avngrssckr

[avngrssckr]

from a young age i knew i wanted to give up when things got hard

[avngrssckr]

THIS IS SO CUTTEEEE! Love it love it lOVEEE IT

And, boy, you got her

synopsis Rafe’s in charge of the pledges during Rush Week. Hazing isn’t a thing. Making you feel so high school is.

wc 3.6K

a/n omgggg Euro Trip Rafe <3333 I was living on pledgetok last week and just couldn’t not write something about it

“Holy shit,” Noah mutters, surveying the crowd over his red cup, “I swear they get scrawnier every single year.”

Rafe nods gravely, taking a pull of his beer. “It’s fucking grim.”

“Like — fuck, look at those two.” Noah gestures toward the shaded veranda, a fresh coat of gloss making its balustrades shine. Huddled in one corner, attempting to take up as little space as possible, two boys donning UNC merch survey the crowd in tandem. “We weren’t that fucking scraggy as freshman, were we?”

“You two weren’t,” Kelce snorts, coming up behind them. Topper brings up his rear, mid-bite of his loaded hotdog. “Thornton definitely was though.”

“Oi!” Topper protests, his words garbled by half chewed sausage. “S’wasn’t that bad. C’mon.” He turns to Rafe then, swallowing his mouthful. “But seriously, you locked in any potentials?”

Rafe furrows his brow thoughtfully, looking back over Delta Chi’s yard. Unsurprisingly, it’s far too early to say. Though the barbecue that they’re hosting is a good way for pledges to mingle, it isn’t exactly hazing material; they’re going to have to get creative.

“Maybe,” he replies finally, shrugging. “We’ll just have to see I guess.”

He tips back his red cup again, swallowing the last dregs of beer before acquiescing. As he’s about to announce his need for a refill, a few pledges sidle up to their group, looking hopeful.

Not overtly, of course. Painstakingly hiding their eagerness behind an armour of insouciance.

“Rafe,” the tallest of the three greets, handing him another red cup. The golden liquid inside it brims to the surface, its white foam dissolving in mocking. “Hey, bro. You need another?”

Rafe raises his eyebrows, hiding a grin. “Shit. Table service already?”

The boy grins in tandem, looking a little sheepish. “Big fan, man. I’m Dylan.” He motions at the two guys on either side of him, wearing matching squints and backwards caps. “This is Rahul and Xav, we’re all here from Trinity.”

“Durham and Chapel Hill?” Noah enquires, whistling approvingly when they nod. “Fuck, we used to love having away games there. Those Trin cheerleaders…”

“Haha, shit, what was that chic’s name again?” Rafe asks then, a pull of mirth as he turns to Noah. “The one you messed around with in junior year?”

“Blake,” Noah answers, groaning in a mock-wistful sort of way. “They didn’t make ‘em like her at the Academy.”

Rafe snorts, sending the pledges a sage glance. “Nah. They made ‘em better.”

Noah raises his eyebrows, his brown eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, so we are allowed to objectify your girl then, Cameron?”

“Damn, so you’re tied down?” Xavier pipes up, his voice gravelly and low on purpose. Overtly masculine, like he’s trying hard to be red-blooded. “Your girl doesn’t mind you partying?”

Rafe frowns. “Why would she mind?”

“Uh,” Xavier balks, pulling at the bill of his backwards cap, “shit. I don’t know… like, doesn’t she get pissed that you’re constantly around sorority girls?”

“HA —” Topper laughs, and then he falters, thwarted by Rafe’s warning glower. “Uh.” He scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just say Cameron doesn’t give her any reasons to be suspicious.”

“Because he’s obsessed with her,” Noah adds, unperturbed by Rafe’s expression. He pauses then, an amusing idea popping into his head. “Which means…” he continues, returning Rafe’s glare with a trust me one of his own, “you guys should be too.”

Rafe doesn’t trust him. Like, at all. He sends him a bewildered look, unsure where he’s going with this. “White — what?”

Noah ignores him. He downs his beer and crushes the red cup in his hand, deftly aiming it at the nearest bag of trash. “So,” he says, eyeing the three pledges with interest. “How serious are you guys about rushing Delt?”

“Pretty serious, bro,” Rahul answers, looking to his friends for support. “Think we got a shot?”

Noah throws his arm around Rafe’s neck, his strong bicep taut as he shoots them a grin. “Depends, man, I might know how we could figure that out though.” He begins to steer Rafe away from them, sending one last, faux-somber look over his shoulder. “Be right back, yeah?”

Rafe, whose bewilderment is quickly giving way curiosity, allows himself to be marshalled out of earshot without complaints.

He shrugs Noah off of him once they’re on the verandah, his features ever-bemused as he turns toward him. “The fuck was that about?”

“Bro, I know exactly how we’re going to haze these motherfuckers,” Noah replies, his voice lilted with mirth. “You know… without breaking any rules.”

The bewildered expression on Rafe’s face doesn’t acquiesce. “Okay… how?”

“Instead of getting them to be our bitches,” he answers, a mischievous grin making home on his features. “We’re going to get them to be our girlfriends’ bitches.”

Rafe frowns. “Bro. What?”

“Cameron, it’s perfect.” He swipes Rafe’s beer from his hand and takes a generous pull. “What do frat guys hate more than being called scrawny as fuck?”

“Uh. Doing assignments?” Rafe answers blankly, still frowning. He doesn’t have it in him to think too hard about Noah’s profferance. He’s on hour two of manning this boring event, hour four since he bid you farewell, and all Rafe can bear to think about right now is the imminent taste of your peach-scented lips.

Noah shakes his head. “No, dumbass. Being called a simp.”

“Wrong,” Rafe answers, “I don’t mind that shit at all.”

“You’re the exception,” Noah replies matter-of-factly. “You and Y/N have always been the exception. C’mon, I’m talking about us,” he places his palm over his breastbone solemnly, “mere mortals.”

Rafe narrows his eyes. “Fuck off. How would that even work?”

“We…” Noah pauses to think, a slightly furrow to his brow, “alright, I got it. We assign the pledges to our girlfriends, one by one. Give them a week to make a good impression — you know, carry their bags, buy them flowers, all that sentimental crap you love.”

“You really think the guys’ll agree to this?” Rafe asks, sounding reluctant. “I mean… I don’t know if I’m alright with a bunch of idiots holding doors for my girl.”

“But you’re an idiot that holds a door for your girl,” Noah answers, not missing a beat.

“Fuck off, White.”

“I’m serious. It’ll be funny. And look… if you’re worried about Y/N, I know she’ll find it adorable as fuck.”

Rafe shakes his head. “No way. She didn’t find high-school me adorable.”

Noah raises his eyebrows skeptically. “You’d be surprised, man. Besides, these guys aren’t going to be like high-school you. High-school you was a douchebag.”

“A douchebag who got the girl.”

“A douchebag who got the girl after he stopped acting like a douchebag.” Noah smirks then. “A douchebag who’d give all these fuckers a run for their money if he was pledging Delt this year.”

Rafe grins in tandem, stealing his beer back to take a big swig. “Alright, shit, alright. Harmless shit though, right? Chivalry and all that?”

“Harmless as hell,” Noah agrees. “C’mon. You really think any of these guys has the balls to make a pass at one of our girls?”

“Easy for you to say, White. You don’t fucking have a girl.”

Noah frowns. “What d’you mean? Aren’t we going halves on Y/N?”

“Holy fuck, Noah,” Rafe groans, almost spitting out his mouthful of beer. “If Y/N heard the shit you said when she wasn’t around, she’d probably kill you.”

“Nah,” Noah replies, seemingly unperturbed. “She loves me.”

“Well,” Rafe says grimly, crushing his own empty cup in his head. “She might do now, but she sure as hell won’t by the end of this week.”

—

The first time it happens, you’re understandably perplexed.

You’re en-route to your 9AM, bag strap denting your left shoulder, when a stranger falls into your step and swipes it from your figure. It’s a motion so quick and deft you initially think you’re getting mugged.

As you double back in bewilderment, he proffers, “you alright with this?”

“Uh.” You balk. “What?”

