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theregencywriter · 3 months

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Lost in Silence 1 - Theo Sharpe x Reader

A/n - Okay so I'm obviously rewatching Bridgerton (are we surprised???) and I realised there's really no fics of Theo???? I mean of course there are but not many and I feel like he's underrated so I needed to put this out there! Still not completely sure which direction to take this in so pls message or comment if you have literally any ideas but uh, yeah! Hope you enjoy <3

The air was thick with tension. Y/n’s mother paced back and forth whilst her daughter Y/n, only ten, sat watching. The cobbled streets of London were cold and unforgiving but with no more room available in the room they were forced to wait outside. Hours passed before the doctor came out, his already stained robes marred with a fresh tint of crimson blood. He romoved a glove and placed his hand onto her Mothers arm as he spoke. “The bleeding was too much. There was nothing we could do and yet we still exhausted all options. I’m sorry.”

And then began a shriek from her mouth that young Y/n could swear rattled the nearby windows, as she shrank to the floor. It was odd, Y/n would recall years later, she never believed her mother to be truly extraordinary, and yet seeing her reduced to a blubbering mess on the floor was an unbearable sight. Y/n took off, her feet taking her as if by their own volition, running down twisted streets until she was pounding on a door.

“Y/n?” Theo asked, puzzled and tired as he opened his front door. He looked at his friend, and before she replied he was holding her in a deep embrace. Though he was only two years older than her he was naturally protective of her like no one ever had been. “He’s, he’s, oh my god!” It was as if by saying out loud for the first time it would become real, concrete and solid. “He’s what? Who’s what? Y/n please” Theo begged, his already panicked face deepening with worry. “Father!Oh Father, he was stabbed by a highwayman on his way back from the countryside! He’s gone!” Theo pulled her in closer. He had known that Y/n’s father, a coworker of his own at the butchers, was going out of London to look for work elsewhere. He also knew how worried Y/n was, and heard from his father that she was seen pleading with her own for him not to go, out of fear of a robbery.

Theo held her for a while until her mother came looking, and when he looked at her though mere hours had passed the once vibrant face of Y/n’s mother was sunken and worn. Before Y/n left with her, Theo gave her a vibrant blue notebook. “For company, when I myself am not there.” He smiled, only faintly as she left.

—

Y/n fidgeted with her bow. “Is it not too garish? I thought so all night” She asked. “Nonsense Miss Y/n, it is beautiful” Her maid replied as she helped fix it into her updo. In the years that passed since her fathers death her mother had remarried to a Lord Reginald Harrington, his wealth only matched by his cruelty. They had one child together other than Y/n, an Arrabella Harrington, now nearing twelve. Her birth was scandalously close to their wedding, yet she seemed to finally snap her mother out of the haze she had been in. To say having Arrabella had saved her would be a stretch, Y/n often lay awake at night worrying what could’ve happened had her mother not fallen pregnant and found a new purpose in life.

It was no surprise to anyone then that Y/n would be treated lesser than her sister by both parents. Y/n’s mother, now Lady Isadora Harrington, saw Arrabella as a second chance, whilst Lord Harrington naturally leaned towards the child that was his through blood. Despite this, Y/n was still sent through the marriage mart each season, attending balls and accepting callers. It wasn’t that she tired of it, per se, as she did find comfort standing on the sidelines with her two friends. It was moreso the matter of feeling like an imposter, knowing if it werent for a terrible accident that she wouldnt be here. That was something Penelope and Eloise simply couldnt grasp seeing as they were born into the lavish life they lead.

Whilst Y/n wasn’t closed off to the idea of marriage and preparing for life as a dutiful spinster, any man who attempted to court her never made it past the first two weeks. There were too many differences, she supposed, in their upbringing. After the first five men came calling it was clear they wanted a wife, not a companion. Seeing how regular people saw love most definitely shaped how Y/n saw the marriage mart. In the lower classes marrying for love was more common, as there were no titles to be exchanged. The marriage mart seemed to be just that in comparison- a business exchange.

It was after one of these balls where Y/n found herself, being undressed by her lady’s maid. It was a remarkably unremarkable one, where she was once again stood by the edge like a wallflower. “I just don’t understand miss,” Her maid, Rosalind spoke. “Is it not a great honour to attend?” “I suppose,” Y/n replied as wrangled out of the embellished dress “Yet at the same time it feels so futile. There is no use in pretending, it is simple. I am an imposter.” Rosalind looked up, puzzled as Y/n continued. “I do not feel love, or anything. It feels like business there. No emotions to be had.”

Rosalind stopped pulling down Y/n’s stockings and paused. “Miss, I have been attending to you almost since you first day at this house. You have always been so closed off to everyone, were you like that before the?” She quit her sentence but they both knew she meant the accident. “No, not really” Y/n confessed. “I used to be open and vibrant before it all. It wasn’t even the accident in truth it was the whole combined affair. Not only losing my father but just mere weeks after losing all of the people I had ever known by moving to Mayfair. Even now I feel as though I am playing a role, that one day I might return back to the old house.” Y/n was smiling as she reminisced, unaware Rosalind was done.

“Miss, excuse me for speaking out of term if I do, but you cannot return. You have no reason to. Goodnight” Rosalind shut the door behind her as she left. Y/n sat on the edge of her bed and looked up at the vast array of books on the wall to her right. Tucked away, hidden in the very top corner, was a notebook. A vibrant blue with gold embossing on the spine it seemed to shine in the candlelight. Rolling her bookshelf ladder across to retrieve it she ran her fingers across it, taking in the delicate imprints where the gold pigment lay. After Theo had given her the book, she had never written in it. She had never even seen him after he had given it, seeing as they took no callers for their mourning period and soon moved to Mayfair to be with her new Stepfather. Y/n clinched the book in her hand and contemplated.

—

As she snuck out of her family home’s side door and caressed the dim streets of London it dawned on her the severity of what she was doing. She was unsure what would be worse, to encounter a madman alone of fall victim to the quill of Whistledown writing about an unchaperoned outing. She found her way towards Bloomsbury after several wrong turns, and while some landmarks were vaugley familiar, the majority were not. As she entered the only place on a street that had its lights on, a pub, she asked one of the patrons where to find Corral Street. The patron in return said a couple of slurred words, before turning to the stage and cheering some half hearted gibberish as a woman took to the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, If I may steal you from your drinks for just a moment, I find myself compelled to speak on a matter of great importance - the rights of women.” Y/n drew closer, as if entranced, and sat on the second row of benches. “In this new age of enlightenment, where minds are expanding and horizons are broadening, it is imperative that we do not neglect the rights and freedoms of one half of humanity simply based on their gender. For too long, women have been relegated to the sidelines, their voices silenced, their aspirations thwarted by societal norms and expectations. Let us not forget the brave women who have come before us, who fought tirelessly for the rights that we now take for granted. Let us honour their legacy by continuing their struggle, by raising our voices in solidarity until every woman, regardless of class or station, is granted the respect and dignity that is her due!”

The place erupted into cheers, and Y/n joined them, though restrained due to her latter years of education. As she rose up and looked around, confused on where to or how to find directions, her eyes fixed onto a man. Though taller and more rugged than the sensitive boy she once knew, it was undeniable.

It was Theo.

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daughterofyore · 1 year

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thetypingsiren · 11 months

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Eloise Bridgerton/Theo Sharpe Characters: Eloise Bridgerton, Theo Sharpe, Violet Bridgerton Additional Tags: Chaotic Eloise Bridgerton, Awkwardness, Awkward Conversations, Fluff without Plot, I really enjoyed writing this ngl, Violet Bridgerton Knows Everything, Matchmaker Violet Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton knows all, Violet the Meddler Bridgerton, I love Violet, what a legend, eloise and theo just kind of stare for this whole fic and i’m okay with that, very awkward, very cute, we love them, hoping this will post because ao3 was down!!, crazy times! Summary:

Violet Bridgerton has been having trouble receiving her papers, and decides to go to Chancery Lane herself to sort it out, opting to take her daughter Eloise with her.

What Violet doesn’t know is that her second eldest daughter and the printer’s apprentice have already met. And not only have they already met, but they are well-acquainted, and have recently fallen out.

Seems like Violet has some work to do.

