#it was related to something she was watching on tv or something but it was still so random
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Crowley Info Compilation part 17: Vil and Secrets
Crowley may have a vested interest in Pomefiore/the Fairest Queen over the others and, possibly, in Vil: when the seven statues are toppled during Halloween Crowley speaks of the flagrant disrespect overall at first, but the only one he comments on specifically is the fairest queen, saying, "The Fairest Queen's statue, lying prone like some common pauper?!"
Crowley has said that he loves "sparkly things like gems and precious metals!" and Vil will sometimes fill the area he is in with sparkles.
This may be related to why Crowley is stunned speechless upon seeing Vil at the start of Halloween (Vil: "As you should be").
Crowley is delighted by his own decision to put Vil in charge of production for the VDC after seeing the team rehearse.
Vil says, "But of course. What do you take me for?" and Crowley responds, "What I've always taken you for: a leading global talent--no, correction--the houswarden of Pomefiore, our campus' most historic and beautiful dorm."
Vil may be less inclined towards Crowley than Crowley is towards him: when Crowley tries to retire Malleus into the hall of fame in Book 2, Vil says the decision "reeks of some kind of unconscious bias," which he despises.
(Crowley might be fond of Spelldrive in general: he has a voice line about staying up late to watch it on TV.)
Crowley reacts dramatically in Book 2 when discussing Riddle's overblot, randomly yelling aloud and surprising Grim.
In an interview from the fanbook Twst composure Ozawa Takumi comments that Crowley is her favorite character and she loves his "play-acting," and I have never been able to get over it.
There is very clearly much going on with Crowley that we do not know, and the question of how much is "play-acting" and how much (if anything) is not is fascinating.
During Halloween, for example, Jade says, "Is there some reason (Crowley) wouldn't want the police sniffing around? A secret he doesn't want them to unearth, perhaps?"
And Crowley's secrets come up again in Book 4: when Azul is pretending to be hypnotized, Jamil asks him if he happens to know Crowley's secrets. Azul says that he does: he knows one thing that Crowley would never want others to learn.
Azul was not truly hypnotized at the time and may have been just making things up, but it is interesting that Jamil, at least, seems wholly convinced that Crowley is hiding something dire.
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i hate accidents: the ball
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, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, nondescript mention of gagging (not related to self-image) in [III.iii], sexually charged 18+ interactions in middle to end of [III.iv]—minors dni, please stop at the end of the paragraph that begins "you repeat his words with sped up mockery"; you may resume at "you jut out your hip"
word count: 15.7k (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.
tagged: @omgsuperstarg @stvrdustalexx @bedobeeeee @crazymar15 @kahhorri @mayalopes @benedictbridgertonss @athensflower @02wrldz @queerlavalier @merlslrem @pillsbury-doughgirl @lamourdure3ans and all who have read either/both sections one and two—thank you. <3
𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇
“you look like a princess, y/n!” hyacinth squeals in delight.
“i regret not being of age yet to attend balls,” gregory sighs. “i would have been honored to ask you for your first dance.”
you beam at the youngest bridgertons with all the fondness in your heart. judith, an elderly maid of number five, had attempted to dispel hyacinth and gregory from the room as your hair was done, but you had asked her to please allow them to stay. the two kept you at ease throughout the foreign process, and their sweet sincerity kept you grounded amidst the anxiety that still floods your veins.
“you are both too kind. and fear not; tomorrow morning we will have a ball all of our own,” you lean in for a whisper, them following suit to listen. “and perhaps we will need the talents, and bravery, of a young sorceress and a young knight to save the guests from the intrusion of an unruly wyvern.”
“you promise?!” hyacinth and gregory yell at the same time. you hold out your pinky finger, just as you used to do with your siblings, and the two young ones wrap their pinkies around yours.
“i promise.”
“you are all done, miss y/l/n,” says alice, placing the last pin into your hair. she steps back and curtsies. her formality towards you renders you uneasy; she treats you as above her but you are of the same world. you school your facial features from showing your unease; you do not want to upset her or have her wrongly think that she has done something wrong.
“no need to call me ‘miss.’ i am simply y/n!” you grin at alice. “a friend.”
she smiles, albeit a bit sheepishly.
“of course, y/n. are you ready to see yourself?”
you shudder in a breath. you had asked not to be prepared in front of a mirror. to have seen your transformation so readily reflected at you at every point of this process—
you exhale frantically. the maids and genevieve had graciously accommodated your wishes, both going so far as rearranging this room and her fitting room to avoid any lines of your sight with a potential reflection; you were, and are, utterly grateful.
but i am unable to delay the inevitable any longer.
standing up and squaring your shoulders, you give alice a feeble nod. she bows her head in response, a small, encouraging smile on her lips, and leads you to the mirror as hyacinth and gregory turn in their seats to watch you cross the room.
it is just a dress. it is just a tiara, and just some jewelry, and just some gloves, and just some shoes, and just a bit of makeup. it is just you. it is still you. be the courageous person you are, y/n.
or—
just before you see even a miniscule bit of your reflection in that accursed mirror, you shut your eyes tight.
—be a coward.
you continue step by agonizing step, approximating where the mirror is, and shudder in another breath.
perhaps i am being too dramatic. perhaps i can faint and feign illness. perhaps i shall run away by way of the nearest window. perhaps i—
“the mirror is to your left, y/n; whenever you are ready,” coaxes alice.
you exhale once more.
or perhaps, i should open my eyes.
and so you do.
oh.
“oh,” you say aloud.
the person you see in the gilded full-length mirror is, somehow, a complete stranger and entirely you.
the one time you’ve worn makeup before was for your elder sister’s wedding: a bit of your mother’s rouge on your cheeks and lips to have some color to your otherwise dull face. now, your cheekbones glow with a blush much more complimentary to your complexion than a mere red as your lips shine with a gossamer of a similar shade. entirely new to you are the glimmering minerals on your eyelids that magically bring attention to your eyes and make them shine like starlight.
your eyebrows have been plucked (much to your initial pain but your current appreciation), maintaining their shape and fullness but now without strays.
soft tendrils of curls frame your face, and your hair—normally worn down when not working—has been pulled back into a loose coiffure and styled with sprigs and small blooms, the crown of your head graced with a silver tiara.
“this,” violet smiled fondly when she first set the tiara on top of your head, “is the tiara i wore to my first ball after my presentation. i had insisted on keeping it, thinking i could pass it on to my daughter when her first ball had come. but daphne was resolute on having her own tiara, and eloise was resolute on not wearing any,” violet laughed, her eyes shining when they connected with yours, “i see now, though, perhaps it was always meant to be yours.”
“violet, i— i cannot wear this. it is too— it’s too—”
sumptuous? opulent? regal?
no.
well, yes, the tiara is all those things. but those were not what had concerned you then. it’s too—
“beautiful,” you admitted quietly.
something as beautiful as that surely does not belong on the head of someone like you.
“well,” violet smiled, “then you are merely proving my point, my dear. it perfectly suits you.”
you hold out your hands, flare out your fingers, and stretch out your arms, examining the dark forest green of your long satin gloves, mesmerized that a muted color with such depth and richness could be achieved through dyes.
moving your hand, you touch one of the small rosewhite pearls adorning your earlobes and, with your other hand, touch the inky oblong pearl that shimmers violet, indigo, and green as it hangs from the thin, black velvet choker around your neck.
“my dear,” mama appeared in your doorway one evening as you wrote at your table, “do you require jewelry for your occasion?”
“oh. i suppose i do? i hadn’t given it much thought.” jewelry had been the last thing on your mind of things that terrified you of the impending ball.
“well, if you have not been offered anything by the bridgerton family yet, i thought— i thought perhaps you might like these.”
she approached you, a small wooden box in her hand, and placed it on your table. taking the box into your hands, you looked at it and then up at mama. she smiled at you but something of her countenance seemed strained. nervous. you offered her a smile in an attempt to assuage whatever concerns preoccupied her mind and, turning back to the box, unclasped it open.
“these are the earrings and necklace i wore when i married your papa. they were gifts from your grandmama that were gifts from her mama. i had tried giving them to your sister when she was to be married, but she thought… they are plain, nothing like what those fashionable people wear, i am certain; but if you have nothing else, i—”
you shot up from your seat, throwing your arms around your mama, feeling how she reeled from the ferocity of your sudden embrace, as you clutched onto the box of her wedding jewelry.
“they are beautiful, mama,” you said quietly but emphatically as the vehemence of your emotions tried to trap your words in your throat. “they are the most beautiful things i have ever seen, and i am so— i am so honored to be bestowed with the blessing of wearing them, and of wearing them proudly. thank you.”
you heard how mama sniffed her nose, and how she tried to hide it, as she gently rubbed your back, as she always had in your moments of vulnerability.
“i love you, my child.”
“i love you, mama.”
you then touch your exposed shoulders. the neckline of your dress, nowhere near your neck, follows the curved peaks of your breasts to meet and form a small v-shape in the crevice of your bosom.
“where is the chemise?” was the first thing you had said when you first tried on the gown at the modiste.
genevieve grinned.
“there is none.”
your jaw dropped.
“then what of a stay? what sort of stay would be worn with this?”
turning slightly, and noting your rather bare upper arms in the process, you angle your exposed back towards the mirror. another v-shape, its furthest point down a third of your bare spine.
“my dear, both you and i know that you already know the answer to your inquiry.”
“oh, my good g—”
never, in your life, has the expanse of your upper body been so naked and on display than in this ball gown.
“i do not mean to doubt your artistry, genevieve; truly!, the dress is magnificent, but—” you turned to kathani, who had exclaimed and clapped with immense delight upon seeing you in the gown, “is this—— permissible?”
the viscountess had arched an eyebrow at you then.
“y/n y/l/n, concerned with the rules of society? and of high society, at that?”
“no— no!” you yelled all too loudly as genevieve chortled and placed pins for final alterations into the dress. “i just, i just do not want to embarrass you and your family, is all.”
you had not meant for your voice to come out so quiet and small. the older women’s faces softened immediately.
“you could never embarrass us, y/n,” kathani stated with such tenderness. then she smiled. “you look beautiful.”
the off-white base layer of the dress feels luxurious against your skin, the fabric hugging your upper body, puffing out at the sleeves, and, from the underbust, flowing and falling into a cone silhouette for the skirt—but what truly awes you is the artistry of the outermost layer. a cream translucent silk, the piña seda (you recall genevieve proudly naming it as) of the outermost layer glistens while you sway and turn your body, light shifting and transforming the ever beauty of the dress, the swish of the skirt moving like how waves are described in the passages of your books and in the reminiscing of your parents’ memories. lined at the underbust begins the intricate thicket of embroidered foliage, painstakingly threaded with innumerable shades of greens and blues, a shimmering teal threaded throughout to gleam in tandem with the sheen of the fabric. the embroidery of foliage then grows and thickens as it cascades down the middle of the dress and comes to an encircling end a few inches above and around the floor-length hem. in the negative space of the piña seda are spread out, small ivory embroideries of floral motifs.
it is a dress deserving of someone most beloved in titania’s garden court.
“indeed,” genevieve affirmed, a smile on her lips akin to kathani’s. “those in attendance will not be prepared. you will look the most beautiful of all.”
and perhaps…
perhaps you should be unnerved by how different your dress will be from the others’ of the ton. perhaps you should be unnerved by how easily you will stand out from the crowds. perhaps you should be unnerved by the attention, the whispers, the stares you will inevitably receive with your dress, with your appearance, with your presence, with your very existence. but, instead—
“i do look like a princess,” you say finally. quietly.
you do look beautiful.
like you could belong amidst the ton.
like you could belong with the bridgertons.
like you could belong with him.
𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇
“are you anxious, y/n?”
you turn to gregory at your side and see the swell of worry in his eyes.
“what gives you that impression?”
“you are shaking terribly,” hyacinth comments from your other side, replacing her usual pluck and wit with a worry akin to her brother’s.
the two had volunteered to escort you from the dressing room that you had been prepared in to the grand staircase of number five. with their arms hooked around yours, gregory on your left and hyacinth on your right, the youngest bridgertons have been walking you down the corridor. your heart aches with anguish: you know you have failed when the children are the ones to care for the adult.
“i am sorry to have concerned you both. yes, i— i am anxious.”
“it is reasonable to be anxious. but there are a great many cakes at these balls, or so i’ve heard, so you can eat one, and then another, to help ease your nerves!”
“how is that of any help, gregory.”
“it is plenty of help!”
“to eat and eat when she is already uneasy? the last time you were uneasy, you nearly—”
“do not recount that in front of y/n!”
“why not!”
“it is not— it is not proper!” gregory’s voice jumps in pitch, causing a swift blush to form on the apples of his cheeks. hyacinth snorts.
“why does your voice do that?”
“i do not know! kate said it is natural for bo— for young men to experience such a thing!”
“aren’t young men meant to be tall?”
“i am an inch taller than you now!”
“you are not!”
“i am too!”
you laugh. the youngest bridgertons halt their dispute and look at you.
“i must say, your usual squabbling is keeping me much at ease,” and you offer a sympathetic smile to gregory. “i am sorry that it seems to be at your expense, however.”
his eyes shine.
“you need not worry about me! i am glad to see you smile.”
“i as well,” hyacinth adds. you turn to her and see how her eyes shine too.
“i am most grateful to you both for being at my side on such a night.”
“we are most grateful for you, y/n.”
“that is something, and probably the singular thing, hyacinth and i can agree upon.”
you plant soft kisses on the tops of their heads, just as mama and papa and your elder sister had done when you were their ages. gregory and hyacinth nestle their heads into your upper arms and only part from you when the three of you reach the top of the first set of steps.
“are you ready?”
though you wish to say ‘no,’ you brace yourself with a deep inhale and nod.
your heart quickens with each step as time around you slows. your mouth has gone dry, and your body feels entirely numb, sensation only returning to you when you feel hyacinth and gregory unhook their arms from yours. turning your head, you see them stepping backwards, away from you, leaving you at the center of the landing to the rest of the grand staircase. you face forward once more, and ahead, below, you see the gentlemen and ladies of bridgerton house, waiting for you, looking at you.
you swallow.
for the very first time, in your dress, by yourself, you take a step forward.
breathe, y/n. shoulders back; tilt your chin up, but not too much; just as kathani had taught you. and just, breathe.
but it is hard to breathe with all eyes on you. with—
i must control myself. i must not seek him out. i must not seek out his face. i must not seek out those o—
you step on the hem of your dress and feel yourself start to fall forward. thankfully, god, for whatever reason, has blessed you with enough dexterity in this very moment, and you manage to catch yourself from tumbling down the steps as you hear gasps from above and below you. you mumble an apology (you don’t know why; it is not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear) and offer everyone a smile. upon seeing their relaxed shoulders and reassured expressions, you continue to descend the staircase.
stupid benedict. distracting me in remembering how to walk, and how to breathe, and how to—
oh.
i am doing it again.
shit.
goddamnit, stupid benedict!
somehow, you reach the landing of number five’s entrance hall without any additional accidents and, approaching the bridgertons, immediately look to the viscountess. as if knowing you seek her approval, kathani nods her head; a beam illuminates her countenance. you feel yourself ease, your shoulders relaxing (that you promptly square again; you are, after all, pretending to be a lady for the night), your heart racing less, if only minutely, and manage a smile. you feel someone take hold of your gloved hand and, turning to face the source, see violet gazing at you.
“beautiful.”
it is all she says, but with such tenderness in her voice, it makes your heart swell.
“the importance of appearance,” rasps eloise, causing you to turn to her, “and the lengths gone to achieve so-called perfection of such, especially for those of feminine disposition, is an entirely antiquated, offensive concept that must be eradicated from our, and all, societies—— but you do, look, beautiful, y/n.”
you grin.
“we’ll eradicate it together; and with help along the way, i am certain.”
when she responds in kind, you turn to the gentlemen, and, to your mortification, colin and anthony bow at you. the high society etiquette directed towards you from your friends overwhelms you with an embarrassment that you cannot even begin to fathom; they haven’t performed such formalities towards you since your first meeting all those months ago. but, in spite of your horror, the sincerity of their intentions, as well as their countenances, touches you deeply.