“Your bag,” he answers, readjusting it on his own shoulder. He seems earnest. Nervous, even. “It looked heavy. I can carry it to class for you, if you want?”

You allow a pause to take him in.

“No, I’m…” another pause, more of his demeanour on display. Backwards cap, crisp white polo shirt, smile lines exposing the ghost of a grin on his face. A familiar grin, the kind that pulls a soft, maudlin feeling from your ribcage. “Look, if you’re trying to hit on me —”

“No, no,” he interrupts quickly, his eyes widening in a panic. “Shit — no, don’t tell Cameron I’m hitting on you. I’m just…”

“Wait a minute,” your eyes narrow accusatorially, because of course he’s behind this chivalrous display, “you know my boyfriend?”

The stranger grimaces sheepishly. “Uh. Yeah.”

“Explain.”

“It’s… uh… well — basically, I’m pledging Delt,” he answers haltingly, self effacement juxtaposing his frat boy exterior. “Rafe’s asked us to be all gentlemanly and shit for pledge week, I don’t know. To you guys, I mean. Like… the current frat member’s girls?”

“Oh my god,” you groan. “No he hasn’t.”

“Shit.” He looks far more nervous now that he did five minutes ago. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No,” you grumble, pulling your phone out of your pocket. “No he did not.”

Rafe’s on speed dial. He picks up on the first ring, the way he always does for you.

“Hey baby,” his gravelly timbre crackles through the phone, the low hum of frat house chatter audible in the background. “What’s up?”

“Don’t even. You know what’s up Rafael.”

A pause. When Rafe speaks again, his voice is quick and placating. “It was Noah’s idea.”

“Of course it was.”

“Dylan’s not playing up, is he?”

You raise your eyebrows at the stranger then, assessing him faux-suspiciously. “No way. He’s doing a better job than you ever did in high school.”

“Woah woah woah,” Rafe replies, a playful lilt to his tone. “That fucker’s not calling you dream girl or something, is he?”

“Worse. He’s being respectful of my boundaries.”

“Oh shit. I fucking knew this was a bad idea.”

You shake your head in exasperation, trying not to laugh. The poor stranger’s still standing there at attention, your leather bag looking ridiculous on his arm. “Rafe. Tell me he’s the only one.”

“He’s one…” Rafe starts slowly, sounding sheepish, “of three. Four, counting me.” In the background, you hear Noah pipe up and add, “five, Cameron. How could you forget me?”

“You’re un-fucking-believable, Noah White,” you shout through the phone.

“I love you too, Y/N,” Noah sings, and then he groans, no doubt shoved to the side by his indignant best friend. It’s Rafe on the phone again, voice sweet and thick as molasses as he says, “they’ll behave, baby, and make your life easier in the process. I promise.”

“What?” You accuse, fighting back a smile. “Like you did in high school?”

“Fuck no,” he replies, the grin on his face audible. “They’ll be nothing like I was, sweetheart.”

“What?” You tease. “Absolutely insufferable?”

“And absolutely in love with you.”

You raise your eyebrows. “How can you be so sure?”

“They’re under strict instruction. Have a shiner waiting for them if they pull something funny.”

Another exasperated laugh bubbles out of you, and you begin walking forward again, motioning at the boy named Dylan to follow in your step. “Right. So the boundaries are on purpose, are they?”

“The respect, too. No being inappropriate and charming at the same time.”

“And why not?” You ask faux-indignantly. “What if I like being objectified?”

“Can’t have you falling in love with them, can I?”

“Hey,” you argue, frowning stubbornly. “That is not what made me fall in love with you.”

“It isn’t?”

“Well,” you balk, “not solely that.”

“You’re fucking sexy,” he recites devotedly, almost yells, and you can hear the collective groan of his frat brothers in the background. “Are you wearing those Lululemon pants right now? Point is, I’m thinking about your ass in those Lululemon pants right now.”

“Rafe, I was fucking kidding. Stop.”

“No you weren’t.” You know he’s right; you can picture that stupid smirk on his face. It makes your cheeks warm. Asshole. “You’re blushing now, aren’t you?”

“Anyway.”

“Anyway,” Rafe agrees. “No funny business, alright? Just lots of good deeds.”

Good deeds. You suppose you could get used to good deeds, the embarrassment of attention notwithstanding.

You let out a defeated sigh, halting in front of your 9AM class. “You so, so owe me.”

“I so, so love you,” Rafe replies, and it makes your pulse leap; you’ll never get used to this feeling. “See you later, yeah?”

“Uh huh. Love you.”

Dylan waits until you’ve ended the call before saying farewell, dutifully handing your leather bag back to you and giving you a mock salute. The way he does it, all sheepish and genuine with a charming smile on his face, makes your heart twinge in a junior year of high-school sort of way. You’re feeling sentimental. It’s sweet.

You’re reminded of Rafe before he was yours, stumbling over himself to win your favour. Confusing chivalry with courting, objectifying you in the name of flirting.

Insufferable, but sweet nonetheless. You digress.

—

The next time it happens, you’re ambushed at your favourite cafe.

A dutiful Delta Phi pledge has already queued up and purchased you coffee, handing it over to you with a blushing bouquet of tulips.

You raise your eyebrows at him questioningly. “Is that…?”

“Uh, an oat iced coffee with vanilla?” He asks, sounding nervous. “I asked Cameron for your order.”

“Didn’t ask me about pastries, though,” a voice behind you adds, rough and familiar with a sweetness around the edges. Rafe circles your waist with ease and pulls you into his chest, sponging a soft kiss to your temple before handing you a brown bag.

A glossy, Daily Bread sticker shines on its exterior proudly.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you look up at him expectantly. “Tell me you didn’t drive back home for a single croissant.”

“I didn’t drive back home for a single croissant,” Rafe replies. He grins then, looking that same, sheepish genuine that pulls a maudlin feeling. “I drove back home for twenty.”

“Rafe. Why?”

“Because you like Daily Bread,” he replies matter-of-factly, like it’s obvious.

You shake your head in exasperation, tip-toeing up to press a quick kiss to his lips. It becomes less quick against better judgement. He tastes like spearmint gum and cold brew, the hand he has held to your waist tightening ever so slightly. Slipping under your shirt, massaging the soft skin he finds there expertly, discreetly. Too much for 8am on a Wednesday morning, sans coffee. Your face feels on fire. You pull away in a hurry.

Meanwhile, the freshman pledge balks at the exchange, looking out of place.

Rafe frowns bemusedly at your diffidence, only clocking the reason when you nod over at him.

“I’ll walk her over Ben,” he says, dismissing him. “You’re off the hook, bro.”

“Shit.” The boy named Ben grimaces; he needs to get his hours in, and doesn’t deem this a fair ambush. He scrambles for an excuse. “Right. Can I still give her the flowers?”

“Of course you can,” you beam, accepting them gratefully. You look up at Rafe then, asking, “And if I want to walk with Benjamin?”

Rafe grins down at you, disbelieving. “Do you, baby?”

“As a matter of fact, yes,” you say, wriggling out of his grasp. “He got me flowers.”

Rafe falters, his eyes widening in surprise. “Sweetheart, I got you a croissant.”

“Ben got me a coffee,” you hedge. “And flowers.”

“Y/N,” he placates.

“Rafael,” you echo, unperturbed by his exasperation. You take a sip your coffee. “I’ll see you later, okay? Ben’s ticking off a good deed this morning.”

Poor Ben looks helpless, taking the brunt of Rafe’s glare as you motion for him to hold the door for you.

“C’mon Ben, we’re going to be late.”

“But…” Ben pauses, his eyes flitting to Rafe nervously. “This is fine, right?”

Rafe sighs, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth in defeat. “Yeah, bro. You’re good.” He looks to you, then. “You’re unbelievable.”

You smile sweetly. “I’m wearing the Lulu leggings.”

“Oh I noticed,” Rafe replies, his blue eyes falling down your figure in slow, reverent paces. “It’s why I want to be the one holding the door for you.”

You roll your eyes. “Men only want one thing.”

Rafe grins. “Yeah. You.”

—

By the end of the week, you’re more used to the chivalry than you’re willing to admit.

