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bumblesimagines · 1 year

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The Sun and Moon

Part 11

Request: Yes or No

~~~

"It is quite kind of Her Majesty to host such an event at the palace. I mean, not even the Duke of Hastings got such an opportunity!"

"That is because he and his bride wished for a quick and quiet ceremony, Mother." (Y/N) reminded her gently. Lucy hummed absentmindedly, fingertips softly scratching against her sons' arm as she marveled over the decorations. As always, Her Majesty had outdone herself, but nothing less could be expected from a woman like her. She demanded the best of the best in every single thing, no matter how small.

The soft sound of a harp welcomed the Granvilles into the chapel and Henry released an impressed hum. (Y/N) wished he had a clear enough mind to truly take in the beautiful decor, but his mind and heart refused to focus on anything. Anthonys' dreaded wedding day had finally arrived and while (Y/N) had woken up with a good mindset, the minute they had arrived at the palace he had found his stomach in knots. His skin felt warm, abnormally so. Digging his fingers into his palm, (Y/N) cleared his throat and forced a smile for Violet as she approached him.

"Mr. and Mrs. Granville! I'm so glad you could make it." Violet smiled widely, though it didn't reach her eyes. Nerves, perhaps? It was her eldest sons' wedding.

"We wouldn't dream of missing it, Lady Bridgerton," Lucy replied, reaching out to take Violet's hand. Violet placed her other hand over Lucy's and smiled, giving the family a nod before moving on to greet more guests. (Y/N) felt his father pat his back twice and sighed softly, following his parents to a pew. Lucy released him and sat down first, watching her husband sit down beside her before she leaned in to whisper, motioning to the decorations. (Y/N) lingered in the aisle, glancing back toward the entrance before he sat at the end. He swallowed the lump in his throat as more and more guests arrived and took their seats until eventually, everyone was seated and the music began.

(Y/N) fidgeted with his fingers, hearing the soft sound of shoes clicking against the floor and a body moved past him. He stared at the wooden pew in front of him, toying with his glove before he lifted his gaze. Anthony bowed before Queen Charlotte before taking his spot on the left side of the archbishop. Anthony looked toward his family first before he met (Y/N)s gaze. (Y/N) turned his head away from him and looked back at Kate as she walked. She looked at him and her lips quirked into a pitiful yet supportive smile, eyes softening as she passed him. She curtsied before Her Majesty and stood off to the archbishops' right. She glanced at Anthony, gaze hardening for a moment.

"There she is.." (Y/N) heard his mother whisper and he shifted, standing up alongside his parents as Edwina walked down the aisle, hand in hand with her mother. The guests marveled at her beauty and Edwinas' happiness was enough to make a smile tug at (Y/N)s' lips. Such a pure, kind soul. (Y/N) couldn't bring himself to find a single fault in her, even as she stood in front of Anthony and smiled at him.

"Please be seated." The archbishop's voice bounced off the walls, echoing through the large room. He waited for everyone to be seated before continuing. "Dearly beloved, we are gathered together here in the sight of God, and in the face of this congregation, to join together this man and this woman in holy matrimony. And therefore, it is not by any to be enterprise, nor taken in hand, unadvisedly, lightly, and wantonly to satisfy men's carnal lusts and appetites..."

(Y/N) bit the inside of his cheek and shifted slightly in his seat, unable to get comfortable. He felt Henry subtly press his arm against his in an attempt to bring him some comfort, though it did little to calm him. He made eye contact with Anthony again and he held it this time, the tight-lipped smile on Anthony's face shifting into a frown. They hadn't spoken in the night at the Bridgertons' house and (Y/N) doubted they'd ever speak again, especially after the harsh words he'd thrown at him. But a part of him wanted to speak with him, to ask him, to hear him out. Even if it hurt.

"My lord?" Anthonys' head snapped toward the archbishop and he blinked, looking at Edwina before he gazed back at (Y/N). (Y/N) pressed his lips together when Edwina glanced back at him, her brows furrowing. He could see the wheels begin to turn in her head and it seemed Kate had noticed too, her fingers anxiously toying with the jewelry around her wrists. One suddenly unlatched and fell to the ground with a soft clang, drawing Anthonys' attention. Before Kate could crouch down to pick it up, Anthony stepped forward, head lifting to look at (Y/N) as he picked it up. Edwina watched him closely and when she noticed Anthony looking at the painter once more, her grip on her bouquet loosened.

"Thank you, My Lord," Kate whispered as Anthony handed her back her bracelet but her eyes remained solely on her sister, eyes almost pleading as Edwina's breathing became heavy and irregular.

"Miss Edwina-"

"I need a moment!" She stepped away from Anthony, glancing back at (Y/N) before racing down the aisle. Her mother and sister were quick to run after her as loud murmuring filled the air, followed by the loud sound of fireworks going on. (Y/N) focused on the pew in front of him again and released a shaky breath.

"This is why I warned you, time and time again." His father muttered quietly. Disappointment. "Because people get hurt. I taught you better than this."

Silently rising from the pew, (Y/N) joined the guests leaving the chapel and headed up the stairs, aimlessly walking until he found an empty room to occupy. He shut the doors behind him and sniffled, his fathers' words and tone echoing in his mind as he walked further into the small room, the hot tears slipping down his face. He sniffled and inhaled deeply, resting his hands on the desk at the end of the room as he tried to calm himself.

He'd spent half his childhood trying to make his father proud, trying to keep him happy so he wouldn't leave on another trip around the world. To disappoint him after so many years... And poor Edwina. Such a sweet and gentle soul. Her wide, warm eyes filled with shock.

"Fuck." (Y/N) grunted, slipping his gloves off and throwing them on the floor. Furiously wiping away the tears that refused to stop, he continued to breathe in and out until the doors suddenly opened and closed. He spun around and stared at an equally surprised Kate. One of her bracelets slipped from her fingers and fell to the ground before the other one followed. She stared at him and took two slow steps forward.

"She knows," Kate whispered, quickening her pace and throwing her arms around (Y/N), a sob shaking her body. "She knows and she hates me."

"Who? Edwina?"

"Yes!" Kate wailed, knees giving out from underneath her. (Y/N) quickly wrapped his arms around her waist and crouched down, moving onto his knees and gently setting Kate down. The brunette sobbed and buried her face into his neck, hiccuping softly.

"Kate, she could never hate you." (Y/N) assured her and pulled back to cup her warm, tear-stained cheeks. "You are her sister. You love her and she loves you, she knows that. She's angry, yes, but it will pass. You have not wronged her, not like Anthony and I have."

"I kept it from her. I should've told her and saved her the heartbreak and embarrassment. Her face... She looked destroyed, (Y/N)." Kate shook her head, strands of hair sticking to her face. She brought her knees up to her chests and wrapped her arms around them, squeezing her eyes shut and forcing more tears down her face.

"I know... She's hurting right now. It will hurt for days, weeks... Months, even. But she won't be mad at you for long. She's just taking her anger out on you for now cause she's overwhelmed. She does not hate you, Kate. She may say it or think it right now, but in her heart, she loves you. She just needs space and time to take everything in." He wiped the tears away and placed his hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "Breathe, Kate."

Taking in a few deep breaths and exhaling, Kate slowly calmed herself down enough for the tears to stop. She gently rubbed her cheeks, drying her skin with the fabric of her gloves. "And how are you?"

"Not well." He responded with a sigh. "But just like you, I'll feel better soon."

"This is all his fault."

"And mine." (Y/N) added softly, raising his brows at her. Kate parted her lips to object but ultimately said nothing, looking away instead and sighing with a small nod.

"Come on, Kate." (Y/N) rose from the dusty floor, offering Kate his hand and pulling her up alongside him. He smiled at her and brushed back some of her hair strands. It'd only be a matter of time before someone went looking for them, and if they were to be found alone... Well, they'd be the ones getting married.

"I'll go first and after a few seconds, you can come out." (Y/N) instructed, taking her hands in his and squeezing them gently.

With a soft sigh, (Y/N) retrieved his gloves from the floor and exited the room, stepping out into the hallway as he wiped the dust away from his gloves. He glanced down one end of the hall in search of his parents before looking down the other end, only to see Anthony. (Y/N)s' eyes widened slightly and when Anthony began walking towards him, he stumbled back into the hallway and toward the room, throwing the door open.

"(Y/N), what-"

"Go, go!" (Y/N) quickly pushed Kate deeper into the room and shut the door but his silent prayer went unheard as the door opened and Anthony stared at the two in bewilderment.

"Oh." Kate breathed.

"What are you two doing alone again?" Anthony questioned, gently shutting the door to not draw any attention before facing them.

"This is our place of refuge."

"A closet?" He furrowed his brows and Kate scoffed softly.

"Yes, now, please go." Kate walked toward him and the door, reaching for the doorknob but Anthony quickly stepped in front of her to prevent her from reaching it.

"No, we must speak. All of us."

"I have nothing to say to you-"

"I just spoke with Miss Edwina. She was harsher than I knew her capable of being. I concede I do not know her as well as you do, Kate, which is why you must do something." Anthony said, looking down at Kate, expression soft and pleading. Kate's shoulders slumped and she turned away from him, shaking her head.

"What would you have me do, My Lord? More plotting and scheming? It seems my sister has finally become wise to it all. In one way... I should feel quite proud." Kate said with a sad smile, wrapping her arms around herself and looking back at Anthony. He frowned and scoffed softly.

"So, you intend to cease to help her and hide in a closet as she ruins her life?"

"She's not ruining her life, Anthony. Edwina is simply doing what she wants, instead of what you want. If she wishes to put an end to this whole mess then so be it. She has a choice, she sees that now. She certainly doesn't need you intervening because you're upset someone finally realized what type of person you truly are." (Y/N) spat. Anthony swallowed and lowered his gaze, shutting his eyes briefly before looking back up at him.

"Give us a moment, Miss Sharma."

"No, Kate, stay-" (Y/N) stepped toward Kate but Anthony grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Please." He pleaded softly. (Y/N) grinded his teeth together and looked him in the eye. The questions he had could be answered, but he could also risk being left with even more doubts. Tearing his eyes away from Anthony and looking back at Kate, he pursed his lips and shook his head, tugging his arm free.

"You've had many chances, Anthony. I will not be made a fool by you again." (Y/N) stated and brushed past him, thrusting the doors open and stepping out. He felt his breathing go uneven and he made his way downstairs, entering the now empty and quiet chapel. Relieved with no one in sight, (Y/N) took slow steps forward and settled down on one of the pews.

He'd been one of the few to never attend a service. All the times he'd stepped into a church were to speak to the priests about a painting or to witness a wedding. Even if he had wanted to, the servants were the only ones who could take him as his parents were too busy. His father off on his travels or entertained by a younger man and his mother occupying herself by hosting her friends. A lonesome childhood. One that may have resulted in his desire to please others, to forgive them, to be kind.

(Y/N) sat there, for hours it felt, before he heard footsteps clicking down the aisle. He turned in his seat and sighed when he saw Anthony. He rose from the pew, one hand gripping the back of it as he frowned.

"What do you want?"

"Did you not send for me?"

"What?" (Y/N)s' brows furrowed. His eyes shifted onto Kate as she entered the chapel as well, looking between them in utter confusion. She cleared her throat and clasped her hands in front of her, taking slow steps forward.

"You sent for me, (Y/N)?"

"I-" (Y/N) felt his breath hitch in his throat when he spotted Edwina entering after Kate. She held her head high, still clad in her long white dress. Her face, once bright and happy, now usually stoic and devoid of emotion. She stopped in the middle of the aisle, letting her eyes sweep over her sister and fiancé.

"I have made my decision." She announced. "I thought it best you all hear it from me."

"Edwina, we should speak in private," Kate interjected but Edwina ignored her and walked forward.

"I cannot marry you, Lord Bridgerton. You cannot provide me with what it is that I want. What it is that I deserve." Edwina glowered, jaw clenched and eyes full of fire. "What everyone deserves." She added, this time more softly as she looked at (Y/N). Her features hardened once more and she looked back at Anthony. "I may not know exactly what true love feels like but I certainly know what it is not. It is not deception or wandering eyes, or a role to be fulfilled. I cannot marry you because I cannot betray myself. You will never meet my eyes in the same manner you met Mr. Granville's on that altar today. You will never... You will never look at me the same way."

With a shaky breath, Edwina turned away from Anthony and faced her sister. "You say you have spent your life trying to give me everything I lacked, but really, you simply gave me everything you really wanted for yourself, as though my life were not my own. I did not ask for any of it, Kate! So, today, I can be sure that what I leave behind is not my loss. It is yours. You say you tried shielding me, protecting me from the truth when truly, you were just protecting yourself. Today, you have lost your power while I have made up my own mind. And that is victory enough for me." Inhaling softly, she began making her way toward the exit before abruptly stopping and looking at (Y/N) over her shoulder.

"Despite my lack of knowledge when it comes to true love, I know that when I find it, he will not keep me a secret." (Y/N) watched her disappear behind the drapes, her words feeling like a punch to the gut. (Y/N) dug his teeth into his bottom lip and turned his head to look at Anthony, fingers digging into the wood of the pew.

"I must..." Kate swallowed, blinking away unshed tears and grasping at her dress, lifting it barely off the ground and quickly going after Edwina.

A moment of silence passed, the two men standing still, unable to form the right words. Anthony could feel the silence choking him. Once upon a time, he found the silence pleasing and comfortable. Now, all he wanted to do was hear (Y/N)s' voice, even if it meant being screamed at. But instead, (Y/N) turned toward him with a sad smile.

"If we hadn't met if we hadn't spoken... If we had been smarter... None of this would've happened. You would've been celebrating your marriage right now." (Y/N) spoke, voice barely audible. "You would've been happy with a bride at your side and-"

"No." Anthony breathed and shook his head. He took long strides, brows forming wrinkles on his forehead as he took (Y/N)s' hands in his own, wrapping his fingers around them and holding them to his chest. "I wouldn't have been happy. Not in a million years."

"Anthony, I... I care for you. But I know that while I can give you what you want, I cannot give you what you need. You're a Bridgerton... The first-born son who needs an heir to carry on the family name and legacy. You've said it countless times before. You and I burned but like any flame, we would've gone out sooner or later. It's time we put this thing between us to rest, for the sake of our families and our sanity." (Y/N) leaned forward, pressing his lips against Anthonys'. He didn't allow the kiss to last for long, knowing it'd be harder to pull apart if it did. Resting his forehead against Anthonys, he sighed softly.

"It was nice while it lasted... My Lord."

ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ

"What a scandal."

"Not now, Steph." (Y/N) grunted, the tip of his pencil breaking against the paper. He cursed softly under his breath and leaned back in the bench, fingers rubbing the side of his temple. A headache had settled in the previous day and no matter how much tea he drank or how much fresh air he got, it refused to budge. An inconvenience he didn't need in the slightest.

"It hasn't gone away? Perhaps you're getting sick." Stephanie mused, tapping her folded fan against her clothed thigh.

"Perhaps." He muttered. Stephanie reached over and wrapped her arm around his, gently coaxing him up.

"Then we shall cut this walk short. I wouldn't want you pushing yourself too much." (Y/N) nodded, closing his sketchbook and holding it against his hip as he stood. Stephanie motioned for her maid to follow before the two began walking down the path, a cool breeze keeping their bodies from warming too much. (Y/N) turned her head toward the lake, watching the twinkling water. An image that once soothed his mind now did nothing for him. Maybe he truly was getting sick.

"Mr. Granville!" (Y/N)s' head snapped forward to look at Violet and he felt his headache intensify. Clearing his throat and trying not to wince, he offered her a smile. Violet glanced at Stephanie and licked her lips, parting them only to close them. (Y/N) glanced at his blonde friend and hummed softly.

"Steph, give us a moment, please?"

"Of course." Stephanie smiled politely at Violet and strode forward, beckoning her maid with a flick of her wrist.

"What is it, Lady Bridgerton?" Playing dumb with the woman who had eight children. As if he didn't look like a child who'd been caught with their hand in the cookie jar. Violet released a breathy chuckle and clasped her hands together, glancing at everyone who walked past them. Each person eyed the woman with either pity or disappointment and (Y/N) had been partly to blame for it.

"Join us at Lady Danburys', please. You are part of this scandal as much as the rest of us, even if the ton doesn't know it."

(Y/N) wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He stared at his gloved hands as Lady Danbury ranted about the tons' reaction to the scandal, looking absolutely enraged. He could feel Edwinas' stare burning into the side of his head and almost as if it were in cahoots with her, his headache squeezed around his brain.

"We know what we are to deal with, at least." Violet piped up softly.

"We shall not remove ourselves from this fight. All will be lost if we run now." Lady Sharma voiced, one hand in Kate's, her thumb rubbing soothing circles in her daughters' hand.

Edwina scoffed softly. "I shall like to remove myself from this room." She muttered bitterly as she rose from her seat and fetched herself some sugar for her drink. Her mother stared after her in surprise and guilt.

"Every day that goes by without our altering the ton-shared sentiment will harden it." Lady Danbury pointed out, hard eyes flickering between the two men.

"Perhaps we need another story as to why things ended." Lady Sharma looked at them with a look that only mothers gave to their children when they were disappointed in them. (Y/N) swallowed, pressing himself further against his seat and praying he'd be excused and allowed to leave in the next few minutes.

"We have already started to tell one. We cannot change course now." Lady Danbury rebutted with a shake of her head.

"Well, if we cannot speak about the reasons, might we at least act as though they are of no consequence to us?" Violet raised her brows and looked at Lady Sharma before turning toward Lady Danbury with a knowing look. Lady Danbury grinned widely.

"A ball."

"Yes! Together. We prove to the ton that our story is true. It was indeed a mutual decision between all interested parties, and there is no scandal or ill will between our families at all." Violet beamed and Edwina set her cup down with a clank, an exasperated look on her face. Lady Sharma gave her youngest a look.

"A ball would give Edwina the chance to find another suitor." She raised her brows at her.

"Another ball? So that the ton might inspect this wreckage with an even closer eye?" Anthony finally spoke for the first time that evening but he didn't look in (Y/N)s' direction and neither did the painter. Edwina stared at the two of them with a clenched jaw before humming.

"A ball may very well work." Edwina nodded and Violet smiled widely. "After all, the Viscount and Mr. Granville have been so good at hiding their true feelings from everyone in public this far! It should not trouble them to do the same a little longer." The ladies' smiles dropped and Lady Sharma quietly hissed Edwina's name. Edwina looked at her mother with a frown before little Newton scurried into the room, barking up a storm and running right up to (Y/N). The painter couldn't help but smile and lean down, giving the corgi the attention he demanded.

"Newton!" Kate tutted and stood up from her seat but Anthony leaned over, gently pushing the dog away from the painter.

"Oh, it's fine." (Y/N) chuckled, standing up from his seat alongside Anthony. With another call from Kate, Newton finally obeyed his owner and waddled over into her arms. (Y/N) watched him with a smile before turning his head to look at Anthony. The Bridgerton hummed softly, staring into his eyes with a small smile of his own. He leaned over slightly, purposefully brushing his shoulder against (Y/N)s', looking away when (Y/N) gave him a look.

"Was I truly that blind?" Edwina gaped at the two, spinning around to face the others. "Were they always this obvious?"

"If this plan is to work..." Violet began as she rose from her seat.

"I suggest the two of you stay on opposite sides of the room at all times." Lady Danbury finished for her, gripping the top of her cane and leaning over, smacking the side of Anthonys' leg. Before (Y/N) could chuckle, she did the same to him, forcing the two to step away from each other.

"All we need would be for someone to witness something untoward-"

"I beg your pardon, Lady Danbury. I do not know what you mean to say." Anthony cut in quickly with a scoff as his mother approached him.

"What she means to say, Anthony is that those of us in this room at present are the only ones who know the full truth of the matter," Violet explained, placing a hand on Anthonys' arm.

"And we would prefer to keep it that way. You of all people should know the risk of this being found out, (Y/N)." Lady Danbury raised her brows and he swallowed, eyes falling onto the carpet beneath him.

"I'm fully aware that many would call for my... our death if the ton were to find out."

"Precisely why there must not even be a passing look between the two of you, lest we wish to read about it in Lady Whistledown. Are we clear?"

"Quite, Lady Danbury."

"Yes." (Y/N) nodded, taking her nod as a dismissal and turning away. He walked out of the drawing room and headed down the hall, one hand ghosting over the railing. He felt the world spin and squeezed his eyes shut, hand clamping around it. Sucking in a breath, he brought a hand up to his forehead.

"Are you alright, Mr. Granville?" A servant questioned.

"Mm? Yes, I'm alright, thank you." (Y/N) replied breathily and smiled at the maid. She hesitantly nodded and continued up the stairs.

ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ ꕤ

"This one is yours, right, darling?" Lucy motioned to the painting before them, smiling up at it.

"Yes, it's the lake beside grandfather's estate at sunrise. If you look closely, you can see Moonlight standing in front of the lake." (Y/N) smiled fondly. Lucy chuckled and nodded, staring at the painting for a moment longer, the longing to see her late parents again evident on her face. Stepping closer to her son, she sighed.