“madame delacroix and the maids have outdone themselves,” remarks anthony. “as mother and eloise have said, you look beautiful, y/n.”
“indeed,” colin beams. when he turns to benedict, however, his smile transforms into an expression befitting of a fairytale creature; one with mischievous intentions. “what say you, brother?”
you follow his line of sight and connect with ocean eyes. the flood of self-consciousness and the tempo of your heartbeats magnify hundredfold under his gaze, the butterflies within you fluttering the most violently they ever have, and you feel as though your entire body has been set ablaze.
anthony, with what looks like a smirk, nudges his brother with his elbow. as if suddenly aware of where he is, benedict hastily bows at you and, returning his ocean eyes to yours, says,
“you look— well.”
you hear eloise snort. turning your head towards her, you see she has completely sucked in her lips. to her left, kathani smiles massively. to kathani’s left, violet remains ever poised but with wide, sparkling eyes. you still feel self-conscious but are infinitely amused by whatever is happening to the bridgertons and, with a playful smile on your lips, return your gaze to benedict.
“thank you, mr. bridgerton. i had felt uneasy with an unnerved stomach earlier, but i am glad to know that my health appears to be in proper order.”
and you deeply curtsy at him.
from above you hear the sweet giggles of the youngest bridgertons. ahead, in your periphery, you see how anthony closes his eyes as he sucks in air through his nostrils and how colin, with an unabashed laugh, clasps his hand onto benedict’s shoulder.
“well!” anthony booms, attempting to control his smile on what ought to be an authoritative expression. “i believe we have a ball to commence. shall you lead the way, viscountess?”
and with an expression both equal in authority and warmth, kathani declares,
“i shall.”
𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇
you had grown ease of mind knowing that you would not be asked to dance. not only were you a stranger to everyone in the ton aside from the bridgertons and penelope, you were also not handsome like the debutantes flitting about the room, swishing prettily in their gowns, strategically but delicately fluttering their eyes at a gentleman with which they wished to dance. with anonymity and a plain face, you enjoyed the haven of people observing, snickering at the artifice and smiling at the sincerity. kathani chatting with her guests. anthony standing by her side. penelope dancing with colin. eloise hiding behind a plant. violet beaming at her family. (you tried to convince yourself that you had not noticed the absence of a particular person.) your nerves have finally begun to calm, finding content in your station at the margins of the dance floor.
when colin bridgerton approaches you, hand outstretched in your direction, with a twinkle in his eyes.
“miss y/l/n, may you do me the honor?”
“i’m sorry, what?”
he laughs.
“will you dance with me?”
you gape at him.
“you’re mad.”
“my mind is perfectly intact.”
“this is unwise.”
“this is the best decision i have made this night.”
“i shall surely step on your toes.”
“i have worn my sturdiest shoes for the occasion.”
the corners of your mouth tug down into a moue at the third bridgerton’s stubborn charm. his grin merely widens as your eyes narrow to slits at him. penelope approaches from behind the beguiling imp and smiles warmly at you.
“it will be fun,” she encourages. “i promise.”
penelope! no!
“et tu, brute?” you bemoan.
she shrugs.
“what is a ball without dancing?” penelope offers. sweet innocence colors her voice, but the delighted glint in her eyes reveals her true duplicitous nature. she knew exactly how to play the game of this conversation, no doubt a devious plot concocted between her and her beau.
you sigh.
“fine,” you huff, slapping your hand into colin’s palm. “i would be honored, mr. bridgerton.”
the diabolical duo laughs at the sarcasm that drips from your words as colin leads you to the lineup on the dance floor.
–
“how is the dance treating you, miss y/l/n?”
“i hate you.”
colin guffaws. (you see in your periphery how heads shift towards him and how eyes narrow at you. the partner you had just left looks at you with particular scrutiny.)
“if your hatred towards me is the cost of you enjoying the ball, then it is a burden i shall carry, and happily so.”
“has anyone ever told you how infuriating you bridgertons are?”
“no, but we very well know that we are,” he grins, “and we take immense pride in it.”
you groan, throwing your head back. (you hear murmurs around you. not ladylike.)
“are you truly not having fun?” the gentleness in his voice makes you look back at him. his expression is soft. sad. guilty. “we can leave the lineup, if that is what you would like.”
you consider his words and his offer.
“i am having fun,” you reply truthfully. his eyes light up at that and your heart warms at the sight. “it is just— being in a circumstance so wholly unfamiliar— it’s overwhelming, is all, i think. but…” you feel a smile form on your lips, “knowing that you all—as infuriating as you bridgertons are—are here with me, by my side, wanting me to enjoy myself, wanting me to be happy, it makes all the overwhelming feeling worthwhile. i am happy. you all make me happy.”
colin doesn’t say anything. he just stares at you as the two of you dance still. you are about to inquire—
“i am grateful to call you my friend, y/n. becoming your friend has been one of the greatest blessings to have been bestowed upon me and my family.”
you suck in a breath.
as is becoming yours has been one of mine.
but another thought also lives in your mind. so, on the exhale of your breath, you smirk.
“only second to falling in love with penelope, yes?”
he laughs, an uncharacteristic shy smile forming on his lips as he looks at his feet and then back at you, eyes shining incandescently.
“i hope you do not take offense to being second.”
“being second to penelope is truly, sincerely, still a victory in of itself. you are very blessed, indeed, to be her premier.”
you did not think colin’s eyes could shine brighter than they had mere moments prior, but you suppose— no, you are certain that this is the effect that the love of penelope featherington has on the third eldest bridgerton: the light in colin’s eyes is absolute radiance.
“‘very blessed’ is to put it very lightly.”
with unabashed grins, you and colin continue to dance. you have to walk most of the steps, often keeping good on your promise and stepping on his toes, but your partner is deterred neither by your incompetence nor by his injuries. the two of you laugh (drawing leers from the other guests, you notice but brush off) and end your dance with exaggerated flourishes of a curtsy and a bow to one another.
“you underestimate your dancing skills, miss y/l/n,” colin remarks with a beam.
“see if you feel the same after tending to your bruises, mr. bridgerton,” you beam back.
“colin bridgerton!”
you both whip your gazes to the call of colin’s name and see a man fastly, eagerly approaching.
“hastings!”
hastings? why does that sound familiar?
colin and the absurdly handsome man embrace, smiles broad and sincere.
“i was uncertain you would be joining us on this occasion.”
“we would have seen to arriving early, as we had intended, but augie is proving to be quite unpredictable with his tantrums as of late.”
“he must take after his uncles,” colin smirks with odd pride. that makes the other man chuckle.
“unfortunately, it seems to be so.”
he then shifts his gaze onto you. his expression is curious and— sweet? kindly. you feel yourself become rather self-conscious as you notice, in your periphery, colin assuming a posture of gentlemanliness.
“my apologies for my dreadful manners. simon, this is miss y/n y/l/n. y/n, this is simon basset.”
simon bows most graciously at you.
“good evening, miss y/l/n. it is a true pleasure to finally meet you. i am simon basset, daphne’s husband.”
daphne?
as in daphne bridgerton?
you recall the day you and benedict toured the art gallery: a portrait, a fairly recent one, it seemed, of a beautiful young woman and a beautiful young man—the duchess and the duke of hastings, the plaque read.
your jaw drops.
“you are the duke!” you remember the etiquette kathani taught you. “your grace!” and you sloppily curtsy.
simon laughs.
“that is hardly necessary. please, if you feel comfortable in doing so, call me simon.”
“yes— of course!, your— simon,” you compose yourself. “and you may call me y/n; i would prefer it, actually.”
simon grins.
“then, y/n, may i have the honor of having your next dance?”
your jaw drops again, your composure completely falling away. you look at simon, who is utterly amused by your reaction, and then to colin, who is utterly delighted by the turn of events, and back to simon.
“that is a mistake.”
that earns guffaws from both of the men. (you feel stares falling upon them and, once again, scowls falling upon you.)
“i am more than willing to make that discovery for myself, if you will allow it.”
you throw back your head (ignoring the additional glares shot your way) and, with a sigh, whip it back to look at simon with a fatigued, but earnest, smile.
“i shall allow it.”
colin bows his head at you, his grin having never left his countenance since the end of your dance together, and steps to the side as you place your hand into simon’s outstretched one and are led to the next lineup by the duke.
–
“has the duchess accompanied you to the ball this evening?”
“while it is poor courtesy to speak on behalf of my wife when she can speak for herself, i can say, with confidence, that she would much rather you call her daphne.”
“kathani had taught me your society’s etiquette in preparation for the ball, in the event it would be necessary,” you roll your eyes. “while i find it all utterly ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary for me in particular, i want to honor the knowledge that my teacher has bestowed upon me as a way to honor her.”
simon grins.
“you are a dedicated student. indeed, she is in attendance. the last i had seen her, she was tending to benedict.”
your heart sinks.
oh no.
“tending to benedict? is he unwell? did something happen? is he all right?”
you hear how your voice rises in pitch and grows louder and more frantic with each word. (you try not to care for the stares that you feel on you. they are not of importance right now——or ever.)
is that why i have not seen him all night? because he is in poor condition? shall i leave the ball? shall i see where he is being tended to? shall i—
“y/n?”
oh. yes. you were having a conversation with simon.
“sorry, what did you say?”
“i had said that i did not mean to worry you,” simon says sincerely, but there is something in his smile. not suspicious, neither mocking nor teasing. it is as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotion. “i simply mean that she is speaking with him and— encouraging him, is all.”
you feel the entirety of your body, mind, heart, and soul ease; but now, you are perplexed.
“encouraging him? whatever for?”
“i had not stayed with them long enough to hear the details of their conversation; i had sought you out rather immediately.”
“me!”
the dance had timed perfectly that upon receiving such information, you are forced to turn to another partner (who is unnerved to have you as a temporary companion). when you reunite with simon, his chuckling has mostly subsided.
“indeed. the viscount had encouraged me to ask you for a dance. the viscountess then stated that you required the practice.”
“i—— am utterly lacking in words in how to respond to that.”
“if it is of any comfort to you, it was something i had already intended on doing.”
“that is, rather strange?”
he grins.
“i can see how that is so from your perspective, yes. but from mine,” and it surprises you how suddenly simon’s countenance softens, “i had to find out for myself how wonderful this y/n y/l/n is to have so easily won the affections of all the bridgertons at number five. daff and i, as well as francesca, were becoming quite jealous that we did not have the good fortune to spend time with you as the rest of the family has had.”
“the family has… spoken of me?”
“in these past months of knowing you, you have become their most beloved topic of conversation. hyacinth and gregory idolize how resplendent of a storyteller you are. eloise adores being challenged by your intellect. colin aspires to your ferocity of quick wit. kate cherishes every discussion you share together. anthony reveres your unwavering resolve. violet becomes overcome with delight at every recounting of a memory in which you are involved. and benedict…”
you swallow.
“yes?”
you hear how feeble and quiet your voice has become.
“never stops speaking of you; so much so that it would be impossible to abridge what he loves in you.”
you shut your eyes closed at the words “he loves” and attempt to control the tears that threaten to flow at the word “you.”
the love he has for you is not the love you have for him.
“i— i did not know that they held me in such high regard,” you whisper.
you flutter your eyes open, grateful that no tears have fallen, and are greeted by the gentlest of smiles from simon. it assuages your soul.
“the highest of regards. they care very deeply for you.”
“and i care very deeply for them,” you declare softly. you then feel yourself break out into a smile. “i cannot say the same for you, yet, but i can see it forthcoming.”
simon throws his head back with a loud laugh, your smile transforming into a large grin (as you ignore the scowls that fall upon you). simon whips his head back to you, and he too wears a large grin.
“i am honored that you see the potential within me.”
with a final spin, you and simon release the other’s hand, ending the dance in a curtsy and a bow, both of your grins non-faltering.
“thank you for bestowing me the honor of dancing with you.”
you snort. (you hear scoffs and other suppressed noises of disapproval.)
“i fail to see how much of an honor it is to have someone incessantly knock into you, but if such is your feeling,” you curtsy with much theatricality and, upon your rise, let out a sigh of relief. “now, i shall retire to the margins once more.”
simon, once again, looks as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotions, but in it you detect— delight? you narrow your eyes.
“what?”
“you are not meant for the margins, y/n; please forgive me,” and with that, simon bows, his smile still non-faltering, and turns to leave you in the middle of the dance floor.
you are about to call out his name, curious and agitated by his vagueness—
“y/n?”
you turn around to the familiar voice and are greeted by a smiling anthony.
“oh no. are you going to ask me for the honor of having my next dance?”
the viscount looks as if he is about to howl with laughter and attempts to mask it, poorly, with his absurdly elated smile.
“is the idea of dancing with me truly so appalling?”
“the idea of dancing more is what i find so appalling.”
“i shan’t force you to do anything you do not want to do.”
“but how will your pride take it?”
this time anthony fully howls (earning looks of confusion at the host and their looks, predictably, turning to glares when they trace the impropriety back to you).
“i am always working on humbling myself,” he says, his expression softening. “i assure you that i, as well as my pride, can manage your rejection if it means that you are happy. you need not worry about my well-being.”
these damned bridgertons, and their damned charm, and their damned sincerity.
despite your internal accusations, you smile. you offer your hand (hearing a gasp or a few around you), and beaming, anthony takes it.
–
“you look like a princess, y/n!”
the saccharine words of hyacinth echo in your mind. with the transmutative magics of your fairy godmothers in mama, violet, kathani, genevieve, judith, alice, and the maids of bridgerton house, the impossible was made possible: you look like a princess. but it is not until this very moment, after descending a regal staircase, after entering this enchanting ball, after dancing with two dashing gentlemen and now a third, that you feel like a princess. you recall how you and your siblings played imagination; how you often asked to be the princess; how you did it so often that mama sewed you a dress from scraps of fabric and papa crafted you a crown out of discarded branches and your elder sister announced you as princess y/n whenever you played and your younger sibling waltzed with you around the first floor of your home. it makes you elated with childlike wonder how fortunate you are to be here and how lovely it is to be here, how strange and wonderful it is that imagination has become real life; as if it is all a wish for which you did not know you had wished, a wish that you did not know you had wanted to come true until it came true.
but—
“is there something on your mind, y/n?” you hear anthony ask, sometime after returning to him as your partner. “you seem pensive.”
“ah, yes. despite my gripes with you, and your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—”
“i gave you an option not to do so!”
“i am not finished speaking!”
he huffs out air through his nostrils, waiting with what seems to be a morsel of patience for you to continue.
“despite my gripes with you, your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—” anthony gives you a tired look that of an older sibling; you grin, “i am enjoying myself. i just wish, i just wish my family could be here with me, to enjoy it too.”
anthony’s expression softens immediately, and it makes your heart tighten. you know with what gravity, duty, and love he looks after the entirety of his family; you have witnessed it at every given second since becoming his friend. if someone were to be with you as you navigate this pain, you are glad that it is anthony.
“we shall invite them to the next ball we host,” he declares. your jaw drops. “it was a lack of foresight on my part for not doing so for this occasion, and i shan’t make that error again.”
you try to do rough estimations of what costs that would entail for the bridgertons— dresses and coats and shoes and four to six sets of two abstained days of work at least.
“anthony, i cannot possibly ask you to—”
“you did not ask,” he grins. “i offered. and i do so wholeheartedly. it shall not be a trouble for us, just strategic planning as kathani and i work the books. and before you protest—” you frown, both disappointed and flattered that anthony could sense your retaliation, “it is something i—as well as the rest of the family, i am certain—wish to do. if you won’t consider it for yourself and your family, then perhaps consider it as a gift to us selfish bridgertons.”
that makes you laugh loudly as you feel tears form in your eyes (whispers of you be damned). expression turning gentle once more, anthony continues,
“it would be an honor to finally meet your family. if they are even an inkling like you, then they must be truly wonderful, indeed.”
with a small sniffle of your nose and all the gratitude in your heart, you smile.
“they are. they are truly wonderful. i love them so much.”
anthony smiles in return with a nod of his head.
“then it is settled.”
