.”

eloise hummed affirmatively in response, returning to her passage, as you stared at the small stack of foolscap in your hand. that amount of paper would have been eight months’ wage, perhaps even more.

a gentle touch of a hand on yours brought you out of your clouding thoughts. you looked over and saw penelope looking at you softly. understanding her unspoken thoughts, you held her hand and gave it a squeeze.

thank you, you mouthed.

"i must be going,” you say aloud. “goodbye, mr. bridgerton.”

you stand, turn, and quickly exit the drawing room.

“y/n. y/n!”

you hear him scuffling up from his lounge and start to follow you. you hasten your steps towards the entrance.

moments before you can open the doors of bridgerton house to the respite of the outside world, you feel benedict take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your steps, and it infuriates you how gently he does it. how you can pull away from his touch if you want to, how you can just go if you choose to. but you do not.

it infuriates you how much you want him to hold you.

you turn to face him.

“please— wait,” he breathes. “what did i do wrong? what have i done to upset you?”

you look at him incredulously. then it dawns on you.

“please. tell me,” benedict practically begs. with such softness in his voice.

it infuriates you.

“i know money is of no concern to you, or your family, or fair ladies and pretty gentlemen. but it is for the rest of us. for the rest of us who have to work to keep the ones we love fed, clothed, warmed, sheltered. that is a fact with which i have been concerned since the very moment i could think for myself. and for you—of the male sex, of pale skin, of inherited riches—it is something to discard onto the carpet of one of your family’s many houses. the paper you threw to the ground would have paid for a month’s worth of warmth for the entirety of my family’s home. and you ask me what you have done to upset me?”

he says nothing. he just looks at you, damned ocean eyes and all. gentle. attentive. like he could care; like he does care.

you feel your nostrils flaring, your blood pounding in every vein of your body. you finally rip your wrist away from his loose hold, already missing his touch.

“i shall take my leave. please give my regards as well as my apologies to eloise and penelope. goodbye, benedict.”

you turn away from him, yank the door open by its handle, and step outside, walking composedly at first, then quickly, then sprinting, then running. to be as far away from number five of grosvenor square as you possibly can be. to be far away from crumpled up paper, charcoal-stained hands, gentle touches, and ocean eyes.

you rub your wrists against your eyes.

stupid bloody tears.

stupid fucking heart.

why am i so afflicted by this? why am i crying? why do i hurt?

because i love—

no.

you cannot fall for him. he is someone you cannot have, cannot want, cannot— cannot…

it cannot happen, the two of you.

and most likely of all, you are not someone he wants. not someone who he would love. not the way you—

you are a fool for getting this far. but these feelings, they will pass. somehow. you will forget them. you will forget him. this is not the fairytales you read, not the fairytales you write. daydreams, hopes, love for a gentleman— there is a reason you are a writer.

you write the things you can never have, the things that will never happen.

you and benedict will never happen.

this is the prayer you tell yourself that evening before sleep takes you. you pretend not to be affected by the tears that afflict you as you do so.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< y/n does not go to number five the next week on her non-work day as she had grown accustomed to. she had tried to write at her table in her home to preoccupy herself, but her teardrops were ruining what she had already written. she considers going to work to distract herself, but y/n knows her unexpected presence would be a detriment to her fellow workers’ established flow of day. she decides to go to the markets to try and get fresh air and a change of scenery and to do anything to interrupt her spiral of thoughts and emotions.

< while at the markets, y/n hears her name called and turns to see penelope in her blue cloak. y/n asks what penelope is doing here, and penelope gently replies that she can ask y/n the same thing. she shares with y/n how, the week prior, after she received news that y/n had left bridgerton house, she left to find y/n in the markets and at her workplace but to no avail.

< their conversation continues. penelope shares how y/n was missed last week; by her, by the family, by benedict. y/n tries to dismiss her words and how the past few months have been a mistake and that she shouldn’t be there with pen or the bridgertons, that she’s not meant to be in their world.

< with patience and empathy and grace, penelope gently encourages y/n to return to bridgerton house next week, and y/n, though her heart aching and reluctant, agrees because she misses them. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you sigh deeply.

have courage, y/n.

and you rap your knuckles twice against the stately door of number five. a moment later, the door opens, and you are greeted by a beloved grin.

“miss y/n! i have not seen you in weeks!”

you cannot help but smile back.

“good day, giles.”

“oh, where are my manners!” and the elderly doorman bows at you. you huff out a laugh, feeling how your face contorts with distaste.

“blimey, please don’t. i am not a lady, giles.”

“you could’ve fooled me, miss y/n.”

you shoot him a severe look; he merely continues to grin.

“you know of my feelings towards being called ‘miss.’”

“i am getting older; my memory frequently fails me, miss y/n.”

“and yet you’ve recalled how we haven’t seen each other in two weeks.”

“three.”

you grin.

“precisely.”

“well, it was quite the surprise when I fell ill the following week!” then giles frowns. “and it was an even greater surprise to have not seen you when i had returned the week following that.”

you look at the ground, unable to face the inquisition in his sad, kindly look, but when you bring your head back up, you manage a smile.

“it is no matter. i am here now. that is most important, yes?”

the elderly man smiles.

“yes, i suppose you are right, y/n,” and he holds the door open for you to pass.

“aside from bouts with ailment, how have you been, giles?”

“still standing upright, still opening and closing doors,” he beams without a bit of sarcasm. “and what of you? how have you been?”

“i’ve been—— well. and the family?” you say quickly, wanting to move the conversation away from you and your feelings.

“the same as is to be expected. though—”

concern starts to swell in your heart. what has happened in the fortnight you have not been present?

“mister benedict has been absolutely despondent.”

“oh,” is all you say. giles’ gentle joviality transforms into solemnity, and it makes your heart ache even further.

“on the rare occasions i do see him now, he is leaving for the gentleman’s club in the bright light of day and coming home at an ungodly hour, drunk as a wheelbarrow, wreaking of what smells like every available spirit in london. he had stopped dipping rather deep sometime ago, much to my relief, so it was an utter shock to return to my station and to see him back on the cut, and deeply at that,” the elderly man sighs. “i wonder what has happened for him to be so…” he unexpectedly turns to you, his countenance sanguine, “do you happen to know?”

you swallow as you ignore the sensation pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“no, i— i do not.”

“i see. well, whatever it might be, it is clear how much it deeply afflicts him,” and giles offers you a small, sad smile. “you know mister benedict; he has always been the most sensitive of the family.”

i do.

i do know benedict.

you clear your throat.

“do you happen to know where eloise and penelope are at this moment?”

giles cocks his head at you but is kind enough (you thank the heavens) not to press your change of topic.

“the last i had seen them, they had spoken of viewing the art gallery. do you know the way?”

“i am unfamiliar.”

he smiles again, and it makes you smile in return.

“then i am most glad to escort you there.”

–

giles opens the doors to the gallery, and ahead, in front of a portrait, you see the turnings of penelope, eloise, and—

“y/n,” he utters.

“benedict,” you breathe.

and he looks just as surprised as you are.

you look to giles, his eyes wide and mouth agape, and then to eloise and penelope. upon seeing their expressions, you feel your eyes narrow.

“ah, penelope!” shouts eloise. everyone else turns to stare at her. “with y/n’s arrival, i must change out of my, my art gallery viewing dress! and— and, into my... drawing room! sitting— dress...”

eloise scrunches her entire face in displeasure, confused by her own poorly concocted excuse. that does nothing to deter her, however, from clamping onto penelope’s wrist and barreling forward towards the doors of the gallery.

“come along, pen!” she calls out to the friend she is pulling right behind her. as they pass you, eloise gives you a strange and strained smile bearing all teeth, and penelope offers apologetic eyes and an encouraging smile.

giles looks to you, to benedict, and to the two escaping ladies. mouth still agape, all he manages is,

“i suppose— i shall see to that— miss bridgerton and miss featherington arrive to miss bridgerton’s bedchamber... safe—ly…?”

he mouths, i’m sorry!, at you before quickly bowing his head at benedict, fleeing the scene with remarkable speed for an elderly man who has recently recovered from illness, and leaving you at the entrance of the art gallery.

closing your eyes, you deeply inhale through your nostrils as you place your hand to the space between your eye and your temple. on your exhale, you wipe your hand hard against the side of your face and open your eyes, whipping your head to look at the second eldest bridgerton brother. it seems that he has been staring at you this entire time, stupid (stunning) ocean eyes and all.

“would you like to paint a picture?” you snark. “you are the artist in the room, and it would certainly last longer. or perhaps you have run out of paper?”

he does not respond, indecipherable expression unchanging, and it unnerves you how guilty you feel at goading him, at taunting him, and he merely takes it. you sigh again and cross the gallery to where he stands. resisting the urge to look at him again, as you feel his gaze still on you, you instead look at the painting ahead of you.

it is a portrait of a gentleman. with dark chestnut hair and mutton chops. he wears a blue jacket, a darker blue vest, a cream cravat, green breeches, and brown boots. a watch on a ribbon hangs from his vest; it looks familiar. he looks familiar. a benevolent smile rests on his lips.

you look at the plaque at the bottom of the gilded frame.

edmund bridgerton, the 8th viscount bridgerton.

you look back up at the painting, captured by a particular feature.

“you have his eyes.”

“his are gray; mine are blue.”

you roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. (you try to ignore the flutterings that bloom upon hearing his voice again.)

“yes, but that’s not what i was referring to. they peer into you— not with scrutiny, nor judgment, but with kindness, curiosity, compassion. an eagerness to learn about you. pools of welcoming. cool tones that radiate warmth.”

you cough, ripping your eyes away from the portrait to inspect the scuffs of your boots. you feel embarrassment spread throughout your entire body as heat creeps up your neck.

