What

I write. I read. I reblog. @astream-ofconsciousness is my main 👀

[merrybloomwrites]

Lil Forehead Kiss

Summary: You're known amongst your friends as the person who give out hugs, high fives, and platonic forehead smooches to everyone. Except your crush. What happens when you slip up? Will he reject you, or will it open a door to a new possibility?

WC: 1.6K

AN: Thank you @wtv-my-current-hyperfixation for requesting this story! This fluffy piece is based of this request and it was a joy to write!

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If there’s one thing you’re known for, it’s being a very affectionate person. You never shy away from showing casual affection to your friends. It’s second nature to you to lean in for a hug or reach for a high five each time you see someone. 

You’re always cautious about not crossing boundaries with people, and you know who doesn’t like to be touched, and you make sure to respect that and give them their space. 

Especially since it’s not always just hugs and high fives. You’ll hold hands, give little shoulder rubs, even press a friendly kiss to someone’s cheek or forehead. It’s no big deal to you, and you’ll give everyone who likes it this treatment, doesn’t matter if they’re a girl, a boy, nonbinary, makes no difference to you. Everyone deserves a little love!

But then there’s Damien. The one person you struggle to show this affection to. Not for a bad reason, but because, well, you have a crush. Have since the day you met him. Which was on your second day as an editor for Smosh Games. Probably not the best time to develop feelings for a coworker. 

He’s just so funny, and sweet, and gentle, there’s no way not to love him. But he doesn’t need to know that. Honestly you’d probably die of embarrassment if someone found out, especially if Damien himself were to find out. 

So you keep your distance from him. No hugs, no hand holding, no platonic smooches. Because with him, you’re not sure you could keep it platonic. Best to avoid the situation all together. 

Damien has noticed that you’re less tactile worth him than others. He’s admittedly a little bummed about it, but he keeps that to himself. He knows that when he started at Smosh, he told people he wasn’t a huge fan of physical contact. 

So really it seems that you’re just respecting him by giving him his space. 

But he wishes you wouldn’t. Partially because it seems nice to get random affection throughout the day. But mostly because he may be secretly harboring a bit of a crush on you. 

So he starts dropping hints that he’s not quite as anti touch as he made it seem. On an episode of Smosh Mouth he tells the story about the pranks that were common when he started at Smosh. 

“You somehow seemed to avoid those pranks,” Shayne says. 

“Because I told everyone I don’t like being touched,” Damien replies. “Which isn’t totally true but kept me from getting ice cream down my pants.”

They both laugh at this, remembering the ridiculous shenanigans of older era Smosh. 

“I thought that was interesting,” Shayne says. “Because I remember back during the So Random days you never said anything about having a problem with like, hugs and things like that from friends.”

“Yea it was really just to protect myself from the craziness here. I’m good with hugs and high fives and stuff, especially from friends,” Damien explaineds. 

“What about lil kisses?” Amanda asks with a smirk. 

“Oh, big fan,” Damien says. “Gettin a lil kiss on the forehead? Sign me up!” 

“Really?” Shayne says. “I did not know that.”

“Absolutely, can’t beat a forehead kiss.”

You’re glad that you’re listening to this episode while alone in your car, because your blush at this conversation would be very telling if anyone were to see. 

Well damn. There goes your excuse to keep away from Damien. More than that, you now want to give him a kiss just to see how he’d react. Would he give you that big smile that you love? Would he grow pink and bashful? You need to know. 

But you can’t. Because you don’t trust yourself to not give away your secret. You have to keep your distance and if anyone asks, you’ll just say it’s force of habit. Yea, that’s a good plan. 

And the plan continues to work. 

Until the day you slip up. 

It’s a Games shoot, and Damien, Courtney, and Shayne are all squished on a couch to play some classic Mario. You smile watching Courtney and Shayne banter. It’s always fun to watch them, especially now that their secret is out and they feel more free to interact however they want to. 

You find yourself daydreaming about how it would be if you told Damien about your crush and he reciprocated and the two of you fell in love and lived happily ever after. 

The shoot starts and shakes you out of these thoughts. Time to focus on work. You’re there to help out with tech as needed, but also because you’re a pro at all things Mario. Since you’ve appeared in a few videos, you’ve gained a bit of a following. So the idea today is that you can make a cameo to help the three if they get stuck at any point. 

It happens about half way through. After nearly a dozen attempts, they can’t get past a certain level. You’re called in, and you walk on the stage before leaning over the back of the couch. You’re between Damien and Courtney, and you try not to act like the schoolgirl with a crush that you are when his hands brush yours as he passes you the controller. 

It takes you three attempts to pass, and you banter with the others while you play. Everyone cheers when you finally succeed, and Damien says, “And this is why Y/N is the queen of Mario here at Smosh.”

You laugh at that and turn to press a kiss to Damien’s head. Realizing what you’ve just done, you do your best to keep cool. You ruffle both his and Courtney’s hair as you pull away from the couch. The fans are aware of your tactile nature with your friends. Hopefully they’ll think this is just that, you being friendly. 

When you make it off stage again you look back and catch Damien’s reaction. He’s definitely blushing, and when he catches your eyes he gives you a smile. It’s small, soft and shy. You smile in return but quickly look down before he can see how smitten you are. 

For the remainder of the shoot you can’t help but sneak glances at Damien, surprised and flustered every time you see him looking right back at you. When they finish filming you see Damien walking over, and you quickly think of a question to ask Alex. Anything to avoid having what’s likely going to be a very awkward conversation.

Unfortunately, it’s the end of the day, and Damien doesn’t have anything else he needs to get to and therefore has plenty of time to wait for you to finish your conversation.

“Hey, you got a sec?” he asks as you turn to him.

“Yea, of course, what’s up?” you reply. Maybe this isn’t about the kiss. Maybe this isn’t about the looks you were giving him. Maybe you aren’t about to die from embarrassment. 

“I was hoping we could talk for a moment. Just us?” 

“Sure!” you reply as your heart rate increases. The two of you walk out of the room together but not before you see the cheeky and hopeful looks from Courntey and Shayne. 

Damien leads you to a small meeting room that’s not in use, closing the door behind you to ensure privacy. 

You brace yourself for a potential rejection, so you’re more than surprised when Damien blurts out, “I like you.” 

When you don’t reply right away he continues, saying, “Sorry, I wasn’t planning on saying it like that. But I do. Like you. Have for a while. And I figured you probably saw the way that kiss earlier made me melt so I felt like I should come clean and tell you.”

There’s another silent moment before your brain finally catches up. Damien’s shy smile has started to fall when you say, “I like you too!”

The smile comes back, as does the flush on his cheeks and he says, “Really? I hoped, but never really thought you did because you always avoided me when you were so tactile with our friends-”

You cut him off to explain, “I avoided you because I liked you. I thought that if I was the same way with you I’d open up this whole can of worms about feelings and crushes and thought it was safer to just, you know, keep that all bottled in.” 

“I guess that’s smart. Because the second you came near me I knew I was not keeping my secret anymore.”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” you say, so happy this is finally happening, and it’s going better than you ever could have imagined. 

“Do you wanna, uhm, maybe go get dinner?” he asks.

“I’d like that,” you reply. 

“So it’s a date?”

“It’s a date,” you confirm. 

The two of you leave work and meet up at a restaurant nearby. You have a wonderful time together, chatting about work and life and divulging how far back your crushes on eachother go. 

When it’s time to say goodnight you lean in for a hug. He holds you tight for a moment, and this embrace feels different than the ones you share daily with your friends. There’s more feeling, more promise behind it. He’s leaning down just a bit, allowing you to press another kiss to his forehead as you pull away from the hug. He does the same for you, and the two of you stand there smiling, your insides warm and fluttery, full of hope for what’s to come. 

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AN: Thank you for reading! I don't currently have any other Damien ideas in the works so feel free to send requests for stories with him!

[idontgiveaflyinggrayson69]

Right In Front Of Me

Author: Nat / @idontgiveaflyinggrayson69​ & KO / @thirteenisles​

Relationship: Married; Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Summary: The only way he could rationally find a suitable wife was by removing love from the equation all together. Courtship was game of jumping through hoops he really did not want to play, and he was a Viscount. Surely there would be a father with a more than suitable daughter he could simply ask for your hand and get it. Or the one where your arranged marriage with Anthony Bridgerton isn’t a loving marriage… until it is.

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: Smut. Unprotected sex. Mentioned loss of virginity. Period typical misogyny and gender roles. Major character injury. Men are dicks. Nightmares. Mentioned menstruation. Pregnancy.

Comments: Absolutely no one come for me for this. It’s not period accurate (tho neither is the show). We decided to take liberties and make it our own and we had fun writing it and that’s what counts. This ended up way longer then intended! And yes, I will be working on my legit WIPs soon because I’m SO close to being finished with this term!

Keep reading

[jjoelmillers]

hawkeye pierce - scared

♫ passenger - let her go

as requested, the reader has she/her pronouns in this one! <3

main masterlist | blog playlist

The war felt like it had gone on forever. You'd been stationed here since god knows when, and every time there seemed to be some light at the end of the tunnel, it was thrown back tenfold by one thing or another. War was hell for everyone involved. As a doctor, it was even worse.

You were the only female doctor stationed at the 4077th MASH unit in Korea. In itself, that had been hard enough. Being taken seriously was a task, though you had quickly earned the respect fo your colleagues after some very long nights producing nothing but miracle works alongside your fellow doctors. In particular, Doctors Pierce and Hunnicutt took right to you.

Hawkeye and BJ were the only things keeping you sane in this war. Long shifts to the point of exhaustion had always ended in a comforting round of drinks in the swamp, or if they were feeling fancy, Rosie's bar. There, laughter and tales ensued until you all couldn't keep your eyes open. One night in particular, you'd fallen asleep on Hawkeye's shoulder, and all you remembered was him carrying you back to your tent, trying not to disturb you. 

Pierce always was sweet on you. You brushed it off of course, knowing that he was sweet on everyone in this camp, especially the women. Every other night he was trying to sweet talk his way into their tents, with differing levels of success. This was one of the reasons you avoided your own feelings for the doctor. It had taken a while, manifesting slowly, but as quick as you could blink all of those emotions had hit you at once. 

You were sure you loved Hawkeye, and after a small talk with BJ, you knew. Knowing you couldn't tell Hawkeye straight, you settled for just enjoying being around him. The fleeting touches, the way he would hold you when you two were laughing, the way he took the time to listen to you. There were so many things Hawkeye did that made your love for him fester. Slow dancing in the dark, those vulnerable moments he had with you where you held him as he cried, the times he would brush your hair and get you through the bad mental health days.

You were each other rocks, soulmates in every form. 

"You know, you could just tell him," BJ had suggested one day, as you both sat at in the swamp, enjoying a peaceful moment for a change. "Get it out of your system, because otherwise it's gonna carry on eating at you, and that's not healthy."

"And how do you suppose I tell him, Beej? You think I just blurt out that I love him and give him a heart attack, or do I draw it out so it can kill him slowly instead?"

BJ laughed at your analogy, though he knew your question was rooted in doubt.

"Look, all I'm saying is it might be better for you, Doc. Maybe it'll alleviate some of your stress, too."

"I wish it was that simple, but I can't just tell him straight, you know?"

As you finished your sentence, the door swung open and Hawkeye sauntered in, leaning in front of your chair and resting his hands on either side of it, almost caging you in.

"Tell me what?" he inquired, assuming correctly that the conversation was about him.

"That I think you're really bad at darts," you replied, though it came out more like a question. 

Darting you eyes over to BJ as you gave your panicked response, he smiled and shook his head, mouthing the word 'smooth' at you before sipping on his drink. 

"Bad at darts?" Hawkeye began, in his fake macho voice. "I have never been so offended before, by such a pretty maiden. I challenge thee to a duel at dawn!"

As you giggled at his antics, he leaned back down and sat on the bed next to your chair, his leg bumping your own and staying in close proximity.

"And by duel at dawn, I mean I'll crush you in a game of darts the next time we're at the bar, princess."

You raised your brow. "I accept, and I am so going to beat your ass!"

The days couldn't go by quick enough, most of them seemed to drag on. It had been unusually quiet in the camp, with very few casualties coming in. It gave everyone some down time, some very well earned relaxation. You mostly hung with the boys, or took to some reading in the fields under a tree. It was away from people, quiet and reserved. 

"Lovely day, you've picked a great spot," came a voice, breaking through the peace. Looking up, you already knew who it belonged to.

"How'd you find me out here, Hawk?" you asked, a smile on your face. You weren't mad he was here, it could have been someone much worse. 

"I knew you come here to read sometimes, so I figured with the nice weather that you would want to be alone for a bit." Hawkeye shrugged and sat next to you.

"If you think I want to be alone, why have you come here?"

Hawkeye's face grew a little sullen, before he answered quietly, just loud enough for you to hear him.

"Because I can't stand being alone."

You sighed, not an exasperated one, but one of sadness. You hated seeing him so vulnerable, though you were grateful he was. You gave him a space to open up, and to let out all those thoughts and feelings he had, be them good or bad. 

"Come here, Hawk," you beckoned him closer, 

Hawkeye was laying down in front of you, his head on your stomach and body between your legs. He faced outwards towards the field, and you rested your arms around him for a moment. One hand ran through his black hair and the other held the book. You began to read aloud, just letting him rest with you. Hawkeye's hand lay on your calf, thumb rubbing gentle circles onto your skin. Occasionally, you would lean down and press a soft kiss into his hair, letting him know you were still there. 

It felt like forever had gone by, but it had perhaps been an hour or so. You had given up reading by the end of that chapter, instead opting for a friendly cuddle with the doctor instead. You'd switched up positions, Hawkeye now leaning against the tree with you tucked into his side. One arm around your waist, the other holding your hand. There was nothing between you but honest feelings, and this was a different Hawkeye than you had ever seen before. 

"Hey," his voice broke the silence. "Fancy that duel tonight at the bar?"

You looked up with sparkling eyes. "What a perfect way to finish a good day off, with beating you at a game of darts, my good sir."

Hawkeye just laughed along, no real sarcastic quip back at you. 

"That's great, me and BJ will pick you up at your tent at say, seven?"

Nodding, you gave his hand a small squeeze. "I can't wait."

That seven o'clock meeting never came. 

Instead, an accidental shelling of the camp had taken its place an hour prior, whilst everyone was getting ready for their respective evenings. The camp was chaos, and the doctors were in their whites and ready to operate. Not how anyone's plans wanted to go, but this was the war for you. Unexpected, callous and vicious. 

Triage had started and Hawkeye was through two patients, highly focused on his work and moving like clockwork with Margaret at his side. Without taking his eyes off his patient, Hawkeye called out to BJ at the table behind him.

"We're missing a doctor, Beej. You know why she isn't here yet? I didn't see her with the injured."

BJ took a second to respond, closing up a stitch. Taking a breath in, he looked down at his table before answering Hawkeye. 

"I don't know, maybe she's already at the bar waiting for us."

Hawkeye didn't reply, but took it as a hopeful sign. It allowed something in him to relax, knowing that you were safe. Nobody else did this to him, nobody made him feel this way. He hadn't worried about someone so much in his entire life. 

The hum of the operating room rang, the only chatter really was the doctors asking for tools and the sorting of paperwork and scans. It was heavy with focus in the air, and BJ called for his next patient. 

Klinger and Father Mulcahy brought BJ his new patient, and his eyes widened as the nurse beside him changed his gloves. 

There you were, bloody and battered with a wound in your side. It looked pretty bad, but not as bad as some he had seen today. Frozen, he looked you in the eye as you stared up at him with a smile. Nodding, you let him know you were okay, before turning your head to the left and looking at the back of Hawkeye. Biting your bottom lip, you turned your attention back to BJ and shook your head. 

BJ knew what you meant, nodding himself in acknowledgement. He knew you meant not to tell him, because if Hawkeye knew you were here on the operating table, he would lose it. You were put under, and BJ worked fast and relentlessly on your wound to get you out before his friend turned round. 

Luckily, it was a success, and not long after, the casualties were done. Everyone was fixed up and the doctors were given time to rest. BJ made the rounds with his clipboard, checking everyone in each ward, when Hawkeye came up to him looking frazzled.

"You okay, Hawk?" BJ asked, ticking off on his sheets as he went. 

"I can't find her anywhere, Beej. She's not in her tent, she isn't in ours and she isn't at the bar. You don't think she's.."

"No," he interrupted, before Hawkeye sent himself into a spiral with his own thoughts. "Come here."

BJ brought Hawkeye into the back room, filled with far less patients. There were only four people in this one, and as Hawkeye scanned the room, he saw you there at the end. You were fast asleep, looking angelic. Your hair spread over your shoulders, framing your face that was so relaxed and soft. Peacefully, you lay, and Hawkeye all but ran to your side. Pulling up a chair, he was cautious to keep his voice down despite his panic, taking your hand in his own.

"When did she get here, I didn't see her? I could-"

"I operated on her just fine, Hawk. Klinger and the Padre brought her in whilst you were working on that young kid, I didn't want you to worry or panic so I handled it. Nobody wants to work on those they care about, so I did it for you."

Without taking his eyes off you, Hawkeye nodded and looked up at his friend. 

"Thank you," his voice was low. "Really, thanks. I appreciate you, Beej."

The young doctor smiled, giving Hawkeye a pat on the shoulder in support. "No need to thank me. You would have done the same if that was Peg."

"You know," Hawkeye started, looking over to you and brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "Until I thought I'd lost her, I didn't realise how much I love her. Beej, I can't even explain the fear I felt when she didn't walk through those doors. I don't think I could live without her. I love her."

Kneeling next to Hawkeye, BJ checked your clipboard and hung it back, before turning to his friend and smiling. 

"I know. I know you love her, Hawk. I'd wager a good bet she probably feels the same. Tell her some time, go for that darts game when she's feeling better and tell her."

It was a week before you were back on your feet and ready to go, and thankfully it hadn't been too busy in terms of casualties. Since the shelling, the camp was once again fairly stable, and you had been recovering really well. You could move, walk and tie your shoes again, but the boys had helped you most of the way. 

Hawkeye hadn't left your side, and when you woke he was the first face you saw. You knew nothing of what he had confessed to BJ either, but he had told you how relieved and happy he was you were alive. Telling him the same, Hawkeye hung around you most days, changing your bandages and making sure you were eating and hydrating all the same.

"So," you asked him one day, pulling him from his writing for a moment. "You want to go for that darts game now? Preferably without a bomb this time."

Hawkeye looked up and laughed. "Well, nice to see your sense of humour wasn't damaged. I'd love to, that would be nice actually."

You turned to BJ with a beaming smile, asking him the same question. BJ looked over to Hawkeye for a second, before placing his newspaper down and taking a sip of his drink. Then,  he smiled and shook his head.

"Ahh, not tonight. Think I'm going to get an early night or something, read some more of my book and write home. You two kids go on ahead, though. I'll beat the pair of you another day."

Disappointed a little but still happy to spend some time with Hawkeye, you nodded at him and stood, hand on the door with your head turned back to him. "See you in about an hour hours at the bar? I just need enough time to shower and change."

"Sounds good," Hawkeye replied. "Can I come with you?"

You choked out a laugh, answering him before closing the door.

"Rude!"

