fanficsandthings - Tumblr blog

fanficsandthings · 2 years

Text

{I Don't Believe in Love, Queensrÿche}

Program: Coming home from college should have meant you had all the time in the world to hang out with your best friend. Coming home, you should have been greeted with a hug and promise of summer fun. Coming home, you found the love of your life finally got the girl of his dreams. Instead, heartbreak greeted you with open arms.

Pairing: Best friend!Eddie Munson x GN, in love!Reader, slight Steve Harrington x Reader if you squint

Warnings: couple of swears, drug use (just weed), angst, unrequited love, heartbreak

Length: 2027w

Part II: With or Without You

Part III: Pictures of You

“You’re in love with him,” Steve whispers almost like he’s afraid. What did he have to fear when you have everything to lose?

Stood frozen, unable to tear your eyes away from the new couple in the living room, your heart screams for the arms of your best friend. To finally return home after another year of sparse letters and scattered phone calls. Eyes stinging as you watch your love embrace someone else. Wondering if the stress of your final year at college drove the two of you apart, once known as the inseparable duo, or if it’s because he was accepted by the girl of his dreams at long last. Clutching the soda can as if it’s your last grasp on reality, you force out the breath caught in your throat to try to alleviate the burning in your chest. Pain scorches your insides leaving stinging pin pricks along every ticked off nerve in your body. Engulfed by a brew of overwhelming emotions - a concoction of devastation, anger, and numbness mix in the empty mold of your heart. Leaving you only to drown in the radiance of the couple’s happiness and tender care.

The chain around your neck quickly coils closer and tighter to suffocate any noise that tries to escape with your response.

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t be wearing his ring on a necklace that has a typewriter key of my first initial,” you choked out, “I wouldn’t have kept a piece of him next to my heart and soul, if he was truly just my best friend”.

Steve had slowly made his way next to you and firmly wrapped his arms around your trembling body. He takes you in- looks past the brave face you put on and sees the broken lover desperately trying to hold on. Never has he seen you look this hurt in the number of fights you had encountered against the Upside Down, and Steve is terrified that you’re about to shatter before his eyes.

Eyes darting from your blank stare to the couple who had become the center of all attention, Steve so desperately wants to take away your pain. To take you away from the cause. If he held you any tighter - any closer - you would have thought you were at death’s door.

But that love, isn’t it? It lights up your entire world in a beautiful glow. Love is all consuming as it spreads its reach from fleeting thoughts to endless daydreaming.

Until it’s soul crushing. Until it erases absolutely every other meaning of your life. When its warm touch suddenly blazes, and you’re left with memories that burn.

“We can leave. We- we can get out of here. I’m so sorry,” his voice cracked. As if he’s personally responsible for your heartbreak. As if he’s holding Chrissy so tenderly in his arms, rather than Eddie.

Taking a deep breath to extinguish the flaring hurt spreading through your system as best as you could, you redirect your undivided attention to meet Steve’s pain expression with your teary eyes. You stitch up a smile, “It’s okay, Steve. I would have to be naive to think no one would notice him after all these years and finally fall for him. Even a place like Hawkins can’t turn a blind eye to the stunning beauty that is Eddie Munson”. Sniffling as Steve delicately wipes away a stray tear, you choke out, “Eddie Munson, my best friend. Light of my life”.

Absorbed as you pull away from his safe hold and sculpt a new deflective mask, Steve watches as you lock away your heart. He wants to scream. He wants to get down on his knees and beg you to stop rebuilding your walls. Steve wants you to reach out to him - to someone, to anyone - and allow him to help you grieve while learning to move on. He wants you to rip off the guise you have too quickly thrown back on to bury your emotions under a perfect smile and deflective chuckle.

With what could have looked like gleaming excitement to anyone else, you look him right in the eye. “Ready to join the rest of the group, Steve-O?”