#theloise #eloise bridgerton x theo sharpe #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fic #eloise bridgerton #theo sharpe #leave a comment fest #ao3 fanfic #ao3 writer #ao3 is back!!#i wrote this in a blur #its a bit of a mess #i hope you enjoy regardless #have a lovely day

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burning-daylight · 2 years

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chapter two of i’d be smart to walk away (but you’re quicksand) is posted here!

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #theo sharpe #eloise bridgerton #theo x eloise #theloise #theloise fanfiction

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shroomonabroom · 2 years

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promenade by the printer’s shop

archiveofourown

word count: 3,793

summary: It’s been three years since the last time Theo Sharpe spoke to Eloise Bridgerton - three years of remorse for how their relationship ended. Now he lives in a little lakeside cottage where he runs his own printing business that caters to all - including the high society that reminds him constantly of his lost potential love, who he’s relieved to find still thinks of him, too.

Theo Sharpe does not like the rain.

Such weather is not by any means a terrible thing, but it is rather annoying, especially when it comes out of nowhere to beat diagonally across the windows and distract him from his work. He would like nothing more than to curl up and read by the fireplace, but there is much to be done in the little printing and publishing shop by the lake.

Printing is still his main source of revenue (and what he completed his apprenticeship in), but tacking on the secondary title made his business much more successful, and editing and ensuring it makes its way into the hands of a few hundred people is easy enough. Having both jobs keeps him busy, which is the most important thing. The last thing he needs is to get bored and allow his mind to wander out of the shop and into Mayfair, where a girl - and the future he once saw for them - still resides during the season.

His cat jumps up onto the windowsill on top of some of the papers he had left there earlier. She’s one of the many examples of a thing he got just for the purpose of distracting his over-imaginative mind from thoughts of her. She winks at him (she’s a smart cat, who always seems to know precisely when he’s thinking of the girl), and he responds with a “quiet, Mary,” to which she answers with a long yawn before curling into a sleepy ball of long, ginger fur.

He was planning on finishing his edits on those papers, but they aren’t yet due for another week, so he supposes that Mary can stay if she wants. She’s not doing any harm, though Theo does suspect she might be leaving paw prints on top of them. She’s a cat, though. She can do whatever she wants, and Theo would still look at her as if she hung the stars above.

The bell on the door rings, interrupting his inner monologue and signaling someone’s arrival. Theo straightens his back and nods to the man entering his shop, side-eying his cat all the while. It wouldn’t do for her to run out the door and into the rain - she’s done it plenty of times before.

“Good day,” he says when he thinks Mary looks uninterested enough for him to stop monitoring her.

The man greets him back and flashes a broad smile, looking around the shop and letting his blue eyes linger on Mary for a moment. There’s something familiar about him - something that makes Theo pay more attention to his actions than he might otherwise.

“I didn’t know there was a print shop here. I suppose the location works well enough for Lady Whistledown’s liking? Hidden in the center of where high society frequents.” His tone is joking, but Theo hardly notices through the frustration he feels at her mention.

He tries his best to breathe through it. After all, the man might want to purchase or request work from him. The man is standing in the doorway still, his clothes soaking wet. After his initial stare, he seems to purposefully ignore Mary’s presence, which she doesn’t look particularly pleased by.

Then again, she’s not satisfied by much of anything at all. She’s rather difficult in that way.

Much like Lady Whistledown, whose mere mention causes Theo to grip the counter below him. It’s not the first time he’s been suspected of working with her; he did once, but he never would again. Too much had gone wrong - so much had gone right, too, before ending in disaster - the last time he did.

“No. I’m not fond of gossip,” is all Theo says, his voice sharp enough that the man nods in acknowledgment.

“Is there something particular you’re looking for?”

Theo would like to get back to work rather than chatter about it, but he’s trying his best not to appear too hurried to end the conversation. It’s not like the man would be looking for anything other than a place to escape the sudden downpour, and his presence isn’t particularly offensive, even if the thoughts he’s brought forth in Theo’s mind are.

“No. Or, well, I wasn’t before the rain, but, well, my sister,” the man says, capturing Theo’s attention. “She’s finished her manuscript, after years of working on it, mind you, and is looking now for a printer. It’s a wonder you’re based here, where we’ve walked near for years and yet haven’t come across you. We’d be willing to pay just about anything for her happiness, though I’d have to ask the Viscount for approval before we agree on a price.”

Interesting, Theo thinks. But as interesting as the man is, his words make him feel unexpectedly cautious more than anything.

“I only recently set up shop here, so I suppose our paths would not have crossed before now,” he says. “As for your sister, I would prefer to read some of her work before I agree to print it. What is it she writes of?”

“Ah, mostly fiction, but with feminist theories interspersed throughout.”

“Oh? I’ll admit I’m rather partial to that.”

“I am, too, though I wasn’t always. The fictional approach makes the more radical ideas appeal to a wider audience, and if you’re smart enough to read between the lines, there’s quite a lot of social commentary. Much like a good painting - something that matches my own artistic pursuits.”

“You’re an artist?”

“I am. If you ever need artwork, for any reason,” he offers, smiling at the idea. Theo is smiling too, glad to have made acquaintance with the man, but his smile drops as the man finds his way back to describing his sister’s work.

“It’s rather brilliant, the way she’s done it. The one she’s looking to publish now is a romance about two people from differing classes, so you can imagine it’s a bit difficult to get published, even with her methods.”

Theo’s smile has dropped, his mouth gone dry. He knows now why he feels so cautious in the man’s presence. His sister and her story sounds awfully familiar. She sounds exactly like a girl he once knew - if she was able to meet her incredible goals and learn about things separate from the society she so desperately wanted to be rid of.

Like what he wanted to help her with but barely got the chance to before they were torn apart.

And the book she’s written, the one that might be printed and published by him - it’s exactly what he had wanted their relationship to be, what he once thought it might have one day become.

“Oh,” he says ineloquently. And then, “might I ask, is your family not afraid of what scandal might emerge if her work is published?”

“We certainly are. But, well. We are the Bridgertons, you know.” Theo’s heart stops at the confirmation, and his ears ring as the man continues speaking, entirely unaware that he’s just stupefied the printer standing before him. “We have just enough notoriety that our family will survive just about any scandal. We have, before. And now we have the favor of the Queen, for the most part. Times are changing enough that my sister-”

Theo cuts him off, no longer able to listen to the man, too caught up in his past and his many, many regrets.

“Bridgerton, you say? Would your sister - would she happen to be named Eloise?”

The man stills, his gaze suddenly suspicious. “Are you - are you Theo Sharpe? You look familiar, though the details….”

Theo can’t think about how strange the last part is; he’s far too stunned by the first. He knows his name. Eloise Bridgerton’s brother - one of four, he remembers, and the artistic one that Eloise prefers most - knows his name.

His breath catches in his throat, his words escaping in a rasp. “You know about me?”

“Do I - do I know about you?” The man - Benedict, he thinks he remembers - laughs, and Theo feels as if he might be ill. He’s afraid; of the consequences of his relationship with the wealthy girl, but also the things she’s said and the ideas she might have about him.

He still hasn’t had the chance to apologize for everything he said to her at the very end, something he’s thought of doing daily in the three years that have passed. What if she despises him for what he said? He wouldn’t blame her for that - he was cruel in his insecurity - but it’s an awful thought, one he wishes would disappear as quick as it came.

“You - my sister was heartbroken over you. She told our family everything and was determined to find you again, only you had finished your apprenticeship, and your former master refused to tell her anything. She was desolate.”

What? She was the one who left, the one who decided he was no longer worth the risk.

Mr. Harris - and nearly all of Bloomsbury, really - was fully aware of that as he had caught Theo on more than one occasion staring off into space and muttering under his breath how miserable he was over it.

Her being heartbroken and desolate to be unable to find him… Theo feels an equal amount of relief and guilt for feeling such relief. It’s a wonder to know she’s felt similarly after such an awful way of parting, and Theo finds himself feeling a glimmer of hope brewing inside his chest.

But, he reminds himself, that doesn’t mean -

“And - is she still? Would she want to speak to me?” He needs to know, and is suddenly desperate to get an answer from the man before him, hating that his mind has jumped from hope to despair.

It’s been so long, there’s no guarantee she’d still feel much of anything at all for him, let alone be interested in his company.

