#- Miss Kensington | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

blossom-hwa · 2 months ago

Text

a very fine line, indeed [1] | c.bg

pairing: Beomgyu x fem!reader genre: fluff, angst, enemies to lovers, regency era!au, nobility!au warnings: attempted assault, mentions of abuse, cursing, period typical misogyny word count: 6.3k notes: — updates every M/W/F at 8pm EST until the series finishes — assault/abuse scenes are not graphic, but please heed the warnings and let me know if any of it is romanticized or just written in poor taste--I assure you I did not mean it, and I will fix anything needed. — inspiration taken from an amalgamation of different bridgerton stories - let me know what easter eggs you find! — story takes place in the same universe as my duke!yeonjun and earl!taehyun fics - check out the link to the series below for some more easter eggs :) In a society where it only takes a year for a young woman in search of a husband to be considered out of season, it is no wonder that by your third year out, you are desperate to marry. Known as one of the beauties of the ton, such a task should not be difficult for you—but with an absent father, no dowry, and a reputation centered around your inability to keep your mouth shut around one certain Beomgyu Choi, your prospects are more limited than you’d like. While you cannot recover your family or your wealth, however, the one thing you can try to control is your reputation. So when the third season rolls around, you resolve to keep your distance from Beomgyu Choi, your childhood enemy, and the man you hate most in the world. Enter Beomgyu Choi, second son of the Kensington Viscountcy, one of the most eligible bachelors in the ton. His older brother, cousin, and good friend have all recently married, leaving the mamas to salivate at his doorstep for the chance of marrying one of their daughters to him. When Beomgyu walks in on a particularly traumatizing moment between you and one of the most unsavory men in the ton and learns of your desperation to marry, despite your history of enmity, he proposes you a devious deal—to pretend to court you. It seems like a winning situation for both of you—more gentlemen will take notice of you, enhancing your prospects, and he will have the ton’s mamas off his back—and so, despite your misgivings, you agree. With you hell bent on marriage and Beomgyu completely indifferent to the concept, even independent of your hatred for each other, it seems unlikely that any sort of true affection will bloom. But as you begrudgingly put aside your differences to spend more and more time in one another’s company, and as you grow to know each other beyond your ill-conceived preconceptions from childhood, you begin to realize that perhaps you two have more in common than you had once thought. And as your faked acquaintanceship becomes more truth than fiction, a friendship beginning to bloom most unexpectedly— Perhaps you no longer need to convince the ton of the veracity of your courtship, because anyone with eyes can see that it is true. Part 1 >> Part 2

Series Masterlist | TXT Masterlist

By the end of the night, you think you might murder someone.

It’s not the party’s fault. Lady Arina Park always hosts the first ball of the season, and in the three years you’ve attended them, not once has it ever been a disappointment. Her taste in decoration always sets the tone for the months to follow, and she is the most wonderful hostess—crotchety, kind, and always brimming with wisdom to impart.

She might be one of your favorite people in the ton.

Unfortunately, you cannot only talk to one person the entire night, and given your own reputation, you’re not sure you even have the social right to speak to her this season. See, it was never the party that was the problem.

It is the fact that you have attended now three times in three different years, each without a husband.

This is a fact that seems to dog you everywhere you go. Beautiful, sharp-tongued Miss L/N is going yet another season without a man on her arm—or at least a serious man on her arm. Never mind that you have had two proposals, both of which you turned down quietly and did not announce out of sympathy for the man’s reputation. You might be on your third season and desperate, but you rather think you’d prefer to become a spinster than marry either of those who asked for your hand.

Lord Kierston was nice enough, if absentminded. You genuinely might have said yes to him if not for two things—his rotten breath (you have no idea what he could be eating to have such horrid breath all the time), and the fact that he is over the age of forty.

You are barely one and twenty. And while there have been married couples with greater age gaps than that, you wonder if it is truly too much to hope to find someone nearer your age.

As for Mr. Thompson…he wasn’t even nice. He was rude, and arrogant, and during his proposal blatantly said that you would have to accept him as with your lack of dowry and snide personality, you had no choices elsewhere. All facts for certain—your dowry is nonexistent, your character is not one that endears many to you, and at the time, no other men were seriously courting you so it was true you had no other options. But you could still be a spinster, you let him know. And you would far rather be old and unmarried than tied to a man such as he.

He looked almost murderous when you said that, which was why you’d excused yourself quickly after. You may consider yourself cleverer than most, but you are no fool. You thank your few lucky stars that your family left for the country just a few days later at the end of the season and you haven’t seen him since.

But now you are back in town, with a fresh new crop of debutantes to outshine your wilting, rotten personality, a father trying to drum up business abroad, an evil stepmother breathing down your neck, and possibly a Mr. Thompson to run into. Not to mention Lady Whistledown with her peacock feather pen and watchful monocled eye, carefully waiting to elaborate on your futile prospects with her sharp-tongued words.

Not that you know if she uses a peacock feather pen or a monocle. As far as your knowledge stretches, no one in the entire ton save the writer herself knows who she is. But you’ve always imagined her with such things. Ridiculous to the max. It makes it much easier not to strangle someone after you read her words about you.

God, you’d care so much less about her gossip column if she wasn’t so damn good at writing it.

You wish you were still in the country. Lady Whistledown wouldn’t see you there, and her gossip column would never reach your home. In fact, the only reason you’re certain she isn’t part of your sparse circle is that your spat with the younger Lord Choi at the garden party last year took at least two weeks to be broadcast in London after you came back for the season. Someone had to feed her the information before she could issue it, including your now infamous quote about how you’d like to slit his throat with his own letter opener.

Your stepmother yelled at you for hours over it. You were sentenced to a week of nonstop chores and none of the few servants still in your family’s employ were allowed to help. Yet at the end of the day, Lord Choi the Younger is a menace to you and to society, and so you privately still stand by your comment.

Lord Choi the Younger. Mr. Choi, when his brother is in the room. Annoyance. Menace. The devil in disguise. All apt nicknames by which to call Beomgyu Choi, one of the most annoying people you’ve ever met. Which, unfortunately, brings it all back to here and now, because apparently he is in attendance at tonight’s party.

And hence why by the end of the evening, you might be locked up in jail for murder.

Last season after the horrible garden party, you took very, very great care not to end up in the same room as the younger Lord Choi. For the most part, you succeeded. You couldn’t always avoid him—the ton is only so large—but the few times you had to come face to face with him you managed at least one minute of civil conversation before it turned into thinly-veiled verbal sparring that you thankfully had the self-control to bow out of sooner rather than later. But apparently people found your little spats amusing. A source of entertainment. And Lady Whistledown has remarked more than once since then that it would certainly liven up the endless parade of balls and parties to see a showdown between you and Mr. Choi once more.

You’ve been at this ball for hardly two hours and already almost everyone who’s spoken to you tonight—even Lady Arina Park!—has found some sly way to allude to a possible catfight between you and Mr. Choi to bring down the house. And unfortunately, experience tells you that in the heat of the moment, you care about getting the last word in with Mr. Choi far more than you care about your precarious reputation.

You do so hate to disappoint the ton, about as much as you love it when your grievances are aired in public via the Whistledown gossip column. And it does so truly break your heart not to be the sole source of entertainment at Lady Park’s annual ball. But this is your third season out and you need to be married soon, so when you see the man himself wearing that annoyingly bright smile and surrounded by an annoying number of young girls and their mothers, you make the first excuse you can to duck out of the ballroom and make a beeline for the gardens, where you find yourself in sudden silence.

Sudden, but not altogether unwelcome. The night air feels comforting on your face, wind breezing softly against your skin. You hadn’t realized how hot the ballroom was until you came out here. You settle on one of the benches in the garden and fan yourself with a hand, letting the cool air bring you back to the moment. No one else is out here as far as you can tell. You can relax, if only for a moment.

For a few minutes you just sit in the moonlight, your face tilted to the sky, letting the cool air kiss your cheeks. It would be lovely to just stay out here all night, you think. Away from the people, away from the stares, away from the crushing anxiety that no one will ever want to marry you and you’ll have to live at home with your horrible stepmother forever—

A branch snaps. Your eyes fly open. And all of the anxiety returns, with a healthy dose of fear, when you see Mr. Thompson looking at you from the other side of the garden.

For a long moment you just stand there. Looking at each other. All of the night’s beauty has been forgotten, its comforting silence turned threatening in light of the knowledge that you are a young, unmarried woman alone with a man in a garden.

Scandals have been made out of less.

“Mr. Thompson,” you say in as flat a tone as possible. “I apologize. I was just leaving.”