“the painter is excellent at their craft. it is as if i know him, your father.”

silence falls in the expansive gallery, the calm and kind eyes of viscount bridgerton looking down upon you and his second eldest.

“i’ve missed you.”

you snap your head up to look at benedict, your eyes making contact with his ocean ones. welcoming and warm. honest and... hopeful?

i’ve missed you, too.

“benedict, it has only been a fortnight since we saw each other last,” you respond aloud, your voice coming out so much softer than you had intended. you offer him a small smile, an olive branch of sorts. something of relief starts to fill his ocean eyes, but his demeanor does not change.

“i behaved arrogantly, and you did not deserve to be the recipient of such behavior. no one does, and i am so— i am so sorry, y/n.”

and you know he is. you resist the urge to touch his cheek, to comfort him with your caress, to selfishly have your skin touch his. instead, you look on at him.

“i do not ask you to grant me your forgiveness; i know i am unworthy of it. i just— i just wanted you to know how i felt, and feel still. and how i shall work on myself to be better, to do better.”

the butterflies in your stomach flutter maddeningly. you emit an exhale from your nostrils. the urge to touch him intensifies, and you feel yourself flex your hand to let go of the sensation. you huff out another breath, and smile brightly, sincerely, at benedict.

“well,” you begin, “with our friendship renewed, care to show me what other paintings you love in this gallery?”

benedict’s ocean eyes beam with relief and joy, a brilliant smile lighting up his face, and it takes all your self-control not to drop all discretion and wrap your arms around him in a crushing embrace.

“i would love nothing more, y/n,” he declares.

you try not to flutter your eyes closed at the words ‘i,’ ‘love,’ and your name in the same breath from benedict’s lips. at the pleasantness and home you feel in them. you smile on.

“where shall we begin, then?”

you and benedict walk together as he approaches a miniature in a wooden frame ornately carved with floral motifs. he admits that he has not the slightest clue which bridgerton ancestor this is, and that makes you snort. grinning, he points out how adeptly the artist portrayed the translucency and fluidity of the lady’s veil and how particularly impressive it must have been to accomplish such effects in paints during the early 1600s, if the remnant dating of the artist’s signature is correct. you remark how particularly impressive it is that a painting has endured two hundred years of existence, details still intact, and benedict responds simply that rich people have a way. that makes you snort again, and that makes benedict grin again.

he then leads you to a portrait of kathani and anthony, the viscountess sat in a chair with the viscount stood behind. you marvel at the painting—how much it looks like them, how much it captures kathani’s confidence, how much it captures anthony’s conviction, how much it captures their love. excitement coloring his voice, benedict imparts to you how he was given the opportunity to observe and assist the painter on the days the latter was commissioned to portray the viscountess and the viscount. he also shares with you how impossibly difficult they were as models, always giggling and kissing and looking away from the painter and talking to one another, being overall sickeningly saccharine. you chortle and share with him how that does not surprise you in the least bit. despite his annoyance upon recalling the memory, an incredibly fond smile rests on benedict’s lips. turning from his lips back to the painting, you remark how in love they are, and he remarks that, indeed, they very much are—and turns his fond smile from the painting to you.

coughing, you walk over and ask about the landscape of an enormous building. benedict names it as aubrey hall, the ancestral home of the bridgertons. you recall how you had heard of it early on in your friendship with the bridgertons; you had been unable to see them one week as they were preparing for kathani’s first ball as viscountess at the home. you also recall how the usually collected and confident kathani was anxious and uncertain during that time. benedict, beaming with pride, says how, of course, she absolutely excelled and how all of the ton—he rolls his eyes then and you guffaw—enjoyed themselves at the event. while kathani had done an unsurprisingly resplendent job, the ball was not very entertaining to benedict. he much more enjoyed the annual bridgerton game of pall mall leading up to the event. after announcing how kathani had won—much to the contradictory disappointment and delight of her husband—and answering your questions about what sounds, to you, like a very silly, very fun game, benedict suggests that you join them next year. you laugh, finding it impossible to imagine yourself at a home such as aubrey hall, particularly for the entirety of three days, but your heart swells at the invitation and the sincerity in his voice, and you say aloud how you would love nothing more.

your spontaneous tour eventually comes to an end, and the two of you make your way towards the entrance, still discussing the various art you had seen. as you and benedict walk out of the gallery, a thought crosses your mind.

“none of your work is on display.”

you notice how benedict stiffens. you feel your smile tug into a frown.

“ah, yes. i do not think my work is— up to snuff— with the work on display here.”

“horse shit.”

benedict’s jaw drops, his face aghast and regaled in reaction to what you assume is your choice of language. you merely shrug.

“you have not even seen my work!”

“i do not need to see your work when i can already see how harsh you are being.”

he scoffs, and it aggravates you.

“fine— i will show you, then, and prove to you my point.”

“fine, then! show me, and i will prove to you my point!”

–

“you are full of horse shit!”

you and benedict are in his bedchamber, where all his works are hidden away. he has shown you canvas after canvas, sketch after sketch, charcoal drawing after charcoal drawing, his palette of color ideas— and he still has the audacity to say that his work is not “up to snuff” for the bridgerton gallery.

benedict looks aghast again, perhaps by your language, perhaps by what you are (very rightly, very correctly) insisting. he shakes the canvas that he holds in his hand in your face.

“look at the proportions, y/n! they are entirely off!”

you roll your eyes, swatting his arm away, and begin to rummage through his other work. you pull a sheet and hold it up to benedict’s face.

“look at this sketch, then look at the canvas. there is a very clear, marked improvement, and with only a—” you look at the dates at the bottom right corners for confirmation, “—a difference of two days!”

“what does ‘improvement’ mean if the improvement is not even good!”

“it is good! and! improvement is everything, benedict! it is progress!”

“what—”

you and benedict jump back from one another by the sudden new voice. you had not realized how close the two of you were as you were shouting at one another, how close your faces were to one another, how close your lips were to—

a blazing heat creeps up your neck, at the tip of your ears, and across your cheeks as you turn from benedict’s flustered face to the scowl of the eldest bridgerton sibling in the doorway.

“—are the two of you doing?”

“brother! i— i was merely showing y/n my work.”

you vigorously nod your head. anthony’s glare remains unaffected.

“alone? together? in your bedchamber?”

your heart almost leaps out of your chest, your eyes about to bulge out of their sockets as you look around the room, suddenly aware of where you are. you are in benedict’s bedchamber. alone. together.

“i—” you start, very pathetically. “i—— we—”

anthony curtly bows his head at you.

“y/n, i would like to have a word with my brother. in private. please.”

“of— of course, right— of course!”

you hastily put the sketch on a nearby table and walk towards the door, pass anthony as he steps in, and are about to run down the hall and away from the scene when—

you turn and steal a glance at benedict, mustering up all the apologies you can convey through your eyes. despite the peril of his current predicament, his ocean eyes soften immediately, and a thousand butterflies erupt in your stomach and flutter around viciously. he offers you a slight smile, one that is sincere and unregretful. you offer one back, just as sincere, just as unregretful, before anthony gives you another bow of his head and closes the door.

–

“are you pleased by the results of your consorted trickery?” you state blandly upon seeing the young ladies that you thought were your friends sitting in the drawing room.

eloise looks up from her pamphlet, beaming at you, as penelope wears a wide and proud smile. well, at least they have answered your question.

“trickery?” eloise feigns. you roll your eyes; their expressions answer honestly, but their words continue their game. “i have no idea what you are referring to. pen and i were merely keen on viewing the art gallery today, and i thought, my blue-deviled of an elder brother ought to stop moping about; what better to get him to leave his bedchamber than by way of his favorite topic?”

“and his other favorite topic,” penelope adds. eloise chortles, and you feel the tips of your ears heat.

“what is that supposed to mean!”

eloise waves a dismissive hand at you.

“benedict knew nothing of your arrival, as i am sure you deduced by his surprise,” but the second eldest daughter grins wickedly. “though, from the sheer amount of time you have spent together thus far today, i am also sure the surprise was very welcomed, indeed.”

“by both parties, it seems.”

you promptly ignore the flush you feel on the apples of your cheeks. your friends are lucifer incarnate split into two.

“well, then you must be delighted to know that your shared plot has led to punitive action against him.”

that surprises them. (good. you are relieved to finally have some sort of an upperhand in this conversation.)

“‘punitive action’? by whom? for what?”

“by—”

the three of you hear a set of footsteps. you look to where the sounds are heard and see the two eldest bridgerton siblings enter the drawing room, the elder approaching you with conviction and the younger trailing behind him like a pet that has just been reprimanded. the sight would make you laugh, if you weren’t the one to have instigated the current conflict between the two brothers.

anthony stands before you, posture perfect and chin held up high.

“y/n, thank you for your patience. please allow me to apologize most ardently on behalf of my brother for his complete and utter lack of propriety. it will not happen again as i shall be more vigilant in tracking his every deed. i do hope this incident of my brother’s disrespect does not taint the beloved friendship between you and our family.”

and he deeply bows his head at you.

your jaw drops. benedict shuts his eyes tight and scrunches his face. penelope bops her gaze amongst the three of you. and eloise just howls, causing anthony to break the gravitas of his decorum and shoot a glare at her.

“it is no laughing matter, eloise!”

“it is harmless fun, brother! a pursuit of intellect exchanged between two creatives, who also happened to be by themselves. i have never heard of a baby being conceived from sharing some art.”

“ELOISE BRIDGERTON!”

you have now entirely hidden your face behind your hands; no one needs to witness the deep crimson that you are certain is spreading very rapidly across your countenance. an absurd hope also blooms in you that if you cannot see the others, then the others cannot see you.