You’ve enjoyed free iced lattes and filled your dorm with gorgeous bouquets, no door left unopened and no walk to class left unescorted. And really, every pledge you’ve come across has been pleasant and unassuming, albeit absolutely terrified of Rafe and therefore extra obliging on instinct.

They’ve even offered to do favours for you, got you into sought after Pilates classes and done last minute grocery runs on your behalf. It’s put you in this constant state of mild exasperation, like you can’t believe you’re worthy of this much love and chivalry.

It’s exactly the way you felt back in high-school with Rafe, and this revelation pulls lots of funny feelings from your stomach, from your chest. Feelings you’ve forgotten that are all yours and all his. Because it’s strange, having someone other than Rafe taking care of you. (Or Noah.) It’s strange because it makes you realise just how much he adored you back in the day.

These emotions come to a head at the pledge week closing bash, Delta Phi lit up with fluorescent lights in technicolour. Inebriation ensues, beer pong follows, and an impromptu DJ deck plays endless songs with heavy bass.

Rafe Cameron has you pulled close, as always, the taut muscle of his forearm pressing heat to your exposed waist. You’re a few drinks down and hyperaware of his proximity, ankles touching, thighs too, torsos close with your head resting on his shoulder.

“I think I like Dylan the best,” you announce suddenly.

“Yeah?” Rafe asks, kneading your skin absentmindedly.

You nod. “He’s sweet. Told me all about his girl back home.”

Rafe grins then, shaking his head bemusedly. “You’re such a sucker for love, sweetheart.”

“Hey!” You glare up at him faux-incensed, looking accusatory. “So are you!”

“Shhhh,” Rafe murmurs playfully. “Not so loud, you’ll fuck up my street cred.”

You scoff. “Since when do you care about street cred?”

“Shit, you’re right,” Rafe agrees easily, leaning down to draw your lips in for a kiss. He’s all patchouli and musk, beer on his tongue and unchaste intentions in his touch. When he pulls away, his lips are still an inch from yours, his voice rougher than it was a second ago, “I don’t care. Like, at fucking all.”

“Good,” Noah snorts from behind him. “‘Cause you never had any to begin with, bro.”

“There you are,” you say then, eyeing Noah over Rafe’s shoulder. There’s a mock accusatory expression on your face, softened by mirth and the alcohol on your lips. “Have you been hiding from me, White?”

Noah grins sheepishly, taking a pull of his beer. “Maybe.”

You narrow your eyes. “Tell me. When did you become worse than Rafael?”

“I didn’t become worse!” Noah insists. “He just became better. You know, after he got the girl.”

You make a face. “Smooth.”

“Hey,” Noah raises his arms in surrender, looking faux-somber, “someone’s gotta teach the next generation, don’t they? I’m committed to their education.” He raises his eyebrows then, a mischievous glint in his eye. “C’mon, don’t act like you didn’t love it.”

Rafe grins. “She totally fucking loved it.”

You aim a glare at the pair of them, failing miserably at hiding your amusement. “So maybe I didn’t mind it. Sue me.”

“Of course you loved it,” Noah says, throwing his arm around you and pulling you into his side. “You love Cameron, don’t you?”

You narrow your eyes. “Opinions vary.”

“You love me?” Noah tries.

“You fucking wish.”

“Everyone fucking wishes,” Rafe says then, throwing his arm around you too, your figure wedged between the pair of them. Frat boy sandwich, you think tiredly. If high-school you could see you now, you’re pretty sure she’d have an aneurysm. “Especially when you’re in Lululemon.”

“Rafe.”

“I’m kidding. Not really. They all love you, you know that, yeah?”

You look up at him questioningly. “The pledges?”

“Uh huh,” Rafe replies, raising his eyebrows at you. “This is what I was afraid of, you know.”

“What?” You ask, lifting yours in tandem.

“Everyone falling in love with you, like I did in high school.”

You scrunch up your nose at him, your cheeks warming in diffidence. “No one’s fallen in love with me, don’t be silly.”

“I have,” Noah pipes up unhelpfully.

“Shut up, Noah. I saw you talking to Georgia just before.”

Noah grins, pulling away and offering you a mock salute. “Guilty as charged.” He turns to survey the crowd, spotting her figure on the fairy-light lit porch. “Speaking of…”

And he’s gone before you’re able to tease him any further, leaving Rafe to guide you out of his side and into his chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, his hands exerting a warm, steady pressure into the curve of your waist.

“As I was saying,” you continue, frowning up at him playfully. “No one’s fallen in love with me.”

Rafe’s unconvinced. His gaze skates down your figure again, a tortured groan falling from his throat. “Have you seen you, sweetheart?”

You roll your eyes, face hot and self conscious. “And even if they have,” you add, “it doesn’t matter.”

Rafe raises his eyebrows. “It doesn’t?”

“No way. Because I’m in love with you, not any of them.”

Rafe grins then, a devastatingly handsome look on his face. “I’ll never get used to hearing that.”

“I’ll never get used to saying it.”

[avngrssckr]

I think his mum needs to start dressing him up again cause Max on his own is hopeless..look how stylish he was as a kid

[avngrssckr]

Casual >> Johnny Storm

pairing: johnny storm x popstar!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 3.7k+

summary: Johnny always meant to keep it casual with you but unfortunately for him, he wasn't so good at sticking to his word this time.

warnings: angst, johnny being his asshole self, hopeful ending

a/n: big thanks to my beta reader, mati! love you so much. her idea for a summary was "manwhore fucks around and finds out" which i thought deserved an honorable mention. this fic was inspired by my (believe it or not) first watch of fantastic four so enjoy and don't forget to reblog!

Johnny did not want to be here. Not here as in at a concert, Johnny loved concerts. Loud music, hot girls pressed right up against him as they either tried to flirt with him or get closer to the stage (both were fine by him), and lots of recognition from giggly blonde things that liked to cling to him in photo-ops. All that stuff was fine by him, truly. What he did mind was that it was your concert he was at. He hadn’t spoken to you in months, not that his sister or Reed or Ben knew that. To them, you just weren’t around the Baxter Building as much because you’d been on tour. But the truth Johnny had been avoiding since you blocked his number was going to be difficult to ignore when he was watching you sing your heart out for the next two hours.

Susan had been raving about this concert since before the tour had even been announced to the public. You’d told her about it yourself, offering up four tickets for the whole fantastic Reed-Storm-Grimm family to go. It was a few weeks before you and Johnny fought so you were still around their home all the time, hanging out with Johnny or even just with his sister or on occasion, even Reed or Ben. Johnny watched from across the room as you confessed to his sister how much you would miss spending time with them while you were on tour, so they just had to come and see you perform when you were back in New York. The tickets were special, you’d said–they would give them wristbands and let them backstage to see you after the show. Susan had been thrilled. Johnny, not so much.

You’d been going out for months out of the public eye, at Johnny’s behest. “It’s just casual anyway so what does it matter?” he always insisted. He knew it bothered you whenever he said it but stupidly, selfishly he kept saying it anyway. When it all blew up in his face, Johnny really hoped his sister would forget about the tickets altogether. Boy, was he wrong. And he’d insisted to his family for months that you were just friends so he couldn’t exactly use the excuse that you’d broken up, now could he?

It wasn’t until you were nearing the end of your set that your eyes found Johnny’s and you both froze. Thankfully you were between numbers so you were able to get your bearings quickly and continue thanking the crowd for their enthusiasm, but when you caught his eye a second time very much on purpose before holding your pointer finger up to the audience and then strutting upstage to talk to your band, Johnny’s stomach turned to lead. When you turned back around, you were looking at anyone but him.

“So the band and I were talking and we really want to thank you for being such a fantastic audience tonight. I mean, obviously I can stand up here and say ‘thank you’ a hundred times but I really don’t feel like that’s enough, you know? So to thank you, we wanted to give you guys a fun surprise. How does that sound?”

Everyone except Johnny squealed with excitement.

“I’ve been working on a new song the last few months while touring. And if it’s okay with you, I’d really like to sing it for you live for the very first time right now. Is that okay with you?”

If not for the sudden feeling of cotton in his ears, Johnny would have had to cover them with his hands with how loud the audience around him screamed. When you next locked eyes with him, you were smirking into the mic. Johnny gulped.