“you are a good brother, anthony.”
you have wondered often if that is something anthony knows. while the bridgertons’ love for one another is apparent in all that they do and say and breathe, you haven’t heard them say very complimentary things to one another, particularly to the eldest. it is typical of families to tease and to jest, you know that intimately, but you also know how important, then, it is to tell your family what you truly think of them, how you truly feel of them. they ought to know just how much they are loved.
though his overall demeanor is composed and dignified, the softness in anthony’s eyes reveals his true emotion.
“and you are a good sibling, y/n.”
< their dance eventually comes to an end. someone approaches them. >
“good evening, brother,” benedict turns his ocean eyes to you. “good evening, y/n.”
“good evening, benedict.”
you vaguely hear something in your periphery. you turn to it and see a brilliant grin lighting up the viscount’s countenance.
“huh?”
“i had said that the viscountess is calling me over to her. i must pardon myself.”
“oh. yes. farewell, anthony.”
his grin broadens, dimples forming in his cheeks, and he bows. you see how, as he brings himself upright, his eyes shift towards his brother, the delight in his grin never leaving but something in his eyes… softening? before you can fully process it, he has turned and now walks towards kathani.
you turn back to benedict.
“i—— good evening, y/n.”
“good evening, benedict. though, we have already greeted each other this night, just moments ago.”
“ah, yes— that—— that would be correct. and— is… correct.”
he is anxious. your heart aches at the sight, and you want to reach out and touch him, comfort him, ease whatever his concerns are—but you refrain.
benedict clears his throat.
“are you— are you enjoying yourself?”
while heavy by benedict’s current state, your heart cannot help but glow brighter at his question.
“yes, tremendously so. the dancing has been plenty fun, despite how horrendous i am at it.”
that makes benedict laugh, and relief floods your body, mind, soul, and heart. it is good to hear him laugh. to see him smile.
“i do not think you are as horrendous as you think you are. your form has been quite good.”
you cock your head, feeling the scrunch of your eyebrows and the smirk on your lips.
“you have been observing me?”
his jaw drops, his body stiffening again. suddenly shy, he looks at his shoes and, with a cough, looks back up at you, and you attempt to hold in your gasp.
how.
how is that, after all this time, he makes these butterflies within me flutter still.
“i— i do not have a clever diversion for that. yes; yes, i have. i suppose i have been building the— the courage within myself.”
“‘the courage’? the courage for what?”
he swallows.
“to ask you to dance with me.”
oh.
“oh.”
he looks… he looks scared. exposed. vulnerable.
you feel them within yourself, too.
he offers his hand.
“may i dance with you, y/n?”
you place your hand in his.
“yes. yes, you may, benedict.”
i am terrified of nothing else and would love nothing more than to dance with you.
benedict leads you to the floor, his ocean eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his.
the quartet starts up, and you detect how it is music for a waltz. of all the dances you were taught, even you can admit that you were best at learning the waltz.
…
you curtsy as he bows. benedict places his hand on your waist, and you try not to elicit your gasp from feeling his touch.
< their dance commences. they are silent. a lot of staring and shit.
< notably, y/n is not cognizant of the ton’s perception of her while she dances with benedict as she had been with her previous partners. it seems her sole focus in this moment is dancing with benedict, being with benedict. her heart, mind, body, and soul is with him.
< y/n’s mind goes Rampant when benedict places his hand on her exposed shoulder. >
do not close your eyes, you reprimand yourself. if you close your eyes, you will indulge. you will indulge in this sensation. in this touch. in his touch. in benedict’s bare hand on the expanse of your exposed skin. in imagination. in fantasies. in thoughts. in other thoughts on other parts of your body that you so, so very much want him to—
“i had not spoken properly.”
you try not to shudder a gasp upon hearing his voice.
“pardon?” you say, a bit breathless. the dance calling for it, benedict twirls you, and you are now face to face again.
“earlier; when i had commented on your appearance, i had said you looked well.”
you snort, recalling the peculiar word choice, and that earns a smile from benedict.
“what i had meant to say is—“ he swallows, “you look beautiful, y/n.”
“i think,” you respond perhaps too swiftly, “that is testimony to genevieve’s skill and not to my appearance.”
“i think genevieve only enhances what is already there.”
you want to change, you don’t want to change— you do want to change the topic. you cannot handle whatever— whatever benedict is insinuating. the indecipherable, intense, attentive gaze of his ocean eyes on you. it is so much; it is too much.
“she spoke of you.”
shit. why did i say that?
his face immediately falls, ocean eyes transforming with it.
shit.
“genevieve spoke of me? with you? why?”
“kathani had accompanied me to the modiste, and i had shared with genevieve how i became acquainted with penelope and the bridgertons,” you half-truth. “talking about the family, and then you, was a natural consequence.”
“what did she say? about me?”
you try not to wince at the urgency in his voice.
“she shared how you and she had— an intimate and passionate acquaintance,” you divulge, using the words your friend had to describe the artists’ relationship. perhaps you imagine the sensation, but you feel benedict wince as you dance. “and that it was brief and no more.”
“she said that? ‘brief and no more’?”
“indeed.”
he sighs. you detect relief in the exhale, but perhaps you had, once again, imagined it. you always had an active imagination; trying to bend what you perceive to what you wish was real.
“i see,” is all benedict says.
“do you care for her?” you inquire. it is truly masochistic, what you are doing. but you cannot help yourself. it is something you often do when benedict is near. when you and he are so close.
there is a small silence.
“i did. at least, i think i did,” he shares. “i was hurt when our— acquaintance came to an end, but i was not heartbroken. i had known nothing of heartbreak, not until—”
and he suddenly stops speaking, sucking in his lips.
“until?”
“nothing. nevermind. forget i had said anything,” he says all too quickly. you laugh, and he scrunches his face in adorable disapproval at you.
“well, that only makes me the more curious, benedict! the mystery of it, and your very clear blush, indicate it must have been quite the event.”
“i am not blushing!”
“you cannot lie about something i can literally see.”
“you are infuriating.”
“and what do you think you are?”
benedict just pouts at you, though you see the twinkle in his ocean eyes. you want the twinkle to be of affection, but you will settle for amusement. for friendship. you take pride in how you can elicit this reaction out of him. you take joy in how he can elicit this reaction out of you. you love him, and you are grateful that is something you can say and know and feel. even if he does not love you as you love him.
“the first time i felt heartbreak,” he begins, finally giving in. you perk up in anticipation. “was when— was when you had walked out of the house after i had crumpled the paper to the floor.”
you nearly stop in your tracks, halting your waltz with benedict entirely, until you find a way to recover and continue the steps with him. he is looking intently at you, waiting for your response. you inhale a breath and on the exhale say,
“oh.”
it is a pathetic response, but it is the only one you can muster at this moment. breath has entirely left your lungs, your heart palpitates at a maddening rate, the lightning of benedict’s touch and proximity magnifying at every passing second.
“i had hurt you, this person whom i—” he swallows, “whom i care for, deeply and completely. i was, and am, ashamed of my deed and the arrogant thoughts and beliefs that led me to do it.”
“i have long forgiven you for that, benedict.”
“it is something of which i am not deserving.”
“you cannot tell me what to think or do,” you challenge, arching an eyebrow at him to add levity to the conversation. benedict smiles, despite himself, and it makes your body flood with relief and joy.
“i would never dare.”
“as you shouldn’t,” you grin, then inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils. “you need not flagellate yourself for what you did. that accomplishes nothing, and guilt is entirely useless in the structures that be,” you say resolutely. more softly, you continue. “my forgiveness is something i gave you willingly because it is what i truly wanted. because i knew, and know, how you wish to do better. i see that in everything you do; in your art, in your character. it is something i admire in you.”
benedict simply stares at you, his ocean eyes impossible to decipher again. his gaze is overwhelming, but you refuse to break it.
“i was about to say how undeserving i am of your compassion,” he says, “but then swiftly realized you would have just admonished me.”
you laugh.
“you were correct in thinking so, yes.”
he looks at you still, his expression still impossible to decipher, but there is something soft about it.
“thank you, y/n.”
the butterflies within you flutter once more.
“and if you ever wish to discard your paper again,” you diverge from your feelings, “simply hand it to me. i am always in need of more.”
he laughs fully, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight, and you feel the flutterings violently rage within. perhaps diversion was not the wisest choice (or perhaps it was, if it meant that you were the one to make benedict laugh like that).
“i have gotten quite good at maximizing the amount of negative space on a sheet, but nothing would delight me more than to support your writing.”
“i am most grateful for your patronage, mr. bridgerton.”
benedict makes something of a gagging noise, and you snort loudly.
“you are making it strange with the master-servant relation, y/n.”
“ah, so you are learning,” you comment with a sagacious nod of approval. it is now benedict’s turn to snort.
“what can i say?” he grins. “i have the greatest of teachers.”
“they have done quite well; please give them my regards.”
“i shall.”
and with the music coming to an end, you turn to face one another, wide and wild smiles on your faces. you curtsy as benedict bows.
“may i fetch you a drink?” he inquires after you are both upright again.
“is alcohol served at these occasions?”
benedict laughs.
“champagne it is.”
he gives you one more bow, lingering a moment more with one more smile, before taking off to retrieve your drink.
you try to bite back your smile, but it’s entirely useless. you twirl in your spot, feeling the swish of your dress in the spin, for you cannot help yourself. you cannot help how much joy radiates off of you in this moment, how giddy you are. it feels like a fairytale. you look in the direction benedict took off and feel your smile widen.
it is dangerous what you are doing— indulging in this. but you do not care.
this is undoubtedly the most wondrous night of your life.
“so you’re the pauper that the bridgertons have invited to their ball.”
you freeze.
“how else would you have been asked to dance by the host—the viscount and a bridgerton, nonetheless; his two brothers; and the elusive duke of hastings? it is an endearing sight, really.”
her posse snickers.
“the bridgertons have always been so kind and thoughtful in that way, extending their hands to the less fortunate. why they chose you, however, remains a mystery. if it were a pretty face that appealed to them, i perhaps could have understood, but you are simple at best.”
“you are cressida cowper,” you state.
penelope and eloise had warned you about a cruel creature amongst the ton, and the young woman before you matches all of the criteria they had described: icy platinum hair, draconian eyes, and a haughty disposition that ought to be reserved for the royals.
cressida daintily gasps and smiles at you with what seems to be all the mockery she can muster.
“i see that my reputation precedes me! though, only those of my standing can refer to me as such. cannot have my name tainted by the mouths of the lowly.”
you feel the gazes of other guests on you. you hear muffled sneers.
this is entertainment for them.
you should say something, stand up for yourself— against cressida, against her posse, against the ton— but you don’t. you can’t. your mouth has gone dry, your mind has gone silent, your body has gone numb. you have never, ever felt more powerless.
“your dress— did the bridgertons pay for it? of course they did. pity, though, for their wealth to go to waste on such an offensive thing. allow me to assist you—”
and she pours her drink onto you.
you try not to gasp at the chill of the liquid making contact with your skin. looking down, you see a reddish purple stain seep into the cream fabric of your ball gown as it continues to travel downwards.
you hear cressida giggle. you look up.
“better,” she simpers. “beautiful at last.”
her posse sneers with delight. the guests who had tried to suppress their laughs do nothing to hide their mirth now.
this is entertainment for them. my humiliation— it is entertainment for them.
you step into cressida’s space, eliciting a stunned gasp from her as the others follow suit, and shove your face as closely to hers as possible.
“if we were not in your domain, i would rip out your delicate hair and strike my hand across your pretty little face. but i am a lady—not in blood nor in title, but in character. and with your words and your deeds, you have shown just how utterly undeserving you are of such a title with your complete void of morals, compassion, and integrity. i do not care what you think of me, cressida, or what drinks you pour on me because i can rest easy in my sleep and waking hours knowing with perfect certainty that i am nothing like you. i bid you good night.”
and maintaining the ferocity of your glare on her horrified eyes, you muster up the most mocking, deep curtsy you can, turn, hitch up your skirt, and run away. you cannot care for the booming silence from that creature and her posse, for the murmurs and glowers of the ton thrown your way. you cannot take time to process what words a flutters-inducing voice snarls at cressida.
no.
you must simply run away, quickly and efficiently, because you refuse to give into these monsters’ satisfaction of seeing your tears.
𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇
the cool air of the night whips your face as you run as far and as deep as you can into the gardens. you curse your damned shoes, for they are slippery and nothing like your sturdy boots, and they make you realize even further how much you have fucked up in allowing yourself to get this far. in allowing yourself to go to the ball, in allowing yourself to dance, in allowing yourself to fall in—
feeling your shoe catch on something, you fall forward and throw your hands out in front of you, your gloved palms digging into the bark of a tree trunk as you attempt to steady yourself. you attempt to control the staggered rhythm of your breath, the sobs that choke out of your throat, the palpitations that threaten to collapse your heart.
why did i allow myself to get this far?
“y/n—”
you snap your gaze over to the call of your name as your stomach knots, somehow, even now, with flutterings upon hearing his voice.
“benedict, no— just— no,” you manage to croak out, stepping away from where he approaches. you hold up your hand, as if it is a magical force that will push him away. it does not. “just go, please, just go.”
“i refuse to leave you, y/n, you are hurt—”
you cackle, sniffling the snot that tries to escape your nostrils. you push your remaining hand off the tree and turn towards him.
“hurt? what gave you that impression? is it the tears? they are just water, benedict, they will dry.”
“this is not the time to jest!”
“then what do you want of me!”
“to allow me to help you!”
“why! why do you care! why do you care for some, some low status person like me!”
“that is not how i see you!”
“THAT IS WHAT I AM.”
he freezes. you feel yourself clenching your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms through the satin of the gloves that were bought for you.
“you are the son of a viscountess, a brother to a viscount. i wonder every day if my family will have enough food to eat at our one meal. we—” you gesture between the two of you, “—are not of the same world. and maybe, maybe it should have stayed that way. to, to have stayed in our own worlds. we should have stayed in our own worlds!”
“and is that what you want?” he shoots back.
“what?” you snark.
“is that what you want? for us to stay in our own worlds?”
you fall silent, words suddenly failing you, breath suddenly leaving you. he huffs out a breath and continues.
“if that is what you want, i shall stay away from you. i shall never bother you. i shall never hurt you as i have. we shall—” benedict swallows, “we shall forget each other. if that is what you want, y/n, i shall give it to you.”
you do not respond to him. you stare into him as he stares into you.
“is that what you want?”
you shake your head as you feel fresh tears rush to your eyes.
“then what do you want?” he softly asks.
you flutter your eyes closed and breathe in. on your exhale, you open your eyes to the tear-blurry sight of benedict still looking at you with such tenderness in his ocean eyes.
“i want you,” you whisper.
you barely have time to process anything else when benedict surges forward and wraps his arms around you in a crushing embrace. tears fall even harder than before as you cry into his chest and wrap your arms around him.
benedict pulls back from the embrace to look at you, to cup your cheek, to wipe away the tears that fall so quickly from your eyes.
“i want you, y/n. i want to be yours. i want to be in your world, i want our worlds to be one. i want to go wherever you go. i want to make you laugh and to make you smile every day and every night; i want to do everything with you. i want to be with you, to share this life with you. from the moment i met you, from the moment you intended to shake my hand, i have wanted nothing more than to share all the time i have on this earth with you. i do not care for balls, i do not care for the ton, i care— i care for you, y/n. these are not the circumstances in which i wanted to confess this, with you crying and us yelling at one another, but i must be true with you. i—”
“benedict?”
“yes?”
“may i kiss you?”
benedict’s jaw drops and you laugh at his shock, sniffling your nose as you beam at him. he quickly recovers, breaking out into the smile that has always made you flutter with butterflies, the smile that you always secretly hoped, dreamed, wished was reserved for you. and you begin to think that, after all this time, perhaps it is.
“good god, please, yes—”
he barely completes his ‘yes’ when you jump forward to crash your lips into his. benedict practically trips backwards with the force of your eager leap, the two of you laughing into your kiss at the messiness of it all, as he holds you both steady.
this is your first kiss. you are so glad that it is benedict.
and somewhere within you blooms the hope that he is your last first kiss.
you have no idea what you’re doing, or what you should be doing, but you are far too much enjoying having benedict’s lips on yours, your hands on his cheeks, his hands on your waist, and your bodies pressing more and more into each other to give the slightest care. and the smile you feel against yours makes you think that benedict doesn’t mind—at all.
you pull apart to breathe, but your lips do not move far from one another.