“what ever is the matter in here?”

your eyes shoot open upon hearing the much needed voice of reason. removing your hands from your face, you see kathani enter the drawing room, a confused expression worn on her face.

“my dearest,” anthony begins, “i have offered my deepest apologies to y/n for benedict’s disgrace.”

“disgrace,” scoffs eloise, crossing her arms.

“disgrace!” reiterates anthony with increased fervor. kathani’s confusion does not lighten. she looks to benedict, whose eyes are scrunched closed again (his nose looks adorable this way), and then to you.

“are you all right, y/n?” she inquires gently.

“i—” you had intended to say, am well, but that would be a lie. you are utterly mortified. so, instead, you state the truth.

“benedict has been a gentleman. he has treated me with the utmost respect, and when he has done wrong by me— which! which has nothing to do with our being in his bedchamber!— he—” you steady your voice, determined to say this right, as you know and feel it with and in your heart, “he has corrected himself and bettered his words and thoughts and deeds.”

“you hear that, brother? no harm has been done.”

“eloise, you were not even there!”

“i believe what eloise means, anbe, is that you are being dramatic.”

“dramat— they were in his bedchamber, kathani! together! alone!”

kathani rolls her eyes, her attempt at diplomacy entirely gone.

“speak louder, anthony; just a bit more and the entire country shall hear you.”

the viscount pouts grumpily at his beloved, emitting a huff of air through his nostrils.

“you must trust y/n by her word,” the viscountess states.

“or do you not trust someone of feminine disposition to speak for herself?” eloise inquires.

“pen!”

you all snap your gazes to the entrance of the drawing room and see colin making his way to your friend in blue, followed by—

“y/n!” shouts gregory and hyacinth as they run towards you.

“y/n, penelope!” remarks violet and approaches you both. “how delightful it is to see you! you—” she says, reaching out for your hand, gently taking it in hers, and smiling kindly at you, “—in particular. it has been a moment, y/n.”

it melts your heart, really. the sincerity of affection that flows so easily from violet bridgerton. you recall the kind eyes and benevolent smile of her late husband. it is no wonder you so easily fell in love with this family; true, real love is woven into the very fabrics of each of their beings.

you look at them. hyacinth and gregory cling onto your slides, holding you tight. kathani and anthony are engrossed in debate, affection in their eyes despite the heat in their words. colin and penelope speak with and blush around one another as eloise, unknowingly (and, in your opinion, frustratingly, endearingly), butts into their conversation. and benedict. who, with the gaze of the entire room no longer on his so-called indiscretion, is looking at you. softly. with those damned, wondrous, bewitching ocean eyes. a smile on his lips that makes the flutterings in your stomach unbearingly, wonderfully unyielding.

you truly, really love this family.

you love the bridgertons.

“though,” the dowager viscountess starts.

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you see how violet looks at the others in the room as half of them now pointedly avoid eye contact with the matriarch and the other half share a similar sentiment to her.

“is everything all right?” she turns to you, peering curiously into your eyes. “has something happened?”

you cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of you. violet seems taken aback by your reaction, as are the others in your periphery, but her eyes, as well as theirs, shine on.

“i think,” you say, smiling, “it is just another day with the bridgertons.”

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ccsainzleclerc5516 · 2 months

Text

This Is Where You Stand With Me (part 3)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: none

Part 2 here

Y/N's pov

We flew to Spain ten days before the Grand Prix. Carlos wanted to introduce Sophie to his family, and since his family is in Madrid, the two of them decided to go there for two days.

It's Friday night in Barcelona and Lando asked me if I wanted to go out with him and the boys. Of course I agreed because I don't plan on being in the hotel room until Sophie and Carlos come back. Since Lando is the only person with whom I am closest, I asked him to wait for me so that we go to the club together. And him being the sweetheart that he is he agreed to wait for me.

A few minutes after I replied to his text, here he is knocking on the door of my hotel room.

"Give me a second!" I yell as I quickly throw on an oversized t shirt and some shorts on myself.

"Hello!" I smile from ear to ear and tilt my head to the side as I open the door for him.

"Y/n!" He shouts. "Your hair is wet and still in a towel! You haven't even started getting ready yet!!" He scolds me as he enters my room.

"Well I told you I just got out of the shower! But don't worry I usually don't take long to get ready." I assure him.

"Yeah, yeah sure. We'll see." He rolls his eyes as he throws himself on my bed.

"If your shoes touch my sheets, you're going to have a problem with me." I warn him and he laughs at my threats, but listens to me and takes off his shoes.

"By the way you look very handsome." I compliment him. He was wearing a short-sleeved white linen shirt and loose, but not too loose, light blue washed jeans. And of course two necklaces around his neck that fit him so well.

"Thank you, now please start getting ready so we can see what you'll look like."

"So? How do I look?" I ask him 45 minutes later as I pose in front of him.

"I-I.." He looks stunned, measuring me from head to toe with his mouth open. He's never seen me dressed up like this before and I must say I'm flattered by his reaction.

"I hope that's a good sign?"

"I'm sorry." He laughs nervously. "You left me speechless, you look beautiful."

"Thank you Lando." I blush at his compliment.

"Shall we go?" He asks extending his arm for me.

"Be sure I'll hold your hand until we get there because I don't wear heels very often."

"As long as you'd like."

It was around 10.30 p.m. when Lando and I arrived in front of the club. We didn't get out of the car right away because there was a bunch of paparazzi in front of the club and I was slowly starting to get anxious. I didn't feel comfortable being photographed and ending up all over the internet the next day just because I came with Lando. I didn't feel very safe either, and I surely didn't want them to spread any rumors about Lando and me.

"Are you okay?" Lando asks me because he noticed that I was squirming in the seat and breathing rapidly.

"Yeah, I'm just, I'm a little nervous. There's a lot of them." I say biting on my lower lip and he puts his hand over mine.

"Just hold onto me and we'll be inside in a few seconds okay?" He says and I nod.

"Okay."

The driver opened the door for us and Lando got out of the car first. As soon as he stepped out of the car people started shouting his name and the camera flashes went off like crazy. For a moment I thought about not getting out of the car at all but asking the driver to take me back to the hotel, but luckily the desire to have a good time was stronger than that.

"You okay?" Lando was so sweet checking up on me.

"Yeah, let's go."

I climb out of the car and keep my gaze down holding Lando's hand tightly with one hand and trying to cover my face with the other. It definitely looked like we were a couple and that's why the paparazzi immediately began to bombard him with questions.

"Lando who is this? Is this your new girlfirend?"

"What's her name?"

"Look over here! You two look great together!"

At that moment I didn't care about the questions or the comments, I only cared about whether I would trip and fall in my heels in front of all those cameras. About thirty seconds later, which by the way felt like 30 minutes, we finally got inside the club.

"I must say you've got a pretty tight grip." Lando says and I can't help but laugh at his comment.

"I'm sorry." I try to pull out my hand from his, but he doesn't let go.

"I don't mind though."

And so we continued to make our way through the crowd of people until we reached the VIP section with a booth where Pierre, Kika, Max and Charles were. As Lando and I got closer I felt that all eyes were on us. Before my and Charles' eyes briefly met, I caught him scanning Lando and me and looking at our hands. I wasn't surprised when I saw that Ava wasn't with them.

"Hello, guys." Lando greets them and I give Kika a hug.

"Hi!" I wave my hand and everybody but Charles, of course, greets me back.

The night went great, we danced, we sang, we drank, some of us maybe a little too much, but that's okay.

At one point we all left the booth and went down into the crowd to dance. That was by far my favorite part of the night. I was so relaxed and careless I enjoyed every second of it.

Lando was dancing with me, he'd spin me around every now and then while we were singing to spanish songs from the top of our lungs even though we didn't understand a single word. If only Sophie and Carlos were here, I'm sure it would have been even better.

"Are you having a good time?" Lando slurs. Out of all of us he drank the most and it was very obvious that he was wasted.

"You're so drunk." I laugh. I was a bit tipsy, but I knew when to stop drinking because I didn't want to get drunk. He ignored my observation that he was drunk and continued to bring drinks.

"Lando, you should really stop. You've had enough."

"Nooo." Whining like a baby, he pulls me into a hug and rests his head in the crook of my neck leaning his weight on me. You could see it was time to go to the hotel because his eyes were closing from tiredness. He could barely stand on his feet.

"Lando, your're heavy, we're both gonna fall down. Stand up straight please!" I say struggling to somehow hold him so he doesn't fall and brings me down with him.

"You're gonna knock her down you idiot." Luckily, Charles noticed the situation and pulled Lando off of me. "C'mon it's time to leave." He says to Lando who protested a little, but listened to Charles anyway.

"I'll help you with him." I say and we start making our way to the exit.

A car was already waiting for us in front of the club, so all three of us sat in the back seats, Lando between Charles and me. As soon as he sat down, he fell asleep. My feet were killing me and I couldn't wait to go to sleep, and Charles seemed tired as well. I'd say he was a little tipsy too, but nowhere near as Lando. He definitely outdid us all tonight.

Charles and i haven't spoken a word tonight and I didn't want to be the one to start any conversation in the car so the ride was quiet, but luckily short. When we got to the hotel, first Charles got out of the car, then I.

"Lando, wake up." I say gently shaking him by his shoulder. He just mumbled something refusing to get out.

"I would prefer leaving him in the car to sleep since he had to drink this much." Charles says getting annoyed at him. "Lando, wake the fuck up or I'm gonna leave you here."

When we somehow managed to get him out of the car, I held him by one side and Charles by the other and so we started to walk to the elevator. We entered the elevator and I pressed the fifth floor on which Lando's room was and mine was on the floor below.

