#go listen to francesca right now

[briliantlymad]

I'D TELL THEM PUT ME BACK IN IT

DAR-DARLING, I WOULD DO IT AGAIN (ah-ah, ah-ah)

IF I COULD HOLD YOU FOR A MINUTE,

DAR-DARLING, I'D GO THROUGH IT AGAIN

[juice-and-catharsis]

There is a worm in my brain and his name is Hozier

[ladysharmaa]

Kate mini version

Anthony Bridgerton x Kate Sharma x Sharma!sis

Summary: Y/n adapted to the Bridgerton family dynamic. However, she remains a little fearful and shy. Could the arrival of a prince change that?

part 1 part 2 part 3

Ever since Kate and Anthony assured Y/n that they wanted her to live with them, things had gotten better. The girl felt more comfortable with them, and appreciated the effort the couple made to show that she was always welcome. Riding horses for the three of them was an almost regular activity now, and these afternoons were Y/n's favorite.

Anthony had given her a beautiful black mare, which she insisted on learning to wash and comb, even though there were servants for that purpose. The man then spent the rest of the month teaching her how to ride, and this was something that brought her very close to Anthony, who she now considered like a brother.

The truth was, living with her older sister and her husband was wonderful. There was never a dull moment and she always had someone to talk to. Furthermore, the relationship between her and Kate was the strongest, and they were more inseparable than ever. Y/n's mother had agreed that her daughter would stay at Viscount's house for a while and thus extended her stay in India.

However, even though she was comfortable in that smaller core, she still felt shy around Anthony's siblings. She loved them all, and they always treated her equally, but in the back of her head there was always that thought that she was intruding.

Now, the Bridgerton family plus Y/n were on their way to the park to have a picnic. The season was starting again and suitors from all over the world were arriving to try to find someone. On the way there, Y/n entertained herself by listening to Eloise's grumbling that she would be entering the season again, even if the last thing she wanted was to find a husband.

Bridgerton had made a point of giving Y/n her feminist speech, and despite the eye rolls she received from some of her siblings, Y/n agreed with everything she said. However, she always wanted to be married to a man who truly loved her, and that wasn't going to change.

It was a sunny day, perfect for staying right by the lake and enjoying the delicious food that the maids had prepared. Anthony and Kate were in their own world, whispering to each other with gigantic smiles, Benedict and Collin were appreciating the ladies passing by, and Eloise was reading her book while Violet had met Lady Danbury and the two were chatting animatedly. Daphne and Simon hadn't arrived with their son yet, but Y/n couldn't wait to play with the baby again.

Meanwhile, she, Hyacinth, Gregory and Francesca were walking around the lake, picking up rocks and seeing who could throw them the furthest. Probably not the most etiquette thing they could do, but Violet and Anthony hadn't stopped them yet so they continued.

"I'm starting to get tired." Y/n grumbled, rolling the shoulder of her arm that was starting to feel sore from throwing so many rocks. "I think I'll sit down and get some sun."

"We'll be right there and keep you company then. I just need to beat Gregory first!" Hyacinth promised.

Y/n smiled towards the three, then heading towards the lawn where the others were. She momentarily looked down, seeing that she had gotten a little dirty on her dress when she went up against someone. The force of the impact had been so great that she lost her balance and began to fall backwards. However, this never happened because someone managed to grab her arms and pull her up again.

When she opened her eyes, having closed them in preparation for the fall, she saw a young man, around her age, looking worriedly at her. "Are you alright? My apologies, Miss, I was distracted and didn't see you."

"I'm okay." she said a little breathlessly. Their proximity didn't help either. "I'm the one who apologizes. I should be looking ahead instead of at my dress."

"It is a beautiful dress." he said, taking the opportunity to look her up and down, letting a small smile form on his lips. Y/n's cheeks immediately started to turn pinker. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss…"

"Sharma." Y/n smiled. "I'm sorry, I don't recall who you are."

"Prince Charles, the youngest son of Queen Charlotte and King George." he chuckled when he saw Y/n's wide eyes, who quickly made a small bow. "Please, that's not necessary. On top of that, I was the one who almost made you fall to the ground."

"My apologies, Prince Charles. I returned from India only a few months ago and it seems that I still don't know everything I should know. This mistake will not be repeated."

"It wasn't anything serious. To be honest, I'm actually glad you didn't immediately know who I was. I went against you because I was running away from an Earl's daughters who were begging me to marry them." A silence fell over them. "Who are you here with?"

"My sister and her husband's family. Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and Viscountess Kate Bridgerton." Y/n looked over his shoulder, seeing Anthony staring in her direction, more specifically at the Prince. He was about to get up when Kate pulled him down again, sending Y/n a smile and a wink. "They're looking at us right now."

"Of course, I know who they are. My mother loved the love story between them. Since then, she has only told my older siblings that she wants them to have something like that too. But they are not very interested in getting married, much to the Queen's disappointment."

Y/n just let out a small chuckle in response, not really knowing what to say. The proximity to the prince was becoming increasingly intimidating, and it didn't help that the entire Bridgerton family had noticed that interaction and were now observing discreetly.

"I apologize, Prince Charles, but I must return to my sister's family. We came to take advantage of this beautiful day to have a picnic."

"Of course, Miss Sharma. I hope to see you again soon." he nodded with his hands clasped behind his back. With a smile, he went back on his way while Y/n walked over to where Kate and Anthony were, her cheeks painted a light pink.

"What were you talking about?" Anthony questioned without being able to control himself any longer, his half-closed eyes still focused on the back of the boy walking in the distance.

Kate rolled her eyes at Anthony's exaggerated protectiveness, but the truth is that her heart started to beat faster when she saw how Anthony had so much care and affection for Y/n. It made her imagine how protective he would be of their daughters.

"Don't pay attention to Anthony, Y/n. The prince seemed very interested in talking to you. You should have gone for a walk together."

"Sister!" the younger girl exclaimed with wide eyes, becoming even more embarrassed. "He was just apologizing for going against me."

"That boy, prince or not, should look where he is going! Irresponsible, that's what he is!" Anthony continued to mumble, ignoring the look his wife sent him.

"Well, I am delighted that you made a new friend, Y/n. Now come sit with us for a while and drink some water, it's very hot."

"You're getting worse than mother." Y/n rolled her eyes in amusement. She added with a wink, "I guess it's a good training for the future."

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

"I do not want to go." Y/n stated, crossing her arms defiantly.

"Sister, we've already had this conversation." Kate repeated for the thousandth time, but still with the same patience as the first time. The older woman sighed, looking understandingly at her sister who was looking at the floor with a pout. "What are you really afraid of? It's your first ball, it's normal for you to be nervous."

Y/n was going to be subject to the season for the first time, where she could meet her future husband. Despite all the nerves she felt, she was happy to have Kate, Anthony, and the rest of the Bridgerton family with her. Furthermore, she would be in the same situation as Francesca, except that the latter had been named diamond of the season.

"How's mother and Edwina?" Y/n tried to change the subject, instead asking about the two other Sharmas who were in Prussia. Edwina was pregnant with her first child with Prince Friedrich and Mary had gone there, after a brief stop in England, to support Edwina.

"Y/n, don't change the subject. You can talk to me."

"What if no one asks me to dance, Kate?" Y/n finally revealed her fears shyly. She spoke so quietly that Kate had to strain to understand her words, but when she did her eyebrows furrowed in sadness. "You and Anthony took me in, what if now no one asks me to dance and I make you look bad?"

"First of all, you could never make us look bad and we would never be disappointed in you. I even think Anthony's biggest dream would be if you and Francesca didn't dance with anyone." Kate chuckled knowing how protective her husband was. "And I don't want you to be forced to dance with anyone. You can say no if someone invites you to dance and you don't want to. And if anything happens, call Anthony or his brothers."

"I will." the girl nodded, seeing her sister's serious look. "I hope everything goes well."

"Of course it will! And you won't be alone, we'll all be there in case you need anything. And who knows, maybe you'll see a certain prince. I heard the queen is going to make him participate in this season."

Y/n didn't respond to the teasing, she just continued to get ready with the help of the maids. When Anthony called them from downstairs, the two sisters hurried to meet him, seeing that the rest of the family was already there with the exception of Francesca.

When they saw her, a big smile appeared on everyone's faces, Violet going to give her a hug as soon as she reached the end of the stairs and Daphne holding her hand. "You look beautiful."

"Thank you." she smiled at the women, and was later praised by Eloise, and the Bridgerton brothers.

Then, it was Francesca's turn to go down the stairs, catching their attention. After the compliments she received, the girl stood next to Y/n, the two holding hands as they walked to the carriages waiting for them.

"You look very beautiful, diamond of the season." Y/n said with a teasing smile, squeezing her hand in Francesca's in comfort.

"You do as well, Princess Sharma." Francesca giggled. To relieve the tension, the girl looked straight ahead at Anthony who was helping Kate into the carriage, his forehead dripping with sweat as he looked discreetly at the two teenagers. "I think my brother is going to pass out from how nervous he looks."

"Tonight promises to be quite interesting. At least he has my sister to control him a little, or I think he would be glaring at every suitor in the room, even if they didn't even want anything to do with us."

When they arrived at the Queen's castle, they were both amazed by the place. An orchestra played in the middle while some couples were already dancing, the space decorated with various details and chandeliers lighting up the room. When the Bridgerton family entered, everyone stopped to observe the diamond of the season, who was still clinging to Y/n.

To give her the focus of attention, Y/n tried to move away but Francesca just grabbed her hand tighter, sending her a look of fear. The Sharma girl nodded in understanding, then stood on Francesca's side, also being subjected to the curious looks of other people.

"Come on, girls." Anthony said, guiding the family to a corner while everyone analyzed the environment. He then turned to his two friends, who in his eyes were too young to be thinking about suitors, but he knew that this was the right age. "If you need anything, and I mean anything, go to one of us. We'll always be here to make sure you're okay. Now, all of you split up and socialize."

