wifey duties - @disasterofastory | F.
⤷ you go home to your husband after a night out with the ladies.
the ultimate deception - @maximoff-pan | A. F.
⤷ you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. what happens when lady whistledown comes to know of your identity? how will your relationship with benedict evolve?
little things - @leviathanspain | F.
⤷ the brothers teasing has finally made its mark, and benedict can’t hold himself back anymore
short and sweet - @trashywritestrash | F.
benedict bridgerton x fem!reader - @jswizzlewrites | F.
⤷ you are in a courtship from benedict and keeping a secret that could end it all
with child - @leascorner | A.
⤷ he was so absorbed by his own created misery; he hadn’t actually thought about what you could be thinking. how hard was it for you to congratulate all of your friends on their pregnancy, to watch over all of his nieces and nephews? it was all within easy reach and never really yours.
an american in london - @gogobootz1 | F.
⤷ one of benedict's old schoolmates enlists his help with wooing his american penpal, but when benedict (literally) runs into her travel companion, things take a turn
series -----------
bridgerton shade of blue - @dragon-kazansky | F.
⤷ benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. you decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. it seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.
what time has done - @lavendergardenwrites | F. A.
⤷ emmeline castillon is finally making her debut in london’s high society. after a few years away, the first ball of the season turns out to be quite the hassle with her rather protective older brother by her side. she manages to catch the attention of the some of the ton, but not the in the way she would like.
thank you sm for including me!! my first fic rec list!! (look ma im famous hahaha). thank you for taking the time to read my work, i really appreciate it!!
i was wondering if you could do a fic where it’s like angst and like declan knows he shouldn’t bc he’s married and the age difference but can’t keep his hands off you🤗🤗🤗
so wrong it’s right.
you’re convinced it’ll end in disaster. and yet here you are, once again.
declan o’hara x female reader
warnings - smut. cursing. implied cheating.
a.n - this is a shorter one, but I just couldn’t resist. always thinking about that man and his moustache. you asked for angst… here’s a ton of it. thanks for this request !! <3
masterlist. inbox.
“Tell me to stop.”
He’s breathing his words into your mouth, tongues tangled together as he speaks.
“This is wrong and you know it. Tell me to stop.”
His voice is all whiny as he begs, fingers digging into your hips as he internally pleads with himself to find some self control.
He’s got you pushed up against the wall out the back of Bar Sinister, hidden from view by the darkness. Both of you know it’s risky - stupid, even - and yet here you are, unable to stop.
“Would it make a difference?” you mumble against his lips. “We said we’d stop weeks ago.”
“We didn’t say we’d stop,” he corrects impatiently. “We said we’d stop meeting like this.”
“In public places.”
“Where anyone could walk out and see us.”
You nod, tangling a hand into his hair like you just can’t resist.
“It turns ya on though, doesn’t it?”
“Hmm?”
You’re gazing at him like he’s the centre of your universe, eyes glazed over and love drunk down to your bones.
“The thrill of it all, the risk, the chase… you love this shit, don’t cha?”
You shake your head so unconvincingly that you both chuckle, knowing the truth deep down.
“You dragged me out here, may I remind you,” you whisper.
“Didn’t even try to stop me though, did ya?”
“You’re so irritating.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes, tugging on his hair to help prove your point.
“You love it.”
He dives back into your mouth, tongue running across your teeth as if he knows your anatomy from sheer memory alone.
You’ve hiked a leg up and around his hip to try and pull him closer to you, Declan willingly leaning in. His entire body weight is pressing you into the wall, the rough brick no doubt scratching your back.
He’s pulling your skirt up just enough to nudge your underwear to the side and slide a finger in, both of you groaning at what you feel. Your head drops forward onto his shoulder, inhaling deeply out of habit. He smells like whiskey and smoke and his woody aftershave. He smells like sneaking around and overthinking and worrying about getting caught. He smells like everything you want and more.
Declan crooks his fingers towards him, making your knees buckle as he does it. You’re about to beg him for more, for anything, when a voice comes echoing through the darkness, cutting through your intimate moment.
“Declan? Are you out here?”
The two of you jump apart, trying to make a last ditch attempt to look half decent in the face of debauchery.
“Answer him,” you whisper as low as you can, pulling your skirt down and smoothing out your hair.
“Yeah, I’m here,” he croaks, a little rougher than he would have liked.
“What are you doing standing in the dark like a maniac?” Rupert asks as he appears in front of you, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows and tie long abandoned.
“Smoking.”
“We both had the genius idea of trying to sneak off to somewhere quiet for five minutes. Great minds think alike and all that,” you bluff with practised precision.
“Oh, hi darling. I didn’t see you there.”
“Hi Rupert. Everything alright?”
“Just fine. Or at least it will be. Come and find me when you’re finished, Declan. I need to have a quick chat with you - Venturer business.”
“Of course. I’ll be in in a few minutes.”
Rupert mock salutes you both as he leaves, never one to overstay his welcome.
“Well that was fucking close,” the Irishman breathes when his friend is safely out of earshot. “Shit.”
“Yeah. Too fucking close, Declan. I almost just had a heart attack.”
You feel a sudden wave of what you think is rage wash over you, uninvited and surprising.
“It’s not fine, actually. I’m not doing that again. No fucking chance. Imagine the absolute outrage if he’d walked out five minutes earlier, or if he hadn’t announced himself. It’d be chaos, Declan. The kind of chaos that ruins careers, that ruins livelihoods.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen.”
“You wouldn’t have a choice! Don’t you understand? You can’t control situations like these. They run their own course and you cannot stop them.”
“Where’s this change of tune come from, huh? We were fine two minutes ago!”
“I’m sick of my heart beating out of my chest whenever someone so much as coughs from a hundred metres away! I am so worried about getting caught, about getting us both in trouble, that it’s taken over everything. It’s not worth the stress, Declan. And you know that.”
“Don’t tell me what I know.”
He’s never taken this tone with you before - the to the point, no frills, blunt tone that you usually only hear in business meetings. On one hand, you’re glad he’s taking this conversation seriously. On the other hand, it’s breaking your heart.
He takes several steps towards you, fingers reaching out to tangle themselves with yours. You can’t help but squeeze his hand, old habits dying hard.
“We’ll be more careful,” he whispers. “We’ll put a stop to the stupid stuff.”
“It’s going to end in disaster,” you reply lowly. “You and I both know that this doesn’t have a happy ending.”
“It could.”
“It doesn’t.”
“You’re not usually a pessimist like this,” he mutters.
“It’s realism, not pessimism.”
“Sounds the same to me.”
“I’m trying to make sure we aren’t living in a fantasy world.”
“I’m under no illusions of what this is, sweetheart. Trust me. I am very aware of the fact that I am married, and you are half my age. Don’t you think I know how wrong this is? How much trouble we’d be in if we were found out?”
You dare to meet his eyes, his gaze piercing into your soul. His fingers tighten around yours, as if he’s frightened you’ll disappear in front of his face.
“I’m scared,” you dare to admit, as quietly as you can. “I’m terrified, Declan. I feel like we’re a ticking time bomb, just waiting to ruin everything.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” he breathes, cradling your face with those huge, calloused hands. “I will never, ever, let anything bad happen to you. I’ll protect you until my last day on this goddamn planet.”
“I know that,” you almost whimper, voice wobbling with the threat of tears. “Of course I know that.”
“There’s a world where this works, you know. It’ll take time, and a hell of a lot of patience… but we can do it. I know we can.”
“I don’t want to ruin your life over a… fling.”
“A fling?” he flinches, looking at you so seriously that it worries you.
“I just-”
“My darlin’, you are not a fling. You are everything.”
Now you feel guilty for ever doubting him, the feeling washing over you in dark, heavy waves.
“I’m sorry.”
Your bottom lip is trembling, words stuck in your throat. There’s so much you want to say, but you just can’t seem to form the right sentences.
“You have nothing to apologise for, alright? I know you’re trying to be realistic to stop either of us getting hurt. But I am in this. With every single fibre of my being. It’s you, sweetheart. You’re all I want.”
“Promise?”
“With my entire heart, I promise.”
You surge up to kiss him with all the passion you can muster, bodies crashing into each other. Declan wraps his arms around your back, pulling you into him as closely as he possibly can as you tangle your fingers into his hair. You’re not sure where you end and he begins. You don’t want to know.
The two of you could stay like this forever, intertwined and completely oblivious to the outside world. Just you and the love of your life, obstacles be damned.
You break apart for air eventually, breathing each other in as deep as you can. Declan cradles your face once again, looking intently into your eyes.
“We’ll figure this out, yeah? Me and you. Always.”
You nod, gazing up at him like he’s the moon and all of her stars.
“Me and you. Always.”
You’re about to kiss him when you hear a familiar voice echo through the darkness once again.
“Declan? Have you finished your cigarette? We’ve got some urgent Venturer business happening inside that we really need you for.”
The Irishman gives you a look that says, wait for me. This isn’t finished. You give him a look in return that says, I’ll find you. Always.
The two of you are floating on air, carried through your days by the promise of a future together.
It’s a shame neither of you noticed Rupert when he reappeared outside five minutes ago.
hello love! i fear i need either “cozy bakeries” or “soft lighting” with jamie tartt please and thank you!! have a great day :))
2025 Fall Blurbs
At the end of the day, you could fill pages and pages with all of the things you love about London, and about Richmond specifically. If you had to narrow it down to just one thing, though, it would be the seemingly never ending amount of cute bakeries and coffee shops for you to explore. Especially during this time of year, when they all seem to decorate in rich tones and they all have their own special autumnal flavors, you’d spend every second tucked safely in a corner table if you could.
Unfortunately, that’s simply not possible, but you do your best to carve out a little bit of time for yourself at least once a week to patronize a new bakery. And, it’s always a little more magical when Jamie is able to join you, slipping in between training or sneaking out before he can get hounded by questions.
Today, he was already at the bakery you’d decided on, tucked into a table in the back corner when you walked in, the bell ringing above your head. You don’t notice him at first, too enamored with the fall decor that covers practically every service. Before you can get distracted by the menu, though, you notice Jamie sitting all alone, looking at you with a soft sort of smile on his face.
“What’s with that look?” You ask after crossing over to him, sitting down in the empty chair across from him.
“What look?” He shrugs, even as his smile tells you he knows exactly what you’re talking about, “This is just my face.”
“Mhm,” you reply, not believing him in the slightest. Still, there’s no use teasing when you have precious little time to spend together, with the football season in full swing and your own work starting to pile up. Your gaze wanders again, towards the decorated menu board and the seasonal specials.
“Keeley says the cinnamon rolls here are great,” Jamie says, that lovesick sort of smile back on his face.
“Wanna split one, or would Roy kill you for that?” You’re joking, mostly, but you also know that Jamie takes his training very seriously, especially now that Richmond has been doing consistently well. Most of the time when you go exploring the local cafes, Jamie sticks to some sort of tea, or a fancier coffee if you lovingly pressure him into it.
“Nah, he won’t find out,” he says with a grin, and a smile takes over your own face. The two of you make your way to the counter to order, Jamie sticking with his tea and you branching out to something more autumnal in addition to the cinnamon roll.
Between the baked good and your drinks, your table smells like autumn, all sweet spices and warmth. Really, that’s how the entire bakery smells, and you can’t remember the last time you felt so cozy. The only thing that could possibly make the afternoon better would be a rain shower, and knowing London, that’s more than likely to happen.
The whole afternoon is spent tucked into that little table, you and Jamie fighting with your forks over who gets which bite of the pastry. All of your responsibilities and worries seem to fade into nothing, until all that matters is you and Jamie in your perfect little corner.
Summary: You loved solitude, so, naturally, you end up with one of the clingiest boyfriends to ever walk the Earth. You wouldn’t change him for the world.
Warnings: None, very fluffy, very domestic, he is so incredibly babygirl to me.
Navigation | Prompt List | Requested
You’re the kind of person who thrives in silence. Not the eerie, heavy kind, but rather the weightless hush of early mornings before the world has had its coffee. The kind of quiet where you can hear your own thoughts echo back at you, and everything makes a little more sense. You like the way solitude fits you like a well-worn sweater. A space to breathe, to think, and just to be.