"Does he normally drink like this when you guys go out?" I ask.

"Not really, this is the first time I've seen him like this in a long time." Charles replies.

"Really?"

"Yeah, maybe you are a bad influence on him." Charles says, but I can't tell if he was joking or what he already meant by what he said.

"Yeah, sure." I roll my eyes at him.

When we reached Lando's room, we barely managed to find the card in his pants that unlocks the room. I was a little surprised, but relieved that he didn't lose it. We get inside the room and lay him down on the bed.

"Fuck, I'm sweating." Charles says while stretching his back.

"Should we just leave him like this?" I ask referring to his clothes and shoes.

"Well, I don't know. Aren't you gonna take care of him tonight? I bet you were gonna spend the night in his room anyway." As the words leave his mouth, I feel as if someone has knocked the breath out of my lungs. I was shocked at what he said.

"Excuse me?" I was immediately overcome with anger and the alcohol coursing through my veins definitely contributed to that feeling. "How dare you say such a thing to me? Who gives you the right to insult me like that? You don't know shit about me!" At this point I was almost yelling and I didn't care about Lando sleeping because he was passed out anyway he couldn't hear a thing.

"Well you two came holding hands, he was all over you the whole night hugging you and dancing with you. What else can a person think?"

"Lando is nothing but a good friend to me and someone who I trust and feel safe next to when I'm here alone without Sophie and Carlos! And I don't look at him as anything other than a friend!" I continue to justify myself to Charles for some unknown reason.

"And you don't trust me enough to ask me if you need anything while they're gone?" He asks and I just can't believe what's coming out of his mouth. For a moment I wonder if I'm crazy or if he is.

"Are you seriously asking me this right now? How do you think I trust you or even feel comfortable in your company when you constantly treat me like this? Ever since we met, I've been nothing but polite and nice to you and you just keep putting me down for literally no reason! One minute you are nice, attentive and caring and funny and then the next you have some unnecessary rude comment to say to me, or you don't even deign to greet me, or even better you don't even acknowledge my existence! You're so pathetic Charles! I had such a good night, but you managed to ruin it, congratulations!" I almost run out of breath after my angry rant and I can already feel tears welling up in my eyes, but he got what he deserved.

"Why do you seem to remember so good all those situations? Why do they bother you so much if you don't care, huh?" He asks taking a step closer to me. I am irritated by his calmness while everything inside me is burning with anger.

"I don't know maybe because I'm a good fucking person who doesn't treat other people the way you do so I don't except to be treated that way from you either if I've been nothing but kind to you! And you know what else? I keep thinking how badly your girlfriend treats you because she isn't there to support you when you need her. I felt so bad for you for the Monaco Grand Prix, I even wished to comfort you when she wasn't there to. But the further I go, the more I think that maybe you are the problem, not her." I turn on my heel and head for the door, a tear escaping my eye in the process. I was fighting them back really hard and I'm furious at myself for letting him make me feel this way.

I leave the room, but he follows me outside and stops me by pulling me by my hand.

"Wait." He says.

"No, don't touch me!" I say yanking it away from his grip.

"Then why weren't you there for me instead of her if you wished to?"

"Because of all the things I just said. And why don't you start giving some answers instead of just asking questions?" With that I leave him standing in the corridor of the hotel as I hurry to the elevator and into my room.

part 4 here

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lambsouvlaki · 8 months

Text

His Heart (Dad!Jason AU)

Character: Jason Todd x civilian! Fem!oc

Rating and Warnings: G, no warnings, besides sappiness.

Word Count: 1,390

Summary: Jason comes back from a years long mission in space, and finds out he's a dad.

Masterlist

Jason stepped into the JLA Watchtower. Earth glowed, vast, blue, and beautiful, through the giant windows. It had been almost two years since he saw it. Dorothy knew what she was on about, there really was no place like home.

He was so sick of sleeping alone in his bunk. Andy had just moved into his apartment when he got swept away, and it had just started to feel really right.

Dick stood in the otherwise empty airlock in civvies. The furrow on his forehead was a little deeper than it had been last time, but his smile was just as wide and genuine.

He stepped forward and wrapped Jason up in a hug. Jason hugged his brother back, far beyond pretending at coldness. Space was cold enough, and the two years on the front lines had taken their toll on him.

“I wasn’t expecting a welcome party,” he said as they pulled back.

“What were you expecting?”

“I dunno,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Maybe a giant spray painted sign saying ‘And don’t come back!’”

Dick laughed. “Sure, if we wanted to see how long it’d take you to break into the tower.”

“Three minutes.”

“Well, you’re tired, we wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Jason scoffed. “I missed you, you asshole.”

Dick flashed his winning smile. “So now what? I only saw your arrival by chance. Do you have plans?”

“Not really. I’ll probably slink home, see if it's still standing. See if Andy still… wants anything to do with me.”

Dick blinked, his expression going blank.

Jason’s heart clenched. Was there just an empty apartment waiting for him with a note that had been collecting dust for eighteen months? It would be exactly what he deserved, he thought with a bitter twist of his lips.

“I guess I’ll settle in for a couple of days then go find her,” he said. Maybe just messaging her would be kinder? No, he was going to look her in the eye, even if it was just to say goodbye.

“Don’t do that,” Dick said. He touched Jason’s shoulders urgently. “Go straight to her. I’ll take you, we’re going now. She deserves that much.” He turned and hurried through the hallways towards the zeta tubes.

“Whoa, what? What are you talking about?” Jason caught up to him, grabbed his arm and dragged him back to a halt. “What’s happened?”

“Look, it’s not really my place to say.”

“You’re freaking me out, Dick,” he growled. “What, is she dying?”

“No! No, Jason, she… she’s had a baby. Your baby.”

For a moment the world stopped. The rotation of the vast planet out the window surely halted, same as the beat of his heart.

“What?” Jason rasped.

“Sophie. She turned one a few months back.”

“She’s my–? Oh. Oh fuck.”

The world rebooted, spinning anew but the axis had moved. Jason leaned hard against the wall. “Sophie,” he whispered.

Dick patted him on the shoulder. “Congratulations, by the way. For a year ago.”

Jason laughed, frantic and broken.

“Do you need a moment?” Dick offered. “We can go sit and–”

“No.” Jason pulled himself up. He marched towards the zeta tubes. “We’re going now. Straight to Andy and my– my daughter. Is she… how is she? Are they okay? Did the family help out?”

“Of course, Jay. That little girl has a whole circus’ worth of aunts and uncles who love her to bits. And a doting grandfather and great grandfather who spoil her rotten.”

He hung his head as they reached the platform. “I should have been there. I should have been there. What kind of deadbeat am I?”

“Save that for Andy.”

“Yeah.”

---

They drove from the manor to the apartment by the river overlooking the Narrows. It was the same one he and Andy had shared for that halcyon four months before duty came calling.

Dick dropped him off downstairs, saying he didn’t want to intrude but demanded Jason call him when he was settled in to plan some kind of family night. Jason didn’t hear a word of it.

He made it to the apartment door without registering any of it. He dropped his bag of gear.

He knocked.

“Coming!” Andy’s voice called. Faint music was drifting out through the walls, something upbeat and light. The door opened, letting in noonday light to the dark hallway, shining around a smiling Andy. She was in loose workout clothes that were stained on the shoulders. She wore no makeup and her hair was up in a bun on top of her head, and her skin had a light sheen of sweat.

Her expression stuttered at the sight of him.

He had no words.

“Jason?”

He surged forward. She met him halfway. Her arms wrapped around him as tight as his did around her, and it felt more right than anything ever had before.

He managed to get her name out, before he kissed her. Her hand grazed his cheek so tenderly.

He pulled back and looked into her eyes. Had there ever been anything so beautiful?

“Jason, I have to tell you,” she said, putting a hand on his chest. “While you were gone, I…”

“I know. Dick told me.” He looked around the entryway. Even if Dick hadn’t said a word the folded up pram, the tiny raincoat, and the row of little shoes would give the game away. The furniture had seen a change too, most things had been moved higher up.

His eyes caught on the shoes. They were so small. He couldn’t help his smile.

“Where is she?” he asked.

“Gaa,” a high pitched voice rang out from the living room.

Andy’s lips quirked.

Soft, slow footfalls patted on the hard flooring, heralding the new arrival.

He stepped forward, out of the still open doorway.

And a little girl toddled into view. She was wobbly but her face was fixed into a determined pout. She stuck her nappy-wrapped bum out for balance, and held her arms cautiously forwards. She wore a single sock and a yellow dress.

Jason’s heart relocated itself. It no longer lived in his chest.

She had a wispy halo of black floppy curls and a chubby round face. She stared at him.

He knelt down.

“Sophie, baby girl, this is your daddy. Can you say daddy?”

“Mammy.”

“Daddy,” Andy repeated, her voice wet.

Sophie hummed. She toddled closer, relentless despite some wobbles. She stuck out her lower lip and fixed her eyes to him with absolute determination. He held out his hand. She reached back, closer with every step.

Jason held his breath.

Her whole tiny hand wrapped around his crooked index finger. She laughed in triumph and then fell onto her bottom.

“Oom,” she said on impact.

She looked up at him again, actually seeing him now that her quest was complete. Big curious eyes of sparkling blue stared at him.

“Hello,” he said. He offered a shaky smile. His eyes were glassy.

She stared back. She blinked.

“Da.”

His tears fell. “That’s me,” he said.

“Da. Da. Da de da den dayaya,” she babbled and giggled at herself. She lifted her arms at him.

He lifted her gently and held her to his chest. She was so impossibly small. He could feel her heart beat against him, so feverishly fast. But she was calm, quite happy to be held. He curled around the most precious thing in the world. His breath hitched as he tried not to sob.