“I’ll try and bring her here. She was with me before the rain started. We went in opposite directions, but I‘ll go find her.” The man says in a rush before spinning around and going back out in the rain, leaving the shop and Theo’s head spinning wildly.

So Theo waits there, heart racing and hands fidgeting at his sides, entirely incapable of focusing on his work when there’s a chance he can see her again.

Eloise Bridgerton. “The one who got away,” his friends would call her when he had drunk enough to have stars in his eyes and a loosened tongue.

Several minutes go by, so many that Theo thinks the man might have forgotten.

Wouldn’t that be ironic, for him to forget such a momentous thing and to leave Theo standing there waiting for Eloise’s return all over again? Perhaps the man would remember in three years and would swoop in once again to turn Theo’s world upside down.

Perhaps it would be like that for forever, until he dies of old age or some other cruel thing - every three years like clockwork, reminding him of what could have been and what never will be; though he so desperately wants whatever Eloise is willing to give even if that’s just one more moment in her presence.

He remembers that being around her felt like being in the sunlight, though all their meetings took place in the cool early morning hours before the sun rose. She always made him feel warm, though.

Warm and sunny and bright and shy and awkward, too; clumsy in his attraction to her, in his wanting to do nothing more than to please her.

It was no good to dwell on the past, though, not when it’s been so long, not when it seems unlikely that her brother would return to the little shop with her in tow if he even remembered the way.

But then - “come on, Eloise. I mean it - you’ll want to see for yourself,” Theo hears from within his little print shop, and he thinks he might just drop to the ground below him.

“Really, Benedict! Can’t we just go home already?” It’s her voice, and he can’t hear her brother’s response because it’s her voice, and she’s here, and she’s about to enter his shop, and three years haven’t gone by.

Well, they have. But not the additional ones, not those that would come and go and come and go for forever until his death.

The rain has stopped, though. The rain has stopped, and the sunlight has returned, and so has Eloise after three years of not being in his life.

Theo closes his eyes tightly, steeling himself from all the possibilities that might emerge from his and Eloise’s reunion. He opens them as Benedict enters the shop again, setting off the bell above the door and startling Theo’s cat from the windowsill where she lay, scattering the papers she was sat upon all over the floor.

None of that matters, though, not when the woman who has captured both his heart and mind enters, too.

Eloise is dressed in the same pale purple color she wore when she broke his heart in pieces and took it with her to Mayfair so that she could return to her life among the ton - so that she could keep him safe, she had claimed, and he had lashed out in response saying everything between them was some cruel game to her.

But he didn’t mean that, and he knows now that she regretted her part in it, too. Her brother had implied as such. And Theo knows that she was miserable in that privileged life. All the things they had spoken about so long ago had alluded to it if she hadn’t stated it explicitly.

Her life as a Bridgerton was set within a cage. It was one gilded with gold and ivory and silk, yes, but a cage nonetheless. One that trapped her within its walls and kept her there, telling her how to act and feel and be.

And now she’s standing before him in the tiny cottage he has for a shop and a home, staring at him like she’s seen a ghost.

Their eyes meet. And Theo’s world comes to a still and catches on fire, burning away at everything he told himself to try and forget her in the last three years until it’s nothing more than the dust beneath his feet.

“I’ll leave you to it,” Benedict says from the doorway of the shop, and Eloise can hardly hear him or pay any attention to the interior of the shop he’s led her to.

She’s much too busy staring at Theo Sharpe, the man who introduced her to some of her favorite literature and to feelings she hadn’t known she was capable of experiencing for herself.

“Hello, Eloise.”

“Hello.” She’s breathless, utterly spellbound by his warm, burning gaze.

Eloise described it to Benedict once, for him to paint a miniature for her. It was extraordinary, a comfort in times when she missed him most - but her memory and Benedict’s talent couldn’t do those hazel brown eyes justice.

She still has that painting on her nightstand, right next to the last set of books he gave her. She’s wanted to return those, to exchange words and more books with him, for three long years.

She has so much she wants to say, yet she finds herself unable to think of much of anything at all, and the sentence “I didn’t know you had a shop of your own” is the first thing that falls out of her mouth.

Eloise cringes, frustrated and embarrassed that she can’t just say something graceful and eloquent and - and perfect enough to fit the importance of this moment. It’s the first time she’s seen him in years! And she’s been looking for him - she went to all the shops and assemblies in Bloomsbury that she thought he might go to, and asked all sorts of people for help finding him. Nothing worked, and now here she is finding him by chance in a shop by the lake she and high society have promenaded at for forever, and she’s utterly incapable of proper conversation.

She’s relieved to find that Theo doesn’t seem to mind, though, and he responds just as witty as he was before. “There’s a sign with my name on it, in the front.”

“Sharpe Printing?” She guesses, smiling shyly.

“And Publishing,” he corrects her, smirking all the while.

“Ah, I suppose I was too busy complaining about the weather to notice.”

“Yes, and you must have spent some time complaining if you hadn’t noticed the rain has cleared up, too.”

Eloise notices that despite the easy banter, Theo is breathless, too.

He almost seems like he wants to touch her, to make sure she’s real - but he’s holding back, Eloise knows. The last time - when they almost kissed. It was the last time he touched her, the last time they spoke before her fears decided to rally against them and led to their disastrous end.

Those fears almost won - and for some time, they did. But Eloise will not let that separate them again. She would not let their story end when it’s just resumed.

So she smiles widely at him and opens her arms, stepping forward to embrace him. Theo’s chest heaves inwards and his arms close tightly around her. Benedict must have left, though Eloise didn’t hear the bell above the door signal it.

Eloise forgot just how incredible it was to be close to him. He smells like ink and paper and herbal soap, and she has to fight back tears for a moment at how much she’s missed this.

“I missed you,” she whispers it aloud into his chest.

His arms remain tight around her like he’s scared to let her go - like she might disappear all over again if he does.

She would never, but he does not know this.

So she simply tells him, words pouring out like wine; voice sweet like honey.

“Theo,” she says, pulling back just enough from his grasp to look him in the eye. “I’ve spent more time missing you and wishing to be in your arms than I have spent doing anything else.”

“Really?”

“Do you doubt me?” Do you not feel the same? Am I misreading everything?

She’s scared - terrified - to find out, but three long years have passed, and Eloise has thought of nearly all the ways a reunion between the two of them could go.

“No. Never. I’m pleased, is all. It’s what I’ve been afraid to hope for, Eloise. That you would feel even half the way I do for you.”

His voice is low and rich, and Eloise feels as though she’s melting away into the hardwood floors below. This is better than all those hypothetical ways: it’s more than she could have ever dreamed of.

“I always suspected it was the opposite,” she whispers, barely audible above her too-fast heartbeat racing in her ears. Theo smiles, shaking his head.

She’s staring at him now, arms still wrapped around his waist. She’s just staring up at him and wondering how she’s gotten so incredibly lucky to be able to see him again.

His smile is pleasant - it always has been - and crooked and there are dimples on his cheeks and his eyelashes are so, so long and dark around his hazel brown eyes.

She thought it was just his eyes that she and Benedict failed to capture, but no. It’s everything. He’s beautiful, and, not for the first time, Eloise wonders what it might be like to kiss him.

“Theo,” she says, trying to think of how to ask.

She doesn’t need to, though.

Because Theo and her seem perfectly in sync and he must have had the same curiosity because he’s tilting his head down towards hers and waiting there, only inches away.

He’s asking permission, refusing to make the next move until she’s decided what she wants.

She does not pull back, this time. Instead, Eloise leans into it and presses her lips firmly against his.

It’s magic.

His hand creeps up to cup her jaw, tilting her even closer and causing her to gasp into his mouth as they move carefully against each other.

It’s magic, but it’s awkward too. The angle is slightly off, and their noses bump more than once, and his mouth might be a bit too dry against hers. Eloise feels just as perplexed as she does amazed by his gentle touch.

It’s Eloise’s first kiss, after all, and she suspects it might be his, too. Even still, with all their combined inexperience, it’s perfect.

The kiss, her presence in his arms and in his life, the likelihood for even more of it all in the future - it’s what she’s wanted for three years now, and it exceeds all of her wildest dreams.

“Oh!” Eloise says suddenly, interrupting their kiss. She pulls back, and he looks as though he thinks he might have done something wrong, but before he can speak, Eloise is lifting the bottom of her skirts and looking below them.