So, naturally, you fell in love with a man who treats personal space like a shared resource. Joaquin doesn’t just walk into a room. He enters like he’s always belonged in it, like it’s never been quite right without him. And somehow, he always manages to make it better. Warmer. Lighter.
You’ve never met someone who operates like gravity the way he does. Like you don’t even realise you’ve started leaning towards him until you’re already in his orbit.
It used to drive you a little bit mad. The way he’d end up pressed to your side on the couch, full of casual affection. The way he’d slide into the kitchen behind you just to rest his chin on your shoulder and say ‘whatcha making?’ even when the answer was very obviously toast. The way his knees bumped yours under the table like it was his version of Morse code.
Joaquin Torres is a barnacle. A charming, golden-hearted barnacle. And you, reluctantly and then all at once, grew fond of the barnacle life.
Saturday mornings are Joaquin’s favorite. He’ll never say that out loud, not in so many words. But, it’s more than obvious in the way he lingers in bed just a little too long, humming under his breath, nosing at your shoulder like some overgrown, needy cat. It’s in the way his arms snake around your waist when you try to get up, anchoring you back to him with a lazy groan of protest.
“Stay,” Joaquin mumbles into your shirt, muffled and warm.
“Baby, I need to pee,” you laugh, gently prying at his arms.
“Betrayal,” Joaquin whispers, dramatically. “Is this what our love has come to?”
You untangle yourself with all the grace of a tired octopus, padding to the bathroom while Joaquin turns and flops face-first into your pillow like the world’s most dramatic boyfriend.
By the time you return, Joaquin has commandeered your side of the bed entirely, limbs sprawled like a starfish, blanket kicked off halfway. The sun’s made a golden square across the sheets, and his hair, ever disobedient, is sticking up in odd angles. He looks up at you when you climb back in, all slow-blinking affection.
“Mornin’,” he says, voice still rough with sleep.
“Good morning,” you reply, pressing a kiss to the edge of his jaw, just because.
Joaquin grins, eyes closing again, and that’s how you spend the next twenty minutes, with your limbs tangled, skin warm, the world held at arm’s length.
You’ve never been a morning cuddler. You’re the type to wake up and immediately crave space. Clarity. A cup of coffee in silence, maybe the gentle sound of birds through the window. You used to slip out of bed like a ghost, careful not to wake anyone.
But, Joaquin changed that.
Now, you find yourself lingering. Letting yourself be pulled back into the gravity of him. You’ve learned to love the way he holds you like something precious and irreplaceable. Like your heartbeat is something he needs to sync his own to in order to keep it steady.
The kitchen is your sanctuary. Everything in it is arranged by you, from alphabetised spices, stacked mugs in their allocated corners, cutting boards cleaned and leaned against the backsplash at perfect angles. It’s not about control, exactly. Just peace. Order. A quiet kind of joy.
So naturally, Joaquin makes it his mission to invade it at every opportunity.
“You don’t need to be here,” you tell Joaquin one evening, as he looms behind you while you stir pasta.
“I want to be here,” he says, resting his chin atop your head with an exaggerated sigh. “You smell like garlic and joy.”
“You’re bothering me.”
“Am I?” Joaquin asks, arms wrapping around your middle, lips grazing your ear. “Or am I enhancing the experience?”
“You’re going to get hot oil on your face.”
“Worth it.”
You elbow him gently, but don’t tell him to leave. Because, the truth is, you kind of like the way he’s always there. It’s maddening and sweet and weirdly grounding. He makes the space feel alive, like the scent of basil and the sound of his laugh belong together. You pass him a spoon to taste, and he dips it into the sauce with great ceremony.
“Mmm. Yup. That’s marriage material right there,” Joaquin declares, eyes sparkling.
“You say that every time I cook something edible.”
“And I’ll keep saying it until we have a courthouse date, beautiful.”
Your cheeks heat, even though he’s said it a dozen times before. You roll your eyes, and he beams like he’s won something.
You’re curled up on the couch that evening, legs tucked beneath you, a book open in your lap. Joaquin flops down beside you, entirely uninvited, entirely unsurprising
You’re three chapters in and doing your best to focus, but it’s hard when he keeps scooting closer in tiny increments. First it’s a knee brushing yours. Then a shoulder leaning in. Then an arm slung casually over the back of the couch.
Joaquin doesn’t say anything. Just orbits. Eventually, he rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs dramatically. You glance at him from the corner of your eye.
“Yes?”
“I’m bored.”
“I told you to watch your show.”
“It’s not fun without you.”
You close your book with a resigned sigh. “You’re impossible.”
“I’m adorable,” Joaquin corrects, eyes wide with feigned innocence.
“You’re both.”
Joaquin grins, triumphant, and curls into your side like a loyal puppy. You stroke his hair absently, and he hums like a man thoroughly pleased with his life choices.
You used to think you needed solitude to feel whole. That space was sacred. A kind of armor. Joaquin never tried to break it, he just made room for himself inside it. With patience. With laughter. With all the warmth of someone who never needed to be invited because his love was always soft and sure and certain. You didn’t know how much you needed that until he gave it to you.
One afternoon, you catch Joaquin reorganising your bookshelf. It should set off alarm bells. You’re territorial about your books. They’ve been curated with the kind of precision normally reserved for museum exhibits.
Joaquin is squatting on the floor, tongue poking out in concentration, rearranging them by vibe of all things.
“I’m switching it up,” Joaquin says when he notices that you’re stood there staring. “This shelf is books you’ve cried over but keep recommending anyway. This one is things that feel like late autumn in New York. This one is sapphic yearning with a lot of trauma.”
You stare at him incredulously.
Joaquin just grins. “You like it?”
You open your mouth to argue. To say something about spines being even or the sanctity of the color gradient. But, then you see it. The way Joaquin’s fingers linger on the cover of your favorite novel. The way he’s handled your books with the same delicate care he gives to old flight gear or archived Falcon wings.
You close your mouth, cross the room, and kiss him stupid.
Joaquin blinks up at you afterward, dazed. “So, that’s a yes?”
“Touch them ever again and you die,” you reply, deadpan, but unable to suppress a loving grin.
“Fair. Noted. Love you.”
“Love you more,” you say, and mean it so hard your ribs ache.
You wake up one night and find Joaquin on the balcony. He’s leaning against the railing, barefoot in one of your oversized sweatshirts, hair tousled from sleep. The city hums softly below, streetlights blinking, a distant siren wailing, the quiet heartbeat of something bigger than both of you. You step out beside him, arms crossed to ward off the chill.
“Couldn’t sleep?” you ask.
He shakes his head. “Too quiet without you.” You bump your shoulder into his. He reaches for your hand without looking, fingers intertwining easily.
“I used to love my own space,” you murmur.
“Used to?”
“Now I just love sharing it with you.”
Joaquin smiles, soft and sleepy and full of something that feels like forever. “I promise I’ll always make room for you too,” he says.
And in that moment, with the city below and the stars overhead and Joaquin’s hand warm in yours, you believe him.
You still love your space. The quiet. The stillness. The little sanctuaries of your mind that no one else gets to see. But now, they’re filled with pieces of him. A hoodie slung over your desk chair. A mug with his initials beside yours. You wouldn’t change it for the world.
yall i’m gonna have to edit my masterlist!! i didnt realize it wouldnt register the posts i linked once i changed my username so i will get to that i promise!
What Time Has Done (Part XVI) Benedict Bridgerton x Original Character Series
synopsis: emmeline and her intended finally meet, and perhaps it does not go as horribly as she had imagined
requested: no
warnings: arranged marriage, overbearing parents
word count: 3474
a/n: yall i'm so sorry it takes me so long to update this fic! tbh i fell out of interest with historical fiction there for a sec, and i cant promise i'm fully back in, but i figured i'd write while i had the motivation. hope yall enjoy! (as always, reblogs, comments and likes mean the world)
series masterlist
There was a time when I thought I would be the one to have it all. Education in subjects I actually enjoyed and a husband with whom joy and adoration was mutual. Now since it appears that only one of those things will be true, I wonder what made me think I was so special as to be granted such gifts. Mama is sure that the ball at which we will announce my engagement will be the greatest event of the season. Flowers shall scale every wall and there will be a raised platform for the Queen so that everyone will be able to witness her blessing our future marriage. I do not think there is anything that I dread more.
Every time I close my eyes, I am reminded of the look on Benedict’s face when I told him I could not marry him. It is as if it is scratched into my eyelids, forcing me to relive that terrible moment as I am attempting to sleep and when I give up and open my eyes. Having the love of your life confirm they love you enough to marry you should be a joyous occasion, but I fear I ruined it for us both. There is a part of me that hopes he somehow knows it is not because of a lack of love that I rejected him, but what else is someone to think? The thought makes me sick. All I want to do is run through Mayfair to the Bridgerton house and explain the entire misfortune, but Mama wants my engagement ball to be our first official venture fully back in society and I fear that crossing her when she is so set would make my situation even worse.
I do not know when I became so naive as to expect that I could be saved from the loveless business deals the ton regularly refers to as marriages but Benedict had begun to make me think differently. I both curse him and adore him for it. The days since I last saw him have turned me into a person I do not recognise and while I never have been one to fully wallow in potential misery, I do not think the cure will present itself in this lifetime.
It is one of the rare occasions I am not hiding away in my room when one of our staff informs me that someone is here to see me. My instinct is to turn them away, tell them I am not seeing anyone for the next 100 years, but then Eloise is standing in the open archway between the house and the garden and I stop. The words fizzle out in my throat and all I can do is nod, sending the staff away with a flick of my hand. Her face is hardened and for a second I think she is going to read me the riot act for denying her brother but then I feel myself start to cry and her face dissolves. I cannot tell if it is pity or her own sadness but I cannot bring myself to care as she rushes to embrace me tenderly, running a hand down my back, over my hair.
“Eloise, I’m so incredibly sorry,” I manage to get out through my sobs. She does not let go of me until I begin to pull back and wipe a stray tear from under my eye.
“I have a feeling you’ve done quite a bit of that over the last few days,” she remarks and I am surprised by the lack of malice in her tone. Not that I thought Eloise’s first instinct would be malicious, but I feared her opinion of me would greatly change following recent events.
“And yet I still do not feel as though I have said it enough,” I reply. Other than my siblings, I have not had an actual conversation with someone in what feels like eons so I am eternally grateful that the garden is a wide enough space for us to talk without fear of being encroached upon.
“Em, I must ask, what happened?”
“I cannot tell if an explanation will make the situation better or worse,” I do not wish to lie to another person, especially Eloise. The brunette has been my closest friend since I returned from university and lying to her feels like an even worse betrayal somehow.
“Well, we can see where we stand after we try,” she encourages me to speak regardless, and I motion for us to sit on the blanket I had laid out before her arrival.
“After I returned from university, I knew there would be money to pay back as my father had to do some incredible convincing to let me attend in the first place. What I did not realise was that my father did not have it as under control as he said he did. I found out we were in debt and could not pay it back.” I pause, almost about to cry again. Eloise puts a hand on my knee, urging me to continue. “Everyone found out through Lady Whistledown and Benedict promised he would help but he was too late. Unbeknownst to me, my parents were promising me to the son of one of the men to whom our debt is to be paid. He said that if I marry his son and produce an heir, then all will be forgiven. Then Benedict asked me to marry him the next morning and I could not in good conscience say yes, no matter how badly I wanted to”.
“Is that all?” She attempts a joke and my laugh is watery, but I am appreciative of her relatively good mood nonetheless. “But why not tell Benedict any of this from the beginning? I’m sure he and Anthony could have figured something out”.
“Initially I did not want it to seem like charity. I did not want Benedict to feel in any way obligated to help me or to be with me out of a twisted sense of duty. I wanted to be sure whatever we were starting to have was genuine. But then, I did not want to say anything because my family was already going through enough shame within our own walls. Even before Lady Whistledown published our disgrace, I was under strict instruction not to tell our sorrowful tale to anyone. Now, I do not want to tell him because I don’t know what good can come of it. I would rather him be sad momentarily and find someone else he can live a happy life with than for both of us to be sad for eternity, knowing what could have been”.
“And do you not think it his right to decide how he feels?”