She hugged him back; chubby little arms wound around his neck. She was so unafraid.

He looked up at Andy. She was smiling down at them through her own tears, her hand held over her mouth.

He stood, lifting his baby up. He held his little girl in one arm and the love of his life in the other. The baby was the only one dry eyed. Andy kissed the downy top of her head. Sophie leaned her head against his chest with a little sigh, safely ensconced between them.

“Uncy?”

“Hn?” he queried.

“No, baby, he’s not an uncle.”

Sophie turned her head back, looking up at him.

“Uncy Da,” she said, like she wasn’t letting them trick her that easy.

He gave an amused snort that almost covered the yawning gulf in his heart. “That’s what I get for not being here.”

“You’ll just have to stick around and convince her otherwise.”

“Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “I will.”

Next>>

#Dad!Jason #kid fic #jason todd #red hood #jason todd x oc #red hood x oc #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #my fanfic #dc #fluff #lots of crying #give that man a baby

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loveallthegays · 6 months

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Karan Brar - How I Found Myself

For years, I had nailed the whole "compartmentalizing" thing and I figured I didn't need to stop then. There was public Karan and private Karan. Both were real, but trying to hold them in one body was proving to be too much. Still, I kept pushing myself until cracks started to form. It all came to a head while I was drunkenly hunched over a toilet bowl, watching my tacos from lunch and several White Claws come back out. I decided that was the best time to come out to Cameron and Sophie.

The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted it. I could barely see straight, but I ended up trying to do some damage control anyway. The best thing I could think of came stumbling out of my mouth:

“If you guys want me to move out I can. Just give me two weeks to figure it ou--”

They interrupted me by hugging me from behind. Again, I told them I should move out. They told me I was being stupid. I told them I’d cover for them if people asked why we didn’t live together anymore. They said to shut the fuck up. I told them that they probably hated me. They said my bisexuality changed nothing for them. Eventually, I lost enough steam to finally go to bed. I was too afraid to sleep on my own so Sophie grabbed a bowl, put it by my side of the bed, and made herself comfortable on the other side. They were both shocked when I came out, not because of my sexual identity, but because I genuinely thought they would want nothing to do with me after I told them. Today I can understand how absurd that was — Soph and Cam had been my best friends for years and loved me every step of the way. Why in the world would they stop then? I think I just convinced myself that this part of me would feel less like an invitation to know me better and more like a burden they had to endure.

The next morning, we reconvened in the living room and even in my sober state, I tried to give them one more opportunity to accept my offer to move out. Living together had been a childhood dream of ours, but a voice inside of me kept shouting that I had just ruined the beginning of a beautiful chapter. To no one's surprise, Cameron interrupted me once again, while Sophie tried to hide her frustrations because I refused to listen to what they had to say.

This was the first time in years that I wasn’t hiding anything from them; instead, they were seeing the most authentic version of me. I finally gave up and accepted that they loved me as I am, as I’ve been, and as I’m going to be. This was a crisp picture of what unconditional love looked like: my two best friends sitting across from me on a discount couch, waiting to hear me describe my type so they could take on their new roles as matchmakers. They weren’t going anywhere.

#karan brar #cameron boyce

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suffering-and-happy-about-it · 6 months

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Yo listen. Most of y’all don’t realize how fucking wild the difference between Howl’s Moving Castle (Diane Wynne Jones, 1986) and Howl’s Moving Castle (2004, Studio Ghibli) is.

Dramatic recreation:

Movie Howl: Teehee, a new cleaning lady? Cool! I see you’re cursed but bet we can deal with that. In the meantime, wouldn’t you happen to know what in the hell happened in my bathroom? Did you try to ruin my life or smth? Ah well, I look better this way anyway.

Book Howl: BEGONE FROM MY SPIDERS YOU FAUL HAG. I don’t do crack, I am the crack, Methany. Now excuse me, while you and Michael will attempt to solve stuff I should be dealing with, Imma do my best to bang Sophie’s sister. BUT IF I COME BACK AND FIGURE YOU HAD TOUCHED MY STUFF SOPHIE I SWEAR ON THE POWER OF TEN THOUSAND CRACKHEADS-

On the other hand… Sophie is like:

Movie Sophie: Ah, so this is the infamous castle… I’ll just clean up… Wait, that Howl guy I’ve heard so many stories about… He’s actually nice and attentive in his own way… I’m in love.

Book Sophie: BICH WHAT DO YOU NEED THEM SPIDERS FOR ANYWAY!? YOU ARE TRYING TO DO WHAT TO WHOM? COME CATCH THESE HANDS I SWEAR TO GOD…. Now that he’s gone, I’ll look for the hearts he’s feasting on, I know that son of a gun has them stashed away somewhere. Whooping ass can wait a bit, I need my elderly beauty nap and I need it now.

Meanwhile Michael and Calcifer are still living thic-ass legends and I can’t appreciate them enough.

Bonus for those who read the book:

Someone: Is your man possessed by a fire demon?

Sophie: No, he’s just British.

#howl's moving castle #howl pendragon #sophie hatter #calcifer the demon #michael fisher #the book just took the story to 11 #holy shit it’s so good #it makes me laugh out loud

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ohmyeyesmyeyes · 8 months

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take 2

nico hischier x actress!f!reader

fc: sophie turner

warnings: swearing

liked by treaclychild, landonorris and 840,971 others

ynofficial: i heart nj

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claudiasulewski: first

maya_henry: mother is mothering

user1: WHO IS COWBOY

ynofficial: you mean you haven't heard 'cowboy like me'?

user2: what of nico?????

user3: DID HE SLIDE INTO UR DMS

taylorswift: i heart u

liked by ynofficial

user4: POV you came from deuxmoi's blind item 👀

user5: oui

ayoedebiri: ur pretty

jackhughes: yo

user6: no

user7: this is the wrong nj player commenting, i forbit it

user8: jack baby snap out of it

user9: only y/n could get the captain to wink at her and the social media heartthrob to comment on her ig

user10: ✨✨✨ BEST BELIEVE I'M STILL BEJEWELED ✨✨✨

liked by ynoffocial

liked by user11 and 78,186 others

deuxmoi: there were a few blind items submitted relating to the same A lister and athlete, and others also hinted at said sports star's respected status in the city, and his private nature, thus the lack of photos from the night

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user11: LOVING HIM WAS REDDDDD

user12: no bc i ship it so hard

user13: there's absolutely zero way that they're not talking about y/n and nico 😭

user14: in y/n's recent post she was wearing a sparkly star dress too

user15: me bc nico won't be protected from all the y/n girlies anymore: 😢😢

user16: THEY MOVE FAST IF THIS IS TRUE

user17: okay but my thinking is that they knew each other prior to the hockey game???

user18: RIGHT???

user19: THERE WAS SOMETHING ABOUT THE WAY HE KNEW WHERE SHE WAS SITTING THERE'S NO WAY A HOCKEY PLAYER CAN PINPOINT SOMEONE'S SEAT THAT QUICK UNLESS THEY ALREADY KNEW WHERE THEY WERE SITTING

nicohischier posted to their story...

liked by 138,017 others

hockeygossip: LATE ARRIVAL FOR Y/N L/N TO NASHVILLE HOCKEY AWARDS 2023. PICTURED WITH DEVILS HOCKEY CAPTAIN NICO HISCHIER MOMENTS AFTER HER LATE ARRIVAL.

comments for this post are turned off

liked by nicohischier, joejonas and 1,004,013 others

ynofficial: because the first launch failed ☺️

📸: nicohischier ❤️

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user21: IT'S HAPPENING IT'S HAPPENING EVERYBODY STAY CALM

user22: [tyres screech] [distant crash] [sirens] [crying] [heartbeat monitor]

user23: AHHHAH AHHAA HAHA *faints*

user24: he's taking a photo of her 😭

user25: the way she's looking at him and his concentration 😭

user26: your honour they're in love

user27: YOU MEAN TO TELL ME THE GAME THING WAS THE INITIAL HARD LAUNCH BUT WE ALL MISINTERPRETED IT???

ynofficial: ...yes

user28: WE'RE DUMB WE APOLOGISE

jackhughes: this is cute

nicohischier: can i get your number?

ynofficial: sure, it's #13

nicohischier: 😲😲

user29: you know it's SERIOUS bc she's never been ig official before

user30: fr she didn't even post callum mf turner, if i was her i'd have been yelling from the rooftops

user31: SHE SAID ALL THAT ABOUT HIM IN AN INTERVIEW OH MY GOD I'M DYING

user33: 'he's patient, kind, intelligent, calm, and just a really beautiful soul' I BELIEVED IN YOU NICO ALL THIS TIME

user34: nico fans are really winning here

user35: SHE MADE IT FOR THE END OF THE AWARDS

user36: but that pap photo from instagram? the way they were looking at each other has me in my own puddle of tears in a nest of already used tissues bc they're adorable

user37: that photo single-handedly instilled in me the belief that love does exist

user38: they're my 'don't take risks on dangerous roads' couple now

liked by ynofficial, jesperbratt and 519,195 others

nicohischier: it's come to my attention that there's been a lot of talk about my relationship lately, and i just wanted to come on here and confirm that i am batshit crazy for this woman, and pathetically in love with her. so, yes, the rumours are true 😊

ps i have the dad seal of approval

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jackhughes: first

john.marino97: whipped

nicohischier: yep 💪

jackhughes: why are you ignoring me

nicohischier: because you haven't said anything worth commenting on

ynofficial: i'm a sports watcher for you

nicohischier: appreciate it, thanks

ynofficial: you're welcome

user39: i think i love this awkward conversing

user40: it's my aspiration in life to have that

lhughes_06: happy for you, cap 😁

jackhughes: *cough* suck up *cough*

tmeier96: ABOUT DAMN TIME 👏👏

ynofficial: you can rip that NDA up now

tmeier96: i might frame it for sentimental purposes

ynofficial: really?

nicohischier: that's suspicious

siegenthaler34: in my defence i did try my best with the jumbotron incident

nicohischier: and we're very thankful for that

ynofficial: if anything it helped thicken the plot 😂

siegenthaler34: it was pretty funny

user41: THE y/n l/n being the captain's wag wasn't on my bingo card for this year

nicohischier: you and me both

ynofficial: please, i was a goner from the very SECOND you smiled

nicohischier: the very second? 😏

ynofficial: stfu and bring the coffee

nicohischier: as you wish

+ BONUS: Spittin Chiclets Podcast

#nico hischier x reader #nico hischier oneshot #nico hischier imagine #nico hischier social media au #nhl fic #nhl imagine #hockey fic #hockey imagine

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jackoshadows · 3 months

Text

So I was browsing the Jon Snow tag and

What's going on?