“i love you.”
“i love you, too.”
“and i am sorry.”
“for loving me?”
you feel benedict jump back as he holds you, his face absolutely crestfallen, panic flooding his eyes, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when you giggle and peck his parted lips with yours.
“i’m teasing you, my love.”
benedict’s eyes soften but quickly glint with mischief. you’re curious about the expression when you feel him tickling the sides of your waist.
“okay, okay!” you gasp with laughter as he tickles on. “i— i yield, i yield!”
benedict grins victoriously, his tickles fading into him softly rubbing circles on your waist.
“i am sorry for saying that is not how i see you, when you spoke of your social standing. i had not meant it that way, but i understand now how it was understood, and i should not have said it as i did. i know that i have lived a life of unfathomable ease with the wealth and circumstances into which i was born. the privileges i hold are not things i had reflected on, really, until— until i met you.”
you soften at his earnestness, by the way he humbles himself before you. but you cannot help the giddy mischief that bubbles from within.
“did you only reflect on your privileges as to win a femme’s favor?”
benedict’s jaw drops again, but you see how his ocean eyes shine with like-minded playfulness.
“do you truly think so lowly of me?”
you grin.
“perhaps.”
you feel benedict teasingly threaten his hands into tickling position onto your waist, and laughing, you shoo them away. he grins and softens his gaze once more.
“what i wanted to say to you earlier is— i wish you did not speak of yourself so harshly. as if you are unworthy of care from me because of your status. i care for you, i love you, y/n, as you are. as you were, as you will be. with all your circumstances, all your experiences, all your deeds, all your words, all your thoughts, all your feelings. for your heart, for your mind, for your soul. i love you because you are you, and i wish for you to see that, for you to see you as i see you. as so many of us see you.”
“i— i do not know what to say.”
“you do not have to say anything; just to, if i may ask of you, seed my words into your heart and mind and soul and know them to be true, wholly and completely,” a playful smile forms on his lips. “though, i must say, i am rather pleased with myself for rendering a writer with ferocious conviction speechless.”
you roll your eyes, but your voice is soft.
“you have had that effect on me for quite some time, benedict.”
benedict swallows and gently rubs circles onto your waist again.
“i love you, benedict.”
“i love you, too.”
< y/n and benedict, hand-in-hand, start to walk towards the house; they are taking their time. >
“are you certain you want to return the ball?” benedict inquires. “we can stay here in the gardens and wait until the last of the guests have gone.”
you hum.
“i would like to dance.”
“ah, was there a gentleman or a lady who caught your eye, miss y/l/n?”
“oh, loads. i hope it won’t make you terribly jealous, mr. bridgerton.”
“it will, but i shall simply stare at them maliciously if their hands are to roam.”
“yes, my form is reserved for your hands and your hands alone.”
you exchange grins.
“indeed.”
benedict nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, and you laugh. he lifts his head and plants a soft kiss on your temple.
“are you certain? i do not mean to doubt you or your wishes to dance. we can dance out here, under the bright light of the moon. i want you to feel content and safe.”
“i do feel content and safe. with you. with the family. within myself. i shan’t let the ton or cressida ruin my first ball. though, the idea of dancing in the moonlight is quite enticing. perhaps another night?”
“you have my word,” and bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses your knuckles. a serene silence falls between you two until benedict makes some sort of a noise in his throat, as if to clear his voice.
“i, uh, must say,” benedict begins, “your confrontation with cressida was, uh, quite— alluring.”
you stop, letting go of his hand, and stare at him.
“alluring?”
a delicious blush colors your love’s face.
“indeed.”
a newfound bravery blooms in you.
you step into his space, not breaking eye contact with his blown out pupils, the ocean of his eyes mere outlines. you sneak your lips towards his ear and hear a soft whimper emit from his lips.
“is that something of interest to you, mr. bridgerton?” you murmur, your bottom lip barely grazing his earlobe. you feel him shiver and inhale. “when you see someone be put in their place?”
he exhales frantically.
“it is something of interest to me when— when you do it,” he admits, as if out of breath. you smile, pressing your bottom lip softly into his earlobe. he does nothing to hold back his moan as you do everything in your power to hold in yours.
“that is good to know,” and quickly rip away from him.
in your step back, you take in benedict’s state—flustered, expectant, ruttish—and wink at him. you turn and walk away at your leisure, putting on a performance of superiority as you hide your own arousal.
it is only a few moments later that you hear benedict follow you.
“you,” he says, voice still fraught with desire but full with love, “will be the death of me.”
you look back at him and grin.
“and what would you like me to put on your epitaph?”
“benedict bridgerton, he who, in life and in death, loves the best soul to have ever existed.”
you cannot help your giddy self and close the distance between the two of you once more, grabbing his face and pressing your smile into his. benedict happily obliges as he places his hands at the low of your waist and pulls you closer into him.
< they get into it!
< y/n takes off her gloves so that she can touch benedict; she is about to throw them on the ground. >
“wait—”
and he takes your gloves.
“hm?”
“your gloves. they were costly to make,” benedict states as he stuffs them into the inside pockets of his jacket. “i don’t want to be flippant in letting them be discarded to the ground.”
you gape at him.
“you concern yourself with the cost of my gloves?”
“why, yes, of course, it is something i—”
you clutch onto the lapels of benedict’s jacket and push him backward into a nearby hedge, his mouth now agape and his pupils dark with a desire you very much want to satisfy.
“i find your consideration quite alluring.”
in the midst of his apparent arousal, benedict giggles, and that makes you grin.
“what is it?”
“a hedge, y/n? of all things to anchor me against?”
you roll your eyes.
“it was this, benedict, or the bark of a tree.”
“ah, so i should be grateful then.”
you repeat his words with sped up mockery, making him laugh and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the adorable way that is so very distinctly benedict, and you capture your love’s lips again to shut him up, smiling and laughing into the kiss.
…
“what do you want?”
“you. whatever you want, benedict, i want it. please.”
“are you certain?” he breathes into your ear.
“god, yes, benedict, please, yes.”
“then—”
benedict positions his head downward, burying his face into the crevice of your bosom, and before you can even begin to tease him for his absurdity, you feel the wetness of his tongue flat against the curvature of your right breast. your gasp of surprise quickly transforms into an ungodly guttural wail, feeling yourself dig your fingernails into benedict’s back, arching into him to steady yourself, as he painstakingly drags the flat of his tongue from your right breast against the expanse of your exposed chest to the length of your right shoulder. dazed and euphoric, you feel how benedict sneaks towards your ear, hovers it, panting ragged breaths,
“i’ve wanted to do that since you descended the stairs in that dress. and—”
taking your left hand, benedict pushes your middle finger and forefinger fully into his mouth. he methodically works his tongue against them as he guides your hand to pull and push in him, his blown out pupils never once leaving your intoxicated stare. you feel the desperate urge to throw your head back at the incandescent eroticism that throbs from your fingertips to the rest of your body, but may god smite you if you willingly tear your eyes away from the divine sight of benedict’s almost oceanless eyes gaping into you as his gorgeous mouth sucks on your fingers. just before you feel as though you are to fully blank out and ascend into the heavens, benedict rips your hand out of his mouth, the action creating an obscenely delicious ‘pop’ sound, and, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulls you back into him, your face finding respite just below his shoulder.
“i’ve wanted to do that since first drawing your hand.”
you laugh-cry into his jacket.
“shit, benedict.”
your love laughs and nudges his head into yours and rests it there as he softly rubs circles on your back with his thumb.
“please—” good god, breathe, “please remind me to ask you more frequently what you want.”
“did you enjoy it?”
“no, benedict, i quite plainly hated it.”
“i’d be glad to accept your critiques.”
“i know you would,” you smile into his jacket and, lifting your head, are greeted by your favorite sight: benedict, with his soft smile and his gentle ocean eyes.
“i have never felt like that before,” you admit in a whisper.
“nor have i,” he whispers back. that shocks you, and you must have made your reaction visible because benedict emits a laugh through his nose, soft smile and gentle ocean eyes unfaltering.
“but you have been with others before; you’ve had similar experiences, yes?”
you had assumed that your exhilaration must have been, apart from it being benedict, rooted in your lack of experience in such things.
benedict brushes a loose strand of your hair away from your eyes and tucks it behind your ear, his hand moving down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing it.
“yes, but those were different.”
you cock your head in response. he smiles, as if it is apparent.
“because they are not you.”
the sweetness of benedict’s ocean eyes are quickly replaced with shock then delight and then you don’t know what because he closes them as you crash your lips into his. whatever you had just felt before, you want it again. you want benedict. all of him. and you want all of him to feel what you just had.
you lick his teeth, and granting your wish, benedict opens his mouth more, groaning, bringing his hands to the curvatures of your ass, pushing your bodies even closer together though no space left exists between the two of you. you move your hand to the back of his head and, gripping a tuft of his hair, pull it roughly just as you capture his tongue with your mouth and suck hard. the sounds that benedict produce in reaction are entirely inhuman, but you vaguely deduce he is trying to say your name, and you’ve never attended a concert but, my god, nothing will ever sound as harmonious as the symphony that is your name gutturally trapped in benedict’s throat.
continuing with the work you’ve done to undo benedict thus far, you take your other hand and start to rake it against his body, starting at the base of his throat, taking time and leisure to explore, lowering and pressing into his chest, wondering wildly what beauty exists behind his damned shirt, lowering and feeling the firmness of his stomach and trying not to completely undo yourself with the sinful, transcendent thoughts of putting your tongue there, lowering and lowering and touching something curious and unfamiliar and hard and—
when he pushes you off of him.
“benedict, i— i am so sorry,” you panic, “please, what did i—”
“no, no,” he swallows, “you did— you have nothing to apologize for, my love, you were— uh— you were doing quite——” he clears his throat, “you were doing quite well; very well, actually…”
you continue to frown, still concerned.
“then why are you so tottery?”
“because— because if we were to continue, i do not think— i know i would not last for— um, for very much longer.”
you jut out your hip, putting the knuckles of your fist on it, and furrow your eyebrows at him.
“benedict bridgerton, i still do not understand what you are trying to convey. speak plainly.”
“we should stop.”
your jaw drops, as does your hand from your hip.
“why?” you practically whine. you should be embarrassed by your desperation, but to be entirely frank, you couldn't care less. benedict huffs out a laugh, still breathless, and, stepping towards you, lays a tender kiss on your forehead.
“as much as i would love for us to continue, i think being in the family gardens with a ball being held a few meters away is hardly an ideal location for the more— involved aspects of such activities. the aspects i’d like to explain to you,” he takes another step into your space, lowering his voice to an unfamiliar but enrapturing gravel, “the aspects i’d like to show you.”
you swallow your whimper.
“i—— i would very much like that,” you manage. and then you grin, “though, exploring such aspects in the family gardens sounds like it would be quite the adventure. a calculated risk, if you will.”
the alluring tone of benedict’s voice is completely replaced with a giggle, and your grin broadens as you press even closer into him and nudge your nose against his. benedict rests his forehead against yours and flutters his eyes closed.
“what did i do to have you love me back?”
you flutter your eyes closed.
“you were you. you are you.”
𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇
< ahead, y/n sees kathani. she makes the connection that kathani must have accompanied benedict as a chaperone so that y/n wouldn’t be “disgraced” by having a man by himself chase after her.
< as the two approach the viscountess, kathani recognizes how disheveled y/n and benedict look and promptly fixes them to look more presentable. she takes some hedge leaves out of benedict’s hair. >
“i see that you are well, y/n?” inquires kathani.
“never better, actually.”
she laughs, a smile falling on her lips.
“i am sincerely glad to hear that.”
< they walk closer to bridgerton house. >
“you are fortunate that it was not anthony who volunteered to chaperone. he would have not reacted well to his loved one being dishonored, as he would say, particularly on family grounds.”
“oh dear,” you say, nervous and suddenly self-conscious. you do not want to be the target of the eldest bridgerton’s wrath. “what have i done to dishonor—“
kathani laughs.
“i wasn’t referring to you, chellam. i was referring to him,” and she juts her chin out at benedict.
“me!”
“anthony will be furious when he finds out that you have been— private,” she says, gesturing to his newly tidied appearance, “with y/n in the gardens. not very gentlemanly of you.”
“he won’t find out!” benedict pauses. “he won’t find out— right, kate?”
kathani just makes a face of feigned deep thought and you chortle.
“kate!”
“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict.”
“but what if it’s for love?” he implores. he says it facetiously, but you feel with what conviction he exudes his true feeling.
kathani’s expression softens as she looks between you and benedict. you offer a small nod and a smile, confirming her thoughts. she beams at you but then narrows her eyes at benedict. there is no heat to her gaze; she is, however, having the most sublime time making her brother-in-law squirm.
“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict,” kathani repeats. benedict groans, throwing his head back like a disgruntled child, and you belly laugh at him.
“i hope you are ready for gregory to be your second,” she continues.
you almost double over as benedict snaps his head forward to look at his sister-in-law.
“gregory!”
“indeed. it is a shame as well— anthony’s accustomed second being the one he has to duel,” she sighs dramatically. “oh well. colin will make a fine replacement.”
“this family is ridiculous,” you declare, grinning like mad. “gregory seems a tad young, though. what about eloise? i am sure she would be a more than suitable second for benedict.”
“oh, i have no doubt,” grins back kathani, “but i would not dare involve a woman in the idiocy of men and their ludicrous concepts of honor.”
you and kathani laugh loudly, delighted by how much you are enjoying yourselves, untroubled by benedict’s moping.
“it has been wonderful being in love with you, benedict,” you state simply. “it’s a pity that it has to come to an end so soon."
kathani snorts. benedict stops in his tracks and gapes at you.
“you think i would lose the duel!”
“anthony is more stubborn; he would let it fuel his will to live.”
“i think you underestimate how much i love you and how that fuels my will to live.”
you smile. in your periphery, kathani smiles. despite his current displeasure with you, your love smiles.
“i suppose i do.”
𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇
< upon returning to the ball, y/n, benedict, and kathani see how anthony and violet are ensuring that the cowpers are leaving. before the family leaves, y/n approaches cressida. >
“i do hope to see you at another one of these events. if you find a way, of course, not to have yourself kicked out.”
and you curtsy. you turn to your love, his mouth in a wide smile and ocean eyes sparkling, and offer him a wink. you hear the quartet start up.
“i believe it is time for another round of dancing. care to be my partner?”
“i would love nothing more.”
< they dance. it is sweet, silly, romantic, and delightful. both y/n and benedict touch each other beyond what is considered proper, like hands laying too low on the waist or eliminating the space between their bodies, but they truly do not care. their unabashed joy is abundantly evident to everyone in the ballroom, but they are only focused on one another. they are in their own world. they giggle, they grin; it is the happiness they both deserve.
< they dance the next set.
< after her and benedict’s third dance together, y/n makes eye contact with violet, who is at the margins of the dancefloor, eyes wide with joy. >
“as much as i love dancing with you, my love,” you beam, “i think i am in need of a new partner.”
< y/n approaches violet and with a bow asks her for the honor of being her next dance. though delighted, violet remarks how she is too old, and y/n says that the youngsters can learn a thing or two from her wisdom and skill. >
“we would need permission from the host,” offers violet.
“from anthony! you birthed him! you granted him permission to exist!”
that makes violet laugh.
< violet agrees, and they walk hand in hand to the dance floor. in this dance, y/n and violet are partnered, benedict partnered with penelope, kathani partnered with anthony. >
…
“you’ve told each other."
“has anyone remarked how keenly insightful you are, violet bridgerton?"
“no,” the dowager replies with twinkling eyes, “but it is something of which i am well aware, and take great pride in. i am happy for you both.”
“i am so glad to have your approval.”
“oh tosh! as if a mother’s approval or disapproval can get in the way of real, true love.”
“perhaps so, but it is affirming to have the blessing from someone you so dearly love in a matter such as this.”
“you make it easy to love you, my dear.”
< the dance calls for a switch in partners. y/n becomes partnered with penelope, and violet becomes partnered with benedict. >
“thank you, pen.”