An hour had passed and you were in your tent ready to go. You had done your hair up nice, put some make up on and your favourite outfit. It was the most human you had felt in so long. The war had afforded you few luxuries, just like everyone else, but you made do with what you could and you hadn't done a bad job. You felt pretty for the first time in a week, and it felt good. You made your way to the bar in wait for Hawkeye.

It was really quiet for once, you had expected more people to be in for a late drink. Instead, it seemed there was only a few people at select tables. Sitting at the bar, you didn't have to wait long before Hawkeye made his entrance. 

Scanning the room, the dark haired man looked for you and when his eyes met you at the bar, he just stood still. You were yet to see him, your body mostly turned into the bar, but he could see you from the side and you looked incredible. He had never seen you dressed so nice, and the way your hair looked and your face lit up in the light made you look like a priceless painting. Willing his legs to move, he made his way to you.

"Evening," his voice rang, and you turned fully to face him. "Well, might I say you look absolutely beautiful tonight. Really, you look stunning."

Blushing, you took him in yourself. He was dressed much smarter than normal, in a proper suit instead of his usual Hawaiian shirt. He'd put in some effort, even styled his hair. Hawkeye was always handsome to you, but this was something else. 

"You look handsome too, Hawk. Really smart I'd say. Dressed up awfully nice for someone about to lose a game of darts."

He laughed at your quip, but waved it off. "How about we forget that game tonight and gang up on BJ and beat him next week. Tonight, let's focus on us."

Leading you to a table, he placed a kiss on your forehead and headed to the bar to order some drinks. Over those drinks, you laughed and joked and told each other stories about growing up and shenanigans from each of your lives. You felt like you knew him so much more, you finally got to know Benjamin. Hawkeye was fun and loud and silly, but tonight it felt like you heard all about Ben instead. 

Hawkeye felt the same. He had heard so many tales about your life that he could write them all into a book. He took everything in, desperate to know as much as he could about the woman he loved. Your favourite colour, what your favourite food is, how you like to relax. What you were like growing up before the war, he wanted to know it all. 

The night went on with chatter, and it hadn't gotten much busier than since you came in. Hawkeye took your hand in his own, thumb stroking the top gently as he looked into your eyes. 

"Hey," he started. "Hey, about last week. I have something I want to tell you."

You sat up, a little worried. "Am I dying, Hawk? I am a doctor, I think I would have noticed."

Hawkeye chuckled, shaking his head. "No, but if you interrupt me here I might just kill you myself."

Feigning offence, you nodded with a smile and let him continue. 

"When I saw you in that bed, and Beej told me he had to operate on you, I was so relieved. I know BJ is a great doctor and you were safe with him, but I was so scared I'd lost you. I didn't even know you needed surgery until he brought me in to see you after the night was done. Since the shelling, I was scared you were dead."

"Hey," you comforted him, seeing a small tear fall from his eye. He only cried in bad situations, when the stress got too much. Wiping it away, you held his face. "It's okay, I'm here. It's over now."

"I know that, but I can't stop thinking about it. If Beej wasn't here, would I have lost you? I can't live without you now, you know? You've become my rock, and I live every day with the knowledge that at least you're in my life and that makes all of this okay. You make the war easier to handle. Without you, I don't know what I would do."

You just let him get it all out, keeping his face held in your palm. Hawkeye's eyes met yours again, glistening and his face full of honesty. Far from the joking man he was twenty minutes ago, he was serious. 

"You wanna dance?" you asked, standing and holding your hand out as the music took a slow turn. Before he could think properly, his own hand found its way into yours and you were on the dance floor. Hawkeye's arms wrapped around your waist, his slender arms keeping you close. You could feel his fingers brush against your skin as your arms rested on his shoulders. Your eyes met, and for the first time in so long, you both felt completely content. 

Hawkeye took a breath in, his gaze not straying from your own.

"I love you."

Your heart fluttered. Never did you think you would hear those words from him. Your face broke into a smile, tears forming in your eyes as much as his. Taking his face into both of your hands, you placed your foreheads together as Hawkeye's kept his arms around your middle.

Before he could protest, or pretend he didn't say it, you chimed back.

"I love you too, Hawkeye."

You pulled back to look at him, and his eyes darted from your own to your lips, asking permission to kiss you. You leaned in and he closed the gap, finally letting out every built up emotion between you. The kiss was so gentle and soft, but held so much passion behind it. His hands wrapped themselves in your hair, your own coming to rest at the nape of his neck. 

After what had felt like an eternity, you pulled back to look at him. The tears were gone, and he looked at you with wonder. He looked at you like you were the only woman who mattered to him, the only one who even existed. He looked at you with so much love and care, and straight up adoration. 

"I am the luckiest man in Korea right now," he whispered, pulling you in for another short kiss.

"Luckier than Radar will be if he comes in tonight, that's for sure," you replied with a cheeky grin.

"What?" the doctor asked, and you nodded your head over to the bar.

"They're out of grape nehi."

Bursting into laughter, you moved closer and held the doctor in your arms, basking in each others company and allowing yourselves to be loved. 

You were soulmates, and you were meant to be together. No amount of war was ever going to rob you of your love. 

[blackfyrerebels]

M*A*S*H

This masterlist is mostly for my own use, but also serves as a recommendation to anyone who stumbles upon this blog, and an archive in case any fics are deleted or blogs go inactive. If you would like your fic removed please message me.

B.J. Hunnicutt

tag: #bjhunnicutt Promises Kept - @make-me-imagine Just Sleepy - @wild-lavender-rose

Charles Emerson Winchester

tag: #charleswinchester You, My Dear, Are Perfect - @wild-lavender-rose "You Were Going to Die" - @dersite-day-dreamer

Hawkeye Pierce

tag: #hawkeye Pediatrics - @callsign-scully It's Never Your Fault - @lunarsaturn88 Just the Way You Are - @shmaptainwrites "Care Package" - @myveryownfanfiction Good Enough - @make-me-imagine "Dancing" - @make-me-imagine Cheer Up - @make-me-imagine Falling | Part 2 - @wild-lavender-rose Scared - @jjoelmillers Safe - @icarus-fli3s-high Heatstroke - @wild-lavender-rose "PDA" - @wild-lavender-rose "Vampire AU" - @shenanigans-and-imagines NSFW Alphabet ❤️‍🔥 - @shenanigans-and-imagines Imagine Hawkeye Performing Your Appendectomy - @archieimagines New Doctor On the Block | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 - @shmaptainwrote

Father Mulcahy

tag: #fathermulcahy Imagine Confessing to Father Mulcahy That You've Fallen In Love With Him - @multifandomfix Into Each Life Some Rain Must Fall - @cc-nadama Little Things Francis Mulcahy Would Do To Show He Loves You - @multifandomfix

Trapper John McIntyre

tag: #trapperjohn We Do Take Tips - @jjoelmillers Best Medicine - @wild-lavender-rose Gossip - @mashxreader

[make-me-imagine]

Promises Kept

30 Day Writing Challenge Day 7: "You said you wouldn't fall in love with me." "I lied."

Pairing: BJ Hunnicutt x G!N Reader

Triggers: Mentions of drinking alcohol; gunshots; and blood.

Word Count: 1.8k

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @caswinchester2000 MASH Taglist: @thatadroitgeek, @whimsical-daydreams, @meganlpie, @hybrid-omegaverse Requested Taglist: @spuffyfan394

*Angst + Fluff

**This is my first time writing for BJ; and this is an a.u. in which he is not married.

Your nerves from arriving at a new unit were barely noticeable now, as you laughed at another of B.J.s jokes. He had been there to greet you at your arrival, along with Colonel Potter. He offered to give you a tour and you gladly accepted. Now you were sitting in what he affectionately called “the swamp” where he and his bunk-mates, Dr Pierce and Dr Winchester lived together, both of whom you had met briefly in triage.

He told you of various things that happen at the unit often. You would have been convinced he was joking, had you not already witnessed a Corporal Klinger riding in on a donkey while wearing a bright pink kimono.

“Oh, I think I’m gonna like it here.” You said with a laugh as BJ finished telling another story.

“Here’s to hoping.” He said with a dopey smile as he cheersed the air with his drink before downing it.

“It also depends on if I get to stay long enough. They only had me at my last unit for a month before transferring me, I barely had time to make friends.” You said while taking a sip of your drink, there was obvious disappointment in your voice. “But I suppose that was for the better, I hate goodbyes.”

“Well I hope you will be alright with one when this war ends, ‘cause as far as I see it” He gestured between the two of you “You’ve already made one friend.” He smiled.

You smiled at him in return “Parting as friends is easier than parting as more.” You began, thinking back to a tearful goodbye you had to witness in your last unit “Being separated after you fall in love is worse.”

BJ stared at you for a moment, seeing a distant look in your eyes “Speaking from experience?”

You shook your head “Not mine.”

BJ nodded his head lightly. “If war is good for one thing, it’s learning about loss.” BJ said, a solemn tone in his voice before he shook it off. “Well, even if love is grand, the middle of a war might not be the best place for it.”

You nodded your head in agreement “Agreed.”

He lifted his glass again “Here’s to friendship in war, and hopefully no tearful goodbyes unless it’s when the war ends.”

You clinked your glass against his “Friendship in war, and nothing more.” You added on.

BJ “And as my new friend, you promise to knock me on my butt if I ever begin to fall in love with someone?”

“You got it BJ, and, as my new friend, you promise to never fall in love with me?” You asked jokingly.

BJ chuckled. “I promise.”

**Four Months Later**

You carefully watched the road in front of you as you drove the jeep over the bumpy terrain. You were anxious to get back to the 4077 quickly, you and BJ had a date. Well, not a date, just your weekly meet up as you exchanged letters from home as well as got things off your chest depending on how stressful your week had been.

You grew almost dependent on these nights with BJ, having taken solace in them to keep you sane. And as much as you hated to admit it. You broke your own promise. You had fallen in love with BJ and you knew it. You weren’t supposed to, you didn’t mean to, but it happened. You had no control over it no matter how hard you tried to resist it.

You would tell yourself that he could never feel the same, and that it was just you who failed to keep the promise. This helped to stifle the feelings you tried to repress, but also hurt you as well. At other times you convinced yourself that the war would end soon, and you’d part ways with BJ as friends, with a tearful goodbye you’d hate more than he did. But maybe, just maybe you’d meet up again after a while, and something could form from there.

Suddenly you were brought back to reality as shots rang out from the hills, piercing the jeep, you gasped and ducked down as the jeep swerved around the road. More shots rang out and you desperately drove down the road, fear gripping your mind as adrenaline shot through you.

As you rounded a corner the shots ceased as you sped back towards the MASH Unit. Seeing it down the road and in the distance you didn’t slow the jeep down.

- - -

As BJ and Hawkeye walked through the compound they looked up as a jeep sped into camp, stopping abruptly outside of the main office.

BJ recognized you in the jeep, and as he and Hawkeye saw the bullet holes littering the side of the jeep they ran over to you. Colonel Potter and Klinger, who had just exited the main office, ran over as well.

You let out a few deep breaths as the others ran up to the jeep, “Well I see you saw some action today!” Colonel Potter said as you moved to open the door.

You let out a stressed chuckle “Not as much as the jeep Sir.” As the door swung open and you stepped out, you felt a sharp pain shoot up your side, eliciting a gasp of pain as you fell to the ground.

BJ dropped down next to you, his eyes locking on the dark red seeping through the side of your jacket, his heart dropped at the realization of what happened. “You’ve been shot!” He called out, making Hawkeye signal for the orderlies to bring over a stretcher. BJ placed his hands on your side, pressing down on the wound, causing you to grimace in pain. “Come on hurry!” he called out to the orderlies.

You looked up at BJs face, seeing it covered in concern, Potter placed his hand on your shoulder “You’re gonna be alright Y/n, just hold on.”

“I don’t remember getting shot.” You mumbled out, confused as the pain spread through your body, the adrenaline previously shrouding it fading away.

“I think that’s fairly common when you’re running for your life.” Hawkeye said as he helped BJ to move you onto the stretcher.

- - - - -

BJ felt his gut twist as he stared down at you. You were now unconscious on the surgery table, blood still seeping from your side. Hawkeye watched him carefully before speaking softly “Beej are you sure you don’t want me-.”

“No.” BJ cut him off “I’ll do it.” Taking a deep breath he began to work at your wound, searching for the bullet and to try and repair what damage may have been done.

It took just under an hour before BJ was done, he had been as thorough as he could. You lost a lot of blood, and the bullet had nicked your lungs, but you were going to be alright. BJ now stared at your slumbering face as he sat at your bedside, he had finished checking your vitals and filling out your paperwork, but he couldn’t get himself to leave your side. He had too many thoughts running through his mind.

For a minute there, he really thought he might have lost you. And in that same moment, he truly realized just how strongly he felt about you. For months he had been pushing it down, trying to ignore it. He promised he wouldn’t fall in love with you, but damned if he could stop it. Thinking back on that day you met, he should have known then. He had no chance. How could he not fall for you? He wished he had never made that promise. It came off as a joke, but he knew you meant it. You both knew how easily it could be, to be torn away from someone during the war.

But as BJ stared at you, he knew he couldn’t go back now, whether you were together or not, he’d still be torn apart if he lost you. Just friends or not. So why not more?

As your eyes suddenly fluttered open, BJ sat up a bit straighter. Reaching over, he pressed his fingers against your wrist. Your pulse was normal as you opened your eyes fully and looked around.

When your eyes locked onto his and you smiled sleepily, he felt a burst of relief and happiness shoot through him. He smiled back at you and shook his head lightly “You gave me quite the scare you know?” He spoke softly.

You cleared your throat a bit “I scared myself.” You said with a quiet chuckle.

“How are you feeling?”

You sat up a bit and seemed to think to yourself a bit before nodding “I feel like I got shot.” You smiled and earned a small incredulous smile from BJ before you spoke again “I feel fine BJ, I promise.”

He nodded his head a bit “Good.” His voice was almost a whisper before he continued “No tearful goodbyes, remember?”

You nodded at him “No tearful goodbyes.” You repeated.

BJ looked around the room before back at you, moving over to sit on your bed he kept his eyes locked onto yours “I don’t ever want to feel like that again.” He admitted.

As he spoke, you could sense something in his voice, deeper than a caring friendship, so you questioned him “Feel like what?”

BJ seemed to take a breath before he spoke “Like I lost someone I love. Even if it was only for a moment, it was the worst moment of my life.”

‘Love.’ he said it, but surely he meant it as a friend. Friends can love friends. But you couldn’t help the doubt and hope that flowed through you “Love?” You asked softly.

BJ nodded his head “Yeah. Love. And not just as a friend.” He added on, contradicting your unspoken doubts.

You felt your heart hammering in your chest as you stared into his eyes, they were full of so much emotion as he stared at you. So it wasn’t just you who broke that promise.

“You said you wouldn’t fall in love with me.”

“I lied.”

You stared at each other in silence for a few moments, your eyes conveying so much to one another in silence. But you knew you had to break it, you knew he needed to hear it too. “Well. I’m glad I’m not the only one who broke my promise then.” You admitted, a small smile threatening to spread across your face.

A few seconds passed as BJ took in your words before a grin spread across his face. When you saw it, you could no longer hide the smile on your own. BJ shook his head a bit before he sighed out “Well, we’re just a couple of failures aren’t we?”

You let out a soft giggle “I guess we are. But...there is still one promise we need to keep.”

“What’s that?” He asked softly.

“No tearful goodbyes.”

BJ nodded before he brought up his hand to your face, gently stroking his hand across your face he leaned in close to you “None.” He said softly before he learned the rest of the way in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, which you happily returned

xx End xx

If you enjoyed, please consider reblogging! <3

[pedropascallme]

Celebrity Crushes

Pairing: Damien Haas x gn!Reader

Summary: "He had never said it was for a video, though maybe at this point you should’ve been able to guess that being asked for a list of three top choices was for this series."

Warnings: Brief mention of being drunk but otherwise none :)

AN: Hi guys!! I wrote this in 20 minutes so it’s…rough around the edges….but you’ve been so sweet and patient with me while I get my shit together now that I’m back from school!! I have many many WIPs that I plan on publishing soon that will have much more substance than this, but I still hope this helps hold you over for another week or so <3

You delayed your own emergence from sleep. Your bed was comfortable, warmer than usual, maybe thanks to the open blinds that let sunlight dapple the room. It was so easy to fall back into the snug embrace of slumber as you stretched against your sheets. You rolled over, eyes still heavily lidded and blinking to avoid the light as you felt around for your phone on the nightstand.

You yawned, stretching again; you let your back arch off the bed, feet poking out from beneath your blanket as you let your ankles crack—a quiet, congenial noise, and an even more satisfying feeling.

There were several messages waiting for you when you unlocked your phone.

Ang: UM??

Ang: New games vid????

Ang: 😵‍💫😵‍💫

You: What?

Ang: Dude🫠

You: What??

You: Isn’t it a Shayne guesses

You: I just woke up

Ang: Hold on

They were not the messages you’d been anticipating on a peaceful morning off from work. Angela’s texts woke you up immediately, her words burying themselves in your head as adrenaline took hold, muscles tensing, and you felt something pull at your stomach.

Had someone said something? Had you said something? Had you been somewhere you weren’t meant to be? Did it even involve you? Was she simply acknowledging something fucked up or funny that you had played no part in?

You held your phone in a vice grip, white-knuckling it and waiting to hear how exactly the new upload pertained to you—if it pertained to you—and whether you’d still have a job or any friends by the end of the day.

You felt a soft buzz on your fingers and snapped your attention to the screen, hoping to see Angela’s name.

Court: Was the new video planned or…

You: What is happening

You: Angela texted me too

You: I literally just woke up

Court: omg🥹

You felt hot. Not in the cozy way you had been when you woke up, but in a burnt cheeks and stomachache way. This was not something you had ever woken up to before, it was not at all routine, and you worried that your time at Smosh was up based solely on the manner in which your friends were texting you.

Another buzz. Kiana this time.

Kiana: I told Spencer not to keep it in the final cut

Kiana: But it’s really cute actually

You wanted to throw up. Shakily leaning back in bed, you tried to type out a response to Kiana that would help you wrap your mind around what exactly it was that you should be worried about.

Another buzz alerted you to Angela’s late reply, and you abandoned the message you had been drafting for Kiana.

Ang: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vzUs87BMpsc

Ang: 26 minute mark & then watch to the end

Ang: 🥴🥴🫶🏻

You had been right. It was another installment of Shayne Guesses, but you had no recollection of sending in a formal submission of…

“Can I identify someone, based on their top three celebrity crushes?”

Your heart jumped to your throat.

If this was going where you thought it was, you’d send in your letter of resignation by tonight.

You found the timestamp Angela had sent you, and immediately grimaced, folding your body into itself. You wiped a hand over your face, as if rubbing your eyes hard enough would make this all go away, leaving you to wake up fresh and unabashed.

“Ok—ok, I can work with this,” Shayne’s eyes darted over the screen, shouting a laugh when he took in the options given to him. “So Pedro Pascal—expected—Cillian Murphy, and he looks younger there. Is that what he looks like now? No…”

“No, that’s from like, 2000-something,” Spencer responded off camera, “I did not choose that picture.”