"Moonlight had always been your grandfathers' favorite. I'm glad you share similar feelings." Glancing at the painting one last time, she turned away and observed the statue nearby.

"Mrs. Granville." Lucy and her son turned their heads to look at Violet as she approached. (Y/N) inhaled. Right, the ball. Violet smiled at him knowingly before facing his mother and taking her hand.

"We're hosting a ball later this week. I was hoping you'd be able to make it."

"I'll have to speak with my husband first." Lucy returned the smile and gave Violet's hand a gentle squeeze, letting it slip from her grasp afterward and glancing back at her son before she continued. Violet watched her go before sighing and looking at (Y/N).

"Was that a yes or a no?"

"Sounded like a no." (Y/N) answered truthfully, offering his arm for her to take. Violet did so and shook her head, glancing at the others as they whispered and murmured, not even bothering to hide their distaste.

"If I'm honest... I had my suspicions. Anthony doesn't get attached to strangers so easily, especially his siblings' friends. At first, I thought you'd been the exception, and then when Anthony told me one day that he hadn't been feeling well and what he described sounded like a crush..." Violet trailed off, speaking quietly. "Deep down, I knew it had to be you."

"I know for most parents finding out your child is... Well, most would consider it a nightmare."

"But I don't." Violet frowned, shaking her head. "I certainly don't understand it, but I do not believe it is a nightmare. In fact, I'm relieved. For the longest time, I thought Anthony had been incapable of love after Edmund died. I knew he cared for the singer he'd been seeing but I didn't believe it was love. Then, you came along and I saw him look alive... And happy. You're good for him, (Y/N). I'll never be able to hate my children for being who they are and I certainly can't hate you for making my son happy. Whatever you two decide to do, I just hope you'll at least remain friends cause Anthony isn't the only one who enjoys your company in the family." Violet smiled warmly, inhaling softly before she stepped away to mingle with the others. (Y/N) watched her go and swallowed, continuing to walk down the aisle until he stopped by a statue.

(Y/N) knew he couldn't expect less from Violet. Her love for her children was tremendous and an example to all mothers. He doubted she could hate anyone unless they directly harmed her family. (Y/N) wished he'd met her as a child. Perhaps his youth would've been spent running with Benedict instead of being fretted over by maids within the walls of the Granville house.

"Your mother is an angel, I'm sure of it." (Y/N) murmured and looked at Anthony as he stood beside him. Anthonys' lips quirked, eyes looking over the statue before he turned his head to look at the painter.

"We shouldn't linger around each other for long, Anthony. Unless you wish to face Lady Danbury and her cane." (Y/N) glanced over his shoulder in search of said woman, in case her hawk eyes had spotted them together.

"I'd face her wrath a million times over if it meant being by your side." (Y/N) despised the way his lips formed a smile and the involuntary chuckle that slipped past them. Anthony perked at the sound of it and his eyes softened.

"You should give poetry another attempt, Anthony. It appears you're getting better at it."

"If that's what you want." Anthony continued, voice softening. He stepped around (Y/N) and went back to inspecting the statue to not attract any wandering eyes.

"Flattery will not change my mind, Anthony."

"Your smile says otherwise."

#x reader #x you #x y/n #x male reader #bridgerton x male reader #bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x reader #Anthony bridgerton x male reader #kate sharma #kate sharma x reader #edwina sharma #violet bridgerton #lady danbury #lady sharma #mary sharma

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italymystery-swanqueen · 6 months

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Ao3

#swanqueen #swen #swan queen #supercat #mirandy #zelda spellman #mambo marie #lady alcina x reader

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alewritesfics · 2 years

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ꗟ𝓮𝓻𝓮𝓷𝓭𝓲𝓹𝓲𝓽𝔂 one; Who are you?

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Sharma! reader

Words: 1.3k

Summary: your arrival at Aubrey Hall.

Warnings: Anthony is a jerk at first, talks of death (a new mini story!)

Serendipity Masterlist Masterlist

The Manor was silent and cold, without any sign of life, just as it has been since that horrible day 2 years ago. The day Kate Bridgerton, nee Sharma, died along with the heir to be the next viscount during childbirth.

He loved Kate very much, he thought she was the love of his life. After everything they had went through in 1814, all the scandals, he was lucky she decided to marry him at the end, what Anthony had with her was a real love, not a marriage of convenience. That’s why her death hit him hard, taking with her a piece of Anthony Bridgerton when she died. He felt as if a part of him died that fateful night. He completely shut himself off from everyone, he closed down the Manor and set away all but the minimal staff possible, he wasn’t able to look at them, watch them mourn his wife as he did, she was loved by all of them.

He did not spend time with his family anymore, he hid inside the Manor, inside his study all day, never came out except to sleep, eat and go to the bathroom.

Just as he was once again, buried in his study, working endlessly on some papers, a cold cup of tea next to him when banging on the front door brought him out of his work. He ignored it and went back to his work, thinking some of the few staff he still had will open it soon enough. That was not the case as a few minutes later the banging started once again.

“Mrs. Wilson will you get the door!” Anthony yelled to the butler that was somewhere around the house. The banging still continued “Mrs. Wilson! –“ he groaned annoyed, stood up from his chair and headed down to the door.

He opened the door and came face to face with a young lady shivering, wet head to toe from the rain pouring outside furiously. He raised an eyebrow questioningly.

“Lord Bridgerton?” You questioned, when he nodded you spoke once again “I was told you could help me, I came all the way from India and need some place to rest –“

He rolled his eyes “I think you are confused, My house is not some charity that helps the needed” He went to close the door, once again annoyed that his work was interrupted by some girl that was asking for housing.

“ Wait! I am Kate’s cousin!” You spoke desperately before he closed the door. He stopped and took another look at you, now that he looked closely, you looked a lot like Kate “I am Kate’s cousin, Y/n Sharma” ah so this is the famous Y/n Kate always spoke to him about.

He sighed and opened the door again, gesturing for you to enter, he closed the door and led you to the drawing room “Mrs. Wilson!” he called our before he heard feet approaching to the drawing room quickly

“I am so sorry, my lord, I was helping Thomas in the Kitchen and then I went to the scullery to wash some pots and –“ the housekeeper spoke

“Just get the girl a towel, she is dripping water all over the room” he waved her off gesturing to you

“Of course, my lord, in a moment” the lady scurried off somewhere before Anthony turned back to you, looking you up and down before narrowing his eyes

“How did you know where I lived?” Anthony asked you

“Kate sent me a letter before she… she told me if I ever needed any help, to come to this location and she would help me” You answered looking down at the mention of her. She was practically your sister, that is why you were devastated when Aunt Mary sent you a letter informing you of what happened, of Kate’s death. “There were some complications back in India, some things happened and I could not live there any longer. Kate told me if I ever needed any place to live, she would gladly house me here in Aubrey Hall”

“Yes, well, she is not here, is she?” Anthony grumbled, clenching his jaw “I am afraid I cannot help you, you can stay here for the night since it is late, and it is pouring outside, but tomorrow I am afraid you will have to go somewhere else, as I said before, my house is not a charity that helps the needed ”

You furrowed your eyebrows, taken aback by his cold attitude, way different from the way Kate told you Anthony was in her letters “Why are you such an asshole? You are very rude, way different from how she said you were, she would be disappointed to see the way you are acting with a member from her family, with me, her and I were very close” you scoffed, he glared at you angrily, opening his mouth to speak when the housekeeper entered the room once again

“Here it is dear,” Mrs. Wilson said putting the towel around your shoulders

“Mrs. Wilsom, please show our guest to a bed chamber, she will be staying the night” Anthony announced

“Yes, of course” She nodded and led you to a room “Oh, we must make you a warm bath, otherwise you will get ill from the cold rain”

You walked down the stairs, holding the few belongings you came with. You were crossing the dining room when you saw the viscount sitting down, eating his breakfast. You stopped and entered the room making him look up from his plate, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I am leaving now, I thank you for your hospitality and am sorry for any disturbances I may have caused, Farewell viscount Bridgerton” You bowed your head respectfully and walked away.

You were not sure where you would go now, you did not even know where your Aunt Mary resided now since it has been a long time since you have received any letter from the Sharma family, since Kate’s death more precisely.

“Miss Sharma” the viscount called out, you stopped as you heard him approach you behind you “May I know where you are headed now?”

You turned around to look at him “ Well… I… was going to my Aunt’s home, she would be more than happy to have me, I am sure” you nodded

“Oh really?” He raises an eyebrow “I was certain you would have known that Lady Mary was visiting Miss Edwina in Prussia, were you not told?” he stated, you looked at him shocked.

Prussia? What on earth would Edwina be doing in Prussia?

“I…” You looked down at the ground before looking up at him again “ Truth be told, I have not received a letter from them ever since….. Kate’s death…” you saw him clench his jaw at your comment “But worry not, I will find somewhere to reside in, I have been told Lady Danbury is a great friend of my family and they have told me she has offered to also take me in”

“Listen, Lady Danbury is visiting my sister Daphne and her husband at Clyvedown and she will not be back anytime soon, your aunt said she will be back in 2 months” he sighed rubbing his forehead in frustration “I cannot let you out in the streets, you are Kate’s family after all and she would have never forgiven me if I let you leave so…. You can stay while your aunt comes back”

“Really?” You exclaimed “Oh thank you so much!” you squealed when he nodded and brought him into a hug, when you felt him turn rigid you let him go quickly “Sorry, but thank you so much, I promise I will not disturb you”

Anthony nodded pursuing his lips “ I will tell Mrs. Wilson to prepare you a room” and left without another word

Well he certainly was not someone of many words

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #violet bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #edmund bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #lady mary sharma #lady danbury #edwina sharma #kate sharma

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mariposiel · 1 year

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✎ … MASTERLIST

*BLOG ON INDEFINITE HIATUS

INTRODUCTION: Welcome! Here is where you’ll find all of my published works, either on AO3, or Tumblr.

FOREWARNING: This blog contains content for both S4 and its special! Please see my Carrd for more guidelines and information.

CONTENT: I’ve written reader-insert works for The Hobbit and LEGO Monkie Kid! Besides fanfics, I create fan art as well. You can find more information about these by clicking the fandom links. Art and writing requests are closed.

NAVIGATION: You can find my writings and other personal posts under #mari muses. As for my art, you can find them under #mari’s doodles. For fan work recommendations, you can find those under #mari’s favs.

WITHOUT FURTHER ADO: Enjoy browsing through my blog!

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rosemaze-reveries · 2 years

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treasured jewels 🪞

pairing. bloody queen (amethyst duchess) x you pronouns. unspecified synopsis. do you want to be put in your place by the duchess yes/no (yes)

Every night, the Amethyst Duchess takes inventory of all her wares. She counts them one-by-one regardless of whether any customers had come to visit or not. The care that goes into her shop is something she never compromises on, and you know better than to interrupt her.

Her reaction is always very predictable: she will bark out a string of insults, threaten to pluck your eyes with her jeweled hairpin, and refuse to speak with you for a week. Every time, without fail.

Despite knowing this, you still find yourself drawn to her in those moments. The late hours are one of the only chances you have to catch her alone. You can see her through the glass windows of her shop, sitting with her legs crossed, tucking that one strand of hair that keeps coming loose back behind her ear. Her head is clouded with records while yours is clouded with thoughts of her.

Sometimes she catches your gaze. It’s always very abrupt — her eyes flick away from her notepad to meet you in the time it takes you to blink — and you almost trip backwards, the pit of your stomach fluttering on your almost-way down. You aren’t very subtle.

At this point, the Duchess just about expects to see you perched somewhere. But today is unusual in that interrupting her is something you’ve been tasked with doing. Not for no reason, of course. It’s a package delivery on behalf of the Duke. Still, this feels so awkward. Maybe you have gotten too comfortable expecting nothing out of your nightly encounters.

The Duchess accepts her package with a brief thank-you. You expect to leave right after, but before you can go she gestures to the cushioned stool in front of her dressing table. And her lips, curling up into a cherry-red smile, beckon you forward.

“Sit,” she instructs. You’re not one to argue.

♡

The Duchess steps behind you with a click of her heels, her skirt swaying like a painting come to life. She places one hand on your shoulder, and every muscle tenses up inside of you. Then, very suddenly, she dips the other into your thigh pocket. That prompts a gentle gasp out of you, one that you hope isn’t audible.

“What is this you carry with you?”

The Duchess draws out a glittering amulet necklace, its delicate silver chain winding around her fingers. They are thin and feminine, with nails painted a royal purple, but they’re far from dainty — not just any pair of hands can be so skilled with intricate jewelry making.

“A necklace,” you tell her.

“You don’t wear it,” she observes.

“No,” you agree. “But it is mine.” You sound as though you’re worried she might accuse you of stealing it from her. As if the Duchess wouldn’t be able to tell her own wares from yours.

“Hm. What’s it for?”

“Just something I keep on me. Good luck and all that.”

“Luck...” she echoes. “With your nightly endeavors lurking around my shop?”

“!! Wait, that’s—”

She cuts you off with a soft laugh, raising the back of her hand to cover her mouth. “Oh, I couldn’t help myself. You’re so easy. Here, take it back.” When she slides you back your amulet, you ball it into your hands, very embarrassed by how quickly this turned on you.

“I-I’m sorry.” It’s all you can say. Her laugh is unexpected. You thought she might curse you out for invading a lady’s privacy, and perhaps break your amulet while at it. But she only continues to laugh, and you feel like rotting in shame. “I’m sorry for acting improper...”

She lets out one final, airy chuckle. “As you should. I was thoroughly revolted in the beginning. And don’t mistake this for tolerance -- it isn’t. You’re just so harmless.”

Easy, harmless. This isn’t doing anything to redeem your pride. But you suppose it’s a good thing if she’s laughing... right?

“And,” she says, “I know the feeling of awful lovesickness myself very well.” She tucks that strand of hair behind her ear again, the one that’s always falling out. You avert your gaze to her collection of velvet jewelry stands littering the table. That’s a habit of hers you’ve come to adore. It’s somewhat embarrassing to see it up close.

She returns her hands to her side and steps away from the table. Then, she stops at a nearby mirror, gently weaving her fingers through her hair.

“That necklace could use a bit of maintenance. Will you bring it back tomorrow? Earlier in the day will be fine. And make sure you have time to spare.”

“Um... Yeah, sure!”

You take this as your cue to leave, and quickly stuff the amulet back in your pocket.

“I do expect payment,” she reminds you, “but not with money. We’ll use an alternate method.”

In your haste to rush out of the shop, you nod along to everything she tells you.

“I’ll have it ready within two hours. Only after your payment is complete, of course.”

“Right, thank you! Tomorrow, then.”

Once you’re a good distance away from the Princess’ Choice, her conditions suddenly hit you: whatever is an ‘alternate method’ supposed to mean?

#MY LADY #identity v #idv imagines #bloody queen #mary x you #mary x reader #bloody queen x you #bloody queen x reader #amethyst duchess #amethyst duchess x you

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emmaofnormandy · 2 years

Text

What if Chapuys designates Obi-Wan Kenobi to protect the Lady Mary in dangerous times... (part I)

The year was 1544. Eustace Chapuys, ambassador to the Emperor Karl V to the court of Henry VIII, has been told, after many years of service in England, that he was required in Madrid. But he was genuinely concerned about leaving Princess Mary, unfairly entitled as merely a lady, without supporters. Even though the new queen of England was very sympathetic towards the princess and thus friendly to her cause, there were religious matters that could leave the daughter of Queen Katherine of Aragon in danger.

Fearing for the life of his protegée, he decided, out of peace of his conscience, to leave someone he trusted to look out after the princess. Those were dangerous times, Chapuy thought, and every precaution was considerated. That was when he decided to contact the Order of Jedi...

***

Hunsdon House, Hertfordshire.

Eyes closed, scapular in hands. Lady Mary breathed in, breathed out almost as in the slow rhythm with which the priest prayed Pater Noster. She felt at peace with herself in these moments, as if the sacred teachings of Christ, recorded by the evangelists, would embrace her true self and remember her that “whosoever shall exalt himself shall be abased; and he that shall humble himself shall be exalted”.

That day Matthew the Apostle’s gospel was read and that particular quote voiced the deep pain that seemed unending to the princess. Memories often came back uninvited. She regretted for never being able to say goodbye from her mother. And even though she should have forgiven that woman for what was done against herself and the true queen of England, Mary knew the scars too well to let them heal for themselves.

She shut her eyes, seeking for comfort in Jesus by concentrating harder in the words said. Curiously, homilies that day spoke of forgiveness. But, in truth, was she ready to forgive those who harmed her? I need to make my confessions again, she thought in deep trouble.

The mass eventually came to an end and as the priests started to disperse, lady Mary stood and parted for the great hall where meal awaited. It was the start of another day and everything seemed to follow the routine etiquette. Sometimes it tired Mary, but she knew this was what was necessary to keep everything in order.

Followed by her trusted ladies, she was expected to break the fast with some of the important men of the clergy. Of course, she thought to herself rather melancholically, they would search for me beseeching my favor in opposition to the king. But lady Mary would never go against His Majesty’s wishes. Not when she aimed to be at his favor for many reasons. But also because, her conscience reminded her, the Bible advices a child must not forsake the familial duties expected to be performed.

Such were her thoughts as she crossed path with some courtiers. Lady Mary acknowledged the presence of some Howards here and there, the Courteneys’, amongst others as she held her head high and took her usual seat. A bishop of Norfolk praised the Lord and blessed the meal before it was finally allowed for people to break their fast.

“Your Highness”, Mary spotted a secretary to Chapuys requesting for her presence. She smiled gently at him, giving the man permission to step forward and speak. “If I may, I would like to have a word with you in private. My lordship has requested me to do so.”

Lady Mary felt in her heart the depart of Chapuys, but she wondered what were the unfinished business the man left for his secretary to tell her. It must be important otherwise he would have spoken in public. She had to be careful, though. One could never count there would be no spies in one’s household.

“Can it wait after the breakfast?” She inquired softly.

The man looked rather unsure as if he debate with himself upon it. Lady Mary understood the meal could be post aside in order to attend her dear friend’s request. She excused herself from the ladies and took the man by his elbow out of the great hall. They were now set at the empty corridors.

“Well, what’s it?” She asked him, her tone indicating the preoccupation to the matter.

The secretary looked respectfully at his mistress and cleared his throat before going straight to the point as told by Chapuys in his orders.

“My master is worried about leaving you without someone of his trust to guard you”, said he in a whisper.

Lady Mary glanced at him, partly amused.

“As much as I appreciate my lord ambassador’s concerns, he knows I am perfectly capable of handling certain delicated matters by myself.”

“He does not intend to be understood as underestimating Your Highness by looking after you, ma’am”, said the secretary, apprehensive. “He contacted an Order he’s been familiar with, an Order of Knights who are vowed to protect those who required their services with loyalty and peace.”

Lady Mary wondered if she was really in danger for Chapuys going to the extremes by hiring the services of such a knight.

“What order is this I’ve never heard of? Can’t surely be the Templars for they have been extincts…”

The secretary smiled.

“No, m’lady, they have not. This order is related in some sorts to the Templars, having been founded by one of them. It’s called the Order of Jedi and their best knight has been assigned to protect you and ensure that you are completely safe.”

***

When Obi-Wan was assigned the mission to go to a far away realm whilst he’s been expecting to spend no more than one or two months in Planet Earth to eradicate the last of the Siths who’d been there, he was not entirely happy for having his stay prolongated. But when it came to duties, the Jedi was ready to fulfill them. It was always like this, it should not be different at the present.

This was a very odd planet, in his opinion. Despite the beautiful landscape and all the buildings in a style never before seen by Obi-Wan, people had views that seemed antiquated in many ways. Why, for instance, could not a woman rule in her rights? The excuses his heard would offend Padme and Satine’s ears.

Mace Windu had accompanied him to this task concernings Siths and it was he who delivered the next mission to Kenobi. In many ways it was not different than what he used to do when he was sent to Mandalore many years ago or, in recent history, when he was assigned to protect Queen Padme.

It was now once more up to him to protect another princess. An Earth princess, so Obi-Wan thought. One could only wonder what she had been through, and so far what he’d seen of the people of Earth he could not believe that a princess would be happy.

Yet he was not there to change social circumstances, something he was familiar with. Obi-Wan was no politician and he would rather to continue this way. All it mattered for him was peace and the duties to the Jedi Order.

“As a Jedi, I am not going to remember your duties, Obi-Wan. Yet, it’s always wise to highlight the fact we cannot bound to others in any way possible”, so said Windu, in what Obi-Wan understood as a reference to his former attachment to Duchess Satine.

But she was long gone and I chose duty over love, the ginger man thought bitterly. Concealing his thoughts, he assured his fellow Jedi he would not forget his duties to the cause that brought them to such a strange land.

“And be wary that humans here will not see with good eyes the weapons we carry so that way we are forced to operate as if we were in similar circumstances to that of Mandalore”, advised Windu.

“Of course. I understand. When should I depart?”

“Tonight”, said Windu, calmly. “We shall move to a region where the contractor expects to meet us and that is where I shall leave you.”

Obi-Wan looked at him surprised. “You are not coming with me?”