“Now don’t leave on my account, Miss L/N.” His mouth twists in what looks more like a sneer than a smile and he takes a step toward you. You take a step back. “It is lovely to see you after a summer away. Your beauty hasn’t diminished a bit with your age.”

You almost snort. Exactly how much does a person change in one summer? “Apologies if I don’t quite take your compliment, Mr. Thompson. I was not under the impression we were on speaking terms after last season.”

“We never spoke again because you left for the country.” That sneer-smile grows wide and you start calculating how much of a head start you’d need to flee into the ballroom before he caught you. “If it were up to me, I would have proposed again, after you had had the time to consider it.”

This time, you do snort. “With all due respect, sir, after an entire summer to think about it, my answer remains the same.” You still your features into a cold mask and pray, even with the sinking feeling of dread in your chest, that he will go away. “I will never marry you, Mr. Thompson. As I aptly put during your first proposal, I would rather become a spinster than entertain the thought.”

His eyebrows draw in. You’d think the sight was comical if his eyes didn’t glint with menace under the moon. “Do you really think yourself better than me?” he snarls. “You should be thanking me now, for offering you this second chance.”

You laugh incredulously. “Thanking you? For what?”

“I’m your last hope.” He advances so quickly you almost trip on the hem of your dress as you stumble backward. You try to hide the panic rising in your throat as you glance at the house—still full of light, still full of gaiety while you’re trapped outside by the night and this man. “No one wants you, Miss L/N.” He lunges forward and you gasp, his hands uncomfortably tight around your wrists. “Not a single one.”

“Let go of me,” you snarl. “Let go of me—get off me—”

“Not—” He grunts as you stomp on his foot, but doesn’t let go. “Not until I have what I want—”

You manage to free an arm and before you can think, your fist careens through the air straight into his face.

For a long moment you just stand there, barely able to breathe, the thump of Mr. Thompson’s body falling to the ground playing over and over in your mind. Your heart is pounding and your breath is coming out in short gasps and your fist throbs with pain. A sort of buzzing sound fills your ears. The world starts blurring before you and vaguely you wonder if it’s just the night, or if you’re about to fall.

“Miss L/N. Miss L/N!”

The sound of your name from a familiar voice breaks through the buzz and you blink, coming back to earth. It takes a moment for you to reassess the situation.

Mr. Thompson is still on the ground.

It does not look like he will be getting up soon.

You are still physically unhurt.

And there is a new third person in the garden with you.

Oh, God. You resist the urge to bury your face in your throbbing hands. Not only did Mr. Thompson try to assault you, you also knocked him out with your own fist, and someone caught the two of you in the garden just after it happened. Or maybe even before. Maybe they saw it, saw everything—how much did they see? How badly will your reputation be ruined beyond what is already in tatters?

A hysterical laugh builds in your chest. All that comes out is a strangled whimper. You’ll never be married once Whistledown gets her hands on this. No matter that Mr. Thompson didn’t succeed in whatever he planned to do with you. All that matters is that you were alone with him in a garden at the first damn ball of the season and someone saw you.

Things couldn’t get any worse than this.

“Miss L/N.” The familiar voice says your name again, this time accompanied by a cautious hand on your shoulder. You flinch viscerally but it doesn’t leave. “Miss L/N,” it repeats, considerably lower than before.

You shut your eyes hard. Open them. You try to take a breath and only just manage to stifle a strangled half-gasp before it leaves your throat. You’ll have to face your fate at some point when you beg for this person not to immediately spread this juicy piece of gossip to every person in the ballroom. With heaven’s mercy, they’ll take pity on your situation and leave some details out of the story. Or at least not embellish what they already saw. Praying silently to the hopefully-merciful heavens, you slowly turn around.

And then you curse out loud.

“What in God’s bloody name—”

You were wrong when you thought things couldn’t get any worse, because the man standing before you is Beomgyu Choi.

The heavens must be having a good damn laugh at you right now.

. . . . .

After what just happened, Beomgyu is honestly surprised that the first thing to come out of your mouth upon seeing him is a curse. Maybe he should be thankful, though. This probably means that you’ll come out of this all right.

“Goodness,” he says as genially as he can, given your outburst. “I would have asked if you were all right, but based on your reaction to seeing me, I suppose you are just fine.”

“Mr. Choi.” You look and sound vaguely sick. Beomgyu gathers that you would rather be anywhere than here. “Apologies. I did not realize it was you.”

“I gathered about as much.” Now that he knows you’re fine, or at least standing upright, he steps forward to check on Mr. Thompson. Thankfully and regrettably, the man still has a pulse. Beomgyu wouldn’t purposely wish death on anyone, but if he had to choose one person in the entire ton he wouldn’t mind not seeing for the rest of his life, Mr. Thompson would certainly be one of the top contenders for the position. He looks back up at you. “Pray tell, Miss L/N, what is your first made of? Pure steel? You’ve knocked the poor man out.”

You look to be grinding your teeth even as you speak. “I had no intention—”

“I am not chastising you, my lady.” He smirks. “In fact, I must say I’m quite impressed.” Then he squints. “You’re not about to swoon, are you?”

A long silence hangs in the air before you mete out a very measured reply. “I am not going to swoon, Mr. Choi. And the next time you decide to say something just as inane, take very good care, or you might find yourself in the grass next to Mr. Thompson as well.”

He lifts his hands in surrender with a laugh. God, he might hate you and you might hate him, but it really is so much fun to spar with you like this. “A jest, my lady. I thought simply to lighten the air.”

You open your mouth to reply, then close it. Beomgyu watches in amusement as you close your eyes for a good few seconds—ten, if he’s counting correctly—before taking a deep breath. Good God, you really are making some strong effort to rein yourself in this season. “With all due respect, my lord, what are you doing out here?” you finally ask.

Beomgyu raises an eyebrow. “I might ask you the same question.”

“You were the one who walked in on a private disagreement,” you snap. “If anyone should be asking questions, it should be me.”

“It didn’t look like a private disagreement as much as an entire physical altercation,” Beomgyu retorts.

He expects a rapid-fire reply from you just as he always has, but instead you blanch. Your lips suddenly look too pale, entirely drained of color, and your eyes are fixed on Mr. Thompson’s prone body. He stands up. “Miss L/N?” he says quietly, slowly stepping toward you. “Are you all right?”

“I—” You turn to him but it doesn’t look like you see him. “Don’t tell anybody,” you whisper. Your breaths have grown shorter, more rapid, and he bites back a curse. You look like you’re going into shock again. “Please. I can’t—if Whistledown—if people know what he did—what he tried to do—”

What he tried to do?

Well, clearly now is not the right time to ask, and it isn’t that difficult to put the pieces together anyway from what little he saw—Mr. Thompson grabbing you, you punching him, your current shock. If Mr. Thompson was awake he might yet punch him again but he isn’t, so Beomgyu focuses on you.

“Miss L/N.” He gently puts his hands on your shoulders. Something in your eyes seems to focus and internally, he sighs with relief. “I will not tell anyone what I saw today in the garden. Not a soul.” He takes one hand off your shoulder to place it over his heart. “On my honor, I swear it.”

Something in his words must have rung clear. Your breaths begin to slow, and you manage to nod. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” It’s somewhat strange, comforting his sworn enemy since childhood, but oddly enough he isn’t too conflicted. Even if you spend most of your time annoying Beomgyu out of his boots, you’re a person too, and clearly Mr. Thompson wasn’t doing anything good in this garden. If anything, Beomgyu is a man, and he knows what the other entitled men of the ton sometimes do. No woman—no person—deserves to be subject to their horrific plans. Not a single one. He keeps his voice as gentle as he can as he leads you to a nearby bench. “Will you tell me what happened?”

He stays quiet as you mumble out a vague summary of the altercation. That Mr. Thompson had proposed last season and acted an absolute arse about it, that you thought you’d seen the last of him but he showed up in the garden when you left the ballroom for some air (Beomgyu saw you leaving just as he entered so he gathers he had something to do with your quest for air, but he bites his tongue just this once). That he had proposed—if it could even be called that—a second time, and when you repeated your original sentiments, he grabbed you by the arms and told you to be grateful.

And then you punched him.

Beomgyu nods slowly at the conclusion of your story. “First of all, I must apologize. Being the recipient of a proposal from Mr. Thompson could be nothing short of traumatic.”

For the first time that evening, the ghost of a smile flutters across your lips. It’s a very nice smile. You have always been beautiful—even Beomgyu will admit that—but you’ve never directed a smile at him like this. Likely because you’re always scowling at him instead. Which, given your history, is fair enough, but that doesn’t mean this still isn’t nice.