“whatever for?”
“for bumping into me at the markets.”
penelope laughs.
“accidents are quite good, are they not?”
“i despise them, actually,” you declare with a grin.
< penelope reveals that benedict shared with her why he was not seen for the first three dances of the night. >
your jaw drops, and penelope merely titters in response.
“is that why i didn’t see him! because he was lurking in the crowds to prevent men from approaching me?”
“it has been my discovery that the bridgerton brothers do not handle their jealousies well.”
“do you think gregory shall be the same?”
“oh, i am entirely certain. he shall likely be the worst of all.”
the two of you snort as you are sent back to your partners, penelope with benedict and you with violet.
“and what has you and penelope in such giggles?”
“making barbs at your sons.”
violet laughs.
“they make it awfully easy to do so, do they not?”
< the dance comes to an end. violet plants a soft kiss on y/n’s head.
< turning, y/n connects eyes with benedict who wears an incandescently happy expression. >
how could you not see it before? how in love he is with you.
< tired but elated, y/n takes a break from dancing. she reunites with the rest of the bridgertons at the ball. y/n finally meets daphne, who remarks that she has heard so much about y/n. eloise shares how the family wished to check in on y/n when she had returned to the ball to see that she was well; in a rare smile rather than a smirk, eloise shares that, upon seeing her dance and dance again with benedict, that she looked quite well indeed. at some point in the conversation with the bridgertons, y/n inquires when she can meet francesca.
< time passes, and joy is had amongst the bridgertons, penelope, simon, and y/n. y/n cannot believe her happiness.
< the last dance is called. benedict approaches y/n. >
“may i have the honor of being your final dance of the night?"
“you aren’t tired of me yet?”
“i shall never tire of you, y/n.”
upon taking your hand, benedict twirls you once then twice as he leads you towards the dance floor. giggling and grinning, you decide to do the same to him, causing him to giggle and grin right along with you.
< they dance a fourth time. >
𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇
< the guests have made their leave from the bridgerton ball. colin, eloise, and violet have gone to their respective bedchambers.
< anthony, benedict, kathani, and y/n walk up the steps of the grand staircase. anthony has his hand clamped on benedict’s forearm and pulls him up the steps with particular determination and quiet fury. >
“i know where i sleep, brother! i have slept there since we were children!”
“i am well aware of that, benedict, and i am also well aware of how you— roam when enticed.”
benedict looks at anthony, to you (you just shrug as you look on at the exchange with excitement), and back to anthony.
“do you people really think so little of me!”
“i do not think little of you, brother, i just know you.”
benedict’s shock deepens incredulously, though you see the smile underscoring it all.
“i am a man of honor! i am a gentleman!”
“yes, as am i, as is colin, as was father; all bridgerton men are, and all bridgerton men are idiots around the persons for whom they have affections. now, go into your bedchamber,” anthony finishes as he shoves his younger brother into the room.
“you are a nightmare!” you hear your love shout from within.
“and you are to stay here for the remainder of the night!” he shouts back, leaning forward to grab the knob to benedict’s bedchamber and pulling the door shut with a loud thud. he turns to kathani, composure returning to his senses.
“my dearest, may you call samuel and lawrence, please? i shall have samuel stationed here and lawrence stationed outside benedict’s window. they will be paid double their wage for these extemporary responsibilities.”
you laugh with your whole stomach and feel tears sting your eyes. you have no concern in hiding your howls until you remember hyacinth and gregory are asleep and promptly clamp your hand over your mouth. your hand succeeds in muffling your laughter, but marginally.
kathani rolls her eyes at her husband and deeply sighs.
“i shall,” she replies, smiling at her love’s antics.
pleased with her answer, anthony right about turns at benedict’s door, places his hands behind his back, and stands up tall, taking his temporary duty as guard with the utmost gravity. something then eases in his posture, and he turns to you.
“i hope you have enjoyed your night, y/n.”
your heart swells.
“it was wondrous, anthony. thank you.”
he beams, brilliant delight in his eyes.
“i wish you good rest.”
and with a bow of his head, anthony turns away from you and assumes his station once more, gravity and perfect posture and all.
the viscountess turns to you, her smile having softened, and says, “let me escort you back to your bedchamber. i shall help you prepare for bed.”
–
“despite his many flaws,” kathani says with all amusement and fondness in her voice as she removes the pins from your hair, “anthony is, indeed, a man of honor and honesty.”
“i never had my doubts, but—” you snort, “that has certainly proved it.”
“it is because he thinks so highly of you,” she shares, looking at you in the mirror. you turn around in your seat and connect with her eyes, eyes that are filled with so much warmth. “he cares deeply for you, y/n. anthony is only that overbearing and overly protective when it comes to his family, and he sees you as our family. we all do.”
you suck in air through your nostrils, feeling the swell of your heart. how did you get so fortunate as to be so loved by this family?
though, you detect something in kathani. her words are sincere, of that you are not doubtful, but they do not seem complete. it is as if she wants to say more, if the blossoming twinkle in her eyes is indicative of anything. but kathani does not elaborate.
instead, she picks up the brush on the vanity and gently brushes your hair. it reminds you of when your elder sister used to brush your hair before bedtime. you close your eyes, humming.
“i see you all as my family, too.”
𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇
< the next morning, late morning. the dining room. >
“you are infernal,” benedict deadpans to anthony, staring at his brother and taking his seat next to you.
“you are incorrigible; i was correct,” anthony responds, his eyes not leaving his paper.
“correct about what, brother?” hyacinth asks.
despite their current rivalry, benedict and anthony both freeze. kate speaks on their behalf.
“your eldest had deemed it necessary to have lawrence stationed outside below benedict’s bedchamber window in the early morn and was proved correct in doing so; your second eldest had attempted to escape by way of that route.”
“stationed outside his window? why would that be necessary?” gregory inquires. he turns to benedict. “and why were you trying to leave through your window?”
in his periphery, benedict sees you whipping your head. you seem to have suddenly found some interest in the painting on the wall faced away from the current scene. he notices how you hide your smile behind your fist and how you attempt to suppress the convulsions of your laughter. kate, on the other hand, unapologetically laughs.
“i am certain you will learn in due time, gregory. it is something of a tradition, it seems.”
“will i get to participate in this tradition?” hyacinth enthuses.
“NO!” benedict and anthony shout in tandem. they look at each other, and the elder gives a ‘see!’ face to the younger. benedict just rolls his eyes.
his eyes eventually land back on you: you have now totally hidden your face in your hands with elbows perched on the table for support, any attempts at hiding your laughter now entirely gone. your entire body vibrates as you somehow squeak and guffaw into the palms of your hands.
“ugh, why do adults always speak in such vague statements!” hyacinth grumbles as she slumps in her chair and crosses her arms. she then suddenly shoots back up and looks at you. “y/n, you only speak in riddles when we play! may we play now?”
“yes! may we play now?” gregory pipes up.
“please!” the two youngest plead in tandem. benedict looks to you, and wiping away your hands to reveal your face red from laughter, you say,
“i would be— i would be delighted to do so,” you take sharp breaths in between attempts at controlling your laughter. “perhaps—” you full on snort, and it makes benedict break out into a grin, “—perhaps, after the young sorceress and— and the young knight slay the wyvern, they— they will save the— the—” you laugh hard again, “the princess, captive and forlorn in her tower.”
gregory and hyacinth shout their joy and take off from the table.
“you haven’t been excu!— oh, nevermind,” anthony grumbles in an uncanny, childlike resemblance to his youngest sibling.
benedict watches as you use your forefingers to swipe at the corners of your e/c eyes, fits of laughter still bubbling out of your mouth.
i love her, and she loves me, he thinks in awe. it has been on repeat in his mind since you confessed to one another in the gardens just the night prior. she is mine, and i am hers.
“your lordship,” you giggle still as you look at anthony, and benedict snickers, “may i be excused to play make-believe with your youngest siblings?”
anthony rolls his eyes with much theatricality, but his smile at you is sincere.
“you are not my sibling,” he states, but benedict catches how his elder brother quickly glances at him with eyes that say ‘yet,’ “you need not my permission, but yes, you may.”
you bow your head in dramatic gratitude, causing kate to titter and anthony to look to the ceiling, and you lift yourself up from your seat.
before you follow after his siblings, benedict reaches out and gently takes your hand. you look at him, and he feels how his stomach flutters when his blue eyes makes contact with your e/c. just as it did the first time, just as it did every time after.
benedict feels you softly rub three circles on his hand. he softly rubs four circles on yours.
“good day, princess,” you say with a wink at your love, slowly slipping your hand away from his and then turning to walk out of the dining room. benedict stares at you as you leave.
i love her, and she loves me. she is mine, and i am hers.
“when do you intend on proposing, brother?” anthony smirks as he puts his teacup to his lips.
benedict smiles, looking off at where your laughter is heard.
“later this afternoon.”
anthony chokes on his tea, and kate, patting her coughing husband’s back, arches an eyebrow at her brother-in-law, amusement dancing in her eyes.
“without a ring?”
benedict turns to look at the couple and grins.
“who said i don’t have a ring?”
“you are joking,” anthony says matter-of-factly. “we all are excited at the prospects of y/n officially joining this family, but you just confessed your love for one another not even twelve hours ago. we are still breaking fast! there were guards at your door and your window! how could you have already procured a ring?”
benedict smiles, digging into his pocket.
“i do not jest, brother.”
and, with pride, he holds up a thin band made of twisted paper.
“now, if you will excuse me,” benedict announces, lifting himself out of his seat, giving a kiss to the top of kate’s head, and ruffling anthony’s hair. “i must be going.”
“and where are you off?” anthony demands as he straightens out his hair.
“do you think i am going to propose to y/n without asking her family’s permission first? would not be very gentlemanly of me if i did.”
“how do you know where she lives!”
“that is what you were asking penelope last night,” kate answers. anthony looks at his wife, incredulous and in awe. benedict grins.
“exactly so, sister. i’ve always known you held all the intelligence between you two. i would have seen to it sooner, but—”
an image of e/c eyes and ink-stained hands flashes in his mind, the flutterings in his stomach intensifying. butterflies— that is what he will paint next, he decides.
after he finishes his portrait of you.
“—i was held captive in my tower.”
#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton fluff#benedict bridgerton angst#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n#penelope featherington#kate sharma#anthony bridgerton#colin bridgerton#eloise bridgerton#gregory bridgerton#hyacinth bridgerton#violet bridgerton
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one time my mom was talking about something, I don’t remember what, and she said “have you ever known the poverty of having nothing to say?” and when I say nothing has ever punctured my heart quite like that statement
#I don’t even fully know why. also I don’t think she even meant it how I took it#but there is just some part of me that does believe that that is the greatest poverty#when there are no words in your mind or heart. no phrases—nothing to rely on or fall back on#and you just have to struggle with the human condition and be able to express none of it#and I know that not everyone uses words like I do or relies on them that way but people need some words. they need something#this is why a) I never make fun of those Instagram accounts that are all cheesy inspirational quotes or whatever because people are trying#they are REACHING#also b) that’s why villains who are wordlessly violently destructive make me cry#because it’s just like—-yeah I can understand turning to violence if I didn’t have expression#if I couldn’t get anything out#also also this is not related but I watched some movie or tv show the other day (and I cannot for the life of me remember which one it was)#but there was this couple on a date and the girl asks him to complete all these proverbs after she gives him the first half#because ‘a man who knows his proverbs can’t be all bad’ and it shook. Me. To. My. CORE.#also also!! this is why I teach! it’s the heart of it for me!! And why I make them memorize poetry. like.#and put quotes on the board every day. like. You will have words and images in your mind and your heart from my class if I have anything#to say about it#anyway sometimes my mom says things and casually devastates me#and I think (I think) she was just talking about the poverty of having no news because nothing is going on#and so you have nothing to share with someone. and she was talking about my Grandma and how sometimes she was just so sullen and quiet#but it’s just because there was nothing to say#anyway anyway anyway that is also why the one time on the phone my grandma said who has known the mind of the Lord —shook me so much#because she never really said anything. words were not her thing and she never quoted anything#and suddenly her saying this line of scripture that said more than any words I’d ever said —one of the defining moments of my life#tbh. anyway this is very long I’m sorry. I have woken up this morning crying about this. idk.
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"she met a pinecone's fate" was hysterical the first time around and it's still funny but the longer I think about it the more unsure I actually am about the line
#it just feels so. callous. or like. it doesn't FEEL callous cause it's not portrayed that way and you laugh and I'm still laughing#but like. it's callous that is a callous thing to say and it's not like percy doesn't have dickishness to spare#but on this specific thing? really? he's not like that#like. this is after being told the full story so he knows what happened to thalia#and his response to effectively hearing about how this girl died for her friends and not just any friends but the people he's with rn#is “she met a pinecone's fate” a like. dismissive joke about what happened to her#like in the books percy empathizes with thalia's situation he feels for her it's tragic it's a somber moment😭😭#she was a demigod more powerful than the others she was hunted even more than they usually are (percy relates)#and she died for her friends (definitely something percy relates to and would value lol)#and on TOP OF THAT. to say this in front of grover and annabeth? who clearly loved her a lot??#like. percy doesn't like annabeth atp but he doesn’t hate her enough to be crossing those sorts of lines??#and GROVER. is literally his best friend. can you not figure that thalia's death probably weighs on him#oh wait I just remembered at that point in the episode he doesn't know grover was with them lol sorry ignore that bit#anyway. like I get it it's funny and they have a lightly antagonistic relationship in ttc so it's funny!!#like haha he's ALREADY getting his digs in!!#but. idk. feels a bit mean :/#pjo#pjo tv#dropping episode 3 thoughts mere hours before episode 4 lmao#I'm not gonna be able to watch 4 tonight though lol
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tao x elle (explodes)
#tao is literally me i have not related to a character so hard#those scenes in the trailer with them???? i’m gonna combust they are so adorable#them running in the louvre?? elle telling tao to get a haircut??? tao getting all embarrassed when elle knocked??? the yearning????????#love nick and charlie and tara and darcy but oh my god THEM…love is real again#my faves my besties#they’re so fucking sweet oh my god#also the teachers!!! cannot wait for their storyline as well!!!!!!#i lost interest in heartstopper for a while but idk i’m starting to like it more again#“oh ur being gay carry on” can’t believe i get to hear that with my own ears. kizzy edgell i love you#also tara/darcy going through a rocky path????????? if anything happens to either of them i will do something that ends up on national tv#need something lgbt to happen to me soon i can’t stand watching charlie and nick be sappy and shit without feeling lonely and sad!!#what is wrong with me!!!!#also why is ben hope still here nobody gives a shit about him lol he’s not even relevant at this point!!!#heartstopper#haven’t mentioned isaac and imogen yet but i love them dearly i hope they get good arcs this season#i know isaac might have an arc with him realising his aromaticism or something along those lines?? love that for him#i hope imogen’s treated well this season she’s sweet#same with the new characters!! and sahar my bestie!!#paris trip is my favorite storyline i hope they do it justice#valeramblings
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Thoughts on how they will explain a possible 3 episode Lucy absence?
The first thing that comes to mind that makes sense to me is Lucy's family.
We don't really know much about Lucy. Take it from her, her entire life is just work, gym, and Kate. She doesn’t really have anything else going on (I really thought her being a junior agent and wanting to follow in Tennant's footsteps was gonna be up there, but they seemed to randomly drop that after they futzed with the timeline to give us that Kacy backstory). The only thing we really know about her is that she has issues with her rich family and potentially burned that bridge when she left Texas. Given NCIS: Hawai`i's focus on ohana and the crumbs she was dropping last season (they were her third-most talked about thing behind work and Kacy angst lol), Lucy’s family troubles seem to be shaping up to be her other big long-term storyline.
Among the bits of bts we've gotten from 2x07 (presumably the last episode she would be in if she were to be absent for 3 episodes) was this interesting little sneak peak:
(from a bts video a crewmember uploaded, these are tori and yas's stand-ins while the crew is setting up the shot)
Looks like the perfect set-up for them to get personal, like talking about Lucy’s fear of the water or quietly reflecting on her insecurities or her family/childhood (we already have a Whistler focused episode so this could be Lucy’s moment). Like something on the same level of seriousness as the scene where Lucy’s comforting and encouraging Kate outside of the FBI BBQ, but maybe with less anxiety and more chill vibes lol. It could be a great opportunity to finally introduce some substantial Lucy backstory and or a long-term background storyline that isn’t just about her and Kate.
