#my tv worlds colliding once again

[cobaltperun]

Darkest Part - Gives You Hell

Astrid Deetz x female Reader

Summary: You will never, in life or afterlife, if such a thing exists, meet anyone as infuriating, rage inducing, entitled, or frankly awful, as Astrid fucking Deetz. There isn’t a single thing you’d like more than to never be around her, but as your luck would have it, you just can’t stay away from her.

Masterlist / Next Part

Word count: 4.3k

-If you find a man that's worth a damn and treats you well, then he's a fool, you're just as well, hope it gives you hell-

Four minutes left.

You rushed through the park, cursing that the tiled path wasn’t straight. More than anything you cursed your own refusal to run over the grass just to save half a minute. Damn Miss Harrington for keeping everyone after class.

“I dismiss you, my ass,” you wasted precious air to complain and knowing you’d have to go back if you went for the gate, you just jumped over the fence, wincing as it shook behind you. Someone yelled at you to be more careful, but you just began running again, just barely crossing the street before the light turned red.

You spared a moment to look at your watch, two minutes left, and the library was finally in sight. You picked up the pace, luckily avoiding the crowd. Your lungs were burning, tempting you to stop and take a break. So what if you were a minute or two late for work? The world wouldn’t end if you failed to get there on time.

As if. The world might not end, but you were too proud of your perfect record to accept that. You would be there on time and then catch your breath.

“Watch out!” a cyclist yelled a warning, and you looked to the side and just narrowly avoided colliding with him.

“Sorry!” you yelled back as he cursed after you. Well, you did cross his path, so he had the right to do it. Not that you had the time to contemplate on your reckless running as you skidded to a stop in front of the library and went up the stairs as fast as you could. “Right on time,” you went through the door with less than twenty seconds to spare and were met with the annoyance of the people in the library trying to read.

You chuckled sheepishly and then sighed, hanging your head low as you walked through the library as if it was your personal walk of shame. You could just feel the disapproving glares following you, and though you knew it wasn’t exactly everyone in the library judging you it still felt like that. In reality it was more like three people out of about a dozen currently in the library.

“Maybe next time ruin your perfect record instead of barging in and disturbing everyone,” your co-worker and best friend Alex whispered as you went into the break room to leave your things.

“Leave her be, I think it’s cute,” one of the regulars at the library, a pretty, tall girl whose name you somehow kept forgetting whispered and winked at you.

You just shrugged, nodding thanks out of politeness. You were still not sure if she was trying to flirt with you or if she just so happened to always pick the table closest to the counter you and Alex were sitting behind.

~X~

A bit over six and a half hours later, with your backpack on your back and a small paper bag in hand, you opened the doors of the apartment on the seventh floor. You glanced back at the staircase and then at the elevator that worked once in a blue moon. ‘Guess I’m lucky I’m in shape,’ it was a thought that often crossed your mind. Well, childhood spent playing different sports helped.

You locked the doors behind you. “I’m home!” you exclaimed, yelling over the sound of the TV, some animal documentary from what you could hear. Whales? Probably whales. Your mom liked whales a lot. You looked around, the fading scent of cleaning products grabbed your attention, and you noticed it immediately. The lack of any dust, the clean mirror in the hall, tiled floor being so clean you could probably apply the three-second rule to the food if any was dropped on it. The apartment was too clean for your liking, she was cleaning again. Desperately trying to at least take that off your back. “Mom, don’t push yourself,” you sighed as you stepped into the living room and saw her lying on the sofa.

She looked… fragile… in pain, and you swallowed hard, remembering how healthy she was just a year ago. How did things change so quickly?

“Y/N,” she sat up, wincing and holding her back as she did so. “Hey, Sweetheart, how was your day?” she still gave you a gentle, loving smile as you set your bag next to the table and leaned in to kiss her cheek and hug her.

“Great, don’t worry about it,” you whispered and pulled out the medicine from the paper bag, pain killers, for her. Her back’s been killing her, so much so that she could no longer work.

She still went and cleaned the apartment because you just had no time to do it these past few days. The guilt gnawed at you, even if deep down you knew you physically couldn’t do everything.

You felt her hugging you tighter. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized to you on a daily basis, her voice quivering with regret. You couldn’t even begin to imagine how she felt, seeing you work two jobs to take care of her and try and ensure you could continue your education.

“It’s going to be okay, everything will be okay,” and like always you reassured her, fearing something would break if you didn’t. You let go of her and went into the bathroom to freshen up and then heat the dinner up. You weren’t doing bad financially, with just the two of you and owning the two-bedroom apartment instead of paying the rent you had a comfortable life. The issue was saving money for the future, primarily for your college education, and there was no telling if your mom’s health would deteriorate further.

“Alex said hi, by the way. His parents invited us to come over for dinner if you’d like,” you said as you got the lasagna out of the fridge and set the table.

“He’s a good kid,” your mom commented, and he was. Alex was about a year older than you and working at the library, where you met him. You hit it off fairly quickly, he was easy to be around, easy to talk to, cheerful and always willing to encourage those around him.

“So, will you go with me?” you asked, and she nodded, while leaving the apartment would be a bit of a struggle you knew it would be good for her to go outside and be around other people.

~X~

Astrid Deetz was many things, but here, in the library, she was just another girl. No one but the people that worked here needed to know who she was, so, at least here, she wasn’t a freak. She was just another girl reading books. The library allowed coffee to be brought in, as long as the one bringing it was responsible for any potential damages and wasn’t borrowing one of the more valuable books that couldn’t easily be replaced, which was why she preferred reading here instead of going home.

Summer vacations forced her to spend time at home, with her mother, so, the more of that time she could spend away from home the better. Especially since Rory was often at her mother’s house. She was actually surprised he didn’t move in yet, but maybe her mother wasn’t completely blind after all. Who was she kidding? It was only the matter of time before he manipulated her mother into moving in.

Eventually she felt the need to go and grab a bite, so she got up and went to return the book only to see a rather annoying sight and freeze on the spot. There you were, the one flaw of the library she was currently in.

You were currently talking to a tall, blonde girl that looked ridiculously smitten with you, listening to every word you spoke as if you were solving all of life’s mysteries for her. How naïve did the girl have to be to get fooled by the soft, easy smile on your face and patience as you helped her find a new book. And you? Leading the poor girl on, knowing she didn’t really need help and being completely aware that she was just trying to flirt with you. Cruel pain in her ass, that’s what you were.

Luckily, she noticed Alex, your co-worker there as well and went toward him to return her book.

“Miss Deetz, hope everything was to your liking,” he greeted her politely, though Astrid noticed your mood immediately souring the moment her name was said. There it was, your true face. You hid it well though, and the girl blindly in love with you didn’t even notice the shift in your mood.

“Other than certain someone being here, absolutely,” Astrid didn’t even bother hiding her disdain for you.

Alex brushed it off and took the book back. “Good thing I’m here as well,” he said and Astrid wholeheartedly agreed.

“Chihuahua,” you faked a cough to hide the insult, and Astrid felt a vein pop on her forehead.

“Ignoramus,” she spat back and walked by you as you straightened your back, and she didn’t need to look back to know your eyes widened as you stared after her.

And she smiled, knowing she got a more genuine reaction than the girl a head taller than her ever could, no matter how much she flirted.

~X~

You were running on coffee and spite and simple need for money, otherwise you were sure you could fall asleep on your feet while you were washing the chisels and other tools Delia used. Tomorrow you could sleep in, relax just for a bit and recover from the grueling week. Morning job at Delia’s place, four hours, then summer art classes, preparing you for college. You were going to study architecture, hopefully to pursue your passion and design green and sustainable buildings.

And while working with Delia was helping you with your financial circumstances, it was also slowly letting you meet people, make connections and your life at least a bit easier in the future. Still, between working for Delia, the classes, and then the library you were away from home for roughly thirteen hours, which wasn’t exactly ideal for someone who just recently turned eighteen.

“Y/N, could you go and fetch new carving set I ordered?” Delia asked, well, it was more of an order, rather than a request.

“Now?” you asked as you glanced at the clock. You’d have to run again, and you’d probably still be ten minutes late, but work was work.

Delia must have followed your line of sight because she hummed. “No, pick it up on Monday,” she genuinely surprised you with that, she was usually a lot more absorbed in her own work to notice things like that.

“Thank you,” you smiled slightly.

“Architecture, right?” and she surprised you again, you didn’t think she’d remember a conversation you had several months ago.

You nodded and began drying the tools. “Green architecture, I hope,” you knew your eyes shone brightly as you said that. You loved talking about it, about how that was the future, the way to reach a compromise and protect the environment.

Delia looked lost in her thoughts for a moment and then she abruptly began laughing. “Hilarious,” she commented and shook her head.

You were confused, and frankly a bit annoyed, she didn’t strike you as someone who’d find it funny. Hell, she sounded a bit impressed when you first told her, so this reaction genuinely puzzled you. “What is?” you asked slowly, hoping your voice didn’t give away how you felt.

“Just how similar your views and goals are, yet you bicker all the time,” Delia pointed out and walked back to her sculpture, still chuckling every now and then.

You scowled, knowing exactly who she was talking about. The chihuahua that consumed the thesaurus and forced you to Google several words, ignoramus included. You should have guessed it basically meant someone ignorant. The damn infuriating pain in your ass. And Delia’s granddaughter, well, step-granddaughter.

And now Delia said you and Astrid had something in common.

Your day was ruined.

Beyond saving.

Well, maybe making Astrid Deetz lose her composure or force her to Google something would salvage your day, but how the hell were you supposed to make the walking thesaurus Google anything?

~X~

Work sweet work, well, compared to working for Delia. Sure, working for Delia was closer to your artistic side, but the library just had a charm to it that not a lot of places could compete with. The smell of old paper, layers of dust hidden from passing glances since the place was rarely properly cleaned. Not that you blamed anyone working here, you helped with the cleaning three times since starting to work here in the library, and your muscles ached at the mere thought of those times. Moving shelves upon shelves worth of books was not a fun activity. Still, the next one was still far off and perhaps you’d even be away from this city by then. Going off to study somewhere else, somewhere other than your hometown.

It was a slow day, and you leaned back, relaxing with one earbud in so you weren’t completely mentally absent from your workplace. You could just read, you likely will, in a bit, but you had a long sleepless night last night, studying and catching up on your art projects as well.

Eventually you cracked open a book about Renaissance architecture you meant to get your hands on for a long, long time, and now it was finally available at your workplace. Perks of working in the library, you guessed. Just as you were about to start reading the doors opening and a rather annoying girl walking in made your mood drop instantly. She didn't even look at you, just began looking through the shelves, clearly looking for something you could easily help her with if she wasn't so damn proud. You took a deep breath and walked over to the girl, at least you could get it over with quickly. "Deetz, what are you looking for?"

And she ignored you, completely, she didn't even go around you and instead moved with such certainty that you actually had to step back so she wouldn't walk into you.

So, she chose this approach today. It was either insults or pretending you didn’t even exist.

Infuriating entitled brat.

"This would be so much easier if someone worked here," she had the nerve to complain as your jaw dropped and you simply looked at her, flabbergasted by the girl's behavior yet again.

"Unbelievable," you shook your head as Alex came up to the two of you and you couldn’t be happier to see him jumping to your rescue.

"Hey, could you help me find a book?" she immediately asked him, and he looked between you and her with a raised eyebrow, as if he couldn’t already tell what was going on.

You just shrugged. "You're not invisible, good for you," you didn't leave yet, mostly out of spite. Astrid Deetz would not have the satisfaction of knowing she got under your skin, and she especially would not have the satisfaction of you backing away.

"What the- oh, you two are just playing another one of your games," he decided, completely ignoring the absolute dislike bordering on hatred between you and Astrid Deetz.

"I am not playing any games," you both said at the same time and huffed when you realized that.

"Would you look at that, you're in sync as well," he whistled as if he was trying to tease you.

"Bullshit!" you both denied it, once more at the same time and you just waved him off, though you were really tempted to flip him off, and went back to your desk. Pride and the damn Deetz gloating over her ability to indirectly annoy you be damned, you couldn’t stand being anywhere near her.

Eventually, your teasing, traitorous co-worker joined you. “She really likes reading, doesn’t she? And you’d think she’d be some rich kid who scoffs at the very idea of borrowing books instead of buying them, or even hate having the actual book in her hands instead of reading an e-book,” Alex commented, sounding actually impressed by the short annoyance.

You just grunted as a response, after all, you’d never admit you did notice what he just now pointed out. You noticed that from the moment you saw her, months ago, studiously going through several books seeking something rather specific. The unbreakable concentration impressed you back then, but back then you were blind to her actual personality. Still, if there were two things one could count on as far as Astrid Deetz was involved was that she hated her mother and loved reading. That being said Alex did not need to know you had any positive thought about the girl in question. You’d rather die than admit anything nice about the girl, even if deep down you did admire her love for books and reading.

“You’re not going to answer?” he probed for answers, though he should know better by now.

“I’ve got nothing to say,” you muttered and leaned onto your hand, if you could just avoid Astrid for the rest of your life, you’d be the happiest person alive, but no, you just needed to bump into her almost on a daily basis. Either in the library, or at your other work. Granted, it was mostly at the library, but sometimes she would drop by and visit her step-grandmother. That was, beside Delia sometimes getting ridiculous ideas, the only actual downside of your other work. Imagine your surprise when you went to work one day and saw Astrid there, you nearly quit right then and there.

“Yeah, cause she makes you Google new insult she hurls at you every other day,” Alex snickered, trying not to disturb anyone.

You groaned, facepalming as you leaned back in your chair. She really did make you Google things she said a lot. You still remembered Googling barnacle, her favorite word for you. Leave it to Astrid Deetz to declare you as something difficult to get rid of, when you’d do anything in your power to never see her again.

~X~

Astrid did not enjoy making trips to the parts of the town where her family might be, she seldom wanted anything to do with them, especially her mother, but it also began including her step-grandmother after she went and hired the worst possible candidate. You.

But, she had to go and visit a store a few floors above her grandmother so, here she was, in the elevator and certain she would not run into you the very next morning after your encounter at the library. She wasn’t that unlucky, was she? How she almost always ended up visiting during your shift was beyond her grasp. Maybe there was something in all the bullshit her mother talked about, and she was actually cursed with how often she encountered the one person she despised the most.

The elevator stopped and the doors opened, and she nearly didn’t look up to see who was coming in. She should have ignored it, should have stared at the wall or something, but no, no, she just had to look!

Astrid could not believe her misfortune as you, carrying a fairly big box, walked into the elevator one floor above her and so far down from her own floor so she would need to actually be in a closed space with you. And she despised the very idea of that. So, just as the doors were about to close she bolted outside.

"What the- that was reckless Deetz!" she heard you yelling. And if there was even a hint of worry in your voice it was absolutely because her grandmother would rope you into whatever funeral arrangement she would choose for her if Astrid happened to tragically pass away.

"Shut it!" she yelled back.

"Fucking chihuahua!" you cursed, and she could feel her blood pressure skyrocketing as the elevator went up. You and your awful nickname for her.

"Damn barnacle!" she yelled back loud enough for you to possibly hear her. She would have the last word no matter what! Insufferable thorn in her side that she couldn’t get out of her life no matter how hard she tried. And to make things even Delia occasionally mentioned you just to get a rise out of her.

Not that anyone needed to tell her anything, she knew you worked two jobs, for whatever reason. Barely any difference in age, yet such different circumstances. While Astrid could do nothing for the rest of her life and still be fine you apparently didn’t have that luxury.

And in those rare moments Astrid would actually notice you despite trying her best not to, she never once heard or saw you complaining about anything. She was actually the only reason for complaining you ever had as far as she could tell. So, while she could find it in herself to admit your work ethic was somewhat admirable, you still could go right back to whatever hell you came out of.

Because that is exactly what you deserved.

Hell.

Okay, maybe not hell.

But definitely not much better than hell!

~X~

You weren’t just annoyed, you were beyond pissed off. How reckless was that girl? “Yeah, I really need that on my consciousness,” you bit out, knowing you’d blame yourself if she ended up getting hurt just because you happened to get into the elevator when she was already inside it.

How were you even supposed to guess she’d be there?!

You opened the doors to Delia’s studio with your elbow and went inside, closing the doors behind you with your foot. You really should have just taken the stairs, but the box you were carrying would have been a pain in your ass if you went with that. Sore muscles might still be a better alternative to having this encounter with Astrid. “Chihuahua,” you gritted out through your teeth as you set the box down.

“Astrid?” you jumped when Delia suddenly spoke up.

You stared at her blankly, as if she needed to ask. She’s seen several of your and Astrid’s hateful clashes.

“She takes after her mother,” the older woman commented as you began pulling out different art supplies from the box.

You had no idea why Delia would even tell you anything about Astrid. You did not need to know, didn’t care about knowing. “I find it hard to imagine anyone could be as infuriating as her,” you frowned, causing Delia to laugh, almost delighted by the comment. Lydia seemed okay, a bit paranoid and utterly blind to her boyfriend’s true intentions, but otherwise she was nice. You couldn’t imagine Lydia being anything like Astrid when she was younger.

“Oh, you have no idea. I reckon Astrid’s attitude is karma finally paying a visit to Lydia,” she sure sounded certain of that claim and you just hummed, internally feeling sorry for whoever had to deal with Astrid being their karma. That seemed like a rather cruel and unjust punishment.

“Mr. Deetz won’t be joining us today?” you asked, noticing the absence of Delia’s husband, though you asked the question mostly to avoid talking about Astrid.

“No, no, he went bird-watching,” she dismissed and you nodded, knowing just how much the man loved doing so, even if it meant traveling the great distances. It was admirable, really, to see someone as old as he was still being passionate about something to that extent. You could only hope you’d have as much energy as him and Delia when you reach their age.

~X~

That night you stood in front of the canvas, a bit of paint smeared on your cheek, an old white shirt you were wearing and your hand. You held your paintbrush as you observed a fairly accurate painting of the Durham Cathedral. It’s been about a month since you started working on the painting, using what little free time you had to work on it, and here it was, finally complete. You set the brush and colors down on your table and sat down, just looking at it with a smile on your face.

You really wished you could go and visit it. You actually had a lot of places you wanted to visit, to study, to touch the old buildings, feel their history and the flow of time coursing through them. The flyer on your table caught your attention and you reluctantly picked it up. It was an ad, seeking volunteers for planting trees. You sighed, massaging your shoulder and wincing at the dull pain in your muscles. You had two days off, you should rest, but you already knew you’d go, you couldn’t help it, that was how you were.

So, knowing you’d go there early in the morning you went and got ready for bed, hoping the shower would relax your aching body.

~X~

“What the fuck?” Astrid halted in the middle of the park, hoping it was just the summer heat. Yeah, that had to be it. The heat was making her see things. It was your damn day off, wasn’t it? Why were you in the park digging a hole for a tree?

Astrid narrowed her eyes, furious at everything. At your shirt clinging to your arms. At the drop of sweat you just brushed off your forehead. At the concentrated look in your eyes and the focus and the way you still had the energy to come and volunteer despite working two jobs.

“Barnacle,” she hissed under her breath and went to the other part of the park, as far from you as she possibly could go while still doing her part as one of the volunteers.

A/N: So, tell me what you think and if you’d like to be on the taglist?

Masterlist / Next Part

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the beginning

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, positive/supportive families, allusions to alcohol abuse in [I.viii]

word count:  13.9k (of 38.8k)

story context:  everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons.  this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season. 

additional notes:  this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2!  she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits.  they have not yet watched queen charlotte.  the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note:  this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years.  :)  it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens.  additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years.  the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

reading tip: whilst the author is proud of it, she understands the intro to the first section is long. if you wish to get more straight to y/n and benedict's story, the author suggests jumping to [I.ii]. they won't be offended that you did heh.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you do not know how you got here.

well, that is not true; you quite literally walked from the markets and followed the directions that penelope had given you, but you did not think those directions would lead you here.

this is a mistake.  i must have taken a wrong turn, gone up instead of down, made a left when i should’ve taken a right. 

or perhaps this is a dream?  yes!  that has to be it!  a dream!  i must have lulled off and dreamt myself here, for whatever reason.  once i close my eyes and open them again, surely i will be at home, or the markets, or the workshop even.  surely!  

so, you close your eyes shut.

you had been walking about the markets on your non-work day, some weeks ago, browsing the wares you wouldn’t (and couldn’t) buy, eavesdropping on any conversation of intrigue, observing the bustle of the crowd going about their day, mindlessly thinking of the next thing to write, daydreaming—when you had collided with someone.  they had let out a squeak, their materials flying out of their hands, as you had fallen on your back, thankfully not hitting your head.  in your periphery, you had seen how the person had crawled to your side and looked at you with urgency and concern.

“i am so sorry!”  their voice was pretty.  sweet and lovely.  you lifted yourself up a bit to see the person you had collided with.  they were also pretty— beautiful, red-haired, and hooded in blue.  

their eyes widened.

“er, i meant,” they spoke again, but this time with an— irish accent?  their voice was still sweet and lovely but very distinctly irish and distinctly different from their voice mere moments before. “are you hurt?”

“i am all right, thank you.”

“very well,” they said, still in their irish accent, “then i must be going—”  and they shot themself up and turned, you assumed, to run away.

“wait!  you’re a writer, yes?”

as you had hoped, the person in blue froze.  they slowly turned to you again, apprehension and intrigue in their eyes.

“how do you know?”  their voice was mangled between their two accents.

“unless you pluck birds for fun,” you stated as you collected the scattered materials they had dropped in the collision, “these are quills.”

you stood up, approached them, and held out their quills to take, offering a smile.  the stranger took the quills and put them in their bag.  they returned their eyes to you and returned your smile.

“thank you,” they responded in their english accent.

“i know how precious those are, so i am very glad to see they won’t go to waste.  well, they wouldn’t have gone to waste either way; i would’ve taken them if you hadn’t turned around.”

that caused the person in blue to laugh.

“i assume you are a writer?” they inquired.

you don’t know what had overcome you; you don’t know why you had been so trusting of this stranger, especially with something such as your writing, but you had been. you reached for your then most recent, folded up quarto, kept between your bosom and your blouse, and offered it to the stranger to read.  they took it, shifted their eyes from line to line, turned it to read the crossed lines, and then looked up at you, beaming.

“this is brilliant!— oh, forgive me; i did not even ask for your name.”

“y/n,” you extended your hand.  “and you?”

the stranger seemed to stiffen but quickly relaxed themself, taking your hand in theirs and shaking them.  they beamed still, but something of their smile had grown quietly mischievous.

“can you keep a secret?”

when you open your eyes, you huff out a breath in a poor attempt to assuage yourself from the reality of your situation:  you are not dreaming.  here you are—you—at grosvenor square.  

you knew of your friend’s circumstances as she had shared it:  she is a noble lady, a third sister of the featherington family, who has been writing scandal sheets of high society’s romps and happenings since her ‘debut,’ as she had put it (you hadn’t understood how she had used that word and became further confused upon her explanation of it), under a pseudonym called lady whistledown.  penelope has been kind enough to let you read her sheets, and you find it ridiculous what these high society persons do for their lives and utterly brilliant with what wit, snark, and compassion even penelope commentates on that world.  

but you did not ever, ever think that she would bring you to it, let alone into it.  when penelope had said that you were to meet her most beloved friend, you had thought it would be in an obscure alley or a room hidden behind a bookcase in an unassuming shop—not the literal neighborhood in which she, and presumably her friend, lives!  by your posture, by your clothes, by your very existence, it is blatant how much you do not belong here.

i should run.  i am going to run.

and so you turn and start—

“y/n!”

—when you hear the sweet voice of your friend.  you scrunch your eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling through your nose, and turn around and see penelope in a picturesque green dress, lifting up her skirt with gloved hands, scurrying down the pavement of her neighborhood towards you, beaming.  despite the anxiety that rages within you at this very moment, your heart swells upon seeing your friend in such enthusiastic spirits, and you smile despite yourself.

“good day, pen.”

she takes hold of your bare hands in her gloved ones and gives them a squeeze.  perhaps she can discern your nerves because you start to feel yourself calm ever so slightly by her gesture.

“i am so glad you are here,” she says.

“i am—— glad to see you,” you then lower your voice.  you do not know why; it is not as if your lowered voice will help conceal your existence in this place.  “are you certain i am permitted to be here?”

letting go of your hands, penelope swats at the question.

“the bridgertons and i care not about such things.”

“the— bridgertons?” 

“yes!” she turns and gestures to the grand brick house with wisterias.  “it is at their home, after all, in which we will be spending our time together.”

your jaw drops.

“we are staying inside the house?  not simply meeting outside the house?”

this is not a dream.  this is a nightmare.

penelope returns her eyes to yours, and it startles you with what tenderness she gazes at you.

“i understand that you are fearful, y/n.  i had presumed you would not have come if you had known we would be here.  but i would not have led you to bridgerton house if i did not think you would be safe here.  the bridgertons are the most inviting, kindly family of the ton— of high society,” she amends upon seeing your confusion at the word ‘ton.’  their name for their world, it seems.  “eloise has assured me that we shall be in her bedchamber for the entirety of our time together.  and if you wish to leave, for any reason, at any point, i shall accompany you, and we shall leave together.”

with closed eyes you heave a sigh through your nose.  you flutter your eyes open and offer penelope a weak, but sincere, smile.

“very well.”

penelope squeaks in excitement, taking hold of your hand once more, giving it another squeeze of encouragement, and leads you towards this bridgerton house as she so called it.  she raps at the stately door thrice with great eagerness, seeming to knock in perfect tandem with your beating-too-quickly heart.

an elderly man opens the door, about to greet penelope and her guest, when a young femme shoves herself through the opening.

“thank you, giles!” she calls out as if the man is across the road and then looks at you, ferocity in her eyes.  it ought to unnerve you, the whirlwind force of this stranger, but it doesn’t.  you just return her gaze with a large, albeit a bit bemused, smile.

“penelope has shared so much about you,” the stranger states and takes hold of your hand.  “let us get inside!” and yanks you into the house.  she turns, looking straight ahead, and barrels forward, pulling you with her.

as the fiery femme seems to soliloquize excitedly to herself, you look back at penelope who merely wears an amused smile at her friend’s antics as she follows behind.

“oh!” the femme exclaims suddenly.  she halts you both and sharply turns to you, still gripping your hand, grinning.  “my name is eloise.  eloise bridgerton.”

“y/n y/l/n.”

“excellent.  now!  with introductions all sorted—”

and she turns and barrels you both right, rather than heading straight ahead to the grand staircase as you had presumed she would.

“eloise—” eloise’s fervency had provided a reprieve to your anxiety, but the confusion in penelope’s voice puts you back ill at ease, “where are you—”

“it’ll take just a moment, worry not, pen!”

eloise leads you down a hall, noises and voices of all sorts coming from an entrance to a room, growing louder and louder as you approach until they reach the peaks of their volume as eloise halts you both once more, to your mortification, at the entrance of that very room.