“This song is called ‘Casual.’”

Oh shit.

My friends call me a loser / 'Cause I'm still hanging around / I've heard so many rumors / That I'm just a girl that you bang on your couch

I thought you thought of me better / Someone you couldn't lose / You said, "We're not together" / So now when we kiss, I have anger issues

ELEVEN MONTHS AGO:

If you asked Johnny, he wouldn’t have been able to tell you what the gala was for. It was probably some fundraiser for charity or other that Reed organized so they could stay relevant, but Johnny had been to enough of them to know he wouldn’t be the one talking about anything of substance anyway, so he’d long since stopped paying attention. Normally these sorts of things were boring. The people with real money were the old, boring white collars with no personality aside from their wine and boat-in-a-bottle collections. Fortunately for Johnny though, this particular event seemed to be much more laid-back–younger crowds, louder music, shittier alcohol. And if there was a party, Johnny always had to be at the center of it. So there he was on a Friday night, getting drunk off his ass and grinding to the music with New York’s young elite.

He couldn’t tell you why you in particular stood out to him. There probably was a reason at some point but he was much too drunk at the time for it to stick in his mind for long. All he knows is that one moment he was standing at the bar and the next, he was downing the rest of Ben’s drink (ignoring the consequent protests), handing him back the glass, and making his way over to you. You were standing on the outskirts of the room, surrounded by similarly young and attractive girls who were chatting your ear off (or maybe it was the other way around). He wordlessly sidled up next to you, slipping an arm easily around your waist. You turned your head just enough to side-eye him, but you reluctantly allowed the gesture.

“Do I know you?” You asked stand-offishly.

“Nope,” he popped the ‘p’ obnoxiously, “but you will. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

You looked over to your friends for approval and while they looked as suspicious as you, they generally shrugged in acquiescence.

“I don’t see why not.”

You looked him up and down appraisingly, handing off your drink to the girl next to you and allowing him to lead you across the room to a hidden corner.

“So? What did you so urgently need to pull me aside for?” You crossed your arms, stepping just out of his reach.

“Why so suspicious?” He raised his hands in surrender. “I just wanted to ask where you got that dress from.”

You cocked an eyebrow and he watched you search his face for an ulterior motive. Apparently finding none, you replied: “It’s Armani.”

“Armani?” He repeated, raising his eyebrows with intrigue. “Damn. It’s beautiful.”

You waited impatiently for the punchline.

“Would look better on my floor though,” he winked.

“There it is,” you rolled your eyes, unimpressed, before turning back toward your friends.

“Hey, come on!” He stepped in front of you, stretching his hands out to stop you. “Don’t be like that. Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“If you want to sleep with me, Johnny Storm, you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

“Full name!” He smirked, pleased. “I wasn’t sure you knew who I was for a second there.”

“I could spot your hot head from a mile away, Storm. And if I couldn’t, the terrible pickup line would have given you away.”

“Ouch,” he jokingly clutched at his chest. “Go figure. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

You leaned to the side to peek at your friends over his shoulder before sighing and giving him your name.

“Oh, shit. Like the singer?”

You nodded your head slowly, mockingly.

“Well damn, I really did hit the jackpot, didn’t I?”

“You know who I am?” You questioned him, not expecting him to enjoy your style of music.

“Duh, my sister won’t stop playing your music,” he tried to deflect onto Susan.

“And you know that because…?” You pushed.

He froze before awkwardly moving to rub at the back of his neck. “Because I… maybe… have listened to a few songs myself.”

“So the Johnny Storm is a fan,” you nodded, pleased with the revelation. “I’ll be sure to tell my publicist.”

“How about a deal?”

He took a risk and stepped toward you. You let him, though you pinched your eyebrows with skepticism.

“Go on.”

“You can tell your publicist whatever you want as long as you let me take you out of this place.”

You watched his cocky resolve flicker behind his eyes as you walked toward him, not stopping until your chest was pressed fully against his. You craned your neck to press your mouth right up against his ear.

“Only if you let me take you out of that suit afterwards.”

You’d be lying if you tried to pretend that was the last and only time you saw him. As much as you tried to resist (which admittedly wasn’t much), you continued seeing him. It was purely physical at first, him calling you at ridiculous times at night to fulfill a need or vice versa. But eventually, you found yourself seeking him out for reasons other than the physical. You craved his company so you’d invite him over for dinner or a movie, just in the privacy of your own apartment. When you finally visited the Baxter Building, it was only on the condition that you would be in-and-out and no one would see you. He’d been successful in sneaking you up to his room without anyone seeing. It was the getting you out that failed.

“Johnny, dinner!” A woman’s voice called and Johnny jolted away from your lips.

“Shit,” he muttered. “I gotta go.”

You blinked a couple of times, struggling to pull yourself out of the floaty headspace you always fell into when kissing Johnny.

“What?”

“You gotta go,” he grabbed your hand, pulling you up off the bed. ���Come on, I’ll sneak you back out.”

You snatched your purse up off the floor as Johnny tugged you toward the bedroom door, opening it to make sure the coast was clear before dragging you quietly toward the front elevator. He’d just pressed the call button when the same female voice from before called out.

“Johnny, what are you doing over there?” The voice got louder as footsteps approached and Johnny shoved your hand away, covering his face with a groan. “I just told you that dinner was–.”

A beautiful blonde woman who bore some resemblance to Johnny turned the corner and did a double take when she saw you.

“Oh my god, you’re–!”

“Yes, hi, guilty as charged,” you giggled nervously. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

You stepped forward, outstretching a hand for her to shake.

“So you’re the girl Johnny’s been sneaking out to see!” She shook your hand with enthusiasm. “It’s so lovely to meet you! Please, you have to stay for dinner. I’ll have Ben set out an extra place for you.”

“We’re not together,” Johnny butted in, shattering the moment.

“What?” The blonde woman turned to face him, confusion glimmering across her face as you burned red with shame.

“We’re not together,” he reiterated. “Whatever you’re thinking… we’re just friends.”

“Oh,” she gasped, turning back to you. “Well, um, you’re still welcome to stay.”

“I would love to stay,” you smiled at her, embarrassment still burning at the back of your throat.

And as she pulled you away, you couldn’t help but turn around and glare daggers at Johnny before rounding the corner.

You said, "Baby, no attachment" / But we're / Knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out / Is it casual now? / Two weeks, and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach / Is it casual now?

I know what you tell your friends / It's casual, if it's casual now / Then, baby, get me off again / If it's casual, it's casual now

TEN-AND-A-HALF MONTHS AGO:

You were in his car, one of the many but you couldn’t say which one this one was. It was dark when he picked you up in it and now you were god-knows-where, the passenger seat fully reclined as you laid half on top of him on it. You were tracing random patterns on his bare chest when he spoke.

“I’m gonna be away for a while.”

You stopped tracing.

“What?”

“She’s got a house on Long Beach,” he elaborated vaguely.

“Your mom?” It was a shot in the dark. You’d never spoken about his home life, nor yours. You didn’t do much speaking when you were together so you only knew about the people you’d met when you had dinner at the Baxter Building. He paused at your question, though you didn’t know why.

“My sister," he clarified. "She’s going up for a few weeks and me and her fiancé are going with her.”

“That sounds fun,” you remarked offhandedly.

“Yeah,” he snorts and you eye him, confused at what was so funny. “They told me to invite you, actually.”

You couldn't help the smile that crept onto your face.

“Johnny, I would love to–.”

“I told them you were busy.”

And then the smile was gone.

“Oh.”

It was silent for a moment, neither of you moving, both of you hardly breathing.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

“Not yet.”

You leaned up and kissed him again, drowning out the emotional turmoil that was rapidly threatening to consume your thoughts.

Dumb love, I love being stupid / Dream of us in a year / Maybe we'd have an apartment / And you'd show me off to your friends at the pier

TEN MONTHS AGO:

You hadn’t seen or heard from Johnny in a couple of weeks. Sure, he said he would be gone for a few weeks but you knew he had your number, which meant was a choice not to call you, not an inability to. Maybe you were just being stupid. You’d only been going out for a month, after all. And even calling it “going out” was a stretch. You had to face the truth at some point–you were just one of his conquests. He probably wasn’t even in Long Beach. He probably just needed an excuse to stop seeing you.