He breathes out a half hearted laugh and looks at you with a pained look. “I feel like I should be the one asking you that. To check if you're ready and okay to head over.”

“Then get a grip, Harrington,” you joke, “I want to catch up on missed time with everyone”.

Taking his hand, you walk towards the living room and take in the comforting familiarity that mixes with unknown terrain. Dustin, Will, Mike, and Lucas sit on the floor in front of the couch with character sheets strewn amongst them. Sat behind them and arguing over stat choices, Eddie bends over to get a better look. Chrissy sits on the end of the couch with Eddie’s arm securely wrapped around her as she watches the boys in amused confusion and laughs at their banter. Robin and Max join in the argument from the other side of the couch only to spur on the boys further with the joke suggestions. An almost picture perfect memory.

Across from the main group taking up the couch, Jonathan and Nancy sit on the love seat. As the pair of you approach, they turn to swiftly include you in the ongoing shenanigans with welcoming smiles only to freeze taking in your drastically different attitudes. Jonathan opens his mouth to try to say something, but the words can’t form a coherent thought when met with your plastic smile. Nancy looks to Steve in hopes of an answer only to be met with his hard stare. Seeing the couple openly share their affection, they knew it would only be a matter of time for you to realize why you had to ask them about your best friend rather than hearing from him yourself. The two of them swiftly move to opposite sides of the couch to make room, and Steve perches on the back of the seat with his legs spread enough for you to sit between them on the seat. Keeping his gaze locked and as calm as possible, Steve clasps a hand on your shoulder and rubs gentle circles with his thumb. Nancy immediately puts her hand on your knee leaning over Steve’s outstretched leg to be closer to you, and Johnathan turns to face you better.

If you were going to seal yourself off then they were going to come at your walls from all sides. But they were going to do it on your terms. If you just wanted a night in with your friends, they’ll be damned if you didn’t get that.

Johnathan reached into his backpack at his feet and pulled out a few cassette tapes and a metal tin. “I remember you liked The Clash, right?” he mutters fumbling with everything as he looks for the right tape. “I just got my hands on a copy of Cut the Crap. We could steal the stereo for a bit- I highly doubt they’ll notice the music selection improvement based on how long they’ve been at this,” he jokes.

“Yeah, that sounds fun,” you respond dazed and distracted by the shiny tin, “I got a chance to to listen to it with a buddy back at school- I think you’d like him -before I came back. But, ah, what’s that?” you point to the tin.

He sheepishly looks between you and Nancy while rubbing the back of his neck, “It’s- it’s my stash tin. Couple of pre-rolls”. He hesitantly holds it out to you, “Want to step outside for a bit?” Nancy sighs knowing that it would probably help. Steve merely squeezes your shoulder, silently trying to convey that he would be here for you. That it was okay if you wanted to sneak out and he would take care of you.

You nod, standing up almost mechanically like you were going through the motion of actions. Jonathan reaches over to press a kiss to Nancy’s cheek as you softly smile at Steve’s serious expression. You shrug, “Helps shut off the extra voices and thoughts up here,” tapping the side of your head. “S’not a habit and won’t become one,” you breathe out and notice his gaze slightly soften.

You look at Johnathan, who stands up from his hushed conversation. Making your way out of the living room and back into the kitchen, you stop abruptly when your siren’s voice calls out your name. You can’t help turn to face his twinkling eyes.

“Are you doing a kitchen run?” Eddie asks with a glint of playfulness. You raise an eyebrow, “Why? Too comfy to get a refill yourself?” you tease. Out of the corner of your eye, you see Steve choke on his Coke while trying to hold in his laughter. Because, fuck, you are not holding anything back even if you choose to hide the truth behind those words. “Unfortunately for you, bud, we’re heading out back for a minute. Fresh air or something,” you chuckle.

Eddie’s eyebrows crease together, and he notices the tin in Johnathan’s hand. Meeting your gaze again, “Since when did you start smoking? You never wanted to in the past”.