“family, penelope, y/n, and i shall be in my bedchamber.  we have much to discuss.  please do not bother us,” eloise proudly announces to the entirety of the room.

silence falls.  all eyes—and there are many eyes—are on you.

oh, my god.

you turn to penelope.  her overall manner is calm and composed, but you can see the disquiet in her eyes.  she peers into you, the apologetic look conveying, i did not know this would happen.

you turn back to the family.  

a lady.  a lady of older age.  two gentlemen with a difference in age.  a boy.  a girl, the youngest amongst them.  

how is it with a house this massive in the middle of the city that the entire family is present in this one room?  well, the room is the size of the two floors of your home combined, if not larger, so in that sense it is sound—but your question still stands.

this has to be the entire family.  surely.  there are so many of them.  this has to be the entire family.  yes?

“no talking, no music playing, no fighting?” inquires a droll voice walking into the room, “has someone—” 

you turn your head to follow the source of the voice and make contact with dumbfounded ocean eyes.   

butterflies flutter in your stomach.

oh.

shit.

“y/n, this is my second eldest brother, benedict bridgerton,” eloise states.  “benedict, this is my friend, y/n y/l/n.  do not bother us once we are in my bedchamber.”

he stares and blinks at you but then assumes a gentlemanly posture and bows his head.

“it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss y/l/n.”

without any forethought you start to extend a hand to benedict until you hear penelope give a slight cough only you, she, eloise, and he can hear.  receiving the hint, you retract your hand and pretend to swat at your skirt.

“err— yes.  likewise.” 

another cough. 

“mis, ter?— brid… ger?—ton,” you articulate with complete and utter uncertainty of how this world’s introductions function.

he cocks his head and furrows his eyebrows at you, something like amusement playing at his features.  he wears a lopsided smile that he is barely attempting to conceal.  his expression should be infuriating.  and it is.  but, it is... charming, too.  and welcomed.

you have never felt more embarrassed or more pleased in your life.

shit.

“before the three of you retreat to eloise’s bedchamber,” declares an authoritative voice, breaking your reverie.  you turn away from ocean eyes and see the lady of the room approaching you.  much to your surprise, she smiles.  to an even greater surprise, her smile seems sincere.  “i must insist that i introduce myself and the rest of the family to our guest.  

“i am viscountess kathani sharma bridgerton, the lady of this house,” she curtsies with perfect elegance.  “it is a delight to welcome you to our home, miss y/l/n.”

“thank you for having me— lady bridgerton.  and you may call me ‘y/n.’  you need not use such, uh, formalities with me.”

“very well; then you may call me ‘kate.’”

you furrow your eyebrows.  she had introduced herself as ‘kathani’ but now asks you to call her ‘kate.’  it makes you think of mama and papa; they shared with you once how they had chosen to go by different names upon emigrating to england.  when you had asked why, they simply replied that it would be easier for others in this country to address them.  

“may i call you ‘kathani’ instead?”

surprise flashes over the dignified demeanor of the viscountess.  she regards you with softness in her eyes.

“yes.  yes, you may.”

resuming her full composure, kathani guides you to the eldest of the gentlemen and introduces him as her husband, viscount anthony bridgerton, the lord of the house.  he offers you a small smile with a bow of his head and greets you ‘good day.’  you try not to wince at his decorous use of ‘miss’ with your first name, but you suppose it is merely in these people’s natures.  

kathani continues and leads you to the lady of older age, introducing her as dowager viscountess violet bridgerton.  she dips into a lovely curtsy and, on her rise, gazes upon you with a gentle smile.  you feel compelled to respond in kind, but it would certainly not be as graceful as hers, and worse, she may interpret your slovenly attempt as a lark.  so, you refrain.  

the viscountess next introduces you to mister colin bridgerton (you summon all your self-restraint to keep your countenance neutral—this is the boy who hurt penelope); then to mister gregory bridgerton (he bows so ceremoniously towards you, you cannot help but be endeared by his resolve); and lastly to miss hyacinth bridgerton.

“why are you dressed like that?” she inquires.

“hyacinth!” the dowager viscountess reprimands.  she must be her mother.  she sounds like a mother.  it reminds you of how your mama reprimanded you and your siblings as little ones; the memory and the exchange make you hold back a laugh.

“what!  what did i say wrong?”

you ought to feel self-conscious, your lower standing brought into further display to everyone in the room, but you detect neither malice nor judgment in the young girl’s voice.  just genuine curiosity.  so, you smile.

“my family and i have different means to clothes, amongst other things.  i wear these when i work or go about my day.  though,” you regard your attire and then— hyacinth?, feeling the glimmer in your eye, “it makes for running around and playing make-believe quite easy.”

“make-believe!  gregory, do you hear that!  miss!— miss—“ she turns to you with a cocked head.  

“y/n.”

her eyes shine once again.

“miss y/n plays make-believe!  we must play!” hyacinth latches onto your hand and, with remarkable strength for a child who cannot be older than two and ten, pulls and drags you towards the entrance of the room.  “come along, gregory!  wouldn’t want to be the last one there!”

“no fair!  you cheated!” the second youngest shouts back, dropping all previous ceremonies, and scrambles towards the entrance.

“hyacinth!  y/n is not your playmate!  she is here with me and penelope!”

“plans do change, dear sister,” hyacinth retorts.  eloise’s jaw drops, and the rest of the family bursts into laughter.  the entire exchange warms your heart.  in so many ways, they are so proper, so wealthy, and yet they are not all so different from your own family.  they seem to really care for one another.

“when did you get so smug!” eloise shoots back.

“small wonder where she could’ve learned that from,” you hear colin, the traitor, murmur.  turning your head, you see him give amused, pointed looks to eloise and kathani.  the latter grins wickedly, and her husband beams at her with pride. 

“there are only so many hours in a day!” hyacinth complains.  you face her once more, still holding her hand.

“what about this?  i will play with you and your brother for an hour, and then i will be with your sister and penelope for my remaining time here.  i want to honor the wishes of each of my new friends.”

hyacinth considers this with much theatricality to her expression.  she then grins.

“that is an excellent plan,” she remarks, looking to eloise for her thoughts.  you follow her line of sight.  eloise rolls her eyes and sighs, but a smile rests on her lips.

“very well, then.”

feeling peace restored, you smile in return and, in doing so, in your periphery, catch the ocean eyes of the second eldest brother.  benedict.  he is looking at you.  why is that?  you feel your cheeks flush and the tips of your ears heat.  his gaze is somehow gentle and intense and indecipherable all at once, and the flutterings in the pit of your stomach grow, and intensify, and start to overwhelm you—

when you are tugged back to reality with a tug forward.

–

< hyacinth leads y/n through the house to the gardens with gregory by her side.  y/n is both uneasy and in awe of the things she sees.  eventually, they arrive in the gardens.  y/n notices two swings hanging off of a large branch of an old tree and is utterly endeared by the sight; it confirms what she has been thinking:  though the bridgertons are wealthy, they are warm and welcoming.

< just as hyacinth declares that she has found a suitable spot for make-believe, two male voices ask if they may join.  hyacinth, gregory, and y/n turn and see benedict and colin approaching.  colin shares that though y/n seems lovely, it would be unwise of the family to leave the two youngest with a stranger; though y/n agrees with his family’s caution, she refrains from wanting to strangle the person who hurt her friend.

< gregory whines and asks if they can begin before eloise complains.  hyacinth agrees and says that they need to assign characters.  y/n suggests that hyacinth should be a sorceress and gregory should be a knight; these proposals delight the youngest bridgertons.  y/n volunteers herself as the villain and decides to be a banshee; she turns to the elder bridgertons and asks what they wish to be. 

< before they have a chance to respond, hyacinth proposes that benedict should be the princess who has been captured.  benedict indignantly asks why, and hyacinth simply states because he is the most sensitive of the family.  sensing how the sibling argument is about to evolve, y/n intervenes and suggests that, like a sensitive princess, perhaps benedict is merely in tuned with his emotions, even amidst adversity; it is, in its own way, a compliment.  benedict’s eyes become indecipherable upon the comment, but he wears a small sincere smile.  gregory then proposes that colin is y/n’s changeling henchman. 

< make-believe ensues, and it is very sweet and very silly.  eventually, gregory is called in for latin tutoring and thanks y/n for the fun with a deep bow; hyacinth is called in for pianoforte lessons. >

hyacinth launches herself at you with a hug.  pulling back from the embrace, she beams.

“we must continue when you return next!”

before you can even start to reply, she turns and skips off towards the house.  you hear how gregory makes a comment about coming in first, and suddenly the youngest bridgertons are in a race against one another, shouting taunts and insults.  you can’t help but smile.

“they seem to quite like you.”

your smile falls.  you turn and face towards the two elder bridgertons, the traitor being the one to have spoken.

“colin bridgerton,” you begin, “yes?”

he smiles and nods.  you surge forward and shove your finger into his face, his smile now wiped.

“if you ever hurt penelope again, i shall make certain that it is the last time you ever do.  do i make myself clear?”

when he does not respond, you repeat yourself, and he slowly then quickly nods.  satisfied, you turn towards ocean eyes and point your finger at him.

“and you look after him.” 

“what did i do?”   

“be a proper elder brother and serve as an example for your misguided sibling.  understood?”  

“i— yes.  of course.  understood.” 

you smile again.

“wonderful.  i am glad we three are in agreement.  it was good speaking with you, gentlemen.  good day.” 

you turn away and start to walk towards the house.

“i quite like her too,”  and you hear the restored smile in the third bridgerton’s voice.  “what about you, brother?”

you hasten your steps towards the house.  though mere moments before you had felt emboldened and brave, you fear hearing benedict’s response.  you do not why.

–

< eloise, penelope, and y/n extensively discuss literature and writing; upon talking about women writers, y/n shares how she does not fully see herself as just a woman. >

“so, what are you?”

you wince.  you have kept good on your promise and joined eloise and penelope in the former’s bedchamber, but you are swiftly wishing you had been able to stay with hyacinth, gregory, colin even, and benedict.  you had attempted to explain an aspect of yourself to eloise but not to very much fruit, it seems.  you want to hide and escape and run from this place—

“eloise.”

—when penelope comes to your defense.  

“what?  what is it?”

“perhaps you could have phrased your question with more tact and thoughtfulness.”

eloise looks between the two of you, concern flooding her eyes.

“did i— did i not?”

penelope turns to you.

“are you comfortable to answer?”

“i would prefer that i didn’t.”

you hope that your eyes are sufficient enough to convey the immensity of gratitude that you feel towards penelope in this very moment.

“y/n,” begins eloise, “i did not realize—”

“and what are you three gossiping about?”

you jump, penelope squeaks, and eloise growls a noise of exasperation.  turning towards the voice in the doorway, you are visited, once again, by the third and second bridgerton siblings.

“and what makes you think we are gossiping?” demands eloise, “because we are w— people?”

you feel the corners of your mouth tug upward.  at least she is trying.  wanting to keep the attention on benedict and colin rather than yourself, however, and with genuine curiosity, you cock your head at the two gentlemen.

“do you two always come in a pair?”

“not always,” replies benedict.  and he smiles at you, “today is merely a special occasion.”

stupid butterflies.

“speaking of such,” colin proceeds.  “kate has requested that the three of you join the family in the drawing room.”

< the five of them make their way to the drawing room.  kate shares that, on behalf of the family, she would like to invite both y/n and penelope to dinner.  though at first honored to have been invited, upon hearing “dinner,” y/n realizes how late it has become and looks out the window:  the sun is halfway set.  she apologizes and says that she cannot stay because she resumes work the next day.  her latter statement renders some of the people in the room confused, but kathani states how she understands and that y/n is welcomed to join dinner whenever she visits.  

< seeing how confused y/n is, anthony shares that y/n is welcomed to visit their home whenever she is able and whenever she would like, and the rest of the family pipes in with how delighted they would be if she does.  not knowing how she deserved such kindness from people who were mere strangers at the start of the day, y/n thanks the bridgertons and says that she would love to.  penelope chooses to stay for dinner and says that she will see y/n next week.  y/n affirms that she, and the bridgertons, will.

< kathani and benedict offer to escort y/n to the entrance.  y/n walks down the steps and passes the gate but, before she goes, takes one last look at number five until next week and sees benedict still in the doorway.  y/n notices, but reprimands herself for perhaps imagining it, that his smile grows when his eyes lock with hers.  with flutterings in her stomach, y/n offers a wave.  he gives a small wave back.  she turns and goes, smiling all the way home. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“benedict has been making more appearances as of late,” penelope remarks.

the three of you all look up—you and pen from your writing, eloise from her reading—to see benedict entering through the doors and heading towards the other side of the drawing room.  he looks over at you— at you all and offers a smile before he plops himself down onto a chaise and begins to draw.

“yes, it is strange,” eloise considers to the two of you.  “for so long he had been moping about, locked away in his bedchamber aside from mealtime or the occasional visit to the drawing room.  he’s even picked up his charcoal again.”

“again?” you inquire, averting your gaze from the artist to your friend.  “had he stopped prior?”

“he had entirely put it down after—” eloise sighs.  whatever memory she has recounted, it does not seem to be a pleasant one.  you look to penelope; you sense that she shares a similar sentiment by the sad look in her eyes.  you are curious but you choose not to press.  

“it has been quite some time since he’s last drawn.  but now, whenever i see him, whether in his bedchamber or the billiards room or some other room in the house, he’s drawing.  he frequently arrives to mealtime with charcoal stained fingers—much to the chagrin of mama and anthony.”

you all laugh.  benedict looks up at you three, and from here you can tell he wears a curious expression, no doubt wondering what you are laughing about.  when he exaggeratedly arches an eyebrow, eloise just makes a face at him.  benedict rolls his eyes, smiling, and for the briefest moment, you feel as though he is looking at you.  but you’ve always had an active imagination.  when you blink, he has returned to his drawing, a smile still on his lips.

“i wonder what has changed?” eloise softly says, still looking at benedict.  for all her fire and spirit, you see how deeply she cares for her second eldest brother.

“perhaps he has found a muse,” penelope poses rather than queries.  you shift your gaze from eloise to penelope, and you’re curious about her expression.  she seems... delighted?  benedict finding his passion for art again does sound delightful; you know firsthand how difficult it is to pick yourself up from a slump.  but that’s not what she seems delighted by.  she just looks at you.  with a soft smile.  why?  what does benedict have anything to do with you?

you feel your cheeks and the tips of your ears flood with warmth.  you don’t know why, but penelope’s expression unnerves you, in a pleasant sensational way.

you clear your throat.

“i am happy for him,” you say, returning to your quill and folded quarto, haphazardly writing down whatever words come to your mind.  

ocean.  charcoal.  smile.  flutters.

shit.

it is not until what feels like an uncharacteristically long moment later that you hear penelope resume her writing and eloise resume her reading.  you try not to imagine what they could have silently exchanged with your gaze averted.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you suck in a sharp breath and shoot out of your seat.

“you do not!” you shriek, hastening towards kathani, eloise, and the stack of books they have just settled onto the table.  you had arrived early to the bridgertons’ home, at the invitation of kathani, so early that the rest of the family seems not yet to be awake.  

(which is strange, you find, as it is nearing 8 o’clock.  most mornings, at this time, you are already well into the bustle of work.)  

kathani had prefaced, rather enigmatically, that she and eloise had a surprise they wished to share with you.  you had your suspicions as to what it could be related to, and with each passing moment, you are suspecting, very excitingly!, that you are very correct. 

“indeed, we do,” kathani grins and gestures to the stacks.  

taking no hesitation to the offer, you grab from the top of a stack and open to the title page.

the dramatic works of william shakespeare.  vol. 2:  a midsummer night’s dream / the merry wives of windsor / much ado about nothing.

you shriek again, this time accompanied with hops of excitement, flipping to the final third of the book.

“much ado!  this is the one i’ve read!” 

dorothea, a fruit seller, had offered a copy of it to you (at a lowered price, she had emphasized) when she had learned of your liking to stories.  she grandly stated that she had started to write down the dialogue during low-attendance performances at the theater and then brought her handiwork to be typed and printed at a not-to-be-named press.  but if the pages’ handwritten annotations alluded to anything, you suspected that she had managed to purloin a performer’s copy of the script.  you felt a bit of pity for the poor performer who misplaced it, but you respected, and still respect!, dorothea’s moonlighting. 

you shoot your head up from the book and are greeted by the grins of your two friends.  “which one has romeo and juliet?”

this past autumn you had overheard several candlemakers at the markets animatedly discussing the ‘incandescent’ portrayal of the titular character by an actress from ireland.  a performance, described as ‘incandescent’ by candlemakers!  embodied by a storyteller who has emigrated here!  hearing all those wondrous things made you insatiably curious to one day read the text that made such wondrous things happen.

“i believe,” eloise says, pulling the second from the bottom of a stack, “it is this one.”

you twitch your fingers; you have to refrain yourself from snatching the book from your friend’s hand.  when it is in yours, you open to the title page and feel your eyes, along with your smile, widen.

“it is, it is!  oh, this is extraordinary!”  you flip furiously to your desired page and, once you find it, start to read,  

prologue.  two households—

—when you hear kathani say, “we had thought of starting with that one.”

that makes you rip your eyes away from the words and look up at the two ladies.

“‘starting with’?”

“when eloise, penelope, and i learned of your eagerness to read shakespeare,” elaborates kathani.  her saying that makes you flush; you had not realized with what apparent enthusiasm you had spoken of the poet.  “the three of us had discussed that the four of us could read his plays together.  if you would like, of course.”

your jaw drops.  you cannot help the squeal that emits from your mouth.  hopping once again in your excitement, you throw yourself at your friends and wrap your arms around them both.

“if i would like!  i would be delighted!”

you pull back from your hug with the two ladies and are greeted by gleaming eyes and wide grins.  you feel how your expression matches theirs.  it has only been a little over a month of your friendship with eloise and kathani, and the rest of the bridgertons at number five, but they each have somehow found a way to carve themselves out in your heart.  and if this most recent kindness by eloise and kathani indicates anything, perhaps you have found a way to carve yourself out in each of theirs.

(and you promptly ignore the thought of what that could possibly mean for ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands, flutterings within you be damned.)

“how shall we allocate the book?” you say aloud out of genuine inquiry and a deep desire to revert your heart, mind elsewhere.  “shall we read passages aloud and then pass it on to the next reader?”

< eloise makes a remark that indicates her confusion at y/n’s question.  kathani, who is more privy to the situation, shares how she has her own copy as do eloise and penelope.  the stack that they’ve brought is an extra set that the bridgerton house has that y/n can use.  this perplexes y/n.  she cannot understand how a household can have multiple copies of a book, let alone copies of a whole anthology of many books.  before y/n can doom-spiral into thinking, penelope arrives at the entrance of the drawing room.  reading of romeo and juliet commences.  

< just as y/n finishes reading the scene in which romeo and juliet meet for the first time at the capulet ball and then kiss, y/n notices in her periphery benedict approaching the four.  kathani remarks how unusually early he is to be awake and ready for the day; y/n notes to herself how there seems to be some sort of mischief in the viscountess’s smile. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“i shall be y/n’s teacher,” the viscount declares.

“you were adamant on her not fencing, and now you are insistent on being her teacher?”

“it would be hardly appropriate, colin, for two young unmarried men to be in such close proximity to a young unmarried lady, as proximity of teacher and student in fencing would require.”

“are you always this— antiquated?”  you inquire.

that earns a snort from kathani.  anthony, looking betrayed, turns to his wife; she merely shrugs in reply, mirth shining in her eyes.  he turns back to you, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth fully frowning.

“and what do you insinuate by that!”

“are you so distrustful of your own brothers, the ones for whom you have served, and still serve, as a model, that you think they would take advantage of me in such a situation—”

you sense how the eldest bridgerton is about to retaliate and arch a severe eyebrow at him in response; you refuse to be interrupted.

“or are you so unbelieving in persons of feminine dispositions that you think i shall be compromised by the mere closeness of a body different from my own sex?”

there is a silence, and though you cannot see them as you stare down the viscount, you can feel how the others exchange delighted glances with one another and hold back their laughter.

“you have two choices, my lord,” you offer.

“neither of them are suitable!  and do not call me ‘my lord’!”

“is that not the proper way to address you?”

“it is, but you—!” he huffs out air through his nostrils, like an indignant dragon in a fairytale; it is a very silly, very amusing sight.  “we have not even begun the lesson and you are already the most exasperating student i’ve ever had!”

you turn to colin and benedict, grinning.

“you two must have been saints then.”

“would you expect any less?” colin grins back.

your wide smile remains intact until your eyes fall on the expression of benedict.  you are entirely uncertain of what emotion he could be possibly feeling until he seems to realize where he is, and how you are looking at him, and breaks out into a brilliant smile with matching brilliant ocean eyes.  you quickly snap your head away from him, ignoring the fluttering of butterflies summoned within you upon the shift in benedict’s expression, and turn to anthony.

“shall we begin, then?”

–

it turns out that you are quite the quick learner when it comes to fencing.  after putting on a fencing vest that had previously belonged to benedict—

“because you are the shortest of the three of us, brother,” remarked colin after the second son inquired why it had to be his former vest that you were to wear.  benedict scrunched his nose and eyebrows in displeasure.  (perhaps you should have taken offense to his opposition, but it was truly of no personal consequence to you and the reaction it created in him was truly adorable.)

“i am not!”

“you are, indeed,” anthony deadpanned.

“prove it!”

and the three eldest sons of the esteemed bridgerton family stood next to one another, comparing their heights.  you turned to kathani, eloise, and penelope.

“are they always like this?”

“idiotic?” eloise deadpanned, sounding remarkably like her eldest brother.

“indeed, they are,” grinned kathani.

—over your blouse, you are immediately put to lessons.  anthony explains the basic concepts of fencing and then demonstrates elementary strikes and parries, occasionally adjusting your stances to the proper forms.  noting how quickly you took to the lessons, he calls for a match between the two of you to observe how you would apply your skills in combat.

“you are retaining information exceptionally well, as well as executing the techniques rather impressively,” states your teacher as you deflect his strike.  you try to hide your gladness in his praise as you smirk and push his blade away with the terzo of yours.

“ah, so my sex is not a detriment to my abilities; that is good to know.”

you hear snickers and snorts from around you.

“i said nothing of the sort!”

“did you think it?”

your opponent frowns further, slightly turning his head away from you to steal a glance at his wife.  he turns back to you.

“i did,” he admits defeatedly.

“it takes a true man of honor to rise up to his folly,” you remark honestly, as you strike anthony’s arm with the tip of your sabre.  loud cheers burst from the onlookers and an aghast but proud look emerges on the countenance of your teacher; you grin, “and a fool to leave his defenses so easily open.”

impressed by your display of sport, and seemingly overcoming his antiquation, at least for the moment, anthony decides that you will match against colin and then benedict.

“how are you to improve if you are to face the same opponent?” claims your teacher with his usual air of annoyance, but you detect his pride in your accomplishment.

it is also decided that the matches will end when one scores a point.

and so, you face colin.  it is easy to keep pace with him, not due to lack of skill on his part but complete and utter determination on yours.  you tried to convince yourself, in the beginning of your match, that the remnants of your anger towards the third bridgerton brother, and how he treated your friend, did not fuel your determination to score the point— but it did and does.  and successfully so, as you strike colin in his left shoulder.  perhaps you do it with too much force as the strike reels him off balance (and perhaps you are delighted that it has done so), but he quickly resumes composure and flashes you a grin.

“i see more and more everyday why you and pen are friends.”

that softens your heart.  you should be dubious of his charming remark, but you aren’t; it is too sincere, as is he, and you begin to see, even if minutely, why penelope cares for him.

“she has good taste in the company she keeps, i’m learning.”

that makes him laugh, as it does the others, and you look over and see how pen’s countenance shines with joy.  that is enough to put your anger towards colin at ease, and turning towards your defeated foe once more, you return his smile and bow your head.  bowing his head in kind, colin leaves, and in his place arrives your next and final opponent; he is smiling like a boy.  

“best for last?” he remarks as he prepares his starting position.  you roll your eyes, ignoring the warmth that starts to fill the center of your chest.

“this shall determine that,” and settled in your starting position, you and benedict begin your duel.

you have observed something of the eldest bridgerton brothers in your matches against them.  anthony struck like fire, bombastic and ferocious.  colin stood his ground like earth, his guards resolute.  and benedict— 

benedict moves like water.  free.  fluid.

as if he is dancing while dueling.

both you and he have reached a stalemate.  you have managed to parry every one of his strikes, and he has managed to deflect every one of yours.  you can feel how those watching are holding their breaths, waiting for someone to land the point.  

you try not to startle when you hear benedict’s voice as you guard against his strike.

“it takes quite an astonishing person to earn the praise of anthony bridgerton.”

“are you so surprised that i am such a person?”

“quite the opposite, y/n,” he catches one of your strikes and grins at you.  “i think you are entirely perfect in that regard.”

you roll your eyes once again but cannot help the blush that you feel spread across your cheeks as you push back his sabre with yours.  

“do you honestly think charm will win you the point?”

“do you find me charming?” you ignore the heat that creeps up your neck and the voice in your head that has already answered his question far too quickly for your liking.  “no, i do not think so lowly of such a formidable foe.”

and he winks at you.

and somehow, without you realizing how you got there, benedict strikes the center of your chest.

“but a little distraction does help.”

his point earns a round of groans and bleats from the crowd.  instead of looking offended, benedict just laughs and approaches you, gloved hand outstretched, a boyish smile once again on his face.  despite your loss, you cannot help but smile too.  you place your gloved hand in his. 

“it was a pleasure to duel with you.”

“yes.  likewise.”

perhaps you imagine it, but you feel his thumb swipe against the side of your hand.  it is featherlight, hardly felt with both your and his hands gloved, but felt nevertheless.  before you can process the sensation any further, he lets go of your hand.  with another smile, he bows his head at you as the crowd of people approach you both, penelope raving about your matches, eloise expressing her wish to fence now, anthony already commenting on what you could do better in your next match.

and without you realizing it, you gently swipe against the side of your gloved hand.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

"mama?  papa?"

it is a rare occasion when you, mama, papa, and your sibling eat together, and an even rarer occasion to do so for a second meal, but this night was such a night.  the three of them halt their conversation and look over to you.

"how did you know you were in love with one another?"

there is a small silence, but then, without looking at one another, they smile in tandem.

"it was at first sight, really, for me,” your papa says as he offers his hand to mama.  “as trite as that sounds."

mama takes his hand into hers.

"i as well."

"when i looked into your mama’s eyes, i knew that something was different.  that my life had changed."

"for the better, dearest?"

papa laughs heartily.

"no, actually.  it has been misery ever since."

you and your family laugh as mama playfully slaps at papa’s hand.  it warms your soul every time they do this, when they tease one another and are light because of the other.   it makes you believe in love each time.  

mama and papa lace their fingers together again, smiling, still gazing at one another.  as if it is just the two of them in their own world.  mama, turning her smile from papa to you, speaks again.