"They already look so nervous and you're going to scare them even more with your nerves." Benedict placed a hand on his older brother's shoulder. "Relax, brother. Go dance with your wife, we are also here to take care of them."

"I know." Anthony sighed, running a hand over his face. His tense muscles only relaxed when he felt Kate's hand caress his arm as she smiled understandingly. "Shall we dance, Viscountess Bridgerton?"

"We shall." she giggled, letting her husband guide her to the center of the room.

Meanwhile, Y/n watched the people at the ball nervously and curiously. They were all dressed to the nines, with the best fabrics and jewelry that showed the families' wealth and status. The Sharma smiled slightly when she noticed a girl being asked by a suitor. It was obvious that they were both nervous, but when he finally managed to ask the question, the girl blushed and accepted with a big smile.

Y/n sighed, turning her attention elsewhere. Her heart was beating heavily against her chest, wondering if she was going to experience the same situation as that girl.

A light touch on her shoulder made her snap out of her thoughts. Y/n turned to the side, her eyes widening when she saw Prince Charles standing there, both hands behind his back and a perfect smirk on his lips.

"Miss Sharma, what a pleasure to see you again."

"Prince Charles." she greeted, making a small bow. "This time I haven't forgotten my manners."

"I must say you look beautiful tonight." he praised, gently taking one of her delicate hands and bringing it to his lips, lightly kissing her skin. Y/n's cheeks immediately flushed, getting worse when she realized that they were attracting the attention of others. "Are you enjoying the ball?"

"Very much, thank you. The orchestra plays beautifully. It's lovely to see so many people dancing, especially my sister and Viscount Bridgerton. I have never seen them happier."

"Indeed. We could dance too… If you would like to, of course." Y/n didn't think she had ever seen the boy being shy, but she had to admit that it was really cute to see him like that.

"Are you sure? Many people are already looking at us… Including the Queen." she whispered the last part with a look of fear. "Are you supposed to find a lady to marry this year?"

"My mother hopes so, but she doesn't pressure me into anything. Right now, I just want to dance with you. Please? Don't pay attention to anyone else, just focus on me."

Y/n swallowed hard, but nodded, resting her hand on the arm Charles offered. The two walked to the dance floor as soon as the song ended, preparing for a new melody. The Sharma girl held her breath when she felt the boy's hand position itself on her waist, pulling her closer, while the other intertwined with hers.

The music started slowly and Y/n let the prince lead her, too nervous to even remember the choreography she had already practiced several times before. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kate and Anthony looking at them as they danced, giving nods of encouragement but still keeping their attention on them.

The rest of the people looked in shock, seeing the youngest son of the Queen and the King dancing with the sister of Viscountess Bridgerton who had caused a lot of talk last season. The Queen was also watching them, a small smile appearing on her lips.

"You're not just focusing on me." Charles hummed, squeezing her waist to show she was just joking. "And on top of that I'm a great dancer."

"My apologies. But I can't agree with the last part. I think —" but she couldn't finish her sentence as Charles picked her up and twirled her around several times until her laughter could be heard above the music.

"Sorry, what were you saying?" he laughed teasingly, loving the blush on her cheeks. He wanted to make her blush all the time, he loved the effect he had on the girl who was constantly on his mind since that day in the park.

"Prince Charles, this will certainly not be seen very well by other people. They are all whispering about us now! More than they already were."

"Call me Charles." He said, ignoring the rest of what Y/n said. His eyes were intense, studying the girl's face and stopping on her lips before moving up to her eyes.

"No."

"No?" he raised his eyebrows, as if he wasn't expecting that answer. Y/n stepped away from him, making a small bow. And only then did he realize that the song had already ended.

"I really enjoyed this dance, thank you. I hope to meet you again. We keep crossing paths so who knows?" she smiled, turning her back and walking towards Francesca who was alone in the corner, a drink in her hand.

Prince Charles definitely wanted to see Y/n Sharma again, his gaze following the girl's movements as if in a trance. Surely him standing in the middle of the dance floor looking at Y/n would be the main topic in the paper of Lady Whistledown.

[myfairstarlight]

Alright, let's talk about Colin's entrapment line and why Penelope offering an annulment was significant, shall we? Arguably the most controversial part of this season, isn't it?

I'm not going to delve too long on the entrapment line again actually, but to summarise, Colin has been traumatised by a similar situation before, and right now, he's hurt. And the thing about being angry with your best friend is that you know what to say to hurt them the most. We see it in Eloise's and Penelope's fight, as they threw each other's insecurities in the other's faces. Colin, two episodes ago, was defending Penelope against Portia, who was accusing her of entrapping him, so yes, his mind will jump to that first. But also note that the whole time he refuses to look at her, because he knows his words are cutting and will hurt and he knows his resolve would break if he looked at her, which is contrasted by Penelope directly looking at him to tell him she loves him and did not mean for this to happen like this. He does not look because he knows she loves him, this is not Marina's situation exactly who only wanted a way out and did not see him as much else than a means to an end, and that's why it's so much more difficult to deal with for him. Penelope loves him.

And he's already almost lost her once, as angry and hurt as he is, he cannot fathom the idea of letting her go, when he remembers how empty he felt without her letters, or at the idea of her with Debling. So he's still here, determined to marry her.

So now we get to e8. The marriage was not technically consummated, and the Lady Whistledown business is finally settled. So Penelope offers the annulment, to set him, and his family, free from her mess.

They never directly address Colin's entrapment comment again, but with Penelope offering the annulment, it is now implied she's been thinking about this the whole time. It is a very real possibility that by that point, Penelope already knew she was pregnant, and it's been speculated if she told Colin in that scene after Francesca's wedding or not (I personally don't think she did, to not add to his guilt at that moment, and perhaps to not influence his decision, knowing she would be offering the annulment soon) and it parallels Marina's situation again, except in this case, Penelope does not wish to trap Colin with a baby, even if it is his. She knows how much Marina impacted Colin, and does not wish to do the same thing she had prevented Marina to do. The best part about this though? Colin is stunned (Edit: I changed the adjective here as someone rightfully pointed out I was exaggerating by saying "flabbergasted" when his reaction is more on the subtle side the English language is the bane of my existence). Frankly, he probably forgot he even said that, the same way he forgot about his "I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington" comment - those were words said in the heat of the moment he never actually believed. Not once has Colin thought of either breaking the engagement, or get an annulment even after the betrayal.

He could have still eloped with Marina even after learning the truth, but he didn't because she was not honest with him from the start. He learns Penelope has been living a double life this whole time, and yet he stays.

It is significant that Penelope listened and acknowledged Colin's point of view, the same way she asked him to simply stand by her side and support her. Also note that she never says "our family", she says "you or your family".

Despite already being married, this whole time, it did not feel like they were, and she knew that as long as there was still this barrier between them, she could never truly be part of that family, but it's alright, she could live with that, she has mended things with her own after all, and she can support herself. Whatever the outcome, she'll be alright, she believes.

Fortunately for her, she does not get to find out what that future would entail because Colin absolutely hates the idea of letting her go.

Because after all, she's a mess, but she's his mess.

[my-drama-heart2406]

People don't talk enough about the fact that Violet Bridgerton is infact the strongest, most confident, the baddest bitch of the whole ton.

Yes, people might argue the baddest bitch is lady Danbury or the queen. But lady Danbury lives alone in her mansion with no children or husband to worry about, the simple arrival of her brother irritated her. And in 'Queen Charlotte' we saw so very clearly what a mess the queens personal life and family is.

Then there's Violet Bridgerton.

Three seasons we saw the queen, the literal queen of the country, try to set up the Bridgerton siblings with individuals of her liking. Daphne with Prince Friedrich, Edwina with Anthony, and now, Francesca with lord Samadani. And all three times Violet told her children to make their own choice. To not rush their decision, but to take their time to know the person. That if they like the person the queen has chosen for them, then all is good, but if they don't then it's only right that they reject them, because even if it's the queen who has decided on this match, it is them who has to spend their whole lives with that person. And that she would support their decision wholly, provided that it is the one which is right for them.

If queen Charlotte had chosen a match between any other individuals, them and their parents would be dancing with joy, simply because the queen had shown interest in them. There wouldn't even be a question about choice. The queen has chosen for you, no other choice remains.

Then there's Violet Bridgerton who actively pushed Daphne and Anthony against the queens chosen prospects. Of course they were too stupid to listen to her, but that's not her fault.

I love that scene in season 3 when Violet comes into the dark room with Francesca playing the piano. Obviously, she was going to ask her all the proper questions, "what happened?", "why did you want to leave so abruptly?", "what did the lord kilmartin give you?". She starts, "Francesca?..." And then she sees Francesca's face, and... stops.

Violet spends the whole season wanting only that her daughter find someone who makes her happy and that she doesn't settle for anyone who's simply 'good enough'. And then she sees her daughter smiling ear to ear, gleeful, because John Sterling had 'the music rearranged exactly as she imagined it '. In all the three times this man had met her daughter he had understood her well enough to do something that made her so happy. And Violet doesn't ask anything, doesn't say anything. Violet simply smiles. Happy that her daughter found someone who cared for her this way.

While the other members of the ton sit, stand and dance according to the queen's whims, Violet had no qualms about displeasing the queen, not once, not twice, but THRICE now.

If that isn't the baddest bitch, I don't know who is.

[frost-queen]

The moment I knew // part 8 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly,@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco,@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, 

@panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @cayt0123, 

@powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty, @mileyy22, @omgsuperstarg, @helen06dreamer, @misscaller06, @l4venderia, @dracoflaco, @loliakeoghan23, @emotionaldamageemotionaldamage, @reallysparklychaos, @ok-boke, @the-fifth-marauder7, @asgards-princess-of-mischief, @cherrysxuya, @lol6sposts, @cierrajhill, @heheyhey

Summary: During a ball sneaks Tewkesbury his presence more onto you. Almost desperate to be near you. Even so desperate he calls upon your house yet he isn't the only one. [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3& part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 9 & part 10 ]

Candles were dazzling in the bright room. The walls warmed with the comfort of people. The ton bustled together in a room of delight. Chattering chippering up yet not too loud for the music to be overwhelmed. In a corner was the orchestra. The piano forte, violins, cello’s, enough to make the room dance. In the centre ladies and gents were waltzing. Graceful and delicately.