“Yeah, in high school. You try new things in college. Stuff happens. People change,” you wave your hand in indifference.

“You said you wouldn’t smoke- seemed pretty set with that and only helping out people get their fix if they were going through something,” he huffed. Everyone’s eyes were bouncing between the two of you as the tense static of unease settled in the air.

“Maybe I became one of those people,” you pause, letting the words hang in the air and sink in. “Or, maybe I need something to help distract myself from the DJ’s poor selection tonight,” you tease.

He gapes at you as everyone bursts into chuckles and laughter. “I have phenomenal taste, thank you very much. We basically have the same taste, you little shit. You can’t say that,” he laughs though slightly still on edge.

You wink and turn back to make your way further into the house hoping to get out before another near catastrophic conversation starts.

“Oh, when you come back, I want to properly introduce you to Chrissy,” he shouts.

Walking as fast you can without damn near sprinting, you slide the glass door open and set out onto the back deck. The two of you wander to the lounge chairs and recline looking up at the starry night sky.

Johnathan takes out a joint from the tin and pulls out a lighter from his jean pocket, pausing to think, before handing them to you. “Don’t isolate yourself,” he quietly begs, “Please”. Focusing on the temporary warmth of the lighter, you take a deep inhale. The first hit of many to come. Jonathan stares at you, taking in your calm expression watching the stars flicker above.

“Have you ever heard of a band called Queensrÿche?” your voice wavered. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his hopeful gaze.

“No, I don’t.” He sat up and fully turned his body towards you.

“I’ve been fucking with them lately. Seems to speak to my soul. Got a tape of theirs that we could throw on.” you choke out after another hit.

He lit up. You weren’t shutting them out. “Yeah, yeah! We can- we can put it on. We’ll raincheck our Clash listening party. What’s your favorite song by them? Is it included on the tape?” Jonathan has only had a few hits, but he isn’t going to call you out for stealing the joint. He isn’t going to risk you shutting in again. You’re smiling again- it looks genuine to him. You’re working through the pain- not hiding.

You hum and take another hit before handing him the joint. When your fingertips meet, you peer over to him. He looks so happy and proud. So glad that you’re engaging. Squeezing your eyes shut, you shift your focus back to the dark expanse of the sky.

“Yeah, it’s called 'I Don't Believe in Love’”, you confidently state.

#eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #others work

893 notes · View notes

fanficsandthings · 2 years

Text

a love story (benedict bridgerton x fem!reader)

summary: Benedict finds (Y/N) in the library, hiding from the party occurring just outside.

word count: n/a (EDITING)

a/n: if you’re interested in a part two, please comment! enjoy your read!

credit: @gifshistorical

Lord Egerton was certainly a most excellent host, thought Benedict.

Blackburn Hall (Egerton’s country estate) was populated by several “esteemed” members of London society; weeping widowers, longing spinsters, an array of almost-debuted ladies (their mothers behind them like puppeteers), and “wife-seeking” gentlemen frolicked in the grand ballroom.

Strange people, the second eldest Bridgerton thought. Perfectly intolerable, yet somehow entertaining.

From the corner of his eye, Benedict studied them. He surveyed the attendees, making a mental note of which to avoid and which to engage with in civil conversation (though that list was predominantly shorter).

Lady Dowding (a significantly large woman) struggled to find a man suitable enough for her daughter, Victoria. Or rather, Lady Dowding couldn’t find a gentleman that could withstand Victoria’s blubbering mouth for any longer than a mere minute.

Lord Godwin (of five and fifty) drowned himself in the lemonade, having been widowed the previous week. Though, “widowed” and “being left for the innkeeper” appeared to have been one in the same in Lord Godwin’s mind.

Lord Egerton definitely attracted a crowd, Benedict mused.