"the flutterings in my stomach wouldn’t quiet, and they only intensified as we approached closer to one another that day and grew closer to one another with time."

she looks nostalgic until something mischievous quickly overcedes her countenance.

"why do you ask, my dear?  has someone captured your eye?"

"or, better yet, your heart?" papa tags along.

ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands flash by in your mind.

"no!" you say too hastily.  "no, of course not.  it’s— for one of my writings, is all."

you repeatedly poke at your bit of boiled chicken to avoid any further inquisition from your parents’ gazes.

–

sat by your window, you stare up at the night sky when the voice of your sibling infiltrates your dreaming.

“it’s one of the brothers, isn’t it?”

you whip your head over to them.  they don’t even look at you; they are preparing for bed.

“pardon me?” 

“is it the artist brother?”

“what!”

fluffing their pillow, they smile.

“so i am correct.”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“that is not true.  you said ‘what.’”

“that reveals nothing!”

pleased with the setting of their bed, they ruin their work by plopping their bottom onto it as they finally face you in what you realize now is a confrontation.

“of course it doesn’t, the word on its own.  your reaction, however?  could not be more transparent of your feelings.”

“i have no feelings!”

“is that why you asked mama and papa about being in love?  because you have no feelings and you need to be told what they are?”

“i!—— i am going to bed!” you lift yourself up from your seat at the window sill, turning away from the peace of the night sky, and crash onto your bed.  you lay on your side, faced towards the wall, refusing to make eye contact with your sibling.  you lift up your sheet with too much force and lay it over your body and head.  “good!  night!”

after some silence, you hear the creak of your sibling’s bed and, a moment later, feel a featherlight touch on your upper arm.  you give it a thought, and perhaps against your better judgment, you lift off your sheet, turn, and are greeted by the gentlest of expressions from your sibling.

“i think it is wonderful, y/n.  whoever it is, they are very blessed to have your affections.”

your heart swells.  you love your sibling.

“how did you know it was the artist brother?”  

“so i am correct!”  they smile with a shrug.  “i deduced based on how much you’ve been writing about paint and charcoal as of late.”

you almost shoot upright from your bed.

“you’ve been reading my writing?”

“well, if they weren’t to be read, why do you leave them spread out on the table?”

“because there is no other place to store them!”

“and how good that is, or else i wouldn’t be able to read your fantastical stories or have been able to discover who your beloved is.”

“you are impossible!”

they kneel next to your bed and place their head on your shoulder.

“i love you too.”

you exhale the last of your frustrations, adjusting yourself a bit so that your sibling can rest their head more comfortably.  without realizing, you stroke their hair, just as you always have.

“i quite like the story about the mushroom family,” they state after some time. “i’m happy that the middle mushroom child befriends the peony and then the hyacinths.  i am happy they are happy.”

you feel your eyes start to drift.

“his name is benedict, by the way.”

you hear your sibling’s need for sleep in their reply.

“that’s a lovely name.”

“he is,” you murmur as the peace of the night falls over you.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“good day!— robert?”

“good day, y/n!” and robert holds the door of bridgerton house open for you to pass.

“pardon the confusion in my greetings—”

“no offense taken on my part!” the late adolescence beams.  you grin back.  with how utterly enthusiastic robert is all the time, one would think it is part of some ruse.  but it is not; he is just that genuinely delighted by life, you’ve observed.

“i am grateful.  i had expected to be greeted by giles, is all.”

robert frowns.  you feel the corners of your mouth tug downward in response, concern starting to swell your heart.

“he is ill at the moment.”

“ill!  with what?”

“i know not.  i had admitted the doctor perhaps not even a quarter of an hour ago.  but worry not too much, y/n!  from what the viscountess has shared with the servants earlier this day, giles shall make a quick recovery.  and lady bridgerton has yet to be wrong in anything!”

relief floods your body.  giles is of elderly age, so it calms you to hear that his ailment seems not to be too severe.  and you can’t help but smile not only by robert’s sunny temperament but also by his rightful faith in kathani.

“that is all good to hear.”

“shall i announce you to the drawing room?”

“oh god no.  i am quite all right, but thank you.”

“understood!  then i must pardon myself; i must retrieve miss bridgerton and miss featherington.”

“‘retrieve’?  are they not in the drawing room?”

“i was informed by dowager lady bridgerton, who was accompanied by miss bridgerton and miss featherington themselves at the time, that they would be in the gardens until your arrival and to retrieve the young misses upon your arrival.”

“i see.  well, i shall be in the drawing room then.  thank you again, robert.”

“it is my pleasure, y/n!” he beams once more and takes off to complete his task.

how odd, you think to yourself.  this day seems rather unusual to the ones you’ve had thus far at bridgerton home.  and it is hardly even noon!  you become lost in your thoughts as you approach the entrance to the drawing room—

when you are greeted by benedict, and benedict alone, lounging with his legs thrown over the arm of a chair, staring sternly at the page he draws on.

“oh,” is all you say.

benedict snaps his focus from his book to you, his countenance transforming from deep concentration to frustration to genuine surprise in a mere moment.  he scrambles up from his seat, book in one hand and charcoal in the other, posture now proper, and he bows his head.  

“miss y/l/n.”

never before have you been alone in a room with a man.  a gentleman.  a gentleman with a handsome face, charcoal-stained hands, and beautiful ocean eyes.

you roll your eyes.

“blimey, it is just me.  there is no need to bow.  and why are you calling me miss y/l/n?”

benedict smiles.

“all right.  y/n.”

shit.

perhaps that was a mistake.

“where has your family gone?” you inquire as you go to sit in the chair parallel to his, ignoring the flutterings within your stomach.  “it is uncommon to enter the drawing room of bridgerton house and not be greeted by talking, or music playing, or fighting.”

smiling, benedict falls back into his seat and resumes his drawing.

“hyacinth is with her reading tutor; gregory is with his fencing instructor; colin is eating some sort of pastry, i am certain, in town; anthony and kate are likely— preoccupied—”

you snort; benedict’s smile grows broader as he smudges charcoal with his thumb, a small furrow in his eyebrows now forming.

“and mother has managed to rope eloise into learning about the flowers of the gardens, and eloise, being eloise, has roped penelope into doing the same.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“why have you chosen the drawing room as your whereabouts?”

benedict cocks his head towards his drawing.

“it’s in the name of the room, is it not?”

“ah, a man of wit, i see.”

“i am a man of many attributes, y/n.”

ignore the butterflies.

“such as?”

“what attributes would win your favor?”

“so that you may lie to me and say you possess them?”

“of course not; the list is merely too long and i shan’t bore you with a soliloquy.”

“so, a man of thoughtfulness.”

“oh yes, a myriad of thoughts.”  

“name one.”

“how much i am enjoying our conversation.”

and benedict shifts his ocean eyes from his drawing to you, a smile on his lips.  he is being playful, but you detect no deceit in his expression.  it infuriates you, really.  how charming he is.  how endearing.  how sincere.  

you return his smile.

“as am i, benedict.”

you sit in comfortable silence a moment more until benedict breaks the gaze, returning his oceans eyes and smile back to his drawing.  his smile, however, does not last for very long.

“this sketch, on the contrary—”

and he rips out the paper from his book, crumples it in his hand, and throws it onto the carpet of the floor, giving his deed not another moment’s notice.  he puts his charcoal to a new page in the moment next.

your smile falls.

“do you know how much paper costs?” you demand.

benedict looks back up at you with scrunched eyebrows and a smile having returned to his lips.  he tilts his head.

“why?  should i?”  he inquires.  nonchalantly.  delight in his ocean eyes.

as if you are making a jest.

as if this is amusing.  as if this is nothing.

it reminds you of a recent memory.

eloise had generously given you sheets of paper.  hitting a stride in your writing and wanting to continue, you had asked, after much internal deliberation, if you could have a ripped half of a quarto upon running out of all negative space on your current one.

“have a foolscap.  have a whole lot of them, actually,” she said easily, taking a good chunk of her stack and handing it off to you.

“eloise, are you certain?”

“of course.  it is just paper, after all.”

“right.  yes— of course.  thank you.”

eloise hummed affirmatively in response, returning to her passage, as you stared at the small stack of foolscap in your hand.  that amount of paper would have been eight months’ wage, perhaps even more.  

a gentle touch of a hand on yours brought you out of your clouding thoughts.  you looked over and saw penelope looking at you softly.  understanding her unspoken thoughts, you held her hand and gave it a squeeze.

thank you, you mouthed.

"i must be going,” you say aloud.  “goodbye, mr. bridgerton.”

you stand, turn, and quickly exit the drawing room. 

“y/n.  y/n!”

you hear him scuffling up from his lounge and start to follow you.  you hasten your steps towards the entrance.  

moments before you can open the doors of bridgerton house to the respite of the outside world, you feel benedict take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your steps, and it infuriates you how gently he does it.  how you can pull away from his touch if you want to, how you can just go if you choose to.  but you do not.

it infuriates you how much you want him to hold you.

you turn to face him.

“please— wait,” he breathes.  “what did i do wrong?  what have i done to upset you?”

you look at him incredulously.  then it dawns on you.

“please.  tell me,” benedict practically begs.  with such softness in his voice.

it infuriates you.

“i know money is of no concern to you, or your family, or fair ladies and pretty gentlemen.  but it is for the rest of us.  for the rest of us who have to work to keep the ones we love fed, clothed, warmed, sheltered.  that is a fact with which i have been concerned since the very moment i could think for myself.  and for you—of the male sex, of pale skin, of inherited riches—it is something to discard onto the carpet of one of your family’s many houses.  the paper you threw to the ground would have paid for a month’s worth of warmth for the entirety of my family’s home.  and you ask me what you have done to upset me?”

he says nothing.  he just looks at you, damned ocean eyes and all.  gentle.  attentive.  like he could care; like he does care.

you feel your nostrils flaring, your blood pounding in every vein of your body.  you finally rip your wrist away from his loose hold, already missing his touch.

“i shall take my leave.  please give my regards as well as my apologies to eloise and penelope.  goodbye, benedict.”

you turn away from him, yank the door open by its handle, and step outside, walking composedly at first, then quickly, then sprinting, then running.  to be as far away from number five of grosvenor square as you possibly can be.  to be far away from crumpled up paper, charcoal-stained hands, gentle touches, and ocean eyes.  

you rub your wrists against your eyes.

stupid bloody tears.

stupid fucking heart.

why am i so afflicted by this?  why am i crying?  why do i hurt?

because i love—

no.

you cannot fall for him.  he is someone you cannot have, cannot want, cannot— cannot…

it cannot happen, the two of you.

and most likely of all, you are not someone he wants.  not someone who he would love.  not the way you—

you are a fool for getting this far.  but these feelings, they will pass.  somehow.   you will forget them.  you will forget him.  this is not the fairytales you read, not the fairytales you write.  daydreams, hopes, love for a gentleman— there is a reason you are a writer.

you write the things you can never have, the things that will never happen.

you and benedict will never happen.

this is the prayer you tell yourself that evening before sleep takes you.  you pretend not to be affected by the tears that afflict you as you do so.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< y/n does not go to number five the next week on her non-work day as she had grown accustomed to.  she had tried to write at her table in her home to preoccupy herself, but her teardrops were ruining what she had already written.  she considers going to work to distract herself, but y/n knows her unexpected presence would be a detriment to her fellow workers’ established flow of day.  she decides to go to the markets to try and get fresh air and a change of scenery and to do anything to interrupt her spiral of thoughts and emotions.

< while at the markets, y/n hears her name called and turns to see penelope in her blue cloak.  y/n asks what penelope is doing here, and penelope gently replies that she can ask y/n the same thing.  she shares with y/n how, the week prior, after she received news that y/n had left bridgerton house, she left to find y/n in the markets and at her workplace but to no avail.  

< their conversation continues.  penelope shares how y/n was missed last week; by her, by the family, by benedict.  y/n tries to dismiss her words and how the past few months have been a mistake and that she shouldn’t be there with pen or the bridgertons, that she’s not meant to be in their world.

< with patience and empathy and grace, penelope gently encourages y/n to return to bridgerton house next week, and y/n, though her heart aching and reluctant, agrees because she misses them. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you sigh deeply.

have courage, y/n.

and you rap your knuckles twice against the stately door of number five.  a moment later, the door opens, and you are greeted by a beloved grin.

“miss y/n!  i have not seen you in weeks!”

you cannot help but smile back.

“good day, giles.”

“oh, where are my manners!” and the elderly doorman bows at you.  you huff out a laugh, feeling how your face contorts with distaste. 

“blimey, please don’t.  i am not a lady, giles.”

“you could’ve fooled me, miss y/n.”

you shoot him a severe look; he merely continues to grin.

“you know of my feelings towards being called ‘miss.’”

“i am getting older; my memory frequently fails me, miss y/n.”

“and yet you’ve recalled how we haven’t seen each other in two weeks.”

“three.”

you grin.

“precisely.”

“well, it was quite the surprise when I fell ill the following week!” then giles frowns.  “and it was an even greater surprise to have not seen you when i had returned the week following that.”

you look at the ground, unable to face the inquisition in his sad, kindly look, but when you bring your head back up, you manage a smile.

“it is no matter.  i am here now.  that is most important, yes?”

the elderly man smiles.

“yes, i suppose you are right, y/n,” and he holds the door open for you to pass.  

“aside from bouts with ailment, how have you been, giles?”

“still standing upright, still opening and closing doors,” he beams without a bit of sarcasm.  “and what of you?  how have you been?”

“i’ve been—— well.  and the family?” you say quickly, wanting to move the conversation away from you and your feelings.

“the same as is to be expected.  though—” 

concern starts to swell in your heart.  what has happened in the fortnight you have not been present?

“mister benedict has been absolutely despondent.”

“oh,” is all you say.  giles’ gentle joviality transforms into solemnity, and it makes your heart ache even further.

“on the rare occasions i do see him now, he is leaving for the gentleman’s club in the bright light of day and coming home at an ungodly hour, drunk as a wheelbarrow, wreaking of what smells like every available spirit in london.  he had stopped dipping rather deep sometime ago, much to my relief, so it was an utter shock to return to my station and to see him back on the cut, and deeply at that,” the elderly man sighs.  “i wonder what has happened for him to be so…” he unexpectedly turns to you, his countenance sanguine, “do you happen to know?”

you swallow as you ignore the sensation pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“no, i— i do not.”

“i see.  well, whatever it might be, it is clear how much it deeply afflicts him,” and giles offers you a small, sad smile.  “you know mister benedict; he has always been the most sensitive of the family.”

i do.  

i do know benedict.

you clear your throat.

“do you happen to know where eloise and penelope are at this moment?”

giles cocks his head at you but is kind enough (you thank the heavens) not to press your change of topic.

“the last i had seen them, they had spoken of viewing the art gallery.  do you know the way?”

“i am unfamiliar.”

he smiles again, and it makes you smile in return.

“then i am most glad to escort you there.”

–

giles opens the doors to the gallery, and ahead, in front of a portrait, you see the turnings of penelope, eloise, and—

“y/n,” he utters.

“benedict,” you breathe.

and he looks just as surprised as you are.  

you look to giles, his eyes wide and mouth agape, and then to eloise and penelope.  upon seeing their expressions, you feel your eyes narrow.

“ah, penelope!” shouts eloise.  everyone else turns to stare at her.  “with y/n’s arrival, i must change out of my, my art gallery viewing dress!  and— and, into my... drawing room!  sitting— dress...”

eloise scrunches her entire face in displeasure, confused by her own poorly concocted excuse.  that does nothing to deter her, however, from clamping onto penelope’s wrist and barreling forward towards the doors of the gallery.

“come along, pen!” she calls out to the friend she is pulling right behind her.  as they pass you, eloise gives you a strange and strained smile bearing all teeth, and penelope offers apologetic eyes and an encouraging smile.

giles looks to you, to benedict, and to the two escaping ladies.  mouth still agape, all he manages is,

“i suppose— i shall see to that— miss bridgerton and miss featherington arrive to miss bridgerton’s bedchamber... safe—ly…?”

he mouths, i’m sorry!, at you before quickly bowing his head at benedict, fleeing the scene with remarkable speed for an elderly man who has recently recovered from illness, and leaving you at the entrance of the art gallery.

closing your eyes, you deeply inhale through your nostrils as you place your hand to the space between your eye and your temple.  on your exhale, you wipe your hand hard against the side of your face and open your eyes, whipping your head to look at the second eldest bridgerton brother.  it seems that he has been staring at you this entire time, stupid (stunning) ocean eyes and all.

“would you like to paint a picture?” you snark.  “you are the artist in the room, and it would certainly last longer.  or perhaps you have run out of paper?”

he does not respond, indecipherable expression unchanging, and it unnerves you how guilty you feel at goading him, at taunting him, and he merely takes it.  you sigh again and cross the gallery to where he stands.  resisting the urge to look at him again, as you feel his gaze still on you, you instead look at the painting ahead of you.

it is a portrait of a gentleman.  with dark chestnut hair and mutton chops.  he wears a blue jacket, a darker blue vest, a cream cravat, green breeches, and brown boots.  a watch on a ribbon hangs from his vest; it looks familiar.  he looks familiar.  a benevolent smile rests on his lips.

you look at the plaque at the bottom of the gilded frame.

edmund bridgerton, the 8th viscount bridgerton.

you look back up at the painting, captured by a particular feature.

“you have his eyes.”

“his are gray; mine are blue.”

you roll your eyes but smile despite yourself.  (you try to ignore the flutterings that bloom upon hearing his voice again.)

“yes, but that’s not what i was referring to.  they peer into you— not with scrutiny, nor judgment, but with kindness, curiosity, compassion.  an eagerness to learn about you.  pools of welcoming.  cool tones that radiate warmth.”

you cough, ripping your eyes away from the portrait to inspect the scuffs of your boots.  you feel embarrassment spread throughout your entire body as heat creeps up your neck.

“the painter is excellent at their craft.  it is as if i know him, your father.”

silence falls in the expansive gallery, the calm and kind eyes of viscount bridgerton looking down upon you and his second eldest.

“i’ve missed you.”

you snap your head up to look at benedict, your eyes making contact with his ocean ones.  welcoming and warm.  honest and... hopeful?

i’ve missed you, too.

“benedict, it has only been a fortnight since we saw each other last,” you respond aloud, your voice coming out so much softer than you had intended.  you offer him a small smile, an olive branch of sorts.  something of relief starts to fill his ocean eyes, but his demeanor does not change.

“i behaved arrogantly, and you did not deserve to be the recipient of such behavior.  no one does, and i am so— i am so sorry, y/n.”

and you know he is.  you resist the urge to touch his cheek, to comfort him with your caress, to selfishly have your skin touch his.  instead, you look on at him.

“i do not ask you to grant me your forgiveness; i know i am unworthy of it.  i just— i just wanted you to know how i felt, and feel still.  and how i shall work on myself to be better, to do better.”

the butterflies in your stomach flutter maddeningly.  you emit an exhale from your nostrils.  the urge to touch him intensifies, and you feel yourself flex your hand to let go of the sensation.  you huff out another breath, and smile brightly, sincerely, at benedict.

“well,” you begin, “with our friendship renewed, care to show me what other paintings you love in this gallery?”

benedict’s ocean eyes beam with relief and joy, a brilliant smile lighting up his face, and it takes all your self-control not to drop all discretion and wrap your arms around him in a crushing embrace.

“i would love nothing more, y/n,” he declares.

you try not to flutter your eyes closed at the words ‘i,’ ‘love,’ and your name in the same breath from benedict’s lips.  at the pleasantness and home you feel in them.  you smile on.

“where shall we begin, then?”

you and benedict walk together as he approaches a miniature in a wooden frame ornately carved with floral motifs.  he admits that he has not the slightest clue which bridgerton ancestor this is, and that makes you snort.  grinning, he points out how adeptly the artist portrayed the translucency and fluidity of the lady’s veil and how particularly impressive it must have been to accomplish such effects in paints during the early 1600s, if the remnant dating of the artist’s signature is correct.  you remark how particularly impressive it is that a painting has endured two hundred years of existence, details still intact, and benedict responds simply that rich people have a way.  that makes you snort again, and that makes benedict grin again.

he then leads you to a portrait of kathani and anthony, the viscountess sat in a chair with the viscount stood behind.  you marvel at the painting—how much it looks like them, how much it captures kathani’s confidence, how much it captures anthony’s conviction, how much it captures their love.  excitement coloring his voice, benedict imparts to you how he was given the opportunity to observe and assist the painter on the days the latter was commissioned to portray the viscountess and the viscount.  he also shares with you how impossibly difficult they were as models, always giggling and kissing and looking away from the painter and talking to one another, being overall sickeningly saccharine.  you chortle and share with him how that does not surprise you in the least bit.  despite his annoyance upon recalling the memory, an incredibly fond smile rests on benedict’s lips.  turning from his lips back to the painting, you remark how in love they are, and he remarks that, indeed, they very much are—and turns his fond smile from the painting to you.

coughing, you walk over and ask about the landscape of an enormous building.  benedict names it as aubrey hall, the ancestral home of the bridgertons.  you recall how you had heard of it early on in your friendship with the bridgertons; you had been unable to see them one week as they were preparing for kathani’s first ball as viscountess at the home.  you also recall how the usually collected and confident kathani was anxious and uncertain during that time.  benedict, beaming with pride, says how, of course, she absolutely excelled and how all of the ton—he rolls his eyes then and you guffaw—enjoyed themselves at the event.  while kathani had done an unsurprisingly resplendent job, the ball was not very entertaining to benedict.  he much more enjoyed the annual bridgerton game of pall mall leading up to the event.  after announcing how kathani had won—much to the contradictory disappointment and delight of her husband—and answering your questions about what sounds, to you, like a very silly, very fun game, benedict suggests that you join them next year.  you laugh, finding it impossible to imagine yourself at a home such as aubrey hall, particularly for the entirety of three days, but your heart swells at the invitation and the sincerity in his voice, and you say aloud how you would love nothing more.

your spontaneous tour eventually comes to an end, and the two of you make your way towards the entrance, still discussing the various art you had seen.  as you and benedict walk out of the gallery, a thought crosses your mind.

“none of your work is on display.”

you notice how benedict stiffens.  you feel your smile tug into a frown.

“ah, yes.  i do not think my work is— up to snuff— with the work on display here.”

“horse shit.”

benedict’s jaw drops, his face aghast and regaled in reaction to what you assume is your choice of language.  you merely shrug.

“you have not even seen my work!”

“i do not need to see your work when i can already see how harsh you are being.”

he scoffs, and it aggravates you.

“fine— i will show you, then, and prove to you my point.”

“fine, then!  show me, and i will prove to you my point!”

–

“you are full of horse shit!”

you and benedict are in his bedchamber, where all his works are hidden away.  he has shown you canvas after canvas, sketch after sketch, charcoal drawing after charcoal drawing, his palette of color ideas— and he still has the audacity to say that his work is not “up to snuff” for the bridgerton gallery.

benedict looks aghast again, perhaps by your language, perhaps by what you are (very rightly, very correctly) insisting.  he shakes the canvas that he holds in his hand in your face.

“look at the proportions, y/n!  they are entirely off!”

you roll your eyes, swatting his arm away, and begin to rummage through his other work.  you pull a sheet and hold it up to benedict’s face.

“look at this sketch, then look at the canvas.  there is a very clear, marked improvement, and with only a—” you look at the dates at the bottom right corners for confirmation, “—a difference of two days!”

“what does ‘improvement’ mean if the improvement is not even good!”

“it is good!  and!  improvement is everything, benedict!  it is progress!”

“what—”

you and benedict jump back from one another by the sudden new voice.  you had not realized how close the two of you were as you were shouting at one another, how close your faces were to one another, how close your lips were to—

a blazing heat creeps up your neck, at the tip of your ears, and across your cheeks as you turn from benedict’s flustered face to the scowl of the eldest bridgerton sibling in the doorway.

“—are the two of you doing?”

“brother!  i— i was merely showing y/n my work.”

you vigorously nod your head.  anthony’s glare remains unaffected.

“alone?  together?  in your bedchamber?”

your heart almost leaps out of your chest, your eyes about to bulge out of their sockets as you look around the room, suddenly aware of where you are.  you are in benedict’s bedchamber.  alone.  together.

“i—” you start, very pathetically.  “i——  we—”

anthony curtly bows his head at you.

“y/n, i would like to have a word with my brother.  in private.  please.”

“of— of course, right— of course!”

you hastily put the sketch on a nearby table and walk towards the door, pass anthony as he steps in, and are about to run down the hall and away from the scene when—

you turn and steal a glance at benedict, mustering up all the apologies you can convey through your eyes.  despite the peril of his current predicament, his ocean eyes soften immediately, and a thousand butterflies erupt in your stomach and flutter around viciously.  he offers you a slight smile, one that is sincere and unregretful.  you offer one back, just as sincere, just as unregretful, before anthony gives you another bow of his head and closes the door.

–

“are you pleased by the results of your consorted trickery?” you state blandly upon seeing the young ladies that you thought were your friends sitting in the drawing room.

eloise looks up from her pamphlet, beaming at you, as penelope wears a wide and proud smile.  well, at least they have answered your question.

“trickery?” eloise feigns.  you roll your eyes; their expressions answer honestly, but their words continue their game.  “i have no idea what you are referring to.  pen and i were merely keen on viewing the art gallery today, and i thought, my blue-deviled of an elder brother ought to stop moping about; what better to get him to leave his bedchamber than by way of his favorite topic?”

“and his other favorite topic,” penelope adds.  eloise chortles, and you feel the tips of your ears heat.

“what is that supposed to mean!”

eloise waves a dismissive hand at you.

“benedict knew nothing of your arrival, as i am sure you deduced by his surprise,” but the second eldest daughter grins wickedly.  “though, from the sheer amount of time you have spent together thus far today, i am also sure the surprise was very welcomed, indeed.”

“by both parties, it seems.”

you promptly ignore the flush you feel on the apples of your cheeks.  your friends are lucifer incarnate split into two.

“well, then you must be delighted to know that your shared plot has led to punitive action against him.”

that surprises them.  (good.  you are relieved to finally have some sort of an upperhand in this conversation.)

“‘punitive action’?  by whom?  for what?”

“by—”

the three of you hear a set of footsteps.  you look to where the sounds are heard and see the two eldest bridgerton siblings enter the drawing room, the elder approaching you with conviction and the younger trailing behind him like a pet that has just been reprimanded.  the sight would make you laugh, if you weren’t the one to have instigated the current conflict between the two brothers.

anthony stands before you, posture perfect and chin held up high.

“y/n, thank you for your patience.  please allow me to apologize most ardently on behalf of my brother for his complete and utter lack of propriety.  it will not happen again as i shall be more vigilant in tracking his every deed.  i do hope this incident of my brother’s disrespect does not taint the beloved friendship between you and our family.” 

and he deeply bows his head at you.

your jaw drops.  benedict shuts his eyes tight and scrunches his face.  penelope bops her gaze amongst the three of you.  and eloise just howls, causing anthony to break the gravitas of his decorum and shoot a glare at her.