Theo seems shocked for a moment, and he must be thinking of how bizarre it is to do such a thing before he realizes why, something Eloise has started to giggle quietly at.

His cat has somehow crept underneath Eloise’s skirt and wrapped itself around her lower leg, purring loudly against her skin. “Mary,” Theo says sharply and hears an answering meow. He looks helplessly at Eloise, finding her engulfed in laughter.

“You named your cat after Wollstonecraft?”

“Of course I did,” he says adamantly, as if it would be absurd to name her anything else.

She’s laughing still, so hard that there are tears in her eyes. The entire situation - her brother running into a print shop of all places to get away from the rain, finding Theo after three years of looking for him and discovering he still has feelings for her, kissing him and being interrupted by a cat who’s name just happens to match that of an author Eloise loves - it’s all so perfect.

Theo starts to laugh, too, and they’re smiling at each other and the sun is shining again and everything is so, so good and wonderful and perfect.

The rain has stopped and the sun has come out, and it’s sunny and likely dry enough already that if Eloise were to leave now, she’d be able to return home in less than half an hour. But Eloise thinks she’d prefer instead to stay here and remain in the warmth of Theo’s gaze forever.

(She does stay, and their life together by the lake is just as wonderful as she hoped it might be)

#bridgerton fanfiction #theloise #theo x eloise #eloise bridgerton #theo sharpe #fanfic

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ay44t · 2 years

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pov: eloise after the pall mall closing scene in bridgerton 2x08

: ̗̀➛ _________________________ ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

Eloise had spent the entire pall mall game observing her brother Anthony’s newfound personality. The last time she had seen him this content was when she was only five years of age. Anthony would swing her up on his shoulders and play with her endlessly, that is until her father Edmund bridgerton passed away, and he was too busy to ever even speak to her. Though she didn’t mind it too much, she was much closer with her brother, Benedict who was of course her favorite sibling. Unfortunately, even Benedict couldn’t make Anthony smile as Kate had done in these past few months – they were both curious. But while Benedict understood that Anthony had just fallen in-love, Eloise knew there had to be more to it.

As Kate and Anthony clung to one another as they walked inside to their bedroom, Eloise tapped Kate on the shoulder requesting to speak to her. With a wide smile across her face, Kate sent Anthony to go walk Newton with Gregory and Hyancith, and took Eloise by the hand. Eloise had never met someone as interesting as Kate. Kate Sharma, now Kate Bridgerton, was everything Eloise dreamt of being: strong-willed, determined, obstinate, gentle, happy. Kate was her role-model and really, the only person who could help Eloise is a difficult time like this, and perhaps she would spill her secrets of how she was able to change a stubborn rake like Anthony Bridgerton.

The two sister’s sat in the sunlight, sipping tea as they started a discussion.

“What did you want to talk to me about?” Kate began, her mind fully wrapped around whatever it was that Eloise wanted to discuss.

Eloise thought about what she even wanted from Kate at this moment, could she tell her everything that had been going on between her and Penelope? Or about the guy she had possible fallen in-love with? There was so much to tell her but what if Kate wasn’t the one who she could trust?

“Colin had told me that you and Penelope haven’t spoken in a while,” Kate said, interrupting her thoughts, “Are you two alright?”

Eloise took a deep breath before speaking,

“Well, that is sort of what I wanted to speak about,” Eloise replied, “But you must promise not to tell anyone, not even Anthony.”

“There are no secrets between us, but if you wish for me not to tell him, I won’t.” she said, with a wink, reassuring Eloise.

Eloise sipped her warm tea as she was about to tell Kate something that she wouldn’t have ever dreamt of saying outloud.

“I know who Lady Whistledown is.” she said calmly with excitement in her eyes.

Kate nearly spit our her tea as she looked at Eloise, shocked.

“Eloise, I thought you had ended your hunt for Whisledown after last seasons.. events.” Kate said worriedly.

“Of course I did, and I didn’t even want to believe it myself when I had found out who it was,” Eloise replied.

“Well, who is it?”

“Penelope Featherington,” Eloise said with a gloomy look.

Kate sighed, “and this is the reason the two of you are not speaking, I presume”

Eloise nodded slowly as the viscountess looked at her with a confused look, would Kate know what to do?

“Eloise, tell me, are you going to tell anyone your best friends secret,” Kate asked

“My best friends secret which I did not even know until I figured it out, and no I was not planning to tell anyone but the queen of England who currently despises my presence.”

“You’re going to rat out your friend to her Majesty?” Kate said shocked, “that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It isn’t like me, except Penelope didn’t just harm the Ton with her silly gossip sheet, she broke my relationship with a man I truly cared for.” Eloise suddenly gasped as she realized that she said too much.

“Forget about that,” she quickly says, “I won’t rat Pen out, I was just feeling.. rebellious, now I really do have another book to finish reading so if you’ll excuse me,” Kate, with wide and interested eyes, is suddenly intrigued in this mysterious man Eloise has been seeing secretively.

“Theo Sharpe?” Kate said, “i never realized you had a true affection with him, but it seems that you are in love, Eloise!”

“In-love, me, with a stubborn, good for nothing, man?” Eloise gasps, “You’re going a bit too far,”

Kate smirks as Eloise tries to hide the shade of her embarrassment. They continued their conversation for at least another hour.

Finally, as Eloise realized how many secrets she had spilled in a few moments, Anthony entered the room to drag Kate away.

“Oh its been so long since I’ve seen my darling wife,” Anthony says, “Please Eloise what are the two of you even speaking about?”

Kate smiles at Anthonys mourning as she tells him that sister talk is always a secret, leaving him dumbfounded. Eloise leaves the two of them, before she had to witness a romance session.

#eloise bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #kanthony #kanthony fanfic #eloise bridgerton fanfic #fanfiction #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #pall mall #theo sharpe #coquette #bridgerton siblings

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cassideemikaelson · 5 months

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Aesthetic ︱Evans sisters

The Evans is a rich family of England. The parents, Michel and Rosalie Evans died in a terrible accident, leaving behind their nine children : five boys and four girls. The earldom goes to the eldest son, William (Henry Cavill) and the siblings come under the guardianship of their paternal grandmother, Lady Margaret Evans (Maggie Smith). In order of birth, the Evans sisters are : Maydeline ( Emma Watson ), Amalia ( Adelaide Kane ), Louise ( Ella Hunt ) and Emily ( Georgie Henley ).

All are very different but all love each other unconditionally.

Maydeline Evans ➯ Simon Basset.

Amalia Evans ➯ Benedict Bridgerton.

Louise Evans ➯ Theo Sharpe.

Emily Evans ➯ Gregory Bridgerton.

#benedict bridgerton #wattpad #moodboard #aestethic #fanfiction #simon basset #theo sharpe #gregory bridgerton

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wokeupdreamy · 6 months

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Strawberries and Cigarettes.

Theodor Nott x Hufflepuff!Reader

summary: you and theo had never talked much, hell you two were complete contraries. he was a stoic, cold slytherin and you were a giddy, always friendly hufflepuff. but what happens if through fate you run into each other one night and it makes you realize that you had never want anything more than to figure out the confusing riddle ‘theodor nott’.

authors note: hi, this is the first fanfiction i am writing (if you don’t count what my fourteen year old self wrote on wattpad, lol) and i actually don’t even know if i am going to keep writing this. i don’t even know if anyone will see this, i still have no clue how tumblr really works…anyways got the idea when i was listening to strawberries&cigaretts by troye sivan.

(also english isn’t my first language so bare with me!)

i don’t even know where this little fanfiction is even headed yet, but i guess we’ll figure that out on the way! alright, that being said, i hope you enjoy this first chapter and let me know if i should continue this little series! <3

warnings: none yet, probably some angst and violence in the later chapters, but the first one is just harmless fluff and theo being mysterious lol

find chapter two here: https://www.tumblr.com/wokeupdreamy/734705717659025408/strawberries-and-cigarettes

word count: 1.9k

Chapter One:

It was late, almost too late at night when you left the greenhouse. Working on your little extra credit project for Professor Sprout, not that you needed better grades as they were already perfect, you had completely lost track of time.

Only when the faint moon had been shining in through the windows, illuminating the room in an eerie light, you had decided to call it a day, or better a night.