Each in their own world of slowly falling in love or hoping to be. Benedict appeared from between the crowd holding two lemonade glasses up so they wouldn’t get knocked over. He approached with a heavy exhale. Francesca and you turned more towards him. – “Your drinks sisters.” – he said lowering his hands to offer the glasses. Francesca and you took yours.

Benedict joined Colin’s side behind the two of you. Colin looked at Benedict half disappointed. – “What about me dear brother?” – he asked with pouted lips. – “Go fetch it yourself!” – Benedict replied with a sneer. Colin raised his eyebrows playfully at you when you had turned around to listen in to their conversation. – “I’ll fetch mine all by myself than.” – he exaggerated making Benedict roll his eyes.

The dancers came to a stop as the dance had ended. The room emptied as the orchestra began their next song. The first few notes shot up like a rush. Playful tunes that made you supress a squeal out of excitement. You hastily pushed your glass in Colin’s hands. Startled he nearly spilled some lemonade on his gloves.

“Y/n!” – he groaned out as you grabbed Benedict’s wrist. – “Come brother dance with me!” – you called out. Benedict got pulled with you swept amongst the crowd of joining the dance. Francesca came standing at Colin’s side. – “Now you have your drink.” – she said before taking a serious sip. You came to a stop as Benedict nearly stumbled. You positioned him before you and dove right into the dance that had already begun.

Benedict was a bit slower watching those beside him to what he needed to do. He held his hands up as you clapped your hand against his diagonally. You then clasped your hands together and spun around. Benedict started to catch on clapping his hands against yours at the same time making you laugh. You heard laughter from all around you as this dance was not so stiff.

A pleasant folklore dance with lot’s of spins, hops and fun. Tewkesbury’s eyes widened seeing you amidst them dance with your brother. He knew what kind of dance it was. Gulping nervously he very much wanted to join. Looking quickly around he grabbed the first girl’s wrist he saw near him and pulled her without a word into the dance. He forced his way to be beside you.

The couple that were already dancing near you got stopped in their movement, leaving them confused for a brief moment. They cleared the way as Tewkesbury dove right into the dance. He took the girl’s hands facing your back as he followed the dancers go in a circle forwards.

“What an honour my lord.” – the girl said breathlessly. – “Quiet!” – Tewkesbury said to her trying to focus on you. They came to a stop, changed hands and went back the other way. You furrowed your brows looking at the suspicious back of the person hopping before you. – “Is that?” – you muttered before Benedict pulled you to a halt. Clapping your hands against his again. Benedict let you spin under his arm. Benedict then walked over to you to come at your side.

Tewkesbury’s eyes widened as he hastened himself at your side. Taking your hand before the girl he was with could do so. Feeling the sudden warm grip on your hand made you look up. – “My …” – you wanted to address his presence but got pulled to the centre by your brother and Tewkesbury. Each holding your hands as you had formed a circle with the other dancers. Coming together in the middle to then part back to a full circle.

In a confused haze they pulled at you needing you to follow the direction they were going. The full circle going to the left. There was a brief pause before you were pulled in the other direction. There was another stop as you stood lost when Tewkesbury stood before your brother and you before the girl he danced with. – “What are you doing?” – Benedict shout-whispered, clapping his hands against Tewkesbury’s. – “May I dance with your sister?” – Tewkesbury asked before taking a spin as did Benedict.

You and the girl did the steps in silence and confused as to why you were suddenly dancing with each other. – “Please.” – Tewkesbury pleaded as Benedict sighed deep. Tewkesbury took it as an agreement turning his posture away from Benedict and giving the girl a gentle nudge to get her out of the way. You took each other’s hands hopping to the side and back. 

You watched Benedict leave the dance returning to your siblings. – “You scared my brother away.” – you teased. – “I asked.” – Tewkesbury responded taking you by the waist. You did the same twirling around with him. – “This is more fun isn’t it?” – he said. – “I’ll decide that.” – you responded trying to supress a smile. Tewkesbury saw the mischief in your eyes knowing you weren’t serious.

He let you twirl under his arm before he pressed his hand on your back and pulled you to his chest. He was a bit too eager making you fall against his chest, needed to have pressed your hand to escape a hard bump. – “Where’s your partner?” – you asked glancing to the side. Tewkesbury pulled you back in by your chin, wanting you to look at him. – “Right here.” – he whispered making you look bashful away. – “Don’t be silly.” – you slapped him against his chest. Tewkesbury took a hold of you dancing around with you. Hastened and energetic that you were out of breath. The music slowed, fading out as the two of you were panting.

Tewkesbury bowed before you as you took a hold of your dress and curtsied. The two of you moved to the side allowing other dancers to join the next dance. – “May I see your hand?” – Tewkesbury asked. – “Wha--- why?” – you responded confused. Cheeks flushed from the heat. – “May I see it?” – he pressed on. You moved your hand up with a taunting smile. Your dance card dangled on the cord around your wrist. – “Perfect.” – He mumbled pulling at the  cord. – “Hey!” – you called out as it snapped, dance card now in his hands. – “That’s mine!” – you called out wanting to grab for it. Yet he was faster pulling it back out of your reach. – “I’ll keep this.” – he showed you the card with a smirk.

“If you think you are being charming, you are wrong silly boy.” – you answered crossing your arms. Tewkesbury shrugged his shoulders. – “You can have it back when I’ve claimed all my dances.” – he replied finding it cute how angry you were trying to look. – “You see it has my name on it.” – he continued as you puffed loud. – “Where? I don’t see your name.” – you said tauntingly back looking closer at your dance card just for the dramatics. – “Right here.” – he began moving his gloved finger down your entire card. – “Tewkesbury.” – he spoke slowly as his finger went down.

“It’s in invisible ink.” – he added jokingly.  You punched him in the armpit just to stop him from laughing at his own smoothness. – “Au!” – he called out, rubbing the pain area. You stuck your tongue out to him as Tewkesbury did the same just to play with you. He dangled your dance card happily up to tease you even more. – “Stealing girl’s dance cards are we now?” – you heard as Tewkesbury stiffened. He turned, dropping down into a bow at the presence of his grandmother. – “I…I was just…” – Tewkesbury began as his grandmother shushed him.

“Who are you girl?” – she asked narrowing her eyes at you. You dropped into a curtsy. – “Miss Y/n Bridgerton, My lady.” – you introduced yourself. She only hummed intrigued. – “I hope my grandson has his manners.” – she shot him a glare making him swallow nervously. You stepped up, coming a bit in between him and his grandmother. – “He has been more than polite, My lady. A dream as to say.” – you spoke to her. His grandmother hummed intriguingly again before taking her leave. Tewkesbury exhaled relieved once she had gone. The dance card was for your plucking as you took it from him. – “I’ll have this back now.” – you laughed out backing up.

Tewkesbury smiled widely following you trying to take it back from you. You kept backing up till you bumped against someone. It made you gasp, turning round quickly to apologize. – “Enola!” – you blurted out upon seeing it was her you had bumped into. She furrowed her brows. – “You know my name?” – she then looked beyond you putting on a smile to Tewkesbury. – “Viscount.” – she addressed as Tewkesbury smiled nervously back at her. Then the two dots connected. – “Ah you must be the girl.” - she spoke with a giggle at Tewkesbury.

“I can see why he likes you.” – she spoke as Tewkesbury was waving his arms across behind you. - “What was I not to say that?” – Enola said dumbfound just to tease him more. Tewkesbury slapped his palm against his face in agony. You looked back to Tewkesbury who nervously rubbed his hand to the back of his head. – “Y/n!” – you heard, drawing your attention away from him. Francesca appeared from between the crowd making her way over to you. She eyed Enola and Tewkesbury before coming to take you away from them.

You brushed past Tewkesbury letting your hand brush against his. His eyes slightly widened feeling the card being forced into his hand. He closed his hand keeping the dance card by him. Enola came at his side as they watched you leave. Tewkesbury opened his hand and held the dance card up. Letting it twirl in the air by it’s snapped cord. – “You are so in on her.” – Enola teased with a comforting pat on his shoulder. Tewkesbury looked from the dance card to where you had gone.

The next day you were in the Parlor with mama, Francesca, Hyacinth and Gregory. Your brothers had gone out. Just a boring midday. Mama was knitting. Francesca reading a book with less interest. Hyacinth and Gregory playing a game of cards. You sat near your sister, head laid back to stare bored at the ceiling. These calling hours could be so dreadfully boring someday. The time of the day where anyone without an invitation could announce themselves at the house.

Mama had let her calling card known with who would be at home. The door opened as it barely made any of you move. – “Is that how you all spend the day?” – your eyes widened at the voice of your sister. – “Daphne!” – Hyacinth shouted loud dropping her cards immediately. All of you jumped awake getting up to greet your sister. You were hugging her when the duke dropped in with Augie. Augie now at the age of three he held Simon’s hand.

“Ladies.” – Simon greeted. Hyacinth and Gregory rushed up to him to hug him. Simon let go of Augie’s hand and hugged them tightly back. Francesca picked Augie up to play with him. You hugged your sister tightly as you had missed her dearly. – “You must come more often.” – you told her. – “I know.” – Daphne responded giving you a tight squeeze.

Daphne took your hand and led you to the armchairs. – “Now you must tell me all.” – she spoke. – “There is not much to say.” – you told her. – “Now that is a lie.” – Francesca pitched in as Augie bounced on her knee. – “Is that so?” – Daphne asked intrigued. – “There’s this Viscount.” – Francesca went on. – “Viscount? What Viscount?” – Daphne wanted to know looking curiously and eagerly at you. – “It’s… it’s… not like that…” – you told her a bit unsure of what was happening between the two of you.