But as much as you tried to convince yourself of your idiocy, you couldn’t help but imagine having a life with him. You could get an apartment together or even just move into the Baxter Building with him. Either way, you wouldn’t mind. Maybe you could even have both and switch between them whenever you felt like it. Maybe next time he’d bring you to the Long Beach house and show you off to his family and whatever friends he probably had there.

Stop it, you scolded yourself. You’re being delusional. You have to move on.

That was when he knocked on your apartment door.

I know, "Baby, no attachment" / But we're / Knee deep in the passenger seat and you're eating me out / Is it casual now? / Two weeks and your mom invites me to her house on Long Beach / Is it casual now? / I know what you tell your friends / It's casual, if it's casual now / Then baby, get me off again / If it's casual, oh, oh, oh

It's hard being casual / When my favorite bra lives in your dresser / And it's hard being casual / When I'm on the phone talking down your sister

SIX MONTHS AGO:

“Please tell me he’s not with you,” Susan begged you over the phone. “Or that he is! Honestly, at this point I don’t know which is worse.”

Johnny watched you with amusement from where he was sprawled out across your sheets, naked as the day he was born. He definitely either saw Susan’s name pop up on your screen or heard her voice from across the room. Either way, he knew exactly who had called you and why.

“Uh… I’m not sure how to answer that question.”

You put a finger to your lips, making sure Johnny stayed quiet, before putting her on speaker.

“Well, if Johnny just so happens to be there, would you please remind him that we have a very public, very live television appearance that he’s supposed to attend which starts in twenty minutes.”

You caught Johnny’s eye and inwardly swore when you saw the sudden panic enveloping his face. He leapt out of bed, reaching for his own phone, and started whispering a chant of curse words when he saw what time it was. You threw your phone on your bed, ignoring Susan’s questions about what the noise was, and began throwing Johnny’s clothes from the floor at him. As he dressed himself, you began searching through your wardrobe for an outfit of your own that wouldn’t make it obvious from the wrinkles what you had been up to just before rushing to the studio.

“Um, yeah, I don’t know where he is, Susan. So sorry. But if I happen to see him or um, am able to get him on the phone, I’ll make sure to let him know.”

“Oh, god, I’m going to kill him the next time I see him. I swear, I’m going to take his phone away for a month!”

“You can’t do that, I’m an adult!” Johnny retorted absentmindedly as he fastened his belt before freezing.

“Jonathan Lowell Spencer Storm!” Susan bellowed from the other end of the phone.

“Damn it, Johnny!” You cursed him out as you desperately searched your wardrobe for your favorite bra.

“It’s in my dresser,” he reminded you, picking the phone up from your bed and handing it to you. “I’ll go. You stay here.”

“Johnny–,” you began to protest.

“I’ll get there faster if I flame on by myself anyway. I’ll see you later.”

He kissed your cheek before running out the door.

“Five minutes or I’m kicking your ass, Johnny!” Susan called after him.

“Susan, I am so sorry," you apologized on his behalf. "We lost track of time–.”

She just sighed.

“It’s not your fault. My brother is… not the most responsible person in the world, to say the least.”

You snorted.

“To say the least, yeah.”

“Okay, he’s a total blockhead.”

“You can say that again,” you rolled your eyes affectionately.

“But I love him,” Susan added. “And so do you, if I’m reading it correctly.”

“What!” You screeched. “No, I don’t. That’s ridiculous. I would never… Johnny’s…”

“He feels the same way about you, if it helps.”

“No, he doesn’t,” you replied honestly. “And even if he did, he would never admit it so I’ll take what I can get.”

“Hey–.”

“It’s fine, Susan. Have a good interview. I look forward to seeing it.”

You hung up.

And I try to be the chill girl / That holds her tongue and gives you space / I try to be the chill girl / But honestly, I'm not

THREE MONTHS AGO:

“I can’t do this anymore, Johnny.”

Johnny couldn’t tell you what had started the argument. To be perfectly honest, he’d thought the night had been going really well. He’d taken you to a fancy restaurant to celebrate right before you left for your big tour. You were in a secluded booth in the corner where no one would recognize you or even see you and… oh.

“Do what?” He blinked, forcing the lighthearted smile to remain on his face.

“Do this,” You gestured to the restaurant around you. “Going out on dates and pretending like everything is fine.”

“I thought everything was fine,” Johnny protested.

“It’s not, Johnny!” You smacked your hands on the table causing the silverware to clank together. “It never has been!”

“Tell me how you really feel,” he grumbled under his breath.

“Johnny, you can’t just… introduce me to your family, and kiss me, and take me on dates for months and then pretend like there’s nothing there. Like there’s nothing between us. I can’t… I can’t go on tour for six months wondering how you feel about me–if you think about me, if you’re waiting for me, if you’ll even want me when I come back.”

“I told you at the beginning, baby. I’m a no-attachment kind of guy.”

“Well, it doesn’t feel very no-attachment, Johnny!” You snapped at him and his jaw snapped shut. “Look, I try to be the chill girl that holds her tongue and gives you space when you need it but honestly? I’m not. I’m not like that, Johnny. I love you, and if you don’t love me back then I think we’re done.”

“You think we’re done?”

“That’s all you have to say? After all that?”

Well, Johnny never claimed not to be an asshole. And he certainly never did things halfway.

“Well I don’t love you, so if that’s how you feel then maybe you should just go.”

You sat there, panting, choking back the tears you refused to let him see if he was going to treat you like that after everything you’d been through over the last eight months.

“Go to hell, Johnny Storm.”

You grabbed your coat and purse and ran out of the restaurant. That was the last time he saw you.

Knee deep in the passenger seat, and you're eating me out / Two weeks, and your mom invites me to her Long Beach house / I know what you tell your friends / Baby, get me off again

I fucked you in the bathroom when we went to dinner / Your parents at the table, you wonder why I'm bitter / Bragging to your friends, I get off when you hit it / I hate to tell the truth, but I'm sorry, dude, you didn't / I hate that I let this drag on so long, now I hate myself / Hate that I let this drag on so long, you can go to hell

PRESENT:

It was the last thing you’d said to him. “Go to hell.” He deserved it, in all honesty. It was true that he’d never been one for attachment. Meeting you, sleeping with you, continuing to see you even when he knew it was a bad idea, it was all the biggest mistake he’d ever made. But he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since you walked out on him, and seeing you up there onstage just cemented it–it was also the best mistake he’d ever made. And as he looked down at the wristband adorning his wrist, he made a vow to himself: He was going to fix things with you. No matter what it took.

[avngrssckr]

YUH MY LOVE HATE RELATIONSHIP W/ ANTHONY IS GETTING FED. love this 🤭❤️

speak now

"i hear the preacher say, ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’" "there's the silence, there's my last chance" "i stand up with shaky hands, all eyes on me" "horrified looks from everyone in the room" "but i'm only looking at you"

pairings: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings/tags: angst with fluff at the end. you fell first, anthony fell harder. the reader is daphne’s best friend.

summary: anthony comes to a realization the night before your wedding— the wedding where you’re supposed to be marrying someone else.

the moonlight cast a soft glow over the elegant drawing-room of bridgerton house. anthony stood by the window, lost in thought, as daphne entered the room. she had just returned to london, bringing with her news that had unsettled him to the core.

"why have i not heard of this in lady whistledown’s columns?" he had demanded, pacing the room.

"it was kept private," daphne replied, her voice calm but tinged with sadness. "y/n did not wish for any undue attention. the wedding is tomorrow, anthony."

"tomorrow?" he stopped in his tracks, a look of determination hardening his features. without another word, he grabbed his coat and left the house, ignoring daphne’s calls after him.

the night was deep when anthony arrived at your family home. the world around him was silent, the only sound his hurried footsteps on the cobblestone path. he knocked on the door with a sense of urgency, his heart pounding in his chest. when you opened the door, your eyes widened in surprise and confusion.

"anthony? what are you doing here?" you whispered urgently, glancing around to ensure no one else saw. "it is improper for you to be here at this hour."