“it is no laughing matter, eloise!”

“it is harmless fun, brother!  a pursuit of intellect exchanged between two creatives, who also happened to be by themselves.  i have never heard of a baby being conceived from sharing some art.”

“ELOISE BRIDGERTON!”

you have now entirely hidden your face behind your hands; no one needs to witness the deep crimson that you are certain is spreading very rapidly across your countenance.  an absurd hope also blooms in you that if you cannot see the others, then the others cannot see you.

“what ever is the matter in here?” 

your eyes shoot open upon hearing the much needed voice of reason.  removing your hands from your face, you see kathani enter the drawing room, a confused expression worn on her face.  

“my dearest,” anthony begins, “i have offered my deepest apologies to y/n for benedict’s disgrace.”

“disgrace,” scoffs eloise, crossing her arms.

“disgrace!” reiterates anthony with increased fervor.  kathani’s confusion does not lighten.  she looks to benedict, whose eyes are scrunched closed again (his nose looks adorable this way), and then to you.

“are you all right, y/n?” she inquires gently.

“i—” you had intended to say, am well, but that would be a lie.  you are utterly mortified.  so, instead, you state the truth.

“benedict has been a gentleman.  he has treated me with the utmost respect, and when he has done wrong by me— which!  which has nothing to do with our being in his bedchamber!—  he—” you steady your voice, determined to say this right, as you know and feel it with and in your heart, “he has corrected himself and bettered his words and thoughts and deeds.”

“you hear that, brother?  no harm has been done.”

“eloise, you were not even there!”

“i believe what eloise means, anbe, is that you are being dramatic.”

“dramat— they were in his bedchamber, kathani!  together!  alone!”

kathani rolls her eyes, her attempt at diplomacy entirely gone.

“speak louder, anthony; just a bit more and the entire country shall hear you.”

the viscount pouts grumpily at his beloved, emitting a huff of air through his nostrils.  

“you must trust y/n by her word,” the viscountess states.

“or do you not trust someone of feminine disposition to speak for herself?” eloise inquires.

“pen!” 

you all snap your gazes to the entrance of the drawing room and see colin making his way to your friend in blue, followed by—

“y/n!” shouts gregory and hyacinth as they run towards you.

“y/n, penelope!” remarks violet and approaches you both.  “how delightful it is to see you!  you—” she says, reaching out for your hand, gently taking it in hers, and smiling kindly at you, “—in particular.  it has been a moment, y/n.” 

it melts your heart, really.  the sincerity of affection that flows so easily from violet bridgerton.  you recall the kind eyes and benevolent smile of her late husband.  it is no wonder you so easily fell in love with this family; true, real love is woven into the very fabrics of each of their beings.

you look at them.  hyacinth and gregory cling onto your slides, holding you tight.  kathani and anthony are engrossed in debate, affection in their eyes despite the heat in their words.  colin and penelope speak with and blush around one another as eloise, unknowingly (and, in your opinion, frustratingly, endearingly), butts into their conversation.  and benedict.  who, with the gaze of the entire room no longer on his so-called indiscretion, is looking at you.  softly.  with those damned, wondrous, bewitching ocean eyes.  a smile on his lips that makes the flutterings in your stomach unbearingly, wonderfully unyielding.

you truly, really love this family.  

you love the bridgertons.

“though,” the dowager viscountess starts.  

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you see how violet looks at the others in the room as half of them now pointedly avoid eye contact with the matriarch and the other half share a similar sentiment to her.

“is everything all right?” she turns to you, peering curiously into your eyes.  “has something happened?”

you cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of you.  violet seems taken aback by your reaction, as are the others in your periphery, but her eyes, as well as theirs, shine on.

“i think,” you say, smiling, “it is just another day with the bridgertons.”

[f14fun]

lay all your love on me - op81 (C4)

synopsis: in which oscar piastri and a university student begging for her euro summer vacation collide in a steamy, abba-inspired romance

prose (9.4K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | series index ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────────────────── 04: Dinner Table Tango (Put Me On TV Netflix)

Our usual dinners were low-key affairs—think microwaved leftovers, a quick pasta dish, or maybe some takeout eaten in front of the TV while my mom narrated the latest drama from whichever reality show was her current obsession. Tonight, though, was a whole different beast. It was like we’d accidentally wandered into a chaotic crossover episode of MasterChef meets a reality TV reunion: there were kabobs piled high on platters, enough side dishes to feed an entire neighborhood, and a whirlwind of personalities that made it feel like every seat at the table came with its own subplot.

Oscar’s dad, Chris, had turned the backyard grill into his personal stage, flipping kabobs with the flair of a man who was auditioning for his own cooking show. Each turn of the skewer came with commentary, like, “See that sear? That’s what you call perfection,” and if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was preparing a meal for a panel of judges instead of a casual dinner. Nicole, Oscar’s mom, hovered nearby, nodding along as if she hadn’t heard his grilling philosophy a thousand times before, while my mom, Belle, politely sipped her wine, pretending to be fascinated by every culinary revelation.

At the table, Hattie, Edie, and Mae were buzzing with their usual sibling energy—Hattie and Mae were whispering about something that kept making them burst into giggles, while Edie was eyeing the dessert like it was the final boss in a video game she was determined to conquer. Every few seconds, they’d shoot each other knowing looks, their inside jokes and side comments flying faster than I could keep up.

I picked up a plate and tried to navigate my way through the lively chaos, eyeing a seat at the far end of the table where I could blend into the background. But as soon as I moved, Oscar was there—close enough that I could practically feel the heat radiating off his skin from the sun and the pool. I placed my plate down, aiming for a spot near the drinks, but no sooner had I set my food down than Oscar plopped down next to me, grinning like this was all part of some game only he knew the rules to.

I moved again, feigning a casual stroll to the other end, but Oscar followed, a smug smile playing on his lips as he sat down beside me once more. I couldn’t help but laugh at the ridiculousness of it, each move feeling like a dance where I kept trying to sidestep and he kept closing in.

I finally turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you planning to follow me all night, or are you just allergic to sitting anywhere else?”

Oscar leaned back in his chair, that infuriatingly confident grin never wavering. “What can I say? You’re the best seat in the house,” he said, shrugging like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Besides, I promised you great dinner company, didn’t I?”

“You’re like a lost puppy,” I muttered, shaking my head but unable to keep the smile off my face. “Except more annoying.”

He just laughed, nudging my arm playfully. “I prefer ‘persistent’—sounds cuter. But if being annoying gets me the best view, then I’ll take it.”

Nicole glanced over from across the table, her mom radar obviously picking up on the exchange. “Oscar, sweetie, why don’t you give her a little space?” she teased, though the gleam in her eyes suggested she was enjoying this far too much.

Oscar shrugged, unbothered. “Why would I? I’m right where I want to be.”

Belle, my mom, was clearly entertained, watching us like she’d just tuned into her favorite show. “You know, if he keeps this up, you might need to get him his own seat belt,” she joked, topping off her wine as she watched Oscar stick to my side like glue.

I rolled my eyes, trying to act nonchalant, but the warmth of his presence was impossible to ignore. “Don’t encourage him,” I mumbled, but even as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel a strange thrill. Oscar’s persistence was absurdly charming, and no matter how much I tried to brush it off, his attention felt like its own kind of spotlight, casting everything in a new, exciting light.

The table was loud with laughter and overlapping conversations, skewers being passed around and plates filling up with everything from grilled corn to tangy salads. I tried to focus on my food, savoring the perfectly marinated kabobs and buttery potatoes, but Oscar’s constant presence kept pulling me back in, his playful nudges and whispered comments making it impossible to forget he was right there, next to me, watching every reaction.

“You really do have a knack for this,” I said, nudging him back just as he reached for another skewer.

Oscar flashed me a quick, sideways smile, his eyes twinkling. “For what, dinner? Or following you around like it’s my job?”

“Both,” I shot back, but the lightness in my voice betrayed how much I was enjoying the banter.

Oscar chuckled, spearing a piece of grilled zucchini with his fork. “Well, I’m nothing if not dedicated,” he said, popping it into his mouth with an exaggerated flourish. “And hey, if I’m going to be annoyingly persistent, I might as well be charming about it, right?”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no malice behind it, only a growing sense of ease that came from how effortlessly he slipped into conversation with me. “Is that what this is? Charm? I thought it was just a fancy word for stalking.”

He laughed, a low, easy sound that sent a shiver down my spine despite the warm evening air. “Stalking’s such a strong word. I prefer ‘being attentive.’ You know, keeping an eye on the competition.” He leaned closer, his shoulder brushing mine as he whispered, “Plus, it’s kind of fun to see you all flustered.”

I felt my cheeks warm instantly, and I shoved a forkful of salad into my mouth to cover up my embarrassment. “You’re the worst,” I mumbled around the bite, trying to sound annoyed but failing miserably.

“Am I, though?” he teased, nudging my leg under the table with his foot. “Because it kind of seems like you like it.”

I swallowed, trying to ignore the way my heart was racing. “You wish,” I shot back, but even as the words left my mouth, I knew he could see right through me.

Nicole, who had been listening to our back-and-forth with thinly veiled amusement, finally chimed in. “Oscar, honey, you might want to ease up before she throws you in the pool,” she said, winking at me. “But if she does, don’t worry—I’m sure you can swim.”

Oscar didn’t miss a beat, turning to his mom with a cheeky grin. “Oh, I’m not worried. I think she’d just jump in after me.”

I tried to keep my composure, but it was impossible not to laugh at his relentless confidence. “Keep dreaming, hotshot,” I said, giving him a playful shove, but even as I said it, I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of exasperation and excitement at his attention.

Belle leaned over, her eyes twinkling as she passed me the breadbasket. “You’re handling him well,” she whispered with a smirk. “Most girls would’ve dunked him by now.”

I shot her a look of mock horror. “Trust me, it’s tempting. But I think he likes the attention too much.”

Oscar, who apparently had supersonic hearing when it came to anything involving himself, leaned in again, this time closer than before, his voice low and teasing. “Oh, I definitely do. But between you and me, I think you like it too.” He raised his glass in a mock toast, his eyes never leaving mine. “To good company and making the most of dinner.”

I clinked my glass with his, trying to ignore the butterflies that fluttered in my stomach at the way he was looking at me—like I was the only person at the table worth paying attention to. “To you not annoying me for five minutes,” I countered, but my smile gave away how much I was actually enjoying every second of it.

Oscar’s grin only widened, his eyes never leaving mine as he took a slow sip of his drink, savoring the moment. There was a playful glint in his gaze, but something deeper too, something that made my chest tighten. It was as if this whole day—every flirtatious comment, every lingering look—had been building up to something unspoken, something that hovered just beneath the surface, waiting to be acknowledged.

“So, what happens after five minutes?” he asked, his voice low, almost teasing, but there was an undercurrent of curiosity that made my breath hitch. “Do I get to keep my seat, or are you kicking me to the curb?”

I laughed softly, but the question hung in the air, feeling heavier than it should. “Depends,” I said, trying to keep my tone light. “Are you planning on behaving?”

“Not if I can help it,” Oscar replied, his voice warm and teasing, but his gaze was intense, like he was studying me, trying to figure out exactly what I was thinking.

I glanced away, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of his attention. There was something about the way he was looking at me that felt new, unexpected—like he was seeing me in a way no one else ever had. It was unnerving, thrilling, and terrifying all at once, and it made me feel like everything I thought I knew was suddenly up in the air.

The conversations around us continued, but they felt distant, muffled, as if the world had faded into the background. I could feel the weight of Oscar’s eyes still on me, searching, and for a moment, I found myself caught between the familiar and the unknown. Everything felt different, like the ground beneath me had shifted without warning, and all the little things I’d been so sure of were suddenly tangled up in emotions I hadn’t anticipated.

Oscar’s voice broke through my thoughts, quieter now, a touch more sincere. “You okay? You went quiet on me.”

I blinked, startled by how quickly my mind had wandered. “Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, forcing a smile. “Just… thinking.”

“About?” he pressed, his eyes soft but probing, clearly not satisfied with my evasive answer.

I hesitated, the words feeling heavy on my tongue. “About how you’re… different,” I said, the admission making my heart race. “Today, everything’s just… not what I expected.” I trailed off, unsure how to put into words the strange mix of excitement and uncertainty that was bubbling up inside me.

Oscar watched me for a moment, his expression shifting from playful to something gentler, more thoughtful. “I get it,” he said finally, his voice low and earnest. “It’s weird when things change on you, isn’t it? Like you’re used to one thing, and then suddenly it’s all flipped around.”

He leaned in a little closer, his tone softening as if he was letting me in on a secret. “But I don’t mind it,” he continued. “Everything today… it’s been new, yeah, but it’s good. You’re good.”

I swallowed, the honesty in his words catching me off guard. It was one thing to joke around, to let the banter cover up what was simmering underneath, but this felt different—like he was asking me to see him, really see him, and maybe let him see me in return.

For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. There was a vulnerability in his gaze that mirrored the uncertainty I was feeling, a quiet plea hidden in his smile that made my heart skip. It wasn’t just a game anymore; it was something real, something that demanded a bit of courage I wasn’t sure I had.

Oscar’s usual cocky confidence had softened into something more tentative, almost as if he was waiting for me to say something that would make this strange, unexpected shift between us make sense. I could see it in the way his eyes flickered with unspoken questions, the way his hand hovered just a little closer to mine on the table, hesitant but hopeful.

He opened his mouth as if to say something but stopped, biting his lip in a rare moment of hesitation. I could feel the unsteady rhythm of my own breathing, matching the erratic beat of my heart. It was like standing on the edge of something, knowing that one step could change everything and still not being sure if I was ready to take it.

“I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t expect this,” he finally said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. His fingers brushed mine, a barely-there touch that sent a shiver through me, and the simple contact felt more intimate than any of the flirting or banter we’d exchanged all day. “I’m not usually… like this.” He laughed, but it was shaky, almost self-conscious. “I’m just saying, you’re not the only one who’s kind of… thrown off.”

I glanced down at our almost-touching hands, the space between them feeling unbearably small and impossibly vast at the same time. The reality of what was happening—the shift from playful teasing to something deeper, more vulnerable—was terrifying and exhilarating. It was as if everything had turned upside down, leaving me with nothing to hold onto but the fragile, unspoken connection we’d built in the span of a few sun-soaked hours.

“I know what you mean,” I whispered, surprised at how raw my voice sounded. “I didn’t expect this either.” The words felt too small to capture the rush of emotions tangled inside me, but they were the most honest thing I could offer.

Oscar’s thumb grazed the back of my hand, a light, almost tentative touch, but it was enough to send a jolt of electricity straight through me. He smiled, a little lopsided and unsure, and it was so different from his usual bravado that it made my heart ache in a way I hadn’t anticipated.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said quietly, and there was something so genuine in his tone that it knocked the breath out of me. “I’m glad we’re… whatever this is.” He gestured vaguely between us, as if trying to name the unnameable, the strange and beautiful thing that had sprung up between the jokes and the splashes and the shared looks that felt like secrets.

I nodded, the lump in my throat making it hard to speak. “Me too,” I managed, and the simple admission felt like a leap off that precarious edge we’d been teetering on. “I’m glad it’s… us.”

Oscar’s gaze softened, and for a split second, the weight of the moment hung between us, thick with unspoken possibilities. It felt like we were on the cusp of something important, something that neither of us was quite ready to fully grasp, and the vulnerability of it all was terrifying and exhilarating.

But then, in true Oscar fashion, he broke the tension with a grin that was equal parts charming and infuriating. “You know,” he said, leaning back in his chair and tapping his chin thoughtfully, “I’ve gotta admit, this whole ‘us’ thing is pretty great. But if you’re planning on crying, can you just give me a heads-up? I’m not emotionally equipped to handle that.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift from heart-to-heart to heart-to-humor. “Excuse me?” I laughed, trying to hide the relief that came with his playful deflection. “I’m not crying! And for the record, you’re the one who looks like you’re about to get misty-eyed.”

Oscar held up his hands in mock surrender, his grin widening. “Hey, no judgment. I just thought I’d bring tissues to our next deep and meaningful, you know? Maybe some popcorn, too. Really set the mood.”

I snorted, shoving his shoulder lightly, but the tension had eased, replaced by the familiar rhythm of our back-and-forth. “You’re impossible,” I said, shaking my head, but I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

Oscar winked, clearly pleased with himself for lightening the mood. “Yeah, but I’m your kind of impossible, right?”

I rolled my eyes, but there was no denying the truth in his words. “Yeah, yeah, don’t let it go to your head,” I shot back, but my heart felt lighter, the strange, heady mix of vulnerability and humor making the moment feel just right.

He laughed, clinking his glass against mine one more time. “Deal. But just so you know, this isn’t over,” he said, his voice dipping into that teasing but sincere tone that was quickly becoming his signature. “This ‘us’ thing… it’s still happening.”

I met his gaze, feeling a surge of warmth and maybe a little bit of hope. “Yeah,” I said, my smile softening. “It definitely is.” And with that, we let the conversation drift back to laughter and lightness, both of us content to leave the door wide open for whatever might come next.

Just as I started to relax into the ease of the moment, Mae’s voice cut through the noise like a dramatic trumpet blast. “Oh my god, did anyone else just see that?” she exclaimed, practically bouncing out of her chair. She was clutching her glass like it was some kind of award she was presenting to the whole table, eyes wide with exaggerated shock.

Oscar and I both froze, caught like deer in headlights as everyone else turned to look at us, half amused and half confused. Mae’s eyes were sparkling with delight, clearly enjoying her self-appointed role as the dinner’s designated narrator of drama.

“Seriously, did no one catch that?” Mae continued, pointing between Oscar and me like she was conducting an investigative report. “That was, like, a full-on rom-com moment! Staring, smiling, subtle hand-touching—am I the only one paying attention to this masterpiece unfolding?”

I could feel my face heating up as the entire table’s attention zeroed in on us. Hattie snorted, trying and failing to suppress a laugh, while Edie gave Mae a playful shove. “Stop being so dramatic, Mae,” Edie said, rolling her eyes but grinning all the same. “It’s not a soap opera.”

Mae, undeterred, waved her hands theatrically, clearly reveling in the spotlight. “No, no, you guys don’t get it. This is prime content! I’ve seen less chemistry on TV shows that have been running for five seasons!” She looked at us with mock seriousness, as if she was on the brink of tears. “Honestly, I’m emotional. I think I need a moment.”

Oscar rubbed the back of his neck, half-embarrassed, half-amused by Mae’s antics. “Okay, Mae, take it down a notch,” he said, trying to sound exasperated, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

I tried to cover my face with my hands, laughing despite my mortification. “Oh my god, can we not make this a thing?”

Mae ignored me completely, turning to Nicole and Belle as if she were addressing a captivated audience. “Moms, did you see it? Do we need to start planning a wedding, or should I pace myself?”

Nicole chuckled, giving me a sympathetic smile as she sipped her wine. “Mae, sweetie, let them breathe. But I will say, I’m glad to see our Oscar isn’t just all talk.” She winked at me, clearly enjoying every second of this impromptu performance.

Belle, looking equally amused, raised her glass. “To young love… or whatever this is,” she teased, and the whole table erupted in laughter.

Oscar groaned, though he was clearly more entertained than annoyed. “Thanks, Mae. Really appreciate the live commentary,” he said, rolling his eyes but flashing me a quick, conspiratorial smile that sent a flutter through my chest.

He leaned closer, his voice low so only I could hear. “Don’t worry, I’ll get her back for that later,” he promised, his tone half-playful, half-serious, and I could feel the warmth of his breath on my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. I tried to play it cool, but the way he lingered, just a little closer than necessary, made my heart skip.

Meanwhile, Mae was still basking in the glow of her own theatrics, leaning back in her chair with a satisfied grin. “Honestly, you’re welcome. I’m just saying what we’re all thinking,” she quipped, flicking her hair over her shoulder like she was the star of the show.

“Can we get a replay, though?” Hattie chimed in, her voice dripping with mock seriousness. “Like, maybe a slow-mo version? I feel like I missed the pivotal moment.”

Edie, not one to be left out, waggled her eyebrows at me. “Yeah, can you guys just, like, do it again for the rest of us? We need to get the full experience.”

I buried my face in my hands, half laughing, half mortified. “You guys are the worst,” I muttered, but there was no real sting behind it. The entire scene was ridiculous, but it was the kind of ridiculousness that made me feel strangely at home, like I’d been dropped into the middle of this whirlwind of banter and suddenly found my place.

Oscar squeezed my shoulder lightly, his touch grounding me amidst the teasing chaos. “They’re just jealous,” he whispered, his voice edged with that same flirtatious charm that had been keeping me on my toes all day. “It’s not every day they get front-row seats to this level of entertainment.”

I shot him a look, trying to suppress a grin. “Oh, is that what this is? Entertainment?”

He shrugged, unabashed. “Well, it’s definitely not boring. And I think we’re pulling off the lead roles pretty well, don’t you?”

Mae pretended to dab at her eyes, clutching her napkin dramatically. “Look at them, already talking like a power couple. I can’t—my heart is too full.” She pointed a finger at us. “Y’all better invite me to the premiere of your inevitable Netflix series.”

“Mae, if you don’t dial it back, you’re getting written out in season two,” Oscar warned, his tone light but his eyes still fixed on me, a mix of amusement and something softer that made my pulse race.

Mae gasped, clutching her imaginary pearls like she’d just been gravely insulted. “You can’t cut out the comic relief! I’m the fan favorite. Besides, the show would be boring without me stirring the pot.” She leaned back with a smug smile, crossing her arms like she was daring anyone to challenge her.

Hattie snorted, jumping in without missing a beat. “Yeah, but we all know you’re the kind of character they kill off in a dramatic mid-season twist. Gotta keep the ratings up.”

Mae threw her head back, rolling her eyes with exaggerated flair. “Please, they wouldn’t dare. The viewers would riot.” She turned her attention back to us, still grinning like the Cheshire Cat. “And speaking of plot twists, when’s the big kiss scene? I mean, I’m just saying, it’s been teased for like, three episodes already.”

My jaw dropped, caught between mortification and laughter as Oscar choked on his drink, struggling to keep his composure. “Mae!” I squeaked, covering my face with my hands, feeling my cheeks burn hotter than the grill. “Can we not?”

Mae shrugged, completely unfazed. “I’m just being honest. The audience wants what it wants.” She glanced around the table, gesturing to everyone with an over-the-top flourish. “I mean, look at us. We’re all invested.”

Oscar rubbed his temples, but he was smiling, shaking his head at his sister’s relentless antics. “Mae, you’re officially banned from all future dinners. You’ve peaked as an agent of chaos.”

Mae shot him a smug look. “I’d like to see you try. I’m basically your PR manager at this point, and you should be grateful. I’m giving you the best subplot.”

Nicole chuckled, shaking her head at her kids. “Alright, enough, everyone. Let’s give them some peace. I think they’ve been roasted enough for one night.”

I breathed a sigh of relief, trying to regain some composure, but every time I glanced at Oscar, he was already looking at me, that easy, knowing smile still playing on his lips. Despite the theatrics, the jokes, and the lighthearted chaos of it all, there was an unmistakable comfort in being next to him, like we were in on some private joke the rest of the table was only half aware of.

As the conversation shifted back to other topics and plates clattered with second helpings, I found myself sneaking another glance at Oscar. He caught me looking and winked, leaning in just enough to whisper, “You good?”

I nodded, feeling that same flutter from earlier, the one that seemed to have settled somewhere deep in my chest. “Yeah,” I said, my voice light but sincere. “I think I’m better than good.”

But as the conversation around the table continued, the laughter and clinking of glasses filling the air, I couldn’t stop my mind from drifting back to Mae’s earlier comment—the one about the “big kiss scene” that had practically sent me into orbit. At the time, I’d brushed it off, laughing it away as another one of her over-the-top jokes. But now, with the evening winding down and Oscar still sitting close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off him, the idea lingered, stubbornly refusing to be dismissed.

I glanced at him, catching the way he was half-listening to whatever Chris was saying about the grill, but his focus kept sneaking back to me, a subtle sideways glance here, a quiet smile there. It was like we were stuck in this unspoken loop, constantly circling each other without ever quite landing. And suddenly, Mae’s words didn’t seem so ridiculous. The thought of kissing Oscar—of actually closing that gap between us—wasn’t just some wild, far-off fantasy. It felt… possible. Real. And that was what scared me the most.

Because Mae wasn’t wrong—there was a tension between us, a pull that had been there all day, simmering beneath the surface. Every time Oscar leaned in a little too close, every shared look that lingered just a second too long, it was there, buzzing quietly, daring us to acknowledge it. I could feel it now, that quiet hum in the air that made every casual touch and playful nudge feel loaded, like we were teetering on the edge of something that could change everything.

The thought of kissing him—of actually letting myself take that leap—sent a rush of nerves and excitement crashing over me. What would it feel like? Would it be like all the other moments today, funny and light but with that undeniable spark? Or would it be something else entirely, something that would make it impossible to go back to just playful banter and harmless flirting?

I stole another glance at Oscar, watching the way his lips curved into a smirk as he teased Mae about something I couldn’t quite catch. It was infuriating how easily he could shift from serious to silly, how he could make me feel so at ease one second and then completely unsteady the next. I wondered if he was thinking about it, too—if the idea of us had crossed his mind, lingering like it was now in mine.

My thoughts were interrupted as Mae, ever the observant troublemaker, caught me staring. She wiggled her eyebrows and shot me a knowing grin, clearly reveling in her role as the self-appointed matchmaker of the night. I quickly looked away, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, but the question she’d planted was still there, stubborn and insistent.

What would it be like, kissing Oscar?

It was a question that hovered between us, unasked but undeniable, and as the evening wore on, it only seemed to grow louder. And while I wasn’t sure of the answer, one thing was becoming clear: the idea of it wasn’t just Mae’s dramatic imagination running wild. It was mine too. And maybe, just maybe, it was only a matter of time before we found out for ourselves.

As the sun dipped lower, casting the backyard in soft hues of orange and pink, the vibe around the table shifted. Plates were cleared, glasses refilled, and the conversation became a gentle hum, winding down into the comfortable lull of a summer evening. The air was warm, carrying the faint, salty scent of the ocean just beyond the house. I could feel the day transitioning into something quieter, softer, like a whispered promise of what was to come.

Oscar nudged my arm gently, his smile easy and inviting. “Want to get out of here for a bit?” he asked, his voice low enough that it felt like a secret. “I think I’ve had my fill of Mae’s commentary for the night.”

I laughed, grateful for the excuse to escape the watchful eyes of his sisters. “Yeah, before she starts live-tweeting this,” I joked, grabbing my sandals and following him away from the table. He led us down the path that cut through the backyard, winding toward the beach. The sound of laughter and chatter faded behind us, replaced by the rhythmic crash of waves and the soft crunch of sand beneath our feet.