Would this simply grow into a friendship or was there room for more from both sides. To be honest Tewkesbury have been giving you mixed signals. All with the whole Enola thing going on. – “Then what is it like?” – Daphne wanted to know more. The door opened once more, this time the doorman entered. He cleared his throat before speaking. – “A visitor for Miss Y/n Bridgerton.” – he called out. – “Me?” – you said confused getting up. – “Well who is it?” – Daphne asked. The doorman cleared his throat again. – “He said Miss Y/n Bridgerton could guess.”

You already had a clue so you left the Parlor to head into the hallway. Your idea had been right. Tewkesbury stood by the door waiting for you. – “Miss Y/n.” – he spoke dropping into a bow. – “What are you doing here?” – you shout-whispered at him. Tewkesbury got startled a bit by the tone of your voice. – “I…I came for you.” – he said. – “My sister is inside.” – you told him a bit panicking. – “Francesca?” – he guessed. – “Daphne!” – you told him. – “I…I just wanted to see you.” – he responded as you kept looking frantically over your shoulder.

“I hope my grandmother had not scared you away.” – he asked when you gave him a gentle nudge back towards the door. You stopped furrowing your brows. – “I…you needn’t be frightened of her. She’s all bark but no bite.” – he told you taking a hold of your hand. – “I promise you.” – he continued as you got lost in his eyes.

Forgetting about your surroundings and only thinking of him. You were so deep into his eyes that you didn’t hear the door open. Till you heard a voice. – “You must be the Viscount?” – Daphne spoke. You jumped out of your skin, pushing Tewkesbury behind you.

“I am.” – Tewkesbury replied politely, moving a bit from behind you. – “And he is just leaving.” – you said pushing him back. – “Wha…no… no Miss Y/n.” – Tewkesbury whispered at you holding you by your wrist as you pushed him back. – “Come back another time.” – you whispered back to him. Desperate to get him away from Daphne yet he stood his ground, not moving quick enough. – “I still have your dance card.” – he whispered back making you look panicking over your shoulder.

Daphne watching the whole display. Tewkesbury holding you by the wrist trying to stay close as you tried to push him out of the house. She tilted her head with an intriguing hum. – “A cup of tea Viscount?” – Daphne called out. – “Yes!” – Tewkesbury called out letting go of you and stepping to the side. Daphne gestured to the Parlor. Tewkesbury went in as you followed behind. In the door opening plucked Daphne at your cheek with one of her glances. The one you feared the most. The one that stated that she knew more than you could see.

“The Viscount!” – Francesca pointed out teasingly. Simon turned his head looking the boy up and down. – “Isn’t it wonderful that he came to visit.” – Daphne said. Tewkesbury glanced over to you, catching your gaze. You held it still for a moment, for a longing moment where you stared into his eyes. Daphne looking between the two of you. – “Y/n tea!” – Francesca called out making you hum loud. You took your leave to set some tea.

Tewkesbury came to sit down in the armchair as Daphne had offered to him to sit. Both Simon and Gregory got up, coming to sit at each his side. Tewkesbury swallowed nervously at the stare Simon was giving him. Gregory smiled rather teasingly at him yet it uneased him a bit. – “You were at the opera.” – Gregory stated. – “I…I was…” – he replied. You returned to give him his tea. Taking a seat by your sisters across from him.

Tewkesbury drank his tea nervously hoping his hands weren’t shaking too much. – “Are you nervous boy?” – Simon asked. – “Simon!” – Daphne hissed at him for trying to intimidate him. Tewkesbury nearly spilled some tea. – “No…no your grace.” – Tewkesbury answered. You smiled sheepishly at Tewkesbury feeling a bit embarrassed by your own family.

“He’s very handsome.” – Hyacinth sitting on the ground in front of him. Staring dreamingly at him. Tewkesbury smiled. – “If you do not marry him then I want to marry him.” – Hyacinth said to you. – “Hyacinth!” – you shout-whispered at her to stop embarrassing you. Francesca snorted loud. – “Alright I believe calling hours are ending.” – you had jumped up, wanting to end the attention on you. – “Are you perhaps feeling shy sister?” – Francesca asked as you slapped a pillow at her head.

You gestured for the door as Tewkesbury followed. In the hallway you waited with him as the doorman opened the door. – “Have a good day my lord.” – you told him pushing him a bit to the door. Tewkesbury stood in the door opening turning back to you. – “Your family is lovely… please do not fear mine.” – he said almost desperately. As if he wanted you to know his rather cold grandmother could do you no harm.

You leaned against the door with your head, curling up a smile. – “I am not afraid.” – you answered. Tewkesbury took your hand and kissed the back of your hand. – “Till our next meeting.” – he told you taking his leave with a bow. – “For that I cannot wait.” – you spoke out of reach for his ears, watching him get in the carriage.

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Barón Tovar Takes a Wife

Second Movement (Allegretto)

6K / Bridgerton AU Regency!Pero Tovar x fem!reader, a childhood best friends to lovers story

Summary: Pero continues to be a source of encouragement and support as you navigate the marriage mart.

Warnings: Some pining and light angst. Soft!Pero warning. Liberal use of Bridgerton characters and canon.

A/N: I'm sorry for any historical inaccuracies/liberties taken! Bridgerton inspired dividers by @saradika-graphics 🥰

Series Masterlist 🎼 First Movement 🎼

You think you should have been warned that the days following season events are somehow always busier than the events themselves.

The morning after the Danbury ball, with hardly enough sleep and exhausted almost to the point of delirium, you find yourself yawning through Daphne’s chipper recitation of your schedule for the next few days.  You must have agreed to it all while inhaling your breakfast, because you’re now dressed in a prim and proper powder blue frock, sitting prettily in the Bridgerton’s upstairs drawing room, waiting for what feels like the millionth young man you must have met last night to make your reacquaintance.  Although there was no one who had caught your attention particularly at last night’s ball, you do recall several gentlemen being very pleasant and look forward to getting to know them better.  Every visitor and potential suitor that waits for your audience today is afforded your full consideration and open heart, even if you are still very, very tired.  And though the conversation gets repetitive and the gifts are slightly impersonal, you appreciate everyone’s efforts and invite them to return all the same.

---

It’s well after lunch by the time Pero steps into the front hall of Bridgerton House and is shown into the waiting room where he finds you and all the Bridgerton women in various states of exhaustion, draped over chaise lounges and chairs, while the Bridgerton men chat merrily and sample from various boxes of candies and treats that had been brought as offerings by your, Eloise and Francesca’s suitors this morning.

“Pero!” Though you are delighted to see him, you’re so worn out, all you can muster is a small wave.  You return the bemused expression he has on his face as he takes in the room and the collection of gifts and offerings piled high with a soft smile of your own.

“No peonies,” Pero observes readily.

Daphne chirps, “No, but lots and lots of flowers.  Expensive ones.”

“But peonies are your favourite,” he says pointedly to you.  You nod, heart swelling with fondness, “You remembered!”

“Of course, Dulce, I remember everything about you.”  You feel warm at his affectionate tone; you remember everything about Pero as well, but would never have expected him to do the same.

“How did this morning go?” 

The Duchess answers for you and runs through the list of suitors that called on you this morning, including tidbits on their pedigrees or impressive accomplishments.  Pero half listens as he looks over the table of gifts; refusing a biscuit when Benedict extends a box in his direction, he murmurs, “Busy morning.”

You and the women nod.  Eloise yawns.  Francesca closes her eyes.  You sigh.

Pero kneels before you, comforting hand on your leg, “What’s the matter, Dulce?”

Sighing again, but this time a little less weary, “I don’t know?  I suppose it’s that there was no spark.  I didn’t spark with anyone.”

Daphne is quick to reassure you, “It can take time!  Simon and I did not spark right away.  In fact, we hated each other.  But as we spent time together, our feelings emerged.”

You nod in comprehension, but joke, amiably, “Well now I do not know if it’s a good thing then that I did not hate anyone either.” When you see Pero still looking at you with an apologetic expression, you smile sheepishly, “You must think me very naïve.”

“No, not naïve.  Very, very sweet, and even romantic.  There’s nothing wrong with being hopeful, Dulce.”

Nodding gratefully at Pero, he smiles when he sees that you’re taking solace in his words and decides now is a good time to produce a tin from behind his back that you hadn’t notice he was holding, “I know you have received a lot gifts already and the day itself has been quite overwhelming.  Perhaps you do not have the energy for one more?”

There’s something familiar about the container Pero is holding out to you; when you open it and see the delicate wafer cookies contained within, you’re instantly transported to a small Italian bakery that you and Pero used to visit daily in Florence. “Oh Pero,” you breathe, your eyes bright.

“I was in Florence recently and could not help but revisit our old haunt.  Did you know Signor Russo is still there?  I’m embarrassed by how many tins I purchased.  I remembered last night they used to be your favourite and it just so happened that I had one tin left in my luggage,” grins Pero; all he has wanted to do since he said good night to you after the ball, is to draw out the smile that’s currently on your face.

“Thank you so much, Pero,” you close your eyes and hum in contentment as the familiar sweet flavour washes over your tongue.  “This is the best thing I received today,” you grin, “May I share?”

“Of course,” Pero isn’t the least bit surprised by your display of generosity and he watches with satisfaction as you excitedly pass around the tin to your friends, sharing with them its origins and small snippets of the time in your life when these cookies were a daily treat.