"i had to see you," he replied, his voice a fervent plea. "you cannot marry him."

you shook her head, "anthony, this is madness. you should not be here. think of our families’ reputations.”

“i do not care about reputations," he insisted, stepping closer. "i care about you, y/n. i cannot stand by and watch you marry a man you do not love."

your eyes filled with tears, but you quickly blinked them away. "you do not love me, anthony. you only say this because i am soon to be wed. please, leave before someone sees you."

his heart ached at your words, but he pressed on. "y/n, i have always loved you. even when you were merely daphne’s bothersome friend. my feelings are not sudden. they have always been there, growing stronger with each passing day."

you shook your head again, more vehemently this time. "no, anthony. this is not right. you must go."

with that, you turned and fled up the stairs, leaving him standing in the dimly lit hallway, the weight of his confession hanging heavily in the air.

returning to bridgerton house, anthony found daphne waiting for him, a knowing look in her eyes. "where have you been?" she asked, though it was clear she already knew the answer.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i went to see y/n. i professed my love to her, but she does not believe me."

daphne’s expression softened. "anthony, she has loved you since the moment she stepped into our home. you must show her that your feelings are genuine. if you truly love her, you must fight for her."

her words resonated deeply with him, and he resolved to do whatever it took to prevent the marriage.

the morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear, the air filled with a sense of anticipation. the church was adorned with flowers, the pews filled with friends and family. anthony took his seat, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he was about to do. as the ceremony commenced, he watched you walk down the aisle, your face a mask of composure. when the bishop inquired if there were any objections, anthony rose to his feet.

"i do," he declared, his voice ringing out in the silence.

gasps echoed through the congregation. your parents exchanged shocked glances, and the groom’s face darkened with anger.

his mother, seated next to him, grasped his arm with urgency.

"anthony, what in heaven’s name are you doing?” she whispered, her voice filled with concern.

ignoring her, anthony kept his gaze fixed on you, your face had turned pale with shock. he moved his arm away from his mother’s touch, his resolve unshaken.

"i cannot let this happen," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

your eyes were wide with a mix of emotions. without a word, you fled the church, the weight of anthony’s declaration heavy on your heart. you ran to the one place where you could find solace—the apple tree in your family’s garden.

you stood beneath the apple tree, your breaths coming in ragged bursts. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the garden as anthony approached you. your eyes, still red from crying, met his with a mix of curiosity and frustration.

"go away, anthony," you whispered, turning away from him. "you have humiliated me enough. no man will want to marry me now."

"how did you even find me?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

anthony, catching his breath, gave a soft, sad smile. "i have seen you come here before. when the demands of society became too much at the balls held at your family home, you would retreat here to find solace."

your brow furrowed in surprise, you turned to face him. "you have been watching me?"

he nodded, his gaze tender. "i have always kept an eye on you, even if you did not know it. i wanted to ensure that you were safe and that you had a place to escape when you needed it."

your heart ached with the realization of his quiet vigilance. "you knew?"

"yes," anthony replied softly. "i knew. and i could not let you marry someone who did not see you as you truly are. you deserve to be loved fully, and i have always felt that love for you."

he knelt beside you, gently taking your hands. reluctantly, you met his gaze, and in his eyes, you saw an intensity you had never witnessed before. "i am terribly sorry for ruining your ceremony, but i simply could not bear to see you marry another. alas, i am a gentleman. if you do not feel the same, i will leave and never bother you again."

your heart ached with the depth of your feelings. "i desire no one else. i have always wanted you, but i never believed you could feel the same. i think you have ruined me for everyone else."

anthony’s grip on your hands tightened. "it is you who have ruined me, y/n. my heart is so full of you that i can hardly call it my own."

with a sob, you threw your arms around him, pressing your lips to his in a kiss filled with years of longing and unspoken love.

anthony held you close, your heart swelling with joy and relief. "i am yours, y/n. nothing will ever change that."

in the quiet of the garden, beneath the shade of the apple tree, your love found its voice, a love that had always been destined to be.

[avngrssckr]

AGH it’s so sad when benedict started losing hope 😭

Could you do Benedict Bridgerton with wife reader?

Ben had always been the second son who had all the fun until the day he fell in love. From that moment, only her on his mind. Never once does his gaze befall someone else. He thinks all is well with her and their children. Until one day, she faints and reveals that she had fallen ill. (it wasn't terminal illness but her health was declining or she could survive from it. You choose) He didn't know what to think or do in this situation. Angst but ending with fluff. You decide how it goes. Add anything you want to. Thanks!! :))

hiii, thanks for your request <3 it's the first time i've gotten one and i'm excited and hoping not to disappoint!!! anyways, here it goes:

if there is no you

pairing: benedict bridgerton x wife!reader

summary: after many years of loving and having each other, you and benedict had a beautiful family and a perfect little life together until you fell ill one day and it all threatened to end. while you lied on your bed all day and night, fearing that you might leave your husband and children alone, benedict died a little each second that approached him further to losing you.

tags/warnings: mentions of chronic illness, not character death, grief, fear, angst, happy ending, song: soon you'll get better (taylor swift)

word count: 2.2K

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

Benedict had believed his life as a bachelor would never end. He thought he would enjoy his singleness forever, that he could just sleep around, drink to unconsciousness, and party to death; but no.

The day he met you at Lady Danbury's home for a dinner party, he got immediately obsessed with you… utterly enamored.

You had a passionate and scandalous love story, one of those you can only see in romance novels. You even paved the way for the rest of Benedict's siblings to bring home scandals in the future: Daphne, Anthony, Eloise, Colin… all of them followed the footsteps of the second Bridgerton son, who settled down first than his siblings against all odds.

Your grandfather knew Lady Danbury through her late husband, and they had become great friends. As you had failed to find a husband to your liking, he and your parents sent you to Mayfair to live with Lady Danbury for the social season and help you find a husband. Which, ultimately, worked.

You were soon engaged to a fine gentleman. He was endearing and kind, and would surely make an amazing husband and father to many children with you. He could provide for you and give you a safe life. Lady Danbury had picked him just for you, and you were comfortable with that decision. That, until you met Benedict.

He had successfully managed to skip most social events, and when he didn't, you never actually saw each other. However, Lady Danbury decided to invite the Bridgertons to your engagement dinner, where you two formally met and changed the course of your lives completely.

Defying social étiquettes, Benedict decided to court you while you were engaged. You masked the yearning to see him with that socially imposed civility of a lady who has to receive whatever gentleman that approaches her.

He wrote you letters and snuck around to see you at night until before your wedding, during which he firmly spoke when it was time to speak or forever hold one's peace.

Under both compassionate and outraged looks, the two of you left that church and began your own love story. After the birth of your second child, the Ton forgot about the scandal behind your marriage and you lived happily ever after until you didn't.

It was one enjoyable afternoon at Aubrey Hall. The entire family was there: Anthony, Kate, Daphne, Simon, Colin, Penelope, Francesca, John, Gregory, Hyacinth, Lady Bridgerton, Lady Danbury, Lord Anderson, and, of course, the latest generation of Bridgerton children.

You and Benedict had made enough Bridgertons yourselves: Benedict II, the eldest, was seven years old, Benjamin, six, Blair, four, Blanche, two, and Béa, five months old.

Lady Bridgerton was ecstatic with the birth of your youngest. She had her granddaughter in her arms while her children and their spouses played pall mall in the broad backyard.

“Are you feeling well?” Eloise asked, noticing how you seemed fatigued.

You nodded, not wanting to miss a moment of the game. “Certainly, El.”

It was getting far too difficult to catch your breath, but you were sure you could control it, at least this once. You couldn't.

The next thing you saw was your husband beside you, holding your hand in his, near his mouth. You could feel the warmth of his words against the back of your hand, and almost hear the prayers falling from his lips.

He was never a man of God, but he considered changing that at the sight of you lying unconscious on that bed for several hours.

“Ben?”

Benedict let out all the breath in his lungs and rushed to hug you. “Thank God!”

You felt weak and dizzy, but didn't want to worry him anymore, so you reciprocated the embrace despite the headache it was causing.

“What happened?”