“Poor Lord Godwin,” Eloise muttered, startling Benedict (as he hadn’t noticed her presence). She stood at his side, rocking back-and-forth on her heels. “I’ve heard from Lady Whistledown that he nearly wet himself at Lady Keats’ engagement party last Tuesday.”

“Lady Keats is engaged?” asked Benedict, looking down at his sister.

“Yes,” Eloise stated. “Though, for the third time.”

Benedict nodded, catching sight of the Lady Keats (previously Lady Langley, non-Lady Moore) as she clung to an absurdly older man (presumably Lord Keats). The woman flaunted her large, sparkling engagement ring to the party in attendance.

“Where’s Mother?” Eloise asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Flaunting Daphne, of course. Her debut is tomorrow, remember?” Benedict searched the gallery, spotting his mother and eldest sister. “Unless, you’ve forgotten.”

Eloise scoffed.

“I haven’t forgotten,” she stated. Eloise followed Benedict’s gaze, watching as Daphne charmed the gentlemen surrounding her. “I just don’t care.”

Benedict laughed, nudging Eloise with his elbow.

“This is dreadful,” she muttered, referring to the party. “Might I ask you to plead to Mother for my release?” Eloise asked Benedict, tugging on his arm.

“And rid myself of this enthralling experience?” Benedict’s tone was laced in sarcasm. “Never.”

Eloise dramatically released his arm, groaning in annoyance.

Benedict snickered.

“You don’t find Lord Cambridge’s terrible dancing the least bit entertaining?” he asked. The two Bridgertons glanced at the said-Lord, giggling as he stepped on the feet of a young woman. “Poor girl,” Benedict whispered.

Eloise nodded, beginning to feel a dryness in her mouth. She smacked her lips, quite “un-ladylike.”

“I’m rather thirsty,” she announced. Eloise looked to the refreshments table, and her eyes went wide in horror. Lord Godwin (howling about his “late” wife) had buried his nose in the lemonade bowl. “On second thought,” she murmured, “I’m suddenly thoroughly hydrated.”

Benedict followed her eyes, watching as Lord Egerton escorted the old, sodden fool away from Blackburn Hall.

“I’m beginning to see from your perspective,” he stated.

“You always do,” Eloise triumphantly said.

Suddenly, Benedict heard a shrilling “Lord Bridgerton!” from the other side of the room. To his dismay, Lady Dowding was approaching him (her daughter at her side).

Eloise winced at her attire, as it was almost painful. She felt nauseous at the green—no, chartreuse shade of fabric Lady Dowding chose to adorn.

“Fantastic,” Eloise mumbled.

“Lord Bridgerton!” Lady Dowding shouted, despite being a near few feet away from him.

Out of respect, Benedict bowed.

“Lady Dowding.”

“Miss Bridgerton,” the old woman quickly (and rather haphazardly) acknowledged Eloise’s presence. But swiftly, she reverted her attention back to Benedict. Lady Dowding clumsily pushed her daughter forward, nearly causing her to trip and fall (a sight that Eloise wouldn’t have minded seeing). “My daughter, Victoria. Have you met?”

Victoria was fairly handsome, but the assortment of colorful feathers throughout her hair did not compliment her features.

She looks rather like a goose, Benedict thought. Or a peacock.

Benedict shook his head, forcing his face not to contort into a frown.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” he stated. “Lady Victoria.”

“Lord Bridgerton!” Victoria exclaimed. “It is a beautiful night, is it not? So dark, yet so bright! Romantic.”

At this moment, Benedict pondered death. He’d thought about drowning himself in the lemonade, too.

“Yes,” Benedict muttered. “Quite.” He turned to the side, catching Eloise with her gloved hand to her mouth (preventing her from laughing).

“Victoria is a splendid dancer,” Lady Dowding said. “She was the talk of Lord Byron’s Spring Ball, just last season!” she victoriously declared.

“It’s true!” Victoria agreed. “I’ve the ‘legs of swan,’ or so Mama says.”