I know a lot of people theorize that her family has cut her out completely or vice versa, but NCIS: Hawai'i already has one parent-child relationship that started out like that with Wally and Kai so maybe they want to differentiate a little (though they could use that similarity as an opportunity to get them to bond over it whenever that storyline happens, a more in-depth version of 1x04). I could see her not reaching out, but not having their numbers blocked either or still keeping minimal contact with them, birthdays and whatnot. Maybe something happened with a niece or nephew or her parents and she needs to go back and see them. It would warrant Tennant giving her extended personal time to take care of it. Plus, it would be easy to explain why she’s not in the episode at all if she’s back on the mainland and if they wanted to, they could include her without her needing to be on location/the sets via either phone or video calls and she could record all her scenes ahead of time. Though, the cons to this would be that if Lucy was absent from the episode, that means we wouldn’t get to see any of the angsty family scenes! (unless there were flashbacks shown later) and it could turn into a lot of tell not show type story writing which I hate. It would be a neat way to introduce angst though if Lucy is keeping it all in and not telling anybody about what happened even though its clearly affecting her (or if Kate feels hurt that Lucy didn't want her to go with her/isn't telling her either). It would be an interesting bump in the road in a season where she's been building trust and communication with Kate. My dream would be for it to progress slowly, more mentions of her past here and there, her family slowly becoming more present in her life (good or bad), maybe a brother or sister shows up in an episode down the line as a suspect or to visit and that throws her off, but I want the parents showing up to be an unexpected monumental thing that doesn't happen until like at least late s3 or s4.
Each of their cases takes places over the course of a few days minimum and that’s not even accounting for the amount of time that might take place in between them. Unless they threw in a few Nightwatch type cases (which they solved in one friday night and one entire saturday) then I don’t see how you explain away that big of an absence in-story unless you introduce a big storyline like Lucy needing to go back home for some reason.
Another possibility I’ve seen floating around is Lucy getting hurt in the upcoming episodes, which is very doable and I would not hate it at all. My only potential concern with that is I would want her to have scenes with the whole team and not just Kate while she's recovering. So maybe if she’s in the hospital, Tennant comes by to see her and tells her about the case or the boys throw her a little party in the hospital or they video call her because she’s bored out of her mind. Though, since Lucy’s in the crossover, I don’t know how keen Tennant would be bringing an agent who was recently seriously injured with her to LA on a mission like the one being described in the crossover (Noah is also listed as being in the crossover, but I don’t know if I’ve heard or seen anything at all about him filming out of state). IIRC, the synopsis mentions something about agents being targeted so Lucy being separated from everyone while in Texas could make her an easy target? Or if she hears about Tennant going to LA, it would make sense why she’s the one accompanying her because she’s already on the mainland and would probably be looking for an excuse to leave her family (or maybe she wants to leave Texas to protect them since she’s a target).
Hell, since we're speculating let's just throw shit at the wall. Maybe they do something wild like Lucy went on a long undercover thing or oh she's suspended because she fucked up.
Of course, they could still go with, “oh Tennant just shipped Lucy off to help another division since she's the only one who doesn't have family they need to take care of in Hawai’i or Lucy needed to help a friend or something it’s nbd,” and have her come back like nothing happened.
tldr; keeping up with the taras, she gets hurt, they just brush it off casually, or they throw something out of left field
(i am in the camp that if she were to be absent entirely, id lean more on it only being a one or two episode absence at most)
#ncis hawaii#ncis hawai'i#lucy tara#ik lucy isnt tennant so she doesnt HAVE to be there but 3 ep seems like way too many to miss#it would be hard to explain an absence that long in show unless she was gone for something really important right#watch me be the clown and if lucy does leave she comes back like nbd and they move on rq LMAO#imagine if whistler somehow appeared in every episode and lucy#im sorry this is long as shit but thanks for the ask!#this is a biased post because i just want to hear about lucy's backstory already LMAO#i love all the kacy content dont get me wrong but i feel like the teams slacking a little on backstory for everybody this season#i am excited to see how they handle the family storyline to the point where ive probably hyped it up too much in my head lol#theres just so much potential there and as a poc i want it to be relatable and nuanced#also im just really excited to see pearl ohana vs blood family i wanna see kate stand by lucy i want it all#i also love whump and hurt character angst tho so if lucy just gets injured ill be fine with that too#the problem with all the scenarios is i want to watch them all unfold on tv#with no absences LMAO so im praying
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i think i was normal about ben barnes on my tv. only thought about punching through the wall once! me when i’m so fucking normal
#oh yeah you guys don’t have context for why i’m being weird about this. see the thing is that’s my old friend prince caspian#and i’m really. REALLY. not normal about him. due to. childhood. i guess.#this is like if i watched a show and anna sophia robb played a mob boss or something. that’s not what she’s supposed to be doing on my tv.#that wasn’t a relatable example hold on#this is like. if logan lerman was on a show and his character was like. a sex offender#now that’s dramatic but i’m trying to paint a picture here#anyway. i didn’t even throw up about it go me !!#🪲
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just found out my classmate is MANY tax brackets away from me
#i didnt know people actually had trees/homes like that and not just like. in magazines or tv shows#girl this a POOR school what is this#its a shame i dont follow this other really really rich girl at school id love to see what she has going on rn#oh that reminds me i my favourite christmas afternoon pastime is to watch rich girl christmas haul tiktoks#they fascinate me like its not even remotely something i can relate to#its like my fascination with 00s teen girl movies. love to see what rich teens have going on
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Zeke would also like lain i think
#envy watching lain choke herself being like thats so us and sloth being like do you have something to tell me#for real though i think he would get it. and he would tell kilmer about it#i think kilmer would like it too but she would be struck with she just like me fr#frantically typing into hell google what is kinning why girl on tv like me how do i know if i kin why this happening#also slightly related i just ordered a lain shirt 🫂 excited for it#speaking#demonposting#zeke
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Kento Comes Home Drunk
(help me find the Nanami artist in the banner, for crediting and thanks/permission!)
The reader manages her drunk, horny fiancé, Nanami Kento, like an absolute champ.
Link to the sequel here: Reader Comes Home Drunk
WARNINGS: 18+, soapy handjobs (F to M), mutual masturbation, cumshots, ethics of consent, Kento being a sloppy drunk
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Hope he's having a good time, you mused to yourself, nursing a late cup of tea. The clock ticked well past midnight; you were the overnight on-call for Curse-related shenanigans, so whilst you had wanted to join Satoru, Shoko, Ino, Ijichi and Kento for drinks, you had, instead, waved Kento off, and settled in for a night with your phone on loud, and late-night game shows.
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"Hate to see you leave," you'd sighed at 6pm, bobbing upwards for a kiss. He had traded his work attire for a buttoned black shirt, and simple dark jeans. Effortlessly handsome. You buried your face in his chest, breathing his cologne, and gave him a playful shove on the chest, like trying to push a truck.
He stepped backwards, with a lopsided smile and his hand reached out to pinch your chin affectionately.
"But love to watch me go?" You winked at him. You were wearing his favourite outfit; your oldest pyjamas. He found something so sexy about you being comfy. You preened at him, cradling your first tea of the night.
"You know it." He chuckled, but became serious immediately after.
"Call me if you're called out overnight. I want to be around if anything...happens." You nodded, hand on heart.
"Good luck beating off other women with sticks. Hope you've practiced your comedy rejections."
Kento hummed sagely, "Bold of you to assume I'm a man? My doctor said I shouldn't until the smallpox has cleared up? Undskyld, jeg taler ikke Japansk?"
You laughed, gave him one final kiss, and waved him out of the door.
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Firmly lost in late-night TV and stifling a yawn, you noted the time; nearly 2am. As you smilingly hoped Kento was having fun, there was a firm tap at the door. You rose to answer it, and you paused to hear shuffles, bumps, hushed voices and fumbled keys. Rolling your eyes, you opened the door to a waft of whisky fumes dressed as your fiancé.
"Fiancé delivery service! Sorry for the late call ma'am, I tried to throw him over the gate but he was too heavy." Satoru heaved Shoko higher onto his back, and she groaned, face first in his shoulder. Ino and Ijichi swayed behind him, quietly huddled over Ino's phone and arguing over what food to order.
You smirked up at Kento, who was possibly more gorgeous while dishevelled, shirt half untucked, sleeves rolled, and stumbling into the hallway to kick his shoes off. He walked the confident walk of a drunk man back towards the door, possessively looping an arm around your waist and planting a sloppy kiss to your neck. Glaring at Satoru, he gripped the doorframe.
"I didn't need you to get me home, Gojo. I'm not drunk." Kento shuffled his whole face into your neck, gripping your pyjamas hard. You thanked Satoru, and sent him off to deliver the other drunkards home. Kento slammed the door hard, and backed you up against the wall while you laughed, slapping at his chest as he mumbled incoherent greetings against the side of your face.
"Behave yourself, buddy, you're hammered. Let's get you to bed." He groaned cheerfully, taking this as an invitation. His eyes met yours, unusually playful, and with a wink started to slowly unbutton his shirt. You rolled up a nearby newspaper and swatted his hands. Mouth watering at the sight of his abs, you sternly told yourself off.
"It is unethical to have sex with drunk people when you're sober. I don't know what you think you're getting tonight, but you should adjust your expectations." Bodily manhandling him, you turned him around while he grumbled at you, urging him towards the bathroom. He sat against the counter, bum accidentally setting off the tap in the sink, while you set the shower running. He stumbled and cursed behind you, trousers now wet and clinging to his muscled thighs. You heard him stripping while you waited for the water to heat up.
He thinks he's being sneaky, you thought to yourself as Kento pressed himself into your back, erection now full and visible against his underwear, and his hands slipped boldly under your pyjamas. While one hand reached up to cup your breast, the other snuck down to graze against the top of your mound. Involuntary shivers of pleasure ran down your spine, his wet mouth on your neck smelling of hot whisky and smoke.
"I have full capacity," Kento purred against your neck, tongue trailing up to your ear now, "and I'm so delighted my girl is still home, and I'd love nothing more than to make her the final taste on my tongue tonight." He stopped, musingly, his gaze at you still drunk and fluttering.
"Unless you don't want to," he pondered, taking his hands from your body. You pouted up at him, crossed arms and faux-angry, and nodded towards the shower.
"You smell like a bar. Behave yourself." Kento chuckled at you, cracking his neck and sighing, absent-mindedly palming his erection through his underwear. His cock sprang up as he finished undressing, pink-tipped and perfect, and you couldn't resist looking him up and down. He stepped into the shower, hot water cascading down his broad shoulders. Leaning one hand against the glass, he eyed you ruefully again.
"I'll manage myself then, shall I?" Still leaning on the glass, his eyes drifted shut as his other hand trailed down his body to grip his wet cock. "Please don't feel obliged to stay." You tried to appear unaffected, and moved to turn, but paused as you heard the slow wet strokes of him pumping himself under the running water. The drink lowered his guard, and he let out a long, slow moan of relief as he pleasured himself, now totally oblivious to your presence.
You felt heat pool between your legs, your arms covered in goosebumps and your nipples pebbling under the cool pyjama fabric. You considered your options.
Still stroking himself, and gradually increasing the pace, Kento was imagining you riding him on the sofa, like you had done only days before, his hands on your eager hips as you told him how deep you could feel him. He groaned to himself, desperate to feel that intense intimacy and pleasure again, enhanced by the alcohol running through his system.
Thoughts interrupted by a tap on the shower glass, he opened his eyes to you, leaning against the bathtub, one hand moving slow circles over your clit and another rolling your nipple between your fingers. Lower lip between your teeth, you blushed as you watched Kento pleasure himself.
Kento moaned unashamedly, swiping his thumb over his tip, cock twitching furiously in his hand.
"I'll return the favour, I promise," he begged you, eyes fully focused on where your hand moved steadily beneath your pyjamas, feeling his pulse quicken as you flushed and moaned, legs weakening against the tub, "I know what you're like when you come home drunk, you're a nightmare, saying no to you is a chore."
Lip still between your teeth you smiled at him, and, now feeling especially naughty, you moved to straddle the lip of the bathtub. Kento's jaw dropped as you began to ride it, sighing his name as if he wasn't there, now slipping your pyjama top down to release your aching breasts.
"Shit...please get in here before I lose my mind," and he stopped stroking himself, hand gripping the base of his cock as pre-cum trickled out, merging with the running water. His head was still spinning with the alcohol, but his senses were sharpened by your performance, so he watched you hungrily, determined that he'd cum inside you if he had any say in the matter.
You continued to hump the side of the bath, shuddering, eyes glinting with mischief.
"How can I trust that you know what you're asking?" You replied breathlessly, "It is unethical. I'd be taking advantage. I'd hate for you to regret me in the morning."
Kento grinned at you. "But watching me is fine? It seems worse somehow. Regret you," he scoffed. Humour aside, Kento shifted uncomfortably, grunting as his cock continued to throb in his hand. "Get in here," he wheedled, "and stop fucking the bathtub in front of me, and use me instead."
You acquiesced, resolve cracking. Stripping quickly, you slipped into the shower, pressing against him and immediately gripping his pulsing shaft. He stuttered and whined, hands pressed back against the glass, panting as you squeezed him.
"Alright, you win," you breathed against him, licking the flat of your tongue across his nipple, tasting the sweat and nightclub on his skin, "but I will absolutely remember this when I'm the one who's drunk and begging."
You spun Kento around again, and reached around his hips to grasp his cock just as he would as he pleasured himself. He continued to pant, whining and begging you for relief. You rubbed his tip with the flat of your palm, teasing, before starting to stroke from the head to the base of his cock in well-practiced motions.
Kento moaned and murmured sweet praise. His hands pressed against the glass, fingers flexing and unfolding as you fondled his bum lovingly, nipping his shoulder blades and sweeping your wet hand up and down his cock, gently twisting and squeezing at the head until he was gasping. You kept a steady pace, Kento occasionally thrusting forwards into your hand, calling you his good girl, his sweetest thing, being so good to him.
Head swimming with the alcohol, Kento gladly accepted the handjob, overwhelmed by the pleasure and steam of the shower. As he was about to turn to insist on bending you over against the shower wall, your second hand crept round to his throat and squeezed just hard enough for his moan to catch in his chest. Balls tightening and abdomen twitching, Kento gasped as you whispered into his ear; "be a good boy and cum in my hand".
Kento broke, wave after wave of pleasure rushing through him, strengthened by the drink, as thick spurts of cum shot into your hand and against the shower glass. He moaned your name, hips thrusting sloppily, one hand reaching round to squeeze your waist. Your pace slowed, squeezing gently as you pumped every last drop out of him.
Kento slumped against the glass, a dopey satisfied smile on his face, and hummed happily as he felt a soapy sponge start to clean his back. By the time you had gently scraped your nails through his hair, rinsing him of the last suds, he was barely awake in the steamy bathroom.
"Come on, big guy. Let's get you to bed." Kento frowned at you, looking faintly guilty.
"But I haven't done anything for you." You stroked his cheeks, full of affection.
"Trust me, that did plenty for me. I'll be storing that in my head for a long time."
Kento blushed, but allowed you to lead him to bed and dry his hair. He was face down in bed and asleep within seconds, his body relaxed, his tense muscles loose and softened.
You hesitated before checking the time; if you hadn't been called out by now, you probably wouldn't be, you convinced yourself. Pulling on one of Kento's shirts, you sat your phone by the bed and slipped under the sheets, tucking close to his warmth with one knee lifted over the small of his back.
"Still think I took advantage of you," you mumbled to Kento, before falling asleep to his warmth and deep, soft breaths, safe and happy in the dark.
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This best boy deserves a soapy handjob
And the sequel, Reader Comes Home Drunk, link here.