“We were playing with the family,” he answered. “And you fainted suddenly. We took you to the room and the doctor came to see you. He said that, taking your underlying symptoms into account, it might take hours for you to wake.”

“Oh…” you muttered, trying to ignore the reproach behind his words. “How long has it been?”

“Around five hours,” He sighed. “Do you want something, my love? Water, food?”

You pursed your lips. “Uh, water should be fine. Thank you.”

Your husband nodded and poured water in a glass. Once he sat beside you again, he gave you the water himself, making you smile.

“Where are the children?”

“They are having dinner with Mother.”

“How are they?”

“They are fine,” he assured you, but you knew he was lying. “Do not worry about the children, our family is taking good care of them. Mother is with Béa, so we mustn't worry about her too much.”

You pouted. “She must be hungry, Benedict. She certainly needs me! Bring her to me, please.”

“Are you sure? The doctor said you must rest.”

“Please, Ben.”

He couldn't say no. He could never say no to you.

Benedict was in front of you, sitting expectantly, awaiting your answer.

He wouldn't blame you for anything, for the last thing he should do right this moment is put you under stress. The doctor said that stress or worry would only make it worse, and Benedict wouldn't risk it. You, however, had to tell him the truth.

“They began two months before Béa's birth,” you finally spoke. “It was sporadic at the start, just pain in my chest every now and then, difficulty breathing sometimes, until it turned into something bigger. My heart starts pounding really, really fast, and sometimes I faint like I did yesterday. But now, I-”

Your husband's face was the most afflicted you have ever seen, and you felt guilty for hiding it from him for so long.

“I'm sorry,” A soft whimper left your mouth. “I know I should have told you months ago, but I could not bear the thought of upsetting you over something I was able to control.”

“Is that why you have chosen to carry the weight of your illness all by yourself? To not upset me?”

You nodded. “We are happy. We deserve to be without anything ruining it.”

“The children and I, we are happy. You cannot possibly be happy under the burden of that secret of yours.”

“I never intended for this to happen, I figured it would go away one day, it was never this complicated-”

“I know that, my dear,” Benedict sighed. “I am right here with you, alright? Always.”

You held back the tears. “How did you find out?”

“Dahlia got scared and told me the truth,” he answered, mentioning the involvement of your lady maid. “She said you have been in denial for months, and that this was not the first time this has happened. Your health has been decaying for a long time, but you wouldn't accept it.”

“Ben, I… I am scared.”

“I know,” He looked up at the ceiling and then at you. “Do not be. Everything will be alright.”

He kissed your hand and gave you a sweet smile.

“Thank you for being here.”

“I will always be here for you, Y/N. I love you more than anything,” Benedict replied, swallowing his own feelings. “What if you make some space for me there beside you? Can you do that for me?”

You let out a soft laugh, remembering for a quick second how much you missed your husband's jokes and that whimsical attachment you adored, oh, so much. He always made you feel like the new girl in London who caught his attention and made him do all sorts of follies. You were that girl the day you met, the day you gave birth to your third child, and right this moment. He loved you, and it was so maddening that his delusions passed as hope.

Benedict wanted you to get better, but the doctor said you probably wouldn't.

He thought you were full of life, even when your voice was hoarse and your skin a little too cold for an alive person. He thought you would be fine even when you said goodbye to him every night as if it was gonna be the last time.

What was he supposed to do? He had to hold onto hope. You had to live and see your children grow up. You had to see them marry and carry your grandchildren.

You were merely eight and twenty. You couldn't die and leave him.

Benedict hated it when he realized that he was making it all about him, but how else was he supposed to decipher how he felt about the possibility of losing you? He didn't see himself capable of dealing with your loss and keep going. He couldn't fathom the idea of raising the kids by himself. He didn't know how he would look at little Blanche, who looked exactly like you, and not break down.

“How are you today?”

You smiled weakly. “I am doing amazing, my dear.”

“Is that so?” he inquired with a happy smirk. You nodded. “It is great to hear that.”

“How are you?”

“I am quite content.” Benedict assured you, though the bags under his eyes and the loss of fullness of his cheeks gave away his dishonesty.

But you pretended like you believed him. “How are the children?”

“Quite well. Benedict and Benjamin have started their fencing lessons yesterday,” he said. “Blair has proven herself to be good at reading, quite like you, Blanche has been misbehaving lately but showing her artsy skills. As for Béa, she is growing more each day that passes. She gets along very well with Mother, as you know, so it is alright. They miss you. I have been trying to keep their little minds occupied, but they do.”

You didn't notice when you started crying.

“I wish to see my children grow up. I want to grow old with you, Ben… I'm scared.”

This time, he didn't have the strength to tell you not to be. This time, he cried with you.

“Me as well,” He kissed your forehead and attempted to get up. “Perhaps I should-”

“Please, stay.”

“I do not want you to see me like this.”

You pursed your lips. “Who else if not me?”

Benedict cried more and you felt guilty for being the reason of your husband's was misery.

“I wish to never lose you,” he whispered. “Because… What am I supposed to do if there is no you?”

“I will always be with you.”

“I know.”

You smiled at him, trying to comfort him; but you couldn't.

Nothing you did would ease the pain, nothing other than getting well.

“You cannot lose hope.”

“It is quite easy for you to say, El,” Benedict sighed, looking at the moon. “It is not the love of your life lying on her deathbed. It is not you who will be left alone with five children to tend to. It has been months, and I have no clue what to do. I only want her to be well.”

“I know I am not losing the love of my life, but she is my sister,” Eloise replied. “I hope not to burden you with my pain, too. I cannot bear the thought of losing such a loving soul. She has always inspired me to see the world as she does. And life. Even now, on the verge of leaving, she has managed to show goodness.”

He let out an afflicted sigh. “What did she say to you, Sister?”

She took his hand in hers. “She said that she would leave in peace if she had to. That she trusts us to take care of you and the children. And that she is happy with the life she has lived. She said that she has lived a life full of love, and that is what makes life worth living: the love we give and receive. You have done right by her. You have given her the life and family she always wanted.”

“I do not want to make this about me,” he said. “But I cannot help but to do so. If she leaves us, Eloise, I am leaving right behind her, I- I don't believe myself to have the strength it takes to survive in her absence.”

“You must be strong. For her and your children.”

“I don't want to be strong, I want this to be over.”

“I know, but… didn't the doctor say she was improving?”

“I do not want to have faith for nothing.”

They stayed silent on the swings of Bridgerton House until Benedict thought it was time to go back home. The sun rising announced it.

Once Benedict set foot on his home, he saw you having breakfast with your children. A wide smile spread on his face at the sight.

“Mr. Bridgerton, how dare you return home until after sunrise?” you questioned him amusedly, pointing to the empty seat on the end of the table. He was about to sit where you told him, but the children stood up from their places and ran to him before he could. You laughed. “But it is alright, for I got to surprise you.”

Benedict smiled and walked to you with your second youngest, Blanche, in his arms. “You are out of bed.”

“I am out of bed,” you confirmed with excitement, holding his face with your hand and driving him close enough for to you to peck his lips. “I love you.”

“Daddy!” Blair exclaimed. “Mama read us to sleep last night!”

“Did she?”

“Yes, Father! And Mama saw Benedict and I during our fencing lesson.” Benjamin, your second born, added.

“Mama is getting better, Father.” Benedict, the child, mentioned with a sweet grin, just like his father's.

“She is,” Benedict, the father, confirmed. “And everything will be alright.”

all things benedict bridgerton taglist: @imgondeletedis

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no, i don’t watch that show, but i do follow its developments extensively via tumblr

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this is sooo cute

Pinned | A Bridgerton Series

Summary: A young seamstress catches the attention of a certain Viscount.

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

part 1 

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5 

part 6

part 7

part 8

epilogue

bridgerton masterlist

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ok kids repeat after me

vinegar and bleach makes chlorine gas, which is highly toxic

ammonia and bleach makes chloramine, which is highly toxic

rubbing alcohol and bleach makes chloroform, which is highly toxic

hydrogen peroxide and vinegar makes peracetic/peroxyacetic acid, which can be highly corrosive

be careful about your cleaning products and dont get yourself injured or potentially killed ok

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owwwww yeah!