“Ok, 2000s Cillian Murphy, Pedro Pascal, and Damien Haas.” Shayne paused to stifle a chuckle. “This is the second time you’ve broken your own rule!” He stared pointedly at Spencer.

“Bro, that’s Shez from Fire Emblem!” Spencer argued, still out of frame, and Shayne bit the inside of his cheek.

“I mean,” Shayne looked at the list of names in front of him, “I feel like, you know, maybe it’s not…maybe it isn’t super obvious to people watching, but I think it’s a pretty easy guess for anybody in the office.”

“So what’s your answer?” Spencer asked.

“Oh, come on, like you need to ask,” Shayne crossed his arms before triumphantly declaring your name. “Final answer, look—” He clicked to the next page, and there was your headshot.

Your headshot.

Because Damien was one of your celebrity crushes.

One whom you worked with, and were friends with, and hung out with, and ate lunch with.

You felt your eye twitch.

You paused the video in a huff, too mortified to follow Angela’s instructions and watch it to the end.

You might’ve laughed if you weren’t so besides yourself with embarrassment. You were deeply confused as to how that list had even made it into the upload when you hadn’t sent it in.

You racked your brain, trying to remember if you’d drunkenly sent an email, or given an ok when you were only half awake.

You could recall, vaguely, a text exchange with Spencer a few weeks ago, where he had asked, out of the blue, about your top three celebrity crushes. And you gave your answers, sent a few googled pictures, all in good fun, to your friend.

He had never said it was for a video, though maybe at this point you should’ve been able to guess that being asked for a list of three top choices was for this series.

You: Charles.

You: What happened to confidentiality.

Spence: I CNA EXPLIAN

Spence: CAN

Spence: EXPLAIN

You: 🤨

Spence: LISTEN

Spence: I THOUGTH YOU KNWE

Spence: I THOIGHT IT WASSON PURPOSE

Spence: I THOUGHT HE KNEW??

Spence: BECAUSE HIS??

Spence: Please don’t kill me I have a family.

Spence: And I’ll buy you lunch.

You: You’ll buy me lunch for a month.

Spence: A week

You: Two weeks

Spence: Deal🤑

Spence: I love you❤️❤️

Spence: And I’m sorry I went over y’all’s heads

You weren’t mad.

Honestly, you couldn’t bring yourself to be genuinely angry; it was hard to be mad at one of your dearest friends over something that was so clearly a misunderstanding. Especially when it had no real bearing on your career or public image.

This just meant that people would now be fully aware that you had the hots for a coworker.

And said coworker would also be fully aware of it. You tried to push down the shame.

You: Accepted

You: I love you too❤️

You: I want Thai tomorrow

Spence: Would you settle for shirt?

You: I'll kill you.

Spence: Don’t you have another smosh man to bother🧐

You smiled at your own reassuring words, and Spencer’s acknowledgement of his fuckup was equally as helpful in improving your mood, as was his casual banter. For a moment that was enough to make you forget why your stomach was still in knots.

It could be argued that it was an open secret, it certainly seemed as though your friends were more shocked to see your list make it into the final cut of the video than they were to see the list itself. You counted on your fingers: who had you told, who figured it out like a child's simple jigsaw puzzle, who had asked point-blank after seeing you interact with Damien.

You ran out of fingers.

Still, you felt that you’d been cautious enough about it, to the point that Damien himself, at least, hadn’t seemed to figure it out, despite the amount of time you spent together, and the large portion of that time that you spent with a dopey grin on your face and a blush creeping up your cheeks.

Maybe he hadn’t seen the video. Maybe he’d never see the video. Maybe he wasn’t even planning on being online today at all.

Or maybe you could change your name and disappear for a while.

Maybe you’d be in the clear.

You took deep breaths, trying to settle your brain and your heart and the shakiness of your hands.

And then Damien’s name lit up your phone screen, and the results of your impromptu meditation were immediately gone, thrown out the window with your composure.

Damimen: Very interesting list

You: I’m so sorry

Damimen: What?

Damimen: Why?

You: I didn’t mean for you to find out this way

You: Very publicly on a Wednesday morning

Damimen: Who said I was just finding out?

You: Shut up

You: I’m good at keeping secrets

Damimen: I know

Damimen: Angela and Chanse aren’t tho

You: Oh god dammit

Damimen: Which is why I knew not to tell them anything about my list

Damimen: And I mean

Damimen: Stuff that I'd generally like to be kept under wraps

You: So the launch codes are safe?

Damimen: Are they safe if they're with me?

Damimen: 🤯

You: MR PRESIDENT!!

You: Wait

You: Joking aside

You: What are you talking about

You: Wdym “not telling them about your list”

Damimen: Did you not watch the whole video?

You: Got kinda distracted

You: Needed to make Spencer fear for his life a little

Damimen: ???

Damimen: Watch til the end

Damimen: And then come over?

Damimen: If you want?

You furrowed your brow, questions still unanswered, but pleased that he wasn’t upset with you.

You found your way back to the video, clicking forward again until you saw Damien’s headshot and then rewinding to see his list.

Pictures of you.

Three pictures of you. Pictures he had taken when you were together; at the ren faire, getting coffee, in the office.

And now the texts from everybody remarking on how cute the video was made sense. They hadn’t been referring to your list, they’d been referring to Damien’s more than forward response that worked in tandem with yours.

“Not a lot of variety to this one,” Shayne laughed into his hands, “I don’t really have to guess cause there’s only one name left on this list, but even if there wasn’t…This is Damien. Yeah, no, this is Damien. Final answer.”

“How do you know?” Spencer pushed.

“Well I mean, I, y’know, I received these pictures from Damien when they were taken,” Shayne spoke as if it should’ve been apparent, “But also. Come on. I know. See,” he clicked to the next page, where Damien’s name and picture appeared. Shayne raised his arms in triumph.

Your mouth fell open and your lips curved up into a subtle smile.

If you hadn’t been obvious, you’d certainly been oblivious.

The pictures of you that Damien had taken lined up on the screen paired with Shayne’s assurance in his answer, the knowing chuckles from off screen, it all made your heart skip. You felt it sinking from your throat and back into your chest where it belonged, thrumming contentedly.

Damien’s handle on your heart didn’t worry you. If anything, it relaxed you, made you feel safe, collected despite the rollercoaster of a morning you’d had. The discovery of a crush requited made you feel giddy; young and in love.

You: On my way

You: Gimme 20 minutes

You: And send me those pictures

You: 😘

Damimen: 🫡🥰

[peachpitfics]

Guilty as Sin

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton asks you to accompany him to his private studio, to show you some of the art he's been working on. You find a little more than you were expecting.

Length: 3k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), Penetrative sex, Unprotected sex.

a/n: find pt 2 here!

Bridgerton master list

"Good evening, y/n," A proud voice echoed behind you, discovering your hiding spot in the darkest corner, admiring Lady Danbury's art to appear busy. You didn't bother to turn and greet him, he always seemed to find you at these social events, even if you weren't outwardly interested in him, he persisted. Benedict Bridgerton slid into the space next to you as if it were designed for him, cheekily scanning you face for a reaction.

You met at Lady Danbury's ball 3 seasons previous. Your brother was holding out hope for a match this season, ignoring your contentedness for your own company. Benedict had never shown any interest in any young lady - he did, however, find amusement in torturing you this way.

"Bridgerton," You barely mumbled a response, hoping he would find another to bother this evening. Yet there he remained, exchanging his attention for the painting you were looking at.

"There are far better paintings in this ballroom" He remarked, a little scoff sounding off.

"Yes, I am sure there are. However, this one is positioned perfectly" Still, you avoided eye contact and angled your body away from him. He was definitely not the same as the other Bridgerton men. Benedict was frivolous and artistic, lost in his own hedonistic world of luxury and pleasure. Perhaps it was jealousy that ruled your opinion of Benedict.

"Ah, yes. I truly have never seen a damp, dark corner without you in it, you know?" He chuckled, "Why do you pretend to be interested in art, when you could be watching whatever is unfolding behind you? I'm sure the numerous scandals and embarrassing events you would witness would be far more interesting" He asked, there was even a hint of genuine curiosity in his words.

You paused for a moment, contemplating even continuing this conversation or leaving to find your brother or mother.

"Actually, I rather enjoy art. I am more interested in sculpture or ceramics, but I will endure whatever I have to to get through this evening and every other evening like it this season" You spilled. Benedict was stunned, his eyebrows raised and his blinks steady in shock.

"I didn't know you had a like for such things" Benedict said serenely.

"Of course not, I am certain you thought my only interests were embroidery or pianoforte, like every other simpering mess in this ballroom" You thought your snarky remark was under your breath, but Benedict did manage to hear. He breathed a heady laugh through his nose and took a sip of his lemonade.

"Would you be interested in viewing some of my works?" Benedict pondered aloud, finally dragging your eyes to meet his. It seemed sincere - which was not something you often saw from him. Whilst he was a shameless flirt, you never indulged him like some of the other young ladies. It was obvious that he viewed you as some sort of challenge, but you would never give in.

"Is that a serious invitation?" You asked, taken aback.

"Yes, absolutely. Art is potentially the only thing I do take seriously. I would love to show you, if you would like to see it" He almost bowed, as if the pursuit of his art was the most noble thing about him. This shift in his personality made him less repulsive, it intrigued you. Turning to face him, for the first time in so many months, throwing off his balance slightly, you held your hand out for him to take.

"You would like to see it now?" His brow furrowed, eyes asking permission to take your hand and lead you out to the carriages.

"Why not? We've been to this ball numerous times before, it will not be getting any more interesting" With the softest of smiles decorating your normally sour face, Benedict took your hand and began walking outside with you, watching nervously as people ignored your presence.

"Will this not be damning to your marriage prospects?" Benedict leaned over to whisper in your ear, an element of concern riding along his words.

You gave him a pitiful smile, "What prospects?". Not a single soul noticed the two of you leaving the ball. Benedict held the carriage door open for you and held your hand as you stepped up into it.

"I've never slipped out of an event quite like that" He remarked, closing the door, sitting opposite you.

"Well, in truth, I thought perhaps someone might have stopped us, just because of you… But, I suppose, my power of invisibility is shared with the person I am escaping with" Your eyebrows flicked up. Benedict could not discern whether you were happy or not to fly out of the view of the ton. While it was a blessing most days, you were afforded your privacy and peace. Perfect silence. There were many other days filled with loneliness, the madness of having to hear your own voice in your head just to fill the quiet.

The carriage ride was slightly uncomfortable, the two of you had never had to be alone like this. You were delivered to Benedict's college where he had been studying art and he led you towards his private studio. Benedict's hand reached out for the door handle, stopping short, and spinning to look at you, back pressed against the door.

"I presume you understand I don't bring people here," He paused, his demeanour was soft and vulnerable, "Be gentle with me". He waited for acknowledgment on what he was saying, and with a nod of promise from you, he opened the door. You both walked inside in sweet silence as you took in the most beautiful sight. The room was littered with parchment, sketches, canvases. Drabs of colour, charcoal and lead lit only by low candlelight as Benedict struck the match. This was the most personal gesture of friendship you had ever experienced, it was like peering through window into Benedict Bridgerton's mind - a place he only has the keys to. Several desks were patterned around the room, a small platform in the centre of the room, drying racks on the far left. You were surprised by this unapologetically intimate space, and even more impressed by the immense talent you were witnessing.

"What are you working on currently?" You did not mean for the excitement of the room to fill you up so keenly. Benedict had such a hard time trying to read your reaction, your manner and tone were thrilling to him.

"Oh, please" He gestured towards a far table, where an easel stood facing the window, "I am learning about portraiture this semester. This is something I am doing for my youngest brother, Gregory, for his birthday" His hand sailed past your lower back, shuffling you both around. A deliciously electric pulse passed over your body, goose bumps erupting in a rolling wave quickly trailing behind.

"Benedict, this is incredible" You gasped, your hands covering your mouth with astonishment.

Oddly, he stepped back from you and placed his hand on his heart.

"What did I say?" You smiled uncomfortably.

His face softened, his eyes fluttering peacefully, "My name. That is the first time, you have ever said my name" A flash of teeth in his grin made your heart jump its next beat. There was a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks, your eyes flicked between Benedict's and the floor.

"I apologise" Admittedly, you had never given him a chance to show how utterly human he was. When he had asked you to come to the studio, you wondered whether the room would be filled to the brim of paintings of naked women. How wrong you were - finding yourself surrounded by paintings and scrawling's of every member of his family. You dug around, flicking through sketchbooks, diaries.

"Have you found a favourite?" He meandered around the room after you, hands tucked behind his back like a gentleman, observing.

"This one, is my favourite" You held up a side profile of Violet Bridgerton, done entirely in variants and shades of their family colours.

"I am yet to show her that one, do you think I should?" He asked, and you sensed he truly valued your opinion here.

"Yes! If I had half your talent, I would have filled my family's home with my work" You chuckled, laying the canvas down on the current desk you were visiting.

You moved around the other side of the room, noticing a section of the room more damp, and darkly lit, compared to the rest of the studio. There stood an easel with a large drape thrown over it, and several canvases stacked betwixt it and the wall. This struck a chord of curiosity in you that could not be contained, you almost dashed forward to pull the drape down.

"No! Wait, not those!" Benedict rasped, darting forward to try and stop you. It was too late, the cream-coloured drape had coiled to the floor and revealed what Benedict did not want you to see.

Brow furrowing, you stood back, taking in what you were seeing for the first time. Here, on the easel, an unfinished portrait, of you.

"That's -- That's private" Benedict cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Is this… me?" You didn't know whether to be flattered, impressed, or worried. Had he done this from memory? That was when it occurred to you to look down. Picking up, and flicking through the canvases, they were all you. There were maybe six or seven of them, all in different poses, of differing angles. Had he taken such notice of you to be able to do this from memory? The detail in your face, your hair and even dresses you had worn in past seasons.

"This is…" You shook your head, placing the canvases back. Benedict stood behind you, leaving a distance so as not to make this more uncomfortable than it already was. His hands were pressed together at his lips as if he were praying, wearily hanging on for your next words.

"No one has ever seen me like this, or rather, at all" You sighed.

"I see you as you are" Benedict replied too quickly.

"And how is that?"

There was a long pause, an internal struggle between what he wanted to say and what he should.

"I see… the raw soulfulness of your gaze. The divine sway in your walk. The sensual ruthlessness of your words. The confidence of your acceptance. I have watched, and waited, and wallowed in avaricious longing" Benedict heaved in a deep breath, "Every line, every curve, every shade I fear is a figment of my imagination until I see you again, just so that I might commit a little more to memory".

Benedict's eye cast low, his discomposure becoming more and more apparent. You were not to know that the one person you had been avoiding for the past several seasons had been perceiving you exactly as you had always dreamed. Perhaps it was not Benedict's personality that made you keep him at arm’s length, but rather your own.

You bound forward, slightly tripping on your gown, throwing yourself in the second Bridgerton brother's arms. In the instant he caught you, you planted the shyest of kisses on his unsuspecting lips. Benedict chuckled sweetly, lifting you to stand on your own two feet again, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into to a longer, more fervent kiss. His lips were much softer than you were anticipating, gentle and cool against your own. Benedict's tongue dipped into yours, his kiss still passionately intoxicating. You parted for a moment, both of you breathing a little heavier now. Benedict took a step back, straightening his dress clothes and composing himself.

"I apologise, miss y/n"

"Why do you apologise? I am the one who owes you" You stammered.

"I am just glad that no one saw us, I will not have you ruined. I will not be the one that ruins you" Benedict stumbled over his words, words filled with such consideration and respect for you and your standing in society.

Panting still, bosom heaving over the corset, you thought about what he was saying. You thought about your "prospects".

Taking one large step forward, pressing your body against his, you leaned up as if to kiss Mr Bridgerton's cheek goodbye.

"Ruin me" You breathed, begged, into his ear, hands wrapping around his neck, your breath hitching in your throat as Benedict swooped you into his arms, carrying you to the nearest desk. He placed your behind on the edge of the desk, moving to sweep every piece of art clattering to the floor before turning his attention back to you. Your legs wrapped around his thighs, his lips crashing into you, his tongue fiercely caressing yours. Much to Benedict's surprise, you slipped your arms out of your dress, pushing the fabric down around your hips.

Stunned and dramatic shock shot across his face as he looked upon your upper body in your corset. Benedict blinked furiously, as if trying to regain control of his sense.

"May I?" He took hold of the fabric around your waist, pulling it out from under you as you lifted yourself slightly, signalling a loud yes. Sitting in your undergarments, Benedict wrapped his arms around your body, expertly fiddling with the laces as you nodded fervently into his delectable kisses. You grinned into his mouth, feeling the corset loosen quickly – he had done this before. Your fingers fumbled along the seam of his pants, unfurling the tucked fabric of his dress shirt, fiddling with the buttons of his overcoat.

Benedict stopped, throwing his coat across the room and removing his dress shirt as frantically as possible. It took only seconds for his eyes to widen at your naked body, sitting on the desk before him.

"Holy God" He exhaled, lunging forward, thrusting his hand into your hair, pulling you into a devilish kiss. His hands curved under your behind, lifting you forward to the very edge of the table before falling to his knees before you as if you were divine, and he, a devout worshipper at the altar. Littering kisses down your inner thigh, his nose nestling into the soft nest of hair at your mound, he breathed heavily, groaning with pleasure. Benedict's tongue slipped between your folds, circling the most sensitive spot on your body, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling gently as his pace quickened and steadied in a repetitive manner. Never had you felt so safe and yet so powerful, holding Benedict's head in place between your thighs. Letting out soft, melodic moans, tangling your fingers amongst his hair, finding your hips having a mind of their own as they ground against him. The sheer coarseness of Benedict's dawning facial hair and the soft, warmth of his darting tongue were plenty enough to push your mind to the edge of the human experience. Your head turned dreamy, light, whilst your body convulsed and squeezed Benedict's head between your thighs.

Panting softly, Benedict remained, placing delicate kisses where his tongue had just performed. As your body relaxed into him again, Benedict appeared from the floor, kissing you again, to lay you backward on the table, your own sweetness on your tongue now. He stood before you, bare torso, undoing his dress pants. Excitement pulsed through you, propping yourself onto your elbows to watch. You had heard other ladies discuss this in the depths of their personal conversations but had never really learned anything from them. It was a topic of great interest.

Freeing himself before you, your enlarging eyes took in his length as he held himself in his hand. "Allow me?" Benedict looked down at you, sordid passion aflame in his eyes. You gave a clear, concise nod. Benedict moved closer between your thighs, adjusting your legs, and placing himself at your entrance. With both hands sprawled over the space between your belly and your hips, Benedict slowly pushed forward, eliciting guttural moans from your lips. But he never looked away from you, he never closed his eyes for more than a half-second. His desire burned out of him, his eyes searing down on you and in helplessness, you exuded wanton need in return.

You wished this act were eternal, completely unending. Every thrust an indiscreet attempt at conveying his affections for you. His hand found its way to caressing your cheek, his teeth nipping at your neck as you moaned his name.

“Benedict” You sighed without inhibition. The sound of your voice sent Benedict into a frenzy, his thrusts harder now and full-fledged. His sinful grunts, echoing across the studio, came to a hot, explicit apex as he buried himself as deeply as possible inside of you.