Oh Sophie Turner and Kit Harington are going to be in a film produced by Turner. Looks like they don't have much else going on. Which seems to have excited all the Jonsas who want to see these two together.

As everyone knows, Jonsa has pretty much been about the actors playing these characters for the shippers and the worst frigging thing has been the mental gymnastics and bending over backwards to shove this crackship into the books, working backwards to come up with the most absurd, farcical theories.

Like this:

The way the entire Jonsa ship is based on Jon and Arya's relationship lol.

It had been so long since he had last seen Arya. What would she look like now? Would he even know her? Arya Underfoot. Her face was always dirty. Would she still have that little sword he'd had Mikken forge for her? Stick them with the pointy end, he'd told her. Wisdom for her wedding night if half of what he heard of Ramsay Snow was true. Bring her home, Mance. I saved your son from Melisandre, and now I am about to save four thousand of your free folk. You owe me this one little girl. - Jon, ADwD

How are these shippers able to lie and say nonsense like Jon and Sansa are each other's home? HOW?!

Prince and pauper? What the fuck? How is Jon a pauper?

Jon is not even an itty bitty part of Sansa's life. Why is he getting singled out as being a 'man in her life'?

First love? WTF?

Beauty and beast? How the fuck is Jon Snow a beast?

Kissing cousins? 🤮🤮🤮

Power couple?! When Danaerys is right there! When Arya is right there! When Jon and Val are actually working together! When the most Sansa has achieved till date is get SweetRobin to eat his dinner?

Someone pretending to have read the books and writing crap, badly written fanfiction!

#anti Jonsa #wtf

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liketwoswansinbalance · 4 months

Text

Round IV of an Excerpt from The One True School Master of Vault 41

Let’s just say I was inspired by Soman’s short story, “The Prince’s Club.”

⸻

“Yes,” she reasserted. “You’re dead. I know it. I’ve proved it again and again, every single time I’ve doubted it. Just because my senses are telling me you’re real doesn’t mean I can trust them or you. This hallucination will not undermine the truth. You can’t exist. You only exist in my head. You’re a product of my mind.”

Rafal decided to defer to her for the time being. “Well then, while I'm still here, as long as I last, for my temporary stay in… your head, why argue? Why not make the most of the time we have? And, why bother to send me away? Am I not fit to hold a simple conversation with you?”

“You inhabit my dreams and nightmares,” she scorched. “That’s it! I’m still not awake.”

“Really? What is it that you dream of, when you dream of me?”

“Ah, well… it usually vacillates between you kissing me and me killing you,” Sophie confided.

“What else? Go on,” Rafal prompted, treading lightly. “ I want to know.”

Sophie hesitated. “All right.” She looked away from him, and began her recitation.

“There have been others, far more bizarre ones, I suppose. Er, in one, I refused your ring and you jumped to your death. You’ve fed me to Stymphs, you’ve imprisoned me in an enormous bird cage, you’ve chained me to the ground by my ankles, and I don’t know why, it was not the worse one by far, but I wept, and you told me to shut up because you had a migraine. I kept sobbing, and finally, you handed me a pike and told me to run you through the head because you couldn’t take it anymore. You’ve driven a letter opener through my throat because you weren’t having enough reading my mind as it was and thought you could pry open my vocal cords and cut out my tongue. You’ve… ahem, taken me down with a literal scythe, you’ve flown me into the center of the sun… and uh, you’ve serenaded me with a lute while wearing these horrendously obsequious pantaloons. I was wearing a lovely, lavender hennin, decked with tulle in that one. Some of my classmates pelted you with spoiled fruit. And, in another, I stood by while Tedros carved out your eyes and then turned you into a stone statue for Merlin's Menagerie. I cleaved off your ears because you hadn’t listened to me about getting a haircut. Agatha did not partake in your mutilation, but she did cheer exuberantly. Can’t blame her though—it wasn’t the real Agatha. Then, I planted a pomegranate tree in your honor. That nightmare was rather lurid. It still haunts me. Come to think of it, your hair does fall into your eyes. I think it would look better if it hit a bit higher above your brows. Yet another time, you were unspeakably upset for no particular reason, stamped your foot until you opened a rift in the ground, tore yourself into two like you were made of gingerbread, and then, the split parts fell through the earth. I was also mad because you’d eaten the honeycomb for one of my beauty routines, but I didn’t get upset like you did,” she accused. “Another night, I tied you to a bedpost and gagged you with a satin pincushion. You looked quite comical, but wouldn’t stop mumbling. My nails were bloody and I had torn cuticles for some reason. I think you ruined my manicure. And all the Old villains and the New students besieged you and got a good whack in while you were restrained, and the whole bed frame creaked until the bed collapsed on itself. You’d broken free from the binds, splintering the wood. You blew them to ashes. Then, you put me in a glass bauble. Everything looked colorful and distorted, and I think I must’ve died of suffocation because I don’t seem to recall the rest. One night, we sat atop the framework of a gallows where the waxen corpses were still strung up, with very fine sewing thread, no less, and you told me you thought my glass slippers were a laughingstock and that I was no match for Cinderella. Then you smoked a pipe. We went ice-skating, and you fell through the solid ice and simply disappeared. Or was that the one where you drowned in a pit of ashes, compressed into diamond dust that I used to decorate the borders of my stationary with? All that aside, I laughed and then some force sucked me down after you, as if it were a portal to Hell. Agatha grew wings and tried to save me to no avail. I swallowed the glacial water and, and, um… then I woke up. And… uh, that’s most all of them. The recent ones, at least.”

She pinked egregiously, and glanced back at him nervously to gauge his reaction.

Rafal wore an exaggerated scowl, to keep his laughter at bay, and he’d bitten down on his lip hard, dribbling blood. He wiped the blood on his sleeve.

Sophie curled her lips at the sight of yet another stain, but it didn’t truly matter because his jacket was already doused in blood.

Rafal cleared his throat breathlessly, and tried to speak, but no words came out. He started again. “Hmm… well then. That confirms you’re a Reader.” Disarmed, he scratched his neck as it reddened.

“Yes,” she agreed awkwardly.

⸻

Any reactions anyone? And did you catch the references I made? I’d love to get concrit on this one.

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fbs-fc-ur-mommy · 8 months

Text

Warning, mature themes

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

You were smoking on an random rooftop. Admiring the beautiful view of Stockholm, you grew up and almost all your entire life in a rural area so the city was for you something new. When you turned 18, you left for university. Where you there meet Sophie, your new best friend. She had an friend who sometimes "he" would stand up for the bullying you two would get. He wasn't the agresive type but as you'd get better of him you would describe him as an person with short temper, someone who would talk shit only with the back turned, not getting in any physical fights because he knows that he would get clapped. His smaller and skinnier body was making you an little embarrassed. You locked way taller than him and a more fatty. Though, you we're normal in height and weight so the problem seemed like it was his not yours.

It started snowing pretty hard when you heard heavy footsteps behind you, of course that you turned to see what creep walks behind you at 2 am.

As you looked behind your back, your eyes widened and the smoke in lungs suddenly went up your throat and nose, leaving you with teary eyes making more hard too see through snow.

The figure was standing still in the strong wind, their white hoodie looked way too thin for the cold Sweden weather. On the hoodie and face there was red stains on it making you questioning your brain if it's Halloween actually. The strong wind, the snow and the silence in the entire city maked you feel like this it's an dream. Maybe it was.

"Can I help you?" - you asked first, fear and panic setting in your veins, making more hard to breath and think.

The figure didn't respond, but it did the opposite of what you wanted. Getting closer.

As the "it" aproaced you could see their face. Or his face.

"Simon? What happen? Did you get in a fight? Man you look pretty fucked up."

Simon stayed neutral, his hair messy, his body smelled heavily of blood, cigarettes or maybe weed and sweat. You looked down to his bloody hand, more fear striking you when you saw an Glock in his left hand.

Suddenly he rised his Glock to your face ready to make an hole there, not wanting to die you maked and sharp right turn, an bang hearing in the background, almost tripping you run to the the door of the rooftop, not even looking back. The fear winning again over adrenaline when you heart the worst. An another bang. Two bangs. Three bangs. Sharp pain pain both on your legs and on your right shoulder.

Falling face first, you tried to save your fall damage by placing your palms against the concrete, but the snow makes your palm slipping, an excruciating pain in your whole skull, nose the same story and the metallic taste already in your mouth. As you tried to get up you saw red spots on the snow, very much. You felt how the disgusting liquid started to drip down to your chin, the pain in it making hard to breath through your broken nose and the metalized taste in your mouth maked your troath to close up and stomach to ache. You screamed for help maybe someone would hearing your cries for help. Deep in your head you knew that nobody would.