“There is a reason I turned him down,” you mutter. “I may need to be married, but I still have my pride.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You need to be married?”

You fix him with a dead stare. “Mr. Choi, I am not exaggerating when I say that if I don’t marry this season, I will go insane.”

Beomgyu blinks. “…Not even a little bit?”

You look away with a loud sigh, muttering something under your breath. Beomgyu doesn’t hear all of it but he does catch something about three seasons and hopeless and men.

He chooses to focus on the first bit, because he gets the feeling that the last two wouldn’t end up being particularly complimentary to him or his kind. “Three seasons?”

You give him possibly the worst stink eye of anyone he’s ever met. “Yes, Mr. Choi. This is my third season out. If I am not married by the end of it I may as well be a spinster, and to be a spinster in my stepmother’s home is not a fate I wish upon anyone.” You look down, fiddling with the dance card around your wrist. “I need to get married,” you say again, though more to yourself than him this time.

“You need it this badly, then,” he says, half amused, half surprised. “So much so that you would exit the ballroom the moment I entered for fear of confrontation.”

Annoyance flickers back into your eyes. It’s a much more familiar expression than the one you were just wearing, and thus infinitely more comfortable to deal with. “In case you hadn’t noticed, Mr. Choi, every time we come into contact in public, the resulting altercation makes its way into Whistledown and, as such, everyone else’s lives. Forgive me if I am only trying to pick up the remnants of my already shattered reputation.”

Beomgyu snorts. “You seem to think it my fault that your societal standing has plummeted so. Have you ever considered it a matter of your personality, instead?”

Low blow. He sees it in your face, in the way your eyes shutter as soon as the words leave his mouth. Immediately he wants to slap himself. He should apologize, but before he can open his mouth to do so, you’re replying through very obviously gritted teeth. “I have, actually.” You fix him with a hard stare that reminds him why half of the ton finds you terrifying. “I would be a poor judge of my own character if I did not realize that I am at least as responsible for our disagreements as you are.” A bitter laugh escapes your lips and curdles in the air. “And it is not as if the ton hasn’t been gossiping about my temperament for years.”

Beomgyu stays quiet.

You let out a sigh. “I have answered quite enough of your questions, Mr. Choi, so I beg you now to answer mine. Why are you here?”

“Avoiding people.” He eyes the bright lights still coming from the ballroom. Distaste curl his lip. “Mamas, mostly. I suppose they are people.”

You don’t smile, but at least the tension in the air seems to lessen somewhat.

“They seem to have gotten it into their minds that I intend to marry this season.” He shakes his head. “Just because all of my other friends are married doesn’t mean I intend to so soon as well.”

“I wasn’t aware that Mr. Huening was married.”

“Oh, so you do pay attention to me?” Beomgyu snickers at your outraged expression but continues before you can retort. “He has returned to his home country and won’t be back for the season. Ergo, I get attention I don’t necessarily covet.”

You snort. “I wasn’t aware there was any sort of attention you did not covet.”

Beomgyu sneers. “Couldn’t I say the same for you?”

“You—I can’t do this.” You stand up and Beomgyu can practically see the anger shimmering off you in waves. “I shouldn’t be here, you shouldn’t be here, and I don’t want to be here when Mr. Thompson wakes and decides to take a pass at me again. It’s bad enough that the two of us are alone—” Your eyes widen in horror. “The two of us are alone.”

Beomgyu stands too. “I guarantee you,” he says lowly, “not a word of this will pass my lips to anyone in the ton.”

“Thank you, but that hardly matters.” You take a large step away from him. “You walked in on Mr. Thompson. Someone else could just as easily walk in on the two of us.” Your voice turns sardonic. “And I’m sure you have no wish to be married to the likes of me for the sake of propriety. Good night.”

Well, that’s certainly true. Just the thought of it makes Beomgyu shudder. If your current relationship is anything to go by, the two of you would never stop talking, never stop arguing…

Hm.

Beomgyu’s eyes narrow as he watches your back disappear from the gardens. He would never want to marry you, it’s true. But if you’re having trouble attracting suitors, and he has too many women on his tail…

“Miss L/N.”

You turn around with a huff. “What is it now?”

Beomgyu grins. He might just be a genius. “I have a proposition for you.”

. . . . .

“This is a very, very bad idea,” you mutter. Then you look around sharply, because it wouldn’t do for anyone to think that you see hallucinations on top of all of your other less-than-choice characteristics. Even though you made sure to stray far from prying ears in this garden, it seems Lady Whistledown’s eyes are everywhere.

An issue came out just this morning. You were relieved beyond belief that not a word about your and Mr. Choi’s accidental tryst in the garden was mentioned, though she did mention a terrible black eye and a murderous expression on Mr. Thompson when he reentered the ballroom.

Mr. Choi had assured you a man such as he would never admit that a woman had bested him in a fight. You weren’t sure you believed him until you got the paper and Whistledown could only speculate about what had caused such a spectacular black eye—apparently Mr. Thompson had remained tight-lipped and snarly to anyone who dared ask. And as he hasn’t come banging on the door of your home demanding retribution, you can only conclude that he doesn’t plan to.

All the better for you.

Fortunately, beyond some other vague mutterings about the other debutantes and who danced with who and who hogged all the lemonade, that was all that was said about Lady Park’s ball. Not a word about you. Not a word about Mr. Choi.

Not a word about the idiotic deal he proposed as you were trying to leave the garden, and not a word about how you were idiotic enough to agree.

You never quite believed yourself stupid. If you had anything to your name besides your beauty, you would say it is your wit (quite separate from your sharp tongue, which is not even close to a blessing). But when you woke up the morning after the ball, you really re-thought all of your previous conceptions of yourself, because what on earth possessed you to agree to the insane proposal Mr. Choi presented you that night?

Unfortunately, you know the answer to that too.

Desperation.

He’d presented his idea so reasonably. “You are searching for a husband. I want the attention of the ton’s mamas off of me,” he’d said, his tone so calm as words of madness left his tongue. “If I pretended to court you, men would take more heed of you, and the mamas would be discouraged from chasing after me.” He spread his arms in a show of his apparent genius. “Thus, the two of us might find some success in each of our respective endeavors.”

You could only gape harder the wider he smiled.

To your credit, you refused at first. “That is madness,” you had scoffed, turning back around. “Who in this ton would believe that the two of us are courting? Our arguments have become their source of entertainment. No one is going to buy that we now like each other enough to be civil in one another’s presence, let alone court.”

He was still undeterred, for whatever damn reason. So convinced it would work out by his own sheer force of will, like most men. “So we will come up with a believable cover story,” he’d replied easily, still with that unflappable smile on his lips. “Listen, Miss L/N. You are desperate, and I need an out. What do either of us have to lose from at least trying?”

Try as you might, you couldn’t cobble together an answer. Because he was right. You were desperate. You still are. If you have to live another year in your stepmother’s home, cleaning and gardening and playing maid while still maintaining appearances for the ton, you will go mad. Not mad enough to accept Mr. Thompson’s suit, but mad all the same.

So you had agreed, and in the process lost a healthy chunk of your own self-respect. But you refused to spend another moment in the garden alone with him that night for fear of others seeing, so you two decided to meet at the outdoor musicale at the park a few days later to discuss the…logistics of this plan. There would be plenty of time for refreshment before and after the performance—plenty of time for the two of you to sneak away and find each other.

So here you are, standing in the sunshine without the cover of night to hide all of your bad decisions. The longer you stand here, the more you’re beginning to believe this is all a major mistake.

But like Beomgyu has said multiple times, you’re desperate. You’ve tried being yourself for one season. You’ve tried reining in your sharp tongue for another. Neither worked. What’s the worst that can happen? You not being married for a third season in a row? Sick as the thought leaves you, it’s not as if you haven’t pondered the possibility many times already.

Anyway, if your stepmother drives you too far up the wall, you’ll just have to run away. Find work as a governess somewhere, or a maid. Nothing could possibly be worse than her shrill voice ordering you to do this or that while she sits on her arse all day without contribution, your father still gone on some business call hundreds of miles away. Easier said than done, but a bad plan is better than no plan. Or so you hope.

In fairy tales, this is when the handsome prince is supposed to swoop in with a charming smile to come and save you, the poor damsel, from her distress. Unfortunately, you are not in a fairy tale, and all you have to save you is Mr. Choi and this ridiculous deal.

What a world you live in.

“Miss L/N.”