He looked down at you dreamily, his eyes heavy with pleasure, running his thumb over your bottom lip. Benedict stepped away, reaching for his dress pants, and sitting on to the ground in front of you – you moved to sit next to him, surrounded by the tables previous contents.

“You are wonderful. I could never capture such an essence, in any art form. You are transcendent” Benedict’s words were slow, the ruse of his silly exterior worn away.

“I much prefer this version of you” You gave a smug smile, both of you avoiding eye contact.

“As I do you” He retorted, chortling alongside you. The long, comfortable tired silence between you was broken only when Benedict cleared his throat.

“Y/n,” Benedict spoke up, “I think—No, I am quite certain, I love you” He admitted, holding his hand out, bridging the space between your mostly naked bodies, waiting for you to take it.

“I do believe I too am guilty of loving you” You responded, laying your hand gently in his. Leaning to meet in the middle, sharing a sentimental, sweet kiss and smiling into each other. Benedict jumped up, pants still undone around his waist, he pulled you to your feet.

“Come, I should like to draw you” He posed you naturally on the platform in the centre of the room. You watched him scramble about the room, looking for his implements.

“Like this!?” You gestured to yourself, completely nude on the dais.

“Yes, precisely like this” Benedict growled ardently, putting his pencil to his parchment.

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If you would like to be tagged in any upcoming Bridgerton fanfictions written by me, please let me know and I will add you to a taglist!

[merrybloomwrites]

Ian Hecox - Secret Smiles

Summary: If everyone in the office knows about Ian and Y/N's crushes on each other, how long will it take for the two of them to finally figure it out?

Word Count: 992

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Ian Hecox wasn’t known for being the most romantic person. Once, on the podcast, when asked about the most romantic thing he’d done for a girlfriend, he replied that he’d gotten waxed for her.

So really, he brought it on himself.

But underneath that persona he’s made, there’s another side to him. 

One that’s shy, and sweet, and secretly, has a big ol’ crush on you.

He keeps it a secret from everyone, or so he thinks. What he doesn’t know is that everyone has caught on to what is happening. How he brings you coffee or tea at least once a day, but normally more, just so he can say hi. How he was the first to offer to give you a ride when your car was in the shop, even though it’s out of his way. 

But what’s most obvious is the way he looks at you. The smile that never leaves his face when he’s in your presence. It’s obvious who it’s for. 

Or we’ll, obvious to everyone except you. You remain pleasantly surprised each time he pops up nearby, excited to talk to the man that you may have a tiny crush on as well.

Weeks turn into months, and everyone in the office has to suffer watching the two of you share these looks while never acting on your feelings. 

It’s Angela who finally breaks first. You both have a long lunch one day, and she insists that she needs a real Italian sub or she won’t survive the afternoon. And for some reason, you are the one who needs to go with her. She claims it’s because you’re the only one in the office who appreciates a good sandwich, but you can tell there’s an ulterior motive here.

You’ve just pulled out of the parking lot when she turns to you and says, “Okay, what’s the real scoop on you and Ian? Is it still just mutual pining or is there a secret relationship there? Because the way you two act, it could really be anything and I am dying to know.”

You sputter for a moment, unable to form a sentence after that accusation. Finally, you manage to reply, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t bullshit me girl, you know exactly what I mean,” she says.

“Okay fine. Yes, I may have a crush on Ian. But that’s it!”

“Why haven’t you acted on it yet?”

“Why? Because it’s just a crush. And he definitely doesn’t feel the same way. I don’t want to put myself out there and get rejected. Especially not at work. And especially not by my boss!”

“Okay okay okay, I understand the whole boss aspect. But seriously, Y/N, are you blind? That man is totally smitten with you.”

“Smitten? Really? That’s the word you’re going with?”

“Yes, one hundred percent,” Angela replies, fully serious.

“There’s no way he likes me, I would’ve noticed,” you say, your voice now somewhat unsure.

“Honey I love you, but you have absolutely missed about a million signs. He doesn’t personally deliver hot drinks to anyone else every day. He doesn’t have a special little look reserved for any of the other people in the office. Just, pay attention when we go back and you’ll see what I mean.”

“Alright, but I think you’re making things up.”

Angela drops the subject for the rest of the trip, but you can’t help but think about what she said. You don’t want to hope that she’s right, but a small part of you starts to daydream what the next step would be if she is.

That afternoon you’re working at your desk, headphones on, so you don’t know someone’s coming over until a cup of tea is placed in front of you. You slide off your headphones and turn to Ian to thank him.

“How was lunch with Angela?” he asks. 

“I was good,” you reply, intrigued to see he paid attention enough to know who you’d eaten with. “It was uh, eye opening you could say.”

“Really? What did you talk about?”

“Oh nothing,” you say, mortified by what you’d have to explain if you told him the truth.

“Well now I’m scared,” he replies with a laugh.

“Why’s that?” Is it because he actually does like you and knows Angela is onto him? Did Angela say something to him as well? Your mind wanders, coming up with numerous theories until he replies, “Because it’s Angela. I’m always scared when it comes to her.”

You agree and he says, “Well I’ll let you get back to work.”

He walks away and you look back at your computer. But you watch him from the corner of your eye and notice the way he turns back to look at you with a fond expression. If the butterflies in your stomach are anything to go by, that look absolutely means something. Maybe Angela is right.

For the next week you keep a closer eye on Ian. You catch him watching you with a soft smile and after a few days, you stop hiding. Each time he glances your way, you meet his eyes, sharing a soft smile with him before you both turn away blushing. 

This goes on for another few days, until the next Friday when you’re packing up to head home and he wanders over. The office is nearly empty, everyone having left already to start the weekend.

He makes casual conversation for a few minutes, and you can tell he’s beating around the bush just trying to build up confidence. When he finally asks if you’d like to go grab a drink together, just the two of you, you immediately reply yes. 

You walk out together, sharing yet another shy smile, completely oblivious to the entire cast and crew silently cheering from their hiding places. The months of watching you two idiots pining are finally over, leading to a happy ending for everyone.

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AN: Thank yo for reading! Hope you enjoyed some cute and shy Ian!

[fangirl-writes]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

Damien Haas x GN!Reader

Warning(s): making out, swearing, drinking

Notes: Got asked for more Damien things but I didn't have any so I wrote one! I'm not sure about the drinking habits of the Smosh squad, but for the purposes of the story we're going to assume they all partake in a reasonable manner.

Summary: You and Damien may or may not have kissed in the Smosh Closet, but you're not telling.

"Seven minutes in heaven!"

You raised your eyebrows at Courtney. "What are we in seventh grade?"

"At Smosh, we are all in seventh grade," Shayne said, laughing.

"We don't have a bottle though," Angela said.

"We can use this," Spencer said, downing the last of his Kickstart and setting it in the middle of the group.

The cast and crew were celebrating post a live show, having pulled couches, chairs and bean bags from all corners of the office into one room for everyone to convene.

"Okay, anyone playing, sit in the circle," Courtney said, clutching on your arm so you couldn't run away.

"Court!" you whined, but she just looked at you with her best puppy dog eyes and you relented.

All cast members joined the circle, except for Ian and Anthony, who hung back, and a few crew did as well.

"How do we decide who goes first?" Tommy asked.

"It was Courtney's idea, I vote they go first," you said.

She shrugged, leaning down and spinning the Kickstart can.

"No fucking way."

The top of the can stopped spinning perfectly in front of Shayne and everyone burst into giggles.

"Her husband? Really?"

Everyone, giggling like teens, ushered Shayne and Courtney into the Smosh Closet.

"Okay, and time starts now!" Anthony said, setting a timer on his watch.

"Don't get too down and dirty, you two or we'll have to burn everything in there!" Ian joked as Chanse closed the door on them.

In true middle school fashion, you all played truth or dare while waiting for the seven minutes to be up.

"Y/N, truth or dare?" Amanda said.

"Uh, truth," you replied.

"Do you or do you not have the hots for someone in this room?"

Your face got hot. "I- er."

"I'm taking that as a yes," Amanda said with a laugh.

"OOH, who is it?" Angela asked.

"Not your turn, Ang," you replied, sticking your tongue out at her, which she returned. "Spencer, truth or dare?"

Anthony's timer went off just as Spencer was in the middle of dancing around with his shirt off.

You all may have had some alcohol in your systems.

Chanse knocked on the door, "Ya'll decent in there?"

He opened the door and Shayne and Courtney, maybe a bit more ruffled, walked out with grins.

Everyone whooped and whistled at them, making them laugh.

"Who's up next?"

It went on like for a few rounds. Shayne spun after Courtney, landing on Spencer and the two of them disappeared into the closet to make silly moaning noises and run a bit way too long. Spencer went next, landing hilariously on Tommy, and so on and so forth.

You'd been able to avoid the sword of Damocles that was the Kickstart can for most of the round until Damien (who'd just emerged from the closet with Kiana) spun it.

You watched with bated breath as the yellow can spun wildly.

And landed on you.

Fuck.

Courtney squealed beside you, grabbing your arm while everyone else did their usual oohs and whoops.

You licked your lips and stood up, taking a final swig of your drink for liquid courage before you handed it to Courtney and followed Damien to the closet.

"Don't have too much fun in there," Chanse joked with a wink.

You hoped everyone would assume the two of you would just sit and talk for the duration of the seven minutes, like most people who weren't playing it up for the bit did.

But what they didn't know was that you were crushing hard on Damien.

He'd really come into himself over the past year or so, dying his hair silver, getting more tattoos, wearing his piercings more often, retaining his rather buff physic. He was hot. And that was a problem for you.

Chanse closed the door, ushering the two of you into darkness.

Your heart was beating so loud you hoped he couldn't hear it.

Once your eyes adjusted to the dark, you could see him better.

He was wearing a regular black t-shirt and some cargo pants, his earrings dangling, and he was already looking at you.

"Hey," he said after a beat.

"Hey," you replied.

The sounds of truth or dare outside the closet were loud enough to cover anything that you two may have said, so any eavesdroppers would be deterred.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked.

You swallowed, nervously. "Uh, yeah, yeah, sure, of course."

His hand came up to softly grab onto your chin so you were looking right at him.

"I think you're really hot," he said, barely above a whisper, lips inches from yours.

You shivered. "Yeah? Well, I think you're pretty hot, yourself."

"Should we make the most of this opportunity?"

He was giving you all the power here, the ability to back out if it was too much for you.

Which it was, but you weren't about to decline a perfectly good offer like that.

You leaned forward and pressed your lips to his. He made noise of surprise before pressing back.

His hand slid from your chin to your cheek and your hands gripped at the material of his shirt.

Fireworks were going off in the pit of your stomach.

Damien tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss, putting more pressure on your lips.

You hummed in delight, hands moving from his chest up and over his shoulders to finally tangled themselves in his hair, tugging him closer.

His hands moved as well, sliding down your sides and to your hips, tugging you closer in return.

The both of you were humming softly against each others' lips, letting each other know you were enjoying the moment.

Damien's tongue slid politely against your bottom lip, asking for permission.

You granted it to him by sliding your own tongue out and guiding his back into your mouth.

He groaned, exploring your mouth gratefully.

You were so caught up in him you almost didn't hear Anthony's timer go off.

Almost.

You quickly pushed him off of you and began straightening yourself, much to his confusion, before he heard Chanse knock on the door and ask.

"Y'all decent in there?"

Damien pulled his shirt down and ran a hand through his hair, replying, "We're good."

Chanse swung the door open and you two stood there, a respectful distance apart.

You must not have looked too suspicious because nobody did anything out of the ordinary, whooping and hollering like they usually did.

You went back to your space next to Courtney, who raised an eyebrow at you.

You raised yours back at her to indicate 'Later.'

Then you leaned over and spun the can to continue the game.

To your luck (but mostly detriment), it landed on Amanda.

She whooped and stood up, you following.

You disappeared into the closet again, Damien watching you go with tingling lips.

Once Chanse closed the door, Amanda pounced.

"So, what happened between you and Damien?"

You debated telling her, but as much as you loved her, you knew she'd tell Angela, who would tell Chanse, who would tell Tommy, who would tell Spencer, and so on until everyone in the office knew what had transpired.

So, you said, "Nothing, we just talked."

"Nonsense!" she said, smiling. "There's no way you two locked in a confined space didn't finally get you to crack."

"You've been watching too many romance movies, Manda," you joked.

"But you admit it is Damien that you're crushing on, right?"

You hesitate in your answer again, a dead giveaway, and she claps her hands.

"I knew it!"

"Shh!" you chided. "I don't exactly want the whole office to know. It's no big deal."

"No big deal? Girl, you're perfect for each other, I'm telling you. The next Shayne and Courtney."

You frowned at that. You didn't want to be the next Shayne and Courtney. There already was a Shayne and Courtney.

"It's not like that," you insisted.

"And he totally didn't say anything in here that might've slightly implied he was into you?"

"I think you're really hot" echoed in your mind.

"No."

She threw her hands up. "Come on! You two suck at this."

You rolled your eyes playfully and spent the next few minutes answering Amanda's grilling questions and trying not to let what happened slip.

That was between you and Damien.

And maybe Courtney later.

Because Damien would definitely tell Shayne, right?

Chanse opened the door without hesitation this time, knowing he wouldn't find you and Amanda in a compromising position.

And the game went on.

But you weren't really paying attention, the kiss (or well, it was definitely more than that) lingering on your mind.

"Y/N, truth or dare?"

Fuck. That was Amanda.

If you picked truth she'd try to make you spill your guts. So you did something stupider.

"Dare."

She grinned like the Cheshire Cat and you regretted it immediately.

"I dare you to kiss Damien on the mouth."

Fuck, Amanda, you thought.

"Only with his consent," you shot back, hoping upon hope that he'd deny the request.

But this was Damien you were talking about. His bravado was coming out in his slightly tipsy state.

"I'm down."

Everyone whooped and hollered (of course) and Shayne was shaking Damien's shoulders in support.

You were cursing everyone in your head as you made your way over to him. Amanda for the dare, Damien for the consent, Courtney for suggesting seven minutes in heaven, Angela for suggesting truth or dare.

You got on your knees in front of him and he was smirking at you.

"I hate you for this," you said.

"No you don't," he replied.

And then you kissed him.

It wasn't at pleasurable as the first one, considering you were surrounded by your co-workers, but you couldn't deny the fireworks had returned.

God, Damien was a good kisser.

It was also then that you realized Amanda hadn't set a time for the kiss to last. And you were kissing him for way longer than you had to.

Anthony's watch went off, signaling the end of the seven minutes and, you decided, the end of you dare.

You pulled back from Damien, who looked a little dazed, and turned to Amanda.

"Good enough?" you asked.

She was grinning way too smugly. "Perfect."

You plopped next to Courtney who raised her eyebrows at you imploringly, practically begging for the insight.

You gave her a look that replied, 'Later, Court.'

She frowned, unsatisfied, but let it go.

The game went on way too far into the night, but you thankfully didn't have it land on you again.

You're not sure what you'd do if a) another one of your co-workers hit on you, or b) someone asked you about Damien again.

Everyone finally decided to call it a night at about 3 am and considering it was a Friday night, you all needed the weekend to recoup.

Especially you, since, you know, you'd just made out with Damien earlier.

You were preparing to leave when Courtney caught your arm.

"Now, please?" She almost begged.

You bit your lip, looking around at everyone, in various states of sober and tired. "Not here."

You glanced around for Shayne to let him know you were stealing his wife, but he was nowhere to be seen, allowing you and Courtney to hurry off to some secluded area of the office.

You ended up in the thankfully empty kitchen area.

"So?" she squealed. "What happened?"

"Damien and I...may have kissed a little."

"Yes!" she shouted.

"Shh!" you replied and she calmed down.

"Sorry. So what's that mean? Did you like it?"

"I think it was the best kiss I've ever had. But where do I go from here? Does he want more or was it just like a spur of the moment thing?"

Courtney shook their head. "From everything I know about Damien, he wouldn't do that without a reason."

"I think you're really hot," returned to your mind.

"And if the reason is he just thinks I'm hot?"

"Then use that as a basis for wanting more. Which, you do, right?"

You nodded. "Yeah, but...I don't know. We're not you and Shayne, what if it doesn't work out?"

"Then you're both mature enough to be professional about it, right?"

"I suppose."

"Then what's holding you back?"

You didn't reply, unsure. Fear?

"There you are," Shayne said, turning the corner. "I think Damien was looking for you, Y/N."

He had that look in his eyes that practically told you that he knew.

"Okay, um, have a good night, guys."

You walked off, noticing Damien standing next to the door with his leather jacket on and arms crossed.

He perked up when you walked towards him.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," you replied. "So, about earlier..."

"I meant what I said. I think you're really hot. But I also really like you, Y/N. Can we...give this try?"

Your heart was pounding but you smiled as you said, "I'd love to."

He let out a breath. "Well, that's a relief."

You laughed.

"Can I see you tomorrow?" he asked.

"Absolutely," you said before leaning in and whispering in his ear, "I'd love to pickup where we left off in the closet."

Damien's face went red and you thought you noticed him adjust his pants, making you heat up as well.

"Hey, you two, if you're gonna flirt, don't do it in my lobby," Ian called, standing across the room with Anthony, who laughed.

You debated on flipping him off, but just settled for grabbing Damien's hand and leaving.

"Better get used to the flirting," Damien joked. "I think we're gonna be doing it more often."

[hayleythesugarbowl]

I was really inspired by smoshs most recent video where they go back and rewatch their first video appearances so here is a request!!

this does not have to be based on a specific video but just more of an idea.

I would love an ian x reader who is on the crew but makes appearances here and there like spencer. where they react to a compilation of them basically being in love because they are a really huge ship in the fandom, and it makes them realize feelings, and you know how it goes from there!!

Shipped || Ian Hecox x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist  ⋆˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: when you and ian watch fan compilations of yourselves for a video, you realize how much you actually like each other

word count: 2.4k

warnings: swearing

a/n: ahh this is such a cute idea! i’m so sorry it took me so long to get to love, hope you enjoy 💌

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     “Hey guys, today (Y/n) and I are going to be getting married!”

     There was a chorus of laughter from the crew as Ian went off-script. 

     “That is not what’s happening,” you said, in your best news anchor voice. 

     “She said no, cut the video,” Ian joked, spiking the camera.

     You laughed, rolling your eyes at him as he continued the intro.

     “But seriously, it is Valentine’s Day and to show you all how much we love and appreciate you, we’re going to be reacting to some fan compilations. Specifically compilations of us, because apparently, and Erin would be so proud of me for using this phrase, you ship it.”

     Ian gestured between the two of you. It was true. You’d started out at Smosh as an editor but after appearing in a TNTL Crew episode, the audience loved you and you kept making more and more appearances on camera.

     You were almost a regular cast member at this point. The new Tommy, people called you. And ever since you had begun appearing more regularly, fans had started shipping you with Ian immediately.

     It helped that you two were good friends and that most of the videos you were in, he was in as well. You and Ian had been close for a while now, ever since you’d started at Smosh a few years back.  

     You’d never thought of you guys as anything more than that though. Friends. But it was fun imagining the fans analyzing your interactions and making more of them. You couldn’t wait to watch the compilations.