#jujustu kaisen#jjk#jjk nanami#kento nanami#kento nanami x y/n#nanami fluff#jjk fluff#kento nanami x you#nanami kento smut#nanami x#jujutsu kaisen nanami#jujutsu nanami#kento nanami smut#kento nanami x reader#nanami kento#nanami kento fluff#nanami kento x reader#nanami kento x you#nanami smut#nanami x reader#nanami x y/n#nanami x you#pseudowho
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*sleepy*
Courting Pursuit
Part 2
Part 1
Alastor X Deer Reader
Warnings ⚠
⚠ gender neutral (gn) reader, mule deer reader, assuming Alastor is a marsh deer, Spanish translated, stalking-Vox, cussing, implied/suggestive, italics=thoughts, ha..watch out for the end ⚠
You continued to act affectionate towards him.
Even the others noticed and most of them would often ask you to do their work if it was related to him.
Niffty doesn't care and does her work as usual.
The thing is, you don't mind one bit and take up the work.
"Hola Alastor.", you'd greet him every time.
Today you were helping someone else, Husk to be exact, putting away some bottles in storage.
And then he heard that obnoxious voice of the sad excuse of an entertainment performer through his radio next to the television shop, Vox.
"Top of the hour! Today I have a special little treat for you, though the image is sadly glitched out, you can still see what is going on in the photo.", he says. "It's the Radio Demon, receiving an affectionate peck on the forehead from another deer!"
What a creeper. Alastor rolled his eyes and waited for the perfect moment to jump in and make the flat headed piece of tech look like a complete fool.
"From the looks of things, Alastor has a fuck buddy.", the TV demon grinned. "Wouldn't be surprised if he was taking it from behind.", he laughed and continued to rant on about innuendos like an idiot.
Turning a few knobs and flipping some switches, the Radio Demon was live.
"Salutations!", he greeted his listeners. "What an interesting start to the day! An overly cocky man acting like a news anchor when he doesn't have all the facts!", his smile widens. "For a demon asking his viewers to trust him, it's quite bold that he so blatantly lies to their faces."
"That's bullshit! I only provide the best-"
"Vox is so insecure and craving for attention from a powerful Overlord like myself, it's obvious that he's jealous.", Alastor laughed.
"Am fucking not you old timey prick-!"
"Why would he make such an announcement if not for that? Its clear to me that he wants someone to focus on him all the time.", he chuckles. "No wonder he always something new on his screens. But they lack so much that he has to resort to childish news broadcasts to seem important."
"Childish!?"
"As for the demon in the photo, that is a hotel guest and they do not understand English that much. There was a misunderstanding in translation and well..I'm not allowed to kill hotel guests.", then his voice switches. "This does not mean that I will let such an action pass, I will do something mμc# ￦θrs€ than death."
"You lying piece of shit! Tell me them the truth!"
"I should announce that the Hazbin Hotel has its doors open for all sinners who want a shot at redemption! Try to climb your way out of this fiery inferno, some might try to drag you back down, or you'll have trouble all on your own trying to redeem yourself! Anything is possible!", he put in his two bits for advertising the hotel. "And with that my wonderful listeners, I shall bid you all adieu~"
He switched on some jazz, not wanting to hear anymore of Vox's whining.
Something still irked him however..
Perhaps I should pay Rosie another visit. He thought. This time without them knowing.
As soon as he walked through the door of the emporium, his friend waved him over and pointed to her office, letting him know that she'd be there soon.
Once entering the office, he sighed and sat on the couch, already tired of what else would happen later in the day. He didn't want any other unnecessary conversations.
Rosie entered the office not too long after, setting her hat aside as she closed the door.
"You won't believe the gossip I've stumbled across today. Betty, the one with the pooch, not the one with the scar. She-", the woman started but then took notice of his mood. "What's wrong? You look worn out already."
"I don't know what to do with them. Vox, that piece of shit tech, has already made comments but I already put him in his place.", he sighed and ran a hand down his face.
"I heard.", Rosie let out a short laugh.
"The deer is still doing things, not as bold as the first time but I don't want them near me. It's-", he growled and made a choking motion with his hands.
"If it's bothering you that much, you know you can tell them to stop.", she says.
He looks up at her with a wide eyed stare.
She dead pans.
"Alastor. You know you can tell them to stop. Right?"
"The thought hadn't crossed my mind.", he simply says.
"Oh for crying out loud-!", she tosses a pillow at him. "You are unbelievable! Go and speak your mind! You've never had a problem with it before!"
She was right. Why had he been so bothered about something like this?
He should have spoken up about it from the start.
It was late when he returned to the hotel. The lobby was empty and he could only assume that everyone had long been asleep. Walking to the dining room, he spots the kitchen light on.
Angel is probably making an abomination of a hangover cure- He thought and opened the door, only to find the mule deer leaning against the counter half asleep.
You perk up when noticing him.
"Bienvenido. Hice la cena y te guardé un plato.", you wave and smile. (Welcome back. I made dinner and saved you a plate.)
"What are you doing up at this hour? Granted, it is Hell and there are barely any rules around here, sleep is still important.", he says as you pick up a plate covered with tin foil.
Taking off the foil, you give him a plate of food.
Your fingers brush against his, making him flinch back and drop the plate, causing it to shatter on the floor with a loud crash.
Instead of focusing on the mess, you looked at him with worry.
"¿Estás bien? No estás herido, ¿verdad-?", you reach out to him but he smacks your hand away. (Are you alright? You're not hurt, are you-?)
"Don't touch me.", he hisses out. "I am not comfortable with your advances, so I advise you to stop NOW before I tear you apart and make you into tomorrow's dinner."
With that you took a step back.
"No quería incomodarte. Me detendré. Perdóname por no tener en cuenta tus sentimientos.", you muttered and looked away. (I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. I will stop. Forgive me for not taking your feelings into account.)
Alastor didn't bother trying to translate your response in his head, just walking around you and to the door.
"Lo siento.." (I'm sorry..)
He heard you whisper as he walked out of the kitchen, leaving you alone.
With a sigh, you kneeled down and began to clean the mess.
Sad times means cookies.
~Seline, the person.
Part 3
Taglist@
@c4rved-pumpk1n @scary-noodlesblog @stolas-thebirb @naelys-the-aster @biromanticboba @lbcreations-blog @ducky-died-inside @kiraisastay @pooplyface1423 @line-viper @117s-girl @spiderlegsling @alastorsgoldie @repentant-repeller @kcsketches @lofasofabread @kotaleee @im-coolrat @superzombiewho @speckle-meow-meow @jammcookie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @trashbin-nie @koioli @fatherlesschild2 @mmik3yy @just-here-reading @nealeart @hudiexiaoying @crystal-multiplefandomlover @glowinggoldfish0 @tiredgamerhere @fluffy-koalala @valenfawkes @willowshadenox @aria-tempest @alastor-simp @nonetheartist @gallantys @i-3at-kidz @luxky-aish @ceafighter @xalygatorx @xangel-8 @sleep-7372 @wat4r @lustylita @xdolls-crownx @lonelysimp18 @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @dap11 @al1fers-haven @futureittomainn @random-3455 @+?
ML II Alastor🎙 | CP ChL🦌
#deer reader#mule deer reader#alastor#alastor hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#hazbin hotel alastor#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel#the radio demon#x reader#gn reader#alastor x reader#tw threats#implied/suggestive#vox being a stalker#hazbin hotel vox#hazbin vox#vox#hazbin hotel rosie#hazbin rosie#overlord rosie#overlord vox#angel dust mentioned#😭#the rejection...#Vox is totally jealous
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I've never really had the proper opportunity to play, but I fucking love reading peoples' DnD stories online. Yeah the stories people end up sharing are just the highlight reels and the greatest hits in sessions that might not have been that fun all the way through, but I read them the same way that people who don't play sports watch sports on the TV.
Like this one I read years ago but still remember. There was a party where the only human was their Pretty Boy Idiot Bard (the funniest type of bard) with next to nothing in intelligence but wildly high charisma, making him vital as the murderhobo party's Public Relations in any kind of negotiations, but absolutely useless anywhere else. Nobody else but the DM and the bard's player enjoyed that stuff more than combat and dungeons so the DM peppered in a lot of opportunities for the band to literally get away with murder just because That One Is So Pretty.
And the party in question ends up entering a fairly standard-looking dungeon, in search for a specific item. The one telling the story was playing a tiefling rogue, and at this point she noticed that the bard's player and the DM had shot a few "I noticed that you noticed that I noticed it too" sort of trying-not-to-laugh glances, and suspected that something was up, but decided not to say anything, in-character or out.
They end up encountering a chasm on the dungeon floor, a seemingly endless ravine that none of them could jump or climb over, and stop to figure out how to cross it. Another player character - a half-elf - asks if any of them can see anything they could use as a tool, maybe something they could use to build a bridge. Before anyone starts doing perception checks, the bard speaks up.
"I don't know. I went blind, like, two hours ago."
And at this point the rest of the party realises that they don't have a torch, or anything that'd give them light. The bard is the only one in the party who doesn't have darkvision. He hasn't seen shit for the entire time they've been in the dungeon. And he's too damn stupid to figure out why.
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Hey The Neon Void readers, quick update from the author's sister!
(art commission by @kaysdenofchaos)
Hi readers of The Neon Void fanfic. This is the author’s older sister. She’s been getting a lot of fan art and asks lately. She’s sent me screenshots of a few unanswered ones looking for advice on how to respond.
While all the love and support of TNV is genuinely appreciated, my sister @sugarpasteltmnt is not equipped to respond to a small handful of these asks/comments that are, quite frankly, inappropriate.
Sugarpastels is not a therapist, and she’s certainly not an internet stranger’s therapist.
She’s an adult with an extremely demanding and stressful job for a very large client. Some of you have already experienced and enjoyed her work IRL without knowing it. Her company is close to finishing another project that will bring a lot of joy to hundreds of thousands of people every year, but working on a project of that scale is extremely stressful.
She is writing this fanfic for fun. TNV is a way for her to decompress and put her creative energy towards something other than work.
What’s not fun is coming home to asks/comments from readers who are projecting their own struggles/mental health onto TNV, and even Sugarpastels herself, and demanding some sort of attention from her over it.
Let’s be real: it’s fun to watch our blorbos suffer! So much of fandom is just us putting our favorite characters in Situations because it’s fun. Simple as that. But I think another reason TNV has resonated so strongly with readers is because of the way Sugarpastels writes the internal struggles of these characters.
We are both aware that TNV deals with mental health topics. Since the early days of “modern” fandom, fanfiction has been a way for people to explore complicated, difficult and sometimes even taboo subjects. There’s no shortage of complex feelings being explored in TNV, which is why we’re all having so much fun reading it.
But that’s all it is; an exploration. Sugarpastels is not a mental health expert. I’ve read a handful of books on PTSD and mindfulness for research while writing my own fanfic, and I would never consider myself prepared to help someone else.
It’s okay if you relate to things from TNV. I know I do! Again, fanfic has always been a way to read about things rarely dealt with (or handled poorly) in published fiction/tv shows/movies. I will always argue one of the greatest things about fanfiction and other fanworks is being able to see ourselves and our own struggles through our favorite fictional characters.
But Sugarpastels is not a fictional character. She’s a real person. Most importantly (to me at least) she’s my little sister, and this big sister cannot handle watching some of her readers expect more of her than is appropriate.
So I’m asking you to please be mindful of what you ask/say to not just her, but literally everyone on the internet. Unless you’re chatting with someone regularly, they do not know you. Whether it’s friends, family, teachers, coaches, etc, there are people in your life who know you personally, and are therefore better equipped to help you than a stranger on the internet.
Sugarpastels is so full of empathy that it’s hard to not feel for you when you send things like this. But it just isn’t fair to put that kind of unnecessary pressure on someone who is, at the end of the day, just trying to have some fun writing about ninja turtles bein’ sad.
(That being said, PLEASE DON’T BE SCARED TO SEND HER ASKS AND FAN ART!!! They make her day every single time and are seriously so, so appreciated. She’s texting me about it constantly how much she loves all of TNV’s readers. This whole post is really directed at an extremely small percentage of her readers, but there have been enough I felt something needed to be said.)
#ok back to writing about sad turtles!#tmnt#the neon void#the neon void fic#the neon void tmnt#tmnt fanfiction#tmnt fanfic#tmnt fic
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unfair- a.hotchner
a/n: he's an asshole in this for a while btw. i wrote this with fem!reader in mind but i don't think there's any mention of it so imagine what you like! mad spoilers for season 3 episode 20- Lo-fi (aka i verbatim copied dialogue from it). 'ly' means 'love you'
summary: what happens when Aaron is met with an ex-fling in the workplace that seems to hate you, surely he'll be by your side, right?
pairings: aaronhotchner x reader, platonicBAUteam x reader
warnings: general criminal minds topics, mentions of murder, mentions of panic attacks, general relationship angst, reader getting hurt, mentions of guns and bullet wounds, mentions of death, suggestive themes at the end
Part 2
You hated New York. You hated the bustling crowds, the rude people, and the barely breathable air.
“Is it just me or does Agent Kate kinda look like Haley?” you overheard Jj say, and your heart dropped. Aaron and Haley had only been legally divorced for a few months, but they’d been separated for a lot longer than that. Your relationship with Aaron had grown into a 10 months long rollercoaster of highs and lows. He was hard on himself about the divorce, about not seeing Jack enough, but you were always there to comfort him. Jj blushed when she realised you’d heard and mouthed a ‘sorry’ your way. You nodded as an acceptance of her apology and continued with the case.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Kate had been shooting down your ideas all day. It could’ve been something as simple as lunch ideas, or something relating to the case, she didn’t care. Your input was unnecessary and unwanted. This led you, the only licensed psychologist on the team to be silent as Aaron, Kate and the nypd cops bounced ideas and facts about the psychology of the unSubs back and forth. You knew that what they were saying was outdated. You knew it, and yet you kept your mouth shut, not wanting to give her another reason to silence you. You weren’t even that mad at her, more at Aaron. Why wasn’t he speaking up for you? He alway did before and he promised he would intervene if someone was being unfair and not listening to you in the workplace. He made that promise to the entire team. You were hurt by him, and by the rumours you’d heard. And then you thought back, since you’d gotten to New York, he’d barely glanced your way, his eyes focused on the case or Kate. Derrick slumped in the chair beside you, pulling you out of your thoughts.
“She’s a real piece of work, everything I say is just the wrong thing,” He complained, a tired tone in his voice.
“Want to go back to the hotel? I could use an early night if no one is going to utilise us,” you offered, exhaustion and hurt guiding you against your better judgement.
“Sounds like a plan, sugar, you and me sharing like old times?” he asked tentatively, clearly sensing the upset you were carrying.
“You and me Derrick, as always,” you smiled. You had known before-hand that the hotel only had so many rooms and in the beginning of the BAU, you and Derrick would always share, since he was the person you were closest with. He took your hand and gave it a small squeeze before standing up to gather his things. You stood up too, grabbing your bag and coat.
“Leaving so soon?” Kate asked, clearly malicious intent behind her eyes.
“Yeah, just tired and all, listening to you spew absolute bullshit is exhausting,” you yawned and gave her a fake smile as her jaw dropped. Aaron sent you a look of warning, one you met with your own hardened eyes. “Goodnight,” you waved at the cops you had befriended, who waved back, all too happy that someone had finally put Shelly in her place.
Derrick and you walked to the hotel hand in hand, just as you used to, he got the room key, you showered in the bathroom as he watched tv, then vice versa. You texted Aaron a simple, ‘sharing with Derrick. Ly xxx’ before you let yourself fall asleep, comfortable in the clean hotel bed.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
You always wrote it out. He thought to himself as he rushed to the hotel, mere minutes after you sent the text. He had been tired and maybe his vision was clouded with Shelly, an old fling of his if he was being honest. He pulled at his tie in the elevator as he caught his breath. When the doors opened on the floor of your room, he found you standing on the other side, your eyes semi-shut as if to try and conserve your drowsy state, a habit he knew you possessed and loved. This brought an ease to him, a small smile made its way onto his lips. You had your headphones on too, which meant you really were sharing with Derrick. His smile dropped.
“Honey,” he sighed and you yawned and rubbed your eyes.
“Aaron?”
“Yes honey, can we talk-”
“In the morning,” You cut him off, “I’m just getting ice. The ice machine on this floor is out of order.”