For the first time, Windu offered what the other male interpreted as a smile even though it came out as a grimace. “I’m afraid not. I have other matters waiting for me to resolve on.”

It did not take hours before Windu once again reminded Obi-Wan of what he was expected to do. He was informed that the political situation in this realm called England was very delicate, moved by different parties which struggled to had a hand over the state matters. The princess who Obi-Wan was expected to meet was known by the name of Lady Mary Tudor. She was a noblewoman, daughter of this unstable king, an eight monarch named Henry, who divorced her mother and made her a bastard.

“Faith here has a great influence upon the thoughts and doings of these people”, said Windu. “Be careful. Do never give your identity in. Play according the rules. In this princess’s life politics and religion hold a great deal of her conscience. And we must not fail her”.

The ginger male nodded, trying to conceal his concerns. To all these informations he was being told, he listened carefully. Looked like that would be a difficult task, but he surely could handle well.

By the time they met this man Windu told Obi-Wan about, it was time to go.

“May the force be with you, Kenobi.”

“May the force be with you, my friend.”

But it would take a few years before them meet again…

(To be continue)

#obi wan Kenobi #Mary Tudor #queen Mary I #queen Mary of England #lady mary Tudor #Tudor dynasty #Star Wars #crossovers #imagine #alternative universe #lady mary Tudor x obi Wan Kenobi #obi Wan #obi wan x reader #obi wan imagine

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forget-you-morelike-fuck-you · 10 months

Text

That's What Friends Are For- E.M.

I've been really thirsty for Virgin!Bestfriend!Reader x Eddie so I poured myself this taaaallll drink of water. Hope you love it xx

You've never had an orgasm, and Eddie would be happy to help remedy that.

Part 2

Masterlist

TW- 18+ MINORS DNI!! Cursing, mentions of smoking, heavy petting, pet names (angel, sweetheart), a lil crying (but in a good way), fingering (lmk if I missed any)

Pairings- Virgin!Bestfriend!Reader x Eddie

Word Count- 4,802

(Gifs not mine, credit to owner!)

It wasn’t something that you’d normally ask, but with the haze of weed clouding your senses and the exaggerated moans of the poor actress being exploited for the dumb action movie you and Eddie were watching out of sheer boredom, you couldn’t help yourself. You turn to Eddie, the cogs in your head turning in overtime as the words reach your mouth before you can even put too much stock in them, “What does an orgasm even feel like?” Your eyes narrow as you imagine it, the sounds of the woman on screen echoing in your mind. There’s no way that real people sound like that, no, this is just some stupid movie that you and Eddie had never even heard of before digging it out of the pile of tapes beneath the TV. “I mean, I guess it’s gotta feel good, but does it feel that good?”

While you ponder the probability of the sounds onscreen being at all accurate for real-world scenarios, Eddie’s face pales, the light high he’d been enjoying completely knocked out of his body at your words. Despite being best friends for the past several years, you never really talked about your sex lives with each other. For you, it was because it didn’t exist. For Eddie, it was because the only person he really wanted anymore was you. Every other person in town combined couldn’t interest him half as much as you, and he had definitely looked. Pining after your best friend for years wasn’t really something Eddie was interested in doing, not that it helped. Of course, the only reason you hadn’t made a move—aside from the fact that you were thoroughly terrified at the thought of being rejected—was because you thought that Eddie was something of a ladies’ man. You knew he was much more experienced than you, not that that was a difficult feat, but you knew that he at least went on dates. And you never wanted your attraction to him get in the way of your friendship anyway. If he liked you, he would’ve made a move sooner, right?

Wrong.

Eddie had fallen head over heels for you about a year after you had met, both of you juniors in high school. You went away with your family on vacation for a couple weeks that summer and came back... different. You were more confident, and even though it had only been a short separation, you looked different, more womanly than gangly teenager. He liked you before, but some switch inside his chest flicked, like the lights were finally turning on in some long-forgotten roller coaster ride. He’s had it bad for you ever since, suffering in silence because he knows how shy you used to be, and still are to some extent. He would never, ever want to do or say anything to make you uncomfortable, including putting his feelings on the line in exchange for your amazing friendship.

Still, the news that you didn’t know what an orgasm felt like was surprising. He knew you were private about your dating life, and he always respected that. But you had had boyfriends before. And you were both in your early 20s now. Surely you had been with one of them. Or even figured it out on your own...

“What?” is the brilliant response that flies from Eddie’s lips as his brain short circuits. You look back at his face, having wandered away, lost in thought. Eddie half expects you to backtrack, but still, to his surprise, you double down.

“What does an orgasm feel like?” He can tell your Mary Jane consumption must be fueling this line of questioning, but if you’re really curious...

“Um, well...” Eddie flounders, trying to find the words to say. You keep your focus on him, your thoughts trailing only slightly as you wait for him to respond. “It... It does feel really good. I don’t know exactly what it feels like for women, but for guys, at least, for me, it’s like my whole body kind of explodes, but in, like, the best way,”

You mull this over for a moment, your eyes darting between Eddie’s face and the screen, which has since moved past the over-exaggerated sex scene back into shootouts between the good guy and the bad ones. “Okay, well, have any of the girls you’ve been with ever sounded like that?” You were genuinely curious, trying to imagine what could feel that good and coming up blank.

Eddie chuckles a bit, eyes flicking up in a memory, “Well, one, but I’m pretty sure she was faking. Some women think they have to sound like that because that’s what the movies show them they’re supposed to sound like. But really, there are all different kinds of... sounds... that people make when they’re feeling that good,” he explains, his surprise relaxing now into amusement just slightly.

“Oh,” You look back at the screen, apparently done with your questions. Eddie feels his heartbeat fading back into its normal rhythm after the near heart-attack you had inflicted upon him, and things go quiet for a minute before you turn your head back toward him, mouth poised open to speak. “Do you think—Never mind,” You quickly shove the thought back down your throat, remembering that Eddie’s not supposed to know you’ve been in love with him forever.

The possibilities of what you were about to ask him makes his heart race again, until he’s burning to know. “What is it?” He asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

Your lips press together and shake your head as a heat spreads over your face, giving you a moment of clarity amid the warmth of the high. “No, it’s okay, it was a dumb question,” You wave your hand in dismissal, and pray that Eddie doesn’t press it further in fear of your mouth working faster than your logic. Of course, you have no such luck.

“There are no dumb questions. If you want to know something, all you have to do is ask. Would I ever judge you for anything? And really think about that, because I’ve seen you pick a pickle up off the floor and eat it,” He laughs, trying to diffuse the tension. It helps a little, and with his reassurance and that fleeting moment of clarity far away, you open your mouth again, hesitating as you find the right words.

“Do you think... that you could maybe... show me?”

Eddie’s eyes bulge from his skull, and he’s afraid that his heart has totally stopped for a minute. But after an agonizing moment, a thick thump of his heart breathes life back into him, and he can only pray that you can’t hear it as it loudly thump, thump, thumps in his chest.

“Show you..?” It’s a begging question. He’s not exactly sure which part you want to learn, and he wants to make sure he doesn’t assume anything.

You turn away again, the mortification laying over you in a thick blanket. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have... You can forget it,”

Eddie doesn’t want to mess this up, and the visions of you making such pretty little sounds for him, or better yet, unraveling under his touch, automatically send all of the spare blood in his body downward, so quickly that he almost becomes dizzy. He has to make an effort to shift his body to hide his growing erection as he tries to reassure you. “No, no! Don’t worry, I’m listening. It’s okay, I swear! What do you want me to show you? I... I can do my best,” His voice is sincere, sincere enough to make you look sheepishly back at him, your lashes low as you try not to look in his eyes.

You take a deep breath, your head buzzing with adrenaline as you form the words. “Would you show me how to have an orgasm?”

Eddie swallows hard, his Adam’s Apple bobbing in his throat. He’s trying so hard to make this seem as chill as possible, for both of your sakes. If he gets too eager too quickly, there’s no way he wouldn’t just bust in his pajama pants, and he might scare you. His mouth is dry as he nods quickly, “Um, yeah. I- I can definitely try,” He watches as your face grows redder by the second, but you give a small smile, one that makes Eddie lightheaded again as another shockwave of want shoots through his half-hard cock. “Do you want to go to my room?” He asks softly, gauging the look on your face as you still avoid his eyes.

“Yeah,” You murmur, but your legs won’t move. There’s a want in you, despite not knowing how to indulge it, and as Eddie gets up from the couch, offering a hand to you, you take it and squeeze, finally looking up at him. Eddie feels like he might faint in that moment, your hazy eyes doe-like and innocent, not making it any easier for him to keep calm. He pulls you up to your feet and you follow him, your hand in his, to his room.

You shut the door behind you, flicking the lock on the knob despite being the only ones home, and turn to face Eddie, who stands just behind you, still not believing what might happen. “S-so, um...” He begins, feet shuffling beneath him. “For girls, it’s a lot harder to... finish. It takes a lot of warming up first,” Your brow furrows.

“Warming up?” A blush breaks out over Eddie’s cheeks, and he reaches out to let his fingers trace up your arm, ghosting over your shoulder and up your neck. A breath hitches in your throat as his palm cups your face, and suddenly, you think you might know what he means. Nevertheless, he explains.

“It’s a lot easier when you’re feeling good from other things first. Like touching, kissing... things like that. It can be painful if you don’t do it right,” Your lashes flutter as he leans in slightly, and you can feel his warm breath fan over your face.

“Oh,” Eddie lets out a breath of a laugh at your breathless response, and already you feel yourself turning to putty in his hands.

“I want you to tell me if you don’t like something, okay? Don’t try to spare my feelings. If you want me to stop doing something, or you want me to do something specific, you tell me. Okay?” The demanding edge in his whispers snaps you back to reality, and you feel a warmth building deep within you. It’s nothing like you’ve ever felt before. Sure, shadows of this have been felt watching risqué movies with sex scenes or kissing your prior boyfriends awkwardly in the backs of their cars, but that pales in comparison. This is a new, deep burn in the very depths of your body.

“Mhmm,” You try to lean closer to him, to feel more, but his other hand goes to your waist, holding you in place. Your eyes meet his, and they’re unexpectedly hard, his brown eyes serious as he looks at you.

“I need you to say it. I need to know you can say it,” Your breath stutters again at his words, but still, you find your voice.

“I- I don’t like that,” You whisper, and it’s all you can do. Eddie nods in approval, but his eyes want you to continue, “I want you... I want you to kiss me,” You can hear the hammer of your heart in your ears, your blood singing as the anticipation grows. Eddie’s eyes return to their normal softness, gazing into yours like he’s seeing the sun set over the ocean for the first time.

“Are you sure?” Eddie whispers as he inches toward you, his face leaning down ever closer. This might be the closest you’ve ever been to him, and the thought sends a delicious shiver up your spine. His nose just brushes yours, and your eyes flutter shut.

“I want you to kiss me, Eddie,” It’s barely a breath, but he hears you, and gently, gently, his lips meet yours, barely a brush of skin against skin. You hear him suck in a deep breath before letting his lips move against yours a little more firmly, the hand on your waist snaking around your back to pull you closer to him. You let your hands find the back of his hair, which is up in a cute, messy bun, and your fingers wind themselves around a few loose, curly tendrils there. Then, Eddie’s lips move across your cheek, down toward your jaw, and the first sound comes loose from your lips.

It’s a tiny noise, but it might as well have been Eddie’s favorite song, the way he revels in it. He can feel the pounding of your heart in your chest as you press yourself against him, not really knowing what to do other than let Eddie work his way down your neck with his lips. “E-Eddie...” You whimper, hands gently grasping at the fabric at the back of his worn t-shirt.

Eddie stops then, immediately, waiting for your instruction. He had gone too far, hadn’t he? He had done something to make you uncomfortable and now you’d never ever talk to him again... “Can we lay down?” You ask, breathy and quiet in his ear. He presses a firm kiss to the top of your shoulder in relief, elated that you were enjoying what was happening before pulling away.

“Yeah, let’s get you comfy,” He smiles one of those easy, lopsided smiles that takes your breath away, and you feel the butterflies that usually reside in your stomach move downward to your core. You instinctively clench your thighs together to try to squash the foreign feeling, but as Eddie moves to lay down, you see the bulge in his loose pants, and it sends a new swarm flooding your body. With a deep breath, you join Eddie and lay next to him, his face only inches from yours. His hand reaches toward your face, gently brushing a few stray hairs behind your ear. “Do you want to just keep kissing, or are you ready to try something else?” He asks. You think it over, biting the inside of your lip as you bite back the embarrassment of being so inexperienced next to him.

“Can we try something new and still do some kissing?” You smile sheepishly, not being able to hold his gaze as your face heats. He lets out a small laugh, not at you, but because you’re so nervous.

“Yeah, we can do that. Is it okay if I touch you? I can just try a few things and you can figure out what you like,” He suggests, his eyes roaming over you. You’re not wearing a bra, because you never did when you and Eddie were just lounging around watching movies and smoking, something Eddie had to get used to quick when your body started really developing. Once or twice when he was a few years younger, he had to fake an upset stomach just to relieve his aching cock in the bathroom upon seeing your pert nipples through the fabric of one of his old t-shirts.

“Yeah, I think I’d like that,” With your permission, Eddie’s fingers gently reach the hem of your shirt, slipping under and running his calloused fingertips over the smooth skin of your side. You let out a gasp, your eyes screwing shut, and he notices the way your hips move of their own accord, trying to scratch an itch you’ve never felt before. He has to bite back a moan of his own just at the sight of you, so beautiful, so willing beneath his capable hands. He lets out a shaky breath as his hand moves up your side, leaning in to kiss you like he said he would, like he was aching to do again, and you accept his lips greedily, your hands pressing into the sides of his face as he glides across your skin, not light enough to tickle, but enough to send tingles over your skin, goosebumps forming in the wake of his caress.

When his hand comes to cup your breast, not daring to flick over the sensitive nub just yet, you let out your second noise as he gives a little squeeze there. This one is muffled by his lips, pressed firmly to yours, and the vibration of it shoots straight down to his cock, which twitches willfully in his pants, wanting you more and more every second that passes.

With a light touch, Eddie lets his thumb just brush your nipple, and it sends an electric shock through you, leading to your third noise, a much sharper sound that almost sounds painful. But when your lips press into his even harder, Eddie is only spurred on and he does it again, then lets his full hand grope over the full mound, rubbing across your breast with his palm. Eddie lets his tongue trace over your bottom lip then, and you open your mouth to him, not really knowing how to kiss with tongue, but unwilling to stop to make a comment about it as your body ignites to a new level of fire and electricity.

Your legs are continuously rubbing together now, the friction glorious but not enough, and you want to feel more. You’re panting in between the long stretches of kissing, and while you don’t want to stop, you also need to tell Eddie what you want. So, instead of rushing back to his kiss, you press your thumb gently to his bottom lip, pupils blown with need. “Can you take my shorts off?” You ask, your confidence building. Eddie nods all too eagerly, and he gets up onto his knees to shift town toward your bottom half. You roll onto your back and lift your butt to make it a bit easier for him, his hands finding purchase at your hips, fingers dipping just below the waistband when he stops.

“Do you want me to take your underwear off too?” He asks, wanting to be sure. You bite your lip again as the embarrassment floods back.

“I’m not wearing any...” You admit, giving a small smile. His hands grip at your hips a bit harder then, and his sharp breath only helps your growing need. This is the most beautiful you’ve ever seen him, towering over you like this. You can see the long outline of his length through his pants now, and you let your mind wonder what could happen if this goes even further than you originally intended. It’s enough to make your hips roll in Eddie’s hands as he starts pulling down your sleep shorts. You close your eyes, trying to keep your embarrassment from making you chicken out when you’re finally about to get what you’ve always wanted.

“Holy shit,” Eddie breathes, and your eyes shoot open as you stare at him, mortification building in your chest.

“What? Is it bad? Do I look weird?” You ask in a flurry. Your hands go to cover your face, thighs clenching together to spare yourself when Eddie pries your legs apart again.

“What? God no! You look... You look fucking amazing,” There’s a wonder in his voice, and you peek through your fingers to find him staring down at you, the look on his face amorous, hungry almost, like you’re his favorite meal in the world. It takes you aback, but nevertheless, there’s a twitch in your hips again, seeking a friction that you can no longer achieve for the time being. Eddie gently lowers himself on top of you, and you let out a moan when you feel the fabric of his pants brushing over your bare pussy. You let your hands fall as you try to push yourself into him, but there’s a hand holding onto your hip now to keep you down. “Oh my god, please, can you try not to do that right now? I am already in serious danger here, angel. If I feel even a little bit of you against my dick I’m fucking done for,” Eddie breathes a laugh to cover the moan in his voice, his face hovering over yours.

“B-but I want—” Eddie cuts you off with a deep kiss, his hand squeezing into your hip as you desperately try to feel him against you again.

“Not tonight, sweetheart. I want this one to be about you, okay? If you still want to in the morning, we can circle back,” Eddie offers, and you give a small nod. “Okay, then. I’m gonna touch you now, okay? I’ll go nice and slow. If you want me to change what I’m doing, just tell me,” You nod again and the hand gripping your hip travels down and his lips meet the hollow of your neck, giving just a tiny nip at the skin that sends your hips up again in need. Eddie tries to hold it in, but he can’t help but moan softly against your skin as he continues his journey.

His fingers ghost just over the sensitive bud of nerves then, and the shock that goes through your body is even more intense than before when he was playing with your nipple. Your arms fling around his back and you grip the fabric of his t-shirt like a lifeline. “I’m gonna take good care of you,” Eddie whispers as he travels up your neck, “I’m gonna make you feel so good,”

The promise is punctuated by a soft circle around your clit, and your whimper is so pathetic it startles you as it tumbles from your lips. You can feel how wet you are now; how hot your core is against his fingertips. It’s so blissful, so wanton that you feel your walls clenching around nothing, another new feeling that sends your head reeling. Eddie continues his gentle pattern around your bud, sucking sweet bruises into the skin below your ear between whispers of sweet nothing that spur you forward on your quest into the unknown world of this beautiful feeling.

“E-Eddie,” You plead, head thrown back in pleasure. Your fingers pull his shirt so that your hands connect with his skin, “Can you go—Can you go a little f-faster, please?” Eddie nods into the crook of your neck as he complies, fingers moving just a bit faster, a bit firmer against you, and your chest starts heaving in pants again, moans spilling from your mouth more freely now. You grind into his hand pathetically as the intense pleasure grows. You feel like you could cry at the feeling, so blissful and beautiful and everything you’ve ever dreamed of as Eddie works you further and further, his lips only ever leaving your skin to whisper sweet nothings to you.

“You’re doing so good... I can’t believe I get to do this for you... Been wanting you like this for so long...” Eddie nips and sucks and licks across your neck, up your face, across your lips, and you’re just so consumed by him that you feel hot little pinpricks in the corners of your eyes, your throat going thick as the tears begin.

When Eddie catches sight of the first one, he slows his work on your core, afraid that you had changed your mind. “Are you okay? Do you want me to stop?” You feel a pang of panic then, not really knowing why but knowing that you were desperate to reach the edge you were approaching. You pull at his shirt, not being able to verbalize your excruciating need for a second.

“No, no!” You plead, “Don’t stop, please... I just... Please don’t stop...” You don’t know why you’re crying. Maybe because it feels so good, maybe because the emotions are just so new that your body is startled by them. Either way, Eddie is reluctant but believes you, because he trusts you and you trust him so completely that you don’t think that there’s any way that either of you would or even could hurt each other.

Eddie picks up the pace again, his lips focusing on yours now to help keep you from crying. Your fingernails scratch up his back as you whine and writhe beneath him, coming closer and closer to something. There’s a tenseness in your stomach now, and it’s building. There must be a precipice close, a pinnacle to all of this pleasure and need Eddie has been giving you. Your panting breaths become more ragged, and Eddie gets the feeling that you’re close.

“That’s it, angel. You gonna cum for me?” He practically moans against your mouth, and it’s another agonizing minute of this pressure inside you building before you feel it.

Your hands clench Eddie’s shirt as you unravel. Your tears are flowing freely down your face, mouth open in a loud moan that reverberates on the walls of Eddie’s small room. Eddie keeps drawing circles over your clit as you ride through the waves of your first ever orgasm, kissing down to the top of your chest and back up to add to the pleasure. Finally, you feel it start to subside, the wide waves lessening into ripples as your breath starts to even out again. Eddie slows down again, and finally stops after a few more seconds, wanting to draw out your bliss as much as he can. He kisses you deeply, the hand on your pussy traveling up to grip your side, sliding up past the hem of your shirt as he holds you firm. You can feel the slick on his fingers cooling down on your skin, and it sends a new wave of shivers through your body.

You kiss each other for a long time, not wanting to go back to reality where you’re just friends, but finally you have to pull away for air. You look at each other, both of you quiet. There’s a new electricity in the air, charged with the anticipation of what you’ll say to each other now that everything has changed.

“How was that?” Eddie settles on, his brow set in a concerning furrow. He wants to make sure that you had the best experience he could’ve offered you, because that’s what you deserve. You deserve to feel this good all the time.