“Yes,” Eloise chimed in. “And the hair of one, too.”

Snapping her head in Eloise’s direction, Lady Dowding produced a terrible scowl.

Benedict pulled his sister to his side, causing a loud “oompf!” to leave her lips.

“Pardon me, Lady Dowding. My sister has a special sense of humor,” he said in an attempt to ease the tension. “I say, is Mother asking for our presence?” he asked.

“What?” Eloise asked, confused.

Benedict leaned down, so only Eloise could hear him.

“Go with it, will you?” he whispered.

“Oh, you’re quite right!” Eloise quickly shouted. “She’s just there!” she lied, pointing at the sea of patrons.

Benedict smiled, turning to the Lady Dowding and her daughter.

“If you’ll excuse us,” he said. “We cannot keep Mother waiting.”

“You’re absolutely right, brother. We cannot,” Eloise concurred.

The (poorly dressed) Dowding women nodded, and Benedict did not ignore the disappointment that painted Victoria’s face. He felt relived, in truth.

“You’re a menace, you know?” Benedict spoke to Eloise, walking away from Victoria and her mother. “You must think before you speak.”

“But I did think,” Eloise defended. “I thought she looked like a bird.”

“With that, I cannot disagree.” Benedict sighed, looking into the crowd. “We’ve lost them.”

Eloise sighed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“For now,” she stated. “I’m forever thankful that Mother has delayed my debut.”

“As are the men of London,” Benedict joked.

Eloise stared at her older brother, jaw slack.

“Cruel, Benedict. Just cruel.”

Benedict’s eyes crinkled as he laughed, a beautiful crescent shape gracing his features.

“Oh!” Eloise exclaimed. She looked over Benedict’s shoulder, waving frantically. “There’s Penelope.”

Benedict turned around, spotting the Featherington girl. She wore a yellow dress, as usual (her mother did enjoy “happy” colors). It did not compliment her complexion, nor her red hair.

“Good luck, brother. You’ll need it,” Eloise said.

“Whatever for?” Benedict asked.

“The women of the ton, mothers and daughters alike. Do you forget your public status, Benedict?” the chestnut-haired girl asked.

Benedict chuckled.

“Of course not, Eloise. I am a Bridgerton.”

“Ah!” Eloise exclaimed. “There’s a potential bride, now. Multiple brides, rather.” She gestured to a group of women, all whispering and glancing at Benedict. “You’re right. This is enthralling,” she sneered, then left to join Penelope.

As Eloise disappeared, the group of women slowly approached the handsome Bridgerton.

“Bollocks,” Benedict mumbled. He desperately searched for an escape, wanting to flee from the wanton pleads for his hand and courtship.

Finally (and thankfully), he noticed an empty hallway to his left.

Without hesitation, Benedict abandoned the dance floor. He could hear the various, feminine shouts of “Lord Bridgerton!” behind him, but he thought nothing of them.

Benedict found a door at the end of the hallway, and (thinking it to be a safe option) opened it.

Quietly, he shut the door behind him. Benedict took a moment to breathe; his forehead rested against the dark wood of the door. Relief washed over him, and he slowly turned around to face the room.

Surprisingly, it was a library that met his eyes.

It was quaint and rather beautiful, but it wasn’t nearly as elegant as the library at Aubrey Hall. Still, it was beautiful.

Several bookshelves lined the walls, furnished with a wide arrangement of novels. Specks of dust floated throughout the room (highlighted by the orange tint of candlelight), followed by the scent of ink and oak filling his nostrils.

Benedict stepped further into the room, and he felt the wood creak beneath his feet.

It’s an old room, he surmised.

Benedict looked up, impressed by the length of the bookshelves. They were tall, nearly reaching the ceiling.

Drifting to the shelves, he ran his fingers over the books. They were old, too. He noticed the bent spines, the torn edges, and the tea-stained covers.