“I’ve already broken his heart enough. I have no desire to crumble it into even smaller pieces”. Eloise has a point, but admitting any part of it had merit out loud would send me into another crying spiral. “I am sorry to burden you with all of this”.
Eloise shakes her head, dismissing the thought. “You did no such thing. I would not have asked if I did not think I could handle it”.
“I appreciate you more than you know”. Now it is my turn to place a hand on her knee. “I beg you, please, do not tell Benedict anything. He must not know what you now know”. I give her a look that I hope displays my sincerest begging.
She takes a moment, looking as if she has decided she will not heed me before replying, “I will not tell him. But I believe someone should”. I know what she means, but I choose to focus on the relief I feel that she has taken my secret to heart and hug her before she turns to leave.
~~~~
The morning of my engagement ball is cloudy, and somehow I cannot think of better weather to match the day ahead. Marie comes in, as usual, and shoves my curtains open before informing me that it is time to wake up. As if I haven’t been awake for hours already, dreading when not only will I meet my fiance, but when the rest of the ton will meet him too. I glance at my left hand as I rise from my fabric cocoon, taking note of my empty finger on what should be one of the happiest days of my life. Marie gives me a look of pity as she tells me she’ll be back momentarily to get me ready for the lunch that is supposed to take place between our two families. I almost want to tell her not to bother, that if Joseph is to marry me, he’ll have to get used to me in all states anyway, but Mother would have my head.
Graham and Andrew have been interacting with me as little as possible lately, walking on eggshells as if to avoid saying the wrong thing and setting the whole house ablaze. Josephine and Madeline have been corralled into assisting Mama with the planning of tonight’s events but generally don’t know what to say when I enter a room. No one wants to offer pity or condolences and I do not know whether I prefer their silence to the other option or not. As much as I hate how much I have accepted my current state, I do not have the energy to let anyone else down again.
Marie returns with tea and toast on a tray, along with what looks like a small slice of strawberry cake. I know it is her attempt at raising my spirits, as strawberry is one of my favourite flavours, but I cannot bring myself to eat anything. I nod in acceptance of what she has brought and we lay it on my bed once it has been made, ready for whenever I find myself capable of consuming something.
The flowers from Benedict sit in a vase on my vanity. Some of them are crumpled from the tight grip I had on them upon receiving and running away with them, but Marie had insisted throwing them away would be an awful waste and I did not argue with her. If seeing his devastated look every time I close my eyes was not enough, the flowers are a little added stab in the stomach. Yet somehow, I cannot convince myself to get rid of them. Perhaps I am trying to hold on to whatever pieces of him I can gather before I truly lose him. Though part of me is certain that has already happened.
Marie pins my hair up into an elegant bun with little conversation and I just stare in the mirror, willing the day to finish and for my bed to welcome me back. Alas, my prayers are not answered, and when Marie picks a dress out of my wardrobe, I raise my arms in a minute effort to be of some assistance. She smiles at me through the mirror once we reposition to pick jewellery, and I close my eyes and look away.
“Em? Mama is waiting for you downstairs,” I hear Graham through the door, grateful to hear his voice even if it means hurrying toward the thing I would rather avoid.
“We’re almost ready, sir,” Marie answers on my behalf and I smile softly at her in the mirror as a thank you. Graham’s footsteps patter away down the hall as I put my second earring in, finally declaring myself as ready as I could ever be for what we are about to partake in.
Mama had told me we were to host the Mercier family for lunch as they traveled from France as a way for everyone to officially meet before the night festivities. I take a deep breath as I stand at the top of the stairs, finding enough determination to face this with as much poise and grace as I can muster. Each careful step signifying that what is done is done and that while I may not have chosen this consciously, I can will myself to eventually be content with it. It is all I can hope for Benedict as well.
Joseph Mercier is not an unattractive man. He and his father glance up at me as I descend, holding the edge of my dress with one hand and the banister with the other, aware that I must look as put together as possible and that tripping would be my ruination. Antione Mercier looks between me and his son, catching the smile that is forming on Joseph’s face, growing the closer I get. Mama and Papa join me at the bottom of the stairs so all three of us are facing the two Frenchmen - Papa offering me his arm to clasp onto and Mama standing with the biggest satisfied smile I think I have ever seen her have. She looks as though she has just finished trekking through the desert for water after stumbling upon an oasis. I suppose for her, that is exactly what this is.
“Monsieur Mercier, Monsieur Joseph Mercier, my daughter, Miss Emmeline Castillon”. Papa makes the official introduction and slowly pushes his arm toward me, urging me to let go. Joseph seizes the opportunity, takes my gloved hand up to his lips and places a gentle kiss upon it, maintaining eye contact throughout.
“It is wonderful to finally meet you. You are more enchanting than I imagined,” he says after letting go of my hand. His accent is pleasing and his movements are not forceful. There is no malice in his words, no shadowy intentions that I can detect and I realize that perhaps this is a happy day for him. Maybe, somehow, the world does not feel the same weight of sorrow as I do. This only solidifies my choice to keep my happiest face on. It is not his fault this is the situation we find ourselves in.
“You are too kind,” I reply, glancing between Joseph and his father, offering the latter what I hope is a kind smile. He looks at me approvingly before Mama suggests that we move into the dining room.
The lunch is light, purposefully planned so everyone feels their best before, during, and after. The alcohol is limited, though the wine is French, an obvious attempt at impressing our guests which seems to go over well. The conversation isn’t tense but it has a twinge of awkwardness to it, like everyone is trying not to address the reason we’re all here in the first place. It is the longest and most imperative game of charades I have ever played and it is taking all of my energy not to run from the table and hide in my room like a child.
The world keeps on spinning, therefore so must I.
“Oh yes, Emmeline had caught the attention of many a suitor, even a few of the Bridgerton boys. They are quite a famous, highly respected family in Mayfair”. Mama announces this as if it is proof that I am somehow worthy to be considered for this match. Like she didn’t plan this facade to begin with. My breath hitches at the mention of the Bridgertons and I keep my eyes focused on my plate. I am practically drilling a hole into it visually as I blink back the tears that have started to prick behind my eyes. Though I hear some hums of approval and intrigue across the table, I do not dare look up to see if they actually care.
Papa puts a hand on my knee under the table and I flinch my leg away, accidentally knocking part of the table’s support with my foot. The sound of glasses shaking subtly has caused all eyes to turn toward me, and I look up to greet them all, mustering a small smile to prove everything is fine. Joseph asks if I am all right and I nod, muttering an apology.
“I thought I felt something on my leg. That’s all,” I excuse my behaviour, hoping everyone will believe me and we can just move on. Despite the fact that no one looks as though they take my words for truth, I sigh in relief when Mama and Monsieur Mercier begin their idle chatter again. Joseph continues to look at me, sincere worry in his eyes, and I give him another small nod to signal that I really am fine. He nods back before looking down at his food, deciding what to pick at next.
Once the actual meal is over and the plates have been cleared away, Joseph asks Mama and Papa if they might grant the two of us a moment alone. A part of me had forgotten that even though we were verbally committed to wed, the words had not passed between us. I see him fiddling with something in his pocket and I urge myself wholeheartedly not to think of Benedict down on bended knee. That wretched hopeful expression on his face is almost enough to break me down, but as Mama and Papa walk away, bringing Monsieur Mercier with them, I steel myself again.
He stands at one of the windows, glancing out over the gardens as he waits for me to join him. It feels like it takes years for me to finally be standing an appropriate distance away from him and I join in his garden viewing, hoping he will be the one to initiate the conversation to seal our fates.
“What a strange day we have had, Miss Castillon,” Joseph begins, still not looking at me.
“Strange, sir?” I question, not expecting the descriptor.
Joseph looks at me, “two people, both in love with someone else, forcibly tied together by some cruel twist of fate”.
I pause, blinking in confusion. Perhaps he is not as overjoyed about our circumstance as I once thought.
“In love with someone else?”
“I saw the way you reacted when your mother mentioned the Bridgertons-”
“Oh I can assure you, that was merely-” I try to dispel any doubts he may have.
“It is all right Miss Castillon, I too understand what it is to long for something you cannot have,” he pauses, smiling sadly. He looks back out over the gardens before grabbing the ring box out of his pocket. “I thought about what I would say for so long. How this moment would be. I am going to ask you the question our parents are waiting for, but there is something you should know first”.
“What is it?”
“The love you feel for the Bridgerton boy is how I feel for someone back home. Someone I cannot love out in the open. You see, Léon and I share what I imagine you share,” he explains with a fondness that both warms and breaks my heart.
“Léon? But that is-”
“Yes. When I pictured proposing to someone, I cannot say I imagined you would be the person I am asking because you are…not a man”. He looks at me with a curious smile on his face and yet there is a sadness peeking out from his soul as well.
So when his father thought him unruly, it was merely because no woman held his heart in the same way Léon does.
I do not know what to say, but I feel silence is almost worse, so I settle on, “I’m so sorry sir”.
“Joseph, please. If we are to wed we might as well drop the formalities”.
“Joseph, then,” I smile. Suddenly it feels as if my sadness throughout the day is silly. Hearing Joseph explain his circumstance makes me feel guilty for carrying such dread about today as I did. He was so willing to make this work from the beginning and I was so against every opportunity.
“I cannot promise you a love match, but I can promise a comfortable life. With a friend, if you’ll let me,” he states as he finally bends one knee, opening the box and pointing the ring in my direction.
“Friends,” I agree, letting him place the ring gingerly on my finger.
I feel a conflicting weight in my chest. Part of me is relieved that not only is the conversation over, but also that we have come to understand each other in a way I was dreading would never happen. In my mind, Joseph would eventually learn I could never love him as a wife should and we would be miserable. Now, coming to the realisation that neither of us expected to love the other romantically has lifted something from my shoulders. The other part of me is mourning what could have been for both of us. I want to curse the world that led us down this path and merged our stories together. However, I am grateful that fate did not deal us a worse hand. If we cannot be with the people we love, perhaps our agreement is the next best thing.
summary: your boyfriend doesn't listen to you. good thing your friendly neighborhood spider-man does.
a/n: there's just something about him idk. andrew garfield spidey bc of course! look at him! this came from me playing the spider-man game after it went on sale and yearning for peter parker (will prob have to rewatch the movies bc of this) anyways hope you like it
wc: 3.6k
warning(s): reader's bf is shitty -- they argue for a while and he lowkey slut shames her. but this is basically all fluff otherwise bc childhood best friends to lovers babby!!! real yearning loverboy hours!!!
Peter just wants to go home.
It’s been… a day. He got his ass kicked by an English test (he doesn’t have time to do the readings when he’s fighting crime), got his ass kicked by Flash Thompson (it’s not like he can fight back with his super strength and pulverize his ribs), and has spent every second since his final class ended fighting petty crimes around the city.
Stopping ATM thefts and minor muggings feels good, sure, but on days like these, it doesn’t really make up for failing intro literature classes and getting absolutely zero sleep. He’s just thankful May is still letting him live with her while he studies at ESU—if he had to do all of this in addition to trying to make his rent? He doesn’t really want to think about it.
So he swung his way to the roof of some random building, and he’s taking a break. Sue him, but Peter thinks he deserves it. What’s the point of living in a city like New York if you can’t have a second to yourself every once in a while?
He’ll go home soon. Grab a bodega sandwich, maybe stop another crime, and then get home for some much needed rest. But for now, he’s just going to sit on this rooftop and relax for a second. Even Spider-man needs some peace and—
“Babe—”
“Why are you following me?”
Peter winces as the door slams open, an argument following close after as a girl storms out onto the roof followed by a guy speeding to keep up with her. His first instinct is to swing away as soon as possible, but for some reason, he stays.
“Because I want to talk!”
“God, do you even hear yourself?”
“You keep talking over me, so I really—”
“You don’t get to babe me right now!”
As if his day hadn’t been bad enough, now he’s accidentally made himself privy to some couple’s dispute. He’s about to web himself out of this third wheeling nightmare when the girl turns around with a groan, revealing her face, and Peter realizes who it is.
It’s you.
This is your apartment complex. Peter came here without even realizing it, but can he really be surprised? Your name is synonymous with peace in his brain. Comes with the territory of being friends for so long—it still calms him, even when you’re being the opposite of peaceful.