Getting (almost) up you tried again to run, there was no point now to fight him. You felt dumb, maybe you'd have the change of disarming him if you'd use your fucking height to your advantage from the very start.

An hand grabbed you from behind, dragging you far away from the door, surprisingly the small man didn't have an problem dragging you, what an bad luck huh. slamming you against the edge of the rooftop your head and half of shoulder in mid air, you needed to put strength into your neck to look up and... Not down.

Putting his whole height whole height into your whole waist and stomach, you found that (hot or not hot) hard to breath. Gasping and sweating he rolled up his hoodie, revealing his scars. "My god what friend you have Sophie? You and your weird men type". He looked down, staring to the street below us, still gasping for air he smirked an little. "Don't told me he wanna jump together" you thought. Also why he's gasping for air huh he didn't even ran and he's tired? Average smoker activity who started at 12 huh?.

As adrenaline was starting to wear off, the pain got more intense and the panic was putting pleasure on you to beg and cry for the next day of living. Starting to hyperventilating you actually started to "beg".

"S-Simon we can talk about this can we? It's been an hard t-" you started to lighten up the mood and eventually Simon letting you. But his face darken more than before, now his full focus on you. His eyes on you. His Glock raising again to your face.

"SIMON! Don't do this please! I- I still don't feel to die? Yet." You wanted to add something but stopped when you felt his covered hand drag down your jacket ziper.

"Simon?! Please don't!"

"Shhhh..." he finally whisper

Now your jacket was open, your black and red sweater exposed and from the awkward position your belly was exposed to the cold air, shivering when an snow landed on your bare belly. He caressed that belly gently like he was afraid of breaking you. Biting back an moan you felt how your skin was getting hotter. You blamed your cringe behavior on the blood lose from the Glock bullets. The hand raised higher, up to your waist, up and down. Felling sore in your neck you finally let it go fall of edge you looked down seeing nobody to see your situation, you felt sick from the height so you closed your eyes and started to think about something happy to forget your embarrassing situation. You thought of Sophie, of her beautiful laugh, her face and her beautiful sitting position and writing. The thought was interrupted when you felt Simon playing with your nipple, his hot breath near your neck. You let out an small moan, praying that he didn't hear you but he did.

"That's it, let me hear you, be an good pet"

You started to regret that you didn't ask Sophie out, instead you let Simon doing it, you knew of his crush. Felling your eyes watering you tried to quietly sob.

Felling his hand roughly grab your face, you tried to not let him seeing you cry, not giving him any pleasure for his sick kinks. You tried to pull your head back, more further into the air, neck painfully aching from the uncomfortable stretch.

"look at me"

You shakked your head, now crying harder than before.

"I said, look at me!" He screamed grabbing your face cheeks harder enough to leave bruises.

"Look at me or I'm dropping you down" He tried again. Successfully making you to look at his face. His face softened, but then his dark, mad behavior came back.

Grabbing you by the neck he lifted you up from the edge and then into the air, holding you up, looking at you dead in the eye, then dropping you harshly back on the concrete, hitting your head again, black spots on your vision and felling your hair wetting behind your head. "How I'm still alive after this much bleeding".

Putting his foot into your chest he aimed his Glock and started to smile.

"I'm sorry Simon" you carefully chosed your last words. Maybe when he will get caught he will bring up your last ironic moments.

His smiled dropped and his hands started to shake. He looked at you. No. He looked through you. He looked still mad, but he seemed like he was thinking.

"I don't need you anymore..."

Then he started to walk away leaving you behind clearly confused and traumatized.

He opened the door, then he looked back like he wanted to say something, regret clearly on his face. But he didn't. He dissappear into the dark.

As you picked your jacket and your pack of cigarettes from the ground you suddenly jumped up when you heart an bang again, but there was no pain , but an felling of relief. You went back to the edge where you we're previously, then looked on the street below you. An dark thought striking you but stopping when you saw an car of police parking outside of the unit in front of you their sirens on. Two officer entering the building in hurry. You lifted up an cigarette and started walking away when an ambulance arrived too.

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

@ahebwhd I will work these days on your request, this fic was writen days before your request <3

#cry of fear #cry of fear simon #simon cry of fear #simon henriksson #simon henriksson smut #simon henriksson x reader #Cry of fear Sophie #book simon

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fanaticsnail · 6 days

Note

Inspired from the blorbo-kissing picrew (because the version of you reminded me of this):

Red-hair pirates Anastasia Au. And I mean the animated movie. I mean, do you see how perfect it could be?

Shanks, looking for a cheap con, hears about a distant island looking for their princess. His reluctant first mate tags along, helping him find the woman who looks most like the princess. An infuriating(ly beautiful) amnesiac, who makes up for her lost memories with a striking similarity to the lost princess.

Sailing across the ocean, Shanks has to teach this girl how to behave like a convincing princess, all the while warding off the teasing of his first mate (Shanks swears up and down Benn is more fond of this woman than he is of him). Still, this whole ordeal unearths secrets about Shanks' past that he'd rather keep buried. Not to mention, the marines are on their tail, because you best belive this princess has got some secrets of her own.

Kinda popped off with this one, ngl. What's the verdict snail? Do we see the vision?

-♡♡ lots of love

Piano is not my main instrument, but I had to have a cheeky try of this theme because I IMMEDIATELY WANT TO WRITE THIS AS ITS OWN FIC SO DAMN BAD.

I am trying to finish up Mihawk's Sapsorrow and chipped a good chunk away from the Marine's "Dreaming of You" fic this morning. Now all of my thoughts are eclipsed by Red-Hair Anastasia Au. Thank you for commenting about my picrew upload. I am a little raw about how it all turned out 😬.

Here are the Roles:

Anastasia: Reader

Dimitry: Shanks

Vlad: Beckman

Rasputin: Doflamingo/Crocodile (or OC)

Bartok: Rosinante/Buggy (or OC)

Sophie: Mihawk/Buggy (I know, bold choice but I think it'd be way too funny not to).

You have no idea how much I want to write this now. I would cry writing another Shanks x reader. Needs to happen, don't you think? It's been long enough.

How would you see it playing out? I have a few ideas already. Now I'm thinking about:

(Could be Iva, could be Bon Clay. Either way, I'm having fun with the thought.)

I wanna write this so bad.

#one piece #x reader #shanks #beckman #Anastasia au #fairytale au #ask snail #snail answers

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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year

Text

Forget me Not | Azriel X F!Reader pt. 2

Summary: They loved each other more than words could describe, but they were star-crossed lovers and their fate was doomed, especially when their worst nightmare came true. But is their love strong enough to survive this nightmare and can their souls one day be truly united?

Warnings: references to past trauma

Word Count: 2,8K

Notes: I am so very lucky that I met @moonlightazriel and that I can call her my friend (mate hehe); you are an incredibly wonderful human being, an amazing friend and working with you on this story was just brilliant 💙 read her first part here

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The doorbell rang again which made Azriel finally lift his head off the screen, his phone in his hand. “Give me a moment,” he told the person on the other side of the line and got up. With lazy steps he walked to his door, grumbling some incomprehensive words of being disturbed and interrupted while working. Azriel peeked through the door viewer, squinted his eyes to get a better look and then–

His hand which held the phone fell to his side and his lips parted. The woman standing outside his door was without doubt the most beautiful he had ever seen and he could even tell that although you were wearing a winter coat, gloves, and a hat. Azriel quickly lifted his phone to his ear. “I’ll call you back tomorrow. Just put the papers on my desk.”

He did not let his assistant argue, just ended the call. Azriel inhaled a deep breath, then another one, straightened his posture and moved his hand to the door handle. Then he opened the door and his eyes landed on you – finally he could take you in fully, his lips parted a little while his eyes went wide. Your gaze lifted to his – you had not at all expected him, your new boss, to look like that.

And then it struck you.

It somehow felt like you knew him, like you had seen him before which made no sense. You had only moved into this city recently, had never been to this there before, but something about him seemed oddly familiar. You simply looked at him for a moment, somehow expectant, but also because you forgot what you had wanted to say. He was so beautiful, the most beautiful man you had ever seen, and your brain forgot how to work. Eventually you caught yourself and realised that neither of you had said anything yet and you had to speak up at some point. After all you wanted this job – rather needed it. You had to speak up and act serious despite what his appearance and his looks did to you. You cleared your throat which drew Azriel’s eyes to yours, his lips forming a tiny smile. “I am Y/N Y/L. I am the new house keeper. I am filling in for Sophie who is on maternity leave now.” You spoke in a soft and steady voice, trying to calm the inner nervousness with taking in slow breaths.

The man, Azriel as you knew, nodded and said, “Pleasure to meet you. Azriel. I am the owner of this place.” His low voice rumbled through your body.

Azriel internally face-palmed himself – obviously he was the owner of this place, what else would he be doing here…

You chuckled a little and he let you in, you followed him inside and gaped at the size of his apartment. From Sohpie you knew that he was rich and that he lived in a big flat, but you had never thought it would be that ginormous. “Here, please. You can put your clothes here.” Azriel showed you the wardrobe, where you could put your coat and stuff. It was winter outside and you still shivered a little from the cold. “May I?” he asked and when you nodded, Azriel helped you out of your coat and then you pulled your hat off. Azriel couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, you were so beautiful and you–

You reminded him of someone. But he could not tell who. It was like he had met you before, and…he did not know. It was an odd feeling and got even odder when you slipped out of your gloves and his eyes fell to your hands. The marred skin there…The marred skin…He drew in a sharp breath and then…He had seen scars like that before, somehow he a had a clear picture of them in his mind and that irritated him.