You jerk your head around to see Mr. Choi pushing through some bushes a few feet away. A quick glance behind him confirms that no one has followed him here. “Mr. Choi,” you greet, already feeling your stomach roll. This is a terrible idea. “I wonder if it isn’t too much to hope that you have re-thought your ridiculous plan and intend to call it off now?”

He snorts. “Of course not. You should be on the floor, praising my genius.” Before you can reply with something scathing about his big head and nonexistent intellect, he continues. “Besides, no matter how ridiculous you think my idea is, you’re still here.”

How you wish you were here to just call it all off. Unfortunately, you are just as desperate as you were several days ago. “Unfortunately, my desperation is greater than my self-respect at the moment.” You look up at where he’s still standing in the grass. “Do you plan to sit?”

He sits on the green next to you, that stupid unflappable smile still on his face. You want to slap it off. “We need a cover story,” he begins. “You were right on that front. Which means at some point, one of us must have apologized first for the cake and dirt incidents from when we were children.”

“You apologized,” you say immediately. “You knocked my cake over first, ruined my new shoes, and it was my birthday.”

Mr. Choi scowls. “You threw dirt at me—”

You raise your voice over his. “It was my birthday, and you didn’t even apologize then—”

“I had dirt in my hair!”

“And my new shoes were ruined! Forever!”

The two of you glare at each other for a long, long moment. Then you stand abruptly. “Forget it,” you mutter, ready to head back to the party. “If we can’t even agree on this—”

“Neither of us apologized,” Mr. Choi snaps. “We just agreed to put it behind us.”

You turn around slowly. “…Fine.”

He gestures impatiently to the grass. You sit down again, resolutely not looking at him. Silence passes over the two of you for a long time before you force yourself to speak. “So how exactly did that happen?” you ask, voice rough.

Slowly, the two of you hash out the details, though not without your fair share of sniping back and forth. After the last season, the two of you met at a gathering in the country. Having seen how badly Whistledown had written of you two, you agreed to put your old resentments behind you. You began exchanging tentative letters through the off-season and those letters increased in volume as time went on and you became friendlier. It was very surprising when Mr. Choi asked if he might court you at this season’s first ball, but you did not say no, and that brings you up to now.

None of it is verifiable. That’s the only thing that makes you think this plan has even a shot at working. You two were at some gatherings in the country together, and ironically, because you did your absolute best to avoid him by hiding in different places, there are definitely some moments where the two of you could feasibly have been alone together and talked things out. As for the letters, they don’t actually exist, but no well-bred person would dare ask to see private correspondence. Hopefully.

You work out a schedule for the next few months. He must call on you at some point, and you both agree you’ll need to be seen in public at least several times. At least one promenade every couple of weeks, and you will dance together at least once at each of the balls you both plan to attend. One call a week and if he cannot make it, he must send flowers. “A large bouquet,” you say, internally smirking at his expression. “You must act serious about it so that the other men will know they must outdo you.”

By the time you’ve argued and compromised and sniped it all out, the sun is almost directly overhead, and you need to return in time for the musicale to start. Mr. Choi stands and you don’t refuse his hand to help you up, a new grudging respect in your chest for him. If anything, he’s a good negotiator, not to mention a gentleman. “Shall we return to the musicale together, then?” he asks, offering his arm.

You stare at him. “Already?”

He peers at you, eyes twinkling obnoxiously. “There’s no time like the present, hmm?”

While you were talking and snapping and quipping, you were able to ignore the voice in the back of your mind screaming that this is a terrible idea. But now as you look at his proffered arm, it suddenly seems to be all you can hear.

Everything is going to go wrong. You’re going to make a gaffe because for all you can act nice and pretty around pleasant people, you cannot hold your tongue in front of people you dislike, Mr. Choi obviously included. Which means someone is going to get suspicious because of your mistakes. Which means people are going to start talking and eventually the truth is going to come out and you will be humiliated publicly more than ever before—because what idiot pretends to court their enemy in an effort to gain suitors—and bloody fucking hell, this was a mistake and you might as well run away right now—

“We don’t have to if you don’t want to yet.” Mr. Choi’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, his words gentler than before as he lowers the arm. You hate that he can do that—can be going back and forth with you for hours without pause, then put it all on hold to respect you as a woman and a human being. It makes it really hard to hate him as much as you want to, and ironically makes you hate him even more. “I only thought it would at least explain our combined absence, in case anyone noticed.”

You swallow hard. “No, you’re right,” you mumble. “We should—we should start now. Sorry.”

Mr. Choi raises an eyebrow. “I think that’s the first time you’ve ever apologized to me.”

And there it is. You scowl. “Don’t get used to it.”

He laughs aloud, a sound that would be quite pleasing if you didn’t want to punch him in the face so badly. “I am sure I won’t,” he replies, a bite beneath his genial tone that ironically soothes your anxiety. Yes, even if you two go through with this, nothing will actually change between the two of you. You’ll always be annoyances to one another. “Now, are you ready?”

You take his arm gingerly. “It doesn’t quite seem like I have another choice.”

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

195 notes · View notes

oneforthemunny · 2 months ago

Note

🧸, 🪺, 🔮

rockstar!eddie, baby/kid fic, vacation.

"I feel like I'm herding a bunch of fuckin' cats." Eddie muttered under his breath, reaching for Sicily who started to bound towards the door.

"What?" You frowned, nose crinkling in slight amusement at the phrase. "What does that mean?"

"Nothin'- Hey! Sienna Noelle, sit down." Eddie hissed over the squeals of laughter from the twins, who thought running away from Eddie was the most fun game in the world.

You bit back a smile, ducking to press a kiss to Zahra's head, the toddler lulling to sleep on your lap. It had been an exciting day after all, a trip to Disneyland. It was Eddie's idea, a sweet but chaotic one at that. He wanted the stereotypical trip to the "happiest place on earth" with his family- one the both of you never got to have.

The girls had been more than excited, seeing each of their favorite characters throughout the parks, riding the rides. Eddie had nearly thrown up on the tea cups, grimacing as Kensington and Persephone squealed with joy, twirling them as fast as they could.

Now, in the private room the VIP tour offered, everyone was exhausted, hungry, a little cranky. Except the twins, who napped in their strollers and were energized after a Mickey pretzel.

"Are we going back?" Persephone mumbled, eyes starting to droop the same way Eddie's did when he was tired, fighting sleep. "I wanna ride the Peter Pan ride again."

"We'll ride it again." You cooed, swaying Zahra on your lap. "It'll be a little later. We're going to eat, and then we'll head back to the hotel room for a little bit. Let everyone get some rest so we can watch the fireworks later."

"I don't wanna go back to the room." Kensington whined, knuckling at her eyes. "I wanna go see the Princesses again."

"You'll get to see them later, Kens." Eddie hummed. "We still have two days left. And you have dinner at the castle tomorrow."

Kensington perked at the mention, seemingly settled for now.

The walk back was quiet, even the twins nodding off in their stroller, Persephone on Eddie's hip as he pushed Zahra's stroller one handed. "You think they're having fun?" Eddie hummed, following the Disney escort to the monorail.

You grinned, looking down at the exhausted kids, who had spent hours before squealing and beaming with excitement. "Yeah, I think they're having a lot of fun." You giggled lightly. "Even Sephy."

"Yeah," Eddie snorted lightly. "She's loving that Haunted Mansion ride. We've been on it, like, four times today."

"She's so your kid." You clicked lightly, head shaking playfully at him. "But I did swing by the gift shop after the second time. Picked her up a little shirt with the ghosts on it. I figured she could wear it later."

"She'll love that." Eddie beamed, dimples creasing in his stubbled cheeks. There was a pause, a comfortable silence falling between the two of you.

"Are you having fun?" You asked, looking up at him carefully. "Everything you wanted it to be?"

"Are you kiddin' me?" Eddie scoffed lightly. "Havin' the time of my life, baby. Kids are having fun, we get VIP service, and get to see you in your little ears." He teased gently.

The infamous Mickey ears, a rite of passage you assumed. All the girls had gotten a pair, and Eddie had insisted you had some too. You rolled your eyes at him when he passed them to you, but he didn't miss the way you smiled- the way your features brightened with joy as the girls squealed that you matched them. There was something so healing about getting to do that with your babies, what you didn't have with your own parents.

202 notes · View notes

unconventional-lawnchair · 2 months ago

Text

Meeting Royalty {Blurb}

Remus Lupin x Dutchess!Reader

English Love Affair 5sos

Masterlist

Summary: Meet cute but make it royalty}

wc-1326

If the phrase, ‘Money is no object.” Was a person, it would be {Y/N} {L/N}.