“I don’t get why you’re acting like this!” the guy exclaims, frustration clear in his voice.
Of course. Why wouldn’t your shitty boyfriend be here too? The only reason you live here is because you scored this place together; said he didn’t want you living on campus anymore. Ethan Frey might be the bane of Peter’s existence after two and a half years of him being your boyfriend.
“Because you and your posse are acting like complete jags in front of all my friends!” you shout back.
He laughs in disbelief. “I’m just being myself, babe. Besides, you’re the one who said I could invite them!”
“Because you complained about it just being my friends,” you grind out. “You weren’t even supposed to be here, Ethan! You just can’t handle the thought of me being around guys that aren’t you!”
“Well, what the hell am I supposed to think, huh?” He gestures wildly. “You spend every second with that geek and I’m supposed to believe you’re not into him?”
And now he’s eavesdropping on a conversation between you and your boyfriend about him. How could this get worse?
“God, it isn’t like that at all!” you exclaim with a mirthless laugh. “Peter is my friend— my best friend since elementary school. You knew when we got together that wasn’t going to change.”
“Yeah,” he says, nodding lazily, “but that was before I knew how obvious his hard-on for you was.”
Peter feels his face heat beneath the mask, wants to wipe the sweat off his palms. That’s how it could get worse.
Your nostrils flare as you turn away, your hands flexing while you shake your head. “Get out of here, Ethan.”
“Oh, of course that’s where you draw the line,” Ethan mocks. “When I bring up fuckin’ Peter Parker.” He pauses then chuckles. “You’d love that, wouldn’t you?”
Peter nearly intervenes right then and there, wanting to stop this mess before Ethan does anything to hurt you. But revealing himself sounds like the worst possible thing to do, so for once he listens to the rational part of his brain over the emotional.
“He’s not even here!” you retort. “I live with you, not him. I’m dating you, not him. Why are you bringing him up?”
“Because I’m not blind.” Ethan crosses his arms. “Y’know, I thought you’d get over this little thing after you let me take you out, but for some reason, it’s exactly the same. I swear you spend more time with him than me.”
Your hands clench into fists. “Get out of here.”
He scoffs. “You want me to leave you up here?”
“Yes,” you nod.
“God, you’ve been acting crazy this whole night!” he complains. “You’ll freeze up here. Just get over it—we’ll go back down, I’ll get you a beer—”
“I hate beer.”
“Then I’ll get you a fucking apple juice,” he spits. “Just stop being so dramatic.”
“You’re not listening to me!” you shout. “I want you to leave me alone!”
This time he says your name, and you shake your head.
“Go back to the apartment,” you interrupt. “Because if I have to spend another second with you, our relationship might not make it through the night.”
For once, Ethan is silent as he stares at you. You stare back with no sign of giving up. Eventually, he just huffs and shakes his head.
“Whatever.” He starts walking towards the door. “You better cool off up here, because I’m not dealing with this shit when you come back down.”
You stare at the door for a good twenty seconds once he closes the door—slams it, rather—before you angrily kick a stray soda can. Your childhood days of rec soccer must still be in you, because you get an arc on it. Just before it can go over the side of the building, Peter shoots a web to catch it wholly on instinct.
Your eyes widen as you dart around, and Peter is finally spotted from his place on top of the roof door building thing. What is that even called? He doesn’t really have time to think about it. The aluminum can crunches as it flies into his hand, and you stare at him in complete shock.
“Uh,” his mouth suddenly feels very dry, but he has to make some excuse for why he’s up here, “littering is bad.”
Good one, Parker.
“You’re Spider-man,” you say, eyes still wide.
“The one and only,” he nods.
“Oh my god,” you mumble, finally seeming to break out of your shock as you cover your mouth and turn away. “Oh my god, Spider-man just heard my relationship falling apart.”
“I didn’t hear anything!” Peter exclaims. “I—”
You shoot him the withering look he loves so much, that was able to get his bullies to shrink on the spot in high school—it feels weird being on the receiving end of it.
“I’m not stupid,” you say.
“I kn—” He has to stop himself from saying I know, because realistically Spider-man has no idea who you are. “I’m sorry.”
You huff and cross your arms. “Do your superhero duties include eavesdropping on failing couples?”
“It was an accident,” Peter says. “I was up here before you were. So technically, you were eavesdropping on my actual superhero duties.”
You laugh, and he smiles just at the sound of it. One benefit to wearing the mask, because it would expose him right on the spot. “Oh yeah? And what are those?”
“Patrolling the streets,” he says. “I’ve got a very good vantage point from up here.”
You hum, your mood turning a bit more morose as you glance away. “Well, I’m sorry you had to hear all that during your patrol.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through it,” he says. “Your boyfriend sounds like an asshole.”
You roll your eyes. “He’s fine, most of the time. Just had a little bit too much to drink.”
Peter will never understand why you defend Ethan so much. You’ve been together since freshman year and he’s only gotten worse since then—maybe he hides how he is around you, because he hasn’t really shied away from showing Peter how much he hates him this past year.
“He looked pretty sober to me,” Peter says. “And trust me, I have plenty of experience fighting guys that have had too much to drink.”
You huff. “What are you, a spider-therapist?”
“I’m good at a lot of things,” he says. “And I’m always good for bending an ear.”
“Surely you have better things to do than listen to me complain.”
Peter shakes his head. “My schedule’s pretty clear right now, actually.”
“Really?” you marvel. “There’s no crime in New York City at,” you check your watch, “11:37 pm?”
“Absolutely none,” he says. “I solved it all. At least for now.”
You laugh again at that and gesture with your head as you walk over to the edge of the roof. “Then I guess I’ll take you up on that offer.”
Peter jumps down and follows you over. You hoist yourself on top of the wall, legs dangling over the edge, and he feels himself frown as he leans his back against the wall and looks up at you.
“Isn’t that a little dangerous?”
“You’ll catch me if I fall,” you say.
“Obviously,” Peter says. “I’m supposed to encourage safe behavior in New Yorkers, though.”
You laugh and tilt your head up towards the night sky. The moonlight reflects in your eyes and Peter knows he could get lost in them forever. “Just this once, then.”
“I think I can let it slide.”
“Good.”
A comfortable beat of silence passes between the two of you, and Peter finds himself smiling. No wonder he ended up at your place out of instinct. There’s nothing else like your company.
“I always think it’ll be different,” you murmur. Peter glances up at you, your expression shifted to something more melancholic. “We’ll have a good day, which’ll turn into a good week and a good month, but he always does something to mess it up. It’s like it’s in his DNA.”
He stays silent as you think. Most of the time when you rant to Peter, you just want to be heard, not given advice. At this point, he’s an expert at listening to you. It’s not like he minds.
“I want things to work out. I— I still love him. I mean, I think I do. But everything is a fucking struggle with him. If I don’t do things the exact way he wants, if I try to do something for me instead of him, if I can’t read his fucking mind, then he loses it and we argue. And I’m so fucking tired of arguing!”
Your voice has risen by now, and you bite down hard on your cheek. Peter doesn’t realize he’s started reaching towards you to comfort you until you look back down at him, and he runs his hand over his head in an effort to cover it up.
“I’m sorry,” you sigh. “I promise, I’m a much nicer person than this. You just caught me at the worst time.”
“Don’t worry,” he says. “I know.”
Your brows rise. “Spider-man knows I’m a nice person?”
“I can just tell,” he rushes, trying to save himself. He’s doing a real good job at not revealing his identity. “I’m good at reading people.”
You chuckle and shake your head, then adjust your position so your back is towards the open air. It makes Peter nervous, he can’t lie, but it’s not like he’s not a superhero.
“So, spider-therapist,” you say. “Any advice?”
So this is one of the rare times you do want answers. Peter wonders if you’ll leave your boyfriend if Spider-man tells you to.
“He doesn’t sound great,” Peter says, inclining his head. “How many times have you argued this week?”
“Four,” you say. “Five, if you include tonight.”
He whistles. “And it’s only Wednesday.”
You tip your shoulder. “We’re efficient.”
“And unhappy, it sounds like.”
“We’re not unhappy,” you defend. “We’re just…”
“You’re up here talking to me instead of down there with him,” Peter says wryly. “That doesn’t exactly scream ‘happy couple’.”
You shake your head with another sigh. “It’s because he can’t get over Peter.”
He tries to act as nonchalant as possible when you bring him up. Is this an invasion of privacy? Letting you talk to him about all this when you have no idea who Spider-man actually is?
Instead of floundering over moral qualms, he just clears his throat. “And who’s he?”
“My best friend,” you say. “The one person who’s been by my side since the second I moved to New York. He means everything to me.”
Peter feels his heart skip a beat. “Yeah?”
“He’s like— like the opposite of Ethan, and it’s wonderful. I guess that’s why Pete irks him so much. Y’know,” you pull out your phone and start typing in your password, “maybe I should call him. He always knows what to say.”
“No!” Peter exclaims with a bit too much force, causing you to give him a look. “No— I mean, it’s late. He’s probably asleep. And— and it’s a school night?”
You tilt your head, and Peter exhales when it seems to work. “True. He’s probably studying for that biochem test.” You grimace. “I should be doing that too.”
He watches you type out a few texts and send them, and Peter’s never been more thankful to have his phone on silent. What a way that would be to blow his cover.
You shove your phone back in your pocket with another sigh. “I just hate that my boyfriend and my best friend don’t get along. I love them both—why can’t they like each other?”
“I mean…” Peter trails off when you look at him, and he gestures with his head. “It seems pretty obvious why they don’t get along.”
“Yeah,” you say dryly. “Because Ethan thinks Peter likes me, and he probably thinks I have some secret crush on him too. I swear, he’s always looking for a reason to fight.”
God, could the universe be calling him out any more? It’s honestly ridiculous how this is going.
“Do you?” Peter asks, because he can’t help himself. “Like him, I mean.”
“I don’t know,” you murmur. “I love Pete, I do. It’s always been the two of us no matter what. But I…”
He holds his breath as he tries not to look at you, tries not to make it too obvious that he might have stumbled his way into his simultaneous dream and nightmare scenario.
He’s had a crush on you for what feels like forever. Since you stood up for him against his bullies in elementary school, honestly, and it’s only grown over the years as the two of you have grown. From recesses spent together and bike rides through the city; spending the night in Peter’s apartment because it was easier for your sister to let it happen than try and drag you back home; endless nights with heads bent over textbooks trying to study for tests, over college applications trying to get into the same place, and now studying and researching near every damn weekend together because you’re both unfortunate enough to try for ESU STEM degrees.
You were there when Ben died. He’s there on every anniversary of your parents’ accident. Without knowing it, you were there when he got bit and his whole life turned upside down.
You and Peter have been there every step of the way for each other, and it’s why he’s content with just friendship—Peter wants you in his life no matter what. But he can’t lie and say he doesn’t hope.
No, actually. He yearns. He’s doomed to be a yearner for the rest of his life because he’ll never stop loving you. How could he?
“I’m not sure,” you finally say with a sigh. “All I know is that I’d rather be with Pete tonight than Ethan.”
Peter wonders if your chest compressions are still as good as they were in high school, because he feels like he’s about to have a heart attack.
You’d rather be spending tonight with him than your boyfriend of two years and seven months, and Peter isn’t even supposed to know.
You mistake his silent freakout for nonchalance, and you clear your throat as you jump back onto solid ground.
“Well, I’ve spilled my soul to you,” you say wryly, crossing your arms. “Anything a superhero can spill in return?”
Peter thinks for a good, long second. His hands itch to take off his mask, to do what he’s wanted to do since he got bitten by that stupid spider and show you who he really is.
How many times has he been a total asshole, canceling plans on you because he had to go stop some supervillain from wreaking havoc in Times Square? How many times has he been late to something important to you because he was caught up stopping dime a dozen muggings? He still remembers the look on your face when he showed up just in time to miss the entirety of Les Mis’s opening night with your first lead role.
You were a better best friend to Peter than he was to you because of this stupid mask. If he took it off, it wouldn’t make every mistake fade away, but it would sure help explain some of it.