Invigorated by the nostalgic treat, you and Pero spend the remainder of the afternoon catching up and recalling fond memories of your childhood together.  You learn that after completing his studies, Pero embarked on the customary grand tour before returning to Spain to help his father with the Tovar estate.  Subsequent to his father’s passing, at his King’s insistence he resumed his father’s former diplomatic duties and has spent the last five years travelling under the same charge previously entrusted to the old Barón.  When you tell Pero about the many places you have travelled with your father since you saw him last, you delight in the discovery that you’ve been to many of the same places, sometimes missing each other by only weeks.  Your never-ending conversation comparing new and old favourite discovered delicacies and sights runs all the way until dinner; you can’t remember the last time you’ve had so much fun just talking.

It’s exactly what you had wanted to do since the moment you saw Pero last night at the Danbury Ball.  Your grateful heart overflows with joy that you’ve been allowed the grace of closing out this whirlwind twenty-four hours in the laughter-filled, carefree manner that can only be possible when catching up with an old friend.

When you enter the Ramsbury Ball the following week it’s with Pero as one of your party.  His inclusion the most natural thing given that he’s become a regular fixture at Bridgerton House, often joining Colin in the morning for breakfast and returning in the afternoon to check in on how you’re doing and how the day’s suitors have treated you.

You can hardly express your appreciation at having your old friend’s support while you endeavour on the daunting undertaking of your first social season.  Though you remain a popular fixture among the ton, you must admit that socializing so much does not come without effort, being used to much quieter and calmer company.  It does not escape you how lucky you are to have a group of friends and supporters such as Pero and the Bridgertons with whom you can momentarily relax and jovially chat in between dances and some of the more awkward attempts at flirting by your suitors.

“Wait, wait!” laughs Colin, “You mean to tell us that you were actually there when our good Barón got his scar?  Please, pray tell, how did it happen?  I have tried in vain to get Tovar to reveal his dark secret!”

Pero catches your eye and you see his own twinkle in mischief.  “I’m afraid my lips are sealed,” you proclaim, falling easily into conspiracy with your friend, “and on any account, the tale is not suitable for polite society.”

Eloise, Colin and Benedict all groan and try various tactics to convince you to give up your story, but to no avail.  You simply will not tell them that the fearsome scar over Pero’s left eye is the result of a boy falling off the dock after running too vigorously towards the lunch bell and slipping on a wet fish.  Though you can laugh about it now, at the time you had been scared witless when the sailors from your father’s fleet lifted Pero’s wet, limp body from the water; you had cried by his bedside all three nights he was unconscious, praying he would be alright.  Even now, Pero remembers the force with which you had punched him in his uninjured shoulder when he woke, scolding him for scaring you so and making him promise never to do it again. 

Later, when you’re once again gliding across the dance floor in Pero’s comfortable but firm hold, he grins down at you, “Thank you, Dulce, for keeping my secret and upholding my reputation as a dastardly rogue.”

“My pleasure!  Have you been telling people that your scar is the result of some great feat of bravery?  Perhaps you fought off five pirates in order to protect the virtue of a young maiden?”

Pero laughs, “Sadly my imagination is not as inventive as yours.  I have simply been saying the details of the incident are difficult for me to recall.”

You nod, knowingly, “Ah yes, on account of all the injuries sustained.”

“Exactly.”

“Well, I will be sure to drop enough vague hints to satiate their curiosity and raise you in their esteem.”

“Thank you, Dulce,” Pero says, amused as always by your good humour.

But you haven’t finished teasing, “... and perhaps they will be more forgiving of when you are dull, if they understand that you suffered a great many head injuries in your past.”

“Why you…”

Luckily for you, the dance requires you to spin away from Pero at this exact moment so you never hear what he says; by the time you turn back into his arms, he has already forgiven you – he’s never been truly upset with you before and has no plans to start now.  As the two of you continue to dance, your happy banter floats over the quickness of your steps and the laughter Pero pulls from you rings loud and clear across the dance floor.

---

Pero watches as you dance yet another dance with some seemingly upstanding gentleman from the ton.  A Lord something-something-shire.  Though he stands stiffly next to Benedict, scowling, inwardly he smiles and admires your graceful form.  You really have grown up to be a lovely, beautiful young lady, and yet – he finds in many ways, you’re hardly changed from the spirited, kind, and funny girl he knew in his youth.  You’re elegant and poised, but even as you extend your arm to your partner, the lilt of your fingers denote a playfulness that he remembers, something he does not observe in the other girls of the ton.  When not dancing, your pretty smile and witty remarks, coupled with the way your entire being lights up during the energetic story telling of one of your anecdotes, charms the entire room.  He’s exceptionally proud of you.

Still, he can tell you’re holding back, that you’re not entirely comfortable to be yourself in this setting.  Perhaps it’s modesty that begs you not to draw the attention of the entire room.  Or you’re following some outdated tutelage to conform with the subdued formality of such events.  All he knows is that to him, you’re radiant, a beacon of light, but he has yet to see you unleash the full extent of your charisma on the ton.

A weird, inexplicable part of him is glad that you don’t.  Something in him oddly akin to possessiveness wants to remain the only man at these events that knows you the way he does; knowing the depth of your wry humour, your never yielding compassion, and your unique perspective on the wide world that only a handful of people in this room have seen.  This same part of him leads him to spend most of the balls and societal events with his face set in a deep, glowering frown, standing apart from the other members of the ton, needing to be alone in order to wrestle with his thoughts.

Since the day following the Danbury Ball, Pero has brought you a single stemmed peony every single day, reasoning that if nothing else, you will have at least one of your favourite flower if none of your suitors sends any.  You come to look forward to the quiet meditative minutes you spend carefully clipping and arranging your one peony every day; it’s as if Pero has not only given you the flower, but also permission to take some relaxing time to yourself amidst the hustle and bustle of your social obligations.  By the time the Somerset House Gallery viewing arrives, you have yourself a fairly impressive bouquet that brings you peace and joy every time you look at it. 

As usual, Pero joins your group for the outing, but to your surprise, Eloise does not.  The reason for this is soon clear when Colin announces that he will be escorting Penelope Featherington as part of your party today.  You haven’t broached the topic with Eloise, but it’s clear that something has happened between the two women.  For as long as you can remember, Eloise and Penelope were thick as thieves, the very best of friends – when she thinks no one is watching, you’ve seen how this rift has affected her, but you can also tell Eloise would rather not discuss it.

Although you do not know her as well as you do the Bridgertons, Penelope has always seemed to be a lovely and friendly type of person.  Spending the afternoon with her today, you find her to also be witty and observant, direct in her comments and transparent in her thoughts and feelings as your group wanders through the galleries and enjoys the art on display.  Periodically, a friend of the Bridgertons or a suitor will join your small group as you move from piece to piece, making small talk and asking you or Francesca what you thought of this painting or that. 

When your party gathers around the refreshments table, Mr. Barnett, a young man you recall dancing with once at a recent ball, joins the conversation and remarks that the entire event is too dull for his tastes.

Met with polite but awkward looks and a light scoff from the Duchess, he apologies and tries to explain himself, “I simply mean that a sporting event, say a boxing match might provide more excitement than simply standing around and looking at pictures.  Although, I’m sure, Miss Featherington, you and your family might find this banality preferable to the type of action that typically surrounds the boxing ring.”

You’re absolutely shocked.  Even having not returned to London for several years, you had heard the rumours surrounding the late Lord Featherington’s untimely death.  Although certainly scandalous, as far as you knew, it was all speculation and you can’t imagine any reason to bring it up in polite conversation, never mind the gall of doing so directly to the poor deceased man’s daughter.

Colin looks murderous, his hands flexing, clearly battling himself on how he’d like to handle the situation without creating too much of a scene.  Next to him, Pero glares menacingly at Mr. Barnett, ready to follow his friend’s lead and provide whatever backup is necessary. 

Your candy laced voice snaps all three men back to the present, “I’m honestly so astonished, where do the men find their courage nowadays?” directing the question at Mr. Barnett who perks up at your attention.  You continue, all smiles, “For the life of me, I don’t think I could ever be brave enough to voice a thought like that out loud.”  Mr. Barnett turns bright red and mumbles something that sounds like “Right,” before bowing slightly and scampering away.  Pero finds himself smirking and filled with pride.  He remembered this viper-tongued hidden side of yours – you, who was always so sweet and good-natured, but irrevocably intolerant of cruelty or injustice.

Once in a small town in Greece, he had watched you chase away a group of boys bigger than you who had been stealing candy from a local girl, with nothing more than the ferocious spitting of admonishments and a small stick.  That the bullies probably didn’t even understand a word of English did not apparently leave your harsh rebukes lost in translation; the fury in your face and the conviction in the stance of your small frame doing all the talking for you.  After comforting the little girl, you had then given her all your candy and seen her safely home.  Later when Pero had offered to buy you more candy, you had been surprised that he knew you had run out, embarrassed he had witnessed your display of ferocity.  That was the day he bestowed the nickname “Dulce” on you, telling you as he refilled your candy bag that he was proud of you; the same way he’s proud of you now.

Unsurprisingly, Penelope excuses herself shortly after and when Colin follows her, your group breaks apart and you end up walking through the gallery with just Pero.  You wait as long as you can, making sure you’re out of earshot of others before putting your heads together the way only close confidants do, recounting what had happened.

“The audacity of that man, if he can even call himself that!” you practically hiss, still so incensed at the lack of civility that you had been witness to.

Pero chuckles, he’s always quite liked it when you would get riled up and vent to him; it was like watching a soft kitten bare its claws, “Well you certainly put him in his place, Dulce.”

Sighing, you certainly hope so, “I hope Penelope is alright.  And I hope Mr. Barnett at least has enough sense not to approach her ever again.”

“Well, if he does, I’m sure he will have plenty to contend with, including another fearsome tongue lashing by the prettiest lady of the season.”  While you feel your cheeks flush at his compliment, Pero continues, “My guess is that you won’t be seeing him in the suitors line at Bridgerton House.”

You laugh and roll your eyes, “Pity.”

“But what if he would have brought you peonies, Dulce?” teases Pero.