Brushing off the dirty from your uniform, brows furrowed at the stain on your skirt, thinking about how difficult it would be to get out, you nearly collided with the tall figure in front of you.

Shutting your eyes, mentally preparing yourself to hit the cold, grassy ground. But to your surprise a strong arm caught your waist, just in time.

As soon as you had regained your balance, your eyes shot up to see who your mysterious savior was. And almost immediately your eyes were met with his sharp, blue ones.

Theodor Nott.

“Careful where you’re going.” he snickered, his face almost stoic. If you would’ve looked closely, you would’ve seen the faint smirk on his lips, but you were busy catching your breath from the shock.

“Nott.” you stated, a hint of annoyance laced in your voice. It wasn’t that you disliked the brown haired Slytherin, no. But you’d always tried to keep your distance from him, you being a Hufflepuff and him being a Slytherin helping tremendously with that. Sure, you were in the same year, a few boring words and ‘hi’s being exchanged between the two of you when paired up to work together in class but never more.

You doubted that he even knew your name, of course not, why would he? It wasn’t like you were particularly popular, well liked but not popular. Hell, you were the complete opposite of the grumpy boy, always being nice and friendly, offering your help to those who needed it.

“Didn’t see you, I am sorry.” you gave him a small, apologetic smile, realizing that picking a fight with a Slytherin, alone and in the dark, wasn’t probably the smartest idea.

“Of course.” he scoffed, letting go of your waist. The smirk he had worn a minute before had turned into a flat expression, the corners of his lips still turned upwards but the rest of his face being utterly blank, unchanging.

“What were you doing in the green house, at this time of night?” he asked, his eyes wandering down to the mud stains on your skirt.

You looked down and quickly realized how dirty you had actually gotten. The soil from the gardening, together with the mud on the ground, had left a mess of dirt on your usually clean and neatly pressed uniform.

“I was working on my herbology project.” you answered.

“And what are you doing in the grounds at this hour?” you asked, your eyebrows furrowed.

Once again his eyes seemed to look directly into yours and once again the same smirk appeared on his lips.

“Oh, you know.” he murmured, his voice low.

“Can’t sleep.” he added, his arm gesturing to the night sky.

“Have to get some fresh air.” the rest of his face was indifferent, as if nothing and no one was of any significance to him.

You felt like telling him that the Headmaster would surely not be pleased if he caught a student in the grounds at this hour but decided to shut your mouth. It was not like the Slytherin cared for rules, no, you’d seen him go to detention enough times over the years.

The two of you stood there in silence, the wind rustling the trees breaking the still.

And in some stupid way, you couldn’t help but admire the way the faint light from the moon above seemed to cling onto his perfectly sculpted figure. His messy, dark brown hair blowing in the wind and the light shining on his high cheekbones.

He was truly a beautiful specimen that looked like he belonged on the covers of the muggle magazines you read. But you knew that the moment you would have admitted that to him, he would probably laugh it off.

As much as you would have loved to keep looking at him, the cold was starting to seep into your bones. Shivering slightly, you pulled the sleeves of your robe over your hands. The dirt under your nails was still visible.

“Well-“ you started, “I’m afraid I should be going, before someone sees me in out in the grounds at this hour. Professor Sprout wouldn’t be to pleased either.”

You expected him to turn around and go his own way but he just shrugged. “True.” he chuckled, once again surprising you.

And just as quick as the conversation had started, it was over. The boy had turned, his back now to you.

Without looking back, he gestured to the side, as if to invite you to walk beside him.

There was no sign of annoyance or boredom on his face, as if you being there wasn’t that big of a deal.

You hesitated for a moment, before walking up next to him. And as you both walked in silence, you realized just how fast paced he walked.

The grounds were eerily similar to the greenhouse, empty and still and quiet. It felt peaceful, the only sound being that of your footsteps along with the wind. There wasn’t the slightest hint of voices talking or laughter. It felt like you were alone in the world, both of you.

As you walked beside him, you found yourself sneaking peaks at the boy. His hands shoved in the pockets of his robe, his face turned to the path ahead.

Even if you wanted to strike up a conversation, you had no idea how you could do that without it being awkward as hell. So you decided to enjoy the silence for as long as it would last.

But soon, Nott started to talk.

“I’m bored.” not a question. A flat, monotone statement. “I like being around plants.” again, no question.

The boy just wanted to state facts.

The silence lasted for a few more seconds and the you decided to respond. “Oh, yeah?” you asked. “But you don’t even take Herbology?” you furrowed your brows in confusion. Theodor Nott liked being around plants?

“Doesn’t matter. Plants are peaceful.” he stated, his voice just as quiet and flat as before.

“And the greenhouse doesn’t have any people in it.”

You couldn’t help the fact that a small smile crossed your lips. The boy wasn’t that intimidating after all.

“You don’t like people, do you?” you asked, the question coming out before you could even stop yourself. You could’ve cursed at yourself for being so blunt, already mentally preparing yourself for a snarky comment or a rude insult.

But nothing of that sort came.

Theo looked at you, blue eyes piercing into yours as if looking at your soul in particular.

His expression was blank, but the smirk was still playing on his lips.

“What makes you think that?” was his quiet response.

The silence was almost loud, but you felt it was your turn to talk.

“You’ve never exactly been interested in having a conversation, have you?” you questioned him. “In all those Hogwarts years I’ve only seen you talk to a handful people for longer than five minutes.” Again, he just shrugged.

You were expecting him to be annoyed but strangely enough, that wasn’t the case.

A smirk still on his lips, that didn’t seem to go away anytime soon, he looked straight at you.

“Is that bad? Not talking to everyone I see?”

Another long silence fell between the two of you.

“You know, I find it quite amusing. You trying to figure me out.” he finally broke it. His voice was still quiet and emotionless, as if talking was just a chore.

As much as what he said was kind of insulting, it was true. Not to your credit but you didn’t know much about Theo, at least not in comparison to how much you thought you knew others. About your friends and the other students in your year.

“What is there to know about you?” you asked, trying to keep yourself from rolling your eyes at his remarks.

His cold eyes were on you again, he was the one not answering you immediately, as if thinking about his response longer than necessary.

“There is nothing about me.” he finally muttered.

Once more, you were stunned into silence.

His answer was the last thing you expected.

Your brain was racing, asking if there was more to the story.

Maybe the boy really was a loner, you thought.

Before you could find the courage to open your mouth, Nott started over.

“So, you like plants?” he asked, his voice sounding a bit more curious and lively than before.

“Uh- yes.” you answered, your arms crossed in front of you to protect against the cold wind.

You had always liked plants.

There was something very calming and soothing about them. Their quiet energy and their almost peaceful presence.

When you were having a bad day or you felt sad or tired, the greenhouse was the place to be.

It was the one place in Hogwarts where the chaos of everything and everyone was non-existent.

Once again, a silence took over the two of you.

You wanted to say more. Ask him more questions. Be intrigued in what kind of person he was and if there was more to the story about the boy with the cold eyes.

But suddenly you knew that doing that would be useless.

He wouldn’t tell, not to you. Not now, not ever.

And so you kept quiet. Not speaking a word until you reached a familiar spot, the entrance hall.

Unsure of what to do, you entered the castle behind him, hands nervously fumbling with the hem of your skirt as the two of you just stood there.

He would have to go down to his common room, while you would make your way to the Hufflepuff common room near the kitchens.

Once more you were both alone, in silence, both facing the stairs which would lead to your separate paths.

You hesitated, not knowing what to say, what to do, how to take your leave as it seemed like he had no plans on speaking again.

The boy had one of his elbows on the wall and was leaning on it, not looking at you. His hands still in the pockets of his robe.

The longer you stood there, the more uncomfortable the moment became.

“Well…uhm good night to you?” you mumbled, finally mustering up the courage to break the uncomfortable silence.

Theo tilted his head as he looked up at you, his eyes now curious as he stared at you. His face suddenly showing more emotion than before. His smirk was gone.

Silence once more.

But after a moment of thinking, his face once again looked blank.

“Good night to you too.” he muttered, his voice as monotone as before as he started descending the stairs.

Shaking your head, still trying to understand this strange encounter, you started your own way to your common room.

If you had learned one thing tonight, it was that Theodor Nott was a fucking mystery.