The sky was a watercolor canvas of fading light, the last streaks of daylight blending into deep blues and purples as we reached the shore. It was quiet here, the kind of quiet that feels intentional, like the world had pressed pause just for us. Oscar slipped off his shoes, and I followed suit, the cool, damp sand squishing pleasantly between my toes. It felt cheesy and cliché, like something out of a movie, but I didn’t care. It was perfect.

We walked in silence for a bit, side by side, our footsteps falling in sync as the waves lapped at the shore. Every so often, Oscar would kick at the sand, sending little sprays of it up in front of us, and I’d laugh, nudging him back with my shoulder. There was no rush, no destination; it was just us, drifting along the edge of the water like we were caught in our own little bubble.

Oscar glanced at me, his face soft in the twilight. “You know, I think this is the part where we’re supposed to talk about something deep and meaningful,” he said, his voice teasing but light, the kind of tone that made everything feel a little less serious, a little easier to handle.

I smiled, rolling my eyes but playing along. “Oh, right. This is the part where we share our hopes, dreams, and darkest secrets, right? Because nothing says ‘deep conversation’ like walking barefoot on the beach.”

“Exactly,” Oscar said, grinning. “But seriously, I’m glad you’re here. Tonight’s been… fun. Weird and chaotic, but fun.”

I nodded, feeling the truth of his words settle over me. “Yeah, it’s been… something,” I admitted, letting out a small laugh. “Honestly, I didn’t know what to expect, but this wasn’t it. In a good way.”

We walked a little further, the quiet between us no longer uncomfortable but filled with the soft roar of the ocean and the distant calls of seagulls. It felt like the perfect cliché—sunset, ocean waves, and just enough awkwardness to keep it from feeling too polished. Oscar stopped suddenly, bending down to pick up a small, smooth shell and handing it to me with a mock-serious expression.

“A souvenir,” he said, his eyes twinkling in the fading light. “To remember this incredibly cheesy moment.”

I took the shell, laughing at how ridiculous and oddly sweet the gesture was. “I’ll treasure it forever,” I said, mimicking his serious tone, holding the shell up like it was a precious gem. “And when I tell people about this night, I’ll say, ‘There was this guy, and he gave me a shell on a beach at sunset. It was painfully corny, but somehow it worked.’”

Oscar chuckled, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Hey, corny works sometimes. Especially if the right person’s involved.” He looked at me then, his smile fading just enough that I could see the sincerity underneath all the jokes. “I like this,” he said, his voice softer. “I like… us.”

My heart did a little flip, caught off guard by the quiet honesty of his words. It wasn’t dramatic or grand, just simple and real, and that made it even better. “I like us too,” I admitted, feeling the last bit of sunlight brush against my skin as the horizon swallowed it whole.

Oscar stepped closer, his shoulder brushing mine as we stood there, toes in the sand, watching the sky darken. It felt like we’d crossed some invisible line, one that had been waiting for us all day, and now, with the ocean as our only witness, it didn’t feel scary anymore. It felt right.

The waves crashed softly in the background, a rhythmic soundtrack to the unspoken feelings that hung between us. I expected another joke, something light to keep the moment easy, but instead, Oscar’s expression shifted, his smile fading into something more serious, more introspective. He glanced at the horizon, the last slivers of light reflecting in his eyes, before turning back to me.

“You know,” he started, his voice a little lower, almost hesitant, “about that whole ‘sharing secrets’ thing…”

I raised an eyebrow, expecting another playful jab, but his tone had changed. There was a weight to his words that made my heart pick up pace, and I could tell he was wrestling with something. “Yeah?” I prompted gently, unsure where he was going with this but sensing it was important.

Oscar let out a long breath, his gaze dropping to the sand as if he was trying to gather his thoughts. “There’s something I haven’t told you,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck—a nervous habit I hadn’t seen from him before. “It’s… kind of a big deal. And it’s something I don’t usually talk about when I first meet someone.”

I felt a flicker of concern, mixed with curiosity. “Okay,” I said softly, trying to encourage him without pushing too hard. “Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

He nodded, chewing on his lip for a moment before meeting my eyes. “So… I’m not just some random guy who likes to crash neighborhood dinners and play chicken in pools.” He paused, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I’m actually… a Formula One driver.”

I blinked, the words taking a moment to fully register. “Wait, what?” I said, half-laughing in disbelief, expecting him to crack a smile and tell me it was just another joke. But Oscar’s expression remained serious, his eyes searching mine for a reaction.

“I’m a Formula One driver,” he repeated, more firmly this time, his voice steady but laced with something vulnerable. “I race for a living. It’s my job, my whole life, really. I’ve been doing it for years, and it’s… well, it’s a lot. I didn’t want to bring it up right away because, honestly, it changes how people see me. And I like how things are right now. Just… you and me, without all that other stuff.”

My mind reeled, trying to connect the dots between the Oscar I’d spent the day with and the image of a high-speed, glamorous world I’d only ever seen on TV. I had a million questions, but the first one that slipped out was, “Are you serious?”

He nodded, his expression softening at my shock. “Yeah, I am. I travel all the time—races in different countries, press, sponsors, all of it. It’s not just a job; it’s this crazy, intense lifestyle, and it’s a lot to deal with. That’s why I didn’t want to bring it up. I wanted to just be… me. Not the guy on the track.”

I stared at him, the quiet, easy-going Oscar who had been joking and flirting with me all day, now suddenly framed in a completely different light. I tried to picture him in a racing suit, helmet on, speeding at breakneck pace in front of thousands of fans. The thought was surreal, but the sincerity in his eyes grounded me, reminding me that he was still the same guy who had been by my side all day.

“Wow,” I breathed, still trying to wrap my head around it. “I mean… that’s incredible. And intense. I can’t even imagine…”

Oscar shrugged, his expression a mix of pride and exhaustion. “It’s got its moments. The adrenaline, the rush, it’s amazing. But it’s also lonely sometimes. It’s hard to know who’s around for me and who’s around for what I do. That’s why it’s been so… nice today. Just hanging out, no expectations, no pressure.”

I nodded, my mind still racing to keep up, but my heart settled on one thing: the vulnerability in his voice. “I get why you didn’t say anything,” I said softly. “I’m glad you told me, though. And for what it’s worth, it doesn’t change anything for me. I still see you the same way.”

Oscar’s shoulders relaxed, a hint of relief passing over his face. “Thanks. That means a lot,” he said quietly. “I just wanted you to know who I really am. Not the headlines, not the highlight reels. Just… Oscar.”

I reached out, squeezing his hand lightly. “Well, Oscar, the Formula One driver,” I teased gently, “you’re kind of stuck with me now. So I hope you’re ready for that.”

He laughed, a sound filled with genuine warmth, and squeezed my hand back. “I think I can handle it,” he said, his smile returning. “But I promise, no pit stops on our beach walks.”

We kept walking, but now my mind was buzzing with questions I couldn’t quite hold back. The idea of Oscar—this funny, charming guy—also being a professional race car driver was a lot to process. My curiosity got the better of me, and I turned to him, trying to piece together this new version of him I was just starting to understand.

“So, what’s it like?” I asked, my voice tinged with excitement and genuine intrigue. “I mean, racing. The whole lifestyle… is it really as glamorous as it looks?”

Oscar smiled, his eyes distant for a moment as if recalling a million memories at once. “Sometimes it is. The travel, the fans, the adrenaline of the race—it’s all surreal. But it’s not always as glamorous as people think. There’s a lot of pressure, a lot of sleepless nights. You’re constantly on the move, training, dealing with the media, and sometimes you barely get a moment to yourself.”

I nodded, hanging onto every word. “Do you ever get scared? I mean, it’s not exactly a nine-to-five job.”

He glanced at me, his expression thoughtful. “Every time I get in the car, there’s this moment of fear, like a little voice in the back of my mind reminding me how dangerous it is. But once the lights go out and the race starts, it’s all instinct. You don’t really think—you just drive. It’s weird, but the fear kind of becomes part of the thrill.”

I could hear the passion in his voice, and it struck me how much more there was to him than I’d realized. “Do you ever… wish it was different? Like, that maybe you could slow down?”

Oscar chuckled softly, kicking at the sand as we walked. “Sometimes, yeah. It’s exhausting. But then there’s this moment when you’re flying down the track, everything’s a blur, and it’s just you and the car. Nothing else matters. It’s the most alive I’ve ever felt.” He paused, turning to me with a small, earnest smile. “And then there are nights like this, where I get to just be a normal guy hanging out on the beach. It’s a nice change of pace.”

I found myself smiling, charmed by his openness. “I can’t even imagine living like that—always on the go, never really having time to just… be. But it sounds incredible, in a crazy sort of way.”

“It is,” he agreed, looking out at the ocean, the moonlight catching the edges of his profile. “But it’s also hard to let people in. Everyone has expectations, and sometimes it’s hard to know who actually sees you and who just sees the guy in the helmet.”

I squeezed his hand, wanting to offer some kind of comfort. “Well, I see you, Oscar. And not just the driver. I see the guy who’s annoyingly persistent, who’s actually kind of sweet when he wants to be.” I nudged him playfully. “And the guy who’s really bad at keeping secrets, apparently.”

He laughed, a genuine, relieved sound that made my heart swell. “Yeah, I guess I’m not as mysterious as I thought.” He paused, then added, “But I’m glad you know. I wanted you to know.”

I studied him, feeling like I was seeing Oscar in an entirely new light—not just the charming guy who had been teasing me all day, but someone with layers, with dreams and fears that ran deeper than I’d ever guessed. “Thanks for telling me,” I said softly. “It means a lot that you’d share all this with me.”

Oscar smirked, but there was a hint of shyness behind it. “Yeah, well, you’ve got this way of making me spill my guts. You should be careful—I might start telling you my deepest, darkest secrets.”

I laughed, nudging him with my shoulder. “Oh, don’t tempt me. I’ve got a lot of questions, you know. Like, what’s the most embarrassing thing you’ve ever done in front of a crowd? Or do you have a superstitious pre-race ritual? Maybe something involving, like, wearing your socks inside out for good luck?”

He groaned, but the playful gleam in his eyes told me he was enjoying this. “Socks inside out? That’s rookie level. I’m way more sophisticated—think lucky underwear, a very specific breakfast, and a pep talk to my car that would make me sound insane if anyone heard it.”

I snorted, covering my mouth to stifle the laugh. “You talk to your car? Please tell me you’ve named it.”

Oscar looked mock-offended, clutching his chest dramatically. “Of course I’ve named it! What kind of driver would I be if I didn’t? But that’s classified information—I can’t just give away my car’s name on the first beach walk.”

I rolled my eyes, still giggling at the idea of him having full-on conversations with his race car. “I think you’re just scared to admit you’ve named it something ridiculous like ‘Lightning McQueen’ or ‘Speedy McSpeedface.’”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll have you know my car’s name is very dignified and deeply meaningful,” he said, trying to keep a straight face but failing miserably. “And it definitely doesn’t sound like a character from a kids’ movie.”

I raised an eyebrow, teasing him back. “Uh-huh. Sure. And do you also tuck it in at night and read it bedtime stories?”

Oscar threw his head back in laughter, his hand squeezing mine. “You’re killing me here. But hey, maybe you can come see it sometime—if you’re good, I’ll even let you meet her.”

“Oh, meeting the car? Wow, that sounds serious,” I teased, pretending to be deeply flattered. “Next thing you know, you’ll be inviting me to the races, front-row seats and all.”

Oscar grinned, his eyes twinkling under the moonlight. “Keep playing your cards right, and you never know. I might just need a good luck charm in the stands. Besides,” he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a flirty whisper, “it’d be a shame not to have the prettiest girl at the track cheering me on.”

I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks again, the casual way he flirted throwing me off balance every time. “You’ve really perfected the smooth-talking driver act, haven’t you?” I teased, raising an eyebrow but unable to stop the grin tugging at my lips.

Oscar smirked, his confidence unwavering. “What can I say? When you’ve got someone worth impressing, you pull out all the stops.”

I rolled my eyes, but the butterflies in my stomach were in full flight. “Well, I’m not that easy to impress. You might need more than just a fancy car and smooth lines.”

He pretended to think it over, scratching his chin dramatically. “Hmm, okay. Let’s see… I’ve got fast cars, some world travel under my belt, and a pretty decent sense of humor, if I do say so myself. Oh, and I’m great at chicken fights in the pool.” He gave me a sideways glance, his smile playful but with a hint of sincerity beneath it. “But if that’s not enough, I guess I’ll just have to keep trying.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “Yeah, keep working on it. I’m a tough crowd.”

Oscar slowed his steps, his voice turning softer as he leaned a little closer. “I like a challenge.”

His words hung in the air between us, and for a moment, the playful banter gave way to something a little deeper. There was that same flicker of vulnerability from earlier, like he was letting his guard down just a bit more, and it made my heart skip. I wasn’t sure what to say, so I just met his gaze, feeling the intensity of the moment settle between us like a quiet hum.

“Careful,” I finally said, trying to keep the mood light even though my pulse was racing. “You might bite off more than you can chew.”

Oscar grinned, but his eyes were still locked on mine, the flirty bravado softening into something more genuine. “I think I can handle it,” he said quietly, and there was something in his tone that made my breath catch, like this wasn’t just another joke, another flirtation. It was a real promise.

Before I could respond, he reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. The touch was so casual, yet it sent a rush of warmth through me, leaving me a little breathless. “You’re making this easy,” he said, his voice low, almost teasing, but his gaze was steady, holding mine with a kind of quiet intensity that made my heart race.

“Easy?” I managed to say, trying to sound composed but failing miserably.

He nodded, his smile widening just a bit. “Yeah. You make it easy to want to keep trying.”

I swallowed, the weight of his words settling over me. It felt like we were on the verge of something bigger, something that went beyond the playful teasing and light-hearted flirting. And as cheesy as it sounded, standing there with the ocean breeze in my hair and the moonlight casting soft shadows around us, I couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was the kind of moment where everything could change.

But instead of saying anything profound, I just smiled, feeling the warmth of his hand still lingering near my cheek. “Well, if you’re trying to win me over with flattery and moonlit walks on the beach, you’re off to a decent start.”

Oscar chuckled, dropping his hand but staying close. “Good to know. I’ll keep that in mind for next time.” He paused, glancing at the ocean before looking back at me with that same mix of playfulness and sincerity. “You ready to head back?”

I nodded, feeling the tension in my chest ease as we started walking again, the easy rhythm between us falling back into place. “Yeah, but don’t think this lets you off the hook. You’ve still got some impressing to do.”

He laughed, shaking his head. “Challenge accepted.”

And as we made our way back up the beach, the stars twinkling above and the sound of the waves following us, I couldn’t help but feel that this night—this cheesy, corny, perfect night—was only the beginning of something even better. There was an easy warmth between us now, a quiet understanding that whatever this was, we were both on board. As we reached the house, the familiar noise of chatter and laughter spilled out onto the patio, pulling us back into the lively fold of everyone gathered around.

The second we stepped onto the deck, Mae was the first to spot us, her eyes lighting up like she’d just won the gossip jackpot. “Well, well, well, look who decided to rejoin the party,” she called out, clapping her hands together in mock celebration. “Did you two lovebirds enjoy your romantic stroll under the moonlight?”

Oscar shot her a warning look, but it only made her grin wider. “Mae, do you ever get tired of hearing yourself talk?” he quipped, trying to sound exasperated but failing to hide his smile.

Hattie, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned back in her chair, her arms crossed with a knowing smirk. “Oh, come on, Oscar. We saw you guys sneaking off together. What was it? A deep, soul-searching chat? Confessions of undying love?”

Edie snorted, adding her two cents with a dramatic gasp. “Wait, did he finally break out the big romantic moves? Did he tell you about his tragic backstory and show you his sensitive side?”

I laughed, shaking my head but feeling my cheeks flush under the teasing. “Wow, you guys really have an active imagination,” I said, trying to play it off casually. “We were just… talking.”

“Talking,” Mae repeated, her tone dripping with mock suspicion. “Sure, sure. That’s what they all say before the dramatic kiss in the rain scene.”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but he was clearly more amused than annoyed. “For your information, Mae, we were just enjoying a peaceful walk without all the peanut gallery commentary,” he shot back, though his playful glare did little to stop the relentless teasing.

“Oh, right,” Hattie said, putting on an exaggerated, dreamy voice. “Staring into each other’s eyes, holding hands, whispering sweet nothings—totally normal, everyday stuff.”

Edie gave an exaggerated sigh, wiping a fake tear from her eye. “I swear, this is better than any rom-com. I feel blessed to witness it in real time.”

Oscar groaned, rubbing his temples but unable to keep the smile off his face. “You guys are the worst,” he said, shaking his head, but the laughter in his eyes was unmistakable.

Hattie leaned in, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she gave Oscar a nudge. “So, did you tell her your big secret yet?” she asked, her tone half-joking but laced with just enough seriousness to make it feel like there was more to it. “You know, the one where you’re not just some guy who likes moonlit walks and cheesy flirting?”

Oscar rolled his eyes, but his shoulders tensed slightly. “Yeah, Hattie. I told her.”

Hattie smirked, turning her attention to me with a knowing look. “Well, good. Now you’ve seen the full Oscar package: charming flirt, terrible dancer, and, oh yeah, a race car driver who’s apparently allergic to being straightforward about it.”

I laughed, catching the hint of truth beneath her teasing. “Yeah, he told me. It was quite the plot twist,” I said, shooting Oscar a playful glance. “I mean, I thought I was just hanging out with some guy who likes chicken fights in pools, and then bam! Turns out he’s a high-speed adrenaline junkie.”

Oscar let out a half-hearted groan, but I could see the smile tugging at his lips. “See? This is why I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it. Now I’m the guy who goes from chicken fights to explaining how I don’t die doing my job.”

Edie leaned forward, her grin wide. “Oh, come on. You love it. And honestly, I think it’s pretty cool she didn’t bolt when you told her. That’s a win in my book.”

I shrugged, feeling oddly proud of myself for rolling with the revelation. “I mean, you could’ve told me you were a secret agent or something, and I’d probably still be here. But don’t get any ideas—I’m not driving any getaway cars for you.”

Hattie raised her glass in mock solemnity. “To not scaring her off with the ‘I drive at 200 mph for a living’ thing. Honestly, it’s about time someone just saw you for, you know, you.”

Oscar smiled, his eyes flickering with gratitude. “Thanks, Hattie. And yeah,” he turned back to me, squeezing my shoulder lightly, “I’m glad you’re here. Even if my sisters are determined to embarrass me at every turn.”

I laughed, leaning into the warmth of his side hug. “Hey, I’m just glad I got to hear the big secret firsthand. And for the record, you’re a lot more than just the guy on the track.”

Mae pretended to wipe away a tear, her voice cracking with fake emotion. “Look at them, so supportive. I’m not crying, you’re crying.”

Oscar groaned again, but his eyes never left mine, filled with a quiet, earnest appreciation that made the teasing worth it. “You guys are relentless.”

Edie smirked, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms. “Hey, you can’t blame us. We’ve got a front-row seat to the Oscar Romance Special. We’re just waiting for the next episode, preferably with more kissing.”

I nearly choked on my drink, caught off guard by her bluntness, and Oscar’s face turned a shade of pink I’d never seen before. “Edie,” he said, trying to sound stern but failing as a laugh escaped him. “I think you’re confusing our lives with one of your trashy reality shows.”

Mae jumped in, wagging her finger dramatically. “Excuse me, but if you’re going to give us reality TV vibes, at least make it entertaining. We need more dramatic confessions and less awkward hovering. I mean, seriously, when’s the big kiss scene?”

I looked at Oscar, my face heating up at the thought, but I decided to play along. “Well, Oscar, if you’ve got any more romantic revelations planned, you’d better warn me so I can, you know, brace myself.”

Oscar leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper just for me. “Oh, don’t worry. I’m full of surprises. And if you think that was my best move, you’re in for a wild ride.”

I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep my cool but failing to hide my smile. “Wild ride? Wow, is that a racing pun or are you just that confident?”

He chuckled, giving me a quick wink. “Both. But you’ll have to stick around to find out which one’s more accurate.”

Mae let out a dramatic sigh, throwing her hands up in exasperation. “Oh my god, just kiss already! You’re both practically oozing romantic tension. It’s painful to watch.”

Oscar’s grin turned devilish, and he leaned back, his eyes flicking to me with a playful glint. “See what I have to put up with? I swear, it’s like having a peanut gallery that’s also my personal cheer squad.”

I nudged him with my elbow, unable to keep from laughing. “You should be grateful. Not everyone gets this kind of enthusiastic support.”

He nodded, feigning deep thought. “You’re right. Maybe I should embrace it. I mean, it’s not every day you get heckled into flirting.”

Hattie jumped in, pointing her fork at us. “Yeah, and if you’re going to flirt, at least do it properly. We want fireworks, people.”

Oscar threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll work on my technique. But I can’t promise anything with all these eyes watching.”

I rolled my eyes, but the playful energy between us was impossible to ignore. “No pressure or anything,” I said, smirking at him. “But apparently, you’ve got a lot to live up to.”

Oscar leaned closer, his smile turning sly. “I thrive under pressure,” he said, his voice low and smooth, and I felt a shiver run down my spine. “Guess I’ll just have to make it memorable.”

His words hung in the air, flirtatious yet full of that quiet promise that left my heart racing. And as the night went on, filled with more teasing and playful banter, I realized that every joke, every look, was just another layer to the electric, unpredictable thing that was building between us.

Mae clinked her glass dramatically, interrupting my thoughts. “To Oscar, the wannabe Romeo, and to his leading lady, who’s clearly got the patience of a saint. Cheers to the saga we didn’t know we needed.”

I laughed, lifting my glass and meeting Oscar’s gaze. “Cheers,” I said, feeling the thrill of whatever this was settle comfortably around us. Because no matter how ridiculous or flirtatious it got, there was no denying that this was one ride I didn’t want to get off anytime soon.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

taglist! @mingyusbigrighttoe @theblueblub @demandealalune @linnygirl09 @fix5idiots

[evanslvr]

holy shit can i request for very rough sex with evan?👀

𝙧𝙤𝙪𝙜𝙝 𝙙𝙖𝙮 < 𝑒𝑣𝑎𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠 >

𝙖/𝙣: 𝙨𝙤𝙧𝙧𝙮 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙤𝙤𝙠 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚 𝙡𝙤𝙣𝙜

• 𝙨𝙪𝙢𝙢𝙖𝙧𝙮: 𝙚𝙫𝙖𝙣 𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙖𝙫𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖 𝙗𝙖𝙙 𝙙𝙖𝙮 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧 𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙤𝙣 𝙮𝙤𝙪 •

• 𝙀𝙓𝙋𝙇𝙄𝘾𝙄𝙏 𝘾𝙊𝙉𝙏𝙀𝙉𝙏 𝘼𝙃𝙀𝘼𝘿 •

•••

wc:840

𝑦/𝑛 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑝𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑣𝑒:

As I'm on the couch, watching TV, the front door becomes unlocked and Evan quickly walks into the house, looking very tired and annoyed. He closes the door behind him, locking it and turning to me with a bothered look. "Hey, babe." I said, "you okay?" He shakes his head. "No, im so tired and not in the mood right now, I've been working for so fucking long can't even catch a fucking break.." he says, raising his voice a little bit. Not gonna lie, it was rare to see him this angry. But kind of attractive in a way.

"Baby, you'll be okay, don't worry." He looks at me unusually and slightly tilted his head, "Why don't we go take a shower—" he immediately cuts me off by putting his hand around my neck and forcing his lips against mine. I gasp as our lips collide, soft yet rough. The kiss feels electric between us, and I begin to feel aroused once again. His tongue slips inside my mouth slowly, exploring every inch of my mouth. He moves his hands down my body and gropes my ass, making sure that I know who is in charge. I push myself closer against him, feeling his hardness under his pants.

He roughly puts me against the wall, moving one hand up my thigh and grabbing my breast through my shirt, squeezing it hard. I moan from the pleasure, tilting my head back and letting out small moans. He continues kissing me, biting my lip softly and taking more of my lip into his mouth. He then pulls away, smirking at me.

His eyes bore into mine, almost begging me for permission. He takes off his belt, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them down along with his boxers. I stare at his dick, it stands erect and has a smooth outline. He steps forward and lifts my shirt over my head, throwing it on the ground and continuing to kiss me. I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him towards me.

He fumbles with my bra, trying to unhook it. Finally, after a couple of seconds, he gets it off. I let out a loud breath, finally able to breathe properly. His hands move down my stomach and go inside of sweatpants, pulling them down. He goes to grab onto my panties, slowly pushing them down. I moan loudly as he begins to rub his fingers across my pussy. I grind my hips up against his hand, wanting more. He gives it to me, pushing two fingers inside of me. He keeps going until he has all three inside of me, pumping me full of pleasure.

It's already wet, feeling him touch me makes me want more. I can't hold it in anymore, I begin to squirm and grind my hips. He kisses my neck and shoulder as his finger slides into my wetness. He swirls around, making sure to hit every spot. I moan louder from the pleasure, now dripping all over his hand. I look up at him and give him a lustful smile. He smiles back and goes down on me, opening his mouth wide, and engulfing my clit. He licks it slowly before sucking on it. I scream from the pleasure, grinding against his face. I can feel my orgasm coming fast, but he decides to get back up.

He puts his lips into mine and I gasped once I feel his length going deep inside of me. I moan from the pleasure, "oh god baby...yes..." I whisper breathlessly. He slams himself harder into me and I cry out, wrapping my legs around his waist and holding on tight. He grabs onto my thighs and gave me the most deepest and hardest thrust ever. I gasp and moan as he does this, "ahh fuck baby.." I whisper. He slams into me, making me feel like there's nothing else in the world except our bodies. I bite my lip, moaning deeply as he goes deeper inside of me.

He pulls back and slams himself again, making me cry out from the pleasure. My nails dig into his chest, scratching him lightly. I start breathing heavily, feeling weak from the pleasure. He continues slamming into me, until I couldn't take it anymore. I tighten around his dick and cry out, cumming all over him. He moans from the pleasure, pumping his release deep inside of me.

I feel my body tremble from the orgasm and I relax, panting. He pulls out slowly, making sure that he gets every drop of cum. His dick plops out and drips on my inner thigh. I lick my lips and smile at him, "You've never been like that with me before." I say in a teasing tone. He laughs and pulls his pants back up.

"Well, I had to take my anger out on someone."

A/n: ig it’s Alr

[excuseyoubrothar]

Ateez reaction to olympic athlete reader.

This is goofy. Just reliving my goals from when i was an (not an olympic) athlete and wanted my 2 worlds to collide (i sucked fr)

HONGJOONG

"Come on y/n" Hongjoong says once again, speaking to you through the tv screen as if you can hear him. Meanwhile, you take a deep breath, letting your body start to move to the beat of your boyfriend's song, Blind. You start your routine only thinking of your moves and he knows it, watching you from the other side of the world, oh so proud of you. And when you finish your routine, rhythmically finishing up your flips, Hongjoong is the alarm that wakes up everyone in the dorm. "GOLD. Y/N JUST WON GOLD!SHE MADE IT!"