The {L/N}s were known for many things, the most significant being they were dukes and duchesses of Whales. True royalty in their simplest forms. All of the perks and notaries, no true rules and regulations.

Your father was a tart man with more concerns about the latest lacrosse then what you were up to. It never bothered you, you could snap your fingers and have anything you ever wanted. People doted on you left and right, you were able to enjoy London to the fullest, and you had more money then you knew what to do with.

People had a habit of sucking up to you, you had never known trial in your life.

Until you met them.

Four boys, seemingly appearing out of nowhere. You spent every day of your life memorizing and familiarizing yourself with the locals, especially the ones your age. You were a high society socialite, it was in your blood. Their faces were certainly new no doubt about it.

One in particular caught your eye and kept it like a promise.

“Are you reading this?”

You were outside your favorite library in upper Kensington, a stack of books by your side. They were varieties of fantasy, but the long tanned finger in front of yours was gesturing to the one you just finished, ancient myth and mythos of Werewolves.

Now, you had never been approached so casually before. People your age were a bit bold, but no bolder than longer glances your way, muttering a bit too loud, even occasionally copying your coffee order from the cashier.

Then again, they tended to know who you were.

“Ma'am?”

His voice snapped you out of your trance. You lowered your sunglasses and looked up at him, eyes trailing his arm before you were met with a breathtaking sight. Tanned skin broken across with pale white scars, bordering on fleshy pinks. His eyes were rich with a creamy warmth, mint chocolate. He was giving you a curious look, before he slowly curled a corner of his lips into a smirk.

Oh god, how do you breathe again? Your throat was closed up and you forgot how to release it.

Slowly, you pulled down your glasses and began to chew idle on one of the ends. You were smirking at his sudden shyness, missing his smirk. Who speaks to royalty and shys away? You looked over his outfit, pressed shirt, steamed and starched trousers- was he 70?

A cozy brown corduroy sweater you could totally picture yourself in, early morning, with that dazzling smile looking at you. His large hands over your bare lower back littered in love bites-

“Your grace? Is this intended company?” One of your chaperones called over, making Remus look up like a startled bird.

“Intended? No, but very welcomed.” You called back before looking back up at the scarred boy. He seemed distressed. “So, do you have a name, Mint Chocolate?”

“Mint Chocolate?” He muttered, a bit confused.

“Like your eyes.” You mused and leaned forward, resting your elbows on the table and crossing your legs.

He opened and closed his mouth a few times, completely stunned by not only your forwardness, but the fact he wasn't being dragged off the patio by your company. Your grace? You were royalty. He just came up to royalty and asked for your book. Your book on werewolves.

He must look like a complete imbecile.

“Still with me, handsome?”

Oh and you were flirting with him.

“Y-yeah, sorry I wasn't aware-”

“Moony! The hell are you doing? We are done waiting for you!” A voice called out to him. It was deep, thick, and a bit playful. You looked right past your current fascination and smirked at the black haired boy. He looked startled, slowing his step towards you as your two chaperones began to step forward, like dressed up bodyguards.

“Woah, Moony, what did you get yourself into?” He whistled low, looking you over a few times before he smirked. He was handsome, and he seemed ready to flirt, but you were already over it, looking back up at Remus with a flutter of your eyelashes.

“My my moony, what have you gotten yourself into?” You hummed, and his jaw went slack. You grabbed the book he gestured to. It was a rather old one, supposedly donated to the library years ago. It cost a pretty penny to take it home. You looked it over before pressing the top to your chin, framing your face for him.

Sirius glanced down at the book they had been looking for, for the past hour, and then back to Remus who looked as flustered as a school boy. He slowly smirked and put his hand up to James’s chest to stop him from walking over, shushing him in a smooth motion, like it was second nature.

Not that you noticed much other than those glossy spectacles in his head. “I'll tell you what.”

You stood up and leaned forward, into his space. He didn't seem to have any problems with this, maybe there was a bit of fight behind his embarrassment?

“I did just buy this, it cost me quite a bit.” You started and his jaw dropped. Who just casually buys an artifact like this? “But, I'll let you borrow it.” You mused and held it out to him.

He slowly took it, cautious before his eyes darted from the worn leather cover, back to you. “Is there.. a catch?”

“Smart boy.” You praised and he couldn't find it in himself to be offended. You sat back on the table and bit your lip. “I want to know how to reach you. To get my book back, of course.”

“I uhm-” He took a deep breath and began to feel around his pockets for a pen. Pulling out a sharpie you extended your arm to him.

“Ma'am, your skin-” You waved off your chaperone’s concerns.

“Go ahead, sign it, Moony.” You teased in a song like voice and his breathing picked up a moment. He looked down and carefully took your elbow. Like you were fragile china.

The pen glided across your skin so featherlite you prayed he'd have to write it again, just to feel the pen tip against your soft flesh, spelling his lovely name. You licked your lips at him and he almost choked. Running your fingertips along your forearm, tracing the new name, like a claim on your skin.

“Remus?” You breathed and he closed the pen, putting it in his pocket.

“Remus Lupin.” He seemed just as effected by the little intimate action.

“{Y/N} {L/N}, Dutchess of Whales.” You offered your hand and he took it, kissing the back and shooting you a look. It was your turn to be flustered. Oh there was so much more beyond his initial embarrassment.

You wanted all of it.

“I'll return this soon.”

“Please. Very soon.” You whispered and he pulled back, biting his cheek before nodding.

“Your highness.”

“Call me by my first name, please.”

His eyebrows raised before he nodded. “Goodbye, {Y/N}.”

“See you soon, Moony.”

You watched him leave, his friends patting him on his back and laughing at the poor boy's state.

You could faintly hear the one you didn't hear shout. “You flirted with royalty!?”

You gave a laugh and stared where he stood. Suddenly realizing you just gave a book worth a few thousand quid to an absolute stranger. You couldn't care less- the idea of seeing him again was enough.

Eventually, it was time to brave the ride home. The England rain came out of nowhere, leaving you and your sundress soaked when you came home.

But the only thing you seemed to care about, was how his damned number had melted off your arm. Leaving just his morphed signature in its place.

157 notes · View notes

formulapierre · 1 year ago

Text

His Royal Highness | George Russell

Pairing: George Russell x Royalty!Y/N

Prompt: George settles into life as the Prince of Wales which involves starting a family and having to overcome an obstacle that nobody saw coming.

Warnings: Death, Child illness: Cancer

Word count : 4135

HRH Series: Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3

HRHPrinceofWales

Liked by BRDC and 1,492,750 other,

HRHPrinceofWales Amazing to finally be back at Silverstone after what felt like years away. Huge thanks to @MercedesAMGF1 and @WilliamsF1 for welcoming me back. Nice to see the inside of @MclarenF1's garage for the first time 😅

Deeply honoured to have been offered the role as President-in-chief of the BRDC after the passing of The Duke of Kent last year and I'm looking forward to working in motorsport once again.

BRDC The honour is all ours 😊

LandoNorris Great to see you again brother, dinner at yours right?

--- CharlesLeclerc Thats what I was told 🤷

View 1850 other comments...

“I didn’t think we’d be back here anytime soon,” George said as our driver pulled into our allocated parking space.

“Neither did I, though it definitely feels different,” You said, unfortunately you both had missed it the past few years so the last time you were here was in George’s final season.

“You won it the last time I was here,” You reminded him.

“I know, it was my favourite race of the season,” He said as the car doors were opened for you.

“Why’s that?” You ask, thanking the footman.

“Because It was my final race in front of my home crowd and apart from Abu Dhabi it was the only race you were able to attend,” He says, making you smile.

“Why am I not surprised,” You say, rolling your eyes as He takes your hand and you start to walk towards the paddock. You swiped yourselves in before you were ushered towards the Williams garage. The Williams family had a fairly long history with your family so they were always the first stop. You loved seeing George reunite with some of the people that He raced with, seeing that racing spark reignite inside of him.

It wasn’t too long before you were saying your goodbyes to the Williams team and heading towards Mercedes. Lewis had announced that after winning his eighth championship last year he was retiring so there was a bit of a bittersweet atmosphere, knowing that this would be his last race in front of his home crowd. You and Lewis had known each other for years; first meeting at a lunch in 2009 where he had been seated between you and your father, and then when you knighted him in 2021 after He won his 7th championship.

“Lewis,” You said excitedly as he came your way.

“Y/N, George; How are you both?” He asks pulling his ear plugs out after just coming in from FP1.