You take Pero’s arm, leading him back to a painting you’ve been wanting to revisit, “I’d throw the bouquet at his head.  Besides, I already receive the most beautiful peonies from someone I actually want to spend time with.  You can tell the men of the ton that peonies are taken, they need to find their own flower.”  You chuckle cheerfully and Pero finds that the sound lands deep in his chest and makes his heart expand.

If you thought the Italian cookies or the peonies were thoughtful gifts, Pero renders you absolutely speechless when he presents you with a breathtaking necklace before the Crawford Ball.  When he sees you, he’s secretly pleased that the necklace will compliment the cream gown that you’ve chosen for the evening, but he also can’t help but notice the way it shapes to your curves and accentuates your pretty features.  He waits with bated breath as you open the black velvet box and triumphs at your gasp and the way your eyes grow wide as you lift the delicate ruby necklace from its soft resting place. 

“Oh Pero, are these…?” you whisper, so full of awe and disbelief that you’re unable to finish your sentence.  It’s not often that something or someone renders you speechless.

“The rubies from India?” he finishes for you softly, “Yes, they are.”

Your eyes shine bright at the recognition of the rubies that had been gifted to Pero’s father by Indian dignitaries; when you were younger, you were so entranced by their beauty that you would often ask the old Barón to show them to you, and the kind hearted man had always indulged you with a chuckle.

“May I?” asks Pero gently, and you turn to let Pero drape the necklace around your neck, letting it rest delicately over your collar bones before he clasps it securely.  Hand gingerly touching the precious jewels you turn to Pero, still stunned, “Pero, this is too much.”

“Nonsense,” he smiles generously, “it always amused Father how much joy these rubies brought you.  I think he would have loved to see you wearing them.”  Your eyes well up with emotion, remember the gentle man whose sweetness you see shining so brightly and clearly in his son before you.

That night, when your necklace attracts the inevitable compliments, Pero watches with a full heart as you proudly talk about his father with love and generosity, regaling your admirers with tales of the far-off lands where you knew the man who raised him best.  Unavoidably, heads would turn in his direction during your stories, and Pero finds himself grimacing at the attention; choosing to turn away and move out of your audience’s line of sight to somewhere where he can once again admire you from afar in peace.

It doesn’t escape the ton’s notice that Pero only ever dances with you at balls; though your dance card is always full, the second and sometimes even third dance are permanently reserved for him.  Your smile is the brightest for him and ever present whether you’re together, on the dance floor or off.  There is no politeness or restraint with the two of you, only lively and animated conversation - the cheerful and melodic harmony of your joint laughter often carrying above the noise of the room.  He only ever smiles for you.

In between dances, if you’re not engaging in small talk with other young ladies or your suitors, you can always be found chatting happily with Pero and the Bridgertons; the other ball goers looking over in jealousy that your little corner of friends might actually dare to enjoy yourselves at an event meant for the very serious business of finding husbands.

Mornings at Bridgerton House include the usual parade of suitors waiting with gifts and flowers to have an audience with you or Francesca, and to Eloise’s extreme mortification, sometimes her as well.  If he doesn’t stay after breakfast, Pero generally arrives mid-morning to visit with Colin, but spends the majority of his time scowling at the young men waiting patiently in line, making no secret of the fact he’s scrutinizing them as he passes by.

The Duchess cannot decide if the Barón is a help or a hinderance to your marriage prospects.  On one hand, his fearsome glower and imposing figure have been enough to scare off any potential suitor who either had less than honourable designs on your fortune, or, via consensus with the Bridgerton brothers, was deemed to be a rake, or worse.  On the other hand, it was clear to any person with eyes that the two of you have a deep friendship - your company the only one he sought out, and his always cheerfully received by you.  Daphne could only imagine that it might intimidate even the most strong-willed, unwavering of suitors.  She wonders if any of your suitors ever question if your friendship with Pero masked a deeper affection between the two of you; she herself having started to wonder the same.

Convincing herself that it’s for your ultimate well-being, she endeavours to talk to the Barón about it. 

The morning after the Crawford Ball, when the line of suitors is the longest its ever been, Daphne waits for Pero to make his usual appearance mid-morning, and when he is seen in, she’s already anticipating him at the bottom of the stairs.  After he greets her courteously, she asks, “Barón Tovar, may I please request a moment of your time?  There is something with which I need your assistance.”

Following the Duchess into a room off the main hall, Pero asks with curiosity, “What may I do for you, your Grace?”

Daphne starts by thanking him for his support during the season, acknowledging that his presence has meant so much to you and helped you tremendously in conquering any nerves you may have had about debuting.

“Of course.  The pleasure has genuinely been all mine; it sometimes feels almost unbelievable that it has been over ten years since we last saw each other.  I have found it remarkably easy to fall into old patterns.”

“Yes, it is evident that the two of you are very close,” Daphne hopes that her comment comes out as the compliment she intends while at the same time hinting to Pero why she may have asked to speak to him in the first place.

Countenance faltering a little but still keeping his tone kind, Pero queries, “Is there something you wish to ask me, your Grace?”

Daphne decides from the limited time she’s known Pero that he is the type of person to appreciate transparency and directness, and so she ask with what she hopes is an impassive look on her face, “Do you intend to court her, my Lord?”

Pero nearly stutters, so caught off guard by the question.  He contemplates the implication of the Duchess having asked this question, and then, more seriously, his answer; after a few moments of silence, Pero responds truthfully, “No.”

Daphne nods in response, “I see, my Lord.  Please do excuse me for asking what you may have found to be an impertinent question.”

“Not at all, your Grace.  I rest easy at night confident that you always have your friend’s best interests at heart.”

Daphne nods, “Yes, always.  That is my highest priority.  Please consider with me: if I have wondered, do you think it is possible that some suitors and potential suitors have pondered the same question?”

And there it is, a perfectly reasonable question that Pero knows if he were to answer, would expose a part of his heart that he’s been keeping hidden, maybe even from himself.  Pero was telling the truth when he said he would not court you, but he is not so selfish to wish to keep you from another if he cannot have you for his own.  Truthfully, he is aware that he presents an intimidating and imposing figure, the mettle of which might scare off any number of gentlemen interested in pursuing you. 

“I should step back,” he announces abruptly and with finality.

“No, no!” protests Daphne, “I do not think that is necessary!  Your presence and attendance with us at the season’s events have been most welcomed and to be honest, a comfort.”

“I do not wish to do more harm then good, though,” Pero says, resigned, “If my presence deters someone who might be her match, I could never forgive myself.”

Again, though Daphne has only known Pero for a short period of time, she somehow knows that he’s made up his mind, and that even she, a Duchess, does not have the power to change it.  Pero thanks her for all her continued kindness and attention towards you and bids her goodbye with a bow.  Heading to leave out the front door, he looks up, as if looking through to the drawing room where you’re currently sitting, one last time before exiting Bridgerton House with a heavy heart.

You haven’t seen Pero in a week and a half and you’re worried sick about him.  He hasn’t been by Bridgerton House at all and he missed the Trowbridge Ball last week.  He, of course, does not owe you a tally of his coming and goings, but you feel unsettled at having not seen him for such an extended period of time after having seen him nearly every day for the past two months.  Your days, though full of engagements, feels empty when he doesn’t make an appearance.  You miss him.  You miss his gentle teasing, his reassuring presence and the way only he can make you laugh.  You have not really laughed in nearly ten days.

You convince Eloise to show you how to sneak out and traverse the alleys that run behind the houses of the square safely and quickly, the way you know she used to in order to visit Penelope, so you can secretly pop down the street to check in on Pero one evening.

You follow Eloise’s instructions exactly as you hurry along the pathways that weave behind the grand houses and it takes you only five minutes to reach the house Pero is staying at.  Standing in the small courtyard, you spot one window with a light on; hoping Pero is in the lit room, you find a few stones on the ground and launch them upwards.  Your aim could be better, but you do manage to hit your target a few times, ricocheting a few stones against the glass with the lightest of clinks. When you see Pero’s face appear in the window, you’re more than relieved – he doesn’t look so ill that he can’t move about and that’s good news.  You wave at his confused face and watch as he leaves the window; it’s a minute before the back door opens, “Dulce, what are you doing here?  Is everything okay?”

Pero is looking around into the courtyard, concerned for why you would appear at his door in the middle of the night, alone.

“I could be asking you the same thing, Pero!  I am so relieved to see you up and about, I’ve been so worried about you!”

Pero melts a little at the concern written across your face, “Me?  Why?”

“I haven’t heard from you in… well, it has been ten days now!  You haven’t been by Bridgerton House, Colin did not know where you were, and you missed the last ball!  I thought you must have taken ill!” your voice sounding a little shrill as your finish in a huff, as if why you might be worried was the most obvious thing in the world.

Pero laughs a little at your theatrics and his jovial manner makes you laugh as well, “I am very glad that you are not.  I mean, you’re not ill, are you?”

“No, I am not, Dulce.  Thank you for being worried about me.”

You breathe a sigh of relief, “You are very welcome.  Well!  Now that I am convinced you’re not at Death’s door, may I ask where you’ve been?  Why have you not come to see me?”

Pero scratches the back of his neck and looks mildly uncomfortable, “I had some business to take care of over the last few days that took up a lot of my time.”

“Oh!  Well, I hope it has all been settled to your satisfaction!”

“It has.”

You’re glad for him, “Good.  Then things will be back to normal?  You will be able to come to the Queen’s Luncheon this week?”

“I do not think so, Dulce,” his chest tightens a little at the way your face falls, “I think it is probably better if I stay away for a while.  I don’t think I am helping your marriage prospects very much.”

You’re so confused, what does Pero have to do with your marriage prospects? “Pero, I’m not sure what you mea-” but you’re cut off from finishing your thought when you hear a distinctively feminine laugh ring out from inside the house, followed closely by a response from a second, also feminine voice.

Your hands fly to your mouth to cover your gasp of shock upon realizing that Pero has company.  Female company.  And for some inexplicable reason, your eyes start to fill with tears, “Oh Pero, I’m so sorry!  I did not realize you were not alone!  I am so sorry to interrupt!”