But Peter has been doing this since high school, and he has seen far too many times what happens to the loved ones of heroes. They’re used as leverage, used for ransom, sometimes just straight up killed.
You’ve been friends with Peter since you and your sister moved into the apartment next to May’s thirteen years ago. It doesn’t matter if you never share Peter’s feelings. You’re one of the only constants in his life, and he’s not going to lose you because he’s too selfish to keep a secret.
Losing you would be the last straw. He couldn’t take it.
So Peter pushes all thoughts of secret identities revealed out of his mind and tries to chuckle convincingly.
“I’m allergic to peppermint, believe it or not.”
You stare at him, deadpan. “That’s nowhere close to all the shit I just gave you.”
“It’s true!” he exclaims, holding up his hands. “Happened after I got bit by the spider. They’re repelled by peppermint oil, and I guess I am too.”
You shake your head in disbelief. “I can’t believe Spider-man is a coward.”
“A superhero’s gotta have some secrets,” he says, and he taps the side of his head. “Otherwise this thing doesn’t do much good.”
“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “Whatever.”
A chill suddenly goes up Peter’s spine and he whips around—he can hear a distant scream followed by a distant gunshot, and he mentally curses.
“Duty calls?” you ask, drawing his attention back to you.
“Yeah,” he says. “I’m sorry—”
“Don’t be.” You smile, and it’s genuine. A nice change from the state Ethan effortlessly puts you in. “You went out of your way to cheer me up. Pretty super of you.”
“I hope it makes up for the eavesdropping,” he says.
“More than,” you nod. “Now get out of here. Your city needs you.”
Peter nods too, and he backflips onto his original spot. “Have a good night. You’re real special to somebody.”
He’s gone before you can say anything else, already zipping across the rooftops to get to the scene of the crime. Peter can only think of your face as he swings through the air—all the things he’s too scared to say to you.
The crime, which turns out to be yet another petty theft, is resolved easily enough with some punches, kicks, and a snappy one-liner. Once he’s retrieved the woman’s purse and alerted the police, he’s back in the sky.
Peter only stops once he’s swung a couple miles away, perching on the edge of some rooftop for some actual peace and quiet. He checks around once or twice to make sure he’s not somehow back at your place, and when he’s sure it’s all clear, he pulls his phone out. He swipes past all the notifications he’s racked up until he finds the one he’s looking for: the texts from you.
hey pete, I know you’re prob asleep rn but you were right. I really need to study for that test lol
wanna meet me at the library tomorrow after QM? I’ll buy the coffee this time i promise <3
as long as you use your roomie’s dining dollars to get me a croissant lol
Peter can’t help but smile, larger than anything tonight. This is why he’s okay with being nothing but your friend for the rest of his life.
Deal. Anything to get you an A
lol
asshole
Never
Try to get some sleep. No good studying on a tired brain
Three dots appear for a good long second, enough to constitute a decent paragraph—then they disappear. In its place:
What Time Has Done (Part XV) Benedict Bridgerton x Original Character Series
synopsis: the proposal that doesn't go to plan and the deal that was struck in the meantime
requested: no
warnings: arranged marriage, big feelings (?)
word count: 2446
a/n: and here we are, possibly the saddest part of the story so far. buckle in folks and apologies in advance
The Bridgerton carriage could not move any slower. At least that becomes Benedict’s opinion as his mother’s engagement ring weighs heavily in his pocket and the small but intricate bouquet of flowers becomes coated in the sweat from his nervous hands. He cannot fully tell if his heart is beating at the speed of light out of nerves or excitement, but maybe it is a mix of both. He watches the similar looking houses of Mayfair’s central families crawl past him through the carriage window and he wonders if he would have been faster on foot.
This momentous occasion called for an early morning and Benedict thought he would have escaped before the rest of his family were ready to break their fast, but his mother had been waiting for him near the front door. He supposed he should have expected this; his mother was not one to miss out on any event in her childrens’ lives. Her soft smile and the excitement on his behalf that danced in her eyes gave Benedict all the confidence he had lost overnight, spurring him to go on. He was prepared to ask for Emmeline’s hand regardless of the fact that he did not have a ring nor did he technically have her father’s permission (though her father did not appear the withholding type). Lady Bridgerton, however, was not about to let him do this incorrectly, and handed him her engagement ring as he was about to head out the door.
“You are in love, my dear boy,” she had smiled at him, “do not give her a reason to doubt it”.
His foot tapping on the carriage floor begins to annoy him though he cannot find any other way to channel his energy. He taps over his pocket to make sure the ring is still there and realises they are finally approaching the Castillon residence as he looks back out the window. He does not even wait for the footman to open the door, instead pushing it and almost tumbling out onto the gravel in his haste. Her house, though it had never appeared especially large before, now stands in front of him like some impenetrable fortress. Benedict takes a second, exhales deeply, shakes the anxiety weight off of his shoulders and marches up their front steps, informing the staff at the door who he intends to see.
He is told to wait by the door, as the family is not currently anticipating visitors. He reasons that seems fair, as they had not been much out in society so surely they wished to limit their interactions within the home as much as outside it. However this reasoning did not make his heart pound any quieter, and he stands with almost shaky hands as he waits for the staff to return. He stares at the pattern on the hall rug, counting how many times it repeats as far as he can see in order to distract his racing mind when he hears-
“Benedict!” Emmeline whispers in surprise, increasing her pace as she almost floats down the stairs. She looks no different to how Benedict has seen her before and yet she looks all the more gorgeous. His heart nearly leaps into his throat as he is now in the presence of an angel. His angel. Or soon to be he hopes. “What are you doing here?” Emmeline asks as she looks at him, then at the flowers, then back at him.
“I have found a solution to our current problem,” Benedict begins and he watches something flash across Emmeline’s eye at the use of ‘our’. He hands her the flowers cautiously, hoping that the more he can slide them across his hands the more of his nervous sweat he can get off of them. He exhales quickly as Emmeline hands the flowers off to Martin, commenting on their beauty before meeting his eyes again.
“What is it?” She asks. Of course she picked up on his nerves, always so observant.
“I have come here today, with what I think will resolve all that which currently stresses you,” he begins again as he slowly grabs the ring out of his pocket and bends down. Emmeline’s eyes widen, but she does not stop him. She seems more like a statue with a moveable face which he hopes is only the initial shock of the moment.
“Miss Emmeline Castillon, I kneel before you as a humbled man asking for your hand. I know I have not asked your father and in truth I almost did not come with a ring, but I knew I could not waste any more time. From the moment I met you, you have intrigued me greatly and that intrigue quickly grew to love the more I got to know you. Though at times I doubted if the feelings were shared, I have come to understand that they are, and you should know that I love you more than I ever thought one human could love another. If you will have me, it would make me the happiest, most fulfilled man alive to spend the rest of my days with the most wonderful woman I know. Emmeline, will you marry me?”
What stands before him is not the reaction he had hoped for. Emmeline’s brows had grown tighter together before reflecting a sadness in her eyes whose origin he did not know. She shut her eyes in hopes of keeping back any tears threatening to fall but it is unsuccessful as new tear tracks make their way down her cheek. Benedict is quick to stand, grabbing her hands between his and squeezing tightly in hopes of getting her to look at him.
“What is it, my love? What have I said?” Benedict questions as Emmeline opens her eyes, though her hands flinch out his grasp.
“Benedict- I cannot,” she tries to explain but cannot form enough words before her tears grow in number.
“You do not have to say anything, just take my ring and my affection and all shall be well,” he looks between her eyes, hoping to catch an inkling of something, anything.
“No, you do not understand-”
“Then help me to!” He grows more distressed as she continues to cry, trying once more to reach her hands but she only backs away further. “I am not asking out of any sense of obligation, if that is what you are worried about! It would solve our problem yes but it is my solution because I love you. My family can help pay for whatever your father is in debt for and-”
“I can- I cannot, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” is all she says as she wipes tears away with a shaking hand, backing further and further away until she bounds back up the stairs. Leaving Benedict in a state of shock, he waits until he hears a door slam before he moves any part of his body.
He scoffs in disbelief. Out of all the ways he imagined this might go, his intended running off crying was not one of those. Not his intended anymore, he corrected, though the thought sent chills down his spine and an ache in his heart. Though he had been nervous about the actual asking, he had been so confident that there was enough feeling there to secure their match and have them married in a month’s time or so. Even if she had said no, he had never imagined it being so severe. With no idea what to do next, he turns to run out the door, shoving the ring back in his pocket and dashing off in the carriage.
Arriving back home, the crushing weight of defeat makes the thought of facing his family impossibly difficult, but he knows they will all be waiting with bated breath for him to regale them with how it went. He wants nothing more than to lock himself in his room for life with nothing more than several bottles of whiskey but he knows his wishes are not to be granted when he sees Hyacinth and Gregory dash away from the front window upon his exiting the carriage.
“Where is our new sister?” Hyacinth asks with a quirked up eyebrow as Benedict walks in alone, shoulders slumped forward.
“Hyacinth!” Their mother scolds, trying to make eye contact with her son, and stepping forward when she is not able to do so.
“Brother, what has happened?” Anthony questions, looking between Benedict and his mother.
After a lengthy pause, Benedict huffs out a sorry breath and, without looking at any one person in particular, announces “she did not accept”.
“Did not accept? Whyever not?” Eloise’s voice raises in surprise.
“What did she say?” Colin questions.
Benedict, unable to answer their questions, runs his hands over his face before his lip begins to tremble. He looks at his mother as his eyes become watery and hurdles through the group of them, determined to make it back to his room alone. The rest of the Bridgertons are left standing in equal disbelief as they all look between each other, trying to make sense of what has just happened.
At the Castillon residence, the day before
“But we have found a solution!” My mother exclaims, a satisfied and proud smile on her face. “You are to wed!”
“To wed?” I repeat, convinced I heard her incorrectly. “Papa, please tell me I misheard that!”
“Now, my sweet-”
“To whom?” I rise from my seat, feeling my thumb start to twitch.
“Joseph Mercier, the son of Antoine Mercier, one of the men to whom our debt is to be paid,” Papa looks at me sorrowfully.
“You cannot-”
“Emmeline, listen!” My mother raises her voice. I meet her gaze with an angry glare, standing as still as possible to hear whatever is about to come tumbling out of her mouth. “The agreement has been reached that your debt will be forgiven, partially with the use of your dowry and partially with the promise that you shall aid in the continuation of the Mercier line”.
“So I am to wed and bear a stranger’s child?!”
“His father has expressed a certain…difficulty getting his son to marry in the past and with his wish to secure his lineage and our wish to have our debt recovered, this arrangement serves us all beautifully!” My mother explains as if that is to solve everything.
“Serves us? Tell me, what part of my happiness, my desire, my future does this serve beautifully?”
“Do not be selfish, Emmeline! We are only in this mess because of your desire to begin with!” She yells and I am taken aback. My mother has been angry before but never like this. I turn to run out of the room before my tears become noticeable and bound up the stairs, refusing to meet my curious siblings in the eye as I go.
“I told you it would not go over well,” Papa tells Mama once I have left.
“Well, what is done is done and she will learn to accept it. It is time she grew up anyway”.
Emmeline’s perspective, current day
“Sister?” Graham stands at the other side of my closed door and I can only respond in heavy sobs, my arms crossed over my knees, hugging them close to my chest. He opens the door slowly, and upon seeing my distress, closes it with much more speed and comes to the side of my bed in great strides.
“What has happened?” He questions, releasing my arms from their gripped position and raising my head to meet his eyes.
“Oh Graham, it is awful!” I cry, absolutely certain I look just as messy and disheveled as I feel.
“Who was at the door Em?”
I pause, taking a deep breath to find some semblance of control within myself. “Benedict asked me to marry him,” I whisper, almost too scared that saying it out loud will make it more of a reality rather than an awful illusion.
“Surely, this is wonderful news?” Graham gasps in surprise.
“I wish it could be, brother, but he is too late,” I shake out through laboured breaths.
“Too late? Whatever could you mean?” His brows furrow together in confusion.
“Mama and Papa have…promised me to someone else,” I almost cannot say it; the more words come out of me the more real it becomes and that is my last desire.
Graham gasps again, almost as taken aback as I was yesterday. He does not speak for a few moments, merely looking at me as I have grown a second head. His concern grows as he contemplates his next words carefully, as much at a loss in this situation as I am.