“Good, excited to be back,” George says, knowing you both shared that sentiment. Lando joined you a few moments later, talking about the dinner George had decided to arrange for all the drivers and their partners at Kensington palace in a few days. Your time in Mercedes was cut short by Adam reminding you that you needed to be in the BRDC clubhouse in a few minutes.

You reached the clubhouse with plenty of time to spare. You recognised quite a few of the faces as you walked in, George seeming to know most of them properly; stopping to greet quite a few of them. Everyone took their allocated seats as the BRDC President David Coulthard stood up on the stage to give his speech.

“Thank you to everyone who managed to make it to Silverstone today. As I’m sure you are all very aware of. Mr George Russell. Or as I've been told to call him, His Royal Highness The Prince of Wales, has been announced as our new President in Chief,” He says and a round of applause moves across the room. “-and although He’s been a member since 2014 we felt we should welcome him back properly,” He adds before George gets up from his seat to give a speech he had prepared.

“Thank you David; I promise I won’t take up too much of your time. I just wanted to say thank you to you all for welcoming me back with open arms. It’s been a few years since I last raced around this track and a lot has changed since then,” George says, smiling at you before continuing. “-but racing was, and always will be a huge part of my life and I felt I had to recognise that in some way. So after the passing of The Duke of Kent it felt only right that I take up the mantle,”

Lando.jpg

Liked by PierreGasly and 490,183 others

Lando.jpg Dinner at George's new place...don't quite know if 'new' is the right word...

carlossainz55 Great night, lovely to meet the Mrs Russell properly

-- Charles_Leclerc Mate, you barely spoke to her after you got lost...

--- Lando.jpg Do you think if I stayed they would notice????

Alex_Albon Has anyone seen Lando? we were meant to be getting a cab together...

-- danielricciardo I didn't see him leave to be honest...

pierregasly Thanks for the invite brother, meet up soon 👊

Lando.jpg They found me 🥲

“They should be here,” George says, looking out the window at the drive way, anxiously tapping his foot against the hardwood floor.

“Darling, it's two minutes past seven. Take a moment and breathe,” You say, putting a hand on your husband’s shoulder.

“That’s them,” He says, completely ignoring what you said and rushing to the front door. The doors were open as the footmen had gone out to open their car doors. All of the drivers and their partners had come together so there were only six cars rather than 20, making things much quicker. You and George greeted everyone as they came in, letting Adam show them through to the dining room.

You knew a fair amount of the drivers as they had been there when George was racing; however , some of the younger ones were fresh faces to you, though George seemed to know them. Lando and his girlfriend were the last couple in, talking with you as you entered the dining room. Everyone mingled for a while, chatting to each other as flutes of champagne were handed around; George was thoroughly enjoying getting to see all of his friends again, especially in such a stress-free environment. You were enjoying yourself, getting to know a few of the younger drivers and their partners.

You were mid way conversation with Mclaren's new driver Oliver Bearman when you heard the tinking of a knife against a crystal glass. Everyone turned to look at George who was standing in the middle of the room.

“Thank you all for coming tonight, I’m well aware of how difficult it is to coordinate twenty-something schedules but it means a lot to the both of us that you could be bothered to make an effort,” He says, causing everyone to laugh. “You all look great by the way, Y/N is still trying to convince me that I look better in a morning suit than a racing suit but I feel the jury is still out on that one,” He says, teasing you. “I don’t quite think that five years ago when Lewis first introduced me to Y/N I would have believed him if He had said this is where we would be standing today. So thank you,” He says, raising his glass to Lewis. “Y/N, Darling, I know you said there was something you wanted to say,” He says and now everyone turned to look at you.

“There was; I just wanted to say thank you to all of you. Lando, Charles, and Alex especially. I know that George's decision to retire was not one he made lightly, and probably not one he would have had to make had He not known me. But you three have really made the effort to keep in touch; I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ll walk into a room and find George in fits of laughter over something you had said and it really means the world to me to see him so happy, so thank you,” You say raising your glass to the three of them. “Oh, one last thing…George has told me to tell Lando specifically that there will be no fish served tonight…nor has any of the food been near a fish,” You add and the room erupts into laughter.

“Just the way I like it,” He replies before lifting his own glass. “To George and Y/N,” He says and everyone else lifts their glasses as well. George looks at you as he raises his glass. “Question though…anyone know where I can get myself one of these?” He asks

“You mean a palace mate?” Carlos asks

“Yeah, they’re quite nice. George, do you reckon you could give us a tour? Just so I know what I’m getting myself into of course,” Lando asks and George puts his hand on his shoulder.

“After dinner I will give you the full tour I promise,” He says with a smile as everyone moves towards the table and takes their seats.

You had cut the ribbon, officially opening the new children’s hospital with a comically large pair of metal scissors. You stood with George and the directors of the hospital for some press photos before being shown inside. You greeted some of the doctors who would be making use of all the new equipment that had been installed, slowly making your way to one of the wards. You easily tuned out the snapping of cameras as the ward nurse turned to you.

“Your highness’,” She said curtsying politely. “The children are all really excited to see you, they haven’t stopped talking about your visit for weeks,” She said with a soft smile on her face.

“So these children have been here for a while then?” You ask, your heart breaking a little.

“Yes, this ward is for children currently undergoing treatment for various types of cancer so their stay tends to be much longer than usual,” She says as the door is slid open. As you step inside you are greeted by a room full of smiling faces from patients in hospital beds to siblings, parents and grandparents standing around their bedsides. The room was quite spacious with a small area in the corner with some books and toys in.

The little girl in the first bed was holding up a welcome sign that had been decorated with little tiaras and racing cars.

“We all helped,” She said looking at the other kid.

“It's beautiful, I love the glitter on the racing cars,” You say laughing a little.

“Jackson wanted racing cars so we compromised on the glitter,” She says and you look over to Jackson who just rolled his eyes. You spent your time talking to each child, answering any questions they had for you. After about half an hour George had seemed to have accumulated all of the children around one bed, talking to them about racing. Unsurprisingly, Jackson was the most vocal in the group, proclaiming He was going to be a formula one driver one day.

As He spoke to the children you took the opportunity to talk to some of the parents.

“I am in awe of you all, I don’t even know what I’d do in your positions,” You say honestly.

“We do what we have to do,” One of the fathers says. “When Tilly was diagnosed we were fortunately in a position where we could take the time off of work to be here with her, that's what matters at the end of the day,” He adds and the rest of the group seem to nod in agreement.

“He would make a great father you know,” A slightly older lady said from next to you.

“I know He would,” You reply with a smile, watching as he laughed and joked with the children, doing his best to answer some pretty complex questions about racing.

“He acts the same way my late husband did with our children, had the patience of a saint,” She adds, noticing that he kept asking the kids that were a bit quieter if they had any questions

“You were really great with those kids today,” You say to your husband as you’re getting ready for bed. “All the parents around me said that you were a natural,” You added with a smile as you pulled your pyjamas on.

“I mean there’s always been little kids in the family so I guess I grew up around them,” He says as he rests against the headboard, thumb holding open the pages of a book.

“Have you ever thought about our kids before?” You ask as you switch the main light off before climbing into bed; only Georges bedside lamp illuminating the room.

“I have,” He says with a smile. “I imagine us having three”

“I was thinking three…” You say at the same time causing you both to laugh. “Well at least that's decided,” You add. George had slotted his bookmark in before putting the book down and turning to you.

“Did you have an idea of when you want these hypothetical children?” He asks, causing you to grin.

“I was thinking we could start trying now…” You ask, running your finger up and down his bare chest.

You threw the covers off of you as quickly as you could, rushing into the bathroom and kneeling over the toilet; you had been feeling rough for days but this was the first time something was actually threatening to come up.

“Please let me call the doctor,” George asks as he eventually follows behind you, kneeling next to you and holding your hair.

“I’m late,” You admit to him.

“It's two in the morning, you’re not late Darling,” He says with a chuckle.

“No…I’m late, my period is late,” You clarify; it had been a few months since you had started trying so you weren’t entirely surprised when you woke up one morning feeling like this.

“Let’s get you back into bed and I’ll call for the doctor,” He says, kissing the side of your head. You stayed there for a few minutes before that bout of nausea had passed, you wiped your mouth and George helped you back into bed. He left you for a few moments to use the phone in the living room. He comes back a few moments later and sits on the side of your bed. “The doctor will be here in a few minutes and I also sent Adam out to get a few pregnancy tests,” He says, gently rubbing your leg.

“You shouldn’t have woken Adam, we could have gotten one in the morning,” You say as you wrapped the blankets around you tightly.

“Darling, it’s fine,” He says, there’s a knock on the bedroom door and George gets up to open it.