“It technically is 1:34 am,” he corrected and you sent him a glare. He shut his mouth. “Can I at least kiss you goodnight?”
“I don’t know, is your mouth not too tired from kissing Kate’s ass today?” You stifled a chuckle at your own joke as he sighed.
“Honey if you let me-”
“Please, for the love of god, shut up, I’m too tired for this,” You got off as the doors opened and closed them behind you, pushing the button back to his floor. You grabbed your ice and took the stairs instead of risking him being there. You got back into your room and fell asleep again, even more to think about.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
You walked into the police precinct with Spencer, ready to help him with his geological profile when Aaron stopped in front of you, and Spencer continued walking on.
“We need to talk,” he essentially demanded and you rolled your eyes and tried to push past him to follow Spencer but he grabbed your waist and started walking you both into an empty interrogation room.
“Are you planning on interrogating me?” You chuckled as he let go of your waist and started pacing around the room. “What is the problem here?” You asked.
“Why don’t you tell me? Something I did made you so upset that you decided you wouldn’t sleep in the same bed as me, something I did made you not tell me you love me, and something I did made you not let me kiss you goodnight. So please, just tell me!” He was frantic, the early signs of a panic attack clear in his body language and face.
“Aaron, come here,” you walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his neck to hold him. His hands pulled you closer to him, squeezing you tight into his chest. “I was just mad about Kate not taking mine or Derrick’s ideas, and how you didn't help either of us out. I just wanted some space to clear my head-”
“Were you jealous?” He asked, pulling away from you.
“No? I was frustrated that mine and Derrick’s ideas were being shot down, this has nothing to do with Kate.”
“Then why did you say what you said last night? It made her deeply upset,” he explained and you rolled your eyes.
“Because it was true? Maybe next time, let the registered and licensed psychologist with 2 phDs speak?”
His eyes were trained on you. “Not everything always has to be about you, some people are very sensitive to things like that-”
“I’m starting to think I should be jealous of Kate” you knew it was a low blow but it was one you were willing to take. “I’ll see you around, agent.”
You left Aaron alone in the room, a frown that was bound to stay all day.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Derrick had been right to station BAU team members on platforms and we were about to have another body.
“Hotchner,” a brief pause. “Does it look like it could be one of our guys?” Aaron spoke into the phone.
“What’s going on?” Derrick asked,
“We’ve got eyes on one of them, he’s on the subway platform at 59th and lex,” Aaron’s eyes met yours and you looked away, focused on Penelope’s voice over the phone..
“59th? We could have been right there,” Derrick sighed, clearly frustrated with Aaron’s behaviour.
“Garcia, can you get eyes on him above ground?”
“If he makes it to the park, we've lost him,” Kate explained.
“We could've had that guy,” Derrick stressed.
“Even if we were on that platform, odds are he would have moved on to somewhere more isolated,” Kate argued.
“Maybe, but it was worth taking a shot,” Derrick shot back.
“We had every available man on the street,” She scoffed.
“And I suggested to you that you use this team,” Derrick seethed.
“Second-guessing doesn't do us any good right now,” Aaron piped up.
“Hotch, how am I supposed to look these cops in the eye and tell them that we're actually here to help them?” Derrick demanded, even you were getting angry now.
“We're here to present a profile. That's what we need to do,” Aaron said in that terrible deadpanned voice that made you want to shake him until he was the real Aaron again. Your Aaron.
“I said to put us at express stops- 14th, 42nd, 59th and that's exactly where they hit!” Derrick snapped.
“It's not your place to have this discussion,” Aaron crossed a line with that.
“My place?” Derrick questioned.
“You need to back off,” Aaron scolded.
“We got 7 bodies, man,” Derrick said, shocked that Aaron would ever treat him like this.
“Which is exactly why we need to stay focused,” Aaron countered.
“Focused. From where I'm standing, All your focus is on her, not on this case, you're ignoring your girlfriend, so it's not on y/n, but on her,” Derrick rebutted.
“Take a walk, now.”
You gasped when Derrick called him out, but as Derrick walked off he offered you a hand, one which you took, and left Aaron with Kate. Derrick left to go ‘take a walk’ to a bar nearby and you sat in an office, going over the case with Emily and Spencer. You all ended up sleeping in the office, you chose to be as far away from Aaron as possible. The next day, you were positioned with Emily.
“How’s it going with Aaron?” She asked and you let out a groan. “That good huh?”
“He’s being such a dick, I have no clue what to do,” You sighed.
“Maybe talking to him will help?” She offered and you shot her a glare.
“He doesn’t want to hear me, he just wants to talk,” you explained, hopping off the train and walking up the platform steps. You heard a gunshot and looked around, knowing he was close.
“Garcia? Where is he?” Emily asked. “He’s headed our way.” You ran towards the way he was coming from and spotted him, chasing him the other way. You were faster than Emily and stopped in the alleyway. He shot. He grazed your side and Emily shot him and grabbed his gun.
“Y/l/n?! You ok?” She called back to you.
“It was just a graze, I’m fine,” You took a deep breath as the adrenaline wore off and the pain started to seep in. Emily and you waited for the ambulance and you started getting stitched up as the rest of the team arrived. Derrick came straight to you, Aaron hot on his heels.
“You good sugar?” He asked and you nodded as the needle went back into your skin.
“Not my first bullet, probably not my last,” you joked and you saw Aaron’s eyes widen. Spencer and Jj shot you a look of concern from behind Aaron and you sent them a thumbs up, Spencer and Jj nodded, understanding that you were ok.
“Can I have a minute alone, please?” Aaron cleared his throat and Derrick rolled his eyes but obliged anyway, walking away. “Are you ok?”
“Yeah, great. Nothing like a bullet wound to put a pep in your step,” you remarked, sarcasm flowing freely. They finished with the stitches and put a dressing on the wound. As soon as you were out of the paramedics hands, Aaron wrapped you in an all-consuming hug.
“I was so worried,” he whispered.
“Yeah, so was I, I didn’t think you could get your head out of your ass in time,” you snorted, hearing others laugh at your joke. Aaron rolled his eyes and cracked a smile.
“I was being unfair, wasn’t I,” he sighed, his hands resting on your waist.
“Yes, yes you were.”
“I love you, and I’m sorry I didn’t show it,” he offered and you smiled and kissed him softly.
“You know it’s going to take a bit more than a few pretty words and a hug to make this right, right?”
“Oh I know, but I was hoping you would at least be in the same bed as me tonight? Then I can at least start apologising,” he smirked and you laughed.
“Maybe,” you mused.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------
#aaron hotchner x reader#criminal minds#criminal minds imagine#bau team#criminal minds fandom#criminal minds fic#criminal minds x reader#aaron hotchner imagine#aaron hotchner fluff#aaron hotchner#aaron hotchner fanfiction#carmy berzatto x reader#criminal minds x you#criminal minds fanfic
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Hi ! Can you make a story where reader is not the mc and is in relationship with the boys who starts to act cold and indifferent bc of mc ? (i cant choose one i love all of them 😭)
summary; what happens when the l&ds boys have a run-in with the MC that changes everything.
warnings; angst, hurt, strained relations
note; my first request!! thank you so much for the love on my works, i’m so happy i can entertain with my writings!!
!! divider by @cafekitsune !!
༊*·˚ xavier
you were curled up on xavier’s couch, engrossed in some cable drama that you had originally put on for background noise while you tidied. you didn’t even blink when the front door open and shut, signaling xavier’s arrival.
"how was work, xav?" you called, glancing over at him as he tossed his jacket onto the loveseat. you subconsciously leaned over as he approached the couch, your lips pursed as you awaited the usual ‘i missed you’ kiss that became a routine thing. however, he walked right by you and headed to the kitchen, eyes on his phone.
"it was fine," he responded absentmindedly, pocketing his phone and rummaging through the fridge. "i’m real tired, though. think i’m gonna head to bed early tonight."
you turned off the tv and stood, coming up behind him. your arms wrapped around his waist and you pressed your cheek to his back, sliding your hands into the pocket of his hoodie.
"are you okay?" you murmured, giving him a comforting squeeze. "did something happen at work today?"
xavier shut the fridge and put his hands inside the pocket as well, over yours. "i’m okay. just tired is all."
he pulled your hands out of his pocket and turned to face you, pressing a chaste kiss to your forehead before shuffling off to the bedroom. you frowned and wrote it off as a tough day, thinking it was just a once in a while thing.
until it became an every day sort of thing.
over time it grew more and more obvious that there was something else going on with xavier outside of work — he would come home later, his already kind of spotty communication became worse, and then the affectionate gestures became a chore to him.
you would try to hold his hand? oh, he needs to hold his phone or it's in his pocket suddenly. want a hug? expect one of those brief side-hugs. expecting a kiss? quick peck on the cheek at most.
it was heart-wrenching, watching the man who had loved you like you had hung the moon in the sky for years suddenly stop. the thoughts of where things had gone sour commanded your mind day and night, searching for the answer tirelessly. then, one day, the answer presented itself to you out of the blue.
or, rather, she presented herself to you.
you and xavier were spending a quiet (not by choice) morning in the cafe when a woman approached, calling xavier's name. you noticed the way he straightened and the way his eyes lit up before he quickly covered it up. your heart shattered but you swallowed the hurt, smiling at the woman as she looked between the two of you and introduced herself to you. xavier invited her to sit with you two and she accepted, allowing you front row seats to watch the man who was supposed to love you fall in love with someone else.
༊*·˚ rafayel
work had finished early today, leaving you the afternoon to do as you pleased. seeing as your last mission was located just a couple blocks from rafayel’s studio, you took it upon yourself to pick up some snacks from the cafè to surprise him since he had been working hard for days on end now.
with pastries in hand you walked up the pathway to the mo art studio, a skip in your step as your excitement became palpable. as you go to open the door it swings open for you, revealing not rafayel but a woman you’d never seen before. you faltered for a second as she brushed by you with a muttered apology, heading the way you came.
probably just some fan of his work, you thought to yourself as you headed inside. kicking off your shoes at the entryway, you head for the main room and find rafayel lounging on his couch. he sat upright once he noticed you, squaring his shoulders and forcing a grin.
“you’re here,” is all he said to you, a stark contrast to his usual witty comments on how you just couldn’t seem to stay away for long.
“work ended early, so i thought i’d bring you some snacks,” you replied, placing the paper bag on the coffee table as you took a seat next to him. “how’s the painting coming out?”
“fine,” he replied, digging into the bag and pulling out a tart. you waited for him to continue, to whine and complain about thomas or some media outlet being on his ass about something but nothing followed his curt response.
“so,” you drawled, filling the silence, “another fan found your address?”
rafayel’s brow furrowed and he swallowed before asking, “what do you mean?”
“the woman who left when i came,” you pointed out, a heavy feeling settling in your chest. “a fan of your art?”
rafayel shook his head, leaning back against his couch with a wistful smile. “oh, her? don’t worry about it, just a deepspace hunter looking into some things about my paintings.”
you wanted to not worry — truly you did — but something about the whole thing just didn’t sit right with you. despite the nagging feeling in your mind, you went to place your hand over rafayel’s so you could focus on something else. just as your pinky finger was about to interlock with his, he quickly pulled his hand onto his lap.
with a small nod, you stood and mumbled, “i’m gonna head home.”
you hoped that rafayel would say something — better yet do something — to get you to stay but no, he was off in his own little world, staring out the window at the sea. fighting back tears, you take your leave, slipping on your shoes and heading back towards the streets.
the sunny day was no longer warm and welcoming but hot and suffocating with your heart drowning in pain at the idea of the man you loved with all your being and more having someone else.
༊*·˚ zayne
things between you and zayne had always been kind of like a scale — some days it would lean to one side, some days the other.
he was stoic yet sweet, soft and caring in just the right moments. the times you were together were some of the most blissful times you could ever have imagined. just the right amount of intimacy, domesticity, and partnership that a relationship needed to blossom.
this would be outweighed, however, by the days straight without communication but you always chalked it up to his profession and never really had too much of an issue with how things went. you couldn’t begin to imagine the amount of stress that a doctor took on, especially in the day and age of wanderers. so, like a good partner would, you did all you could to be as supportive as possible in every way he needed.
from homemade lunches to silently holding him in your arms after a rough day, there was nobody better for him than you.
one morning after you had stayed the night, you woke up to a text from him asking if you could deliver his lunch that he’d left on the table. after sending a quick reply to assure him you’d swing by in a bit, you got out of bed and found some clothes folded neatly on top of the dresser for you.
soon after getting yourself together, you grabbed zayne’s lunch and packed one for yourself, deciding that it’d be nice to have a meal together in his office again since it had been some time since the last one. you enjoyed the brisk walk to the hospital, soaking up the early spring sun.
yvonne gave you a polite wave as you walked past the receptionist’s desk and down the hall towards zayne’s office. you knocked once before opening the door, stopping short as you noticed a woman sitting on the couch beside him.
“my bad, i didn’t know you had a patient,” you said with an awkward chuckle before holding up his lunch bag. “brought your —”
“just leave it on the desk,” zayne interrupted, nodding toward the desk in the corner. “thank you.”
“yeah, no problem,” you replied, doing as asked. you stand there for a second longer and zayne cleared his throat, gesturing towards the door. “oh, sorry. i’ll, uh, see you later then?”
your statement switched to a question when zayne raised an eyebrow at you, quickly shutting down any confidence you had. with a curt nod you exited his office and left the hospital, mind clouded as you aimlessly wandered until you found yourself at the park. sitting on a bench you took out your lunch and began to eat until you couldn’t stomach anything anymore with the image of zayne and the woman on the couch burned into your mind.
the way they were shoulder to shoulder; her hand centimeters from his knee; his eyes, usually icy and reserved, looking at her with a sickening fondness that you only saw from time to time; the way he addressed you not as a partner, but as someone who had intruded on something so important to him.
the way he was smitten, fallen in a way you had never seen in the year and some change you’d been together.
#love and deepspace#rafayel#lads rafayel#rafayel x reader#lads xavier#lads zayne#xavier#xavier x reader#zayne x reader#zayne#zayne love and deepspace#xavier love and deepspace#rafayel love and deepspace
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When I talk about something bad I've experienced, Baked In to my experience as A Woman, I am not "making my little cousins feel like shit for being women", because I am talking in a space with, allegedly, adults. I am not bringing my problems to children in the first place.
That said, I don't HAVE to make my baby cousin feel bad, because she's already experienced sexual harassment in her life, and she's only 8, and doesn't even understand what any of it means yet.
And everyone in her family can try to instill confidence in her, and never talk about our bodies in a negative way. But she can still feel like she's too chubby, because she still goes to school, and talks to other kids and their parents, and still sees ads, and still watches tv. We can be positive, but we can't fix the root of the problem.
And I don't HAVE to tell trans women that "pain is a rite of passage", because that's not a Rule being enforced (by me), because I've already sat and listened to my friend complain about constantly shaving as a Baseline necessity and how it hurts her skin and she has to put makeup onto fresh cuts on her face because going out without a full face of properly feminine makeup would make her life worse, and being anything less than thin and lithe makes her "less feminine", and ALL the things that can make her "more feminine" are behind a paywall. And I can try to make her feel better, and I can hear her experiencing the tenfold version of problems I relate to, but I can't fix the root cause of her problems by just telling her not to complain.
Forcing happiness as a core personality trait for women is not the Girlboss Feminist move that you think it is, and no amount of gender euphoria in the world will make you immune to systemic oppression.
#sergle.txt#you cunts learned the term 'toxic positivity' years ago and forgot it instantly#putting a bandaid on a fuckin severed leg is what it is#do i wish i wasn't a woman? no#do i feel pretty in a dress? yes#have i suffered? OH MY GOD YES#do i think any woman alive today has lived without suffering in these ways? NO.#unless she is being raised by wolves. in which case. good for her.#again I am still flabbergasted by that post having used trans woman as a last ditch effort scapegoat.#like. shocked. as if ANY trans girl's problems are because other women complain abt the way they're treated.#she's got her own problems bitch!! and they are directly correlated to my problems!!#it's like. it's infantilizing almost. the way the dickheads in that post went from ''kids'' to ''trans women''.#adult women who know how gender works.#condescending.
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