Your soft eyes bore into his and you nod slowly, trying to etch every detail of this night into your memory forever. “It was amazing. You are...” Your hand comes to hold his face, and he leans into your touch in such a way that your heart melts for him even more. “You’re so amazing, Eddie, thank you.” You give a little laugh then, at how silly it sounds for you to thank your friend for giving you an orgasm. Eddie laughs a little too, and he stretches his lips to kiss the edge of your palm.

“Anything for my favorite girl,” He whispers, smiling that easy smile that you love so much. Pride sparkles in your chest at his words. God, you love him so much...

“So...” You feel a blush creeping on your face again, “You’ve been wanting me... like this?” You think back to the words he whispered against your neck that made your insides turn to mush.

Eddie flicks his eyes away from you, embarrassed. “You caught that, huh?”

“Was I not supposed to?” You giggle, your smile sending shockwaves through Eddie’s body.

“Well, I just didn’t think you would. You seemed to be pretty distracted if I recall,” He jabs playfully, his gaze returning to you. His eyes soften at his next thought, “What do you think about that?”

This is it, this is where everything changes. It’ll never be the same after this. “I...” You begin, building your courage. “I’ve been wanting that, too.”

Eddie’s face moves through confusion, surprise, and then settles on joy, his smile widening to reach his sparking brown eyes. “Yeah? You’ve been wanting that too?” Your smile matches his as you nod, letting out a breath of a laugh with the relief settling in your chest.

Suddenly, Eddie squeezes you in a bone crushing hug, peppering kisses over your face as you giggle. His lips settle on yours again, and it’s like taking a drink of cool water after wandering in the desert. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to this, but by God, you’d be happy to.

You keep kissing and cuddling for a long time, talking like you usually do, how best friends do, but now it’s just better. Best friends, but there’s no more hesitancy, no more wishing for more, because now, you have everything you could ever want.

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things fic #eddie stranger things #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie #eddie x reader #eddie x fem!reader #eddie my beloved

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bratzforchris · 2 months

Note

could you do one where chris and reader bring their daughter home from the hospital after she's just born? i love your writings!!!!

My Girl, C. Sturniolo

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

Summary: In which bringing your and Chris's first baby home from the hospital results in a core memory<3

Pairing: Chris x feminine reader

Warnings: Pregnancy, mentions of a difficult labor and its effects (not graphic!), young parents

Word Count: 974

A/N: Y'all my baby fever has been so bad lately (I'm 19 and single 🤡) and dad!Chris did NOT help. Thank you for the request and you cuties enjoy a fluffy Chris fic<33

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ

Chris gently lifted the enormous, pink carseat out of the back of the car, hoisting it onto his arm. He was beyond exhausted from the past three days. Granted, all he had ever wanted in life was to be a father, especially when you would be the mother. And so, he picked up the car seat with renewed energy, coming around the side of the car and opening up your door.

“You good, ma?” he asked you, protective instincts kicking in as he watched you struggle to unbuckle your seat and step out of the car.

“I just had a baby, dumbass. My hips are killing me and I’m wearing a diaper. What do you think the answer is?”

Between a long labor, the hustle and bustle of the hospital, and the typical aches and pains that came post-birth, you were a bit snappy after the events of the past three days. Nevertheless though, you planted a kiss on Chris’s cheek, eliciting a grin from your husband.

“Glad to see the pregnancy didn’t take that fiery attitude I love so much.” Chris smiled, wrapping his arm around you to support you as you slowly walked with one hand and carrying the carseat that held your sleeping daughter in the other.

You two slowly began the trek up your front steps, with Chris supporting you the whole way. But before you could open the front door, it was flung open for you, revealing Nick and Matt. They stepped out quickly, eager to get a glimpse of their new niece. They exchanged squeals over how cute your baby girl was until Chris finally shoved them off, protective over his little family.

“Can we get inside first?” he asked, rolling his eyes then smiling at you affectionately.

The brothers allowed you to step inside the house, where both your and Chris’s parents were waiting, slightly more polite than his brothers. You quickly sat down on the couch with the help of your husband, winded from the short walk up the driveway. Chris quickly placed your daughter in your arms and sat beside you with a proud smile as everyone else gathered around on your large couch and on the rug.

“So, have you two decided on a name?” Your mother asked excitedly, her eyes shining with joy.

“We have,” You and Chris looked at each other and smiled as your daughter yawned in your arms, smacking her little lips. “Charlotte Marie Sturniolo.” You said in unison.

Just as you spoke, Charlotte opened her eyes and yawned, letting out a tiny coo. Luckily, your families had been very respectful of your and Chris’s boundaries about holding her, especially since flu season was currently rampant. That didn’t deter anyone from letting out noises of affection at their new daughter, niece, and granddaughter, though. In your comical families, however, cute moments didn’t last long, which led to Nick piping up.

“Can you say Lady Gaga?” he asked. “La-dy Ga-ga.”

Chris rolled his eyes, playfully kicking his brother, which received a giggle from you. “She’s a newborn.”

“I’m raising her to have culture.” Nick shrugged, flipping his hair across his forehead.

As everyone continued to talk, your husband noted how you (and Charlotte) had become more quiet, snuggling into his side. He knew the whole birthing process had been extremely difficult on you, and selfishly, he really wanted some alone time with his little family.

“Should we go upstairs?” he asked you, whispering in your ear and brushing a strand of hair away from your cheek.

You nodded softly, already on the verge of falling asleep as you felt your infant daughter snuggle into you. “Yes please.” You whispered back.

“Well, we would love to keep chatting, but duty calls,” Chris helped you stand up, adjusting Charlotte so she could still cuddle onto your chest. “My girls need me.”

By the time you two had made it upstairs, you were exhausted, but could still hear the talking of your family below, murmuring softly about what great parents you two already were. Granted, it had only been a few days, but in your opinion, you both already were. Despite being on the younger side, you and Chris both loved your daughter with your whole heart, and that was what you wanted the most.

“Thanks for what you did back there,” You yawned as Chris tucked you into bed after placing Charlotte, who was fast asleep, in her crib. “I’m really tired.”

“I could tell,” Your husband bustled around the room, straightening things up to lessen the load on your plate. “You’re so strong, baby.”

You were almost asleep, but you could sense that Chris had stopped moving, which with your husband, meant he was up to something. “Chris? Baby, what are you doing?”

You peeked open your eyes, only for your heart to practically burst. Chris had taken his shirt off and removed your daughter’s onesie, allowing her to cuddle skin-to-skin on his chest. He smiled over at you as she yawned, fisting his skin.

“Look!” he whisper-shouted with the biggest smile on his face. “We’re cuddling!”

You smiled, enjoying the scene before you. “She looks so cozy.”

Chris began to sway and dance softly, singing ‘My Girl’ by The Temptations quietly. “My baby girl. God, I love you so much. You and your mommy are my rock, honey.”

You could hear the happy tears in your husband’s voice as he sang to Charlotte, and that was the moment you knew that you had made the right choice for the father of your children. Chris had been nothing but supportive throughout your whole pregnancy and labor, and it was clear he was carrying that energy into fatherhood as well. You took a mental snapshot, filing away this moment for later because you knew this would always be one you came back to.

tags ♡: @aemrsy @idek3000hi @melguilbert @oobleoob

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo fanfic #christopher sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #chris sturniolo fluff #matt x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo smut #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets #fanfic #ao3 fanfic

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prongsiepotter · 16 days

Text

down bad | j. potter

summary: you're so in love with james potter but he's a little too good at giving you mixed signals that it might actually ruin you

pairing: james potter x reader

warnings: angst, a little fluff if u squint, and so much longing & yearning. omg so much of it

a/n: i am unfortunately completely obsessed with taylor swift's new album, so everything i'll write in the near future will be based on one of the ttpd songs (yey!) & this one's based on 'down bad.' feel free to send requests if u want pick the next song for me x

──────── 𑁍︎ ‧₊°

"So he just said no?" Mary all but hisses. Marlene shushes her, glancing around the classroom before leaning down from where she's sitting on your desk.

"Are you sure it didn't mean something else?" She rests her hand on yours. "Maybe it was just a misunderstanding. He wouldn't…he just wouldn't, right?" You smile weakly at her, then shake your head. She squeezes your hand.

"The note was pretty clear," you say with a soft sigh. The sentence rolls off your tongue with unhidden bitterness. "Sorry, can't. Need to catch up on some assignments."

You would show it to them, so they could see for themselves and maybe divert their sympathetic gazes from you. But you had set it on fire right after reading it, just like the other two notes friendly rejecting you. You still aren't sure why you did it. After all, you did just tell Mary and Marlene that you're fine. At least you will be. You should not be this devastated over some guy.

Even if that guy is James Potter.

James who is now strolling into the room with his mates, looking as invincible and full of life as he always has and always will.

Quickly, you force a smile at the girls and pull out the chair next to you. Marlene, bless her, gets the hint and lightly shoves Mary's shoulder to have her take the seat. You're going through your book bag, pulling out your inkwell when four bodies make their way past your desk.

"Ladies," comes Sirius cheerfully loud voice as he bows at the waist because, of course, he does. Peter and Remus aren't as dramatic with their greetings. The latter, however, does take the time to slow down in front of you until you look up and return his kind smile. Belatedly, you realise perhaps you shouldn't have done that. You lock eyes with James, who's right behind him.

He sends you an easy smile and a wink. Like he's letting you in on another one of his rare secrets. You're not sure if you're smiling back, but it's almost a given that you are.

He takes his seat behind you, laughing blithely at a joke Pete just told, and it's all so painfully charming that you want to die. You fear he will always make you feel like this. Like you're somehow the chosen one. It's such a sickening feeling, you can't help but whip around and look at Mary, pleadingly. Though, you're not sure what you're pleading for anymore.

She shoots you another unbearably sympathetic smile, looking like she's close to cooing at you. You sigh, hiding your face in the crook of your arms.

You can't help but think how easy it would be to just cry right here. It's embarrassing to admit, but you've done it plenty of times over the weekend after you had seen James out at Hogsmeade with the others. Miserably, you had realised that he was, in fact, not too busy working on his assignments. He just didn't want to spend time with you.

You almost let out a sob.

A hand rubs your back and you know it can only be Mary, but you let yourself believe that it's the universe consoling you, as if to say there, there because there's nothing fair about this and she knows it, but there's nothing she can do it about now, can she?

History of Magic passes in a blur. Before you know it, you're in the library, pouring all of yourself into an essay that you normally couldn't have cared less for. But you're willing to do whatever it takes to keep yourself busy. You know your thoughts will stray the moment you're lying quietly in bed anyway, awaiting another sleepless night.

You finish the sentence and look up, satisfied with your work. Apparently it's been a while since you've torn your gaze away from the parchment before you, seeing how stiff your neck is. You knead at the uncomfortable knot in your shoulder while looking around the library. It's relatively full today with every other seat being taken.

Which makes it all the more irritating when your gaze snatches on a figure sat at the other table right across from you. He's not even looking up, head bent over a book, but you would recognise that mop of unruly dark curls anywhere. James must've seen you when he came in, but that might have just been your hopeful self speaking.

Begrudgingly, you resume your writing and it takes everything in you not to look up every few minutes. To glimpse the slight furrow in his brows and the small pout of his lips as he's carefully reading every paragraph. You know he's likely looking for something to prepare for a prank. Normally, you would simply go over and ask him what he's up to. You know he'd happily tell you. But you're glad to have at least a little bit of pride and dignity left that keeps you rooted in your spot.

Seemingly not enough though since all you can think about is that there's no way he doesn't know that you're right there. It really does make you want to bang your head against the table. Maybe that would finally catch James' attention.

Pathetically, you glance at him only to notice that he's packing his things to leave. The tip of your feather goes back to the parchment so fast, it almost pierces it. You haven't got a clue what you're writing, too busy tracking James' movements from the corner of your eyes.

You watch him stand up, walking down the length of his table towards the door down the hall on his right. Then he stops. You hold your breath. James seemingly hesitates before fixing the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He turns left and walks towards you. You're staring at your hand as it writes illegible words, completely out of your control, when you feel a tap on your shoulder.

"Hey," James whispers when you look up, giving you a familiar grin and small wave. It's an innocent gesture, sweet, but there's almost something hostile about this encounter. Like you have no choice but to let him occupy every single one of your senses. You stare up at him, a matching smile sweeping over your lips before you can think better of it.

That's when you notice the scarf he's wearing and its frizzled ends. It's yours. You know it is.

Did he not give it back to you after one of your nights out together on the stands? After you had flown on your brooms, so close to the sea of stars that you could've dipped your fingertips in them? You could almost hear the echoes of your windblown laughters as the memory pushes itself into the foreground of your mind.

James is sitting still, rosy-cheeked, watching you with curious eyes while you babble on about the Leo constellation. He had just told you that you could do whatever you want to him—another quite maddening thing to casually say to someone—and now he's apparently keen on staying true to his word by letting you wrap your scarf around his neck.

It took some convincing before he'd finally accepted it from you. You promised that you wouldn't be cold with your high collared sweater, but James only gave in when you had accepted his wool hat in exchange.

He had carefully put it on you, smoothing down your hair and pulling out some loose strands to frame your face, mumbling something about how much lovelier his hat looked on you than on him. You told yourself that he surely must've known what it did to you when his knuckles brushed your cheeks. Right? Surely.

James pokes your side, chuckling, as if he sensed that your mind was drifting elsewhere. He cracks another joke, saying that if you were the one to teach him Astronomy, he might actually pay attention in class. He says it like it's a deal and you feel inclined to do whatever it takes to hold up your side of the bargain.

You laugh helplessly, feeling drunk on a little bit of everything; the stars above, James' gentle laughter, the familiar smell of broom wax and crisp winter air. This must be cosmic love, you think to yourself. Your breath clouds in front of you, becoming one with his. All the while, you're too aware of James' shoulder bumping into you, his leg pressed against yours. There's no one out here but you two.

You have all the room in the world, but James chose to sit this close to you. Probably close enough for him to hear your heart pounding. Did he do it for a reason? You'd love to know.

"You don't need me to pay attention in Astronomy," you find yourself saying in response, something daring laced in the drawl of your voice. His eyes flash, bright and a bit wild. It's the same look he gets after you challenge him to a race on your brooms. His grin grows wide, carefree, and oh so lovely.

"Please." His face comes impossibly closer and you lean in without another thought, eager to take whatever it is James will give you. You feel his breath on your lips.

"I will always need you, Y/N."

Somehow he makes it sound genuine.

Then he winks and leaves you a horrid, forsaken mess. Somehow he makes that feel like a nice gesture too.

Incredulously, you stare at him as he leans back, elbows resting on the seats behind him. James Potter, you think weakly, what are you doing to me? Not for the first time you ponder what you would do if you can't have him. You almost double over from the striking pain in your chest.

Then he points out another constellation and you nearly forget all about yourself. He's good at that. Never ceasing to show you that the world is bigger than the two of you. Making you forget and remember that you might be in love. Because what if you were in love?

James cups the back of his neck, then points towards the door of the library, almost shyly letting you know that he's leaving. You nod slowly, still dazed. A small smile crosses his lips before you watch him round the corner, his back disappearing from your sight.

You blink, letting out a ragged breath. You feel like you got the wind knocked out of you. Like you just lost your twin. Someone who knows you like no one else ever will. Someone who might just be your better half. Someone who sometimes makes you feel like they want nothing to do with you.

It's ridiculous, you think bleakly to yourself, you're so down bad.

And James Potter makes it feel like a curse and a blessing.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter fanfiction #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter imagine #james potter x you #james potter x y/n #marauders fanfiction #marauders #taylor swift #ttpd #the tortured poets department

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ellecdc · 28 days

Note

hi! so i was wondering if i could make a request of poly!jegulus x reader fic where the reader goes out to maybe a bachelorette party or smth and gets drunk and james and regulus takes care of her afterwards? if not then no worries! hope you have an amazing day!

thanks so much darling! I love our little Jegulus fics <3

please note: my requests are currently closed as I finish exams and work through the requests that I currently have.

poly!Jegulus x fem!reader who they pick up from a bachelorette

Regulus tried to ignore the strobe lights and the booming bass that currently accosted his senses as he pushed through the masses of sweaty bodies and drunk people “dancing” in his mission to find you.

Fortunately he needn’t search long.

Unfortunately, his and James’ appearance elicited blood curdling squealing from the bachelorette party you were currently attending.

The bride (Alice) and maid of honour (Lily) started wolf whistling at the two boys and Regulus was certain it was Marlene who started the chant “take it off!”

Much to Regulus’ chagrin and to everyone else's joy, James actually started lifting his shirt before Regulus pinched him harshly in the side.

“James Fleamont Potter, you keep your sodding clothes on!” Regulus hissed before his eyes finally landed on you.

He ignored what sounded like a petulant “I was only giving the ladies what they wanted” from James as he crouched in front of you.

Regulus tried (and failed) to control his love sick smile as your foggy gaze cleared when you realised who was suddenly situated in front of you.

“Regulus!” You cheered, your mouth hanging open in a permanent smile as if you couldn’t possibly believe he was truly here.

“And James!” James added as he sat beside you on the pleather settee and roughly pulled you into his side.

“What are you guys doing here?” You slurred slightly as you looked lovingly between your two boyfriends.

Regulus felt his eyebrows pinch, but James - ever the master of nonchalance - simply pressed a kiss to your hair. “You asked us to come for you, angel.” He explained plainly.

Your eyebrows pinched to match Regulus’ as you let out a quiet “oh.”

“Well, that was ver-very smart of me.” You declared through a hiccup.

“Yeah? Why’s that?” James asked as he rubbed your arm and Regulus confirmed that all of your belongings were safely stored within your purse.

“I was just thinking how much I, how much I would like to be home with my boys now.” You admitted in a sigh, letting your head - which seemed to weigh far too much for your neck - fall onto James’ all-too-willing shoulder.

“Awe, you’re such a sweetheart, aren’t you?” James murmured, earning him a snort from Dorcas.

“Right, you’ve got yourself a real sweetheart there Potter - which one of you taught her how to play poker?” Dorcas sneered, causing James to bark a laugh, you to hide shyly into his shoulder, and Regulus to grin proudly.

“Did you take them for all they’re worth, amour?” He whispered as he encouraged your face from its sanctuary in James with a gentle hand on your chin.

“Of course she did.” James answered for you, blowing a cheeky raspberry over your head at your friends. “She’s an all-star.”

Dorcas laughed good naturedly as Lily rolled her eyes fondly. “That may be; but she’s officially banned from playing with us.”

“Fair enough.” Regulus admitted as he smiled at your petulant pout and helped you stand like a baby fawn in your heels.

“How’s everyone else getting home?” James asked the other girls as he supported you with a gentle arm around your waist.

Dorcas, Marlene, and Pandora were getting a ride from Barty and Evan, and Lily, Mary, and Alice were getting picked up by Frank.

After far too many hugs and cheek kisses and what looked like the beginning of tears on Pandora’s part as Regulus finally pried you away from the group, you clumsily made your way into the back of Regulus’ waiting car with James.

“Did you have fun tonight, sweets?” James asked as he ensured your buckle was properly clasped.

“Oh, yes.” You declared breathlessly; as if being chaperoned to the car, basically lifted in and buckled up was exhausting work.

The streets were quiet at this time of night and Regulus enjoyed the comfortable silence that came over the three of you as he stole sneaky glances over his shoulder, sharing soft smiles with James at having their girl back.

“What time is it?” You asked urgently; you tone and words suddenly sounding half-sober as you interrupted the serenity of the car.

“It’s almost three, amour.” Regulus answered, peaking in the rearview mirror to see you staring straight ahead and James looking at the side of your face concernedly as Regulus navigated the quiet, lamp lit streets.

“In the morning!?” You shrilled, causing James to snort a laugh and rub at your hairline with his thumb as he rested his hand at the nape of your neck.

“Yes, baby. In the morning; that’s usually when the party’s over, yeah?”

“Did I wake you guys up?” You asked far too shyly for Regulus’ liking.

“Of course not, amour.” Regulus responded quickly, which was followed up with a “we stayed up waiting for you” from James.

Regulus heard a disbelieving breath escape your lips, the sound of James pressing a kiss to your hair, and then nothing but the sound of the tires on the road beneath you for a few moments.

Suddenly, disturbingly, upsettingly; he heard a sniffle.

Regulus immediately took his foot off the gas as he looked at you through the mirror to find your face pointed down in your lap and James leaning forward in an attempt to see your face.

“What’s the matter, angel?”

“Do you feel okay?” Regulus asked quickly, worrying you may be sick.

“I feel fine.” You cried quietly; Regulus could just make out what looked like the fall of a fat tear from your eyes where your head was lowered.

“What are the tears for, sweetheart?” James asked again, trying to encourage you to face him which you stubbornly refused.

“Why is she crying, Jamie?” Regulus asked desperately.

He pretended he didn’t see James shoot him an unimpressed look in the rearview mirror.

“Amour?” He whispered which elicited a quiet sob from you.

Regulus - only slightly unsafely - hastily pulled onto a side street and parked the car before he moved out of his seat, opened your door and crouched beside you.

“Amour, please darling. What’s wrong?”