SEONGHWA

Pushing yourself once again, you do one last flip on the balance beam, having no view of how good or bad you are. Landing on your feet,quite sloppily, you swear you can hear Seonghwa from the crowd. "MY DARLING MADE IT! YOU GOT THE GOLD!OOHOOOO!!" He yells happily as you approach him. You have no heart to tell him that you, in fact, did not get the gold medal. But with his support,you know you'll make it next time. And when you tell him that you missed your chance to get any medal, he will hold you in his arms, reassuring you that one day does not determine your entire athletic career. And you tell yourself that you will try harder next time, just so you can see his lovely reaction again. Your love, your biggest supporter.

YUNHO

You mindlessly flip in the air, holding steadily onto the uneven bars after every correct move that you make. Yunho is sitting in the crowd, nervously watching, knowing how hard you have worked for this. "Come on my love. One last flip." He whispers to himself, having learned your routine by heart."She's got it, i know it,come on come on come on come on come o-" And when you land perfectly on your feet, he is the first to jump up, letting out a yell that immediately makes him embarassed. But he gets over it quickly when those around him congratulate him on his girlfriend's success, and he relaxes when you run up to him, melting into his hug. His nervousness disappeared in a minute, feeling you let out all the pressure after all the hard work you've put into your dream. And he is just mesmerized by your elegance and beauty. "My baby, you made it." He says as you cry into him. He knows. And he'll show you just how proud he is later that night, in the comfort of his arms.

YEOSANG

"TIME" The referee yells and you have just a couple of minutes to take a quick rest in between the sets. Tennis is a hard sport, a lot of running, and Yeosang knows how tired you must be, trying your best. What he did not expect was you running up to him in the few seconds of time out you have left. "Yeo, please, my cap is stuck and it's hurting my hair, i can't get it out." And oh boy does he feel like a superhero coming to the rescue, readjusting your cap quickly and carefully, patting your head. "Go win y/n! You are so close!" He says quietly, but loud enough for you to hear. And when he mouths a "you got this." while squeezing his fists, you know you need to clear the last set. And you do. Becoming number 1. World's number 1. You were always Yeosangs #1. But now you are everyone's. And he played a bigger part in it that he knows, by just being there and showing up.

SAN

"Ohmygodohmygodohmygod-" San is chanting under his breath as he sees you slapping your thighs and knees, trying to get yourself back together after your previous jump. Long jump is a hard sport, and your really bad last 2 jumps are making him so nervous and scared. "Come on Y/N. Come on. What's gotten into you?" He is whispering, hoping that his prays will reach your aura. FINAL JUMP is written right next to your name. He wishes he could tell you that 3rd place is not bad, you are still a winner. But he knows you will not be satisfied with yourself. You wanted gold, you wanted to be number one. But today is just not your day. And as he is watching through the tv of the dorms, making sure the members are quiet, he wishes he was right next to you to let you know that you are doing amazing. But as he has his "you did amazing" speech ready, you start running, then jump with all the force you have in you.

"Oh, she did 7,56." "That's good right?" "I'm not sure" "i think it's the best jump this year, she definitely got gold" "no the best one was 9,20" "no one has ever done 9,20 idiot, that was 6,20" "oh i read it as a 9 cause i was laying down" "7,56 sounds like not much to be honest" "yeah right, let's see you do better-" "that's almost 8 meters fucking bastard" "so it's like Y/N jumped up to my dorm on the second floor?" "Kinda like that ye--"

"GUYS." San interrupts the members. " SHE DID 7,56."

"Uh.. yeah?"

"SHE JUST BROKE THE WORLD RECORD"

MINGI

"This girl is going to be the death of me" Mingi says to Yunho as they sit nervously in the crowd. "She can never get satisfied with herself, always 'i can do better' blah blah blah" Mingi complains once again, worried about your well being. You have made him furious today, complaining right after winning gold medal that this is not enough, and running to try and break the world record for women's high jump. You are pushing yourself too hard and that is what scares him the most, but Mingi will never let you know that. He is always there, always supporting. And when immediately after he congratulated you,you said that 5,6 was the world record and that you were going to break it, ignoring the gold medal you just won, he looked at you with all his love and told you "you got this." But as soon as you started preparing for your attempt, he wanted to punch everyone around him for no reason, freaking out and hoping you will make it. After the first failed attempt, he cheered you up from afar. After the second failed attempt, he held onto Yunho's shirt so tight that this part of the live broadcast became a global meme. And now that you start running, pole in your hands, jumping as high as you can, flying so high up he thinks you will disappear into the atmosphere, his world stops.

"BABY, HOLY SHIT!" Mingi jumps almost as high as you did, happy for his girl, all his worries disappearing. "MY GIRL JUST BROKE THE WORLD RECORD!" He loves you and your commitment.

WOOYOUNG

"PUSH BACK! Y/N PUSH BACK! ARE YOU ASLEEP? BABY, GRAB HER BY THE BOOB! COME ON---" "-Wooyoung she CANNOT grab her opponent by the chest. That is against the rules!" Hongjoong tries to keep your boyfriend, that obviously has no idea how wrestling rules work, to his seat."Oh fuck come on FINISH THIS UP!!" San's hisses can be heard over Wooyoung's yells as you pin down your opponent, gaining your winning score. "SHE WON! GUYS SHE WON! NOW KNOCK HER OUT!" "Wooyoung, she cannot knock her oppo--" Hongjoong continues explaining all the reasons why you couldn't have won in different ways for the rest of the night, while you have to convince security that your boyfriend is just joking. Your boyfriend may have caused a hell of a scene, but oh boy didn't his reaction make you both viral on socials, starting a new era of memes, 'Wooyoung's reaction to his olympic athlete partner winning gold medal'. How can you be mad at his support?

JONGHO

You touch the vault and push your entire bodyweight up, flipping in the air as if you're just a cloud, so elegant even in the high intensity gymnastics. And when you nail the landing, perfectly balancing yourself after all those flips, Jongho is the first to clap for you and cheer so proudly, making sure to let the random grandpa know that you are his wife, even when you're not. Cause that was the moment he realised how you must feel everytime he goes on stage. Scared, anxious, excited and praying to higher forces with your fingers crossed for him. And he knows this is not the type of pressure many people would endure for their other half. But you both love the adrenaline that comes with it. And you love each other. And he makes sure you know that by preparing you the most amazing congratulating dinner you've ever had. "You made it,little bear".

[thatztyv]

Pretty Girl

Description:

- I don’t know🤷🏾‍♀️.. Urban hopped on Ki’Asia’s IG Live

Word Count:

- 877

Ki'Asia Moore

(kie- a-she-uh  more)

kiasia

Liked by urbanwyatt and 36,729 others

kiasia friend? bitch I said you bad

View all 750 comments

sarah56 Druski said it best

simp4brent be my girlfriend😩

urbanwyatt 😍😍 ♡

bankroll3k so pretty🥹

kelseiqueen 😩😍 ♡

.☆.

"Wassup y'all", I said as I set my phone up on my vanity.

tinytee hey Asia🙂

simp4brent Hey Asia boo

yolodolo yuurrr

"How was y'all day?", I asked as I combed through my hair.

freek3 Good

2litlaii Amazing, what about you?

kiyaforpres It was ok

greatdain Great

"Lai why was your day so amazing?", I chuckled as I stopped to read the comments.

"Kiya, I hope you have a better day tomorrow. Keep your head up boo, I love you", I said before combing my hair again.

2litlaii Cause I got to see my man 🤭

kiyaforpres thank you 😊

youngin23 you're so sweet 🥹

"Girl you and this man of yours", I said playfully rolling my eyes. "I'm a lover girl with no lover.. I hope y'all happy though."

delulu4you Girl same

seedy.me Man what

danitrips Everyday all you hear from me is "lord...it's me again"

"Dani that be me twenty four seven", I chuckled. "Anyways y'all like my hair. I did it myself."

bigbossvette It's cute😍

wantedho Come do mine 🧍🏾‍♀️

hypemantee4 Ok volume come through

herbsnish You would look so good in a blonde wig

"I'm scared to try blonde cause what if I look crazy", I said as I looked in the mirror and started to put my hair in two braids.

bigbossvette If you try blonde I'll do it with you

yougin23 We need a wig install tutorial cause it's giving scalp 😛

urbanwyatt your voice is perfect ⭐️

"Bet cousin I'll order em tomorrow... that's actually my next video, then imma stop posting for another six months", I chuckled as I started on the last braid.

I scanned over the comments before smiling.

urbanwyatt can I take you on a date?

"Depends on where you taking me sir", I said as I tied a scarf on my head.

simp4you I knew I wasn't tripping what Urban doing over here

danitrips Not Urban asking somebody on a date

sammydee URBAN ?!?

"On a side note, what y'all had or having for dinner? ", I said as I put my bonnet on.

danitrips Tea cause what you and Urban got going that you ain't telling us bout ☕️🫖

sammydee Tacos

wally.t Shrimp scampi 🍤

urbanwyatt is requesting to join live.

Accept or Decline

"Dani we ain't got nothing going", I said as I pressed accept to Urban's request.

"Hey pretty girl", Urban said once it connected. "Wassup live."

"Hi Urban", I said and smiled a little.

kentuckyboys URBAN JOINED THE LIVE, two of my worlds are colliding 😱

youngin23 Yuurrrr

2litlaii I know this finna be good.. just might chromecast my phone to the tv

bigbossvette 👀

"I'm nosey, where you at?", I asked as I arched a brow at him.

"On the tour bus", he said as he propped his phone up.

"Mm", I hummed as I leaned closer to my phone. "What town you in?"

"Frankfort."

"Oh you in my city. I would've had you pull up if I would have known earlier."

"I still can, it's never too late", he said before rubbing his beard.

"I'm ready for bed now. It's definitely too late boo."

simp4you 👀

kelseiqueen I'm just enjoying the show rn 🍿

"You know you got some sexy lips."

He smirked before licking his lips.

kentuckyboys Don't steal my man 😖

harlowslut Urban where is Jackman

2sexy.dee them lips real sexy 😩

"You know I could- nevermind", he started but cut himself off.

"No say what you were about to say", I said with a slight smile.

"It's too many people watching. I can't say all that", he chuckled.

"I understand."

simp4brent Fuck all that, say it Urban 😖

sarah56 nooo we wanna know

lostinthewind Don't leave us hanging like that

We got quiet, just looking at each other.

2litlaii Not y'all eye fucking in front of us

bigbossvette I feel like I'm interrupting 😭

kelseiqueen On this day, Ki'Asia and Urban fell in love 😩

"Anyways where you taking me to eat at?"

"McDonalds", he said nonchalantly.

"Blocked", I said reaching for my phone.

"I'm playing, I'm playing", he said laughing as he grabbed his phone.

bigbossvette 🤣🤣

simp4you McDonald's is OUTRAGEOUS 😭

freek3 ngl I would've kicked him off and blocked him so fast 😭😭😭

2litlaii Screaming 🤣

"Urban, you gone fool around and get blocked", I said as I picked my phone up.

"Ki'Asia you would never block me."

"Yes I would. You wanna see?"

"Don't block me", he chuckled. "I'll take you anywhere you wanna go."

wantedho ooh- girl I'd be cutting up, you heard how he just said your name effortlessly 😩

herbsnish don't play with her Urban

lanixworld Y'all!! What if they been going together this whole time and we just clueless 😱

"Nah Lani this is me and Urban first ever interaction outside of liking each others post", I chuckled. "No secret relationship."

"It could be though."

"Mmm."

freek3 So back to what I saying...This could be us but you playing !😩

kelseiqueen 👀

"Y'all I'm finna end this. I want to have a private conversation with Mr Urban", I said with a slight smirk.

"Private conversation? Mmm this might be interesting", he hummed.

herbsnish Urban don't fumble the bag bro 😐

jackharlow 👀

bigbossvette You better text me Asia I wanna know what y'all talk about

kelseiqueen You better update us bookie

kentuckyboys where tf Jack come from

"Bye y'all", I said before ending the live.

[meiinumaki]

Tokyo Revengers

reactions to a famous kpop idol crushing on their girlfriend

mikey, chifuyu, rindou, sanzu x gnkpopidol! reader

Manjiro “Mikey” Sano

“MIKEY!! I have a new interview out! we should watch it together” Mikey looked up smiling, “i already have it pulled up on the tv” You settled down next to him excited to see his reaction to your interview. “Hey Y/N?” he questioned, “who’s that guy staring at you?” confused you looked at the screen noticing your friend was staring at you with a loving look in his eyes. “oh, that’s my friend Niki, he’s in enhypen.” Mikey glared at the screen, “friend or not, I don’t like how he’s looking at you.” He pouted. You rolled your eyes smiling, “Mikey don’t worry about him he’s way younger than me and I only love you.” Mikey hugged you close to him smiling triumphantly. He definitely enjoyed the interview a lot more once Niki left the screen. 

Chifuyu Matsuno 

“Fuyu!” He looked up alarmed at your scream. You came bounding into the room obviously excited about something. “I have a special stage that was just posted! It’s a duo performance with my friend! I really want you to watch it!” Chifuyu smiled tugging you close to him while finding the video you were talking about. The music started and the cameras pointed to you and your partner dancing to the song Sugar Rush Ride by TXT. Chifuyu was mesmerized by your movements and the fluidity of your dance but there was something irking him in the back of his head. Why is your partner looking at you like that? Chifuyu was quiet for a moment which concerned you, “Fuyu? Is everything okay? Do you not like it..?” He looked up quickly shaking his head and pulling you close, “You are so perfect and talented I love you so much ok?” You smiled at him and pulled him closer, “I love you too Fuyu!” Hearing that come out of your mouth left Chifuyu ultimately relieved and calm, he realized that you only loved him and that other guy isn’t worth thinking about, for now at least. 

Rindou Haitani 

Rindou looked up to see you running towards him, he quickly dropped everything he was holding when he felt you collide into his chest. “Tch, what do you want brat?” You looked up at him smiling causing him to look away with a slight pink tint on his cheeks. “My manager said I can bring you to work today! Do you want to come? I know you’ve been dying to meet everyone!” Rindou turned back to you and growled, “I am NOT dying to meet anyone. Can’t you just stay home today? We can watch movies and stuff” You gave him puppy dog eyes and whined out, “Pleaseee Rin I want to introduce you to my coworkers plus I can’t just not go to work today.” He sighed and agreed only for you to pull him out the door immediately without a second thought. Once you both arrived to the HYBE building you saw another group of people walking in as well. “Y/N!” You turned to see the face of your best friend Kai, you ran up to him to give him a hug. “Oh my gosh Kai how was the world tour? Were the fans really energetic? I bet that would’ve been fun to go!” He laughed and replied, “We had so much fun and Yeonjun and Soobin definitely had a good time you probably saw the tiktok videos” You smiled and nodded. Rindou watched as you conversed with this tall and good looking man, well not in Rindou’s eyes, he glared at the both of you and walked up snatching you away from your friend’s grip. “Well we better head out now so goodbye Kai” You frowned and waved bye. “Rin? Are you okay?” He nodded and shoved his hand that was pulling you away back into his pocket. He quietly walked a couple of steps forward before realizing you were not behind him. He turned around to see you stare at him in confusion, “Just don’t worry about it” He had his pride and will not be admitting that he was jealous, you nodded slowly and walked next to him again only for him to grab your hand and pull you closer to him while watching other idols pass by the both of you.

Haruchiyo Akashi ( Sanzu ) 

“Hey pretty” You turned to see your pink haired boyfriend and smiled, “Hey Haru!” He opened his phone to show you something trending on Twitter. “Want to explain this?” You look closer to see a picture of you and NCT’s Renjun walking together looking oddly like a couple, “Haru.. You do know that Renjun and I have a performance together so we have been practicing and have similar schedules, right?” You frowned looking up at your boyfriend who was seething at the photo. “Well guess what this little fucker said on V-live” You raised your eyebrow, “He said he was interested in working with you again and he enjoyed your company” You quietly laughed and took Sanzu’s phone away from him, “Haru, I don’t give a fuck about what Renjun said about me because at the end of the day I am here with you and I’d much rather stay here with you” You hugged Sanzu and pulled him close to you, he rested his head on the top of yours and laughed, “Obviously, I am much better looking anyway, look at this shit” He pointed at his face, “Beautiful” You laughed and kissed his scars, “Beautiful” You repeated quietly and stared at him only for him to turn away suddenly with a shy look. 

A/N: Please send in requests I would love to start writing more again! 

[punchdrunkdoc]

Part 4, Chapter 1

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness? Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 4 parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

I hope you don't mind the delay in me posting - especially after THAT cliffhanger. I wanted to give myself a buffer before posting. I've now got 6 chapters of part 4 written so I thought it was time to share some of it. Enjoy!

————–

PART 4

Chapter 1

Sound came back first.

Muffled. Distorted. As if he was deep underwater…

Then everything rushed in at once.

Sensation, scent, taste…everything coalesced, until he felt solid again, and the world around him took shape once more.

But it was an entirely different world to just a moment ago.

The air was colder, with a bite of frost in the wind. The spring perfume of flowers and pollen and freshly cut grass was now a thick miasma of neglect and decay. The storefront to his left seemed to shift and distort, slats of wood creeping up the window pane until it was nothing but an empty, abandoned husk, so different from the bustling bodega of five seconds ago. 

And as this new reality crystallised around Matt, so did the chaos.

Screams. Shrieks. Yelling. Cars crashing. Hundreds of heartbeats suddenly invading his senses. People appearing as if from thin air, and staggering around in confusion. Matt narrowly avoided colliding with a man to his right. A man who wasn’t there a second ago.

The man grabbed on to Matt’s arm, as if clutching at a lifeline. “What the fuck, man? What just happened?”

“I- I don’t know,” Matt replied, feeling just as lost as the other man sounded.

“Where’s my wife? I was just here with her? Where is she? Why is everything different? What the fuck is happening?” The man stumbled away, calling for his wife.

Calina.

The thought of her banished the last lingering threads of disorientation. Matt grabbed his phone and speed-dilated her number. He started jogging towards their apartment building as he waited for the call to go through.

But all he got was an audio alert instead, informing him that he had no network connection.

He shoved the device in his pocket and started running. For the second time in 24 hours, he started running towards the woman he loved, heart in his throat, fearing for her safety. Yesterday’s concern had been for nothing. A false alarm.

He had a horrible, sinking feeling that today would be different.

That feeling grew stronger as he reached his building and entered the lobby. The familiar blend of scents and sounds which normally occupied this space was gone. Gone was the smell of Mrs Schneider’s baking. Gone was the smell of talcum powder and milk from the baby in 2F. Gone was the aftershave of the mail carrier - a musky, woodsy scent that usually lingered long after the mail was delivered. The blaring TV in 3C was silent. The scratch of the author in 4D’s pen against paper was replaced by the dissonant sounds of rock metal blasting from a tinny speaker. The stomp of heavy boots could be heard in the apartment below that one, where this morning a frail, elderly man had lived alone.

Everything had changed. 

Everything in the fucking city was different, and he didn’t know why.

But the why could wait. He needed to get to Calina first.

He ran through the lobby and up the stairs, avoiding the rusted, disused elevator which had shuttled him to the ground floor only a few hours ago with no problem. He flew up the stairs, past the piles of trash discarded on the landings, and the cigarette butts littering the steps. He barged through the door to his floor and ran down the corridor, already calling out her name. “Calina!”

He reached her door and started hammering his fist against the wood. “Calina! Callie, sweetheart, open up!”

A man’s voice answered instead. “You have the wrong apartment, shithead!”

Matt staggered back as the door opened. A large man filled the door frame. “Will ya quit with all the fucking banging? My wife’s trying to slee-" The man paused, his temper retreating in an instant. When he spoke again it was in a much gentler voice - either he realised Matt was blind, or he could tell how utterly confused he was. “There’s no one here called Calina. You have the wrong address, man, sorry.”

“No- I- I don’t understand,” Matt stammered, shaking his head.

Just then a figure appeared behind the man in the doorway, walking with the distinctive waddle of someone heavily pregnant. She put her hand on the man’s arm and said in a choked voice. “Wait, Darren. It - it’s all over the news. They’re back. They’re all back!” She let out a sob, covering her mouth with her hand.

“What are you talking about,” Darren replied. He turned his back on Matt and fussed over his now crying wife. “Jenny, what’s going on?”

She ignored her husband, and addressed Matt. “You came back, didn't you? Just now?”

Matt shook his head. “No. I- I didn’t go anywhere.”

She pulled Matt into the apartment and in front of the television set. She pressed a button on the remote and it sprang to life in the middle of a breaking news alert.

“-as suddenly as it happened five years ago, all those who disappeared are now returning. We don’t know why, or why its happening now, but if you’ve been praying like I have for all of that time, your prayers have been answered - they have returned.” The news anchor’s voice was thick with emotion, her professional composure straining under the weight of what she was reporting. She took a deep breath, then launched into a more calm and collected statement. “We are getting reports that the unexpected re-appearances are causing some accidents across the city, so we’re advising viewers to stay in doors if possible, while first responders deal with-”

Matt turned away from the broadcast and scrubbed his hands over his face, two words echoing in his mind:

Five years.

Five. YEARS.

“Has it - has it really been that long?” he asked the couple. The couple now apparently living in Calina’s apartment. “What year is it?”

“It’s 2023,” Jenny replied gently, as if breaking bad news.

Which she absolutely was.

“Half the world - half the universe - disappeared in an instant when Thanos snapped his fingers,” she explained.

“Who the hell is Thanos?”

She sucked in a breath. “Wow. Okay, that’s a long story. Why don’t you sit down,” she offered. “I’ll make you some tea-”

“I think he needs something a little fucking stronger than tea, Jen,” her husband interjected. “How about a shot of whiskey, dude?”

Matt shook his head. “No. I need to find my- my girlfriend.”

“Calina?” Jenny guessed.

“Yes, she used to live here. I live - I lived - across the hall, and she was in this apartment. Do you know what happened to the previous tenant?”

“We only moved in last November - and the tenant before us was a young man. I’m afraid I don’t know your Calina.”

“But the place opposite is empty,” Darren added. “Has been for the full five years, according to Nick downstairs. Sometimes a-”

Matt didn’t wait to hear the rest of the sentence. He bolted through the apartment and across the hall to his own door. He fumbled in his pocket for his key, slid it into the lock and turned the handle, praying that somehow she’d be there, safe and whole and as desperate to see him as he was to see her-

But the wave of stale air that hit him told him straight away that Darren was right. No one was here. And no one had been here for a very long time.

He closed the door behind him and sank back against the wood, waiting for his heartbeat to return to normal. There was no point in checking the rest of the apartment. He could sense that it was cold and empty. Nothing but dust motes in the air. No scent of Calina. Not even a trace of himself.

Just a space that had been abandoned long ago.

So where was Calina?

She hadn’t disappeared while in her own apartment, otherwise she would have reappeared there, just like he’d reappeared on the street. She wasn’t here either…

So where else would she have gone this morning after he left her?

Matt checked his phone again, but it was still searching for a network. He threw it aside, ignoring the clatter as it smashed against the floor, and yanked open the front door again. He strode down the corridor, mentally composing a list of places she might have visited.

The coffee shop around the corner.

His office.

The library.

The dance studio.

He’d go to each one. If she’d reappeared in any of those spots, he’d find her scent and track her. Or maybe he’d run into her on the street as she made her way back here, battling through the throng of all the other returned souls.

He ignored the small voice inside him that whispered of a more dreaded possibility - that maybe she’d never disappeared in the first place. That maybe she’d stayed. Without him, all this time.

No. Matt refused to countenance it. He couldn’t bear to even think about it.

He would find her.

She was somewhere in the neighbourhood, and he would find her.

———

The world outside wreaked havoc on Matt’s senses.

Cries of anger and confusion rang in his ears, echoing the tumult of his own emotions. Shrieks of joy - at loved ones reunited - battled the darker sounds of despair. Car alarms blared from wreckages, the drivers having swerved around people who suddenly appeared right in front of them. Police sirens wailed. People lay injured on the sidewalks, their blood a coppery tang on the air. Adrenaline saturated every molecule around him.

Matt tried to block it out as best he could, but he was feeling just as shaken as the rest of New York - and the rest of the world, apparently. Every single person on earth, at the exact same moment in time, had just experienced the same seismic shift in reality. For the returned, and for those left behind, everything had changed in a matter of minutes. It felt like the very air was vibrating with the effects of that collective shock.

All Matt wanted to do was find Calina and take her in his arms. He felt like if he could just hold on to her, the world would stop spinning around him. If he could just breath her in - and replace all the pain and blood and fear with her beautiful scent - it would calm his soul.

He tried to focus on that goal, but there were too many people in need of his help. And he couldn’t be selfish, especially now. All he’d ever wanted was to help the people of his neighbourhood - and they needed help now more than ever.

So on the way to his first destination, he staunched the bleeding from a gashed leg, waiting with the shaken woman as the EMTs arrived. He battered down a boarded up doorway to free the old man trapped inside. He followed the sound of weeping to a small child huddling in an alleyway. He lifted the trembling little boy in his arms and carried him to the nearest police officer.

“Thanks,” the officer said, patting the child on his back. “There’s a holding area a block over where all the kids are waiting for their parents - I’ll take him there and make sure he’s safe.”

“Is there anything else I can do around here to help?” Matt asked. “You look like you have your work cut out for you.”

“Nah, man, it’s actually calmed down a lot compared to an hour ago. And now we’re just seeing lots of happy reunions, so it’s actually a good day.” Matt could hear tears in the officer’s voice, the emotion hitting him hard. “Can you imagine what this little one’s parents are feeling, racing over here to get ‘im?”

“I imagine its a whole lot of relief and joy.”

“Yeah. We never thought it would happen - that people would come back. It’s…” The man tailed off, unable to finish the painful thought. “Anyway, you should go, man. Go find your loved ones.”

Matt nodded, and started heading in the direction of Calina’s favourite coffee shop, hoping his loved one was there.

She wasn’t.

But it seemed like half the population of Hell’s kitchen was.

The place was teeming, with people spilling out of the door and lining up around the block trying to get in. The reason became clear when a harried-sounding waitress borrowed a bullhorn from a nearby police van and stood on a table to address the crowd. “The wifi is down! I’m sorry to all of you who are waiting to try to use it, but the internet servers have crashed due to the sudden surge of traffic. You can come in if you’re buying coffee, but if you’re trying to get on the net, its offline!”

Complaints and frustrated cries rose from the crowd. The teenage girl beside him started to sob. “But I need to email my mom or something! My phone’s not working and I don’t know her number.”

Matt tried to reassure her. “I’m sure your mom’s on her way here. The police have set up a holding area on the corner of 95th and 45th. If you go there, I’m sure she’ll be able to find you.”

“Really?” she sniffled. “Okay. I’ll try that. Thanks.”