And you had never wanted to solve a mystery this badly before.

#theodore nott #theo nott #theo nott x reader #harry potter #theo nott x y/n

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celerieth · 8 months

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The only way the Loki series can redeem itself at this point is if season 2 ends with Sylvie dead and a threesome between Loki, Sigyn and Theo Bell, along with accurate rep for all three of them.

Of course, I know it isn't going to happen because a) the second series has already been filmed;

b) Disney would never go for any actual queer rep;

c) Disney is also too focused on their self-insert/OC who makes for a nice cishet-looking relationship to kill her off;

d) Theo's supposedly gay (I mean, that's his generally accepted sexuality in the fandom, but it's a bit ambiguous in the book itself; Mrs Sharpe alludes to the possibility of him being bisexual, but then says she hasn't talked to him about it, and Theo's feelings didn't seem to change when Loki told him about their genderfluidity, though admittedly that might be because Loki was male-presenting throughout the book.);

e) it's too late;

f) Where Mischief Lies is somewhere in the grey area between actual canon and legal fanfiction;

g) I don't trust Marvel Studios with Sigyn after what the comics did to her;

and finally h) Marvel/Disney hates Loki too much to give them that kind of happy ending.

Thank you for listening to this.

Update: I've found the passage I was talking about where Mrs Sharpe alludes to Theo possibly being bisexual. It's just below, found in the last paragraph of page 218 ⬇️

#loki #theo bell #sigyn #ot3 #anti sylki #anti loki series #loki series negativity #i want this so badly #where mischief lies #biseuxal #possibly #loki season 2 #loki meta #please #polyamory

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incorrect-ikevamp-quotes · 1 year

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Can you write a fanfiction/bullet points or whatever makes you comfortable of Comte comforting a crying female MC? Thank you for your time. 💙☔️

This one is a bit (a lot 🤡) late, but hopefully it still brings some belated comfort to a wounded heart. Take care!! 💜

For whatever reason anything I write for Ikevamp always becomes half found family trope hours, so please pardon the wayward premise--

Below a cut because it's long!

When I hadn't emerged from my room before noon, Sebastian knocked--three quick raps--against my door.

I sat up in bed, setting my book aside. I'd done the bare minimum by then, thankfully: washed my face, made my bed, dressed in a nightgown with an appropriate robe for company. It was about all I could manage before deflating into a lethargic heap.

“Meli?” Curious slate eyes searched for me.

“Present,” I raised my hand, grinning sheepishly.

“Are you all right?”

Did I look pale? My head was killing me. And it was nothing compared to the ache from the waist down.

“In a manner of speaking,” I grimaced, “I’m sorry I was MIA all morning, I’m really not feeling well.”

He marched out and returned with a First Aid kit, and I gestured with flustered hands to stop him. “Whoa whoa, not quite like that. You don’t need to bring that weapon in here.”

One sharp eyebrow arched, side eyeing me dubiously. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

“Phrasing,” I scrunched my features, before sighing. “It’s uh…a particularly female problem, if you catch my drift.”

He looked like he was about to say something smart again, until understanding dawned on his face. “Oh.”

“Yeah…I’ll keep the gruesome details to myself. Could I trouble you for some soup, though? I don't think I can keep much else down.”

He smiled, closing the First Aid kit with a crisp flip of the latch. “You’ll owe me one.”

“You can lord it over me as much as you want when I don’t feel like I’m about to snap in two.”

He frowned, skeptical again. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?”

“Oh don’t worry, every so often this stupid thing clocks me out mercilessly. It never lasts, it just sucks for the first few days.” I waved him away.

He nodded then, and I hoped the passé inflection would be enough to ease his mind.

What I didn’t expect was the entire rest of the afternoon.

“Meli?” A muffled voice came from the other side of my door about an hour later.

Was that? “Vincent?”

“May I come in?”

“Of course,” I laughed a little at how cautious he sounded, as if Vincent could be a bother to anyone.

White blonde hair poked past the threshold, wide eyes taking me in. I laughed again, unable to help myself. “Don’t worry, I promise I’m not contagious.”

His smile waned, but he stepped inside and approached the foot of the bed. “That’s not what I’m worried about. How are you feeling?”

I couldn’t help the way my features softened. There were so few people I had ever met with such a pure heart, but sometimes it worried me. He should look after himself more. “Just fine,” I smiled easily, patting the bed to let him know he could sit if he wanted. “Is something on your mind?”

A little color found his cheeks and he shook his head, “Mm-mm, I’m glad to see you’re doing okay. I’m heading out to town today with Theo to explore some prospective venues for art displays. Would you like us to bring anything back for you?”

I was…frankly a little shocked that he thought of me. “Sure,” I grinned, “An invitation, when you’ve finalized the time and place.”

He gazed at me intently, before resolve made that baby face solidify with determination. “I promise.” He nodded once, firm.

“Even when you’re sick, you’re the only person in this house who knows how to appreciate real talent.” Theo swaggered in as if we’d conjured him by the mere mention of the display. “This is all it takes to keep you down and out, hondje?”

“Remind me to sucker punch you when I’m better.”

“I’m busy enlightening the world about the greatest artist who ever lived, remember it yourself.”

“Dat is genoeg, Theo,” Vincent glanced at him, and it made Theo sulk and look away.

I giggled, unable to help it. “Don’t worry, Vincent, I’m happy you both stopped by. Don’t let me keep you from your errands today.”

Vincent seemed to hesitate, and it was at that moment when Dazai walked right through the open door with an apologetic Napoleon behind him.

“I tried to stop him, but he was surprisingly adamant about bringing it over himself. Sebastian gave him an earful,” Napoleon snickered, “How are you holding up, noyer?”

“Like I’m going to throw up all over him,” I couldn’t help myself as they all looked at me with wide eyes, but the exaggeration didn’t fool Dazai. He continued on, unperturbed as always when he was marching to his own drum.

Everybody chuckled when they realized I was just trying to deter his enthusiasm.

“Open wide, Toshiko-chan,” Dazai crooned, trying to guide a spoonful of soup to my lips. “Say ahh--”

Theo had him in a headlock in the next few seconds, scowling fiercely. “Give it a rest, dwaas, she’s not an invalid.”

Theo hoisted him away and waved, and Dazai surprisingly left without a fuss as Vincent scolded his brother for resorting to physicalities.

“He wasn’t the only one worried, you know,” Napoleon remarked, voice much quieter than usual--and I sensed it was because he was revealing some poorly guarded secrets.

“Ah, I’d visit them both if I could, but I’m afraid I’m a bit compromised at the minute.”

Napoleon seemed shocked to hear this bit of news, alarm clear as he approached me and looked for the signs of harm. I suppose Sebastian didn’t go into the gory details, for once. “What…?”

I smiled broadly, “Don’t worry, I’ll be right as rain soon--enough to spar with you without a problem.”

The confidence in my expression seemed to put him at ease somewhat, retreating back an appropriate distance. “Shall I extend the good tidings, then?”

“Of course, and tell Jeanne I expect to see entries in his diary regardless of whether or not I can teach him right now.”

Napoleon shook his head, and when I shot him a curious look he just shrugged, throwing his hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Worry about yourself for the moment, noyer.”

I nodded solemnly, mock saluting, “Yes, monsieur, your will be done.”

“Well it’s good to see you have enough energy to joke, at least,” He crossed his arms, gesturing with his chin to the soup that was now at a proper temperature to consume. “Now eat before it gets cold.”

“The general,” I moaned with exaggerated woe as I reached for the bowl, “He’s relentless these days. Do you have any idea the last time I got to--”

“It’s a shame Shakespeare doesn’t have you perform for his little shows,” Napoleon was equal parts amused and exasperated as he moved to the door, “I never thought I’d meet somebody with more latent drama in their heart.”

“You really mean it?” I blinked rapidly and made doe eyes at him, and he rolled his in return.

“Get some rest, nunuche.”

When the door finally shut again I closed my eyes, willing the dull throb in my head to ease off. I tried to focus on the soup, hoping it would help me relax. It was only then that I noticed Sebastian had served it with a cold glass of oolong, and I sighed, suddenly grateful for his powers of observation. Hopefully it would help keep the food down--I didn’t want to throw up for real.