Dearest Gentle Readers,

As requested and voted for below is a small piece of the story I'm working on. I hope you enjoy because I'm in love with writing this it is just going to take me a while, but without further a do.... The story piece awaits you.

Spoiler

During her younger days Y/N was always surrounded by the Bridgerton's. She remembered playing in the garden with Colin and practicing pianoforte with Daphne. Their home was always full of laughter unlike her own and it made the young girl happy. Y/N matured and entered society right alongside Daphne the pair were joined at the hips. No matter how was she viewed as a friend n or sister to the family her heart would pick up its pace as Anthony entered the room.

He was looked dashing in everything and Y/N could not help but stare when he walked by. She noticed ever since his fathers passing, Anthony has never truly been the same. It hurt her to know the man she used to know was locked behind a wall of pain and sadness. She wanted nothing more than to comfort him, but it was not her place. She was mere Miss and he was a Viscount.

Those titles didn't change how she viewed him or their little moments in private. Nothing was ever inappropriate, they would just talk for hours after dark. Daphne had found her love, but Y/N was still waiting for hers to bloom. She started noticing how Anthony would leave randomly and come back with his clothes rustled and hair a mess.

Did no one notice this but her? It was obvious he was having an affair with someone lady and did everyone else just turn a blind eye towards it?

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You know what? Let’s talk about this, because as a medical student and as a fan of multiple sports in which athletes get head injuries, I have quite a bit to say.

First of all, using anyone’s health issues as a “gotcha” is not making the point you think it is. From everything I know about Lewis Hamilton in years and years of following the sport, he would be ashamed to see one of his fans trying to make such a ridiculous and frankly apathetic argument.

Professional sports have a long history of letting athletes’ health fall by the wayside in pursuit of wins — blaming the people suffering health issues really is not the way to go about fixing a systemic problem that extends beyond Formula 1.

Blame Formula 1 and the FIA for not having stringent concussion protocols in place. Blame Red Bull and the medical personnel for not being as through as they probably should have. But do not blame Max Verstappen who was very much the victim in this.

I really hope that one day all fans (and especially fans with huge social media platforms) can learn to be more empathetic and remember that all drivers are people too.

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i’m speechless 😭😭

Sickness upon you /A ae (Reader!Sibling x Bridgertons)

Requested by: Anon, Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @theletterhart, @alex–awesome–22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @automaticbakeryfreakshoe, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves, @luvlyencanto,  @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @idkwhatmyusernam,  @subjecta13-thefangirl  @kazbekkarluvbot, @freyathehuntress​

Summary: Alternative/ alternative ending (so a third ending) Letters have been send out but no response comes. Thinking it is only Hyacinth wanting attention. R dies all alone having want nothing more than to hug her siblings. Once funeral invitations have been send out the Bridgerton family is overcome with grief and guilt. < Read beginning & (happy) ending here!, Sad ending in company here! >

Letters had been send out, arriving at the right destination. Benedict stood behind a painting, paint brush in his hand. Sofie reading a novel in the armchair before him. There was a knock on the door. – “My lord, letters have arrived.” – the butler said with a bow. Benedict pointed with his paintbrush at a small table. – “Lay them there, I shall see to them later.” – he spoke turning his attention to the painting once more. The butler placed the letters down taking his immediate leave. Sofie looked up from her novel to the interesting letters. After half an hour she wondered when he might read them. – “Are you not going to read them?” – she asked from behind her book. Benedict sighed soft. – “In a moment, I am trying to perfect your pretty face, Sofie.” – he answered making her smile briefly. 

“You already have a million portraits of me, Benedict.” – she responded. Benedict dapped his brush in white paint, letting the brush stroke against the canvas. Sofie glanced up to the letters, her curiosity getting the better of her. She shut her book, placing it beside her. Benedict moved his hand up as she had gotten up. – “I was nearly there.” – he protested with a soft groan. Sofie had been butchered to stay in place for over an hour now. She walked up to the letters picking them up. – “Do not fond yourself over meaningless letters love.” – Benedict spoke hoping his dear wife would return to pose.

Keep reading

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aaw thank u smm for the tag! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

and honestly… i’m not complaining 🤭

last fictional character in ur camera roll just adopted u

(Yes I did do this only because I want him to adopt me. Fuck off)

tags: @cryptidwithaninternetconnection @reggie-the-inferi @gingerbreadeel24 @pickupstyx

and whoever the fuck sees this

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Please reblog this if fanfiction has been beneficial to your mental health.

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i said i would and i did. so here it is: every time sam says “lore”

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This is Money Snake. She only appears every 312 years. 

If you reblog her picture within the next twenty-five seconds you will have good luck and fortune for the rest of your life. 

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I WOULD DIE FOR BENEDICT. 😭

Pebble

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader (modern AU)

Rating: G for all audiences

Length: 669 words

Warnings: none

Summary: On a trip to the zoo, you and Benedict have a discussion about the mating habits of penguins.

—————

“Did you know it’s not entirely true that penguins give the ‘perfect pebble’ to their chosen mate? Penguins make nests out of stone, and so while they will collect rocks and pebbles for that, it’s about as romantic as a 2x4 plank or a roof shingle.”

“I don’t know,” you said teasingly, “there’s something awfully romantic about building a house piece by piece yourself for your partner. Maybe the penguins really are the romantic ones here.”

Ben scoffed at that. “It’s a pile of rocks. Where’s the creativity? The originality? The flair!”

“They’re birds. I don’t think they’ve advanced enough to develop art deco or impressionism. Minimalism though! They definitely sound like they’ve mastered that!” You crossed your hands over your heart and pretended to swoon into him.

“You hate minimalism,” he huffed, sounding like a toddler about to have a tantrum.

“Mmm,” you hummed in agreement. “It is a little too sterile for my tastes. Oh!” Your eyes lit up and you watched in glee as Ben just rolled his eyes, knowing that whatever you’d just thought of was going to be terrible. “Do you think they’re into rockoco?”

The mock-glare he leveled at you just encouraged you further, and you pressed on. “Oooh, or maybe their style is more barock!” You couldn’t help but laugh at your own, admittedly terrible, plays on words, and when you looked back at Ben you saw he was no longer glaring at you, but instead smiling fondly.

“What?” You asked self-consciously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

He just shook his head. “You’re ridiculous, do you know that?” Before you could say anything, he just shook his head and muttered, “charmed by a penguin with a rock. Seriously.”

“I just think it’s a sweet idea! You’ve certainly never given me a rock before.” You rolled your eyes and started walking to the next exhibit, but stopped when you realized that Ben wasn’t following you. “Ben? Are you alright?”

He was just standing there, head tilted to the side slightly in thought. Ben shook his head then, seemingly coming back from wherever his mind had just wandered off to.

“Well, now that you mention it,” he bent down and you threw your head back in laughter.

“I didn’t mean for you to just grab a random rock off the ground, Ben!” You froze, realizing that Ben knew that, too. And he was kneeling on one knee. “Benedict?” You asked, voice shaking.

“My love,” he replied, just as softly, but with no wavering like your own. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a ring, making you gasp. “I know it’s no roof shingle, but I hope it’s romantic enough for you?” He smiled awkwardly, and you couldn’t help but reach out a hand to hold his and give it an encouraging squeeze. His smile softened, turning more gentle again, before he continued. “I can’t make you a nest out of rocks to live in. I’m terrible at maths, and it would fall apart before the week was through. So while I can’t offer you my building prowess, I offer you all the rest of me. It’s already yours. Every smile, every laugh, every feeling. My love, I’ve given you everything I have but my name, and I don’t want to wait any longer. Will you marry me?”

Your vision blurred from the tears in your eyes, but your future had never looked more clear. You nodded your head and started chanting “yes” as you felt him slip the ring on your finger, before standing up to pull you into a kiss. It was an awkward clash of lips and teeth as you were both smiling too wide, but you couldn’t care less. You started laughing then, and Benedict stepped back to look at you in confusion.

“My love?”

“It’s nothing, just…” you couldn’t hold the giggles in, even as you leaned forward to peck him on the lips again in reassurance. “I told you penguins are the romantic ones.”