The girl took off running, and Matt moved on to his next option for finding Calina - the dance studio.  But it was deserted, the door sealed off with thick slabs of wood. So many businesses along the route were in a similar state of abandonment, the once thriving, bustling neighbourhood having fallen into a state of neglect.

As he walked to the library, the wide cracks in the pavement swallowed the tip of his cane, and the stench of garbage left lying on the street overwhelmed his nose. Rats scurried behind bushes and hundreds of pieces of paper fluttered in the wind. They were stuck to trees and pasted to shop windows, curled and dried scraps that rustled in concert with the dying fall leaves.

It was eerie. As if he was wandering through a decaying world.

Signs of life returned as he neared the library. Similar to the coffee shop, it was full of frustrated people trying to contact their loved ones through an internet that had failed. Matt forced his way through the crowd and into the main room…but there was no evidence of Calina. Matt tried to stay optimistic, but his hopes of finding her were dwindling. And he only had one place left to try: his law firm.

Which, as it turned out, was no longer his law firm.

Matt’s first clue that something had drastically changed was the odour in the stairwell. Gone was the faint scent of printer fluid, and the musty smell of the textbooks which lined the walls of Foggy’s office. Gone was the ever-present aroma of stale, bitter coffee. All the familiar smells were replaced by the strong stench of acetone. Matt’s nostrils twitched with the acrid smell as he reached the outer door. He brushed his hand over the wall to the right, where the embossed sign ‘Nelson, Murdock and Page’ should have been found. A noticeboard resided there instead, layered with old, curled up pieces of paper which crinkled beneath his fingers.

Matt pushed open the door, already knowing his trip here was futile - there was no scent of Calina anywhere.

“We’re closing!,” a voice called out. “In case you haven’t noticed, the world’s gone crazy - again! Your manicure, or facial, or whatever, will have to wait.”

That explained the acetone smell, Matt thought. His office - the home of the law firm he’d set up with his closest friends, the place where he’d been given a second chance to work with them - was now a beauty salon.

“No, I was looking for someone,” Matt said, stepping into the shop.

“You mean the guy who poofed into here and gave us all a heart attack?”

“Wait, Foggy was here?” Matt had been concentrating so much on finding a trace of Calina, he’d overlooked the scent of his friend. Which - now that he was paying attention - was lurking beneath the chemical smell of the salon. It was fresh - barely a couple of hours old - which placed Foggy here at the time of everyone’s ‘return’.

Foggy had disappeared, just like him.

Matt exhaled, relieved to know the fate of at least one person in his life. “Was there a woman here too? A tall blonde?” he asked, wondering about Karen. She used to change her perfume daily, so it was always more difficult to pick her out of a crowd.

“No. Your friend asked that too. But we haven’t seen her in years. She used to come and collect the mail when we first took over the lease, but then she stopped. Moved out of the city, I think.”

Karen had stayed?

Shit. He and Foggy had disappeared, and she’d been left behind?

God, what had the last five years been like for her?

Matt thanked the woman and left, his head spinning. He trudged down the stairs and out onto the street again. The chaos from earlier had subsided, just as the police officer said. The confusion and mayhem had given way to some semblance of order, and the noise had quieted.

Which wasn’t exactly a good thing, from Matt’s perspective. That noise had helped to drown out his thoughts. His trek through the city - helping people and searching for Calina - had given him a goal to focus on, with no time or energy left to spiral into worst case scenarios.

But now…that was all he could think about.

What if she’d stayed, just like Karen? What if Calina had been here the whole five years? Without him.

Matt rubbed a hand over his chest as he walked, the pain of that thought causing his heart to pound and a nauseating oily pit of dread to open up in his gut.

No. God wouldn’t be that cruel, would he?

No. She was probably back in his apartment right now, waiting for him. She could have gone to that bagel shop she liked and disappeared from there. Or to the Widows’ house. There were a million places in the city that he hadn’t checked. The sensible plan was to go back to his place and wait for her there.

Matt stuffed down the feeling of dread, and focussed on his new goal. Until he had proof that she’d stayed, he would keep searching.

Keep hoping.

He headed back to his apartment, this time avoiding the more run-down, paper-strewn areas, sticking to the busier streets. He concentrated on the sounds of news alerts and police announcements and the thud of his feet hitting the pavement, one after the other. He concentrated on everything but the doubts and fears trying to weasel their way into his head.

His new route took him down a familiar street, one he’d walked just this morning - back in 2018. He felt a pang of guilt as he found himself standing in front of Clinton’s church yet again.

Maggie.

His thoughts this morning had been of Calina, and Foggy and Karen. He hadn’t spared much concern for his mother, which made him feel like a terrible son.

But they didn’t exactly have that kind of relationship.

Still, he wanted to check on her, now that he was here. He made his way down the gardenia-lined pathway to the rectory at the back of the building and knocked on the door. He waited a few minutes, but there was no answer. He walked around to the church entrance and slipped inside. A woman was sat on a pew at the front, being consoled by the priest. Maggie was nowhere to be found, but her scent was overwhelmingly rich, layers of it hanging in the air - proof that she’d been here these last five years. Proof that she’d been here less than an hour ago.

The elderly priest looked up at the sound of Matt’s cane tapping the tiled floor. “Do you need help, my child?”

“No, Father. I was just looking for Maggie.”

“She left to be with the children - the one’s who’ve returned. The police came asking for volunteers and she ran right out to help.”

Matt nodded. That sounded like Maggie. “Can you let her know that her so- that, um, Matthew came by? And that I’m okay?”

“Yes. I will. I’m sure she’ll be very relieved.”

“I hope so. Thank you, Father.”

Matt left the church and continued his trek back to his apartment, grateful that Maggie was alive and well. As he turned down his street, he picked up his pace, the hope that Calina might be waiting for him overtaking the negative thoughts that were still trying to intrude. He jogged up the steps and into the lobby, then sprinted up the stairs once he was out of sight. He crashed through the door to his landing, and reeled to a stop, his heart pounding in surprise.

Because someone was there waiting for him.

————–

Chapter 2

Tag list: @hollandorks @stilldreaming666 @sio-ina-bottle @tearoseart-blog @acharliecoxedfan @freckledbabyyy @chezagnes

If you’d like to be added - let me know!

[mariacallous]

“Barbenheimer”—the collective celebration around the release of the Barbie and Oppenheimer movies—has collided with the wedding industrial complex. That’s not a joke. According to a Variety story this week, people are planning on taking their friends and family, prenuptials, to see the two films as a double feature. People who aren’t getting married are planning similar movie-watching marathons. It’s the kind of viral cultural moment marketing teams dream of. It also feels like a sign of the end times.

This sense of dread doesn’t stem from the public’s collective yearning to absorb stories about a Mattel doll and the development of atomic weapons at the same time. It’s because this weekend promises the kind of “let’s all go to the movies!” hype (and box office haul) that cinemas haven’t seen since before the Covid-19 pandemic shut theaters down—and it’s happening as Hollywood is going on strike.

This week, WIRED rolled out a series of stories detailing what we believe the future of entertainment might entail. The purpose was to look at how all aspects of culture, from books to video games to YouTube, could be impacted by advancements in technology. As we worked on it, though, something happened: Contract talks between Hollywood studios and the writers and actors unions began to break down. One of the major sticking points in those negotiations was the use of artificial intelligence in movie- and TV-making. Suddenly, as Madeline Ashby wrote in her essay this week, the world was in the midst of Hot Strike Summer.

Then, Hot Strike Summer slammed into the Barbenheimer moment. Once the Screen Actors Guild—American Federation of Television and Radio Artists, or SAG-AFTRA, called for a walkout, stars could no longer smile on red carpets without looking like scabs. The stars of Oppenheimer walked out of the film’s London premiere when the strike began. The cast and filmmakers behind Barbie, which premiered before SAG called for a strike, voiced their support. Soon, “This Barbie Is Now on Strike” became the headline, transforming one of the world’s most well-known figurines into Norma Rae. The marquee at my local theater in Brooklyn listed both movies alongside the phrase “Atomic Kenergy,” while The New York Times asked, “Can I Watch ‘Barbenheimer’ Despite the Hollywood Strikes?” (Short answer: Yes.)

To that end, the strikes will not affect Oppenheimer or Barbie’s opening weekend box office numbers. Earlier this week, AMC Entertainment reported that some 40,000 people had bought tickets for both films, and together they’re estimated to make around $150-200 million domestically, with Greta Gerwig’s send-up of the Mattel doll bringing in a bigger chunk than Christopher Nolan’s historical drama about the man behind the atomic bomb.  

But what matters is what happens after this weekend. By all accounts, Hot Strike Summer seems poised to last beyond one season. Even before SAG went on strike, studio sources were telling reporters that the plan was to let the strike “drag on until union members start losing their apartments and losing their houses.” In response to that, actor Ron Perlman took to social media to say “listen to me, motherfucker—there’s a lot of ways to lose your house.” He later walked that back, but when Hellboy enters the chat, you know it’s not going to end gently.

The longer writers and actors are on strike, the bigger the hole next summer or the summer after that, when the movies that would be filming right now aren’t ready. (Deadpool 3 and the sequel to Mission: Impossible—Dead Reckoning Part One, for example, are both currently on hold.) Cinemas have been bouncing back in the years since Covid restrictions were lifted and people began feeling comfortable in movie houses again. A lackluster year brought on by a dearth of films could prove detrimental.

Yesterday, Comic-Con International began in San Diego. Typically, or at least before the pandemic, the event has been full of panels with flashy stars promoting their next big movie or TV series. As long as SAG is on strike, those celebs won’t show. Some attendees will likely welcome the event’s return to its comics roots, rather than the Hollywood hype-fest it has become. But no matter what happens, it will be unlike any Comic-Con in recent memory. Maybe a little less plastic, but not fantastic.

[girl4music]

Just finished watching episode 1 of Season 2, Act 1 of ‘Arcane: League Of Legends’ and we are off to one hell of a start. Jinx made her choice and in sending that Hextech bomb straight into Piltover’s parliament she’s effectively killed three councillors - one of which being Caitlyn’s mother - which has put a significant strain on CaitVi’s romantic relationship even though Vi does agree Jinx needs to answer for her war crimes and may even believe she needs to be put down. But when it comes to that critical moment will she even have the strength to do it or be able to let Caitlyn do it? In Caitlyn pulling that badge out on Vi and asking her to stand by her side along with all the rest of the enforcers, she’s really asking her to forgive and forget about her past - but forgiveness needs to be earned from her side too. So even if Vi has donned the uniform after a terror attack at the fallen councillors’ memorial in their honour (led by Ambessa to fuel the fire in forcing them to use Hextech to fight back - what the hell does she even get out of this?) it means having to put aside her own feelings on the mistreatment of the Undercity of which she was - and still is in all respects - apart of. That’s not going to be easy but she’s concerning herself with what she has to do for the time being. Which is protect her loved ones. Nothing’s changed there. That’s who she is. It’s just the shoes on the other foot for who those loved ones are now because of all the violence and betrayal.

Topside or Undercity - it doesn’t really matter. Their worlds have collided because of Vi’s love for Caitlyn. She’s in it now. She can’t back down or she loses her too and after all the loss she’s already suffered, adding Caitlyn to the list of loss would absolutely destroy her.

Exceptional storytelling telling yet again from Riot Games. High stakes and jeopardy, authentic drama, and a real reason for contention between the couple. And we haven’t even seen Jinx yet to know where her mind is at on all of this because she can’t be doing so well. To think Riot Games has achieved such emotional and complex storytelling that they’ve actually made me sympathetic of a cold-blooded murderer. That I am able to care about how she’s feeling right now is remarkable. But that’s what writing moral ambiguity into the story and building on grey characterization achieves when it’s done really well. Getting the audience to care about and understand ALL the characters even when they do not agree with them or condone their actions because in real life, there is no true heroes VS villains. Great stuff!

This is only episode 1 of a new season but once again Riot Games and their partner studio Fortiche have proven that they know what they’re doing and hopefully can continue that streak on until the very end because they’re really putting every other TV show showmaking production team as of right now to shame with ‘Arcane’ and Netflix won’t only be criminal for letting them go but would also be downright fucking stupid if they do. However, I am aware that it was only ever meant to be two seasons and nothing more than that. But surely Netflix will be able to see the potential for a Season 3.

Quite a funny scene amidst all the drama and intensity:

VI: “How did you know my name?”

MADDIE: “It’s on your face.”

Honestly, I didn’t even think about that. I just thought the tattoo was Roman numerals for the number six.

I laughed. I love to see some comedy in drama when written in well. I’m used to that with watching Xena.

[autisticbokutoenthusiast]

ep 7 stray thoughts:

- thing i’ve noticed is that the opening sequences always give me chills

- ok so zoueyteena was mutualism, nuthphop was protocooperation, captainkeen is commensalism, first/porsche/soong/jump with parasitism, aob and puen with competition, nant and prom? for predation… i’ll keep this in mind

- now why captain looking down the camera lens do NOT perceive me sir… “it’s like im sleeping in the mushroom breeding center” damn …. also first having no courtesy for other ppls space my baby boy

- nont lowkey wishing his brother chose literally any other roommates in the world lmao- oh there he goes setting things on fire again

- once again the 5 baddie bunch are all in the same area but porsche is specifically cut out of each frame… why is he always on the outside????

- hold on how old are they supposed to be??

- i’m excited to get into porsches story, all of his scenes have a sense of like danger to them…

- are there any meta posts floating around out there about the use of older tech, like the boxy tvs and the older video recorder??

- nuthphop continues to have the most breathtaking shots for me idk what it is about their moments but they make so much sense visually and audioly(?? is this the word??) idk what im saying at this point

- gonna try to pay closer attention to the music for zoueyteena scenes, they stick in my memory as bright/les complex not/barely digital instrumentations but that could just be my memory playing with me

- not captain selling out keen…also soemthing i noticed is that while captain and keen were talking earlier the music was bright and jumpy and when their teammate walks in it turns to like *ominous bass* and then eventually sad piano and the scene with keen walking in on captain and the others mirrors that (though the piano the first time is scared and sad and the second time more idk deep and thoughtful [this is how i’ve always had pieces described to me by instructors idk if the emotions match perfectly] so it can lead into zouey and teena’s scene)

- worlds collide…. also phop and nuth and their gender shirts good for them good for them. i know nuth looks like the most likely suspect but they really are so sweet

- i think the reason i like nuth and phop scenes the most is that they are easiest for me to understand, like the whole scene is sending me a clear message and no element is wasted kind of thing (not that the other scenes have unnecessary elements my brain is just better at understanding certain cues over others. just a preference thing)

- yasss dramatic cinematography moment (also i feel like it fits into the vintage tech category) keen blowing the whistle you will always be famous to me

- thinking about captain and keen and the “one person benefits the other gets nothing” bit from the beginning…

- nont: i don’t just want him arrested i want him dead

prom: girl ok…. sorry i asked...

- ok so there’s a boxy tv behind nont that’s just static and this isn’t the first i’ve seen one, what do they mean????

-A GUN?!?!?!

- “i will leave quietly like how i arrived” nont be fr…

- is it just me or does nont always leave his bangs down when he’s alone with prom

- ooo the parallel between soong and porsches lines (i’m assuming i was distracted by the dubbing of first and soongs convo)

- oh… puen and aob… oh… also aob kinda looking a bit wet and pathetic now…

- keen better than me if captain showed his face again it’d be on sight

- wait wasn’t captain not interested in playing whatever sport they’re playing before now… ya know what whatever makes him happy ig if his dream is to be an athlete than good for him

- they’re reprising the captain keen song from earlier- i assume this means that they’ve overcome this issue/ have gone back to like it was before [actually they were included in the revenge sequence but i will interpret this as keen already got his revenge now things can be sweet]

- first throwing the money at soong, ooo he really hurt that boy

- CAPTAIN I KNOW THAT IS NOT A VIDEO RECORDER CAPTAIN PUT DOWN THE CAMERA CAPTAAAAAIIIIN

- ok i caught: nant? holding a sign with his name is neon green lighting, nuth holding a camera in that same lighting, nuth recording nant standing over him in red lighting, swinging feet and a kicked over chair (im assuming it’s someone being hung) in orangey red lighting

- to be perfectly honest the only lighting that i remember that resembles this is in the playboy lounge and proms room (re lighting that is)

- hold on are they framing nuth in a cage?!?

- “ the picture of you i see and remember is better than who you are”… “you’re not perfect like a dream. and i like you anyway” i need a minute

- i think the thought that you will exist in someone’s eyes as better than you are is comforting actually…

- zoueyteena scenes continue to have top tier music let’s gooo

- nuths smiling face when he answers the door for phop im gonna go eat cement what the fuck why would they do that to me i’m genuinely gonna lose my mind oh my good?????

- NOOOOOOOOOO NOOOOOO NOOOO

- ok nonts hair is down again- does he let his hair down when he’s not performing as nant, like hear me out in all the nant flashbacks his hair is parted and when nont is with nants friends he adopts the same hairstyle so are the scenes where his hair is down he isn’t keeping up a performance or he can have his own preference ???

- WHATTTTTTTTT WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT DID HE KUST WHAT DID HE SHOOT MY BOY PHOP WHAT BITHC WHAT WHAT WHAT I- how could they do this to me?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?,!,!,

[backpack-banter]

Unrequited and Forbidden

CU: Merlin (TV Show)

Character: Guinevere

Prompt: This is the story of how I died. Don't worry though! I come back.

Word count: 1947

Warnings: N/A

This is the story of how I died. Don't worry though! I come back. Believe it or not, it all started in Camelot. 

It was six hour before the feast began, and three before the envoy would arrive. The castle of Camelot was buzzing with life and the streets were full of whispers.

"I heard that their princess 'as kicked 'bout e'ry servent she's 'ad," Milderd always had a wild imagination and a keen ear, I should have expected as much when I first arrived in the kitchens. "Really? I heard she's afraid of chickens!" Astrid barked heavily, chopping up onions as she spoke.

"Now, now ladies it's not nice to gossip," I lifted the basket of fresh market vegetables onto the bench. "When did you ge' so proper miss L/N?" Mildred hauled a bucket full of water onto the bench taking a turnip and dunking it in. "pro'lly when the Queen took 'er in," the two woman laughed haughtily working away with the vegetables.

I knew from many years of working in the kitchens that they meant well but it always hurt when Guinevere was mentioned. Gwen and I used to work together in the palace. She'd do the laundry - which I hated - and I'd do the dishes - which she hated - the perfect compromise. But then she caught the eye of King Arthur and my perfect world was ripped away from me and now I must do both on top of my ladies maid duties and whatever king Arthur wanted of me.  

Never once had Guinevere lightened my load since she had become Queen. For a Queen could never love a servant.

I stood on the outskirts of the beautiful hall. The Pendragon colors flew along side blue and black, the colors of their neighbors Agraton. I looked upon the princess who sat poised in her seat and realized her cup was empty. I silently glided over, "More wine, my Lady?" I questioned softly. "Please," She held her cup for me as I steadily poured the wine. "My what manners you have dear, what do people call you?" her voice is soft and kind not harsh nor firm nor demanding.

"I am Y/N my Lady, handmaiden to Queen Guinevere." I watched as her eyebrow twitched almost unnoticeably and she clicked her tongue. "Well if you weren't in such a position I'd have half a mind to hire you myself," she smiled widely digging her fork into the chicken on her plate. "And it would be an honour to receive such an offer," I bowed deeply and scurried back to the outskirts of the grand building to observe the feast goers once again.

She had been neither rude nor demanding like Mildred had told me nor Alektorophobic like Astrid had told me, in fact she was perfectly nice and calm upon meeting.

An hour in and all the royals were verging on drunk as their private conversations became easier to hear. As I looked around the room my eyes focused themselves on a boy, he looked to be about twelve with long hair and green eyes. The boy held a jug much like my own but he soon rested it on a decorative table. I saw him reach into his pocket pulling out a small bottle containing something unnatural. He took off the cork with his teeth but then his eyes glanced around the room and I was forced to look away.

When I looked back he was pocketing the empty vial and picking up the jug to swirl it. Next the serving boy moved over to the King and Queen and poured it into their outstretched cups and it suddenly hit me. This boy could be trying to poison them. Guinevere's cup made contact with the table as the boy slipped into the crowd but I had to sprint to swat the cup from the Kings hand before it could touch his lips.

He made an annoyed grunt looking down at the mess on the floor before looking at me, "What do you think you are doing?!" His voice was loud in the near silent hall. I opened my mouth to defend myself but didn't have the time. "What gives you the right to knock my drink from my hand!" his fist collides with the table and I bow in terror trying to get my words out, "I am so sorry my King bu-" I was cut off once again. "I have a right mind to throw you in the dungeons for this- this insubordination!" He himself was cut off by a polite cough and attention was turned to the princess of Agraton.

"King Arthur, perhaps you should give miss Y/N a chance to plead her case before you throw her in the dungeons," I was so surprised by  the princesses intermission that I didn't even realize when all eyes had turned back to me. "Well?" The king said I turned to him immediately for fear of getting into more trouble.

"I saw a boy put something, a vial, into the jug before pouring it for you and the Queen sire. I was only trying to stop it in case it was poison." I bowed to him again, my hands trembling and clammy. The king picked up his Queen's cup smelling it. "It doesn't smell like poison, very well then, if you saw the boy put something in the wine than you shall drink it and if it is not poisoned you shall be thrown in the stocks for a week for unnecessary action against your king. If it is you shall receive treatment from our court physician."

Looking around the room I took the cup. I gazed inside and took in a deep breath, my eyes landed upon Guinevere's and I couldn't see any worry in them almost like she believed nothing of what I had said. She used to hang on every word. And as I took a sip, that was all that ran through my brain.

This could possibly be the end of my life and the one I love most couldn't seem to care less.

---

I don't remember blacking out or anything after that. The first thing I do remember however, is when the King came to see me. I was awake, and according to Gaius I had been awake before but now I was conscious and able to speak properly. "Thankfully you were relatively healthy and you were able to fight off most of the poison with the help of an antidote." he told me to stray away from heavy lifting and he had told me I was going to live, now that made me think.

Guinevere stood by and watched as I drank poison for her. She did nothing but bat an eyelash, even after all our years of friendship she still chose the King over me.

Before I could get too far my thoughts were interrupted by a loud knock, "Come in," I called. My quarters weren't that big but they were livable and possibly not mine for much longer. I stood up and the King entered, I bowed, "There's no need for that, you saved the lives of me and my Queen last night, I came here to thank you," And he bowed to me, albeit briefly.

"If there is anything I can get for you to make your healing more comfortable don't be afraid to ask." I sighed, I suppose it should be now rather than never. "Is the princess of Agraton still in Camelot sire?" I watched as a confused expression washed over his face, "Yes, she is." I nodded, mostly to myself, "Would you mind showing me to her quarters? I would like to thank her."

"Very well then." I walked slowly and painfully along as the King lead me to the guest wing and two flights of stairs later I stood before a grand door. "Thank you, that is all," I said the King nodded before walking away. I stood at the door and knocked and about a minute went by and the door was flung open by the princess herself.

"Oh, miss Y/N! You're alive thank goodness!" The princess place her hands on my shoulders in what I deemed excitement based on the expression on her face, "But... What are you doing out of bed? You should be resting!" she actually seemed worried about me, a lowly servant. "I came to ask you, if perhaps, your offer was real? To work for you, that is." I straightened my posture to look more up for the task.

"Well, yes of course but, aren't you already working for the Queen?" I smiled sadly. "I have had my resignation letter written up for weeks, I've just not had a viable reason to hand it over." The princess nodded, I wasn't quite sure but it truly looked like she understood. "I know how you feel, I once fell for someone I couldn't have as well. It's alright once you hand in this letter I will make sure you live comfortably in Agraton." I soon bid goodbye for now to the kind princess and made my way back to the stairs.

They looked daunting in my pained state and I stood there contemplating giving up my dignity and just rolling down them when my saving grace assented the steps in the form of the Queen the very epicenter of my emotional cyclone.

"Y/N do you... Need help down the stairs?" Her tone was almost condescending and I wasn't quite sure if she meant it to be so. Either way it felt like an arrow to my already fragile heart. "Uh, Yes please, if it's not too inconvenient." the Queen scoffed, "No, not at all," her arm slipped under mine and for a moment, just a moment, I could imagine that we were strolling through a field together and then the moment was gone and we were at the bottom of the stairs.

"Your Majesty?" I asked, "You know you can call me Gwen when it's just the two of us... What is it?" she had countered my question. "I need to give you something," we walked the last of the way to my room once more and as we entered Guinevere recalled times I wish I could have forgotten. "Do you remember the day when, I had just started working for Morgana? I came to you for help because it was so much work and you said we should run away together. Then we paid a serving boy to do our chores the next day so we could plan?" she smiled to herself.

I looked away going over to the draw beside my bed as she rattled on about the carving she had made in my perfectly good table. I pulled out the letter and made a b-line for the Queen, "What is it that you needed to give me?" she asked as I held the letter before her.

"This is my letter of resignation. I was offered a job by the princess of Agraton at the feast last night and I have decided to take it." Guinevere took the letter. "We leave in two weeks because it is state law that any servant under the crown must give two weeks notice to their resignation." She looked between the letter and I for a while then decided to speak. "Very well."

This was the story of how I died, of how I left unrequited and forbidden love behind. I simply can not put into words, my desire to return. But, for her sake and mine I shall stay away for all of time.

Requests open as of 14/04/23

[heartidylla]

red (tv) — state of grace

javi gutierrez x reader

summary : you meet javi one day in the middle of a road crossing. you leave a strong impression on him, and once he finds you again he asks you a severe question that’ll change your life forever.

warnings : none, enjoy your fluff!

speaking color coding

“” — javi

“” — you

“” — other

tapping your foot rapidly against the pavement as you were in a hurry to get to a very important meeting. you were awaiting for the traffic light to turn so you'd be able to walk fast through them.

the streets were extremely busy as even busier lives were trying to stay on time and get to their destination just as much as you were.

you happily beamed as the light finally turned white and the image of a walking person appeared, allowing you to cross safely. as you were walking, your head was glued to your phone. you were texting at an astronomical pace, telling your coworker that you were just a few minutes out.

that was the soul reason why you didn't see the person walking in front of you until the both of you collided shoulders. you stumbled back a few steps due to the impact.

"ah, ma'am!" a new voice flowed beautifully into your ears, coming from directly in front of you. your eyes met his espresso ones, and they had the same effect on you as caffeine.

you oddly enough felt more energized the second you got the chance to analyze him more deeply. his beach wave hair that seemed to be incredibly well taken care of and it was wild and free, as if the products he used were expensive. "are you okay?" he asked you.

you shook your head to rid yourself from the daze he put you into and that's when your eyes fall onto his light brown stained shirt. "yes, of course. i'm sorry!" you apologized instantly for the stain from his drink, "i was too busy texting my coworker to see where i was going." you explained while guilty showing him the back of your phone.