“I was born with them. Probably inherited, or so the doctors said,” you explained, having noticed his eyes on your hands. He quickly lifted his face and looked into your eyes again, whispering a quick apology to which you lifted your hand, waving him off. “Don’t worry. It is alright. Now where do we, or rather I start?”

“Well.” Azriel brushed his hands down his thighs. “I would like for you to come here two times a week – Monday, Thursday, just like Sophie did. Did you discuss with her what you have to do?”

You shook your head, not really having talked with Sophie about that. She had only told you about how handsome Azriel was and that he was practically rolling in money – both things were now confirmed. Azriel guided you to the living room where you sat down on the couch to discuss further details. “Alright,” he said and smiled, his cheeks a little rosy. You looked at him expectantly and waited for him to continue.

“So, two times a week. I would love for you to do the basic chores. Cleaning the flat two times a week, I like it very neat and tidy, that is why. The windows need cleaning only once a month. I would like for you to change the bedsheets once a week, put out the trash once a week and wash my clothes once a week. That is it.”

That sounded alright. Even if it wasn’t the job your had on top of your list, it was the only one that worked alongside uni and so it was alright. It really was, especially with a boss that sounded genuine and looked like a Greek god. Well, the last part did not really matter but it was a nice benefit. “So I am starting today and then return next Monday,” you said and Azriel offered to show you the whole house and where exactly you had to do what.

The place was simple, he only had very basic furniture and little to no decoration, but still it was beautiful and you liked it a lot. Also the lack of decoration was very beneficial cleaning wise.

After your first day where you got all the explanations you returned to Azriel’s place for a few weeks every Monday and Thursday and all was going really well. Azriel was incredibly kind and you quickly created a friendly workplace relationship with him. There was nothing more between the two of you, of course not, just some nice small talks and easy conversations. It was all going good until one day.

You brushed your hand down the pillow, adjusting it a little, Azriel’s scent somehow lingering in the room. Your eyes lifted to mirror on the opposite side when you pulled on the sheets and made them look neat on top of his bed. And suddenly–

A flash of memories, or rather pictures filled your brain. Your knees felt weak and you closed your eyes, giving yourself to the memories. A man – not a man, Azriel– moaned against your as he relaxed on top of you, rolled over and pulled you to his side, your head rested on his chest. You could hear the soft sound of his heartbeat and then his lips parted and he–

“Give me a few days, and we will be far away from here. My love for you is bigger than the universe.”

You ripped your eyes open, tumbling a little and quickly grabbed the lower bedframe to steady yourself. Your heart was racing in your chest and you knew you had to get out of this room. What the hell had that been? Why did you…? When did you sleep with Azriel? What the actual hell was going on? The room you had been in was not modern, it had looked ancient and…Did you have sex fantasies about him? Maybe you should quit that job if making his bed did that to you?

You quickly collected the broom, and headed for the door, dashing outside and downstairs only to come to a quick halt.

“See and that is why I am here, Azriel. You need a woman to help you with that kind of things.” The blond woman grinned up at Azriel, just when you stopped at the bottom of the staircase.

“Oh, hello?” she turned to you. Not only her. Also Azriel’s, his eyes wide open. “Y/N,” he said, but added nothing more, like he was surprised to see you. Which was odd. It was Thursday. It was rather you who was surprised. He was home earlier, a lot earlier than expected and he had company. For the past days you had often asked yourself if he had a girlfriend, but there was no indication he did. Well, now there was and that made some part inside of you really sad. Which was stupid. Someone like him would anyways never be with someone like you. In society you were at least 5 levels below him and he would never choose you. He would never…Some more images filled your brain, and you felt a little dizzy.

You shuddered, your breathing speeding up and gathered that you might be going crazy.

“I don’t want to get married, to anyone but you. And I don’t care what my father says, let’s go, somewhere far away from here.”

Well, you definitely were going crazy. “Y/N, I am the house keeper. Pleasure to meet you. But I really need to go. I am in a rush. The bed is made. See you on Monday.”

You gave Azriel no chance to answer, practically dashing to the door, collecting your things while running. The cool afternoon air was a relief and helped your breath steadily. What the hell was going on? What did the memories mean?

Plagued by nightmares, you could barely sleep in the days that followed. It was too much and too strange. It irritated you and you dreaded going back to his place. You played with the thought of quitting, maybe it would be smart to stop working for him if it caused such chaos in your mind. But still you went there, hoping Azriel was still at work – which he normally was when you went there to clean on a Monday. And you truly were lucky, he was not here. So you started with the normal chores you had to do, cleaning, take the rubbish out and so on.

“Are you mad with me?”

You startled, the broom slipped out of your hand and landed on the ground with a loud noise.

“Why should I?” you blurted out and felt your blood chill. Obviously you were. Around 20 minutes ago you had heard Azriel return to his place, and since then you had been hiding in his bathroom, pretending to be cleaning there and hoping he would maybe just leave again.

“Because you obviously are, don’t pretend otherwise.” Azriel seemed angry and you knew the blame was on you. But how could you explain it all to him? How could you tell him that you had visions of a past life about him?

“I think I should go now,” you said with a huff. But Azriel had none of that, he wanted to talk it out with you, he wanted to know if he had upset you, or angered you. So he reached for you, his hand curling around your wrist, around the marred skin there.

“Please, please love, stay with me. I won't survive without you.” Azriel said, and you lifted your hand, the scarred skin caressing his cheek one more time. The scarred skin.

God!

Azriel let go off your hand and stumbled backwards, his eyes wide open with shock. He was pale, looked like he had seen a ghost and technically he had – the ghost of your past.

“It can’t be true,” he stuttered and stared at you with his eyes wide open. “That can’t be true.”

“What?” you breathed, panic filling you when you saw the shock on his face. “What is it?”

The shocked expression looked so familiar – it was the same you wore after those flashbacks. Azriel stumbled backwards and fell onto the small armchair outside of his bathroom. You left the bathroom and walked up to him, nearly closing the distance between the two of you. “Azriel. What is going on?” you asked carefully, hoping not to cause more chaos in his mind. He still looked like he got caught in a stupor and slowly brought one hand up to wipe it over his face. His chest heaved with deep inhales and slowly you moved your hand forward, placing it on top of his. You gave his hand a soft and gentle squeeze, crouching down in front of him, your eyes meeting his. “Did you…” Your voice broke after you tried to stutter out a question. He must have had the same odd visions, there is no other explanation for it. Your throat felt dry, burned, when you forced your mouth to speak.

“You think we have known each other in a past life?” The words sounded so odd and for a long moment they just hung in the air between you and Azriel, like neither of you could believe what you were discussing there.

Azriel furrowed his brows, still staring right into your eyes. “Can this be possible?”

Pulling one shoulder up, you shrugged, unable to do more. Tears filled your eyes and curled your fingers tighter around his hand.

“I love you and I will find you, in another life. We will have the happiness we deserve. Promise me you will wait for me.”

“You promised to find me in another life.” Azriel leaned forward, his other hand moving to hold your face in big palm. “I promised so. And you promised you will wait for me.” You swallowed around the dryness in your throat, leaning into his touch. “I did.”

There were tears in both your eyes, threatening to spill over the edges any moment. “You think it is truly possible we found each other again?”

It was then that a small tear left your eye. “But you have someone, Azriel. Is she your girlfriend?” Azriel seemed like he did not understand, like nothing you said made sense because he clearly had no girlfriend. “Who?” he asked in a low voice. “Who are you talking about?” But then awareness dawned on him and Azriel spoke up before you could. “That was my assistant. And she…I–”

“You seemed so close. And she said you needed a woman.” And then the most adorable thing happened – Azriel blushed, and sheepishly bit down on his lower lip. “I asked her for advice on how to ask you out. How to not make it weird as you work for me…” He smiled a little, red colour blooming high on his cheeks.

Your heart did flips, rapidly beating against your rib cage. “You did…” “I wanted to ask you out. I have been wanting to ask you out for a long time, but then things changed.”

“I am sorry,” you answered. You slowly got up, standing in front of Azriel. “I am sorry, but when I got the flashbacks, I freaked out. I did not know what they meant. They scared me. I thought I was going insane.”

Azriel closed his eyes for a long moment and inhaled deeply. “Is there a chance for us in this life then? Can I ask you out?” When he opened his eyes, a beautiful smile bloomed on his chest. More tears streamed down your cheeks and leaned in to just hug him. But Azriel had a different idea. He pulled you onto his lap, so you straddled him and your arms curled around his shoulders. “Can you believe that we really lived a long time ago and finally found each other again?” you cried into the crook of his neck, clawing at him.

“It seems surreal, doesn’t it?” Azriel held you tightly, kissing the side of your head. “Like that can only happen in books or movies.”

“I believe then this is my absolute favourite book or movie.” Leaning backwards a little, you watched his face, the expression on his face. “Can you believe how long our souls must have been yearning for each other? And now they are reunited?”

“And won’t ever be separated.” Tears also slid down Azriel’s cheeks, his whole body shaking, but he grinned at you. And you grinned back at him. “In this life I am going to keep you safe. I have awful brothers and an even worse stepmother, but not even they would go as far as taking you from me. In this life I am going to keep you. We will be one team, one couple, one soul until our very last day. Just you and I.”

“I like that a lot,” you said, smiling when you leaned in to kiss his lips. “And I am keeping you safe. And I am going to keep you. It will be us forever.” “Forever and even a little further.” And then you kissed, and it felt like…it felt like a million fireworks exploded in your chest, like your soul started to glow and become alive again.

~~~~~~~~ tags Azriel (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22 @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @banasheefan56

#azriel x reader #azriel #azriel acotar #acotar #acosf

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