There must be hundreds, Benedict thought. And a variety of genres, as well.

The Lord Egerton was intelligent, surely. But he couldn’t possibly of had the time to indulge in reading on the regular occasion, as he was a very busy man.

Benedict moved to another shelf, spotting a copy of Mental Philosophy: Including the Intellect, Sensibilities, and Will. He scoffed, picking up the book from it’s place. Lazily, he skimmed through the pages. Benedict took note of Lord Egerton’s sloppy penmanship in the margin, concluding that he’d read the book often.

Boring.

After placing the grievous thing back on the shelf, Benedict meandered to the shelves within the center of the library. Again, he delicately dragged his fingers over the old works. One book (red in color and small in size) piqued Benedict’s interest. He pulled it from it’s home, and he looked at the place from which he took the book. A pair of eyes met his own, and he let out a loud shriek. Following his scream, a sudden “ahh!” echoed throughout the library.

At that moment, Benedict understood the weight of words. Well, mainly because he’d dropped the book on his foot and couldn’t feel his toes (he thanked God it was the small book he’d dropped and not the large philosophy text), but nonetheless. He hopped on one foot, holding the other in his hand.

“Damn!” Benedict shouted.

Eventually, he let go of his foot. He scoffed, unable to flex his toes.

The annoyed Bridgerton bent down, picked up his dropped book, and maneuvered to the other side of the shelf.

“I say—!” he began, but his voice was caught in his throat.

A girl, young and seemingly terrified, crouched in a “fetal position” on the floor. She held her knees to her chest, and she hid her face from Benedict’s sight.

Growing concerned, Benedict slowly approached her.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Am I ‘alright?’” the girl retorted, looking up at him.

As she met his eyes, Benedict felt an unexpected pain in his chest. A good pain, surely. Because his heart started to slam against his ribcage.

What is this?

Benedict took in a sharp breath, examining the girl’s features.

She was beautiful.

“You, sir, gave me quite the fright!” she exclaimed, laughing.

Her laugh, Benedict thought, sounds like music.

The Bridgerton cleared his throat and looked down at his feet, slightly embarrassed.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I believe you frightened me, as well.”

“I would’ve made myself present, but I hadn’t heard you enter.”

“Yes,” Benedict muttered. “My stealth is unmatched.”

The girl smiled, affectively charmed by Benedict’s wit.

She’s smiling, Benedict observed. My God, I want her to always smile.

“‘Stealth?’ You’re not hiding, are you?” she asked, standing.

“Protecting myself, more so. ‘Hiding’ makes me sound like a coward.”

A laugh left her lips, and Benedict (once again) found himself loving the sound.

He looked to the floor, catching sight of a glove beside her feet. Kneeling down, Benedict picked up the fabric, then he stood and rubbed the white material between his fingers.

“I believe,” he held it out to her, “you dropped this.”

Graciously, she took it from him.

“Thank you,” she said.

Benedict nodded, and he glanced at the book in her grasp.

“Pride and Prejudice,” he read aloud. “That’s the romance novel, is it not?”

“It is!” she exclaimed, her tone light and airy.

Benedict took note of the sparkle in her eyes, and he wanted to swim in her gaze forever.

“Miss Austen is a gifted writer, and she’s an inspiration for many women.” She looked to the book, smiling adoringly.

Benedict smiled, too.

“Have you read it?” she asked.

He had.

“I cannot say I have,” Benedict replied.

The girl nodded.

“Have you come here to read, then?” he asked.

A bit of a stupid question, Benedict thought. They were in a library.

“For the quiet, mostly.”

The Bridgerton nodded, and he watched as the girl attempted to straighten out her wrinkled gown.

“Do you not like dancing?” Benedict questioned.

“Oh, no!” she said. “I love it, but I’ve grown tired. My mother has me attend every ball—every party, as most young ladies. Each season, it’s the same dances, and the same men, and the same…everything.”