You’re babbling and you’re not sure why nor can you seem to stop yourself, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” It’s not from embarrassment.  You’ve known Pero far too long to be embarrassed by anything with him; the two of you have always been able comfortable enough with each other to laugh off most things.  No, this is something else - an uncomfortable, sharp feeling right in the middle of your chest, “I just thought you were sick and I am so very glad you’re not.  I’ll go now!  I am sorry, so sorry!”  You fight back tears as you turn and flee back to Bridgerton House.

Eloise is waiting for you as she promised she would; she freezes when she sees your tear-stained face but to her credit, doesn’t pry – she just asks if you are okay and ushers you back into the house when you nod.  By the time you’re tucked into bed and your lights have been blown out, you’ve been able to name the dreadful feeling that’s made a home in your heart.  It’s devastation.  You’re devastated.  And plenty confused and angry at yourself for feeling that way!  It’s selfish, you think, selfish and childish.  You have become so accustomed to being the only woman Pero ever paid attention to, you realize that you had somehow come to think of him as yours, and having been confronted tonight with the fact that he decidedly is not, you’re now feeling foolish and plunging headfirst into a sense of loss for something that was never yours in the first place.

But… was that all it was?  No, it wasn’t.  You had liked it.  You liked being the only one he danced with.  The only one who he seemed to smile for.  The only one who could make him laugh.  Oh, his laugh.  Deep and booming - you lived for the way it shook all the way from his belly and crinkled the little lines around his eyes.  You harboured pride in being the only one who could pull it from him and you liked all the other ways that his countenance would seemingly soften just for you. He made you feel special and so worthy.

And that wasn’t the only way he did so.  He was so thoughtful and considerate; remembering even the littlest things about you: what you liked, what brought you joy.  He knew you so very well; always knowing the exact thing they would make your heart sing and taking every opportunity to do so.

You think about how Pero had let you lean on him this entire season - every request for reassurance or support met with kindness and words of praise for your wit, your mind, your sweet nature that you couldn’t help but believe based solely on the earnest and genuine expression in his eyes.

He had been there every step of the way with you, shouldering some of the pressure of the season so you wouldn’t have to; being your reprieve and relief, a shelter where you could laugh loudly and unabashedly be yourself.

He made you feel free and cared for.

And Lord, was he handsome. Closing your eyes, you think of the distinct slope of his nose and the strong cut of his jaw, covered in that scruff of his - unkempt but somehow still so distinguished.  You think of Pero’s deep brown eyes that would fleck with gold when he laughed, and wonder how you haven’t fallen into them every time he looked at you. And his hair. Oh, his hair. Your fingers actually itch just thinking about the soft curls that frame his face so perfectly; how you wish you could run your hands through them.

The thought that there is another woman who might be doing exactly that right now shatters your heart so completely.

You love him.  The realization is both a relief and a complete shock to your system.

The unexpected admission to yourself that you’re in love with Pero, followed closely by the certainty that your feelings are undoubtedly unrequited, is a one-two punch to your heart.

You cry and cry until sleep overtakes you.

I've never done a tag list before so please let me know if it doesn't work, or you don't/do want to be on it, or it sets your phone on fire 😅 @drewharrisonwriter @inept-the-magnificent @tuquoquebrute @stcrrjoon @anoverwhelmingdin

@callsignmedusa

[mochinomnoms]

Hellooo

Congrats on your 1K!!!🎉🎉🎉

I discovered you blog recently and I am HOOKED, your writing is so tasty and fluid that I just keep going ✧⁠◝⁠(⁠⁰⁠▿⁠⁰⁠)⁠◜⁠✧

I Hope you dont get too tired with requests, take breaks and drink water!!!

Ok for the actual ask, may I have a dialogue 19 with Eyedress, and if it were suggestive it would be perfect

Preferably Ruggie💞 you can choose the other 2 (If you even want to)

ruggie bucchi x gn!reader [tags] — suggestive, tiny bit of hurt but not really [wc} - 1, 025 prompt 19 “I try to find a reason to pull us apart"” song: Kiss Me Like It’s the First Time (Eyedress, “Let's Skip to the Wedding”) note - Ruggie canonically calls you a puppy. take that with what you will. francesca (1k event)

“Kiss me like it's the last time/ You'll fall in love / I always want your love”

Ruggie knows that compared to everyone else on campus, he was the bottom of the barrel. He wasn’t a prince, an heir to a fortune, or even from a well-off family. Sure, his Grandma was a wonderful lady, maybe a bit strict growing up, but besides her and their home, Ruggie didn’t have much to offer. Maybe if you weren’t in such a bad spot, if you had a good family here, if you hadn’t been plucked from your world with nothing but the clothes on your back, he’d be happy to call you his own. 

But he can’t. How can he when you have people willing to drop thousands of thaumarks on you like it’s nothing. Literally! He was listening to Kalim run his mouth as he talked about renovating Ramshackle to your preference. 

“Oh! And we can get you quartz countertops! What kind of colors do you like, I can have it made to your favorite aesthetic! Ooh, what if we replaced all the appliances to match it? The kitchen back home has a gas stove built into the countertop, we can replace—”

“Uh, I’d need gas for that though, right?” You laughed, splayed across Ruggie as you two lay in your bed. Kalim was on video call with you, having gone back home for the weekend for some sort of event. You’d been complaining about one of your kitchen cabinets breaking and letting your few plates tumble out. Thank the Seven that they were plastic dishes. 

Kalim being, well, Kalim, immediately went into a tangent about adding in a gas line to your dorm and adding this and that. Everyone was acutely aware that Kalim, as generous and kind as he was, was especially sweet on you. There were even some rumors that he had a crush on you, something that made Ruggie feel ill. 

You just laughed off Kalim as he continued to whine about fixing up the dorm. You ended the call as you cheerfully told Kailm goodnight. 

“Do whatever you want Kalim, I won’t complain about free renovations! Good night, say bye Rugs.”

“Hmm? Oh, bye Kalim.” Ruggie gave Kalim a small smile and wave, who returned it with a beaming grin. 

After a few more words between you and Kalim, you finally ended the video call, tossing your phone to the night stand, and moving to straddle Ruggie’s hips. 

“What’s wrong?”

Ruggie blinked up at you in confusion. “What?”

“What’s wrong? Your ears are flat, they only go flat when you’re upset.” Ruggie whimpered as you leaned down to flutter kisses down his throat, shuddering as you pressed your teeth against his Adam's apple. 

“You wanna tell me what’s wrong? You jealous?” 

“Mmh, no I’m just—aaaAAAaaaAhH!” Ruggie yelped as you dug your teeth into the nape of his neck, suckling until you were satisfied with the bruising red mark forming on his skin. 

“Geez, give a guy a warning, won’t ya?” Ruggie let out a breathless chuckle, his chest rumbling as he purred from each kiss you pressed up your neck as you hovered over his lips. “You’re nothing but trouble, Puppy.”

“And yet, you love this trouble, don’t you?” The sound of your kissing, mixed with gasps and sighs from both of you echoed in the room.

“Now tell me,” Ruggie tried following your lips as you pulled away, but you kept him pinned to the bed. By now, you’d managed to throw his shirt across the room and traced your nails down Ruggie’s chest. “Why are you upset? Was it Kalim’s call? You know, he just likes to say hi sometimes.”

Ruggie pinned his ears flatter against his head, huffing as he looked to the side, though be traced his hands up and down your arms. 

“Nothin’, it’s just that Kalim sure likes to spoil ya. You know?”

You hummed, waiting for him to keep going. 

“I’m just saying, he’s really sweet on you. Maybe you should consider taking advantage and marrying the guy!” Ruggie laughed, though it sounded forced. 

He stopped as you clicked your tongue, leaning back down to bite at his cheek. 

“Hey! You know your teeth aren’t really sharp enough for that.” Ruggie chuckled as you stopped and pouted, looking up at him as you batted your eyelashes. 

“Hmph, it’s like you just wanna get rid of me.”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“That’s what it sounds like!” You argued, huffing into his neck as you pushed yourself against his chest and neck, like you were trying to mold yourself to him. “You always do this. If I didn’t want to be with you, I would’ve left already…”

Ruggie sighed, rubbing the skin between your shirt and bottoms with his thumbs. “I know, I know. I just think that you oughta take advantage. Kalim’s not the only one, and you’re all by yourself here! Get yourself a rich boyfriend, and you’re set for life!”

You suddenly grabbed the back of his head, pulling at his hair to make Ruggie expose his neck again. He whimpered at the rough touch, though his tail was wagging rapidly against the sheets. 

“And why would I do that?” His hand slid under your shirt and up your spine. He gently scratched your back as you shuddered into his touch. “When I have such a lovely boyfriend?”

Lips molded against each other, teeth clashed, and hips rolled as Ruggie, once again, failed to push you away. Instead, as he slipped your shirt off and moved to give you your own love bites and hickeys, Ruggie moved to bring your bodies closer together. Ruggie let himself lose himself in you once again, and would continue to do so. Again and again, until he found another half-hearted excuse. 

But for now? 

You pulled away again, breathless and flushed. “I just want to spoil my hardworking hyena, won’t you let your Puppy do that?” The down right heady tone in your voice, in that low, soft whine, made him hot in all the right places. Ruggie nodded, giving you the okay to wreck him. 