     “We have compiled some edits and videos that you guys have made that are apparently about me and Ian,” you said. “I guess now that Shayne and Courtney are married and there aren’t enough clips of Angela and Mater, we’re ‘the ship’.”

     Ian nodded, laughing. “We haven’t watched these yet but I can’t wait to get started so let’s jump right in, shall we?”

     “We shall. This first one is called ‘ian and (y/n) being endgame for 17 minutes straight’ by rogertheredditor. Do we need to give a definition of endgame for Daddy Ian?”

     “Hey!” Ian protested. “I watched avengers.”

     That got a laugh from the crew and you put a hand on Ian’s shoulder.

     “Ok,” you said. “Let’s dive in.”

     You pressed play on the video and watched as clips of you and Ian came on the screen. Most of them were from videos you were in together, Reddit stories and TNTLs and challenge pit. You leaned your elbow on the table, giving the laptop all of your attention. 

 ───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Oh my gosh, Ian you can’t say that on camera!” You exclaimed as Shayne laughed, the iPad almost falling out of his hands. 

     “Well if James Charles didn’t want me talking about it, then he shouldn’t have done it,” Ian defended. 

     You smacked Ian on the shoulder as you laughed and he shoved your hand away yelling ‘cooties!’

     This only made you giggle more and you threw a pillow at him. He caught it, pretending to repeatedly hit you with it.

 ───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     You pressed pause. “I don’t even remember what you said. I just know we had to bleep it out.”

     “Oh I do,” Ian said, laughing. “It was—”

     “Next clip!” You interrupted him, pressing play.

 ───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Watch this” you told the camera, glancing at Ian in the stool. “This is about to be the fastest bit in TNTL history.”

     Ian looked at you with confusion in his eyes as you walked towards him, leaning in to whisper something in his ear.

     He immediately spit his water and you clapped, feeling triumphant. Ian choked on water as he lost it. 

     “Wait, now we have to know what you said!” Courtney exclaimed, coming out from behind the divider.

     “Inside joke,” you informed her. 

     “Wait, (Y/n),” Ian said, gesturing to you to come closer, a mischievous smile on his face. “Remember…”

     He leaned in and whispered something in your ear and you both started laughing again.

    “Get a room!” Angela called from off camera. 

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Dude, I remember that,” Ian said, stopping the video. 

     “And we did get a room after that,” you joked. You remembered that moment too, you and Ian laughing over something no one else would’ve understood. You didn’t realize there were so many of these kinds of clips of you and Ian. 

     “(Y/n) stop! They’re gonna believe you and then this clip is going to be put in edits.”

     “You’re welcome Ian and (Y/n) shippers,” you winked at the camera.

     “Wait, we need a ship name,” Ian announced.

     “Put our ship name on the comments,” you said, starting the video again.

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Oh my gosh, I’m gonna puke.”

     You waved your hand in front of your face as you tried to swallow—whatever was in your mouth.

     “What you are eating—or, drinking—is called ‘The Birthday Smoothie’,” Courtney read from the card. “Anchovies, birthday sprinkles, spice drops, and cream of wheat.”

     You gagged and Ian put a hand on your back, laughing. 

     “Can we fly in the puke bucket for (Y/n)?” He asked, looking at you in amusement as you grabbed on to the table, covering your mouth. 

     Courtney handed it to you and you turned, emptying the contents of your mouth into the bucket. Ian rubbed your back as everyone reacted. 

     “You’re ok,” he chuckled.

     You came up a moment later, wiping under your eyes and fixing your hair.

     “That was disgusting.”

     “You’re so dramatic,” Ian rolled his eyes. “It couldn’t have been that bad.”

     “Oh yeah, tough guy? Care to try it then.” You gestured to the smoothie still sitting on the table.

     “I would but—I’m on a diet so…”

     You giggled, rolling your eyes. 

    “Oh, you have a—” Ian trailed off, reaching to carefully pull a strand of hair off of your mic, tucking it behind your ear. “There.”

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     And that was the end of the video. You sat there for a moment. You of course remembered that Eat it or Yeet it—in fact it was only filmed a couple weeks ago.

But you hadn’t realized how sweet Ian had been.

     You couldn’t get the image of him rubbing your back out of your head. Of him tucking your hair behind your ears.

     You turned to Ian now, only to find he was already looking at you. 

     “Um—well that was the first compilation. What did you think Ian?”

     “I think I looked good in all those clips so I’m not complaining.” Ian shrugged.

     “Ok Buddy,” you teased. “On to the next one. This one’s called ‘more ian and (y/n) clips that make anthony jealous’ by amangelalover9. Let’s jump in.”

     This video had some of the same clips from the first one but others were ones you hadn’t seen yet. A lot were times you and Ian shared the screen but others were simply moments where one of you mentioned or talked about the other one. 

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

    “I was with Ian the other day…”

     “You know who would think this was so funny? (Y/n).”

     “Wait let me text Ian and settle this.”

     “Bro, (Y/n) said the most wild shit last night…”

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     You watched with Ian, laughing and remembering each part that came on.

     A clip appeared that was older than many of the others—one of your earlier videos, judging by your hairstyle.

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     “Hey guys, welcome back to challenge pit!” Keith announced. “Today we’re going to be competing to see who can win at doing household chores—but with a twist. I’m talking swords and shit.”

     “Swords and shit? Title of your sex tape.” Ian leaned over and mumbled to you.

     You busted up laughing and everyone else turned to see what was so funny.

     “Sorry Keith,” you wheezed. “Keep going with the intro. Please finish.”

     “Also the title of your sex tape.”

───────↻ ◁ || ▷ ↺───────

     Ian reached forward pausing the video on the laptop. “I remember that day.”

     “It was at the end of a shoot week, right?” You asked.

     Ian nodded, looking wistful. “Yeah. I remember it was the first time I made you laugh.”

     “Must have been the very end of a shoot week and I was delirious,” you teased, but your mind was on his words.

     Ian clutched his chest in mock offense. You giggled, nudging his shoulder as you pressed play again.

     As you watched more of the video and laughed with Ian, you couldn’t get his words out of your head. 

     I remember it was the first time I made you laugh

     He kept track of that?

     Eventually, the video ended and you moved on to the final one. 

     “That was so good,” Ian chuckled. “We are so Shourtney coded. Like I feel like if we announced that we were secretly married, no one would be shocked.”

     “Again with the marriage? Is this whole video a secret proposal or something?”

     “Only if you’d say yes,” Ian countered. 

     You knew he was joking, but something about his eyes—about the way he was looking at you—made your heart beat faster. It was probably just the effects of being in a video about you and Ian being in a ‘relationship’, but you found yourself imagining what it would be like if it was real.

     You had a sudden image of leaning across the table and bringing your lips to his. 

     You shook it off. “The jury’s out on that one. Meanwhile, our final video is titled ‘ian and (y/n) putting kelce and taylor to shame and giving us more feels than that one scene from marley and me’ and this one was posted by pandalover717.”

     The crew laughed at the long title and you kept talking. 

     “This is a shorter one—”

     “Shayne,” Ian coughed. A loud ‘hey!’ came from off-camera. You ignored them.

     “—so we’ll see what it entails. Let’s go.”

     You started the video and a Taylor Swift song started playing, dramatizing shots of you and Ian talking or hugging or falling on each other as you laughed.

     I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings

    Darling, you’re the one I want 

     Was this how everyone saw you and Ian? You had always been close but—had you been missing something.

    I hate accidents except when we went from friends to this 

    Darling you’re the one I want 

     How did you see you and Ian? How did he? You tried to think of your relationship from the perspective of these edits and fan videos.

     I want to drive away with you 

     I want your complications too.

     You tried to stop your heart from racing. You were starting to see Ian in a whole new light. 

     I want to drive away with you. 

     I want your complications too.

     Seeing all of these moments that you’d had with Ian—you were beginning to form a clearer picture that you hadn’t been able to see before. 

     I want your dreary Mondays 

     Wrap your arms around me, baby boy 

     Maybe one you hadn’t let yourself see before.

     Because you and Ian were friends. Best friends. 

     But what if you could be more than that. 

     You were lost in your thoughts as the video ended and Ian tapped a button on the laptop.

     “That song slaps every time,” Ian announced, turning to you. “What’d you think of that one?”

     You shook yourself out of it, answering Ian. “I love a good edit. These were all so good and it’s so much fun to see how you guys interpret interactions and find little hidden meanings in things.”

     “Or not-so-hidden meanings,” Ian said. He sounded so sincere that it threw you off.

     “What?”

     “Nothing. What—what was your favorite moment from all of those clips? Personally mine is when you lost your lunch after that smoothie.”

     You smacked his arm and he ducked away from you, holding up his arms in surrender. 

     “Not funny Ian, my stomach wasn’t right for a week. And I don’t know if I have a favorite, there were a lot of good ones. By some crazy coincidence basically all of the videos I’ve been in have been with this guy.”

      Ian was silent a moment.

     “And—and what if it wasn’t?” He finally said. “A coincidence, I mean.”

     “What?”

     “It was at the beginning but then I, um, might’ve asked to be put in every video you were going to be in,” Ian admitted, running a hand along the back of his neck nervously. 

     “Why?” Your voice came out breathless. “Why would you—”

      “Well,” Ian started, crossing his arms over his chest. “For starters, how else would people have enough content to make edits about us?”

     “Ian.”

     “Fine. At first it was just to hang out with you more,” Ian said, “We were such good friends and—and then it was more than that. Y’know, once I, kind of, fell in love with you.”

     You could’ve sworn your heart stopped. The room was silent. As far as you were concerned it was just you and Ian.  

     “Is this some bit for the video or—”

     “It’s not a bit,” Ian confessed, smiling ruefully. “I wish it was, because that I’d be good at. I’m not good at this. At emotions and feelings and—”

     But he never got to finish that sentence because you leaned over and kissed him. He kissed you back, his lips crashing into yours with an intensity you’d never seen from him. 

     When you broke apart, the entire room erupted into applause and shouts of ‘oh my god’ and ‘guys!’ and ‘pay up shayne, where’s my 30 bucks?’. That last one was Chanse.

     But you hardly heard any of it. You could only smile at Ian as he smiled back at you. 

     “Wow,” you said. “That was not how I imagined this video ending.”

     “Me neither,” Ian said. “But a guy can dream.”

     You smiled, thinking about how Ian had felt about you all this time. How you felt about him now. It would be a miracle if you could stop smiling.

      You looked away from Ian and towards the camera as Spencer spoke from behind it. “I think I speak for all the fans when I say we are going to have a field day with this video in our next edits. This is straight out of a Lynn Painter book”

     “We?” You asked, intertwining your fingers with Ian’s at the same time as Ian said,

“You read Lynn Painter books? 

     “Yeah,” Spencer shrugged “They’re dope as hell.”

     You giggled as he continued, a small smirk on his face. “And as for the edits…

Who do you think pandalover717 is?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed babes, lots more smosh fics coming soon!! also if you caught my b99 reference ilysm 💋

[hayleythesugarbowl]

I loved the angela giarratana x reader headcanons you did i hope it’s not too much for me to ask if you can do a full on story if you can’t that’s fine I understand if you need an ideal what about reader getting really close to someone from smosh and Angela miss reading it think reader liked them or something plz 😊😊😊😊

Misread Signs || Angela Giarratana x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧⋆

summary: oneshot where you start to become really close with courtney, and angela takes this as a sign that you aren’t interested in her, until unusual circumstances cause you both to realize each other’s feelings

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

a/n: thank you so much for this request babe, i love angela so much and i was so happy to write for her!! hope this is what you wanted and you enjoy this <3🍓🎀

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hey, (Y/n)!” 

     Courtney greeted you as you fell into step beside her. You had been called to set earlier than, in your opinion, was natural for any human being to be awake. Courtney however was as bubbly as ever. You rubbed the sleep from your eyes, smiling at her enthusiasm. 

     “Hi, Court.” You had only been friends with Courtney for a few weeks, ever since you had moved from Smosh editor to cast member and she’d taken you under her wing, but it felt like you had known her for much longer. 

     You plopped down in the first chair you found, waiting for the rest of the cast to arrive. Courtney sat down next to you, pulling out her phone as you two began talking about what shoots were scheduled for the day, starting with TNTL. 

     A motion to your right caught your eye and you looked up.

     “Angela!” Courtney exclaimed.

     Angela set her bag down and looked over at you and Courtney, smiling, coffee in hand.

     “Hey guys, how are we today?” 

     Was it too much to hope that one of these times she would look only at you? Ask how you were doing? You let out a small sigh and Courtney gave you a sympathetic look. 

     It felt like ever since you started working at Smosh you had been chasing Angela’s attention. Hoping she would notice you. Finding excuses to talk to her. Striking up conversation with her in hopes that one day she would miraculously ask you out. She hadn’t. 

     Yet. 

     But you were starting to loose hope that you would ever become anything more than…acquaintances? You liked to think you’d started to become friends. That she liked you. But it had been hard to constantly see her act the same around everyone else as she did with you.

     And then when you became a member of the cast, you and Courtney had started to become close. She listened to you vent for hours about getting nowhere with Angela and you enjoyed her friendship. 

     Now, she grabbed your wrist, bringing you back to the present. 

     “(Y/n), you good?” She looked at you knowingly.

     You shook the wistful look off your face and said, “Yeah, I’m ok. It’s nothing new.”

     Your friend put a hand on your shoulder, “Hey, I don’t know. I still have faith in you two.” She gestured between you and Angela. “I mean you’re both gorgeous, so why hasn’t one of you asked the other one out?”

     You batted her hand away quickly, cringing at her obviousness but laughing despite yourself. 

      “See, there’s the (Y/n) I know and love,” she bumped her shoulder into yours gently.

     “Thanks Court,” you smiled at her. 

     Risking a glance at Angela, you saw she was now in the middle of a conversation with Shayne, laughing at one of his jokes—lucky bastard— and gesturing animatedly. As if she sensed you looking however, she glanced over at you and Courtney, a thoughtful expression appearing on her face before she smiled and turned back to Shayne and the few other people who had started to gather near them. 

     “Ooh, stolen glances!” Courtney sing-songed. 

     By then, most of the cast had now arrived and you heard someone shout, “Quiet on set,” and then, “could someone please grab the boxes labeled ‘new props’ from the storage room?’”

     “I’ll do it,” Angela called out enthusiastically, “Anyone want to come with?”

     Always offering to help. It was yet another one of the reasons you liked her so much.

     “(Y/n) will!” Courtney volunteered. You shot her a look and she gave you a mischievous one back.

     “Ok, great!” Angela said as you walked over towards her, simultaneously cursing and thanking Courtney in your head. 

      The silence was deafening. For all of about 12 seconds before Angela broke it, saying, “So, you ready for today? Early call time today, I know you hate mornings!”

      You nodded, but it caught you off guard that she would have remembered such a small detail about you. You figured you must have mentioned it at some point.

     “Ok, help me out. I’ve worked here for a year now and I still don’t know to get to the storage room.” She laughed and you laughed with her.

     “Down this hallway on the left,” you pointed ahead of you. You’d been working here a few months less than Angela but you felt like you pretty much knew your way around the place. You stopped in front of your destination and opened the door, stepping into a room full of bins of colorful props and costumes 

     “This reminds me,” Angela started, picking up a feather boa, “Hear me out, I have this idea for a bit.”

     She picked up the boa and draped it around her shoulders, grabbing a nurse’s hat and leaning dramatically against the door, pushing it shut. “A dental hygienist who should’ve been on broadway!”

     You laughed as she began singing off-key showtunes. 

     “Brava!”

     “Alright, we’d better get back,” she said, still keeping the boa on her shoulders. 

     You both grabbed a bin and you went to push the door open but it wouldn’t budge. You put the box you were holding down and jiggled the handle with more force.

     “Uh, Angela? We might have a problem,” you said.

     You both inspected the door, and when it was decided that you were in fact stuck, you sat down on a box and Angela followed. 

     “Ok, we can figure this out,” you said. “Do you have your phone?”

     She shook her head. “Left it in my bag. You?”

     “Left it with Courtney.”

     Angela nodded, but looked down. After a moment she said, with a hint of a smile on her face, “Well, that only leaves one option.” 

     She got up quickly and began banging her fist on the door, shouting. “Hey! Hello? Can anyone hear us? We’re kinda trapped in here!” 

     You joined her. After a few minutes though, you realized your efforts were fruitless and you both stopped, sitting back down again.

     “Well, seeing as we’re stuck in here for the foreseeable future,” Angela started, “wanna play a game or something?”

     “Sure.”

     “Alright, I spy, with my little eye, something blue,” she said.

     “The pool noodle?”

     “Dang it! That was supposed to take longer,” she threw the boa at you. You picked up the thing nearest to you—a stuffed frog—and threw it at her, draping her boa around your shoulders and posing dramatically as she had. It smelled like her, and your heart fluttered. 

     You enjoyed this, you couldn’t help but admit to yourself. You hadn’t actually talked to Angela in weeks. It was nice to have an excuse to spend time with her. Even if it was a bit awkward, and you were sweating, and locked in a storage closet for who knows how long. You looked at her and tried not to stare at her eyes, and how the lighting in the room made them sparkle. 

     An awkward silence descended, and you began pulling feathers off of the boa to pass the time. The seconds ticked by.

     “Ok, it’s been like 10 minutes now. They cannot start tntl without us because then who’ll see my broadway dentist bit?” Angela stood up.

     “Well, I saw it, and I loved it, for what it’s worth. And I’m sure someone will come looking for us soon. Courtney has my phone and my coffee so she’ll realize when she sees them, right?”

     Angela sat back down and you began inspecting your shoes.

    “So, you and Court, huh?” You looked up and found Angela watching you intently, waiting for an answer. She began pulling at a loose thread on her sweatshirt. 

     “What?”

     “I just, figured you two were a thing. I mean you spend so much time together and it just seemed like…” 

     Again, what? You blinked. “Um, no, Courtney and I are friends but—”

     “Oh, sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” she interrupted, “I just—you guys seem really close.”

     “No, it’s ok,” you assured her, “I’m just a single pringle.” You internally slapped yourself. Why, why were you like this?

     “Same!” She gave you a high five. You internally groaned. Why, why was she like this? 

     “So,” she continued, “got your eye on somebody else then?”

     “Oh, I don’t know l—” you started.

     “C’mon,” she nudged your shoe with hers, “we never catch up anymore!”

     Because we’re both busy. Because we  didn’t make an effort. Because I didn’t think you felt the same way about me as I felt about you.

     Instead, you just sighed. You did not want to have this conversation with her, especially when you didn’t exactly want to tell her the answer. But the opportunity to talk with her was too inviting. This was what you wanted, wasn’t it?

     “There might be…someone?” You didn’t want to give her any more information than that. You couldn’t.

     “I knew it!” She shrieked. “So, who are they?”

     “Well, they’re beautiful and talented and funny…”

     “Sounds like a real catch!”

     Yes, you do. “Well, what about you?” You asked, “Doesn’t seem fair that you’re the only one asking the questions,” you smiled.

      She raised up her arms in defeat, “Ok, caught me! There is someone.” 

      Great, You thought. Just my luck. 

     “Well, anyone would be lucky to be with you,” you told her.

     “Thanks, I appreciate it,” Angela answered you, “you’re not too bad yourself.”