“I’m sorry to need you at this early hour Doctor,” You say as she walks in.

“It’s fine Ma’am, that’s what I’m here for,” She said with a comforting smile. You tell her how you’ve been feeling and she takes your temperature, just as there’s another knock on the door.

“The pregnancy tests you asked for Sir,” Adam says, handing the boxes to George.

“When was your last period?” The doctor asks, making note of everything you were saying.

“Um .. about six weeks ago,” You say honestly.

“Then my professional opinion is that you need to take one of these,” She says with a slight laugh as she takes the pregnancy test out of the box and hands it to you. You take it from her and head into the bathroom. You peed on the stick, replacing the cap so nobody had to touch it. You hand it back to her and sit next to George on the bed.

“If you need anything else you know where I am,” Adam says before taking his leave. Around fifteen minutes later the doctor got up from her chair with a wide smile on her face.

‘Congratulations Ma’am,” She says handing you the pregnancy test. “I’ll leave you two alone, don’t hesitate to call for me if you have any questions,” She says before leaving as well.

“We’re having a baby,” You say quietly, staring down at the white plastic stick in your hands and the word ‘positive’ written across it.

“I love you so much,” George says ,wrapping an arm around you and pulling you in for a kiss.

KensingtonPalace

Liked by BuckinghamPalace and 3,910,582 others

KensingtonPalace It is with great joy for the palace to announce the news that their Royal Highness' The Prince and Princess of Wales are expecting their first child together.

His Majesty The King was the first to be informed of the news and is overjoyed at the news of his first grandchild.

HRHPrincessofWales 🤍🤍🤍

F1 Congratulations from your F1 family 🤍

View other 7,294 comments...

You made it your first mission today to tell your father; protocol stated that He should be the first to know.

“Father,” You said, knocking on the door to his private office.

“Darling, I wasn’t expecting to see you or George today,” He says standing up from his desk as you walk in, closing the door behind you.

“We didn’t expect to be here today either,” George says with a smile.

“Right, ok, what’s going on?” He asks, inviting you both to sit.

“Do you want to?” You ask George, a confused expression still written across your fathers face.

“I can do,” He asks and you nod. “Y/n was seen by the doctor this morning, and it turns out that she is…we are, having a baby,” He explains and your fathers face quickly changes into one of joy.

“That is wonderful news, congratulations,” He says, getting up to pull you into a hug. “I’m so proud of you Y/N,” He says, placing a kiss on your forehead. He shakes George's hand before saying congratulations again. For the next few hours you spent visiting your Mother and sister before calling George’s family.

It wouldn’t be a few months until there was an official statement made by the palace, but you were both content in knowing that it was your little secret.

8 months later...

KensingtonPalace

Liked by BBCNews and 6,301,404 others

KensingtonPalace Her Royal Highness, The Princess of Wales was safely delivered of a son at 11.27pm yesterday.

The Prince of Wales was present at the birth and both Mother and baby are doing very well.

His Majesty The King, as well as other members of both families have been delivered the news and are delighted at the birth of HRH.

'After long consideration we have decided to name him Theodore and we cannot even begin to describe the amount of love we have for him' - HRH Prince of Wales

Comments have been limited on this post.

Theodore, Theo for short, was born late last night after around 10 hours of labour. You were so grateful to George who was by your side the entire time, doing anything you needed to. He held Theo as you got dressed, zipping up your dress and slipping on the pair of heels that had been picked out for you. You had been discharged a few hours ago and due to the weather were unable to take the first photos of your new family on the steps of the hospital so it had been moved inside Buckingham Palace

George laced his fingers into yours as you walked into the hall, the flash of cameras starting as soon as they spotted you. There were probably 30 or 40 reporters waiting for you, snapping a photo every time you moved.

“Is there a name yet your highness’?” One reporter asked, His first name had been announced but not his full name.

“There is,” You said with a smile. “Theodore Henry Philip George, but we will be calling him Theo,” You say, answering the question. You waited a few more moments before turning and heading back into the family room where both yours and George’s families were waiting to meet little Theo. Your Mum and Dad had already had their time with Theo so stayed seated, letting George’s parents coo and fuss over him. George was holding him as you took a seat on the sofa, absolutely exhausted from the past 24 hours.

You were sitting in your private gardens at home; enjoying the warm summer day. Theo, who recently celebrated his first birthday, sitting on your lap babbling at George who was sitting opposite you, waving his cuddly bear around. Theo reached out to grab it only for George to playfully rub it against his chest, erupting fits of giggles from him.

You loved the peacefulness that the last few days had afforded you, you had miraculously had no official engagements to attend to. Which was a very rare occurrence so the both of you were making the most of it. Spending as much time together and with Theo as you possibly could.

A pointed cough interrupted your peace, you looked up to see Adam. In a state you don’t think you had ever seen him in before.

“Adam, is everything ok?” You ask as George gives Theo the bear before turning around.

“Sir, may I speak to you in private for a moment?” He asks George who puts a reassuring hand on your knee.

“I’ll be back in a moment Darling,” He says before walking away with Adam. They went inside and you could barely see them through the window; all you could see was Adam putting his hand on, what you assumed, was George's shoulder. You start to bounce Theo on your knees, trying to distract yourself from whatever was happening inside Kensington. A few moments later George stepped back outside. Diana, Theo’s nanny behind him.

“Darling, Diana is going to take Theo and then you and I are going to go for a walk,” He says, confusing you even more.

“What, why?” You ask, handing your son over.

“Please, walk with me?” He asks, offering his arm to you. You walk quietly to a more secluded area of the garden, hedge walls high enough that nobody would be able to see you. He sat you down on a stone bench before turning towards you.

“George, you're scaring me, what's going on?” You ask, voice wavering. You noticed that he didn’t try to immediately reassure you that everything was ok, instead he took your hands into his.

“Around an hour ago, your father was rushed into hospital,” He said softly, rubbing his thumb along the back of your hand. Tears welling up in the corners of your eyes, not wanting to hear what he was going to say next.

“Don’t tell me,” You beg.

“I’m so sorry Darling,” He says, swiftly pulling you into his arms, wrapping them around you tightly.

“He’s gone?” You ask looking up at him, and George just nods.

“They think it was a heart attack, He died about twenty minutes ago,” He says, holding you against him, his hand moving to stroke your hair. “I am so sorry My love,” He says again, giving you time and space to feel what you needed to feel; as He knew that as soon as you left the safety of this Garden you wouldn’t be Y/N anymore.

You spent about an hour, sitting quietly and crying into George’s chest, not wanting to face the new reality. When you finally pulled away from him he moved his hand to wipe the tears from your face.

“Take as much time as you need, there is no rush,” He says quietly; you quickly compose yourself. Letting the fresh air remove the blotches from your tear-stained face before you slowly walked back towards the palace. Diana was sitting on the grass with Theo and quickly stood up when she saw you round the corner.

“Your Majesty,” She said, curtsying as she held Theo in her arms. Being called that for the first time almost knocked your breath from your throat but you just smiled as She held out your Son.

“Thank you Diana, you may go now,” You say, taking Theo from her. He tried to wrap his little arms around you, almost as if He knew that something was wrong. Now it was the three of you who stood there, all in eachothers arms.

“Ma…Ma…Mama,” Theo said and both your eyes lit up.

“Yes baby, I’m your Mama,” You said, holding him close to you as a mix of happy and sad tears fell from your eyes. George was still trying to process the information from earlier so couldn’t do anything except watch as his wife interacted with their son.

“Ma’am, your car is waiting to take you to Buckingham Palace,” Adam says, interrupting the moment.

“We’ll be there in a moment, we need to get changed first,” You say, taking a deep breath before you all head inside. As you entered your bedroom you noticed that your mourning outfits had been laid out ready for you. You both silently changed; your long floral summer dress turning into a stiff black dress and blazer. You sat on the edge of the bed as you slipped your heels on, George changing Theo into a more appropriate outfit. Next to your outfit sat a hat box, inside was a black headband with some netting to cover your face; your hands shook as you stood in front of the mirror attempting to place it on your head.

“Pass it here,” George said from behind you, you passed him the headband as He gave you Theo. He gently slid it into your hair, kissing the back of your head when He was done. You quietly headed downstairs, Theo securely on your hip as you held him. Diana had gotten changed and was ready to take Theo as He was coming with you.

The car door was opened and you climbed inside with George quickly following. You knew the drive from Kensington to Buckingham like the back of your hand, you had done it nearly every day for years; but it felt like centuries until you got there. It had obviously been released to the media as there were swathes of people outside the palace, laying flowers in front of the wrought iron gates. The official notice on an easel just inside. As you drove through the crowds of people you could see the tear stained faces, the impact that your fathers life had on his people.