"no, this is my fault." he smiled apologetically, "i should've been looking. don't blame yourself." he put his hand onto your shoulder as a way to comfort you. you didn’t notice but his body began to tense up due to his informal action, but was able to ease up because it had went unacknowledged by you.

"are you sure?" you raised a curious eyebrow at him. he nodded his head, reassuring you that this is his fault and you shouldn't feel guilty at all. "well, let me at least buy you a new shirt." you pull out a one hundred dollar bill, ignoring his protests. you lift his hand up to yours and put the money within his grasp and enclose it within his.

his eyes widened with shock at the electric touch that occurred the second your hand touched his, and the flush of warmth that flowed into his chest didn't go unnoticed by him either. "please, just take the money." you pleaded with him. when he didn't answer you, you interjected once again. "look, i'm terribly late for the meeting. go buy yourself a new shirt — yellow would look fantastic on you!" you say before letting go of his hand and quickly walking away to get back on your track.

he stood in the middle of the road and watched your fading figure with parted lips, completely appalled by how someone didn't know who he was and how generous you were to have given him one hundred dollars for a shirt that may only cost five at most.

in all honesty, the two of you are completely alone in this world. yes, you both have friends near you and hangout with people on the side. however, whenever you come back to your living quarters it's to a completely empty house.

neither of you really have a home, someplace to return and feel the relief that something — or someone gives off as soon as you step inside. 

your minds change every second as to where you want your life to lead you. you've been alone for so long that you've gotten use to this lifestyle, but would you want that forever?

this isn't some fairytale that spectacular story you'll meet the love of your life that you made up when you were five, this is real life.

if anything, if you started dating now you'd fall in love till it hurts or bleeds or fades in time. that's something you don't want, you want forever. a promise to be that enteral bliss, a place to come back to whenever you need support: a home.

a few hours after the meeting your high heels echoed in the hall as you walked into your works lobby. you noticed the familiar dark haired wavy locks that you'd seen before. "ms, this gentlemen has been waiting for you." the secretary stated as she motioned with her hand towards the young man you'd seen this morning.

he instantly stood up the second he realized you were within the room. "oh, hello!" his lips curved into an innocent, almost embarrassed smile.

"hi." you returned the favor and smiled back, waving your hand slightly as you walked over to him. "i see you picked out a shirt." you stated, looking down at his non-stained shirt. 

"yellow." he replied simply, "i bought a yellow shirt — like you suggested." you looked up once more to meet his gaze, and it was filled with a new emotion: admiration. that alone made you gulp nervously. he certainly did look good in yellow.

"well, i'm glad." you slightly nodded your head, "you look very handsome in yellow, as i predicted." you grin proudly as his tanned skin collides with the yellow button up perfectly.

"i think you'd look beautiful in any color." he mumbled out loud enough for you to hear it — loud enough for him to immediately become flustered over his own slurred words. your face turns a redder tint due to his words or admiration for you. "im so sorry if i made you uncomfortable." he raised his hands defensively, looking everywhere but you.

you begin to lightly chuckle, intertwining your fingers within his spread out ones. "it's okay." you tell him honestly. his tensed body slowly unwinds itself. "if anything, i liked it." you confess, giving his hand a tight squeeze with your fingers.

he takes a deep breath in and out, "i'm glad. i didn't want to push any boundaries you may have." he states, squeezing your hand as well.

"don't worry, you didn't." you reassure him once more, which seemed to be appreciated on his side due to the fact that he softly smiled at you. finally, you introduced yourself by telling him your name.

"i'm javi gutierrez." he tells you his own name.

"nice to meet you, javi." you release his hand from your grasp, and you were lead on to believe that he missed your warmth because his face fell ever so slightly the moment you let him go. "so, why are you here?" you ask him the burning question you had since you saw him sitting in one of the lobby chairs.

"ah!" he seems to have been nervous because he instantly started to rub the back of his neck sheepishly, "i wanted to ask you a question, and managed to see you walk into this building not to long after we collided shoulders." he explained himself, rotating from looking at you to the ground and to the secretary cheering him on from behind your back.

you tilt your head slightly to the side, "oh? what's your question?" you ponder.

"i — well..." he began to curl into his embarrassment, feeling immense pressure. he wasn't ever great with handling pressure or anything remotely discomforting. "would you give me the honor of taking you out on a date?" he managed to get it off his chest before his face became too humiliating for you. "i understand completely if you say no, i just couldn't let someone who was so kind to me slip away without taking a chance."

your heart skipped a beat at his question. javi was a very sweet guy, one of the kindest man you ever met. you never saw someone like him coming into your life, and you too, wouldn't let him slip past without taking a leap of faith. "yes, i'd love for you to take me out." you respond to him, beaming from ear to ear.

after that day, you'd never be the same. you use to be strong headed to everyone you meet, a wall surrounded you in order to keep your heart protected surrounded you.

you were constantly geared up for battle, ready to go to war with anybody who poses a threat to break you down. however, whenever javier was around you, everything would come crashing down.

he pierced the room like a cannon ball, and now everything the two of you knew was to never let go of one another. you held onto him tightly whenever you went, whether that was physically or emotionally.

the both of you were alone up in his room, laying down in his bed. you two were turned to one another, taking in each others features.

everything that happened in the past slipped from your minds and your slates were perfectly cleaned whenever the two of you were together.

his typical chocolate eyes turned a honey shade as the sunlight from the curtains slipped into them. he was resting his head on his knuckles while staring directly at you. his sunkissed freckled chest exposed while the rest of him was underneath his covers.

his fingers pushed back some hair that was seeping it's way into your face, causing you to flush with pink as his touch traced your jawline. he acted as if you were a beautiful sculpture while he was sculpting out every single detail of you and trying to memorize it all like you would disappear from him one day.

"so what if you were never a saint!" you shouted at the top of your lungs as you trailed around the room in circles. an argument — your first argument had started with javi telling you about his past and how he's feeling guilty for not able to love you properly due to your safety being at risk.

he made it clear that he wanted you to leave him and find someone better for you, someone who could give you the world and more than what he ever could.

he sat on the end of the bed, looking down at the floor helplessly as you continued to walk in circles angrily. "i loved in shades of wrong." you directed the attention onto yourself.

you weren't the best person either. you had flaws just as much as javi did. however, you both need to learn how to live with the pain together as mosaic-broken hearts.

you walk to where he sits, calming yourself down with each step until you reach him. "javi..." you call out.

"yes, my love?" he replies, still looking down at the floor. he believes he is undeserving to look at you.

"this love we share together," you begin, putting your hands on both sides of his head in order to gently push his head to look up at you. "it's brave and wild." you softly speak to him, "i never saw you coming into my life, and i'll never be the same if you dare to walk out of it." you continue, his eyes begin to shake as tears fill them.

he's scared — scared that one day he'll wake up and you're not there anymore because of his fathers horrid business. you're his state of grace. he needs you, desires to be by you at all times. you're his breath of fresh air. what the hell would he do if you're not here anymore — and more so because of him.

your voice is the only one that's able to bring him out of the terrors that are filling within his mind, "this is a worthwhile fight." you reassure him once more, smiling gently as he looked into your passionate and determined ones.

after all, love is a ruthless game unless you play it good and right. the hands of fate managed to bring you two together, and the ones that will never separate you because you are stronger together than separate. 

his arms instantly snake around your waist, pushing his head into your stomach and slightly underneath your chest, his tears soaking into the cloth of your clothes. "you're my achilles' heel." his heartfelt confession is muffled, but you hear it just fine.

"this is the golden age of something good and right and real." you remind him of the current state of your relationship while running your fingers through his hair.

when he lets you go, you can see him nodding in agreement with you. he takes his place back onto the back, looking up at you with the same admiration he had when he first met you on that busy street.

as you lean down towards him, he begins to lean back until his back meets his bedding. eyes looking into yours that were above him, and finally his adorable smile is back on his face within no time. "i never saw you coming either." he admits, letting his hand roam to the back of your head. "and i'd never be the same if you'd walk out too. all i wanted was for you to be safe, because i love you. i know i shouldn't of pushed you out like that if —" he began to explain his thoughts, and why he said what he did.

"what did you say?" you interjected in the middle of his sentence, lips curving into the biggest grin you'd ever managed to make in your whole life. it began to hurt your cheeks due to the muscles within them not ever being used that much.

javi raised an eyebrow curiously, "what did i say?" he looked at you for awaiting an answer, as if the words slipped so naturally from his mind through his mouth that he didn't even process them himself.

"you said you loved me." you repeated his words, sitting up onto his waist and looking down at him. his hands straddle your own, making sure your not going anywhere.

yes, he’s called you pet names before, but you two haven’t ever said you loved one another. it’s been more like you both have said it in your actions, but too embarrassed to admit it out loud because the moment that you do it becomes much more intimate and you two loved where you were now — before the disagreement at least.

"what?! i’m so sorry i didn’t mean it — i mean i did, but i didn’t want it to come out so suddenly i was really waiting for the perfect moment because that’s what you deserve. i’m so sor—“ you stopped javier’s rapid nonsense of an apology that wasn’t necessary to spill from his mouth by meeting his lips with your own.

it wasn’t hard or passionate, it was gentle. it was the kind of kiss that sealed two people as one eternally. the kind where you take in the others lips, what shape they are, how they taste, their pattern. the kind that sets you up for the future when you need them more at a rapid pace.

you’re the one who pulls away from him first, only a little bit because you plan on indulging yourself within his warmth right after. “javi, i love you too.” you confess to him, and watch as his face brightened as if he had just heard the most exhilarating news in his whole life.

you were there to witness his toothy grin appear on his face because of you and you alone, and that alone made you even more giddy inside too. “i love you so much.” javi revealed once again. this time, he actually acknowledged he said it. he cupped your cheeks within his palms and showered you with kisses all along your face making you giggle due to the fact that his prickly mustache was tickling you.

“okay okay, i know! stop tickling me with your mustache!” you cried for mercy, and obliged after giving you one more kiss onto your lips. you both stare at one another with an equal amount of devotion for one another.

“i say we cut it off.” you ruin the moment to tease javi. you begin to smirking mischievously while looking down at your terrified counterpart. his hands immediately went to cover his glorious mustache, and his protests were muffled by them.

you chuckled at his reaction to yours words. you knew better than anyone that javi’s mustache was off limits. you lean down and kiss the back of his hands that cover his mouth. “i’m joking javi, but you’re reaction was adorable.” you begin to move off of him and the bed to walk towards the bathroom, and the sounds of his frustrated groans follow you all the way.

a soft grin never left your face as you and javi were in this game called love together and forevermore.

next javi gutierrez song chapter

[turtlethon]

"Elementary, My Dear Turtle"

Season 7, Episode 13 First US Airdate: October 30, 1993

The Turtles head back in time and team up with Sherlock Holmes to stop his nemesis Moriarty from stealing the future.

"Elementary, My Dear Turtle" is the last episode in the “Vacation in Europe” side season of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. This is the final story in the series written by Dennis O’Flaherty.

April and the Turtles have returned to England today and join a group of tourists in listening to a historical lecture from a Beefeater, in what I assume is intended to be the Tower of London. Michaelangelo dozes off while standing, and after being scolded wanders away, expressing his disinterest in the subject. While the Beefeater returns to his spiel, Mikey manages to draw further attention to himself by launching into the air using a historical catapult.

Later, the Turtles regroup in the sewer beneath the Duke of Earl Hotel. Donatello takes receipt of a stack of pizzas from a bellboy whose design seems to stray from the show’s standard house style, the first of a few visual aberrations in this outing. As the team chows down, April reveals she’s off to Oxford to interview a noted historian. Raphael quips that they’ll see her again “at the end of the show”. Splinter then pops in to encourage the team to take a greater interest in historical events, telling them “The seeds of tomorrow are contained in the apple core of yesterday”.

Turning their attention to the TV, the team watch as newsreader “John Nose” informs viewers that Greenwich University is now host to the world’s most advanced atomic clock. Donatello is keen to see this for himself, and his team-mates agree to join him. The group sneak into the University’s observatory after hours, bypassing and disabling a laser beam security system. A whirlwind appears from within the atomic clock after Donatello picks it up; moments later, the Turtles find themselves in the same building, but the modern conveniences have all vanished, the surroundings looking more like something from a history exhibit. Before our heroes have a chance to make sense of this a bearded man in a top hat snatches the atomic clock from Donatello.

Michaelangelo attempts to stop the robber by hurling a turtle shell-shaped object at him that I assume was supposed to be his grappling hook. The man counters by lobbing a smoke bomb (drawn as a grenade), providing him with an opportunity to escape.

If the bellboy had an unconventional look, the guy who appears next is something else entirely: a 19th century night watchman who would be more at home in a Tintin book than he is here in Fred Wolf Turtles. The team inadvertently manage to scare the man away with their appearance before exiting the building.

The Turtles exit the building and pursue the thief, with Donatello colliding with a man with the weirdest head shape of any normal human to ever appear in the show. The stranger briefly gets into a fight with Donnie on the steps of the observatory before taking a tumble and injuring his ankle. Meanwhile the clock thief escapes in a horse-drawn carriage, giving his best regards to “Mr. Holmes” before making his exit. It’s at this point that the Turtles realise the man Donnie just clashed with is Sherlock Holmes, now being tended to by his friend Watson. After chewing out the Turtles for their antics, Watson reveals to the Turtles that they’re now in 1890; act one ends with the team realising they’ve been transported back in time, and have no means of getting back.

Act two opens with the Turtles, Holmes and Watson realising they’re all on the same side, and have a shared enemy in Professor Moriarty, the mystery man who snatched the atomic clock. Holmes invites the Turtles back to his residence at 221B Baker Street, and upon their arrival a shady man is seen spying on the group nearby.

Once inside, the Turtles watch as Watson tilts a bust of Sherlock’s head placed inside the window. Holmes explains that several attempts have been made on his life, and the bust is a decoy intended to fool any onlookers who might try to take a shot at him. The group are joined by Inspector Lestrade, who Mikey recognises from his appearance in the movie “Sherlock Holmes and the Spider Woman”. Lestrade explains to the Turtles that it’s believed Moriarty is stealing scientific equipment with a view to taking over the 20th Century. In the same evening that the Turtles arrived in the past, Moriarty used the power of a lightning storm to travel into the future, a time in which he determined the atomic clock would exist; As the Turtles agree to help Holmes in stopping Moriarty, an assailant takes a shot at the bust, as predicted.

The Turtles don disguises and take a train to Oxford, determining that as Moriarty was once a professor there, his hideout is likely nearby. In a staggeringly quick scene (literally four seconds), the team arrive at the station and spot some thugs, tracking them with a view to finding the criminal mastermind. It seems that the mystery men were supposed to have been on the roof of the train – something that was almost impossible to determine from the footage that made it to air unless you were paying exceptionally close attention. Leonardo spots their footprints, noting the soot present due to them being on top of the locomotive. Despite being warned off by a shot from an air gun, the Turtles continue to give chase, dropping into the sewers in search of Moriarty’s hideout.

Scrape marks on the ground point the Turtles in the direction of a wall that acts as a hidden door. Making their way inside, our heroes confront Moriarty, who explains that the atomic clock is the final component of his time machine: when his plan is complete, Sherlock Holmes will have been erased from history, leaving him free to rule the world. He pulls a lever, shutting off the lights; moments later, the Turtles find themselves standing above ground, in what appears to be their own time.

Exploring the city, the Turtles find a parade being held, the assembled crowd cheering for a car containing a victorious Moriarty. Act three opens with Michaelangelo noting that the team have wound up in “the wrong 1991” moments before Moriarty sends his personal army after our heroes. The team battle Moriarty’s troopers, losing a group of them under a crumbling archway before dropping into a nearby river, leading the remaining officers to assume this marks their demise. It takes more than a little water to finish off the Turtles, however, who re-emerge and are greeted by a familiar face: April, who soon grants them refuge.

Though this incarnation of April has never met the Turtles, she explains her willingness to protect them, on the basis that “anyone running from Moriarty’s troopers has to be a friend”. A sliding bookcase leads to a hidden passage; inside are Burne and Vernon, dressed in regal attires, who are both initially hostile until April confirms the Turtles are on their side. The group inform the Turtles that Moriarty keeps the time machine at the Imperial Science Museum, and so the assembled freedom fighters hatch a plan to strike back.

April guides the Turtles to the Science Museum via a secret underground passage. In another one of those utterly nonsensical moments that have been so prevalent throughout this side season, April is shocked as Leonardo whips out a katana, asking “is it an attack?!” for no apparent reason. Michaelangelo explains the noise  Leo heard was his own empty stomach, something that didn’t make it into the sound mix for the finished show, effectively removing the setup for the joke. April offers Mikey an apple, which he chows down on before passing the core back to her.

Donatello points out that if they’re successful, the reality they’re currently occupying and everyone in it will cease to exist. April takes this remarkably well, telling the Turtles that it’ll be worth it to stop Emperor Moriarty. Heading above ground, our heroes are confronted by a whip-wielding Moriarty and a group of his troopers. A battle unfolds, and in an indicator of how flaky this episode is, at least on my copy, even the familiar instrumental version of the Turtles theme sounds as if it’s malfunctioning as the video tracking also begins going off the rails. Donatello snatches the atomic clock from the time machine, another whirlwind sending the Turtles back to their own time. Moriarty has also made the journey, and makes another attempt to snatch the clock, being pinned down by the Turtles before he vanishes. A present-day version of the mutton-chopped night watchman from 1890 appears to confront the green teens, who toss him the atomic clock before leaving; notably his modern incarnation is slightly more fitting for the style of this show than the one from the past.

As predicted by Raphael, the Turtles meet up with April again in the concluding scene. After Leonardo makes a vague reference to their time-travelling journey, April is keen to cover a story she’s barely even been told transpired, reaching into her purse; instead of her tape recorder, she discovers an apple core. Splinter takes this as confirmation of his earlier remarks about the apple core of yesterday. As the Turtles inexplicably run away, Splinter suggests to April that perhaps they had too much time on their hands. A lousy joke to wrap up not only this episode, but this entire troubled story arc.

It’s one thing for the Turtles to encounter mythical figures like Merlin, but something else entirely for them to cross over with Sherlock Holmes, who having made his first appearance in 1887 is a relatively recent creation in the great scheme of things. This story perhaps doesn’t exploit such a crossover to its full potential, with Holmes and Watson only prominent in the second act, the Turtles handling the proceedings in the opening and closing thirds of the show. Leonardo becomes the de facto Holmes after the real one bows out, taking the lead in determining Moriarty’s plan. I’m sure keeping the Turtles the stars of the show helps in terms of maintaining the interests of the kids at home, but it does mean that we walk away with this story with a sense that the potential for a proper TMNT x Sherlock Holmes crossover remains untapped. Honestly, this entire side-season is running on fumes as we close things out and I doubt anyone was paying attention.

The most interesting aspect of this story from a continuity perspective is that it explicitly sets the Vacation in Europe season – or at least the end of it – in the year 1991. Keep in mind that this side season kicked off with the Turtles arriving in Paris on Bastille Day (in “Tower of Power”), but during their time in Austria we learned that it was winter, suggesting this vacation carried on for as long as six months or more. To the extent that all the stories in this arc could be considered canon, it seems entirely possible that the Turtles began their vacation in July 1990, sticking around into early 1991. Whatever the path is that the team took around the continent, it seems that it would need to be a convoluted one; no wonder they were away for so long. (Presumably while the Turtles were kicking back, the other assorted crime fighters of New York had to pick up the slack: Casey Jones, REX-1, Aunt Aggie, and perhaps Bugman, though technically these episodes take place prior to his introduction).

From all of this, a case could be made that if the events of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles take place in any specific frame of time, it’s 1989-91; though the show seemed to default to just being set in “year of initial broadcast”, remember that early adaptations of the cartoon episodes sometimes stated the series was set sometime in the near future, which could easily be a couple of years ahead of 1987. Going with this theory, seasons one through three would all take place over a year from June 1989 onwards (in line with April’s dialogue in “Hot Rodding Teenagers From Dimension X” establishing that the first season occurs in June), the Turtles taking their extended vacation in the summer of 1990 and returning at the beginning of 1991. Season four then unfolds through the early months of 1991. “Turtles And the Hare” and “Once Upon a Time Machine” must both take place in Easter ‘91, the year being explicitly referenced multiple times in the latter episode; the rest of seasons five and six would then take place throughout the remainder of the year, with “Super Irma” taking us up to Halloween 1991.

Or maybe nothing that happened in this whole European vacation endeavour, this strange, half-baked waste of time which seems to have limped its way on to our screens years after it was made, should be considered canon at all. Perhaps we should simply put all this mediocrity behind us and prepare for the real season seven, a further fourteen episodes that will conclude the classic era of the series, beginning with our next Turtlethon entry, “Night of the Dark Turtle”.

[disappointingyet]

Results

Director Andrew Bujalski Stars Kevin Corrigan, Cobie Smulders, Guy Pearce USA 2025 Language English 1hr 45mins Colour

Well-crafted grown-up comedy set in the fitness world

Results is a comedy about three unhappy people. With Danny (Kevin Corrigan), it’s easy to see that all is not well: he’s rattling around a huge, mostly unfurnished house alone, out of shape and out of sorts. Trevor (Guy Pearce) and Kat (Cobie Smulders), on the other hand, are both lean and driven but, it turns out, equally adrift. 

Trevor owns a gym called Positive 4 Life but his personal life undermines his professional bullshit. Kat’s unhappiness manifests as bursts of rage, which she’ll try to run off, not always successfully. Trevor and Kat have been having sex, maybe not super-wise as he’s her boss. And then Danny comes to the gym and Kat becomes his personal trainer and the misery of the three collides.

The film Andrew Bujalski made after this one was Support The Girls, one of my favourite movies of the past 10 years. By anyone else’s standards, Results would be a small-scale, low-key movie. By Bujalski’s standards, it almost feels like an attempt to go mainstream. 

Pearce was, for a while, an actual movie star. Cobie Smulders’ level of fame was the subject of earnest debate when I was working on celebrity magazines: on the one hand, she was one of stars of How I Met Your Mother, which ran for nine seasons and (at least over here in the UK) is still constantly on TV. She’s also in many of the Marvel movies and TV shows. So her level of face recognition is high but mention her name and you’re likely to get a blank look.

Even in the supporting roles in Results there are once-famousish folks like Giovanni Ribisi and Anthony Michael Hall. 

And the film looks clean and unfussily shot. Again, that’s only notable in the context of the director’s career. His previous film, Computer Chess, was filmed in low-quality 1980s black & white analogue video, which made it distinctive and characterful according to some critics and really hard to watch according to everyone else (yes, even me.)

So what we have is a straightforward character comedy with some gentle digs at the fitness industry. It stands or falls on: is it funny? Are these people plausible? Is them talking entertaining? 

I’d say yes to all these things. Pearce is particularly good, or maybe just the one who surprised me – in American movies I think of him as either action hero or villain. Here he gets to be a bit deluded, a bit vulnerable, stubbornly optimistic while also patently depressed. And he gets to use his Australian accent.

Results isn’t as distinctive as Bujalski’s early films nor as strong as Support The Girls (no shame in that) but taken on its own terms it gets almost everything right.

[invisiblegarters]

GMMTV 2024 Part II Thoughts

Okay watched all the trailers now and here is how I fall:

Fully Seated:

Re-Vamp. this looks like it could be the tragic romance type and honestly, here for it. The last time I had a good tragedy was Eternal Yesterday I am ready to be broken again. Plus as I said when the first mock trailer aired the whole aesthetic really suits everyone. This is tied for my most anticipated show of 2024 with

Us. Oh my god I am so here for this it looks so delicious give it to me now. I love everything about the trailer, no notes, if we get this and Pluto in 2024 this will be the best year ever. I assume we'll get this more towards the end of the year (if not the beginning of next year) but that's fine, just please don't change too much of it because what we have looks great. And it's not highschool! Look I'm loving 23.5 but I also want some messy lesbians on my screen please.

The Heart Killers. I can't pretend that this doesn't look like a hot mess but I also won't pretend that the type of mess isn't right up my alley. God help me I love a good honeytrap, and if we have First's character honeytrapping Khao's to get him arrested or whatever but also getting Dunk's character to honeytrap Joong's so that he can commence with the first honeytrap...yep. My kind of mess. Plus I just genuinely want to see First being the one chasing for once. I want him all flirty, I know he's got it in him, and I'm tired of the usual configuration with Khao (I say after two shows, lol. What can I say I get bored quick).

Friendshit Forever. Speaking of toxic. Pat is amazing and I love her and that alone would have me seated, but Mook too? I'm there. Also pleased to see Boun in one of these already although in my heart of hearts what I want to see most is him in something with First oh shut up the heart wants what it wants

Hide & SIs. Jan and Lookjun being awful? Toxic families and fucked up relationships and someone (or several someones) doing a murder? Like, come on. Of course I'll be tuning in.

Half Seated:

Leap Day. Let's actually call this one three quarters seated. My butt is almost completely on the chair but I haven't settled into it yet. Mostly it's because right I want to watch just for Gun, and I'm not sure it's worth that yet. The plot itself isn't making me excited at the moment.

Ossan's Love. This looks ridiculous. I have never seen the OG and I have also not heard good things but well. I like Earth and Mix and I like seeing Earth playing a goof. We'll see.

Heart That Skips a Beat. I don't know. The trailer looked good and I love a good two people from different worlds collide sort of story, and I also like when shows tackle some of the issues of the industry, in this case the weird rules around idols and having, you know, lives. That said, I wasn't grabbed to the point that I know I'll be showing up, so it's on my tentative list for now.

Sweet Tooth, Good Dentist. I love Mark and that will probably be enough to make me tune in but the only thing I remember about the trailer is the beginning with the vlogging and while my found footage loving heart adores that out of horror flicks, it's not really for me in BL. I have tried Gameboys and See You After Quarantine and that other one from the Philippines and while they were fine they were not my bag. But Mark. So yeah I'll probably wind up watching regardless but in terms of grabbing me, no. Sorry.

In the Same Room, at Least:

(Meaning that sure, if I'm bored or the official trailer looks good I might binge it later)

The Ex Morning. Look. I love Singto and Krist grew on me in Be My Favorite. That said I hated SOTUS. SO this doesn't even get the nostalgia factor for me. If I hear a lot of good things maybe.

Perfect10 Liners. Looks like too much to cover so it'll probably wind up being a mess in the bad way. I like all the couples but yeah. It just looks like We Are part II. Not for me although I can't say I won't eventually watch the whole thing some lazy Saturday.

TV Firmly Turned Off:

Break Up Service, Dark Dice, Scarlet Heart. There were trailers (except for the last one which was just a concept). I remember nothing (except the last one because it was just a concept). Enough said.

Final Thoughts:

I genuinely can't believe two non-BL shows made my top list but here we are, I guess.

I'm very curious to see which of these actually get made in 2024. If I had to guess, I'd say all the het ones, Revamp, The Heart Killers or Perfect10, and probably The Ex Morning. The rest will go to 2025 or the discard pile.

But please remember that I am not good at this lol.