“Do you feel sick?” James asked, still rubbing affectionately at the nape of your neck. You quickly shook your head no.

Regulus was at least a little relieved you weren’t about to sick up on him.

“Why are you crying, mon cheri?” He whispered, moving a lock of your hair behind your ear and tracing his thumb across your cheekbone.

“You guys are so lovely.” You admitted miserably.

“Angel.” James cooed as he roughly rubbed between your shoulders as if trying to ‘shake you out of it’. “You’re crying because your boyfriends are lovely?”

“Yes.” You sobbed and hid your face in your hands.

“Okay, that’s it.” Regulus demanded as he stood and closed your door gently before walking around the car and opening up James’.

“You’re fired. Get out.” He barked simply.

James let out a disbelieving laugh and looked at Regulus strangely.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You have our sweet girl sobbing back here.” He explained (overdramatically) as he flung a hand in your direction. “So, you’re fired; you have to drive now.”

James couldn’t help the fond grin that took over his face (the kind Regulus loved the most; the kind that resulted in two dimples instead of just the usual one) as he shook his head in exasperation and acquiesced to his new role as chauffeur.

“Okay amour, that’s enough now, yeah? You had a good night? Lot’s of fun with the girls? And two boys who love you a lot?” Regulus cooed as he took James’ recently vacated seat.

“I know!” You cried and flung your hands into your lap. “I’m so lucky!”

Regulus made an embarrassingly gooey ‘tsking’ sound as James laughed.

“Thank you, but we’re the lucky ones, angel.”

This just caused you to cry harder.

Regulus could have killed James right then and there if he didn’t look so sodding good behind the wheel of his car.

He’d deal with him later, though; for now, he had a sweet drunk lovie to snuggle.

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alewritesfics · 1 year

Text

𝕾𝖊𝖗𝖊𝖓𝖉𝖎𝖕𝖎𝖙𝖞 3

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Summary: growing closer is easier than you thought

Word count: 2k

Warnings: talk of a shitty family, mentions of death, unedited, I think that's all

Serendipity masterlist masterlist

You hummed as you entered the library grabbing the first book you saw on the shelf and sitting down on an couch nearby. You flipped through the pages, finding it boring and discarding it away.

You stood up and walked to the shelves, ruffling through the books, a door opened and closed behind you but you ignored it and continued searching for a good book when you heard a throat being cleared behind you.

You turn around with a book on your hands, coming face to face with the viscount “Viscount Bridgerton” you muttered pushing past him to go sit down

You open the book, ignoring his eyes that were fixated upon you “If you have something to say, you should do it now, I do not like people staring at me like you do, and I do not like people who do not speak their minds”

“I heard what you said to Mrs. Wilson” He blurted out, you hummed in response

“If you are expecting an apology, you will not get one, I stand by what I said” You stated

“No, no, I am not asking for one” He shook his head

“Then?”

“I came to – wanted to apologize for how I… I treated you before” he muttered

You raised an eyebrow “Truly.” He said once he saw the disbelief on your face “You were right. We all lost Kate and everyone is hurting the same way that I am. You were also right saying that I shouldn’t act the way I am, Kate’s death is no excuse and you did not deserve to be on the receiving end of my ire”

You pursued your lips before sighing mulling over his words “I accept your apology, if only because you are Kate’s husband”

He smiled slightly “I propose we start over” he offered “put the bad first impression behind us and try to get along… for Kate”

You nodded “For Kate” he nodded and grabbed a book, sitting down on the couch beside you

And just like that, you both started over.

You both would not go entirely out of your way to seek the other but in the case that you did come across each other, you would greet the other politely, making small talk before you went your way.

That was only the first week. By the second, you would go to the library for your nightly reading fest, the viscount would join you half an hour after, where you both would speak about the books you previously read and he would recommend you books he had read and enjoyed.

And soon enough, you went from strangers, to acquaintances to, almost friends?, you were not quite friends but you were not acquaintances either.

“Mr. Bridgerton” you greeted once you entered the library once again one night, he tilted his head in greeting, very immersed in the pages of the book he was reading. You grabbed the book you were previously reading the night before and sat down next to Lord Bridgerton. Uncomfortable silence filling the room.

After a few minutes of you both reading, you felt Lord Bridgerton shift beside you, closed his book and turned to look at you “Can…” he hesitated “Can you tell me about Kate?”

You looked at him questioningly “How she was before coming to London” Lord Bridgerton clarified “She told me bits of her life but not everything as we spent our time doing…other things” you smother the chuckle you wanted to let out, and instead shook your head

“Well, I have no idea how her childhood was since my parents never did let me visit Kate’s family, because as you probably know, Kate’s father was not exactly rich, and my mother despite being born poor, after she married my father, she changed and prioritized money over everything” You replied “But after I went to live with her family, well, she spent all of her time taking care of Edwina, and me then, she used to spent all of her time teaching Edwina everything she would need to become a proper lady, never really spending any time doing anything other than that. It was very rare when she took some time for herself”

“But, she was always there for us, she listened to us whenever we had a problem and if we wanted to go somewhere but we couldn’t since it wasn’t proper for us to go out unchaperoned, she would take us” You smiled your mind taking you back to the time when everything was simple “There was this time when Edwina and I desperately wanted to go to a fair they were having on our native country, they had brought some new stuff, like opera concerts, or new jewelry, there was even this thing called fireworks, and since we never saw one, we wanted to see what it did”

“So, we had snuck out at night when everyone was abed, or so we thought, we had gotten to this tall wall and we were trying to climb over it – it had some partitions that were out so we were able to hold onto them – and Edwina was at the top, I was starting to climb the wall when Kate caught us. Instead of reprimanding us for sneaking out, she was mad that we did not bring her along” Lord Bridgerton and you chuckled “ Anyway, Edwina and I were on the other side and Kate had one foot on either side, she was bringing her other foot to the other side when she lost her footing and fell into a puddle of mud that was, coincidentally underneath her and that is not even the funny part–“ you started to laugh remembering her face “ because where we used to live was close to a farm, which had some pigs that got loose a lot. One was in the puddle and when she fell, she accidentally fell onto of the pig. You should have seen her. Her whole body was filled with mud, some even got in her mouth and when tried to get up, she lost her footing once again and fell right back down onto the pig” you shook your head once again, both of your laughter filled the room “That was the happiest day of my life”

When you finished talking, the room was filled with silence once again. But this time, it wasn’t that awkward.

”And how was your life before you lived with Kate’s family?” Anthony wondered

You looked up at the fireplace in front of you both, the flames shinning brightly on your eyes “It was normal, it was not amazing but it was not like I had a bad childhood either” you sighed “We were not exactly rich nor did we have a big mansion like you do, I was always expected to be a proper lady so I could marry someone rich and ‘pay back’ what they wasted on me, my mother and father were not really that loving and never really paid attention to anything I needed”

You turned your head to look at him only to find him already staring at you “Ever since I was young, I was all alone, my father spent all of his time working and working to earn money so when the time came, I could make my debut into society thus he was never around, and even if he was, he never spoke to me unless it was to reprimand me for something. My mother was the same, if not worse. Of course, she did not work, how could a lady work? All they are born for is to marry someone rich, give them their heirs and spend their life forming their daughters into proper ladies. Or so she used to say. At least that is what she molded me into.” You did not even know why you were telling him this, but your mouth didn’t seem to want to stop, wanting to let everything out.

“Point is – “ You said “They were never there for me when I needed, they were never loving towards me despite being their only daughter. But they did everything so I could have a better life than they did and I loved and respected them” Anthony stayed silent, letting me get everything off my chest

“I loved and respected them until they turned their backs on me, that is” You admitted “Ever since that awful night, they disowned me, blamed me for ruining their reputations, as if it was my fault, they were never caring but I would have thought that me being their daughter would have meant something, that they would support me through everything and, Surprise! Surprise! It was the exact opposite.” You scoffed incredulously, you sighed and grabbed the book you previously discarded, thinking the conversation was done when you finished talking.

”I had to grow quicker than all of my siblings” Anthony admitted smiling sadly “I was 18…. when my father… died…. We had gone that day to hunt just the two of us and as we were heading back here, we stopped to pick some of the flowers out front” he pointed out the window

“He was stung by a bee. He had turned out to be allergic and before we could call for the doctor, he was gone” he pursed his lips “Just like that, at 18 years old, I was made the viscount. I had to switch from being a brother to being a father figure to my siblings in a matter of moments. I was entering a new stage in my life as a teenager and I did not even get to fully experience it from having to grow up sooner than I thought” you sighed and hesitated before you put your hand on top of his as a comforting gesture, one he smiled gratefully at. “I spent all of my time in the next 10 years either working or, and I am ashamed to admit it, frolicking around with women.”

“My mother was destroyed when my father died, she was always in her room, never really ate anything, could not even check on little Hyacinth from how heartbroken she was. That was the moment when I decided that I could not, and would not marry for love and have someone suffer the same fate as my mother did, as I could not even bare the thought that I could ever surpass my father in anything, much less surpass him in age” He sighed before his eyes seemed to brighten up “Then I met Kate, and she changed my perception on love, Kate was my soul mate. As you probably know, I had initially proposed to Ms. Edwina, she was the diamond of the season and since I was not planning to marry for love, I thought she was the best option, that she was well suited to be my wife, she did fit all of my requirements. But little did I know that trying to pursue her would be hard as she had a sister who did not like me one bit. Kate and I fought all the time, we could not stand to be in the same place for even a minute. But everything changed when I invited them here, some things happened and everything between Kate and I changed, we fell in love. We went through some hardships but in the end, we overcame it all, we were happy, we were expecting a child, everything was fine until she died” he lowered his head, you looked at him sadly, tears started to sting on your eyes before you blinked them away, composing yourself

“Kate was the best of us” you murmured looking back at the fireplace “ I don’t know how we will live peacefully without her” Lord Bridgerton nodded agreeing with you before he stood up

“If you excuse me, I still have work to do” he left without another word, you looked at the door he just walked through, understanding filling you, the wound still wasn’t healed after all but you were comforted knowing that this was a step closer to getting along.

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nikkisheep · 10 months

Text

To Be Alone With You

Anthony Bridgerton x female!Sharma!reader

Warnings: Smut, TENSION, cursing, oral (f), reader is Kate's full sister, kissing, touching when not supposed to, Anthony and his voice (warning himself), virgin reader (innocent ofc), sex on a dock (lol), kinda public sex, slight angst

I am so sorry that it got so long but it is so worth it. This is also my first Bridgerton fic so hope its good. :)

Summary: It was time that Anthony Bridgerton to finally meet the final Sharma sister who may stand in his way of marrying Miss Edwina Sharma but not like he expected her to.

Anthony Bridgerton was a man who was used to having any woman melt and cling to his every word. Women practically threw themselves at his feet the moment he walked in the room. His presence was a strong one, making everyone eager to please the viscount.

When Viscount Bridgerton met Edwina Sharma, the newly named "Diamond of the Season", he was happy that he could find at least one woman with half a brain. Miss Edwina was the suitable bride and soon Viscountess. It was almost too easy, so he thought. That was until he met the elder sister of Miss Edwina. Kate Sharma, a woman of one and twenty who was unwed herself, was a challenge that Anthony could not refuse. He fell into a pursuit to win over the eldest Sharma sister, doing everything by the book. Well, with a few exceptions.

The Viscount did not want a love match. He could never fall in love with the woman who will bear his children. He just couldn't. And Miss Edwina Sharma was exactly the woman who he could not possibly love but, she would make a wonderful bride for him to breed and come to have a heir to fill the Viscount role when Anthony died.

A last, his mother, Viscountess Violet Bridgerton, had invited the Sharma family to visit the lovely Aubrey Halls. It would be Mrs. Mary Sharma, the lovely girls' mother, Miss Edwina Sharma and then Miss Kate Sharma. Anthony was ready to deal with Kate when she arrived.

---

Dinner was being served when the thunder started. Benedict seemed like he had lost his mind, no doubt had drank Colin's tea that he brought from his travels.

"Have you noticed, Col?" Benedict asked, "The twinkles of the candles, it is as....as if we sit among the stars."

Eloise snorted and looked to her older brother, "What is wrong with you?''

"I was just telling Benedict how brilliant the stars were in Greece," answered Colin.

Benedict went to take a sip of his wine but knocked it over, causing Violet and the other ladies to gasp at the table. The brother smiled and rubbed his hands over his cheeks in an innocent way.

"Lord Bridgerton, Miss Sharma here," A butler said.

"Whatever do you mean, Miss Sharma is here? How many are there?"

In just a few seconds a woman walks in, wearing the similar purple dress that the Sharma sisters were wearing. She looked identical to Kate, except her eyes were lighter. Her hair was more brown than black and she held her head high. Her presence was enough to even sober up Benedict for a moment.

"Is it just me or is there two Kates?" Benedict said, mind foggy.

"I am so sorry for my late arrival. Lady Bridgerton, the house is lovely." The woman said.

Violet blushed and thanked the woman. The older woman always enjoyed getting compliments about her home that she shared with Edmund.

"You said you couldn't make it," Edwina states as she moves to hug the woman. Everyone was confused as a goose until Kate stood up.

"This is my sister," Kate said, moving to stand by her.

You introduce yourself and smile at everyone, that is until you see Anthony. He had this look about him and you couldn't quite tell.

"I assume this is the viscount you were telling me about, Kate?" You said.

"Yes, this is Lord Bridgerton. He is the viscount and is to marry Edwina."

You looked at him and he just smirked. He had found a new toy to play with. And god did he want to play.

You looked at him.

"My lord, forgive me for my tartiness," You say, voice rich.

"All is forgiven, my lady." He had a hard look.

"Please, I am hardly a noble lady to earn that title,'' You tease.

Anthony was taken by surprise, no one had ever teased about their noblity or anything. Being a proper lady is very serious and not taken lightly. There was another Sharma sister, but at least this one seemed nice. For now.

---

You were quite the most annoying and challenging lady Anthony had the misery to meet. You talked too much, you jested a bit, your teasing with Benedict made his blood boil. Your words melting off your tongue and practically bringing Anthony's younger brother to his knees.

Benedict's face had blushed right before you move to rest your hand on his shoulder.

"My dear, Benedict, how are you?" You asked kindly, flashing that beautiful smile that made everyone melt.

"I am quite well, Miss Sharma." He looked down right flustered with your presence beside him.

Lady Bridgerton held a small ball at Aubrey Hall and Benedict had just finished dancing with you. The two of you had swept through the floor, everyone in envy that Mr. Bridgerton's attention was solely on you.

"Brother, I hate to steal our guest from you but I am in need of a dance," Anthony stepped in to say.

"I suppose that I have one dance in me," You laughed.

"I hadn't asked yet," Anthony said.

"Well, in that case, Benedict you wouldn't mind having yet another dance with me?" You smirked when Anthony rolled his eyes and groaned.

Once you got on the dance floor, Anthony could not keep his eyes off you, even as he danced with Edwina and Kate.

"My brother seems to be taking a liking to you," Benedict smiled.

"Please, he wants to marry my sister. After all, who even said I wanted him. Maybe I want you," You whisper the last part in his ear. He shudders against you and smiles.

"Is that true now, Miss Sharma?"

"Perhaps."

----

Pall Mall was the ruthless game that the Bridgerton's ever played. The Mallet of Death sat in your hands as Benedict had handed it to you with a wink and a sly smile. You blushed at the brother's antics.

He moved to be closer to you and whispered something in your ear which made you snort aloud and Kate looked at you with a raised eyebrow.

"Who has my bloody mallet?" Anthony's voice boomed in the air.

"My lord, I do not know," Kate smirked.

"Where is it?"

You coughed to clear your throat, suddenly bringing the Viscount's attention to you. That might have been a bad idea. It surely was.

"You...You have my mallet, I believe."

"I do?" You inquired.

"Yes, Miss Sharma, you do."

"Well, I suppose that I could just give it to you," You start to hand it to him, his siblings surprised at how easy you were giving it up, and Anthony was smiling, "But first you will have to catch me." You took off running down the field and Anthony just watched in surprise.

"Did she?"

"I believe she did," Daphne laughed. She watched as her older brother looked as if he wanted to blow up.

"Dear brother, I think you should go get her if that mallet is very important to you." Colin laughed as Anthony ran down the field, looking for you as the Mallet of Death rested in your possession.

He ran looking for you and he heard your sweet giggle coming from in the garden. He looked to see that everyone had given up on waiting for them and started the match without the two of you. He walked around the garden to find you crouching behind a hedge and was covering your mouth as you looked around the side of the bush, hoping to not be seen.

His boots moved to quietly as he stalked closer to your frame. He then grabbed your waist and picked you up, causing you to gasp into his hand.

"Lord Bridgerton, put me down this instant."

He placed you down on the ground and stands close to your body. His warmth and scent poured over you in waves. He smelt like sweat, dirt, body wash, slight scent of vanilla, and sandalwood?

"Lord Bridger-"

"Anthony, my name is Anthony." He said, panting at the closeness that he had created.

"My lord-"

"Anthony."

"My lord, it is improper to call you by your given name," You say, trying to catch your breath and not breathe his scent in.

"And us being in my mother's garden alone is very improper, I dare say, Miss Sharma."

Your smell floods his senses when he takes a deep breath and move closer to you, chests touching. The smell of dirt, sweat, lilies and Jasmine? God, it drove him crazy. Just being around you drove him crazy.

"You followed me here.''

"You ran here."

"You chased me."

"You took my mallet."

"I-" You stutter, "Benedict gave it to me."

He looks at you with something dark in his eyes, something that burned with fiery. His hand came to touch your waist and you nearly melt. He looks at your chest, noticing that you were wearing the Bridgerton color. You normally wore purple but you were wearing the baby blue that stood for his family.

"You are wearing my family color," He says, blood rushing some where it did not need to be.

"Oh, I had not known that I wasn't allowed to wear blue."

"It stands for my family and you...are...wearing...my...color."

His body presses closer to you, invading your space. He moves to corner you against the tall hedge, the only thing keeping your situation from any on lookers.

His mouth moves to rest beside your ear, hot breath fanning over the exposed skin there, goosebumps rising on your skin.

"You want something, I can sense it."

You shudder.

"And what would that be, my lord?"

"You want me," He said lowly.

"You are to marry Edwina," You correct him.

"That doesn't change that you desire me," He chuckles at your attempt.

"I beg your pardon. You are a rake and I have no desire for such a person like you. You are to marry my sister, not me. If you wish to be with my sister than act like it, if not then leave her alone. I will not be some play thing for you to play with when you want to."

"Oh but you are my play toy. You are whatever I want you to be. Do you know why?" He asked.

"Why?"

"Because all I have to do is whisper real close to your ear, like this," He moved even closer, "And tell you that I desire you in ways that would make any mama blush and cry out for improper topics to a lady."

You take in a ragged breath.

"Desire me?"

"Yes, why do you think I came out here to get you?"

"To get your mallet?"

"No, so I can have you."

" You are courting my sister to marry. I am done with this topic and I am leaving this garden. Good day, Lord Bridgerton."

---

Anthony was reeling. He couldn't stop thinking about you. He can't sleep at night because of you. It wasn't your fault. No, it was your fault. You were the one who kept reminding him of his soon to be proposal to your sister and putting him in his place. Heavens above, he couldn't help but be aroused when you put him where he was meant to be. And that perfume that you have, Jasmine and Lillies, god it did things to him.

---

The day had been hot, very hot and you knew that you shouldn't but you were burning for a swim in the lake. You couldn't help it. After being in the garden with the Viscount, it felt you aflame.

Sneaking out of your chambers, you made your way outside to the lake that rested toward the trees.

Looking around, you made sure that no one was up and you were making sure that you were not followed. You made your way to a tree and took off your coat. Yo began your task of unbuttoning your gown.

Anthony watched you remove each piece of fabric from your body as he made his way down to the lake himself. He had not known that you were going to be here. He had not expected it. He always goes for a midnight swim when he couldn't sleep. Why he couldn't sleep? You.

Slipping onto the dock, you take a dive, cold water enveloping your body. It felt heavenly against your heated skin. Anthony was never to be allowed to know that he was the reason behind the midnight swim in the lake. You swam to the middle and was sighing while looking up to the moon. The entire lake was lit by the moon, banishing all shadows from being cast onto your face. You looked angelic.

Anthony slipped in the water after stripping completely bare and went underwater. He wanted to see you move about when you were by yourself. He had wanted to see you nude, part of his mind begging him to see what you looked like, but you were still a lady and he was a gentleman.

You heard a splash and you turned around very quickly, spotting none other than Anthony Bridgerton. You knew you were caught and he would laugh at you but he just swam closer. You could only see his shoulders and water was dripping down them to be collected back to the lake.

"My lord-"

"I do believe that we are now way past formalities," He chuckled.

He was silently begging to hear his name fall from your lips. He knew this was wrong. You were his betrothed sister. You were a lady. You were innocent. If he took that from you, you would be ruined. But...but you looked so desirable. You looked just ready to be ravished by his mouth. To be tasted in places that you had never thought of to be touched. To be submitted to such incredible pleasure that Anthony knew that he could bring you. To be his.