     She leaned in for a hug, and you hugged her back, savoring this moment—even if she was telling you about someone else that she had feelings for. 

     Suddenly, the door to the storage room opened and a worried Courtney, followed by Shayne appeared.

     “Angela, (Y/n), you’re here!” Courtney said.

     “Yeah, we sort of got locked in,” Angela answered her.

     “We were getting worried—and waiting on you,” Shayne teased, and then looked between the two of you, pulling back from your embrace. “Oh, good you finally told (Y/n) how you feel! See, told you it’d go well!”

     You narrowed your eyes at Shayne, “What?”

     The look of panic on Shayne’s face was nothing compared to that of Angela’s.

     You turned to her, “What’s he talking about?”

     Courtney jumped in, “Shayne and I should be getting back to set. We’ll see you there.” She looked at her friend pointedly.

     “Right,” Shayne ran a hand through his hair, “glad you guys are ok, we’ll just be—” he pointed in front of him towards the hallway and, picking up a box of props, left with Courtney.

     “I’m going to kill him,” Angela clenched her fist.

     “Well,” you prompted.

     “Right, um…” Angela paused. You had never seen her speechless before. She seemed at a loss for words and it shocked you to see her this way and not her usual outgoing, confident self.

     “So,” she continued, “what Shayne was referring to was, um, well I told him earlier that I—Ok, just gonna rip off the bandage… I may or may not have a teeny, tiny, crush on you.”

     You could hardly believe what you were hearing. Angela what? This whole time you had just assumed she didn’t return your feelings.

     “Say something?” She prompted

     “When?” Was all you managed.

     “A while…”

     You couldn’t breathe. Then something clicked. “And when you were talking about liking someone just a second ago…”

     “Bingo,” she gave you a wry smile, “you the whole time. Surprise!”

     “I don’t know what to say, I—”

     “It’s ok, I don’t expect—anything, I—well this isn’t exactly how I planned on having this conversation but,” she threw her hands up, “now you know!”

      “Angela I—” 

     “I was planning on asking you out sometime, I really was. But then I saw how close you were getting with Courtney and I thought—I don’t know.”

     “Courtney and I are nothing more than friends. She’s like a sister to me. In fact, most of our friendship was spent talking about you,” you admitted.

     Now it was Angela’s turn to be confused. “What?”

     You didn’t know what got into you then. Maybe it was the time you’d spent on the storage room. Or maybe it was knowing Angela liked you and seeing the way she was looking at you right now. But, one way or another, you figured now was a good a time as any.

     “I like you too…a lot, actually. I have ever since you started working here and I never told you because I never imagined you could feel the same way and I just think you’re so beautiful and talented and smart and—”

     You never got to finish that sentence because suddenly Angela was kissing you, and you were kissing her back. She put her arms around your back, pulling you close, and you put your hands in her hair. You almost forgot about where you were or that you were needed on set. Almost.              

     “Shouldn’t we get back?” you pulled away and lifted a thumb towards the door. “They’re probably waiting for us.”

     “They’ve waited this long for us, what’s another minute or two.” She joked. 

     She smiled and then she was kissing you again, more passionately this time. You let all of your other thoughts go, enjoying the moment. 

     And it was perfect. 

     Just you, and Angela, and a closet full of fake limbs, animal onesies, and giant hats with googly eyes. You felt like you’d been waiting for this moment for months. 

     And maybe, she had too. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~°~❦~°~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

ˋ°•*⁀➷ hope you enjoyed this!! let me know if you have any other smosh requests!! 🍒🪩

[angelagiarratana]

You're Staring Darling

so um, we can all agree that Angela's arms are incredibly hot so here we all go. sorry for the delay, work has been insane.

tw: slight smut

This is a completely fictional story.

The shoot day had all gone according to plan, with slight mishaps but nothing big. The last shoot of the day was some stupid idea Shayne had, Sniper Chess. You were sitting off camera, watching intently as the cast used the very high-powered ball-shooting NERF gun. You were responsible for calling out when the safety was off and ensuring the cast members kept their goggles on. Essentially Courtney made you a safety watch. You didn't think anything of it until Angela walked onto set wearing a tank top, her arms on display. "Shit," you thought. Angela's arms were an incredibly weak spot for your silly little crush on her.

Since day one of her working at Smosh you had a serious crush on her, but always brushed it away for the sake of being professional. However, anytime you saw her arms or freshly painted black nails, it became increasingly hard to stay professional. You had caught yourself staring at one too many times. Today was no different.

"Safety off." Angela announced as she lined up her shot, you echoed, "Safety off." The way her bicep tensed as she held the gun straight sent a shiver down your spine. Around round 3 Angela slipped her button-up back on, you assumed it was because she was cold. You were still gawking at her hands during the rest of the shoot. It never got in the way of your job, but it was still happening. As Courtney called cut you took off your own goggles and walked onto set to retrieve the gun. Angela handed it to you with a smile and wink. A WINK. Your knees almost buckled under you. "Thank you, I can take your goggles too." You held out your other hand and she placed them in your hand, letting hers linger for a second, "Hey could you help me get something from my car when you wrap up here?" You were taken aback by her question, she usually would've asked Amanda or Shayne but you agreed.

After emptying the gun, collecting the balls, and placing them into prop storage you found your way to Angela's desk, "Ready to be of assistance." She giggled at your faux British accent. "It'll be quick." She led the way to her car, comfortable silence falling between you two. She unlocked the car and opened the trunk, inside was a box full of different costumes, "Angela you literally weight lift, you could carry this." She smiled at you, "Yeah so I lied to get you alone. I have a question." You quirked your brow at her, "Okay?" Her tone dropped an octave, her entire demeanor changing. "Do you know why I put on my shirt during the shoot?" You shook your head, "Because it was cold as hell in the studio today?" She laughed for a second, "No. It's because I could feel someone staring at me and then I saw it was you, staring at my arms." She paused for a moment taking in how you were trying so hard to remain calm, "But then I wondered why you would be looking at my arms like that. Then I realized you do it every time I wear a tank top." You took a step back, your back hitting the car beside hers, "I don't know what you're talking about. I was making sure you were being safe." She stepped closer to you, then took off her button-up, tossing it into her trunk, "Oh really? So if I just," she then pressed her hand beside your head, leaning into you fucking booktok style, "it doesn't have any effect on you?"

HOLY SHIT, WHAT THE FUCK WAS HAPPENING? You knew Angela could flirt but Jesus CHRIST. You swallowed hard and shook your head, "Uh- nope. It's just an arm." She leaned in closer, her lips inches from yours. She made direct eye contact and then grabbed your hip with her free hand, "I think that's a lie." You couldn't take it anymore, how close she was to you, the way her arm muscles were being perfectly lit by the California sun, the smug ass look in her eye, you grabbed her shirt pulling her lips onto yours. She smiled into the kiss and pulled your hips off the car and into hers, deepening the kiss. You let out a moan when she gripped your hip tighter and bit your lip softly. She pulled away smiling, noticing how your eyes immediately trained on her arm, "You're staring darling." You rolled your eyes and finally, after months, reached out and ran your fingers along her triceps, "Yeah for good fucking reason." Her hand on your hip loosened and her thumbs drew lazy circles on your hip bone, "You know you're not as sneaky as you thought you were Y/n." You grimaced, "I hate the thought of how long you knew." She dropped both her arms, turned away from you, and grabbed her shirt from the trunk, "6 months." Your jaw dropped, "6 fucking months! You waited 6 months to say something?" She laughed, grabbing the box from the trunk, "I had to one, make sure it wasn't all in my head, two you were actually gay, and three single." She closed the trunk and reached one of her hands out, you took it, "I'm glad I wore this shirt today." You giggled, "Me too."

[atlabeth]

(not so) simple masterlist

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader

status: complete!

summary: coercing lord bridgerton into pretending to court you to avoid the affections of a baron is very simple. that is, of course, until it isn't.

featuring fake dating/courtship, minor rivals to lovers, idiots in love, mutual pining that they think is unrequited, slowish burn, hurt/comfort, a signature bridgerton happily ever after, and my blood sweat and tears!

total wc: 44,497

overall warning(s): historical inaccuracies, period typical misogyny, implied/referenced sexual harassment -- individual, more specific warnings on each chapter. reader is referred to with the last name worthing for convenience

part 1 ↳ 10k words | miss worthing makes an awful sort of proposal to the viscount bridgerton.

part 2 ↳ 7.1k words | miss worthing despises and enjoys the viscount bridgerton's company in equivalence.

part 3 ↳ 9.7k words | miss worthing has a terrible realization.

part 4 ↳ 7.6k words | the viscount has a revelation and miss worthing decides against her heart.

part 5 ↳ 9k words | miss worthing and the viscount find themselves at a crossroads.

[hayleythesugarbowl]

U should write more Ian x reader, like a besties to lovers one? No pressure if ur busy ofc <3

More Than Friends || Ian Hecox x reader

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚ masterlist • smosh masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: you have been ignoring your growing feelings for your best friend ian, but when you are chosen to do a romantic scene together will those feelings stay hidden?

word count: 3.5k

warnings: mild cursing

a/n: ahh thank you so much for this request ml, i’ve been meaning to write for ian again!! hope you enjoy this and have a wonderful day!! 🎀☁️🍒

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     “Ok, hear me out. The story is ‘getting a root canal’ but we make it a full on musical with production numbers and everything.”

     Angela’s loud voice broke over the chatter you had been drowning out and you looked across the table. 

     You had been sitting in an early-morning writers meeting discussing ideas for a new sketch for what felt like hours. 

     Whoever thought it would be a good idea to make you and everyone else be creative at 8:00am….

     “Angela,” Chanse chided.

     “What? I had a dentist appointment this morning and I was inspired.”

     “Anyone else have any ideas that don’t have the words ‘root canal’ in them?” Chanse asked.

     “What screams Smosh more than a root canal musical!” Angela looked around the room for help.

     Alas, it didn’t look like you were getting anywhere anytime soon. 

    You watched as Ian, who sat to your left, let his head slip from his hand where it had been rested on the table.

     “Look alive, Mr. President-of-the-company,” you whispered to him, covering the fact that you had definitely been watching him longer than was friend-like.

     Looks like you weren’t the only one who suffered from drowsiness that morning.

     “I was totally paying attention,” Ian yawned. “Something about boats.”

     You rolled your eyes and smiled at your best friend. You’d known Ian since you two were little—in fact, he was the reason you'd got your job at Smosh all those years back.

     You’d been staying with him for the past week while your apartment was being renovated and you'd definitely stayed up too late last night watching reruns of friends. Which probably contributed to you both nodding off during this meeting.

   “Twenty bucks says someone suggests kiss currency part two,” you whispered to Ian.

     “Are you kidding? No way I’m gonna take you up on that, I don’t have spare cash on me.”

     “Did someone say kissing?” Courtney waggled her eyebrows. 

     “Yeah, (Y/n) was just begging me to suggest a kissing sketch,” Ian teased.

     You smacked Ian’s arm, feeling your cheeks warm. “I was not!”

     “Ian just wants to kiss you, that’s all,” Anthony leaned over his friend to tell you conspiratorially.

     Ian pretended to gag. “I’d rather kiss Shayne.”

     “Hey!” Shayne threw up his hands in outrage.

     You laughed along with everyone but you couldn’t stop yourself from clenching your fist around your coffee mug.

     You couldn’t exactly pinpoint when you had begun to have feelings for Ian that were more than friendly. One minute he was just your best friend Ian and the next he was this funny, attractive guy who made your pulse race when he touched your arm or gave you one of his smiles. 

     You knew Ian didn’t return your feelings—you were sure of that. This new development was entirely one sided. Which was why you were absolutely, definitely never going to tell him. Ever.

     You sighed as you watched Ian lean away from you and towards Anthony to whisper something to him.     

     Everyone was silent for a moment and you leaned back in your seat, running a hand through your hair. 

     “Hey, to piggyback off of the kissing thing,” Anthony started, his voice breaking through the silence, “what if we did an ‘every dramatic love confession scene ever’? It’s been a while since we’ve done that style of video.”

     “Ooh good idea,” Ian said, “Those ‘we want the old Smosh’ people will love that. I can already see the views.”

     “Always ‘the content’ with you,” you teased him.

     “He’s right though,” Spencer chimed in, “Especially if we had you and Ian do some scenes together. People would eat that up; it’ll give ‘em more material for their edits. I’m talking Shourtney part two.”

     You watched as Shayne and Courtney looked at each other and grinned. Damn it, why couldn’t you and Ian be like them!

     But, Spencer wasn’t wrong. Ever since you had begun working at Smosh, fans had been convinced you and Ian were dating. You guys had always laughed about all of the comments and posts together. 

     You and Ian? As if!

     But lately, as you watched the fan edits and read the YouTube comments, you couldn’t help but wish that you and Ian actually were what all of these people thought you were. 

     “I can see it now: April 1st, 2025, Ian and (Y/n). Shourtney part two” Ian echoed Spencer’s comment and nodded. “Zach Justice and Tara level shipping.”

     “You know who they are, grandpa?” You snorted.

     “For the last time, I’m four months older than you!”

     You laughed as Ian spoke again.

     “I mean, I’m in if you’re in,” he turned to you,  “For the sketch. If you don’t mind pretending to be into me. I know it’ll be hard not to fall hopelessly in love with me.” 

     “How will I ever manage,” you deadpanned sarcastically, even as your palms began to feel sweaty. Ignoring your feelings on a daily basis was hard enough, let alone doing a love scene together. But you couldn’t very well refuse and have everyone, including Ian, wonder why. 

     Besides, it could be fun. It’d been a while since you’d done a sketch, and regardless of how you felt about Ian, he was still your best friend and you would get to spend a lot of time on set with him. 

     You took a deep breath. You were probably going to regret the next words that came out of your mouth. 

     “Let’s do it”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

     “Shut up and kiss me,” you said, throwing your pretend purse to the ground as you stepped forwards.”

     “Not until you promise me that I’m the only one,” Ian sniffed dramatically. “I cant lose you again, baby.”

     “It’s only you,” you yelled, “It’s always only been you.”

     “Then kiss me,” Ian took a step towards you. “Kiss me like you’ve never kissed anyone before.”

     “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” you leaned in. 

     “And then we kiss,” Ian said in a lighter voice, breaking character as you ended the scene. “I feel like it should be raining in the background of this, damn. Ooh, note to self: talk to them about fake rain.”

     “Right,” you smiled shakily, trying not to let the scene have affected you. You were at Ian’s place—your apartment still wasn’t livable—and Ian had suggested you rehearse your scene again for the shoot the next day. 

     You had just received the script and were already panicking a how real it all was. The two characters in the scene were friends who fell in love with each other. Just your luck.

     You silently cursed whoever had written the whole thing. 

     “So do you want to rehearse the kiss before tomorrow?” Ian’s voice brought you out of your thoughts.

     “Oh, um, I think it might be better if we just wing it. You know, realistic first kiss and all.”

     “As long as you don’t pull a Jennifer Lawrence on me,” Ian laughed, “No garlic fries.”

     You placed a hand to your chest in mock surprise, “Wow Ian, two pop culture references in one day? I’m so proud.”

     “I learned from the best,” Ian booped your nose and you felt your heart flutter. 

     You flopped down on your couch-bed in the middle of the living room and kicked your pajama-pant-clad legs out in front of you. 

     Ian sat down next to you and picked up the TV remote. “Do you mind?”

     You shook your head as he turned on the television. A show was playing that you’d definitely seen before, but you weren’t paying attention. 

     You couldn’t focus on anything but Ian’s presence next to you as he scooted closer to you and laid his arm over the back of the couch behind you. He smelled like pine and soap and a hint of the day’s cologne and the scent was so familiar and so damn attractive that you couldn’t ever imagine a time when you hadn’t wanted him all over you. How had you been so ignorant then?

     You rested your head on Ian’s chest and let out a sigh. All of this was so normal—you two laying there, watching TV, falling asleep next to each other—and yet it felt so different. 

     Ian kissed the top of your head gently and mumbled “Goodnight, (Y/n).”

     You muttered a soft, “‘Night.”

     Sometimes, when you were really desperate, you imagined that your best friend felt the same way about you that you did about him. In all the little ways that he made you feel special and loved, you found an almost something. It was times like these that you let yourself imagine, what if?

     But then you reminded yourself that you and Ian had always been this way. The only difference was your pulse racing and your heart jumping into your throat whenever he looked at you or touched you. 

     You let your eyes close as the sounds of whatever comedy was on played in the background.

     It was strange how you could feel so anxious and so comfortable at the same time. Despite all the new uneasiness that came with your romantic feelings towards Ian, you were still calmed by his presence. You still knew him better than anyone else. You still wanted this forever. Which is why you couldn’t let yourself change things. 

     You felt Ian wrap his arm around you and you shifted slightly on the bed. This felt right, you thought. How could you dare mess that up with unrequited love making everything difficult?

     Because that was scary. Changing everything was scary. Losing him was scary. But this? This was comfortable, you thought. And it was true. 

     You had never felt more comfortable before in your life.

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

     You had never felt more uncomfortable in your life. 

     You’d thought last night was awkward, reading through the script with Ian. But today, as you reminded yourself you’d have to kiss him and not make it seem like it meant anything to you, you were sweating through your floral-pattern dress. 

     “Hey (Y/n)!”

     You spun around to find Ian wearing a full on tuxedo, complete with a boutonnière and everything. 

     “Wow, you look—”

     “Like prom threw up on me? Yeah, I know,” Ian joked, “But you look like the lead in a romcom so thumbs up costume coordinator.”

     You looked down at your dress. You had gone to costuming earlier on and had just come out of hair and makeup. You hoped you hadn't already sweated it all off. 

     You looked back up at Ian. He looked—well, aside from drop dead gorgeous—like he had eaten something that didn’t quite agree with him.

     You opened your mouth to ask if he was feeling ok when you were called to set by one of the directors.

     “Looks like that’s us,” Ian smiled but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

     You walked over to the set that you would be using, which looked like the outside of a building that could have been a school or a convention center. Apparently Angela had just had it lying around from a previous play. It looked really realistic, almost too realistic.

     You took a deep breath as you stepped onto set and Ian followed you. 

     You got this, you told yourself, you know all of your lines and you’re not going to mess this up.

     You looked out at the rest of the Smosh cast and crew, busy on set or waiting for their scenes. 

     “Ok and rolling…” you heard the director call.

     You prepared yourself. Ian stepped to the side of you. “You ready for this?”

     “Yeah,” you whispered, “definitely. Are you ok? You look pretty pale.”

     “I’m good,” Ian assured you with a nod, “just ate some weird pistachios at the snack table. I’d stay away if I were you.”

     “Noted,” you giggled.

     “…And Action!”

     You immediately were thrown into the scene. Ian had the first line and you tried to get into character.

     “What is your problem, Amy?” Ian said.

     “My problem?” you spat, trying to channel your inner romcom protagonist, “Are you really going to make me sit here and spell it out for you, Jake?”

     “That’d be nice,” Ian—Jake—scoffed.

     “Fine,” you made your voice shaky, “You wanna know what my problem is? My problem is that you came here with Veronica when you knew that all I wanted to do was be your date tonight.”

     “How would I know that? Was I supposed to just guess? You’re my best friend, Amy, why wouldn’t you just tell me!”