“One of the men in charge of my university has promised that if I wed his apparently unruly son and give them a child then my debt will be forgiven. He could not get him to wed naturally and fears for the safety of their family name, so I am to be the remedy,” I explain, and I believe it to be the most words I have spoken coherently in the last 24 hours.
“There must be something we can do! Tell them Benedict has asked for your hand, they will have to call off the engagement!” Graham tries, but I shake my head.
“I told him I could not marry him,” I look at Graham, still hoping this is all some sort of sick dream that I will wake up from in a matter of minutes. “The deal was already struck and as Mama said, I am the reason we are in this problem in the first place. I will have to marry into the Mercier family”.
“But surely not at the expense of your happiness!”
“Papa has given his word and you know he cannot take that back! I cannot make this worse for us! Mama has set her heart on it and I fear there is nothing I can do”. I pause, and when Graham says nothing, “I only hope your match may not be so grief stricken when the time comes”.
“If this is the example, I hope that day never comes,” Graham scoffs, grabbing my hand. “We will figure this out, sister, I promise”.
“I do not see how,” I sigh. “And please, do not tell anyone. I am sure Mama will come up with an extravagant way to announce my engagement to the ton on her own”.
Graham nods, squeezing my hand for comfort before we sit in silence, the two of us at a loss for words now that everything is out on the table.
Your Declan fic was SO good. That’s how u discovered your account and I can’t wait for the other Rivals fics you have coming up!!!
If you are still taking requests, I would die for protective Declan O’Hara in any situation. Love your stuff!!
man of the hour.
the sexiest thing about a man is his moustache morals.
declan o’hara x female reader
warnings - cursing. a little violence and a quick injury description.
word count - 2k
authors note - I truly believe that one of the sexiest things about declan is the fact that he stands up for what he believes in… don’t underestimate the aphrodisiac powers of strong morals, ladies and gents. need him to stand up for me sometime🧎♀️➡️. anyway this ended up much softer than I meant it to be (which isn’t necessarily a bad thing) <3
masterlist. inbox.
“Can I get you another drink?”
You laugh as the man swings an arm around your shoulders, the heavy weight of it almost taking you down.
“You’ve asked me that four times in the last five minutes, Bas. Thank you, though.”
“Just want to make sure you’re having a good time.”
He’s yelling into your ear, both of you fighting to raise your voices above the noise of Bar Sinister.
“I’m always having a good time with you,” you tease, leaning into his side. “I’m alright, Bas. Promise.”
“You need to let loose for once in your life.”
“I’ll let loose on a day I’m not working.”
“You’re always working.”
“What can I say? He’s hard fucking work.”
You both look over to your boss, who’s currently animatedly telling Declan a story. Rupert’s gesturing so exaggeratedly that people are ducking out of the way, both men laughing and completely oblivious as beer and whiskey splash all over the floor.
Bas presses a kiss into your hair, squeezing you tightly.
“I don’t know what he’d do without you.”
“Well, he never has to find out. We’re stuck with each other,” you chuckle. “Best job I’ve ever had, surprisingly.”
“I won’t tell him you said that,” Bas winks, laughing.
The sound of multiple glasses smashing has the both of you whipping your heads around, trying to find the source of the commotion.
“Shit. I’ll see you later, darling. Come and find me if you need anything, yeah?”
“Course.”
Bas disappears into the bustling crowd, leaving you standing at the bar. It’s absolutely manic, people packed in to the rafters and bumping into each other left, right and centre.
You’re about to make your way over to Rupert when a hand wraps around your wrist, pulling you backwards so hard that you stumble over your own feet. You tug your arm away, finally getting a good look at the person who’s responsible.
“Spencer?”
“Oh, so you do remember me then?”
“… What? We were together for six months, and I don’t have short term memory loss, so… yes.”
“I just meant because you’re hanging around with the elite now. The rumour is that you’re working for Rupert Campbell Black.”
“I am working for Rupert Campbell Black. It’s not a secret, Spencer. I’m his aide and assistant. I’m working for Venturer, too, helping with their public relations. And you are… what? Still pretending to work for your father when you really just spend your days drinking and betting?”
“I do work for my father.”
“Of course you do.”
He steps forward, getting into your personal space.
“What are you doing in here, Spencer? You don’t even live in Rutshire.”
“Thought I’d pop in, see if you were here. Wanted to see if there was any truth to the rumours.”
“Well, you’ve put the rumours to bed now, haven’t you?”
“Not the only thing that’s been put to bed,” he murmurs, just low enough so you only catch half of it.
“Pardon me?”
Your entire body is taut with tension, nerves alert and heart racing. You can only imagine how uncomfortable you must look, praying that someone notices sooner rather than later.
“Which one are you sleeping with, then?”
“Spencer-”
“No, come on. You finished things with me, so there must be another man. Who is it?”
“I’m finished things with you - eight months ago, mind you - because you’re an immature prick who’s so pretentious it makes you deeply unlikeable. There was no other man, I’d just rather be single than be with you.”
His chest puffs out as he starts to go red with rage, anger bubbling up in his veins. You know that you’re not completely unsafe here in this room full of people, but that doesn’t calm your anxiety in the slightest.
“Which one is it, hmm?” his voice is raising, getting louder with every passing minute. “Which one looks like your type?”
He points at Seb first, quirking an eyebrow.
“Him?”
When you don’t respond, he moves on to pointing at Patrick.
“Him?”
You shake your head almost imperceptibly, wishing that the ground would swallow you up.
“Oh my god… it’s him, isn’t it?”
His eyes have landed on Rupert, who’s still stood across the room. Your boss is looking at you, now, quickly assessing the situation you’re in.
“You’re fucking Rupert Campbell Black?!”
The entire crowd of people goes silent as he practically screams it, everyone’s heads turning to look at you.
“She’s… what?” Rupert, Declan and Bas all ask at the exact same time, hilariously in sync.
“Fucked your way up to the top, did you? Classy as always.”
Spencer goes to continue his sentence, but hits the floor suddenly with a heavy thud. You look up to see Declan shaking off his hand, chest heaving with adrenaline. Your ex boyfriend has a busted lip, blood dripping down his chin and onto his awfully unflattering shirt.
“It’s called hard work, you arrogant little prick. Not that you’d know.”
Declan’s Irish accent sounds stronger than usual, coloured with fury and aggression. Bas has dragged Spencer to his feet, both him and Rupert holding him upright.
“If I ever catch you anywhere near here again, I’ll do more than just split your fucking lip. You understand?”
Spencer nods, clearly still dizzy from the impact of the punch. He’s dragged outside before anyone can say anything else, the crowd returning back to their drinks as if nothing ever happened.
“Come on, sweetheart.”
Declan links his fingers with yours before you can register what’s happening, pulling you through the bar and out of the back door. You take a seat on the brick wall, legs dangling over the edge as you kick your feet.
“You okay?” he asks as he sits down next to you, just close enough that you can feel his body heat.
“I’m fine.”
“Sure?”
“I’m sure.”
You don’t really know how to feel, confused by the whole ordeal.
“He seems like a nice boy.”
You laugh suddenly at the bad joke, shaking your head as Declan laughs with you. It’s not a sound you hear from him all that often.
“Sorry you had to punch him.”
“I didn’t have to. Kinda wanted to, though.”
“Me too.”
He bumps his shoulder into yours, looking at you carefully.
“I didn’t just hit him for a laugh, you know. I was worried he was going to hurt ya.”
“I was too,” you whisper, vulnerability bleeding into your tone.
“I’d never of let that happen. I promise, sweetheart.”
His hand finds yours again, fingers gently sliding in between yours. He rests your intertwined hands on his thigh, thumb rubbing patterns on your skin.
“Thank you.”
“Of course.”
You sit in silence for a long moment, enjoying the way the warmth of his palm seeps slowly into yours.
“I didn’t think anyone had even noticed Spencer was there.”
“I saw as soon as he walked in, because I knew I didn’t recognise him. I tried to give you some space, thought maybe you were friends or something. Didn’t want to intervene and embarrass ya.”
“Ex boyfriend, if you haven’t already guessed. We were only together about six months all in all, about eight months ago. Don’t know what I was thinking, really. He’s fucking awful.”
“You can say that again,” he chuckles, hand squeezing yours. “Not sure what you ever saw in him.”
“Neither am I, anymore. I don’t know, maybe I just liked having someone really like me, as sad as that sounds. Dating is fun and exciting and… well, it’s supposed to be. God knows it isn’t, for me.”
Declan slides his arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side to keep the evening chill at bay. You can hear the ruckus from inside, everyone in the bar carrying on as usual.
“I think you just keep choosing the wrong men, darlin’. Don’t swear off dating just because of a few bad apples.”
“I mean, I haven’t dated anyone since Spencer, and that finished eight months ago. I’d rather stay single than date any more of these posh boys who’ve never worked a day in their lives.”
He laughs, and the vibrations of it rumble through the both of you, settling into your bones. All you can think about is how warm he is and how good he smells and how if you leaned in an inch to your left, you could kiss him right on the cheek.
“What if it’s me?” you can’t help but ask quietly. “What if I’m the reason I can’t find someone?”
“What?”
“I mean, I work for Rupert - which I love - but my job is my life now. He’s a handful as it is, and now with all the Venturer stuff… all I do is work. And I know I’m not pretty like Taggie or powerful and bossy like Cameron but-”
“You’re beautiful.”
Declan stops you in your tracks, his interruption derailing your train of thought completely.
“I- what?”
“Sweetheart, the only reason I noticed that prat Spencer earlier was because I was already looking at you.”
“You were?”
“I always am.”
“… Why?”
“I don’t know, exactly. It’s like this… gravitational pull. You light up a room.”
“That’s a bit dramatic,” you chuckle nervously.
“I wish it was.”
You don’t know what to say, so you lean further into his side, resting your head on his broad shoulder and breathing him in.
“I would have said something sooner,” he murmurs, “but Rupert would fucking kill me.”
“He’s not my keeper, Declan.”
“No, but he’s your boss. And for all intents and purposes, your big brother.”
He rests his head atop of yours, pressing a kiss into your hair.
“How’s your hand?”
“Perfectly fine,” he laughs, squeezing your thigh. “I’ll make a full recovery.”
“Thank God for that.”
Declan turns his body so he can look at you properly, big hands coming up to cradle your face. Neither of you say anything, waiting with tense anticipation for the other person to move first.
You surprise yourself by leaning in and planting a kiss on his lips, chaste and testing the waters. You begin to overthink everything the minute you pull back, worried that you’ve misread his kindness. As if he can read your mind, he tangles a hand into your hair and tugs you back into him, kissing you with a passion you’ve never experienced before.
His tongue slips into your mouth cheekily as you let him take the lead, happy to surrender the control to him. You’ve dreamt about this, late nights in bed spent wondering if the real thing would live up to your imagination. It definitely does.
Eventually, you both pull away, panting and flushed. You can no longer feel the chill in the air, the warmth of Declan keeping the cold at bay.
“Don’t tell Rupert,” he whispers, dirty smirk written across his face.
You can’t help but laugh, giddy off of the weight of the moment. Before tonight, you’d begun to accept that you might have been slightly delusional when it came to Declan - reading into his fingers brushing yours when you handed him something, him winking at you across the room, his palm pressing into your back as he walked past. Now you know - it wasn’t delusion. They were signals.
“Wouldn’t dream of it. Secret’s safe with me.”
He pecks your lips again quickly before standing up, outstretching his hands for you to grab so he can pull you with him.
“You wanna go back inside?”
“No, think I’m done for the night.”
“Will you let me walk you home?”
You look at him smiling down at you all soft and sweet, and realise instantly that you’re in trouble. This isn’t something either of you are going to be able to just brush past. This’ll be haunting both of your memories every single day until it happens again.
“I’d like that.”
“Come on then, sweetheart. Lead the way.”
Declan links his fingers with yours, happy to let you steer him in the right direction. Neither of you say much. You don’t need to.
The way his palm fits perfectly against yours tells you both everything you need to know.