He swam closer to you, grabbing your hand which he used to pull you until you were placing your hands on his shoulders to hold onto. You gasped at how warm he still was, even in the chilled water of the night. Anthony looked at you, smiling when he realizes that you move even closer, your legs brushing every time you move to keep yourselves afloat.

"I want you," He admits.

He kisses your lips, groaning when you kiss back only for a second before he feels himself being pushed away from you.

"You are engaged to my sister," You say.

"Not yet."

"But-"

"But, I want you. I don't want Edwina. I don't want Kate. I want you," He says, "I desire you."

Anthony kissed your lips once more, swallowing any sound coming from your mouth. His tongue brushed yours and you moaned. You had never done that but with Anthony, you felt so good you couldn't keep it inside.

Anthony had you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling something quite odd in between his legs but you didn't question it when he took your breast into his awaiting mouth. He sucked your nipple and ran his tongue around it as he teased you mercilessly. Your hair was down so it was hanging in the water as you threw your head back in bliss as he moved to bite at your collarbones and neck.

Anthony moved the two of you all the way to the dock, picking you up out of the water and seating you directly onto the hard wood. He then watches as you move back, suddenly aware of how exposed you are to him. He puts his hands on the dock and pushes himself out of the water, droplets trickling down his slightly hairy chest down to his now every noticeable something. You didn't know what on earth it could even be.

"What is that?" You said shyly, pointing to his hips.

"That would be my cock." He just chuckled.

"It looks hard," You said, "does it hurt?"

He groaned at your innocence. God, you were going to be the death of him. You looked so nervous to even ask and then when you did, you blushed deeply. You were so cute.

"It hurts some times when I desire someone really bad," He explained.

"Like Edwina? Did it ever hurt for Edwina or Kate?" You asked softly.

"No, never with them. I want you," He said, holding your face, "God, you consume every thought that I make. You make it so, so hard to be a gentleman. There is no way that I can escape you, no matter how hard I try because you are always in my mind."

He kissed you once more and you let him. You were going to forget about Edwina, who the man currently moving in between your legs and kissing every inch of your body, was supposed to get married to. You were going to forget the rules of being a proper lady. You were going to forget formalities and just revel in the pleasure that is being caused by the mouth of your sister's soon to be betrothed.

"Anthony!" You cried when he made contact with the little bud between your folds and he licked it. Your body was shot with electricity that sent your back to be arching.

He hummed against your core and went back to sucking on your clit. No one or nothing could have prepared you for the Viscount's tongue to slip inside of you. He had done so when you were pulling on his hair as you grasped for anything but you could not find anything to ground you. Anthony swept you away in pure pleasure as he ate you like a starved man. He drank anything your body was willing to give and he took it with a groan. His eyes rolled back as he tasted you.

"Oh, my lord-"

"It's Anthony. Just Anthony," He said before staring at your weeping cunt.

Your hands pulled at the man's hair and his other hand, that wasn't holding down your hips, moved up to grab a hold of your free hand that was gripping your breast. Your back arched when he made one last circle with his tongue on your clit and you burst with carnal desire. You shook against Anthony's mouth as he drank you in.

He thought you were so beautiful laying out for him, under the stars on his dock, wet hair after a late night swim and most of all, the way the moon shone down on you. You looked ever so innocent but oh so dirty.

"Are you okay?" He asked when he noticed you not moving but still shaking.

"I'm more than okay."

He laughed and began kissing up your body. His tongue poked out every once and a while as he traveled up to your mouth. The taste of yourself was erotic. You had never known something could exist. Anthony moved on top of you and positioned himself so that his cock would rest between your sensitive folds. He had to contain himself so that he wouldn't cum right on the spot.

You gave him a nod before he claimed your lips as he pushed himself inside your waiting body. You moaned out loud before you started panting against Anthony's mouth as the two of you tried to adjust to the sudden feeling. His arms shook as his head fell onto your chest as your hand ran through his hair, pulling slightly.

"Are you ready for me to move because if you aren't that's okay but I really need to move?" Water trickled down his body as he held himself above you, looking down at you.

"Please, Anthony." He smiled at his name and started to slowly pull out, letting you feel every ridge and vein his dick possessed and you were enjoying it. Anthony thrusted back in and your head fell back against the wooden dock. As Anthony thrusted his cock in and out of you, the only things that could be heard was your labored breathing and the sounds of your bodies moving against each other as the two of you reached new heights together and the sound of crickets chirping in the grass.

"Oh, god you feel so good," Anthony groaned.

"So fucking good," You panted, hips rising to match his. You were chasing something but you didn't know what. You didn't even know what was happening when your muscles started to tighten and some kind of euphoria started to crash down on you.

Anthony's breathing got caught in his throat as he watched your face contort in pleasure as he pumped himself constantly in you, trying to reach his end. He looked at your blissful face and decided that you would give him another.

"Just one more, darling, and then I can fill you up real nice." His hand went in between your legs as he watched himself move inside and out of you. His thumb began circling your clit, his cock hitting the right spots every time, his face tightening in desirable lust as he held himself above you, moving faster, trying to make you cum for a third time before he got his.

"Oh, Anthony!" You moan before he places a kiss on your lips to silence you. You cum one last time and Anthony unloads himself completely in you once bottoming out inside you. You laid there with him as he felt the aftershocks of his orgasm and you shuddered at the sudden cold.

Anthony kisses you lazily as he feels you giggle against his lips when he sighs into you. He pulls out and then shudders at the cold.

"I think we should go get some nice warm milk and sit by the fire to warm up," He proposes.

"Won't we get caught?"

"Darling, we just had sex on the dock in front of my house and you are worried about getting caught with some milk by the fire?" He laughed.

"Well, I can't be seen with you alone."

"Fine, but let's get dressed and go inside so we can sleep."

"In the same room?" You ask in a quiet voice.

"Not yet. We might get caught."

"Maybe getting caught wouldn't be so bad then," You giggle when you see his bare ass.

"Oh you are a little minx," Anthony groans.

"Maybe," You gasp when he picks you up after you get dressed and then carries you inside.

He takes you to your room and puts you down so you can stand. He doesn't want to let go but he knows he needs to leave soon.

''Good night, Miss Sharma." He said with a kiss.

"Good night, Lord Bridgerton," You sigh against his lips.

The kiss is passionate but is cut short when the clock decided to strike three and make a loud noise. You both laugh and he sees you close the door and he then walks to his chambers.

He finally can go to sleep with a smile on his face. A smile that didn't disappear the following day until he realized that he had to propose to your sister, Edwina Sharma.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x sharma!reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x female!reader #anthony bridgerton x reader smut #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton s2 #to be alone with you

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talesof-old · 2 months

Text

friends? | j.p.

pairing(s): james potter x reader

warning(s): nothing really, slight mentions of infidelity, breakups due to inappropriately close friendships, slightly rushed and not edited/proofread

word count: 1k

a/n: i’m so sorry this took me so long i lost track of time

masterlist

bsf!james potter + realizations

“You spend all day with him, what else am I supposed to believe!”

Your boyfriend’s—or rather, your ex-boyfriend’s—words were still on your mind, even a week later. A year down the drain, for what? You sighed and closed your Charms textbook. Studying would have to wait for another day.

Your books and parchment were shoved into your bag and then you were exiting the library, ready to put on one of your sad records and wallow in your dorm.

As you made your way to Gryffindor tower, you hear your name being called. You turned. James, followed by his three friends, all looking rather bemused. Your heart beats faster. What was once second nature, a smile and greeting, now proved far more difficult than you could’ve imagined.

James fell into step next to you, fingers intertwining with yours in a motion that appeared as easy as breathing. Your smile faltered before you caught yourself. Holding hands was normal between friends, wasn’t it? Affection came naturally when you cared for people. James squeezed your hand before all but dragging you through the Fat Lady’s portrait.

Unceremoniously, he dropped his bags at the foot of the unoccupied couch and flopped down, bringing you down with him. You fell against the plush cushions, belt digging into your waist.

“You alright? Y’seem a bit…off.” You nod your head. It was no use rehashing the events that had led up to this point. Instead, your gaze turned to where your hands were joined.

You wondered when the lines of friendship blurred between you and James. Before, you’d taken your friends’ teasing in stride, assuming they were just taking the piss at the two of you. Sure, James was attractive and unnecessarily attentive, but that was just James.

He knew all of your mutual friends schedules, knew what they liked or didn’t, always cared for each of you. The thought that he treated you in a different way hadn’t even crossed your mind.

Sirius cackled to your left and you glanced over, watching as his cheeks went red and he shook his head at Remus. You raised a brow. Had you really gotten so caught up in everything that you hadn’t noticed? Heat rushed to your face as you thought back to your boyfriend’s breaking point.

Abba blared in the Common Room, plastic cups littering every available surface filled with some far too strong mixed concoction. Lily had abandoned you to dance with Mary, leaving you nodding along to the music. Your boyfriend would likely be arriving any moment. A Hufflepuff, talented and charismatic, who’d somehow managed to sweep you off your feet in the middle of Divination class.

“There you are.” An arm wrapped around your shoulder. You flinched, your drink sloshing as you turned to gaze at the boy. James’ smile was crooked as he leaned closer to you, pupils dilated. You grinned back, nudging his ribs to curl into his side. He rubbed your shoulder.

“I couldn’t find you earlier, thought maybe you’d abandoned me for some book upstairs.” You rolled your eyes. Someone yelled from across the room, the sound followed by several drunken hollers. You turned to face him. James’ face was barely two inches from yours, eyes unblinking behind his glasses. You raised a brow.

James just grinned, squeezing your shoulders. Your cup was discarded almost immediately as he started guiding you towards the table. Two punches were gleaming in the light, though you could’ve sworn one was far pinker than you remember it being.

“What did you lot do?”

He gasped in mock offense. “Us? You think so lowly of your friends that you assume we’ve messed with the punch?”

Your blank look had him caving.

“Alright, maybe Pads added something.” You huffed a laugh.

“Just be care-“ Another student bumped into you, sending you falling into James’ chest. A ruckus started from where a group of Gryffindors began wrestling. You shook your head.

James turned you around. “You alright?” Perhaps if you’d been paying attention, you would’ve noticed just how close he was, and noted the way he held you.

But you didn’t. However someone else, watching the whole thing, did. He’d made a point to stay back and see if his suspicions held any truth. James Potter was in love with you, even if you couldn’t admit it.

You let James drag you over to your friends, plopping you down on the couch before settling down next to you. With your affectionate disposition, it was only natural to nestle into his side. Sirius wiggled his eyebrows at you; your friend’s teasing would only be taken as a lighthearted jab.

For the moment, you just savored the warmth of James beside you. In the presence of your friends you felt safe and understood. Perhaps that’s why you never questioned it. James pressed a quick kiss to your temple as he leaned forward to grab his drink.

That was enough for your boyfriend. Playing second to James was not a game he wanted in on. And for you to be so oblivious to it all? The sharp sting of betrayal was ample enough reason to show that it was time to bring things to an end.

You shook yourself out of your thoughts. There was no point in dwelling on the awful conversation you’d had with your ex. The realizations you’d had since that night were enough to occupy your time. James wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Briefly tensing before melting into his embrace, you leaned your head against his arm. Despite the hurt you felt from your boyfriend seemingly suddenly breaking up with you, the freedom you now had to question yourself was exhilarating. Perhaps you’d figure out what all this meant, with time. Maybe you could find it in yourself to pay more attention to the actions of a particular friend.

James squeezed your hand. You turned, looking up at him with questioning eyes. “We’re going to the kitchens to grab a few things, you coming with?”

You shrugged. “Don’t see why not.”

+++

#harry potter x reader #harry potter #james potter x you #james fleamont potter #james potter fluff #james potter drabble #james potter x reader #james potter #james potter oneshot #james potter angst #talesofold birthday special

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utterlyotterlyx · 2 months

Text

Skin and Bones

Cassian x Fem!Reader

Summary - Cassian barely knew who you were let alone your affections toward him. Determined to not play the Lord of Bloodshed's puppy, you kept quiet, silently waiting for the Mother to give you your chance. But, one Starfall, everything changes.

Warnings - pining, fluff, alcohol use, swearing

Based of this ask

The teasing had become a common occurrence.

It wasn't often that you left the confinements of The Library, but when you did, for whatever reason that would be, you'd always find yourself in the same place as the Lord of Bloodshed, and his mere presence encapsulated your attention enough to shush to to complete silence.

Cassian was a god-like specimen, the curves of his taut, trained muscle contorting with each movement, his hair pulled back into a well-maintained bun with slices falling over his face that faded down the sides to that impeccable beard ; he was ruggedly handsome, rough-hewn with sun-kissed golden skin, and brown-green eyes that made you weak whenever they passed over you.

He had only spoken to you twice, once when he asked if you were alright after you had dropped a stack of books upon seeing him, little did he know that you weren't just some clumsy researcher, but that you were awestruck upon seeing that carved from the mountains complexion and those large membranous wings. The other time he had spoken to you was to ask for a book that Amren needed, a request you had quickly granted, your giddiness drifting like ash in the wind when he took the book from your grasp with a small thanks and looked right through you.

Other than those two instances, Cassian hadn't spoken to you, it was like you didn't even exist to him.

You weren't the most ongoing female, you didn't find joy in sauntering about the room and throwing yourself onto any male who deemed you worthy enough. You were reserved. You were quiet to all but the ones who truly knew you well enough to say that you were by far the most complex thing in all of Velaris.

And that was saying something.

"He's never going to notice you when you hole yourself up in the corner like that," Mari drawled, rolling her eyes at you as you had, yet again, found Cassian laughing thunderously across the room and set your sights on him, "Go and talk to him."

Your friends had consistently tried to convince you to talk to him, to try and give you the confidence you needed to walk right up to the Lord of Bloodshed and tell him exactly how you felt.

"How long are you going to look at him until you just do it?" Rita's was teething with thumping music and swirling talk, it was the night of Starfall, and the entire of Velaris had moved from their own private celebrations to dance and drink the night away at the city's favourite bar.

Not taking your eyes off of him as he stood between his brothers, laughing like a giddy child with his white canines shining in the glittering light, you told Sia, "As long as I need to."

Sia scoffed, pushing her moon white hair back over her shoulder and allowing her silver gaze to tear into you, "Not good enough, Y/N."

Humming in agreement, Mari leaned over the white marble table and grasped you chin in her delicate fingers, "You look insane tonight. Don't waste it by sitting in that corner. Even the High Lady doesn't outshine you in that dress," Mari's dark pools of onyx and blue winked, her voice was as soft as summer rain.

"I'm not going to be a puppy that chases him around-"

"It'll happen when it happens and all of that crap," Sia waved her hand, reciting your weekly words, "And looking at him like that every time is doing what exactly?" Heat crept up your cheeks and you scowled, "Come on, we're dancing," Sia sank her drink, the delightfully tropical concoction that was once in her glass dissipating, "I'm not asking."

Mari was right. You did look incredible.

Red fabric doused in diamonds clung to every curve and shimmered in the faelight with every movement you took, an off-the-shoulder neckline which highlighted the hollowness of your collarbones, a high slit that reached your right thigh, matching lace gloves that kissed your elbows. Absolute perfection.

With a sigh, you slid your covered hand into Sia's who wasted no time in hauling you up and dragging you through a sea of intoxicated bodies to the centre of the dancefloor, just in case you changed your mind. Caging in the little mouse with no means of escape.

They were lucky to have been able to convince you to treat yourself for once, to buy a new dress and put makeup on, to give yourself something to look forward to. Sia and Mari knew how lonely The Library could be, though of course knew that you didn't mind one bit, you loved what you did, it had enabled you to travel the world and find things no male ever could. It was always about perspective, you had told them.

Sia placed her hands on your waist, making you sway to the beat of the music with her, your bodies moving like a ripple down the Sidra. Light fell over you, drifting through the crowd who were becoming lost in the thumping melodies, falling victim to the alcohol in their systems. It was Starfall, how couldn't they?

Your friend reached behind you, pulling the pin from your delicately wound updo, allowing your hair to flow down your spine and smiling as you ran your fingers through it, twirling around and feeling every hit of bass reverberate through your body.

Too busy losing yourself in the moment, you didn't feel a certain gaze floating over your figure, drinking in your large smile and giggles as you danced, drinking in the curve of your breasts and hips, "Who are you looking at?" Mor appeared next to him, swaying slightly from the amount of alcohol she had drank, crouching beneath his chin like it would help her focus on who had stolen his attention. "Oh, please tell me you're looking at Y/N."

"Y/N?" Cassian asked, puzzled, he tilted his head to the side, looking at your closer, the pretty eyes and soft features, the pure joy as you jumped to the music with your friend.

"Y/N? Prythian's most accomplished researcher?" Mor barked incredulously, in disbelief that anyone could have the gall to not know who the female was, "She's the most impressive person I've ever met."

"More impressive than me?" Cassian smirked at the golden-haired blonde, it was suggestive, it was teasing, it earnt him a sharp jab to the arm, "Ow," he rubbed over the clothed patch of skin, enjoying the feel of the silk black shirt he had decided to adorn that night.

"Way more impressive than you, Lord of Bloodshed," Mor finished the last of her drink and leaned into him, "I'm surprised you haven't noticed her before, she's always helping Azriel and Amren out with whatever they need."

That's it. Y/N.

Cassian knew who you were. The ditzy researcher that worked within the library in the River House, the one who had gotten that book for him one time, the one who had dropped a stack of tomes on her toes and repressed the squeal until she'd gone red in the face.

But surely that female wasn't you. You looked- you looked so radiant, practically glowing like a star in a sea of darkness, completely different to the grey-blue tunic pants you wore alongside a thick black woven jumper that drowned you.

"That's Y/N?" Cassian asked, shocked, narrowing his eyes on you when Mor nodded, "But, I've barely even noticed her, she's so quiet."

Azriel laughed then, loudly too, one that rumbled through his chest as he clasped Cassian's shoulder, "Y/N is not quiet," he told his brother, looking to you fondly, "She's the loudest thing ever actually, funny too."

"I've never heard her. I've barely noticed her existence."

Mor reached a finger out and flicked the pendent dangling from his neck, "Because she's not loud when you're around, silly."

A beat passed and Azriel let out a small, knowing, "Oh," like a lightbulb had flashed on in his brain, the penny dropping in his mind, and a shit-eating grin pulling at the corners of his lips.

"What?" Cassian asked, his gaze flickering between Azriel and Mor who were silently communicating with their eyes.

Mor smiled, "I think you should go and talk to her, say hi, happy starfall and all of that stuff," Mor gave him little option, pushing him from their ledge and onto the dancefloor.

Cassian rolled his shoulders and turned to Mor and Azriel with a scowl, they had taken a step closer to one another, whispering between themselves.

She was right though, he should be polite and wish you a happy starfall. Adjusting the open collar of his silk shirt, he moved through the crowd that parted like the Sidra before him until he saw a straight line guiding him to you.

Your friend saw him coming and dipped her head to him before taking a step back, smirking to herself at your complete unawareness of the situation as you twirled back to where you thought she was, only to meet a wall of rock hard muscle and wings that cast a shadow over you.

Dark amber, smoke, and cloves stung their way down your nose and into your lungs, it was the deepest breath you had ever taken. Those brown-green eyes that stalked your dreams were now peering down on you with splendid wonder, his entire figure curled around you, and you felt your heart beating a mile a minute.

"Hi," his voice was low and rough, his breath smelt like aged whisky, and his entire body heat made you feel like your skin was on fire, "Y/N, right?"

It took you a moment to respond, "Yeah," you replied, gravity shifting around you and the music dimming into a hum in your ears.

Cassian grinned, "I'm Cassian."

"I know who you are," the movement of your lips had him entranced, like they were moving in slow motion, he watched them peel from one another, he watched the movement of your tongue with every sweet syllable that moved through them.

It wasn't often that Cassian found himself speechless, it wasn't often that he stood before such an accomplished female and knew little to nothing about her, "Mor mentioned that you're a researcher, that you help Amren and Azriel sometimes. How come I know nothing about you?"

His eyes were hypnotising, "You've never looked long enough."

Cassian smiled, eyes glistening with approval as he took a step forward, laying a hand on you waist and sending an electrifying current over every inch of your skin, "Maybe I should."

You hummed, "Maybe it's time you did," you were doing everything you could to keep your soul from trembling, to keep your voice calm and stoic, to throw that confident façade up like a shield.

His finger, as rough and calloused as you had dreamed it would be, took a strand of hair and pushed it over your shoulder, his fingers grazing your collarbone on their retreat. "Dance with me?"

You spent the remainder of the night in his arms, dancing with him to the music, allowing his large hands to roam your body and ask questions about you that no one had ever bothered to.

It happened to be the most magical Starfall that either of you had ever celebrated.