     “You want to know why I didn’t tell you?” You—Amy—asked him. “Because you’re my best friend. That’s why. I’ve had to sit here and watch you with girl after girl while all I wanted was as to be one of them.”

     You stepped closer to Ian as you kept saying your lines, trying to summon tears “I have been in love with you for years. Years, Jake. But I couldn’t tell you because I didn’t want to lose this.”

     You gestured between the two of you, trying to clear your mind and do what you had rehearsed. You refused to let any of your own thoughts slip in. 

     You continued, “I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. So go ahead. It’s ruined now. Go back to your date and have the best night with her. I’ll just be here on the sidelines like I always have been.”

     You turned and pretended to walk away and as planned Ian grabbed your wrist and you spun around.

     “You don’t get it,” he started, “I love you. I always have loved you. From the moment I met you, I have loved you. I love the way you tie your hair up when you’re working on something. I love the way your nose scrunches up when something amuses you. I love your perfume and the way it kinda makes me dizzy when I’m near you. I love you. I have never loved anyone more.”

      Ian’s eyes were intense as he looked down at you. 

     “And I never told you because, look at you. You’re way out of my league, I was lucky to have you as a friend. But, it’s always been you. I love you so much and I can’t believe you love me back. I’ll keep saying it as long as I am still breathing. I love you, I love you, I love you.”

     Even though it was acting, you’d never seen Ian like this. Not even when you were rehearsing. This was raw and emotional and it was hard not to let yourself believe it was real. The air was thick and you were both breathing heavy, the room silent except for the synchronized sound of your breathing. You stepped towards Ian, preparing to tell him to ‘shut up and kiss you’, as the script said, but he kept speaking.

     “I can’t believe it’s taken me this long to say all this. But, I want to be more than friends. And now that you know, will you be  more than friends with me, (Y/n)?”

     You jolted at his use of your name and not your character’s. None of this was in the script, as far as you knew.

     “Ian—” You whispered, looking around. 

     He took your hands, swallowing hard. “This is real, (Y/n). And I meant every word.”

     You couldn’t process what was happening. You searched Ian’s face and he looked honest and hopeful and a little scared. But he was sincere. You didn’t see any evidence that this was some kind of practical joke. Was Ian saying…

     You moved to stand even closer to him. 

     “Shut up and kiss me,” you said hesitantly, saying the line you were supposed to say earlier. 

     A slow smile came to Ian’s face, getting what you were doing. “Not until you promise me that I’m the only one, I cant lose you again, baby.”

     “It’s only you,” you whispered, “It’s always only been you.”

     “Then kiss me,” Ian said. “Kiss me like you’ve never kissed anyone before.”

     “You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting to hear you say that,” you leaned in. 

     And scene, You thought, So much for not letting this be real.

     And then your lips were on his, and you were kissing him. And Ian was kissing you back. He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer to him. You ran your hands through his hair and you felt him shiver beneath your touch.

     As you kissed Ian, your best friend, you silently thanked your luck—that this had happened, that Ian returned your feelings.

     Ian pulled away gently, brushing your hair back from your face.

     “Wow,” you breathed, “that was—”

     “That was everything I’d imagined it would be,” Ian said.

     And then, all of a sudden, the entire studio burst into applause. You looked out at all of your friends and cast mates clapping and cheering for you. Had they been in on this the whole time? Had they all known that Ian would break character and confess real feelings for you?

     “Just to be sure,” Ian said, “You do actually like me back right? You weren’t just finishing the scene?”

     You laughed, “Yes, Ian, I like you. A lot.”

     “Phew,” Ian laughed, calling out to the people gathered, “It’s a yes guys, she said yes! And sorry about ruining the shoot!”

     “You kidding? That was the most realistic love scene I’ve ever seen. How could we not use that?” Anthony called back.

     You giggled and placed your hands on Ian’s chest, “About that, I didn’t know you could be so cheesy and romantic.”

     “Only for you,” he said. “And I wouldn’t say cheesy. Poetic and beautiful, maybe.”

     You rolled your eyes at him, but you’d never been happier. You wouldn’t be able to stop smiling for days. And you didn’t want to. 

     All this time, as you’d been battling your own feelings, Ian had had feelings for you. You no longer had to pretend, because everything you wanted with Ian was already happening. 

     You smiled up at him, “I love you, Ian.”

     You had said it so many times platonically, but it felt different now. And yet the same.

     “I love you so much, (Y/n).”

₊˚ ✧ ‿︵‿୨୧‿︵‿ ✧ ₊˚

     You put your hair up into a ponytail as you walked towards Ian’s office. You had changed out of your romcom dress and back into the clothes you wore to the studio today. Now that you were done with the shoot, Ian had said he wanted to take you out. Your first real date. 

     You rounded the corner and went to enter Ian’s doorway, but you stopped when you heard voices. 

     “Hey, thanks man,” Ian’s voice carried into the hallway. “Thanks for suggesting that sketch.”

     “Anything for my friend,” Anthony said. “When your best friend whispers ‘hey can you suggest a sketch where me and (Y/n) have to be romantic together’ you step up.”

     You strained to hear. What? Was Ian saying he had planned that whole thing? He was the one who wanted to do that sketch?

     “Besides,” Anthony continued, “I didn’t even really do anything. You wrote the whole thing. Speaking of which, damn man, warn somebody! I’ll bring tissues to set next time.”

     You couldn’t believe it! That entire scene, about two random characters, Ian had written it all for you and him. 

     “You wrote all that?” You stepped into Ian’s office a look of shock on both men’s faces.

     “(Y/n), how much of that did you hear?” Ian asked nervously.

     “Enough to be even more in love with you than when I walked over here, if that’s possible.”

     Ian looked relieved as he came over to you and put his arms around you. “Well, then yeah, I wrote it. And I meant every word I said about loving you.”

     “Wow, I gotta work on my speech writing skills,” you teased, “I didn’t know I was best friends with The Bard himself this whole time.”

     “It’s a gift,” Ian smiled, kissing you softly. “And I had plenty of time to practice being poetic, being in love with you for years.

     “I’m going to go,” Anthony’s voice interrupted, “because I feel like a third wheel and not because my eyes are watering—damn allergies. I’m so happy for both of you.”

     Anthony left the room and you both burst into laughter. 

    Ian placed a soft kiss to your lips again, and you smiled. You couldn’t believe this was your reality. 

     Some of your best memories and moments were with Ian as a best friend. And now you got to experience a whole new world with Ian your boyfriend. You couldn’t wait.

     You were wrong the night before, you thought, as Ian wrapped his arms around you.     

     This, this was the most comfortable you’d ever been. 

     “Hey, I hate to interrupt,” Angela peeked into the room, “but now that we’re done with the operation-get-Ian-and-(Y/n)-together sketch—congrats by the way—where are we at on Root Canal the Musical?”

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hope y’all enjoyed this!! if you did, check out my other ian fic + my ian hcs 🤭🍓💌

[targaryenluvs]

Hi, how are you? Could you make a request for Anthony Bridgerton 🙈 please.

I was thinking something along the lines of Penelope and Colin. When Colin says he would never court Penelope. But in this case Anthony tells Benedict that he would never court reader. And Benedict tells him that he will be the one to woo her. Sad ending or happy ending. I leave it in your hands 🤗✨.

Have a good week ✨ thank you.

i love this, and benedict bridgerton <3

nothing better

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader, anthony bridgerton x fem!reader (platonic)

summary: benedict has loved you for so long, but he always assumed you’d want anthony and he wanted you. but when the opportunity presents itself to be with you he dives headfirst.

warnings: swearing, kisses??

a/n: hope you like itttt, it might be a little short but quality over quantity???: i love benedict ugh can’t wait for his season

the party was insufferable.

benedict wanted nothing more than to be at home, drawing, you specifically.

the day you learned of his talent you’d praised him every day for it. and you’d been pestering him for oh so long to draw your portrait but he always politely declined. believing a professional to be more accurate than himself but he honestly believed that he, nor any other, could incorporate all of your beauty in one sketch.

and he was scared of messing it up, and he also wondered what his brother would think.

anthony. smart, handsome, eligible, viscount anthony bridgerton.

the one you’d marry.

or so it seemed to everyone as the two of you danced hand in hand. everyone’s eyes were on the two of you as you practically glided across the floor. as the music slowed and the couples dispersed he found himself holding his breath as you came towards him.

“anthony is terrible to dance with, he keeps blaming me for stepping on his feet but he moves so slow at times, he’s always looking off into the distance.” you laughed as benedict smiled, “i promise you y/n, a dance with me will leave you more than well satisfied.” benedict teased as you gasped, “benedict bridgerton! the scandalous man you are.” as you laughed he couldn’t help but admire you. your hair was up with only two strands in the front, curled. a sweet tiara in the middle of your head, a gorgeous baby pink dress and and equally gorgeous owner.

“you look-”

“like a cake? a biscuit? a rose perhaps?” you joked.

“i was going to say breathtaking. you look, breathtaking, y/n. no one else here can compare.” he spoke in awe.

your eyes flickered to his, god he looked amazing. but he was probably only saying this to be nice right? his sisters friend, daphnes other half. nothing more, he grew up with you, saw you as a sister.

he wondered if you’d return the compliment, or thank him, or just smile and nod. god he said wanted more than a nod. you looked untouchable. and the way you looked at him, benedict was lost. not only in your eyes but in his head and heart. he sees you dance and talk to numerous respectable men every day. you smile and laugh, completely polite. but then you look at him, with those beautiful brown eyes and he looses all trains of thought. and as respectful as those other men are, he could never put himself in the same category as them.

because the thoughts that he didn’t loose, were truly inappropriate.

the heavy footsteps from behind you snapped the two of you out of the trance as anthony approached. “brother, lady y/n.” he smiled as you smiled back. “i’ll leave you two be.”

“are you alright brother?”

he didn’t mean to snap. the words just spilled out.

“are you going to court her or not?”

anthony’s brows furrowed as he was taken aback by his brothers direct manner, all sense of the usual playfulness was lost. “who? y/n? no of course not. i would never dream of courting y/n l/n. she’s like a sister to me.”

“then why do you dance with her so? take her out so often, promenade with her? for what? my god everyone thinks the two you are courting.” anthony released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

he’d only been having fun with a friend. it was so refreshing to be able to talk to someone who didn’t wonder what the viscount was up to, who he was with, when he was going to marry. y/n eased his tensions and she the best friend he’d never had, she made him feel like a young boy again, which anthony had all but forgotten the feeling of.

“benedict, it was not my intention this i promise you brother. i know how much you love and if i led you or anyone else to believe our relationship was anything besides familial love and companionship than i truly apologise. you need to let her know before it’s too late.”

benedict felt his heart lurch at the idea of finally being with you. and with anthony’s blessing and urging him along he was off to find you.

the air was cold, but anything was better than that stuffy ballroom inside. gods you couldn’t wait for the season to be over. it was only your first, same as the diamond of the season, also known as your best friend daphne bridgerton but all the cakes, gossip, drama and fake smiles? you’d had enough to last forever. the only problem with the season being over was that you’d most likely be travelling to your country estate. which meant that you’d be spending time with your extended family rather than the family besides your own that you wanted to be with.

the person you wanted to be with.

“y/n! there you are.” benedict shouted as he bent over, catching his breath. even slightly sweaty and disheveled benedict was a god in your eyes, no one inside could even come close.

“ben, come sit!” you patted the swing next to you as he gladly sat down, the air was a refreshing after the long night he’d had, and your smiling face was enough for his heart to race again.

“y/n, as much as i’d like to sit and swing with you i have to tell you something, it’s urgent.” he spoke softly. the moon was bright, the air cold and benedict had a soft glow of light on his right side. his voice could so easily lull you to sleep out here as it had done so many times before but his eyes were alert, so you smiled again and nodded, “continue.”

“y/n, i’ve known you for so long. and i’ve- i’ve never been able to tell you how i truly feel about you. i always thought anthony had your eye and”

“anthony?!” you screeched as benedict hushed you with a hand over your mouth. “sweetheart you can’t be so loud out here, wouldn’t want someone to come across us now would we?” he joked as his eyes crinkled at the edges, now there’s the benedict you knew. “ben, i’ve never had romantic feelings for anthony, hes always been a brother to me. besides i’ve had my eye on another bridgerton for a long time.”

“oh? and who could that be?” benedict was praying to every god he could conjure in his head. me. me. me. let it be me please.

“you.”

he couldn’t help himself as he kissed you, he’d waited far too long for it.

and it was so worth it.

everything he couldn’t even begin to express with words, he put into the kiss, your first of many. “i love you. i love you y/n l/n and i can only pray you love me a quarter as much. you are everything i’ve ever wanted, and i have you now. you were family before but now? youre officially a bridgerton, we should throw a parade.” benedict laughed as you smacked his arm, “finally! my plan to marry daphne has been thrown into motion!”

“excuse me?” daphne shouted as yourself and benedict leaned into eachother, laughing up a storm.

there was nothing that could compare to the man infront of you.

nothing better.

[fayes-fics]

(Be)Longing

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Mutual rescue, mutual jealousy, longing and belonging.

Warnings: None, really. Angst, jealousy, fluff. Shyness and insecurities. Minor character injuries. Time jumps.

Word Count: 5.2k

Authors Note: This is an anon request fill here (request: Benedict x shy!insecure reader, with some angst, jealousy fluff, and all the good stuff. Happy ending, of course.). Sorry it took so long to get to this Nonny; I have no idea if this is what you wanted, and I'm really not sure about it, but I hope you enjoy <3

I: Saved

“Unhand her at once!” 

The smooth, confident, older voice rings out across the village green, and suddenly the pack of nasty bullies who have your arms in a grip seem to melt away from around you.

You don’t even think to pause and thank the person who broke up the mob. No, your fight-or-flight response is in full-on flight mode. The minute your arms are released, and you see the break in the circle, you run. Run as fast as your legs will carry you. Bolting down the road and into the safety of the churchyard near your house. You do not want to run home upset and worry your mother, so you do the next best thing, the thing you are becoming increasingly good at, hiding. You climb a crabapple tree. And then you let the tears flow—just flooding down your cheeks.

You hate this new village your parents have moved you to. Your father, a doctor, had been offered the position as village physician, and now here you are, moved from Surrey to Kent, but it might as well be the other side of the world. You miss your friends. You miss your old village. You are not the most outgoing of people, and the upheaval in your life has been immense. You yearn to be back in your old, familiar, comfortable home.

You are sniffling, taking deep breaths, angrily wiping tears, and preparing to face your family when he appears. 

“Are you alright?” 

You startle. Beneath you, squinting up into the tree, is the owner of the voice who rescued you. Seeing him now, you feel an odd warmth in your ribs. He looks older, maybe fifteen, if you had to guess. He seems benign with a calm face, and his expression is one of sympathy and concern.

“Yes,” you squeak quietly.

“It is safe for you to come down,” he says gently, “should you wish.”

“Are they gone?” you query, wishing you could hide the tremble in your voice.

“They will not bother you again; I can assure you,” he states with absolute certainty.

Your eyes go wide, “What did you do? I don't want to make it worse for my brother,” you fret.

“I told them if they mess with you again, they will have the Bridgerton brothers to contend with,” he nods, with an air that suggests the name is of some local import.

“Is that you?” you ask timidly, not wanting to get down from the tree just yet.

He chuckles. “You must be new here?”

“Yes… we just moved here two weeks ago. Those boys have been tormenting my brother since his first day at school. They appear to have chosen me to pick on as he is not around,” you frown, dusting a twig from your skirt.

“Well, that ends now. Now, do you need help down?” he asks.

“No,” you sniffle, “I am capable.”

“I wouldn't doubt it,” he nods politely and steps aside to allow you space to jump down.

With a quick swing, you do so, landing neatly on your little brown boots. You unfurl to your full standing height, but even then, you have to crane your neck to look up at him.

“Very impressive,” he smiles warmly. “I am Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton. Welcome to Kent.” he thrusts out a hand to shake and, bemused at the formality, you take it and shake as if a businessman, not a ten-year-old girl.

“Thank you, Benedict. I am y/n y/l/n. My father is the new physician,” you gesture vaguely over the church wall towards your home next to the rectory.

“Ahhh,” he nods in understanding.

“And thank you,” you curtsy.

“Whatever for?” he frowns.

“For rescuing me,” you clarify.

“Oh please, that was nothing,” he waves dismissively. “I cannot abide bullies. Or any injustice really,” his eyes appear briefly unfixed, and he looks thoughtful, as if what he said just occurred to him as truth. Then he shakes his head and brings his attention back to you. “You are alright, though, correct? Able to get home?”

“Yes,” you confirm shyly.

“Then I shall be on my way” he tips an imaginary cap at you that makes you giggle, and he smiles goofily before turning away and walking out of the churchyard.

A little part of your heart yearns to follow him, the boy with the hazy, kind eyes and the pleasing smile, who just made your transition into life in the area much more bearable. 

You and your brother are never bothered by that gang of boys again.

II: Envy

“Y/n, this is Miss Clarissa Worthing.” 

Benedict introduces you to the willowy blonde whose hand is looped through the crook of his arm.

“Clarissa, this is Miss y/n y/l/n. She will beat half of my family at Pall Mall once you can coax her out of her shell,” he teases delicately with a friendly glint in his eye that makes your heart flutter against your ribcage.

Clarissa nods in cool acknowledgement, then cranes her neck to whisper something, her lips brushing his earlobe, her regard for you already gone. You curtsy politely, smile weakly and scurry away, feeling clumsy and out of place, unsure of what else to say to this swan-like beauty. 

It's the summer after your fifteenth birthday, and he is back from his second year of university. It doesn't take much to deduce that this is the lady he is currently courting, accompanying him as she is to a garden party at Aubrey Hall. Jealousy clings to your skin like an invisible oily substance and taints your every thought.

Ever since that fateful day when he chased away your bullies, you have carried a torch for Benedict. The year after that incident, you sadly have to attend his father's funeral. Your own father unable to save the Viscount’s life. The forlornness on Benedict’s face as he stood there in the chilly church made your chest ache. You didn’t fully understand why at the time, but your impulse was to go up and wordlessly hold his hand. He looked so utterly unmoored and sad. You didn't, of course; you would never be so bold, but the impulse was so strong, a tingle on your palm that needed to touch him. It was all you could think about for days.

Over the intervening years, your soft spot for him grew with every encounter, the childish admiration morphing into something stronger, a deep-rooted longing. He always seemed to be the one who cared the most—about his siblings, his mum, and even the problems of the wider world. And as your body started to change and you began to feel differently about boys, your feelings for him had another layer of confusing complexity. His was the first face that popped into your head when your friends giggled about boys and talked of marriage. 

Even now, it seems ridiculous to entertain that he would ever pursue you… you are stuck in small village life, the daughter of a doctor, not from a noble family, and he is off in the world, experiencing things you have no notion of. And yet he is the only man you have ever met who intrigues you that way. The idea of marriage not being entirely abhorrent, provided it is to him.

And so you just watch—the perpetual wallflower. Watch as Benedict and Clarissa make the circuit of the party. Effortlessly chatting among various members of the Ton, looking like the picture-perfect young couple.

“Makes you sick, doesn't it?” Eloise’s dry tone pops over your shoulder. 