@lostinthefandoms11 @prettycoolgirl @buzzcutlip
don’t make me give the reblogs are invaluable to your writers speech again… i’ve given it one too many times… but you know the deal… reblog if you enjoyed and I shall write more for you <3
What Time Has Done (Part XIV) Benedict Bridgerton x Original Character Series
Synopsis: Two plans are afoot, but which one will lead our young lovers to victory?
Requested: no
Warnings: anxiety (?), just big emotions
Word Count: 2729
series masterlist
a/n: heyyyyyy....how yall doing? my sincerest apologies for how long its been but i recently got the spark to write again so i hope someone still enjoys!
A few days have passed since Benedict promised to take my burden as his own and I have yet to hear a word. Following Whistledown’s announcement of our shame to the entire ton, Mama sent us all into hiding again, lest we be berated by other vicious mamas. I am starting to believe there are circles forming in my carpet from the amount of laps I’ve done trying to pass my window in the hopes that I might see someone come to our rescue. As relieved as I felt that finally someone else knew the truth, it also came with the feeling of dread that now I had more reasons to be worried about the current situation. Papa and Mama, though not sharing a room together quite yet, spent a lot of time in hushed conversation with each other, no doubt trying to find a way to relieve us of our heavy debt. The only people to grace our doorstep of late were the men carrying letters to and from our home and every time I get my hopes up that Benedict has written some comforting thing and each time I am disappointed.
Sitting on my bed, I hear footsteps scurry up to my door and just past it. They come to a halt, turning around and stopping in front of my door, casting a shadow of small shoes that I can see through the crack. There is no knock, and I can see the small pair of feet hesitating to make their next move. I bite the bullet, calling out a “hello?”, to which the door opens and Madeline makes herself known. She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and her hands are wringing together endlessly. The rims of her eyes are red and her eyebrows are furrowed. The sheer amount of emotion in her little body breaks my heart.
“Madeline, what is it love?” I pat the empty spot on the bed next to me and she takes no time running up and jumping to take the place.
She says nothing, just buries her head in my side as I wrap an arm around her, pulling her securely under my shoulder. I hear a shudder of breath and I realize that she has begun to cry. Whatever emotion she carried with her down the hallway has decided to spill out, and I squeeze her that bit tighter.
“What is wrong Madeline? We cannot fix what ails you if you keep it to yourself”.
“I hate it!” She exclaims, bashing a fist on my duvet.
“Hate what?”
“I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!” She exclaims again, causing quite the dent in my bedding for such a little fist.
“My love, look at me please,” I release her from the guard of my arm and grab the sides of her face lightly so she may look at me. Her eyes are wet and her lower lip has started to quiver and I fear she can hear the sound of my heart splitting in half.
“I hate that Mummy and Daddy do not smile at each other, I hate that Andrew hasn’t looked at me and I hate that I cannot see my friends! I hate being stuck here!” I am now aware of my own lower lip starting to tremble as Madeline pulls her face away from my hands. I cast my glance at my bedding in hopes of masking my tears but I fear it is pointless when I hear Madeline’s unabashed sobs. The pain of my family had not escaped me since this whole ordeal had seen the light but I had been so wrapped up in my own form of pity that I had not taken the time to properly care.
“I am so sorry Madeline, I was not aware you had acquired such pain,” I mutter through tears. “It is my fault, it is entirely my fault,” I try to give her a hug but she merely runs out of my room and down the hall, leaving me to cry on my own.
At the Bridgerton House
Benedict had spent much of the last few days wracking his brain for ways he could help alleviate some of Emmeline’s burden and he had not eaten or slept much because of it. It was a relief that Anthony knew of the whole ordeal so any transactions made in favour of it would not have to be kept hidden but Benedict could not help feeling like this was his solution to bring forth. If he hadn’t been aware of it before, Benedict had quickly come to despise the ache in his heart, the gaping hole that Miss Castillon had left. Knowing the truth of the matter somehow only made it worse as he knew she blamed herself for it entirely. Seeing her in such pain was something he never wanted to witness again and he swore he would never if he could help it.
Benedict sits uncomfortably in the chair where he normally sketches, running his hands over his face as he glances out the window, hoping it would bring him some sudden illumination. As if the universe could hear him, his mother walked in, the creaking of the door giving her away.
“Benedict my dear, can I speak with you for a moment?” She questions, not moving much past the door.
“Surely you will speak whether I consent or not,” he mutters with a dismissive wave of his hand. Then, taking a moment to consider what he has just said, “apologies, Mother, recent events have made me weary”.
“I can imagine,” she sympathizes. “Though I fear you are overcomplicating the matter”.
“Whatever can you mean?”
“You love this woman, do you not?” She looks expectantly at her son.
“I…we had never declared it…” he notices her raised brow, “yes, yes I believe I do”.
“And does Miss Castillon share your affection?”
“Selfishly I like to think she does,” then, upon remembering a previous conversation, “yes, she does”.
“Then what you must do seems clear,” Lady Bridgerton seems satisfied, as if whatever truth she thinks she has unveiled is as obvious to everyone else. Benedict ponders for a moment, not wanting to question his mother further but also trying to find the hidden meaning in her words.
“Oh for pity’s sake, you must marry her!”
Benedict’s eyes widen, searching his mother’s for any sign of jest. When he finds none, he lowers his head for a second, the idea of proposing to Emmeline sinking further into his skin. Of course there is a part of him that wanted to propose to her long ago, or maybe skip the engagement all together and simply run away from the prying eyes of the ton. But with the idea being brought out of his head and into the open, he suddenly couldn’t fathom it.
“What if she feels it is out of a sense of obligation? I could not do that to her! I could not have her believe that I would want to force her into a loveless marriage,” Benedict sighs.
“But if your feelings are true, then they will show through instantly. The circumstances leave much to be desired, certainly, but true love has risen above worse. It will be worth it”.
Benedict looks up, making eye contact with his mother as his heart starts to race. He could propose to Emmeline this very minute and solve both of their problems. Hers, the debt and his the heartache. Christ, why had he not thought of it before!
Castillon Residence
Marie insists on getting me ready each more for some sense of normality but I cannot say I am any help. I merely sit, anxiously twiddling my thumbs and unable to make eye contact with just about anyone. Whatever decisions she presses toward me I mutter, yes, and hope that she will pick between the dress colour or the hairstyle for the day. I dare not make another decision, lest that should sink my family further into ruin too. It is not as if there is anything to get ready for either, for we have not been invited to any social events since Lady Whistledown aired our news. We wouldn’t have attended anyway, and I suppose it feels better not to have to reject any offers. I do nothing but read in my room or attempt to write sad prose in an effort to vent my emotions, but it is not long before my brain switches to more anxiety inducing efforts. What if Benedict had not truly meant his wishes to help? What if he had seen how I was not worth the effort and had in fact found an easier debutante to court? What if his mother had suggested he not involve himself so that they could avoid the scandal as well? I would not blame him if he had, and I do not want to think ill of him but with nothing else to occupy my thoughts, what else am I to do?
Since Madeline’s emotional revelation, the rest of the family seems hesitant to interact with me other than awkward pleasantries and pitied looks. Marie is truly the only one to actually speak to me as if I am a member of the house and I cannot return the same kindness. I feel stuck in this loop of sadness and anxiety in a hole that I dug myself. If only I had not forced Papa into that deal, then we would not be in this situation to begin with. Tired of sitting in front of the window, hoping for some saving grace to break through the glass, I turn to my writing desk instead, drawing out a paper and ink set in the slowest movements possible.
Dear Benedict,
I realise it has been only days since your visit, but I wanted to make it known how much I regret bringing you into this mess of mine. It is not, nor has it ever been, my intention to bring shame to you or your family, and though I thank you for your promise of assistance, I also understand if your desire has shifted. Should you have moved on for the sake of better prospects, know that I do not hold it against you and wish you all the joy and happiness in the world.
Your dearest friend, Emmeline C.
Handing the letter off to Marie in the hopes that it would sneak in our limited communications, I wipe my cheek with the other hand, hoping the wetness that had clung there is not too obvious. When Marie returns, she informs me that my parents are requesting my presence downstairs.
“They told me no details miss, only that they require you straight away”.
“Well, I suppose I should be glad that someone still wishes to speak to me. Except you, Marie; you have continued to be a dear friend and I fear I have not thanked you enough for it”.
She smiles, waving her hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it miss, it is only my pleasure”.
With a small smile and a grateful nod, I make my way down the stairs. The halls are eerily quiet and I cannot help the small glances in hopes that a sibling will come barreling down in joyous laughter. Of course, that is not the case at present and I feel like the only person in the house as I go to join my parents in the drawing room. Upon turning into the doorway, Mama and Papa stand up from their seat on the couch, and Papa has a few letters gripped aggressively in his fist. Mama looks proud as she greets me, offering a small hug before gesturing for me to sit across from them. A sinking feeling appears in my stomach, as her seemingly sudden change in attitude has me on edge.
“Now my dear, we know it has recently been hard on you-” Papa starts, but Mama looks eager to interject.
“But we have found a solution!” She all but exclaims, bringing her hands together on her lap as if she cannot contain herself any other way. Papa looks slightly uneasy, and I try and wordlessly beg him for a quick answer. I am not granted such ease.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bridgerton Residence
“It seems like you are set on this matter,” Anthony looks at Benedict with a close-lipped smile.
“I am. I had worried about it before, but Mother convinced me it is the right way forward,” he replies, pouring another glass of brandy for them both.
“Then to the success of your courting,” Colin raises a glass, winking at his brother in support.
“To the success indeed,” Anthony adds as the knocking of three glasses sounds through the room.
“Let us hope your intended sees similarly about the whole ordeal to you,” Colin says as they each take a seat.
“I believe she will. Once we get past the uncertainty of it all, I believe Emmeline will share my affections, bringing relief to us all”.
“Yes, then perhaps we can stop finding pieces of her inanimate form on the floor,” Anthony jests at Benedict’s abundance of sketches of the young woman.
The three laugh and talk amongst themselves, sipping on celebratory drinks while two of the brothers pester for any ideas on how the wedding will go. Benedict mutters something about leaving it up to their mother before adding, “I would marry her in an abandoned field, or in our living room even. The details do not matter to me, but she deserves better. Besides, Mama will have my head if she does not get a say in the marriage of her children”.
“Benedict,” Eloise pokes her head through the door, “there’s a letter here for you”. She hands him the enclosed document as he quickly rips the envelope open. Recognising the handwriting, he cannot tell whether to be joyful or anxious at Emmeline writing to him during such a time. As he quickly scans the page, he finds the latter to be a more fitting emotion, and the concern of his siblings grows solely in response to the look on his face. He passes the letter to Anthony, who scans it with the same intensity, only to pass it to Colin upon completion.
“She feels I have neglected her…forgotten about her in some way,” Benedict sighs with a large amount of air, his hands running fervently through his face and hair.
“She simply worries for the implications of her current affairs. Any person in her position would do the same,” Anthony tries to calm his brother down.
“She means to provide some relief to you both, should things not go as planned,” Colin adds, reading the letter again before handing it to Eloise.
“Perhaps she-”
“If you are about to rant about the downfalls of marriage, I urge you to hold your tongue,” Anthony whips his head around to Eloise, where she stands stunned. Never had any of her brothers been so serious with her and she immediately closes her mouth again.
Benedict could not look at any of them for long, as his shoes undoubtedly run a hole into the ground with his incessant pacing. What was meant to be a celebratory evening had come to a halt and the other three Bridgertons share a concerned look between them before facing their brother again.
“Surely this just means your plans may need to hasten along?” Eloise tries again.
“I had been trying to plan a near perfect proposal, but if she harbours any doubts of my character or intention, I must squash those immediately”.
“Go to her in the morning, for if you leave now you run the risk of rejection from her mother for calling at an indecent hour,” Anthony reasons.
“But I cannot leave her to feel such shame any longer!” Benedict cries.
“You know how against visitors they are at the moment, it would be better to wait! You would face less obstacles if you went at proper visiting time,” Colin agrees with Anthony.
“Fine, first thing tomorrow then,” Benedict replies after some hesitation. Eloise crosses to him and holds his elbow in her hands, getting him to pause in his physical loops.
“You’ve waited this long, what is one more night?” She asks, giving him a hopeful smile.