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diejager · 10 months

Text

Bittersweet Devotion pt.2

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Cw: angst, heartbreak, mention of cheating, mention of death, no happy ending, apology, tell me if I missed any. wc: 9.3k

Your universe, Earth-XXX, was a parallel one to Earth-616 in some sense. You had a Peter Parker, a Gwen Stacy and a Mary Jane Watson, it had everything down to the death of Ben Parker and the devastation it brought to your friend. It was the same year as Spider-Man 616’s world, it had the same political standing and same history. Your world, like many others, was a near carbon copy of 616, down to the smallest things; but like others in the spiderverse, you had differences. Some were minor changes in the course of its canon story, others were major changes in the characters and the era.

You - like Miguel, Miles, Jess, Hobart (he liked going by Hobie), Patrick and Patriv - were one of those major deviations in the original canon. You didn’t exist - or so you thought - in Peter B. or Peter’s universe even though you lived in the same year. The reason might be that in the reality, the sum of all potential universes that paralleled each other, created the multiverse - the Spiderverse.

The concept of it seemed strangely unlimited, the infinite possibilities to a different ending or a different start for its world. The multiverse was, in some sense, as old as time, a culmination of everything made imaginable by man. Found in ancient texts - the Puranas, ancient Hindu mythology - that expressed the infinite number of universes with their gods and principles. Whereas Persian literature - tales - touched the idea of learning about alternate universes that were similar, yet distinctly different from theirs.

Misconstrued by many, the strangeness of it was deemed a danger, the unknown possibilities were feared by people of older age, but venerated in the past as it was in the present for the unfathomable possibilities. It exists in fiction, where they borrowed the idea of many worlds within a reality from myths, legends and religion. Heaven, Hell, Olympus and Valhalla were all reflections of a familiar world, a material realm for the blessed, the sinful, the gods, and the worthy. The similarities sometimes frightened you, how close the people were to knowing of the reality you all lived in. The tangibility of crossing worlds and bringing about chaos to every string, every realm, every material form of the multiverse.

They, after all, were real, Hell as much as Heaven in your universe. Gods from every religion, either monotheistic or polytheistic, some you’d personally seen are Thor and Loki, brother and sons of Odin the Allfather, and the God of Thunder and Mischief respectively. Another was a big crocodile lady, Ammit, from what you’d heard from the all-knowing Dr. Strange. From God to Norse and Egyptian gods, from angels and demons, and from humans to mutants, your plane of existence was as wide as it could go without drifting off the edge and causing a mass domino effect within the multiverse.

You were curious, naturally so for a scientist, exploring the worlds that felt familiar to you but you hadn’t truly grasped - different, yet similar. You hadn’t given a second thought to exploring yours. After all, why explore yours when your horizon was as broad as you imagined it, unperturbed by any limits when it came to the multiverse? The eternal and unlimited growing number of realms in your expanding reality.

Perhaps that was the reason why you hadn’t known your universe had its own Miguel O’Hara. You rarely came back for anything, you had everything you’ve ever wanted in Nueva York, Earth-928. You have friends who could truly understand you, people who stood beside you when you fought, youngsters who looked up to you for mentoring and a dream- or it was a dream. Dreams, not dissimilar to wishes, were hopeful, naive in a way, they came and went. Some dreams would come true, while others fell, like the fallen stars that crossed the night sky.

Yours simply happened to be a fallen one, one not meant to happen and become greater. You let it go after he dropped you, after he turned his back and let his mouth run unperturbed. He brought her up, someone he swore he would remember but left in the past. A new chance to become something, to become whole again, and Miguel took it. He wanted to start anew, fresh with someone he never met, you wanted the same; you both had what you wished for, until he put his foot down, cutting the thin web that connected both your lives.

It broke your heart. Months of patience and anxiously stepping around each other, nervous about breaking the trust freshly built between you both, lost in a few weeks. You were brittle, heart fractured and threatening to fall further apart if someone was any crueller to you. The smallest glare, the tiniest scoff or the weakest remark would send you reeling into the abyss of heartbreak and the throes of anguish. Yet somehow, you found yourself being led away by a copy of the Miguel you loved.

He mumbled apologies as he held you tightly, his arm over your shoulder as he cradled you under his umbrella, hastily urging you to follow his guidance. If it were any other person, you would’ve been wary, cautious of any strangers that touched you so closely and chaperoned you so quickly; but this was Miguel, a man you trusted and that you still trusted wherever he came from. Earth-XXX’s Miguel O’Hara was still similar to the one you knew, someone you could trust. You did.

He led you to his flat, someplace near Alchemax’s building in Manhattan, a safe neighbourhood for the richer citizens of Manhattan. A cozy place of neutral tones and muted colours, yet warm as he welcomed you - a stranger as of yet - into his home. He had machinery strewn around, reports stacked on his coffee table and smaller things he had been tinkering about decorating his home. As a geneticist, he liked to play with machinery, having drawn his designs and models, built his creations from scratch and worked from the base programming to make something better. At least Miguel from Earth-928 did, and it seemed this one did as well.

You stood in his shower, where he left you in a frenzy to bring you dry clothes, drying out your hair with the towel he motioned you to use. You doubted that he had anything your size, his broad shoulders and his towering height, nothing he had in his draws - and the boxes he stowed away in his closet - would fit you. They would drag down your ankle and sit low on your collar. Granted, you were soaked down to your socks and had no temporary clothes to cover yourself with during your stay.

You had stripped from your soaked clothes and patted down your wet skin, shivering from the cold that clung to your bones even after Miguel had increased the heater in the small confines of the bathroom. It was small but big enough to move around and stretch your arms comfortably. You hadn’t felt the cold until he brought you to his bathroom, the numbness of the past months weighing heavily on your shoulders and the bleeding of your heart made everything seem so meaningless. The colours draining from the world around you, a once bright New York turned grey, the monochrome tones of black and white mixing and interlacing to form even more boring shades.

The vibrancy and life you once saw around you dulled and died suddenly, like the winters brought by Demeter’s devastation and sadness when her daughter was taken from her, stolen from the berth of flowers she liked frolicking about. How Demeter doomed the world to see her pain, to feel how she felt in the moments her daughter had to return to her husband than stay with Demeter. You felt laden by your faults and his actions. Doubtful of your relationship, of what led you both to such an ending. Had you been clearer or more forthcoming about your emotions, or had you confronted him for his behaviour, would you still be in his arms?

Were you at fault for missing something you had relied on as comfort and safety? Could you be blamed for his reaction to your meddling in his affairs in the Society? Could you blame him for dropping those words on you? After all, being reminded or compared to a past lover was anything but gentle, the gut-wrenching envy and betrayal you felt flash through you was nearly drowning. It made you feel lacking, to be reminded of his old flame, the one he was about to marry and the person he seemed to love before all. Could you even compare to what she was; what she did? (Dina had cheated on him, you knew that, but he was truly happy in their moments of pleasure and domesticity. They were a family until she died.)

You were drowning in your self-made sorrow when his voice called you, grounding you to the room. Standing before a door, naked and shivering, arms wrapping the damp towel around your shoulders. He called again, cracking the door open to pass you the - his - clothes he thought would fit you. He coughed as you took your temporary wear, your cool fingers brushing his warm ones. It was a sudden and jerking contact, you pulled back jerkingly, a shamble of an apology and a thank you flew from your tongue. His chuckle was a reassurance in the complete quietness of the flat, his low voice reminding you of better times.

The sweater hung loosely around you, dipping down your collar to expose your shoulder. It was warm, the cotton used to make it still soft after being stored away and the soothing scent of spice and pine deeply integrated into the fibres. The pants were stretched around your hips, the tight fabric thin and flexible under stress, hidden under the long shirt. The legs, however, swayed loosely around your limbs, too big for your calves, but tight enough to hug your thighs. He had certainly made sure to bring you clothes that would fit your frame. You hadn’t attempted to smell his pants, you thought it would’ve been too intrusive and disgusting to do so if only to smell a remnant of Miguel on his as you did on the sweater.

Miguel was waiting for you in the kitchen, his back turned to you as you ambled towards him. His shoulders loose and back relaxed in the presence of a stranger made you appreciate how good-natured he was in most universes you’d been to. He turned his head, gesturing you to sit on the chair facing him on the island as he returned to something he was making while you changed.

“I hope you don’t mind hot chocolate,” he started, voice light and hopeful as he turned to you, cup in each hand as he moved to stare at you. “I’m not one for tea.” He slid the warm mug into your hand, eyes watching your expression as he slowly sipped on the hot beverage.

His eyes squinted slightly when your lips curled upwards, a smile hidden by the steaming mug. You cupped the mug, feeling the warmth of the freshly brewed drink, the steam rising in soft curls and melting in the cooler atmosphere. Tentatively, you brought the rim to your lips, slowly tilting the cup. The powerful taste of chocolate hit you strongly, the sweet and dark liquid melting the tension in your muscles until you could curl over the table with an appreciative sigh.

“Thank you…” you knew his name, wanting to call him, but his reaction would be unwanted, the shock, fear and suspicion that would fill his beautiful, brown eyes. So you slurred your words, dragging out your voice until he could tell you his name himself.

“Miguel. Miguel O’Hara, ” he nodded, cocking his head upwards, pointing at you with his chin. “What’s your name? I can’t keep calling you Hey every time I want to call you.” His lips broke into a cheeky smile, teasing you when he saw that you’d comfortably melted into the drink and his island chair. He wanted to ease the tense atmosphere from before into something much calmer, to help the accumulated tension in your shoulders to fall like the rain that clouded the streets of New York.

You let out a hoarse chuckle, your throat still fresh from crying, and told him your name, trying to stabilise your shaking tone. His cheeky smirk tugged at your heartstrings, you hadn’t seen Miguel laugh or smile this freely in months. You missed it. The casual banter you shared and the on-and-off insults you’d hurl at one another, all good-natured insults meant to rile him.

“Thank you, Miguel,” you nearly choked when you uttered his name, the wound still so fresh and bleeding it slip from your tongue easily. It brought up so many memories, both painful and joyful. Your eyes glazed over, tears threatening to fall once again, to paint your cheeks with agony that you - him, or perhaps both of you - had brought on yourself. “Thank you…”

Miguel hummed sympathetically, eyes staring down at his drink, deep in thought. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to invite you to share your problems, to tell him why you broke down on the street in stormy weather. Or maybe he was thinking of the fastest way to kick you out, to get rid of the mess you became. The silence, however, was reassuring, calming the nerves that followed the eerie calmness of Miguel’s den or the loud, hectic atmosphere of the Society. His warm, worrying gaze grounded you, the softness behind his concerned stare was heartwarmingly nostalgic.

“Difficult breakup?” His words seemed hesitant, unsure of his conclusion to the cause of your appearance. Unknowingly, he had struck gold, pinning down the right problem in your life with a few observations. Of course, he was observant and aware of his surroundings, why else was he so willing to bring you into his home?

“How’d ya know?”

His sigh was telling, the deep, concerned and tired breath was only used when he knew that you wouldn’t tell him what ailed you, like the groan of a disappointed, yet worried father.

“Because I know how it feels,” he says slowly, pensive over his words, picking them carefully to not damage you further than your ex had. He knew the pain of a harsh breakup, the pain and sorrow that followed, like a dark cloud that hovered over you whenever you were awake.

“Why?” You croaked.

“Why?” he parroted, frowning at your question.

“Why did you invite me in? I’m a- a stranger to you, you don’t even know me. What if I’d been acting to mug you or potentially kill and steal from you? What’d you do then, Miguel?”

“I know the risks, but you didn’t, didn’t you? And wouldn’t, you don’t look like the person to harm another.”

You scoffed at his words. Didn’t and wouldn’t didn’t mean you would not do it later after gaining his trust, to stab him in the back after he helped you and nursed you. The simple, naïve idea that you didn’t look like a violent person was mind-blowing, it was stupid. How could he know if you didn’t mean harm later on? Like how Miguel never meant to harm you - he loved you - and yet in the end, he had.

“That’s naïve,” you muttered, eyes closed as you drank the cooling beverage, the sugary drink trickling down your throat.

“I’m confident in my ability to read people.”

He did seem confident in his ability, the straight back and the strong gaze in his eyes showed; and, maybe because you knew from experience that Miguel was observant and careful, he hadn’t gotten where he was by simply trusting people and following the herd. He tested and made mistakes, he learned from them each time and found a way to use it to his advantage. The Miguel you saw in every universe was similar in some ways, their good nature, their cunningness, their bravery and their intelligence. All aspects known to characterize Miguel O’Hara in all universes he existed in.

You conceded to his will, head bowed and shoulders slack. You breathed shallowly, swallowing the lump in your throat:

“Yeah, what gave it away?”

You thought it would be the last of him you’d see in your life, you wished it wouldn’t, that you’d see him over and over, to feel what the Miguel from your universe had to give, but you knew it was wishful thinking, a wish thrown to the stars. Logically, he had no reason to call or text you after exchanging numbers days prior. He promised to call you, and he made you promise to call him if anything ever resurfaced, be it pain, anger, heartbreak or hate. You, instinctively, believed his word.

You hated yourself for falling so easily to another Miguel, how you bent to his words and the sweet promises he uttered that night. There was no sign that he would keep his word, that he would see you again after your breakdown, except for his words and your belief in him. Then it wasn’t misplaced, all the trust and belief you had, since he called you, asking to meet up at a cafe. Miguel had set up a place and time for you when you replied with a croak, still feeling down. He had whispered reassuring words to you, urging you to meet him - he explicitly told you he’d feel offended to be stood up - and spend some time outside. The air was fresh and cool for an autumnal month, it wasn’t too cold that you were forced to wear a thick jacket, but it wasn’t warm enough for you to go out in a simple shirt.

You were hesitant to take him up on his offer, knowing how easily you could rebound. You’d crash into Miguel’s open arms, searching for the love and affection he fed you like a lovesick puppy, but, then again, Earth-XXX’s Miguel was similar, yet different from his variant. It would be a lie if you told yourself you didn’t miss him, the soft smiles, the gentle touches and the affectionate words. You had spent so much time as his right-hand Spider that it felt odd not seeing him the following morning. It was a routine you’d formed: waking up in his bed, kissing him good morning, getting to work together and eating together. Everything you’d done in the past years was with Miguel from Earth-928 the routine, the rigidity, it was grounding, it was the only semblance of normalcy in the world you lived in.

Now, you had to face the possibility that you were too broken to see another Miguel, to hold a casual conversation and form coherent and normal sentences. The purposefully slow steps you took to the cafe picked after having a moment outside the glass front were telling in itself. You swallowed the little amount of saliva in your throat to soothe its dryness and walked through the doors of the quaint establishment. It was painted in calm, brown tones, rustic in design with a warmth that rivalled the comfort of your bed. It lifted a bit of the tension you had, shoulders slumping slightly as your eyes searched for a familiar mop of brown hair.

Laying against the brown sofa, he stared out of the wide window from his booth. The warm, morning lights caressed his cheeks, lighting up the sharp edges of his jaw and nose. He was sculpted in perfection, like the youthful beauty of Adonis, crafted with the meticulous and attention-catching hands of an artist that created what was thought to be a god’s beauty. You could spend your days watching him, catching every little detail of Miguel’s face under the changing lighting, but you were standing near the entrance and he was waiting for you. His words echoed in your mind: “Don’t forget about next week, I miss seeing you.”

His eyes flickered to you, blinking as he turned to you, flashing a smile. You returned the sentiment, a shaky smile lifting the corners of your lips. You sat across from him, eyes wandering the cafe to stare at anything but him, lest you wouldn’t be able to stop the rush of emotions that would light your face in a flush. He uttered your name, greeting you in a friendly manner. You nodded back, muttering his name, pushing down the wince whenever you said it.

“Chocolate.”

The still-warm cup stared at you, light steam wafting over the reflective liquid. It was full, unlike Miguel’s cup, and drank down to the middle of the container.

“Thank you.”

He probably wouldn’t let you repay him for the hot chocolate he bought you, the smile he gave you told you as much when your eyes flickered between his and your cup. The hot chocolate was a reminder of your night in his flat, where he lent you his shoulder to cry and his ears to listen. Embarrassment seemed to flash whenever you recalled the memory, how vulnerable you were to him, your walls broken down and your heart open. Though, Miguel didn’t seem to mind your fragility, giving you as much time as you needed.

“How are you? I wanted to give you a few days to think before meeting again, I thought you might’ve needed the time alone.”

You nodded lamely, fingers curling around the warm porcelain, back slumped into the booth to hide from his knowing eyes. He was right, you had needed the time alone to clean yourself up, scour through your memories and tend to whatever mess you made of yourself. You were thankful. The last few days had brought revelations, how - both of - you had ignored the signs of a rupture in the relationship and continued to push on, like crossing a crumbling bridge.

“‘M doing better. How- and how are you?”

He smiled at your attempt, you were trying on your own after a few - forced - encouraging words from Miguel. Maybe you’d learn to live with the pain, coexisting with the numbness that filled you until it dulled to a point where it would be barely acknowledged by you or anyone in your vicinity - where it wasn’t painted on your face with bright colours. Or the pursuit to forget it, pushing it into the farthest corner of your mind and heart, painting over the crack with glue. As long as you wouldn’t drown in your sorrows, ending up playing with dangerous substances to stay afloat while your mind sunk deeper into addiction and denial.

He wouldn’t let you get that far, Miguel understood you and he lived through it as you did. Although his was a more violent breakup - she had cheated on him, his explosive reaction was natural - than yours, he hadn’t relied on anything but self-meditation and a lot of thinking. Like a friend - you were one by his standards, he’d invited you to his flat, you’d seen his organized chaos and ranted about your life while he comforted you with his shoulder and a cup of hot chocolate - he would stay by your side, hoping his support would be enough to help you.

“Great so far.”

His grin - somehow - grew even larger, enthusiasm gleaming in his eyes.

Oftentimes, Miguel would be the one to call you, your phone ringing in the afternoon of the day prior with his soothing voice on the other end of the line. He spoke easily, finding the time to invite you out for the simplest reason, to talk, to make a drink, to have fun, and - your favourite by far - to see you. His initiative had you trying to double your efforts to heal, reaching outside of your boundaries and texting Miguel whenever you had a moment to yourself. You felt guilty that he was always the one to plan these outings, so you promised yourself that you’d become a better friend than you currently were. You even remembered his teasing tone when you called him for the first time:

”Aye, finally. I thought you’d never call me, chica. I felt neglected, thought you had forgotten about me for a second there.”

It started with the first coffee date, bickering about who would pay, pushing your card before the other while still seated at your table, frowning stubbornly and throwing promises about letting the other pay next time. Either way, Miguel rarely let you pay, coming atop as the winner of your little fight with his strength and height (you couldn’t exactly put all your force into your push, it could break bone and bruise the skin.).

Then it would be random meetings on the streets that would lead you to a random bench at the park, basking in the other’s presence, retelling your day and him nitpicking anything he could with a ridiculously criticising frown. He was playing, you knew he was. You did the same after you’d gotten more comfortable talking to him, it became easier to see him as a different - as his own - person. A few hits on the shoulder left and right, but it was mostly laughter at ridiculous expressions made to emphasize your disdain for a certain event.

The months that followed were a blur to you. Rather than going to a cafe or the park, you went to restaurants and crashed at one of your flats, yours if he wanted to play games and lounge about with food and drinks, and his if you wanted to watch movies (he had the best television you’d ever seen, such high definition and speed.) and tinker away at his inventions and theories. He was certainly happy that his new friend was another scholar in the field of genes and engineering (you were mostly into engineering than genes, but you knew a few things that you’d found interesting.). You could both gush - scientifically - about the possibility of gene splicing and lab-generated mutations in humans, like the mutant superheroes.

You’d taken some liberties and went drinking, meeting at the same bar biweekly to relax after a few hard days at work. It served to loosen your nerves until either of you felt comfortable to chat up a storm about the most random subject. It’d been about the odd dent on the rim of his glass; then it’d be about how the sky was grey this week, there weren’t any warm, yellow rays blaring down on you when you went out; or it’d be about the distasteful cut of a man’s moustache. Drinking loosened your tongues, some words were said and some sentiments were shared, but none were truly taken seriously knowing you were tipsy - nearing drunk - those nights.

Every time you saw Miguel, you felt like you were rediscovering a part of yourself as well as him, the thing that made him so distinct and loveable. Miguel was expressive and honest, he slowly and gently let you down from whatever high you were, the pillar you needed to stand again after falling. He was so much different. It used to pain you how much they looked alike, but character-wise, they were like the two sides of a coin. It made you appreciate the delicate intricacies that made the multiverse.

You won’t - can’t - deny that you’ve grown fond of this Miguel as you did with the other one, but you couldn’t let yourself love him. He didn’t deserve someone broken and hashed into many lives: the masks you wore, the things you did, the secrets you hid, and the things you could do. He didn’t deserve someone who could bring him to his death; dying simply because he was connected to Spider-Woman; beaten simply because he knew Spider-Woman; kidnapped simply because they deemed him useful as leverage. All things that could go wrong haunt you. Miguel was human, he wasn’t a Spider, he wasn’t a superhero, and he wasn’t a vigilante. He was Miguel O’Hara, the geneticist working at Alchemax, with a brilliant mind and a kind heart.