You only hope you’d amount to half of that.

I hope you enjoyed pt.2! There is a part 3 currently in my drafts and that will more than likely be the final part unless I do any mini fics. Thank you all for all your love and support, - E x

#f1 #f1 imagine #pierre gasly #charles leclerc #pierre gasly x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #formula 1 imagine #formula one x reader #max verstappen #george russel imagine #george russel x reader #george russell #george russell x reader

571 notes · View notes

terresdebrume · 3 months ago

Text

Work is kinda hectic rn, my knees are NOT liking how much traveling between floors I have to do, and I am missing sleep like crazy so my WIPs are staying largely untouched but I HAD to push out this concept for a maybe-someday fic in the I'm down on my knees universe

Written for the free square day of @painlandweek . Have some hurt/comfort ft Charles and how he feels about his mum. Also belatedly tagging @ghostinthelibrarywrites bc I think you'll enjoy it and I accidentally posted a thing that was meant to stay a draft again xD

Charles is sitting on the doorstep. It's almost eight PM on a weeknight, Edwin is just back from a fun-study session—which is really just Maren's way of saying she wants beer with her textbooks—tired, brain swimming with texts of law, and more than a little tipsy... And Charles Rowland is sitting on his doorstep. His building's doorstep. The difference is irrelevant.

Caught off guard, Edwin blinks, and stares at Charles.

He is curled up on the ground, spine back in that parenthesis shape it had back in school. His elbows are on his knees, hands buried into the hair at the back of his neck, his eyes closed. Edwin takes in the tension in Charles' shoulders, the way the fading sunlight catches the green vines tattooed on his left forearm, the slow, deliberate depth of movement around his ribcage, and decides against calling out to him. Instead, Edwin walks up to him until Charles can no longer ignore the footsteps, and waits for him to speak.

"Hi," Charles says, muffled, from between his elbows.

"Hi," Edwin replies, chest twisting when the last hope he had that Charles was just a bit tired evaporates like rhum from a flambé.

He steps forward again, then ignores the fresh layer of summer dust on the steps and sits down next to Charles, deliberately picking a position that makes their hips and shoulders touch. Charles leans into it immediately, turning a light contact into solid pressure, and Edwin sighs. Things could be worse.

"I did not expect you tonight," Edwin prompts, trying to make himself as gentle as he can.

Tuesday nights are when Charles and Niko's dance classes take place. Edwin has never known either of them to miss one, so Charles' presence here is one more sign that whatever is going on is not to be taken lightly. As if to confirm Edwin's suspicions, Charles sighs, and mumbles:

"I ran into my mum."

Edwin freezes. For some reason, in the few months since he and Charles reunited, it never quite clicked for him that Charles' parents, for all that Charles hasn't had any contact with them for nearly eight years now, exist in the same world they do. London is such a large, dense city, it is easy to make your life in a corner of it and never step outside its boundaries. Edwin's parents certainly treat Kensington like an insular country only worth leaving for the richer shores of Mayfair, when they deign to visit the capital at all. Just like Edwin and Charles existed less than ten minutes away from each other for months without having a clue, the possibility of him running into Mr. or Mrs. Rowland by accident did not even cross Edwin's mind. Nor Charles', from the look of things.

"That must have been a shock," Edwin says.

He does not know enough to infuse more feelings into his response. Charles, for all that he shares his smiles, his affections and the chief of his worldly possessions freely, has remained incredibly tight lipped about his past. The summary of what Edwin knows of Charles' youth is quite easy to make.

Fact the first: at the age of sixteen, not one term into his stay at St. Hilarion's School for Boys, Charles Rowland jumped into a pool full of a deadly allergy trigger to save Edwin's life.

Fact the second: for the remainder of that school year, Charles endeavoured to make Edwin's life as painless as possible. His presence remains, by far, the brightest highlight of Edwin's adolescence.

Fact the third: at the age of seventeen, or near enough, Charles ran away from what he described as a bad home situation exactly once and proceeded never to mention again. It is Edwin's understanding that Charles may have escaped with nothing but the clothes on his back that day.

Two of those facts, Edwin knows because he was a direct witness to them, and the third was only shared with him because he accidentally made it an implicit condition to renewing his acquaintance with Charles.

Charles Rowland is not an emotional sharer, and Edwin is sort of at a loss.

"Yeah," Charles mumbles after a beat. "It was a bloody shock alright."

Edwin bites on his bottom lip, resisting the urge to push his fists together.

"Would you like to talk about it?" He asks, hoping his voice conveys the appropriate mixture of care and caution.

Charles shrugs, sniffing and rubbing his face against one of his forearms. Edwin bites his lip a little harder, and cautiously raises his right hand to place it on Charles' back. He feels and sees the muscles tense, Charles arching his back like an angry cat for the half second it takes Edwin to take his hand back.

"I apologize," he says, hand hovering uselessly above Charles' shoulder blades, "I wanted—"

"Neck's fine," Charles mumbles, low enough that Edwin almost misses it.

He swallows thickly, pausing when the upstairs neighbors walk by with puzzled faces. Edwin doesn't quite glare at them but it's a near thing, and he turns back to Charles the second they're out of view.

"Alright," he says. "Neck, then."

He only touches two fingers to the nape of Charles' neck at first, trying to keep it light, but that makes Charles tense again so he changes to a more present grip, palm flat and only just brushing with the edge of Charles' hair. Charles doesn't move into it this time, but he doesn't flinch away either. Edwin feels Charles take a deep, soundless breath, like a swimmer before a dive, and braces.

"I. She asked how I was," he exhales at last, and the wind rushes out of Edwin's lungs with a punched out sound. "I haven't seen her in over seven years and she—"

Charles takes a shuddering breath, sharp and painful sounding, and his voice sounds utterly broken when he says:

"He used to beat me up, you know."

Edwin, who hadn't known but kept the possibility in his mind like a bad thorn, bites down on a sympathetic hiss and leans a little harder against Charles instead, stretching so he can lean his forehead against the back of Charles' skull.

"Charles, I'm so sorry," he murmurs, free hand grasping around until it can find the jut of Charles' left knee, and wrap his fingers around it, squeezing with as much reassurance as he can muster.

He wishes, abruptly, that he'd thought to take Charles inside before he started this talk. They both deserve better than the front step of Edwin's building, where another pair of neighbors gawks at them as they walk past. Yet, now that they're here, Edwin wouldn't cut Charles off for all the gold in the world. He fears with an intensity he didn't know he was capable of, that interrupting Charles now would send him back into his usual reserve, and Edwin knows with absolute certainty that he will go to great lengths to prevent that from happening.

"She never—every time he did it," Charles says, almost choking on the words, "she'd just stand—she didn't do anything! And now—now she—"

A long fit of coughing cuts Charles off, wracking his body and shaking Edwin's head even as he tightens his hold on Charles, as if he could make up for his childhood with how much he loves him.

"I'm so sorry," he tells Charles. "You deserved so much better."

Charles' cough subsides, melting into shuddering, soundless sobs that Edwin wants to take into his ribs and hide from the rest of the world. He straightens up and, as gently as he can, guides Charles to lean against him harder until his frame his half cradled in Edwin's arms.

"It's not bloody fair," Charles manages between sobs, gulping air like he's drowning, shaking against Edwin.

Edwin breathes in, tears crowding at the corner of his eyes, and holds Charles closer. He wishes, so desperately, that he could love him enough to erase the past and make all the pain go away.

"I love you," he says instead, recklessly, pressing a kiss into the side of Charles' hair. "I know it doesn't make anything better, but I love you."

They sit like this for a long time, Charles crying and Edwin rocking him lightly like a child, until things finally calm down enough that Charles is ready to go upstairs for tea. They drink it out of the blue mugs Monty bought when he and Edwin moved in, quietly sitting on the couch in one of those strange bubbles of relieved fragility that comes after a crisis. For a long while, they sit in silence on Edwin's couch.

Then Charles sighs, long and tired, and leans sideways until he can rest his head on Edwin's shoulder, one arm looping around his waist.

"I love you too, mate," he sighs, making Edwin freeze. "And it does make things better that you love me."

Edwin, his heart singing from Charles' declaration and bleeding from the way he meant it, nods, and drinks his tea.

#Painland Week #dead boy detectives #charles rowland #edwin payne #payneland #dbda fanfic #matt writes #s: I'm down on my knees #20n #30n #40n #50n #60n #70n #80n #90n #100n

110 notes · View notes