I took my time, eating slowly to thwart the nausea and stared at the ceiling. I wasn’t really expecting everyone to trickle in like that, but it was…a nice change. Back home, nobody ever knew I was sick because I didn’t tell them. I needed to work; there had been no time for rest and no safe haven to heal. I considered that for a moment, that for once I didn’t feel I had to push myself to my limits to deserve some respite.

The empty bowl stared back at me as I finished the last spoonful, the gold flowers inlaid in the china a reminder; it seemed I had yet more to thank him for.

I was braiding my hair absently--marveling that it was long enough for that now--when a single knock sounded, more wooden even than the door.

I found myself grinning before I could help it, “Come on in, Jeanne.” Wiry and lean, he marched inside and crossed over to my bedside, Mozart on his heels--though he looked cautious. I smiled wryly, “And welcome, Mozart. Don’t worry, I won’t get you sick--I promise.”

“As if anybody cares about that,” he sniffed, though I could see his shoulders visibly lower and I withheld laughter.

Jeanne got up close, examining me with eyes that missed nothing. “You look pale, mademoiselle.”

“At ease, soldat. It’s an old fight, I’ll be just fine.”

I was glad for the bravado, since it felt like my uterus was ready to pop right out of my abdomen, my entire lower half swollen.

“I still expect you to study while I’m recuperating,” I tapped his nose with the tip of my finger, and he leaned back as if he only just noticed how close he was.

Mozart sighed, “See? I told you she’d be fine. She even has enough energy to play school mistress.”

“I could play it with you too, Mozart.” I raised my brows, glancing at him.

He threw me a disgusted look, “Don’t be ridiculous. Only you two would do something so outlandish.”

Jeanne looked unable to follow, “But Arthur said that a woman who teaches you your letters is your mistress.”

Mozart and I grimaced, in agreement here.

“Don’t listen to Arthur.”

“Forget everything he says, in one ear out the other.”

“But…”

“Don’t forget about the shop, Jeanne, we were just stopping by.”

Jeanne’s violet eye widened, “Ah, that’s right. Be strong, mademoiselle.”

“You won’t be getting rid of me that easily.”

Mozart smirked, “Don’t we know it.”

“I’m perfectly well enough to get feathers in your hair, you silly little composer.” I lifted the pillow beside me and mimed chucking it at him.

I was stunned to see Mozart stick his pink tongue out at me, smiling as he followed Jeanne out the door.

“That wasn’t a very nice thing to say, Mozart.” I could hear Jeanne’s muffled disapproval.

“She knows better than to believe something like that anyway.”

Warmth overflowed in my heart, and when I glanced over at my bedside table I was shocked to see that it was nearly evening; I likely had all the visits to thank for time passing so quickly.

“You still alive in here, cara mia?” The giant Italian entered without preamble, a stark and frankly hilarious contrast to the nervous Isaac behind him.

“For you? No.”

“You always knew how to break a man’s heart.” I closed my eyes as the smell of cigarillos reached me, the rich and smoky scent oddly comforting. If it wasn’t for the fact that it would be misconstrued, I resisted the urge to ask for a hug. He could make for a decent heat pad at his size. He sat mere inches from me unceremoniously--Leonardo was never one for personal space--leaning in and evaluating me with those amber eyes. The color always made me squirm a little, conjuring their parallel image in the house every time.

“We thought we’d bring you some cake,” it was only then that I noticed Isaac was carrying a tray, chocolate cheesecake drizzled with raspberry and coated in dark chocolate adornments. “We can’t take all the credit though, Vincent and Theo brought some for everyone.”

Trust Vincent to insist on a gesture like this. So that's what his determination had been about, finding a way to offer me something without fanfare. And, well, it was no secret I loved chocolate.

I kept my eyes on my lap, willing the slight film over my vision to dry and disappear. I knew Leonardo would never let me live it down if he noticed. That's probably why he came with Isaac in the first place.

I cleared my throat a little, "Thanks for bringing it all the way here, Isaac."

Isaac fiddled with his hair, tugging on the strands shyly. "D-don't worry about it. It's the least we could do, considering all you've done for us."

I accepted the tray and settled it in my lap, taking up the fork. "I can't eat it while you stare at me, Leo."

"Oh well."

"Correction, I won't eat it if you keep staring at me."

"I'm just enjoying the rare sight. House feels strange without you stomping and bustling around. The floorboards must be awfully lonely."

"You make me sound like an elephant."

"Well--"

"All right, come here so I can cough all over you--"

"But Sebastian already told us it wasn't contagious..." Isaac interjected.

"He lied," and I was about to continue when Isaac sighed.

It suddenly occurred to me that Sebastian probably sent Isaac along to make sure we didn't argue for the rest of the night.

"You two never change," his smile was conflicted, but fond.

"Ah, sorry," I leaned back, trying to relax.

"Bickering is healthy where we come from," Leonardo guffawed.

"Oh dear, an oncoming sneeze--" I mimed reaching over to sully his sleeve.

They both lingered a little as I finished my slice, making small talk until they seemed to silently agree to let me rest and take back both trays to the kitchen. I figured I'd be turning in for the night shortly after when I heard rapid footsteps crossing the hall about an hour later. It was nearly nine o'clock, who…?

"Meli?"

I knew that baritone anywhere, though there was an atypical urgency to his murmur.

"Come in, Comte."

There was a gust of air as the door twisted open, gold eyes zeroing in on the source of my voice. When they landed on me there was alarm clear in every line of his body, and he seemed to take a deep breath. He smiled, but something about it was wan--it didn't quite reach his eyes.

"Bad day?" I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen him so wrung out as he made his way over to me.

He averted his gaze to my bedside table, "Something like that." He shook his head before reaching a hand up to my forehead.

I bit the inside of my lip to keep from leaning in, the heady scent of him distracting. All of a sudden I felt like a little kid with my favorite stuffed animal again; I just wanted to curl up against him and close my eyes.

I laughed awkwardly, "Did, um, Sebastian not tell you?"

He seemed genuinely confused. "Tell me?"

"It's ah, not exactly an 'illness', per say…"

"Then what…?"

I glanced at my lap, then looked away.

"Oh. Oh, I see," he hefted the chair against the wall and placed it next to the bed, unhooking his tie and rubbing a thumb under his jaw. "Well that's a relief."

"That makes one of us," I grinned, unable to help myself.

I wondered if I looked as sparkly as I felt when he finally managed a small smile.

"Did you just get home?"

"I'm afraid so, I was a bit buried in meetings and errands today."

Not surprising, he had been rather busy of late. "And you raced over here? Don't be silly, you should go to your own room and rest. I've been well tended to, I promise."

There was something akin to a dry smirk on his face, and it was puzzling enough to give me pause. What did that look mean?

"Everyone’s so demoralized it nearly frightened a century of life out of me," he admitted and laughed in earnest, taking one of my hands in his own gently. Color stained my cheeks, and I cursed how it gave me away. “I had to come see for myself.”

"Drama queens," I muttered, mortified. I willed my palms not to sweat and embarrass me even further.

"It just goes to show how much they care about you," Comte offered me a pearly grin, and I couldn't manage to meet his eyes. So much for the headache going away, I could practically hear a pulse in my head just trying to make eye contact with him. "The house doesn't feel quite right without you."

Throughout the day I'd been wracking my brain to figure out what their little visits reminded me of, and in that split second it hit me like a train. Oh my god…they were like a bunch of children worried about their sick mother. Bringing trinkets and food, looking for any opportunity to help. Even Vincent perfectly fit the role of the oldest independent son, all insistence on being the adult for the day.

I squeezed his fingers just enough to convey my meaning. "They're very sweet," I bit my tongue against the rest. Wonder where they could have gotten that from. “But really, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Comte was unmoved. Did I really look that bad? His eyes sought out mine, gazing for a long moment. Instinctively I knew he was looking for something there, and if I looked away it would only make him more anxious--but it also made me so self-conscious.

“What can I do?”

His quiet voice, imploring all of a sudden, startled me. “Huh?”

“Everybody seems to have beaten me to the punch today,” there was a rueful touch to his smile that I didn’t quite understand. Almost…bitter? “Anything that would make you feel better, it’s yours.”

“You don’t have to--” I hedged, embarrassed.

“I insist.” He was smiling, but I knew that tone. There was no brooking argument when he got like this.

“Can I have a moment to think? Nothing really comes to mind immediately.”