You cherished every part of him. That’s why you can’t let your heart lead, dedicate how you’d react to Miguel after the months you spent together. He was so close, yet so far; he was touchable, you could hold him, kiss him and hug him, but he was unattainable, you couldn’t tell him how much you loved him. You watched him with hidden love, showing your affection as platonic, a friend watching another. You had hardened yourself to your heart’s cries, for loving Miguel was a dangerous game-

“I- what?” you gawked at Miguel, wide eyes and mouth agape. You were shocked at the words that left his mouth, his soft, wet lips moving as he repeated the words.

“I love you.”

His cheeks were flushed, burning a soft red, it trailed to his ears and nape. His open collar - his jacket hung on the back of his chair and his shirt clung below his collar, a skin-tight shirt that hugged his sculpted chest sinfully, it hid little to the seeing eyes of the crowd and your drunk self. His sudden words had all but sobered you, shaking you into clear lucidity of his confession.

“You… love me?”

He blinked dumbly at you for a second, as if taking the time to absorb what he told you and what you repeated. Miguel was tipsy, not drunk. He smiled and nodded, a bashfully affectionate grin on his beautiful lips.

“Yes, is it so hard to believe, chica?”

He often called you chica, you thought it was a friendly term of endearment between friends (truthfully and regretfully, you knew little of Spanish, even with being in a committed relationship with an Irish-Mexican.). You just realised it was his pet name for you. All this time, he had given you his heart, and yet, you had denied him of yours. He was more playful and less burdened by life, it made him more teasing and smiling. The term chica somewhat made sense, a cuter and more playful way of calling someone you loved than the deep-meaning ones like mi cielo and mi vida, a play of words like a small secret between you. This secret hid behind names given between friends, a well-kept one, close to his chest but gifted to you.

It might’ve once been - started - as friends, but it grew and festered in his heart until he found the time to express himself, to tell you how he truly felt for you - how he grew to care for you. He deemed this moment fine, bordering tipsy and nearing drunk, he’d be open, brutally honest but still aware of the words that left him. He wasn’t a lightweight anyway.

You wanted to tell him you also loved him, but you couldn’t do it, mouth slightly open and eyes glazed with heartbreak, you simply stared at him in hesitancy. You opened your mouth once to reply and closed it, open and close, again and again until all you could do was stare at him. How were you supposed to answer him after the bomb he dropped?

”Yes! I love you too!”

”Oh, Miguel, I love you too.”

”I- I love you as well.”

There were so many ways to express your feelings to the man who confessed, but none seemed to convey the true emotions that lay in your heart. You wanted to tell him you learned to love again thanks to him, that the time spent with him had made you open your eyes to the beauty that you were blinded by the pain and you slowly grew to care for - love - him as much as you did with Spider-Man 2099. He had the same smile, the same mind, the same heart, but he was more innocent, less burdened by disaster and happier.

So you simply nodded. It made his smirk grow.

“Aye- would it be better if I called you ‘mi tesoro’ instead? It’s more straightforward, no?”

Even now, his words were light and playful, his tone affectionate as he leaned closer to you. You could see the mischievous glint in his warm, chocolate eyes (you thought that was why he liked serving you hot chocolate, it reminded you of his eyes.) and the curve of his lips as they moved to form words. You were transfixed by his beauty, mesmerised by the comforting hues and the sharpness of his cheeks, missing how close he was to you.

“Or maybe-”

Softness caressed your lips, a plush, warm feeling that made you flush. He was kissing you, those pretty lips on yours. Your breath stuttered and you froze, but it didn’t stop Miguel’s initiative, a hand cradled your nape, holding you in place as he pushed himself closer to you. He moved against you, tongue slipping from his mouth and tentatively laving over your bottom lip, asking for something.

He was so warm, so caring. You could just close your eyes and follow his lead - you did. He pushed harder, yet the kiss stayed soft and passionate, he lightly nipped your lip and soothed the stinging with his warm tongue, beckoning you to open your mouth for him. Your lips parted, opening up for Miguel to dive in, muscle meeting yours halfway and curling over yours. He still cradled your head, fingers running through your loose hair and tilting your head backwards, giving him more space to show you how much he loved you. Your arms, somehow, found themselves wrapped around his neck, pulling him as close to you as he was pushing himself against you.

His kiss was loving, his hold was careful and his touch heartwarming. You almost regretted having to pull away, but you had to breathe, your lungs starving for air after having been devoured by Miguel’s adoring kiss. The moment you opened your eyes (you didn’t know you had closed them while you kissed), his smile greeted you, a lovesick one bubbling with unending joy. You almost choked from how it fit so well on him.

“That’s- that’s one way…” you spoke between breaths, chest swelling with every erratic pant, matching his similarly worn-out breathing.

That was all he needed from you. Your kiss was enough for him to know you loved him the same, a patient and gentle love he was willing to give you. Your heart pulsed strongly, lips curving and eyes squinting, you pushed yourself closer to his heat, his all-encompassing warmth that wrapped around you when you wanted to feel safe and loved. Your world couldn’t be any brighter, like the vibrant colours of blooming flowers when Persephone was given to her mother, where the snow melted and colours washed over the lands once more, painting the blank white and dead grey in joyous tones. It glowed brightly and warmed you like the summers that followed the melting ice, the clear, blue skies of Olympus and as freeing as the soaring hawks and skipping elks.

Letting go was far harder than loving. To let the person who you let in leave felt emptying, it left a gaping hole in his heart. Where it was once calm, struck a raging storm of rejection and regret, crashing waves the size of Poseidon’s rage and violent storms the strength of Zeus’ retribution. It hurt watching you walk beside a variant of himself, a happier and lighter version of him without his mutations or duty. You were the Spider-Woman of your universe so there wouldn’t be a second one unless there was a catastrophic canon divergence.

He hadn’t followed you at first, respecting your wishes of being left alone. He had to give you that much, at least, after those months spent beside his ignorant ass. He hadn’t seen it until it was too late, lost under the weight of his duty and fears that he’d forgotten he had people who cared, who felt, who loved. It was too late, it was always too late with him. If he couldn’t fix his first mistake, who’s to say he could fix this? He couldn’t save his first daughter or his second’s universe because it was falling apart. He couldn’t save anyone because he hadn’t realised his mistake in interfering in canon events, and he lost you because he couldn’t stop his vitriol, his violent temperament that had pushed you away. He always took things for granted until they were lost to him.

Was it two or three weeks before he decided to check up on you? He didn’t know anymore, the weeks blurred until he finally amassed the courage to go against everyone’s words. Through the flat hologram of his orange screen, he watched you lament on your own, body curled into itself and shoulders shaking. Your sobs were heart-wrenching to watch while he had no means of contacting you; you would’ve reacted more strongly and aggressively if he’d contacted you after leaving.

So he watched.

You stared vacantly from your window and left only for the bare necessities or to act as Spider-Woman. Crime never slept so you couldn’t stop even in your time of need. You swung from building to building so gracefully that Miguel was hypnotised by your grace. He watched these moments as a reminder of the missions he took by your side, webbing and catching anomalies all across the multiverse with fearsome speed and accuracy. You both had made a fearsome team, but that time was over, it was a memory long forgotten.

So he watched.

Your flat was cold and empty, the space filled with spectres of memories, the cool rooms vacant of life that used to fill them with warmth and happiness. It was saddening from his perspective - the observer, the watcher and the reader of your story - of your time spent alone. He wanted to tell you that you weren’t alone, that he was watching you from afar, a silent protector that would only act if you were in imminent danger - as long as it wasn’t part of the canon.

So he watched-

Besides you was Miguel - not him, another one - and he looked much too comfortable by your side for his liking. His variant seemed much too close for a friend, moving from sitting before you to beside you, arm slung over your shoulders and leaning back and, sometimes, towards you at a breath’s distance. He turned green with envy, a vicious monster brewing inside his body with the threat of bursting out, clawing at his chest. The other was too close to you for his liking.

He watched as his variant bought you drinks - always, however long and loud you’d complained and fought, he never let you pay in the end - and paid for your dates. He abhorred it. How happy you looked with the other him. How calm and satisfied your smile was. How close his variant was to you. He wished he was at the other’s place, taking his rightful place beside you. He would kiss you, smother you in love and give you whatever you wanted, whether it be a hug, a kiss or his time, he would’ve given them to you. He wouldn’t dance around the edge of your affection and his love like he was doing, like a man unsure of his feelings and anxious to act on it.

He thought the other Miguel was a coward - though he knew he wasn’t. He wanted to blame his variant and find fault for anything he did, but they were still the same person. He was Miguel O’Hara as much as he was. He wanted, but couldn’t, especially after seeing how both loved you the same, having a similar type. They were so much alike that he could’ve replaced his variant, yet so vastly different in other manners that he would’ve stood out. His history, his trauma, his curse, the other had none of them. He was normal while he was Spider-Man, a stronger, more brutal version of Spider-Man.

Granted, he loved you with every fibre of his being, but he had never showered you with as much love and affection as the other, having his character muddled through long hours of work and long-lasting tragedy. You were another of his tragedies, where he found love again and lost it by his own making. He would have left too if the Society didn’t depend on him, leaning towards him for support and help in protecting the multiverse. It was something he couldn’t sacrifice for his whims.

So he kept watching and let his heart crack and envy fester.

He watched you grow even closer to him, shoulders and hands occasionally touching, making you jump and blush. He watched you move from simple coffee dates to full-blown restaurants and bar dates, drinking and eating at your leisure - something he could’ve never provided you. He watched you wobble around when you were drunk, your arm over his shoulder and his around your waist, supporting your drunk weight. He watched you kiss, the other pressing your bodies together and you reciprocating the loving embrace you had once given to him.

He felt like crying. He was crying, silent tears rolling down his sharp cheeks in slow, thundering waves of his heartbreak. He clung to the desk, claws unintentionally popping out and bending the metal under his fist. The sound ripped through the silent room like the image that ripped through his heart. He was alone in his grief, shoulders slumping and arms shaking with the intensity of his emotions. He had locked the door, barricading it with a busy, do not disturb sign, warning the others that he was occupied and wouldn’t be reached unless there was an emergency.

“Miguel…”

He’d forgotten Lyla was here - she was everywhere and nowhere at the same time, with your help he had given Lyla an upgrade in her system that gave her access to every Spider that had the watch. She had access to every file in the database and his secrets. Lyla was loyal to him as much as she was to you, respecting your words with a promise of her own to leave you alone. That, however, didn’t mean that she wasn’t privy to his pains, watching him while his eyes were stuck to your universe’s screen, giving him some comforting words that were meant to lift his spirit. It never worked but the intention was there.

He couldn’t look at her, still facing the hologram of you kissing. He felt the surge of too many emotions to be able to think clearly, his self-control tethering on a thin line of fragile web. If he turned, he would explode on Lyla, giving her the brunt of his suffering even though she didn’t deserve it, she felt and laughed as much as any other human. He remembered programming in emotion with you, laughing about how much she would be as teasing and annoying as you. Lyla was another gift to him by you, so it would hurt him more.

“Miguel-”

“Don’t- Do not say another word.”

For a man in tears and pain, his voice was curt and stoic, playing the leading figure he’d taken for so long. It betrayed his shaky figure, fingers crushing the metal loudly and shoulders jerking with ever-wrenching choked sob. His world was crumbling around him, rippling and cracking from the seams and folding into itself. The control of his state was failing miserably as he kept staring at your mirthful smile after the kiss. It tore him apart knowing he pushed you further away and into the arms of another. It hurt him deeply.

Through everything, he heard Lyla whisper a small sorry before she popped out of existence, her small holographic body vanishing along with her orange light. Gone was her familiar light, gone was the nostalgic memory of programming her, and along her, was the support of another person. He was truly alone in this moment, to fall on his knees and let himself drown under the weight of everything.

If your love was a tangible thing, he would’ve cradled it between his warm palms, holding it tightly to his chest to feel the soothing effects you had on him. Like a balm to burns, you cooled the searing pains that the world inflicted upon him, the warm blanket that covered him when he needed rest and the pillar that held him when he fell. He’d lost something he couldn’t gain a second time, clutching his head in his misery, drowning and howling.

It felt surreal until it wasn’t until it all sunk in. He truly couldn’t grasp the utter loss and betrayal he felt. The realisation that he truly lost you to none other than himself. The irony of it all slashed deeper, how he drove you closer to another him by his own doing, making you love a Miguel with more gentleness, more kindness and time than him, Miguel O’Hara, the Spider-Man from Nueva York, Earth-928. Everything he had was lost in time, his spiralling thoughts of loss and misery clouded his vision, bringing tears forward in bigger waves.

Was he doomed to lose everything he cared about? Was he bound to love and lose? Why couldn’t he have a happy ending like everyone else? Was it because he was different? Perhaps it was, there were other O’Hara Spider-Man, but none were mutated like him, a product of self-infliction and sabotage - none had their DNA spliced and mixed with a spider’s. He was simply too different from the others, they were lean but still had a strong musculature, muscles tightened to create more strength and defence; none were big and broad as he was, with rough edges and mean streaks. They were nice and happy, faced losses of their own, but always came out on top (there were some minor - sometimes major - variants of Spider-Man here and there, but they all had some similarities in their stories of becoming.). He saw the devastation and grasped onto the thinnest silver lining he could find, holding onto it to stay afloat while others thrived where they were.

Maybe it was truly because of him. He was realistic - near cynic - he couldn’t see things optimistically, life had made him that way. The silver lining he saw in things was small, nearly extinguished by his near-pessimistic way of life. Did that have an impact as well? It most likely did, at least partly. Fate had given him a bad hand in things, he couldn’t be completely blamed for how things turned - or so he thought, hoped. A man wasn’t only the result of what he’d done, but also of what he was given. When push comes to shove, Miguel acted in a way he thought meant well for him and the others even if it didn’t seem like the right decision at first. He rarely doubted his actions while he did them, only after, could he let himself face the consequences of what he’d done. Miguel simply didn’t have the pleasure of waiting. He needed to act when it was called.

If he had waited, if he had been patient and sought out others for support, if he had spent time thinking before acting, would he still have his little girl beside him? Would he still have you in his arms? If he had shown you more affection, would you have still loved him?

Did you still love him?

Miguel didn’t know what he was doing. Standing before your apartment door in civilian clothing and a bouquet of twelve, beautiful white tulips - the meaning not lost to him. It was an attempt at apologizing for his mistakes, a desperate one led by heartache. He brushed his hair back, trying to look as kept as he could in his situation: dark bags and sickly skin, tense muscles and sore back. This was a daring move from him, it would end up catastrophic if the Miguel from your universe saw him at your front door; but he checked, making sure his variant was elsewhere before opening a portal to your place.

He hadn’t moved in a while, listening to you move around your flat, the sound of your soft steps shuffling from behind the door, a wall between you and him, reminding him that he wouldn’t be able to cross it unless you welcomed him. He held the bouquet in one hand and knocked with the other, his knuckles hitting the wood softly and hesitantly. There was a pause between every knock, drawn by his nerves and the anxiety that gripped him.

You moved and closed in on the sound at the door. He saw your shadow dance under the small gap on the floor and pause. You knew. You knew it was him even without peeking through the peephole, your spider-sense aiding you in recognizing the unknown. Although your hand rested reluctantly at the knob - perhaps still too raw from your break as he was - you opened the door for him, figure small and apprehensive.

“Miguel,” you muttered his name, greeting him with a slow nod. You stepped back and opened the door wider for him, he took it as a good sign that you let him in rather than shut the door in his face.

He nodded back, saying your name. He took a step forward, foot breaking the barrier to your flat. The second one ensured he was fully invited, both feet strongly rooted on your side of the door. He wanted to make himself smaller, to appease you, but he knew you wouldn’t have liked that. He squirmed under your stare, a mix of curiosity and concern.

He nearly sighed audibly when you gestured at him to sit and he moved to the sofa he remembered sleeping on with you, cuddling under a warm blanket while you watched a movie. He knew your home by heart like you knew his, the memory washed over him with melancholy. You sat on the armchair to his left, your back to the kitchen. He swallowed thickly and handed you the bouquet, freshly cut tulips glistening with pearly drops under your lights.

Your shoulders shook as you leaned in to take the bouquet, jolting back when your fingers grazed him. Feeling your skin felt invigorating, it breathed back life into him, even slightly. You thanked him with a slow nod, seemingly unsure of what to make of it. Was it a gift? Was it an apology? Was it a farewell sign? He figured your mind was running in circles trying to understand the meaning of the pretty bouquet he handed you. You were always an overthinker, but your mind worked brutally well. That’s something he always appreciated about you.

“I-” Miguel started, seemingly stopped by something that he couldn’t get out of his throat. Maybe a ball of dread or needles of anxiety, but it held him from giving you the words he spent nights thinking over, to give you the message he built from the deepest crevice of his heart. “I’m sorry, (Name).”

You stared at him, understanding that he needed a moment of silence to truly convey his feelings. You hadn’t uttered a word since he first started, expression neutral, not betraying whatever brewing storm you locked inside of you. He was grateful, truly.

“I know- I know it doesn’t mean much now, but I’m really, really sorry, mi vida.”

He sensed you tense, the muscles of your back contracting and rippling under your shirt. Every unseen fibre moving was bare to him, he could see and feel better than most, if not, everyone else.

“I acted out of anger and lack of sleep, but that doesn’t mean you deserved that- never. I just, my mutation makes me more animalistic, more… aggressive than the other, and I hurt you. You didn’t deserve any of that and I can’t always blame it on my mutations. I should’ve been able to control myself. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you in those ways.”

He lowered his gaze to his hands, the calloused pads of his fingers rubbing his palm, trying to coax himself into relaxation. Although your breathing softened, a calm breeze in an atmosphere thick with tension, he didn’t dare look up and see the face you were making.

“I was a bad boyfriend and a horrible friend. I’m- I’m not asking you to forgive me, I don’t want you to forgive me, but- I just needed to tell you how much I regret hurting you. I want to apologise, I don’t know what else to do, I don’t know how to fix this.” He breathed deeply, collecting every ounce of confidence and honesty to brave your reaction. “I’m sorry, mi cielo.”

He shuddered, body rippling with his pained breath. He hadn’t realised how painful it would be to face you with his fears and confession, with the threat of abandonment and rejection fresh in his mind. He was a man of pride and strength, rarely facing anything with trepidation and hesitance.

“I’m really sorry, mi cielo. I’m so, so sorry.”

He sat in silence, letting it hang over him like the blade of a guillotine, silent and brunt. Perceiving the flash of the sharp blade before it fell on his neck, sentencing him to a quick downfall with a long, lasting agony that would sting his neck as long as it would hurt his heart. The French used it for executions, the thing that spelled people’s end. At its height, it was used as an apparatus to behead traitors or people who were deemed dangerous to the people of the new republic. Down the blame went and off the head popped, like it would happen to Miguel if he wasn’t prepared for it. He truly didn’t know whether he had prepared for his rejection, for the death of his heart, to watch the flickering sparks of his flame wither out.

“I’m sorry too, Miguel-”

The rope strained, knots twisting and rippling in the tightness of the pull. It shook, whipping in the air as it straightened completely, held closely by the hand of the executioner. The wind blew but it was sturdy, withstanding the violent gales that slammed against the body of it.

“-it means a lot that you came here to apologise- ”

The crowd was filled with silence, the emptiness of the area a mock of a ghost town. Abandoned to be sentenced to death without anyone to witness. They deemed him not fit for their acknowledgment before his death, before the sparks of his life extinguished. His fate wasn’t worth their time, unlike the poorest criminals who stole for money, unlike the richest pigs who fed from the poor with their silver spoons and golden crowns, unlike the cruellest killers who gutted and left men, women and children to bleed out, and unlike the guiltless innocents cursed for something they hadn’t committed.

“-but, I can’t.”

The rope was let loose, its tail flying and whipping in the air as the blade descended with its weight. The wood chafed against its support beams, yet it flew gracefully and rapidly, singing the doom of its prisoner. The blade gleamed under the moon’s bright light, the silver whispers of peace and sleep deaf to his ears.

“I can’t love you anymore.”

It cracked down on him, his life flashing before him as it cut into him. Severing his control over his body, putting out the dying embers of hope. He clung to desperation in his last moments, wishing to relive the moments of happiness, bright oblivion and cherished love.

He wished that he could’ve seen your shadowed figure hidden in the darkness, tears lining your cheeks as you watched him take his last breath. The only person who came to see him leave, the one who he would’ve burned the world for. In the end, after everything he’d done, you still gave him a small moment of your time to witness his fall, you deemed him worthy of such an act. You offered him your kindness.

My extensive tag list of extremely patient people pt1.:

@iseizeyourmom @raynerainyday @etherealton @sciencethot @coffee-obsessed-freak @thesecretwriter @beepboopcowboy@bontensh0e @aikoiya @allysunny @fandoms-run-my-life @brittney69 @aranachan @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @konniebon @starlightaura @redwolfxx @aniya7 @alicefallsintotherabbithole @bvbdudette @wwwelilovesyou @wwwellacom @akiras-key @bobafettbutifhewasgay @opiplover @rinieloliver @uniquecroissant @yas-v @xrusitax @blkmystery @darherwings @ariparri @notivie @vr00m-vr00m @battinsonwhore05 @irishbl0ss0mz @mivanda @saint-chlorine @livelaughluvmen @battinsonwhore05 @notivie @lililouvre @giasjourneyblog @ykyouluvme @skullywullypully

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