So, tomorrow will not be her first season. How have I not noticed her before?

Benedict nodded, and he came to realize he related to her words.

“But you’re different.”

“I’m happy to be of service,” Benedict jested. “You’re not married, then?” the chestnut-haired boy asked.

However, the girl did not answer.

She only stared at Benedict, trying to process the intention of his words.

“Forgive me,” Benedict said.

Too forward? Too fast? I hope I was not too fast. I’d surely die if—!

“It’s quite alright!” she said. “I’m not married, but I am content.”

I am relieved.

Benedict grinned, boyish and innocent.

“You’ve yet to meet your Mr. Darcy, then?”

She quizzically stared at him, fighting back another smile.

“I thought you hadn’t read Pride and Prejudice?” she questioned.

“Did I say that?”

Had I said that? I don’t remember saying that.

The girl laughed, then she looked at Benedict’s side.

“Poetry?” the girl quired, referring to the red book in his hand.

Benedict raised his brow, then felt the book in his palm. He’d forgotten about the blasted thing, and the aching in his foot returned.

“Oh!” he interjected. “Yes, poetry. Good, good poetry.”

“By who?” she asked.

He hadn’t looked.

“It’s a collection, actually. Various authors,” he lied.

I’m nervous, he thought. Why am I nervous?

“That’s beautiful,” she said.

You’re beautiful.

“I do love poetry,” the girl stated.

“As do I,” Benedict added.

A tremble took over Benedict’s bottom lip, and he opened his mouth to speak before—“knock! knock! knock!”

Benedict’s head turned to the door, and he heard Eloise’s familiar voice.

“Benedict!” she shouted, vibrations traveling through the wood. “Brother, I know you’re in there! Mother has released us from this insufferable prison!”

The elder Bridgerton looked at the girl (the one in front of him), and he laughed.

She laughed, too.

What wouldn’t I do to hear her laugh?

“I can hear you!” his sister exclaimed. “Come on, Benedict! I’d like to be home before I’m of a hundred and three!“

“Alright, Eloise!” Benedict responded. “One moment!”

He heard Eloise’s retreating footsteps grow quieter, and quieter, and quieter.

“She’s gone, I believe.”

Benedict grinned widely, drawing his focus back to the girl.

I don’t want to leave. I don’t want to leave.

“Well, you shouldn’t let her wait.”

Heartily, Benedict laughed.

“No, I shouldn’t. Enjoy your reading, Miss…?” he trailed off, dying to know her name.

She smiled.

She’s only smiling, Benedict thought. She’s only smiling, and she’s stolen my very breath.

“(L/N). (Y/N) (L/N),” she said. “Lord…?”

“Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton.”

She nodded.

“Enjoy your poetry, Lord Bridgerton.”

How can a voice sound so sweet? It is Heaven.

“Lady (L/N).”

Hesitantly, Benedict walked to the door. He twisted the knob, hating the weight of it in his free hand.

Benedict turned back, a sudden spasm of energy prevalent in his body.

My soul is on fire.

“Miss (L/N)?” he called out.

(Y/N) peered out from behind the bookshelf.

“Yes, Lord Bridgerton?” she replied.

Benedict thought (just for a moment), then wet his lips with his tongue.

“‘A girl likes to be crossed in love now and then,’” he quoted. “’It is something to think of.’”

(Y/N) smiled, a joyful scoff leaving her lips.

“You have read it,” she surmised.

Benedict playfully smirked, then left the library.

With the door shut, Benedict rested his back against the wood. He stood in the hallway, alone with his thoughts. Specifically, he thought of his encounter with (Y/N).

Benedict closed his eyes, basking in the warm glow of love. He bit his bottom lip, a feeling similar to a sunburn gracing his face.

(Y/N). (Y/N). (Y/N). (Y/N).

Benedict felt—in his heart—that something glorious had just occurred.

#others work #benedict bridgerton

3K notes · View notes