This seemed to pacify him, and he leaned back to grab his long coat, folding it over and placing it on my lap over the blankets. I smoothed the fabric over with my hands, thumbing the collar absently. What was it about everything he did that conveyed so much warmth? Like my very heart was being enfolded in care and affection. I stared at it as he poked around the book on my bedside table, content to be awash in his colors. Despite feeling terrible and exhausted beyond belief, something inside me started to unravel and relax.

When I noticed him out of my peripheral vision, I suddenly knew what I wanted to ask.

My fingers curled around the bed spread, not wanting to wrinkle his nice coat. “I think I know what I want to ask now.”

“Oh?” he looked over, setting the book aside. He gave me his full attention, and I hoped he would attribute the blush that crept into my face from the scrutiny to illness. “Let’s hear it.”

“Would you read to me? Just for a little while. And only if you want to.” The words came out haltingly, and I already regretted that I’d spoken them aloud. Christ I felt so childish, surely he would think I was ridiculous.

There was a moment of silence, as I contemplated crawling into a hole to waste away in peace. This is exactly why periods were evil. They made me reveal things that I wouldn’t have said at gunpoint.

“...What would you like me to read?”

He was serious, expression inquisitive. I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

I hugged the pillow next to me for courage, refusing to meet his eyes. “...Would it be too childish to ask for a fairy tale?”

“Any particular one in mind?”

“...Rapunzel, if we have it.”

He nodded, “Rapunzel it is. I’ll be back shortly.”

When he was out the door on the hunt for a book of fairy tales, I shoved my face in the pillow and groaned. Well, so much for living that one down. I’d be the gossip of the mansion for the next five years let alone weeks.

I fidgeted and tried to read what I already had with me, but the pages might as well have been in another language for all that I managed to retain. I’d been interested in learning about recovered knowledge and expertise that had been lost to the ages, scouring old texts for tidbits of information and wisdom. The notepad on my bedside attested to all the curiosities I’d gathered up to that point, but the thought that I was troubling Comte was enough to leave me unable to work anything out.

Mercifully, he had returned as promised without much delay, a book on fairy tales in tow as he closed the door gingerly. When I spied the name Grimm on the spine, I laughed a little. “Good to know it’ll be a version I recognize.”

He indulged me. “I’m just glad it wasn’t buried somewhere in that mess Leonardo calls a room.”

I snickered at the jab as he removed the jacket of his suit, leaving him in his waistcoat and dress shirt. I pretended I hadn’t noticed, waiting patiently for him to start. I forgot that Sebastian had left a pitcher of water behind after he shooed Leonardo and Isaac out of the room, and I gestured to the desk across from him.

“Seb left me some water, but please help yourself.”

He poured a glass before settling in earnest, rolling his shoulders. I glanced here and there to gauge his disposition, a little perplexed. He didn’t look like he was waiting for the moment he could slip away, he looked prepared to spend the better part of the night. Surely he wouldn’t, he had more important things to attend to than me and he’d barely gotten any rest.

“Ready?” He looked to me, waiting.

I sat up straighter, “Go for it,” I prompted.

Though we started there, he ended up reading several since they were pretty short--expectation in his eyes when he looked up from the book to flip to the next one. I got caught up in his momentum all too easily, his even voice more soothing than I cared to admit. Or maybe it was the fact that I could tell he didn’t begrudge me this, or seemed to think it was silly. I was lulled and warm and comforted, which was more than I could say in nearly three decades of life. I tried to remember every little detail of the moment; the soft light of the lamps, the warmth of his coat, the gentle scent of him, the balm of his voice. Something to keep close to my heart when I’d be forced to leave his side someday and return to my own time like the stranger I was.

Tears burned in my eyes, baffling me. I swallowed thickly, and took a deep breath as surreptitiously as possible. I didn’t want to ruin this balance between us, this closely guarded secret of mine wasn’t worth making him dread coming home every day.

When we’d gone through all the ones I liked, he closed the book and set it on the bedside table. He was pensive, rubbing his palms together absently. I knew that look, so I spoke first.

“You can ask whatever it is you’re wondering,” I laughed, “I don’t mind.”

He seemed a little surprised that I’d noticed, before leaning back in his chair. “I guess I was wondering why you chose fairy tales, of all things. I did say anything you wanted.”

I covered my face with my hands, “Yeah, I know it was childish. Sorry.”

Patient hands drew mine away from my face, “That’s not what I meant.”

I shot him a dour look. "Jewelry is expensive. So are dresses."

"That's not what I meant either. Although that's an idea…"

I ignored his expectant look. “Oh,” I blinked, “Then what did you mean?"

“Why fairy tales?” His head tilted just so, trying to find answers in my impassive face as he gestured to the book on my bedside table.

“Well,” My eyes darted away, nervous. “It’s not really a short answer, and you’ve probably heard it before. I don’t want to bore you.”

“Would you tell me, all the same?”

Usually he’d be the type to change the subject and take the discordant note in stride, content to play smooth conversationalist. I wondered briefly what brought this on, but I didn’t have much time since he was looking for an answer. I tried to gather my thoughts.

“Fairy tales are the written--and in many cases--oral manifestations of human feeling and imagination.” I sat up a little, “They were told by the fireside, in sewing circles, to children who asked too many questions, whether appropriate or inopportune.” I gazed at the back of my hands, the faded burn that marred my left one. There was more grief in my smile than I would have liked, but I was too tired to entirely disguise what I was feeling. “Happy endings are afforded in situations where they seem unlikely and impossible. Justice exists and culls the selfishness of others. In some ways, they are time capsules of hope; buried, only to be found again by the weary in similar situations of entrapment or despair.”

“Sometimes they feel like a hand reached out across the ages, promising that we aren’t alone, not really. I guess it’s a nice feeling, to know that I’m not the only one who likes to dream.”

It was only when I realized that the outline of his coat in my lap was indistinguishable, voice wobbly, that I scrubbed at my eyes with my sleeve. Stupid, I always spoke too much around him. He was quiet and still for a long time.

“But then, I have a bad habit of wanting things to make sense more than I probably should.” I shrugged, trying to lighten the mood. “They’re just stories, at the end of the day. Just a way to keep the mind occupied.”

He took the book back into his hands, gazing at it with different eyes. “I think that’s a beautiful way to think about it,” His fingers traced the embellished cover, still shining nearly a hundred years since it was published. "And very like you.”

“W-well, it’s just one way to think about it. Most people would probably say it’s a stretch.”

“I don’t think it is.” Even though I couldn’t meet his gaze, somehow I could tell his eyes were tender as they lingered on me. I was just relieved for the lack of disgust.

After that he stood up, gathering his suit jacket over his arm. “I suppose it’s time we allowed you to get some proper rest,” he leaned over to brush a kiss against my forehead. “I’ll make sure everyone keeps out until you’re feeling well, other than Sebastian. They don’t seem to be able to help themselves.”

I was entirely distracted by that split second of warmth against my forehead, lamenting how quickly it faded. Joy bubbled up in an endless cascade, and I tried to conceal how sated and giddy I felt on the inside. He was halfway across the room before I could manage to speak again.

“I was pretty surprised, I was so sure the sound of plague would send Mozart running for the hills.”

“I can think of very little that would keep us away, plague or not.” He chuckled, and shook his head as he reached for the door handle. “Rest well, Meli.”

“Good night, Comte.”

I was so lovestruck I didn’t notice he’d left his long coat behind, with me. I brushed my teeth and turned out the lights, pretending to get ready for bed--but really, I wanted enough time to pass to know for certain that he wasn’t coming back for it. Content to know it was mine for the night, I hugged the folded parcel close to my chest, sighing. If being by his side was out of my reach, then it was enough to know he cared.

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp comte #ikevamp saint germain #ikevamp mc #the way i can't write anything without agonizing unresolved pining #in a relationship already? no they have to Stare At Each Other Longingly From Across The Room #for five years until they get to kiss #im diseased yes i know #i was also yelling because I was writing most of that with the mental image of comte just like #screaming internally and trying to play it cool #if you squint you can hear him rattling the bars of his cage #i hope this sparks joy? no matter how hard i try to plan writing almost always takes on a life of its own #asks #fanfiction #minnie rambles #fangdad propaganda #(i love him your honor it's not a phase)

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