What Time Has Done (Part XIV) Benedict Bridgerton x Original Character Series
Synopsis: Two plans are afoot, but which one will lead our young lovers to victory?
Requested: no
Warnings: anxiety (?), just big emotions
Word Count: 2729
series masterlist
a/n: heyyyyyy....how yall doing? my sincerest apologies for how long its been but i recently got the spark to write again so i hope someone still enjoys!
A few days have passed since Benedict promised to take my burden as his own and I have yet to hear a word. Following Whistledown’s announcement of our shame to the entire ton, Mama sent us all into hiding again, lest we be berated by other vicious mamas. I am starting to believe there are circles forming in my carpet from the amount of laps I’ve done trying to pass my window in the hopes that I might see someone come to our rescue. As relieved as I felt that finally someone else knew the truth, it also came with the feeling of dread that now I had more reasons to be worried about the current situation. Papa and Mama, though not sharing a room together quite yet, spent a lot of time in hushed conversation with each other, no doubt trying to find a way to relieve us of our heavy debt. The only people to grace our doorstep of late were the men carrying letters to and from our home and every time I get my hopes up that Benedict has written some comforting thing and each time I am disappointed.
Sitting on my bed, I hear footsteps scurry up to my door and just past it. They come to a halt, turning around and stopping in front of my door, casting a shadow of small shoes that I can see through the crack. There is no knock, and I can see the small pair of feet hesitating to make their next move. I bite the bullet, calling out a “hello?”, to which the door opens and Madeline makes herself known. She holds her bottom lip between her teeth and her hands are wringing together endlessly. The rims of her eyes are red and her eyebrows are furrowed. The sheer amount of emotion in her little body breaks my heart.
“Madeline, what is it love?” I pat the empty spot on the bed next to me and she takes no time running up and jumping to take the place.
She says nothing, just buries her head in my side as I wrap an arm around her, pulling her securely under my shoulder. I hear a shudder of breath and I realize that she has begun to cry. Whatever emotion she carried with her down the hallway has decided to spill out, and I squeeze her that bit tighter.
“What is wrong Madeline? We cannot fix what ails you if you keep it to yourself”.
“I hate it!” She exclaims, bashing a fist on my duvet.
“Hate what?”
“I hate it! I hate it! I hate it! I hate it!” She exclaims again, causing quite the dent in my bedding for such a little fist.
“My love, look at me please,” I release her from the guard of my arm and grab the sides of her face lightly so she may look at me. Her eyes are wet and her lower lip has started to quiver and I fear she can hear the sound of my heart splitting in half.
“I hate that Mummy and Daddy do not smile at each other, I hate that Andrew hasn’t looked at me and I hate that I cannot see my friends! I hate being stuck here!” I am now aware of my own lower lip starting to tremble as Madeline pulls her face away from my hands. I cast my glance at my bedding in hopes of masking my tears but I fear it is pointless when I hear Madeline’s unabashed sobs. The pain of my family had not escaped me since this whole ordeal had seen the light but I had been so wrapped up in my own form of pity that I had not taken the time to properly care.
“I am so sorry Madeline, I was not aware you had acquired such pain,” I mutter through tears. “It is my fault, it is entirely my fault,” I try to give her a hug but she merely runs out of my room and down the hall, leaving me to cry on my own.
At the Bridgerton House
Benedict had spent much of the last few days wracking his brain for ways he could help alleviate some of Emmeline’s burden and he had not eaten or slept much because of it. It was a relief that Anthony knew of the whole ordeal so any transactions made in favour of it would not have to be kept hidden but Benedict could not help feeling like this was his solution to bring forth. If he hadn’t been aware of it before, Benedict had quickly come to despise the ache in his heart, the gaping hole that Miss Castillon had left. Knowing the truth of the matter somehow only made it worse as he knew she blamed herself for it entirely. Seeing her in such pain was something he never wanted to witness again and he swore he would never if he could help it.
Benedict sits uncomfortably in the chair where he normally sketches, running his hands over his face as he glances out the window, hoping it would bring him some sudden illumination. As if the universe could hear him, his mother walked in, the creaking of the door giving her away.
“Benedict my dear, can I speak with you for a moment?” She questions, not moving much past the door.
“Surely you will speak whether I consent or not,” he mutters with a dismissive wave of his hand. Then, taking a moment to consider what he has just said, “apologies, Mother, recent events have made me weary”.
“I can imagine,” she sympathizes. “Though I fear you are overcomplicating the matter”.
“Whatever can you mean?”
“You love this woman, do you not?” She looks expectantly at her son.
“I…we had never declared it…” he notices her raised brow, “yes, yes I believe I do”.
“And does Miss Castillon share your affection?”
“Selfishly I like to think she does,” then, upon remembering a previous conversation, “yes, she does”.
“Then what you must do seems clear,” Lady Bridgerton seems satisfied, as if whatever truth she thinks she has unveiled is as obvious to everyone else. Benedict ponders for a moment, not wanting to question his mother further but also trying to find the hidden meaning in her words.
“Oh for pity’s sake, you must marry her!”
Benedict’s eyes widen, searching his mother’s for any sign of jest. When he finds none, he lowers his head for a second, the idea of proposing to Emmeline sinking further into his skin. Of course there is a part of him that wanted to propose to her long ago, or maybe skip the engagement all together and simply run away from the prying eyes of the ton. But with the idea being brought out of his head and into the open, he suddenly couldn’t fathom it.
“What if she feels it is out of a sense of obligation? I could not do that to her! I could not have her believe that I would want to force her into a loveless marriage,” Benedict sighs.
“But if your feelings are true, then they will show through instantly. The circumstances leave much to be desired, certainly, but true love has risen above worse. It will be worth it”.
Benedict looks up, making eye contact with his mother as his heart starts to race. He could propose to Emmeline this very minute and solve both of their problems. Hers, the debt and his the heartache. Christ, why had he not thought of it before!
Castillon Residence
Marie insists on getting me ready each more for some sense of normality but I cannot say I am any help. I merely sit, anxiously twiddling my thumbs and unable to make eye contact with just about anyone. Whatever decisions she presses toward me I mutter, yes, and hope that she will pick between the dress colour or the hairstyle for the day. I dare not make another decision, lest that should sink my family further into ruin too. It is not as if there is anything to get ready for either, for we have not been invited to any social events since Lady Whistledown aired our news. We wouldn’t have attended anyway, and I suppose it feels better not to have to reject any offers. I do nothing but read in my room or attempt to write sad prose in an effort to vent my emotions, but it is not long before my brain switches to more anxiety inducing efforts. What if Benedict had not truly meant his wishes to help? What if he had seen how I was not worth the effort and had in fact found an easier debutante to court? What if his mother had suggested he not involve himself so that they could avoid the scandal as well? I would not blame him if he had, and I do not want to think ill of him but with nothing else to occupy my thoughts, what else am I to do?
Since Madeline’s emotional revelation, the rest of the family seems hesitant to interact with me other than awkward pleasantries and pitied looks. Marie is truly the only one to actually speak to me as if I am a member of the house and I cannot return the same kindness. I feel stuck in this loop of sadness and anxiety in a hole that I dug myself. If only I had not forced Papa into that deal, then we would not be in this situation to begin with. Tired of sitting in front of the window, hoping for some saving grace to break through the glass, I turn to my writing desk instead, drawing out a paper and ink set in the slowest movements possible.
Dear Benedict,
I realise it has been only days since your visit, but I wanted to make it known how much I regret bringing you into this mess of mine. It is not, nor has it ever been, my intention to bring shame to you or your family, and though I thank you for your promise of assistance, I also understand if your desire has shifted. Should you have moved on for the sake of better prospects, know that I do not hold it against you and wish you all the joy and happiness in the world.
Your dearest friend, Emmeline C.
Handing the letter off to Marie in the hopes that it would sneak in our limited communications, I wipe my cheek with the other hand, hoping the wetness that had clung there is not too obvious. When Marie returns, she informs me that my parents are requesting my presence downstairs.
“They told me no details miss, only that they require you straight away”.
“Well, I suppose I should be glad that someone still wishes to speak to me. Except you, Marie; you have continued to be a dear friend and I fear I have not thanked you enough for it”.
She smiles, waving her hand dismissively. “Think nothing of it miss, it is only my pleasure”.
With a small smile and a grateful nod, I make my way down the stairs. The halls are eerily quiet and I cannot help the small glances in hopes that a sibling will come barreling down in joyous laughter. Of course, that is not the case at present and I feel like the only person in the house as I go to join my parents in the drawing room. Upon turning into the doorway, Mama and Papa stand up from their seat on the couch, and Papa has a few letters gripped aggressively in his fist. Mama looks proud as she greets me, offering a small hug before gesturing for me to sit across from them. A sinking feeling appears in my stomach, as her seemingly sudden change in attitude has me on edge.
“Now my dear, we know it has recently been hard on you-” Papa starts, but Mama looks eager to interject.
“But we have found a solution!” She all but exclaims, bringing her hands together on her lap as if she cannot contain herself any other way. Papa looks slightly uneasy, and I try and wordlessly beg him for a quick answer. I am not granted such ease.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Bridgerton Residence
“It seems like you are set on this matter,” Anthony looks at Benedict with a close-lipped smile.
“I am. I had worried about it before, but Mother convinced me it is the right way forward,” he replies, pouring another glass of brandy for them both.
“Then to the success of your courting,” Colin raises a glass, winking at his brother in support.
“To the success indeed,” Anthony adds as the knocking of three glasses sounds through the room.
“Let us hope your intended sees similarly about the whole ordeal to you,” Colin says as they each take a seat.
“I believe she will. Once we get past the uncertainty of it all, I believe Emmeline will share my affections, bringing relief to us all”.
“Yes, then perhaps we can stop finding pieces of her inanimate form on the floor,” Anthony jests at Benedict’s abundance of sketches of the young woman.
The three laugh and talk amongst themselves, sipping on celebratory drinks while two of the brothers pester for any ideas on how the wedding will go. Benedict mutters something about leaving it up to their mother before adding, “I would marry her in an abandoned field, or in our living room even. The details do not matter to me, but she deserves better. Besides, Mama will have my head if she does not get a say in the marriage of her children”.
“Benedict,” Eloise pokes her head through the door, “there’s a letter here for you”. She hands him the enclosed document as he quickly rips the envelope open. Recognising the handwriting, he cannot tell whether to be joyful or anxious at Emmeline writing to him during such a time. As he quickly scans the page, he finds the latter to be a more fitting emotion, and the concern of his siblings grows solely in response to the look on his face. He passes the letter to Anthony, who scans it with the same intensity, only to pass it to Colin upon completion.
“She feels I have neglected her…forgotten about her in some way,” Benedict sighs with a large amount of air, his hands running fervently through his face and hair.
“She simply worries for the implications of her current affairs. Any person in her position would do the same,” Anthony tries to calm his brother down.
“She means to provide some relief to you both, should things not go as planned,” Colin adds, reading the letter again before handing it to Eloise.
“Perhaps she-”
“If you are about to rant about the downfalls of marriage, I urge you to hold your tongue,” Anthony whips his head around to Eloise, where she stands stunned. Never had any of her brothers been so serious with her and she immediately closes her mouth again.
Benedict could not look at any of them for long, as his shoes undoubtedly run a hole into the ground with his incessant pacing. What was meant to be a celebratory evening had come to a halt and the other three Bridgertons share a concerned look between them before facing their brother again.
“Surely this just means your plans may need to hasten along?” Eloise tries again.
“I had been trying to plan a near perfect proposal, but if she harbours any doubts of my character or intention, I must squash those immediately”.
“Go to her in the morning, for if you leave now you run the risk of rejection from her mother for calling at an indecent hour,” Anthony reasons.
“But I cannot leave her to feel such shame any longer!” Benedict cries.
“You know how against visitors they are at the moment, it would be better to wait! You would face less obstacles if you went at proper visiting time,” Colin agrees with Anthony.
“Fine, first thing tomorrow then,” Benedict replies after some hesitation. Eloise crosses to him and holds his elbow in her hands, getting him to pause in his physical loops.
“You’ve waited this long, what is one more night?” She asks, giving him a hopeful smile.
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