You smile at Benedict's little sister, just a couple of years younger than you and a kindred spirit at these events, mostly wanting nothing to do with them.

“She is very beautiful,” you offer politely, sipping your lemonade.

“She steals,” Eloise states plainly, making you splutter your drink all over your face and dress, the little immediate crowd of attention it draws to you mortifying. Luckily Benefict is far enough away and otherwise engaged that he does not see it. You are not sure you could live that down.

“That's a scandalous thing to say,” you hiss softly as you blush under the attention of a few strangers and furtively clean yourself with a serviette as best you can.

“Tell that to mother’s silk gloves,” Eloise volleys back, her disgust evident. Apparently oblivious to your embarrassing predicament or perhaps just uncaring of what others think. “She will be gone before the weekend is out, mark my words.”

You don't doubt it, knowing how spirited Eloise is. And how well she has her brother's ear. You know he will instinctively trust what she says as truth. As she marches up to grab his arm and pull him away, mostly, you wish you had more of her bravado, her fearlessness. While you agree with her outlook on many things, you are not built of the mettle she is—not one who draws attention. Still, you watch with a twisted, guilty, but victorious smile as Eloise pulls Benedict aside and has words with him. 

You never hear of Miss Clarissa Worthing again.

III: Jealousy

“Lord Boswell would be a wonderful match, my dear,” your mother smiles encouragingly, handing you a slice of lemon drizzle cake. 

You can't hide the curl of your lip at the mere thought. 

It's the morning after the first ball of the season, just after your twentieth birthday, and you are in the London townhouse your parents have rented for the season, awaiting any suitors to call. Less than three days into your first season, you want the merry-go-round to stop. A dizzying whirl of social engagements you feel unequipped to deal with, wanting nothing more than to be back in Kent, stealing into the grounds of Aubrey Hall with a good book. Perhaps even spend time with Benedict.

Just the very thought of him causes a flare in your belly. Since his return from his studies in Cambridge, he has seemingly moved to Aubrey Hall full-time, spending his days painting the Kentish countryside with hopes of establishing himself as an artist. You have spent more time together in the last year or so than ever before, often finding yourself reading quietly in the shade with Eloise as he paints nearby, his company always somehow a balm as much as a thrill. And it feels as if there has been a subtle shift in how he regards you, giving you the unbearable lightness of hope. Perhaps he sees you in a different light now that you have come of age, no longer the child you were. There have been some moments where he has looked at you and felt it, like a weight on your skin; even as you doubt many other things about yourself, you don't doubt there is something there—a most wondrous and perplexing development.

Your butler bustles in and announces something that makes your heart leap into your throat.

“Mr Benedict Bridgerton has arrived.”

Your mother's eyebrows shoot up to her hairline, giving you a sideways glance. A Bridgerton, even if not the Viscount, would be more than sufficient in her eyes. Especially one known so well to your family.

“To call on Miss y/l/n?” your mother asks, excitement evident in the breathy question.

“Oh no, ma’am, apologies. To see your husband. His brother, the Viscount, has dispatched him here to talk about some business in Kent,” your butler explains, somewhat apologetic as he realises the misconstrued intent.

Your mother’s disappointed face is only a match for your roiling stomach. 

Your father folds his newspaper and jumps up. “I shall meet with him in my study, Jenkins. Please show him there,” and with a nod to you both, he leaves.

It has been just two days since your presentation to the Queen. That had been a waking nightmare. Parading down a long hallway at the Palace to be presented to her majesty filled you with utter dread. All eyes upon you, your every move and inch of appearance judged, and you are certain you were found lacking. Your status is unknown in the Ton; your parents pushing you into the season, hoping for an advantageous match. But you feel they could tell from one look where you belonged—almost invisible, on the periphery, a wallflower. Quiet, reserved, bookish, watching more than participating.

“Lord Boswell is here,” your butler reenters the room moments later.

Your stomach clenches. Your mother can barely contain her glee. You are so confused; you barely spoke two words to the man as you danced the previous night. Your conversation skills were utterly lacking, and he seemingly could not find an engaging topic to broach. You were keen for the music to end so you could return to standing and observing. You cannot believe that awkward interaction would be enough to propel the man to call on you, having said so little to each other just a few hours earlier. And yet here he is, a bunch of flowers in hand and a slightly vacant smile. The fleeting thought of marrying such a dull person makes you mildly nauseated.

Your mother hurries to the other side of the parlour and leaves you to converse, wearing a happy, hopeful expression that you hate to dash. And so you stumble the best you can through small talk. He talks of the weather, his property, and his interests but never asks anything about you—as if he is a candidate for a job you are interviewing for. In some ways, that is perhaps accurate, but part of you yearns for him to show interest in you, not just talk incessantly of himself.

Just as you give up hope of escaping anytime soon, you startle as he lays a hand on yours on the sofa between you. You don't even hear what he is saying anymore, just staring at where his glove covers yours, not liking the sensation, wanting to claw yourself away and withdraw. 

Motion in the doorway makes you look up; Benedict is with your father. And suddenly, your heart is racing. Benedict looks taken aback; something sour in his expression you have never seen before makes you want to run to him and ask what is wrong. But you don't. You do the polite, reserved thing and smile.

“Mrs y/l/n, Lord Boswell,” he greets politely. “Miss y/l/n,” he adds, and you could swear he uses a different, lower register. Something inside you turns pulpy and ripe, blossoming just for him. 

Before you know it, he has taken a seat on the sofa facing yours, shooting you the tiniest of winks that could be an eye twitch, but you know him better than that—seeing the sparkle of mischief in his eye. Your parents seem to exchange nonplussed glances, uncertain why he has chosen to stay.

“Boswell,” Benedict begins, shooting the man his most impervious glance. “What of your qualities make you an ideal suitor for Miss y/l/n here?” he questions.

Boswell splutters and seems taken aback, clearly not expecting such an interrogation, especially from a man who isn't your father or brother. Benedict’s eyes are back on you as the man stumbles through an inadequate and entirely uninteresting response that you do not even listen to. Your whole focus is on Benedict, feeling unable to breathe.

“Hmmm,” Benedict hums as he ends, “and what have you to say about Miss y/l/n’s interests? Are they perhaps complimentary to yours?”

“I… I did not think to ask,” Boswell falters, his cheeks reddening at the faux pas.

Benedict looks almost disgusted. 

“You claim to be interested in providing your suit but ask nothing of what makes her the wonderful person she is?” he scolds, and your mouth opens into a little O of surprise. “Have you not asked her about her excellent marksmanship? How she can shoot an archery target better than anyone else within ten miles of Aubrey Hall? Have you not asked after her artistic skills? You see that cushion you sit next to? That is the work of her fair hand.”

You barely register as Boswell twists to look at the item and then at you; you have eyes for no one but Benedict as he continues, his voice loud and clear even over the sound of your heart pounding hard in your ears.

“Have you asked her about her love for literature and poetry? How she will correct you that it was, in fact, Guildenstern, not Rosencrantz, who enters first in the first folio version of Hamlet?” 

You duck your head and blush. That is precisely what you did to him last year, surprising even yourself with your boldness. And he remembers. 

He continues. “Have you asked about her love of animals? Perhaps you need to hear the tale of Mr Whiskers and how she was able to nurse the beloved cat of my sister Hyacinth back to health. You have not asked her of any such things?!?” his tone incredulous.

Even from the corner of your eye, you can tell that your parents’ faces are as shocked as Boswell’s. And suddenly, you recognise this as a Benedict Bridgerton you have seen before. It’s the one that comes out when defending those he loves against injustice or an unworthy opponent—the staunch guardian. 

“If you cannot find it in yourself to show such interest, I would hope she will entertain better suitors,” Benedict sniffs dismissively. “As a long-term friend, I cannot in all good conscience allow this young woman to be pursued by anyone unworthy of her,” he concludes cuttingly, his nostrils flare, and his lip curls just a fraction as his eyes flit to where Boswell’s hand still rests upon yours.

Even as you struggle through your jumble of thoughts about everything he has said, one question so singular strikes you. Is this is Benedict….. jealous?? Jealous of your suitor? Finding ways to cut into him with his precise knowledge about you? The thought seems so fanciful that you want to dismiss it, but the sliver of possibility it offers is exhilarating. Just the chance of it being true has you utterly undone.

You barely even listen as your father jumps up and, with some belated sense of defence, agrees with Mr Bridgerton and asks Boswell if perhaps he should take his leave and return another day when he has thought of more engaging things to ask of you. Every fibre of your being yearns to talk to Benedict somewhere private, but he gives excuses to leave as quickly as your chastised suitor is dispatched.

Boswell never darkens your door again.

IV:  Rescue

“Penny, for your thoughts,” Eloise smirks as she catches you staring into space on the terrace. Your cheeks blush, and you do not admit to where your thoughts had wandered—to her older brother.

“Will you come with me for a walk?” you ask, feeling the need to get away before you cross paths with the man who has occupied your thoughts more often than not of late.

It’s the week of the midsummer Hearts & Flowers ball at Aubrey Hall, and you are glad to have escaped the hubbub of the London scene and to be back in Kent for a few days' respite.

“No, I would prefer the company of Mary Shelley this afternoon,” she states airily, waving a book she holds.

So you set off alone, walking the grounds you now know so well. You are half an hour into your stroll, admiring the wildflowers along the eastern fringes of the grounds, not far from the village, when you see him approaching in the distance.

Benedict is riding his trusty horse and looks so majestic your chest constricts. Clothed in just a billowing white shirt and beige britches, you have rarely seen him look so informal. Or so very, very attractive. Your palms feel sweaty, and something stirs deep inside your body as you slink slightly into the treeline, hoping to remain unseen. A chance to merely observe this beautiful man, even knowing it is wrong to do so. To spy on him as such. Just as he draws close enough that you can see the flex of his leg muscles under the material, which causes all sorts of sensations in your body, a startled deer darts across the path and spooks his horse.

Time seems to slow as you watch his horse rear up and make the most terrible whinny of fear. 

And then your heart is in your throat as you watch horrified as Benedict loses his grip on the reins in surprise and is thrown violently backwards to the ground.

Bile rises in your throat as you see how his body hits the dirt path, unable to brace for impact. The air fills with a blood-curdling scream that you belatedly realise is your own, and before you know it, you are sprinting. Sprinting towards him. Your whole focus narrows to his body splayed on the ground, worryingly still, as his horse bolts away. Heart pumping wildly and adrenaline coursing through your veins, you pull up to him and skid to your knees.

He is still conscious but barely. Moaning slightly. 

“Do not move!” You bark, and even in his woozy state, he appears taken aback by your ferocity. “I mean it, Benedict!” you bite out as he attempts to move his arm.

He seems to mumble a noise of ascent as you try your best to assess any injuries, having learned some things from observing your father over the years, but you realise he needs proper medical attention. Where you are on the grounds, it’s closer to your home than Aubrey Hall.

“I am going to get my father,” you explain as calmly as you can, “for the love of God, Benedict, do NOT attempt to move until he gets here.”

A wan smile spreads across his face even as he winces in pain. “Hmm, fine. I promise to stay still,” he sighs, “....prefer to do it for the love of you…,” he mutters slurringly before he appears to pass out.

Knowing he has likely struck his head, you try your darndest to put what he said out of your mind. A head injury would be the only way to explain such a comment, even as you are praying he doesn't have one. 

Heart still beating out of control, and not knowing what possesses you, you lean over and press the quickest shyest of kisses onto his lips—pulling back a few inches before he can even acknowledge it happened.

“Don’t you dare go anywhere on me, Benedict Bridgerton,” you whisper fiercely, just in time to see his eyes pop open, hazy and clouded with something you have never seen before. It’s not the pain he is in, though. And it’s not confusion, amusement or even irritation. It’s something else, so blisteringly intense your legs want to turn to jelly.

“I won’t, I promise,” he attests, his tone rough, ragged.

There are a couple of seconds where all you do is stare wildly at each other, and then, with a reassuring squeeze of his hand, you take off running. You have never run so far and so fast in your life; fear makes your muscles work harder than they ever have before. It’s probably only a few minutes, but it feels like a lifetime.

Your parents almost burst out of their skins in shock as you barrel into the house, panting wildly, wordlessly grabbing your father's medicine bag, and he reflexively springs into action. 

You run to the stables and hurriedly hook up the long cart he uses when he needs to transport patients, and the look he shoots you is filled with concern.

“Who is it?” he asks as you climb aboard and direct him.

“Benedict,” you tremble, and there is a world of understanding in your father's eyes as he cracks the whip, and the horse jolts faster. 

Perhaps your adoration is less concealed than you like to believe, but at this moment, you only care about getting him the help he needs. You are grateful your father doesn’t ask questions as you speed along. 

And it becomes a blur as you reach the site, grateful Benedict laid still as you requested. Your father examines him and fires questions that are answered lucidly, tending to some immediate wounds and bandaging in places. Before you know it, you are helping your father with a canvas stretcher and insisting on sitting with Benedict in the back of the cart as your father takes the patient back to Aubrey Hall. 

Never addressing the fact that you grip each other's hands so tight that both of your knuckles go white.

V: Belonging

“You can come in.”

Benedict’s voice calls out, bemused as you vacillate in the doorway, not realising that he can see you in a mirror reflection. 

So at his invitation, you blush and scuttle into his room. Awkward, unsure what to do after your bold, daring, downright impertinent behaviour when he sustained his injuries. Part of you is hopeful he does not remember it.

It’s been two days, and he has made excellent progress under your father's watchful eye. The minute your father had pulled up at the house, you dropped your hold on his hand. And as word spread, it was a frenzy of activity that you found yourself superfluous to. The last you had seen was Benedict being carried inside for a more thorough examination.

Luckily, it turns out he has no lasting damage; his head was uninjured beyond a mild concussion. He is bruised all over, likely has some cracked ribs and has a sprained wrist, but he will be fine after some rest.

“H.. how are you?” your ask quietly, stilted, fiddling with your dress nervously.

“Much better,” his tone soft, “only because of you.”

You look up and meet his gentle gaze. “I merely did what anyone would have done,” you demure.

“Nonsense,” he counters, “you ordered me to stay still and await the doctor. If you weren’t there, I likely would have done myself additional injury being stubborn,” he points out dryly.

You don’t know what to say in response, so you change tack. “Is your horse alright?”

“Yes. Colin found him wandering around the wildflower meadow, munching on all manner of grasses. Never happier, completely uninjured,” he assures.

You nod, glad to hear the news. Then you allow the room to lapse into silence, unsure how to commence your profuse apology.

“I am very sor….”

He stops you with a bandaged hand held up.

“If you even begin to apologise for saving me, well then I shall be most vexed,” he chides, but there is no heat there, a lopsided grin tugging at his handsome features. “Besides, the more pertinent point of discussion is the fearless woman you can be when needed. The person you are becoming, when you allow yourself to, is quite something,” you bow your head as your cheeks heat at his praise. “I would have injured myself months before now had I known I would meet the creature who sits behind that cloud of shyness. Just look at what you did, taking change so very effectively,” he flatters then there is a pause. “Hell, even being brave enough to kiss me.” 

Your head shoots up, and your mouth falls open.

“Oh yes,” he chuckles, “don’t think I forgot that part,” His voice has lowered to a pitch that buzzes right through your being.

“I… I was worried I… I was going to lose you,” you stutter, “and I-I’m sorry that was terrible of me to take liberties like that. Please, please forgive me?” you beseech.

“It was not in any sense of the word terrible,” he disputes, “the exact opposite. There is nothing to forgive. But there is one way you can make it up to me…?” he hedges.

“Anything, please,” you beg, so hopeful of absolution.

He holds out his hands and gestures for you to perch on the bed beside him. Almost without thought, you do so, even as you feel your pulse speeding up. You have rarely been this close, and now you are transfixed by all the tiny flecks of colour in his iris and the hints of stubble around his jaw.

“Kiss me again,” he requests; a finger trails lightly over the back of your hand. “But properly this time. Give me a chance to kiss you back.”

You just gawp at him in utter shock, heart pounding again, just like it was that day. You don't move away. You can't. Rooted to the spot. Unable to stop staring at his plush bottom lip.

“You cannot mean it…” you stutter when you finally find your tongue, disbelieving.

“Does this seem like I do not mean it?” he argues ardently, and before you know it, he is sitting up and leaning in.

And then warm lips touch yours, and fireworks explode inside your chest. 

You feel like you are drowning in the very best way as your lips move together gently. Everything about the moment is sweet and light, but promising more, something tart that makes you want to climb atop him and crush yourself against him. Just as you feel the instinct to open your mouth to him, he pulls back, looking lost and found all at once.

“I need you to know something,” he begins, grabbing both your hands and placing them between his. “It pains me to see you ever doubting yourself or if you belong. You belong. Everywhere you go. You have so much to give to the world,” he states passionately.

“I… “ you falter, wanting to believe him, the version of you he sees.

“You do. Hell, you give me a reason to get up every day. To try. To be better. I would not be the artist I am now were it not for your words of encouragement as I painted all those afternoons.”

You are dumbstruck. You honestly didn't believe he was taking on board what you said. Mostly just encouraging him to follow his instincts when he seemed to doubt them.

“And now it’s time someone did the same for you. Be the encouragement you need. You deserve everything, y/n. And it would be my greatest honour to try to give it to you?” he adds, a gently loving smile lighting up his face. 

Your heart sings as you realise this is the declaration you have been waiting half of your life to hear. Before you can stop yourself, you launch yourself at him, this time being the one to demand a kiss that he happily obliges. 

“I have a question,” you state as your lips part, your boldness growing with every moment. “Mr Bridgerton, were you jealous when I had a suitor?” you tease, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

He chuckles and nuzzles your cheek. “My god, you have no idea.”  You cant help the victorious giggle, basking in the fizz in your veins.

“I suppose it was payback for Ms Worthing. She of the ironic name. She was never worthy of you,” you state passionately.

He laughs with a headshake. “Perhaps it is our ability to rescue each other that makes us so best suited,” he opines. “I do believe we may belong together,” he adds.

And you couldn't agree more.

In fact, you are never alone again from that day on.

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz

[fablecreations]

11/10 best Benedict fic

[ithebookhoarder]

Truth or Dare (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

Summary: Married only a few months, you are very much one of the Bridgerton brood - something that often drives your poor husband mad, especially when you happen to be every bit as chaotic and unruly as his siblings… Also known as, you, Benedict and Eloise take a game of ‘truth or dare’ a bit too far. 

A/N: What can I say? It’s well and truly fluff-tober over here on my blog 😅

Warnings: Alcohol, mild smut, swearing, Anthony losing his mind, typical Bridgerton sibling shenanigans 

Masterlist

There weren’t many nights Anthony spent away from your side.

They were few and far between, but that didn’t lessen how irksome you found them when the odd occasion called for him to leave you over night. You didn’t know what it was exactly, but you never truly slept well without your husband there to hold you.

Of course, it had to be one of those nights that you truly found yourself in a spot of mischief. Though, in fairness, it had all started rather innocently.

Un-beknowst to you at the time, it was Benedict that had been first outside on the garden swing, sipping from a stolen bottle of whiskey he’d pilfered from the kitchens. He’d been sat there perhaps ten minutes by himself, staring at the stars and lamenting about some problem or other.

Then Eloise had come along.

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