For now, he’ll indulge, shamelessly, in you. As long as you’ll continue to have him. 

comments and reblogs appreciated 🩷

[mschievousx]

now and then | b.b.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x ofc, anthony bridgerton x ofc (platonic)

summary: loraine silva always knew she was not normal. she loves unusual things. she loves her father's guns, horses, boxing, climbing a tree, falling from a tree, engineering, astronomy... oh, and a man eleven years older.

series masterlist

ix. nine: need your love

loraine did not sleep a wink at all. writing only a quarter of the piece for her father yet, she was too tired to lift her fingers anymore. it was a surprise that the family did not ask her about playing the piano last night. they must have missed the way she slammed her fingers on it. that or they chose to be silent about it, respecting the girl's sorrows.

when the sun showed up, the bridgertons coming down one by one, she simply pretended she woke up earlier than them as they crossed each other on the stairs on her way to freshen up.

after they have all done their individual activities and had breakfast together, lady bridgerton ushered her children in the drawing room. the young silva had told her yesterday that she wishes to inform the others too, if it was okay with her. she believed that they deserve to know as well, considering they had their moments with her father too.

"why are we gathered here?" eloise asked, noting the expressions of the people who already know.

violet lightly coughed to compose herself and get their attention, "we have something to tell you all, eloise."

she turned to the young silva, gesturing for her to continue. the girl nodded, pausing to herself and thinking the right words to say. but there really was no easy way to say it, is there? the person they once loved is dead. there is no way around it.

"my father has passed."

she uttered in one breath, the second daughter walking to her at once with a quiver, "oh, raine."

violet's lips formed a thin line as she turned to her other kids, "armand's death is a complex situation, so i ask you all to not let the news leave this home."

her two youngest nodded forlornly as francesca was the only one who found her voice despite the news, "of course, mama."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the three people in the center of this battle settled in anthony's study once again. it has been their office, the only place they can plan with no worry of listeners.

"we must plan our course of action." anthony voiced with tenacity in his eyes.

the lady turned to him as she took a sit on the couch, "we, anthony? no, you are not involving yourself on this."

he regarded the silva in a scolding tone, "there is no need for you to go through this alone. we can help. we can ask lady danbury, the duke of hastings—they will be willing to help."

she could understand his earnestness to be of any form of aid to her. her family was there for him all those hard times before. but this one, she was adamant to let him stay out of this.

"i am not involving civilians in this, anthony. if i could, i will not even involve father's soldiers."

raphael turned to her at the mention, the look of disagreement clear on his features, "raine, with the general gone, we are all at your disposal."

"and this is me saying i will not dispose of you all!" she looked at him directly in the eyes with firmness, placing no room for arguments. the young silva's voice has never been so clear and intact than that.

their heated exchange was interrupted when a knock on the door resonated in the room. major thorpe informed them of his presence before the viscount responded for him to enter.

the soldier acknowledged the two men before going straight to the girl, passing her a letter with the highest legislature's seal. she opened it with unfavorable feeling as gilbert stepped back and out of the room.

raine slowly stood up, eyes still on the paper as raphael walked to her and peered at the paper. his breath hitched at the contents he read, turning away as he raised his head with closed eyes in defeat. the girl dropped her arm hopelessly.

"the parliament has called for our presence."

anthony shut his eyes closed at that. now that the higher government is involving themselves, it will be much harder to find a way out. raine continued in disbelief, "tomorrow afternoon."

"it will be my death." the colonel stated, acceptance and denial mixed in his tone.

"i will go alone." she declared firmly to him once again.

raphael wanted to scoff but he could not bring himself to do so at the graveness of their situation, "absence is punishable for high treason. i am dead either way."

"they have figured we know." she said in realisation, ignoring the former's disagreement of her idea.

the government knowing that they now know of the crown's atrocities to its own people is the most terrible thing that could happen in their current position. they are being left with almost no move or strategy to execute.

"you cannot go." the viscount expressed his thoughts, "there will be a ball tonight. you can attend and we can use it in our advantage to get the ton on our side."

she really appreciated the fact that anthony was so invested in helping them get out of this, but there was simply things that are hard to get out of. she let out an exasperated sigh as she ran her fingers between her hair, muttering to herself, "how did things turn to this?"

raine wanted to tear her hair so much, punch someone, or run yards away. she badly wanted to release the tension that has been building up in her for days, and now this on top of that.

she looked at anthony, "i will not go to the ball, but you must. your absence will reach them and they will link you to use, extending the target to you and your family."

the girl was trying to control her breathing. one problem at a time. she chanted to her head, but fate had other plans. because just after she is trying to deal with one, another came in the form of a newspaper.

gilbert came in, not bothering with a knock this time as urgency in this one is much higher. he immediately handed her the newspaper, announcing the news himself.

"it is out, my lady. they have released the death of the general.

"what?!" raphael exclaimed in immense anger, head noticeably heating in fury.

raine read the headline with incredility in her tone, "they are claiming my father betrayed the crown."

in just a span of a single night, the government had managed to turn the story around. this is very disadvantageous for them. the government releasing what happened first would mean them getting the support of the people first. and the support of the people, no matter how uninformed, is a monstrous force.

raphael continued to read the contents of the column aloud, "they named us under suspicion as well as the rest of the troops."

raine passed the newspaper to him as she sat down in weariness, head casted down in deep thinking, "fuck, they have pushed us to a corner."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the bridgertons have already left for the ball tonight. loraine situated herself in her guest room, joined by raphael as they go through different ideas and strategies on what to do for tomorrow.

they needed a very good plan, or else no one is getting out alive. and so far, there has not been one good plan at all.

"we must parade then, on our way, to sway the people's favor." raine pitched, focusing on turning the people to them so that at the very least, the government could not do anything rash immediately.

the colonel clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he shook his head disapprovingly, "they will not be swayed by a single parade of traitors."

the two have been at this for hours now, their ideas getting more and more desparate as the time passes. he looked at her solemnly as he continued.

"you must understand, we are not under suspicion, raine. they have decided we are traitors and we will be written in history as such."

the young silva wanted to tell him otherwise. she wanted to tell the man that the life they have spent on defending the country would not go to waste—that their legacy would not be reduced to something as shameful as treason.

she bit her lips as she herself shook her head in worry, "we can at least try—put on theatrics so that we will at least leave alive after, no matter the sentence."

there was no way out, raphael knew. hence, he admired the girl for trying so hard to save him, to save the soldiers, to save herself.

he inhaled before throwing a pitch of his own, one he was sure the girl would strongly disagree, "we could play like i have taken you hostage as we exit. this way, you will be free of their suspicions."

she placed her pencil down harshly and turned to him, "while you take the fall? no!"

he sighed resignedly, leaning back on his chair, "stop trying to find a way for me to live. no one will believe i do not know anything about the general's plans."

the girl was about to respond, when he continued, "raine, what we should be planning for must be directed on ensuring that our story will not fall on deaf ears. there is no getting out of this unscathed. the thing we must fight for is the truth."

he pushed himself away from the table. he stood with a notable grief on his step, ruffling her hair childishly—the only little act that would bring them the smallest joy in this moment, "we can talk about it again in the morning."

━━━ ✦ ❘ ☽ 【❖】 ☾ ❘ ✦ ━━━

the miserable planning earlier took a toll on her. even the room could not offer her any comfort. and so, she stood up and made her way to the balcony. perhaps, the fresh wind would greet her gently.

raine has been awake for two days straight now, and although she can clearly feel the exhaustion, she had no intention of sleeping. depending on how tomorrow goes, she might not even come out of it alive. there is no point in sleeping now if she will have an eternal one soon. and so, she would like to relish the little moments.

however, her peaceful silent conversation with the night is disrupted when a rushed sound of footsteps grew louder and louder, nearing her.

a certain second son appeared on the balcony.

benedict placed a hand on his chest as he bent down, catching his breath as cold sweat run through his features.

raine looked at him in confusion, "what are you doing here? is the ball done?"

"you must not go tomorrow."

he ordered pointedly as if a command as he stood up straight, chest still heaving deeply. the young silva scoffed at what he said, finding it utterly idiotic.

"i will not if i could."

he paused, trying to think of other things that could convince her, but he knew that she really could not. doing otherwise would mean execution. and so, he tried to calm himself, jumping to the other side and chose to comfort her this time.

"you will be okay. in truth, you really did not know anything about it in the first place." if she could not avoid it, then at the very least there would be not a lot to worry much, "you are not a traitor."

however, they should really worry—extremely. because everyone knows that when your enemy is the crown, there is almost no way to win the match.

"my father was not and look what they did."

"then you cannot go!" he exclaimed in distress and angst as he walked aimlessly near her.

"they know we are staying here, evidently by the letter." her voice began to increase in volume at the persistence of the man, "it is a form of intimidation. they will make you all traitors as they did to us, and i will not let that happen!"

"i will not let you go as well." he defeatedly respond, almost beggingly as he reached for her hands.

"you already have!" raine took her hands from his immediately, as if repulsed by his actions, "in the gardens two nights ago!"

"then i will not this time!"

benedict declared with striking determination, unwaveringly. he let breaths to come in between them before he continued in a softer manner, like an artist that does not know what to paint next.

"this urge to run away from what i love is a sort of sadism i will no longer pretend to understand."

raine wanted to slap him. to punch him. to shoot him. he dares to say such words in misleading context. she was right; he really was exhausting. she looked away, trying her earnest to not let the tears fall from her empty eyes before turning back to him.

"this has always been you, ben. you say one thing today and different the next. you never make up your mind."

"well, this is me." he offered with a gesture presenting himself, "i am here to make up my mind for the first time."

raine has heard it before, when her parents were sitting at the balcony. her father said, thank you for loving me when i still tasted of heartache and war. it was then she saw her mother crying and realised it can also be a form of happiness.

and she wanted to cry because of happiness at his reciprocation. but, she fears it was too late for that.

"is it fun for you to see me chasing and crawlimg for you? declaring my affections rejection after rejection?" she found her voice getting stronger once again, despising the way he acts as if their exchanges before can be simply shrugged by his presence now, "loving you has always been as easy as breathing, but tonight, i am gasping for air."

at her accusing tone, he could not stop himself from defending his person. unknowingly to him, his own voice were laced with malice as he retorted.

"that is because you surround yourself with fire, raine. despite the close proximity, i cannot cross." he took a step back, completely in contrast of his attacking words, "is it fun for you as well? to make a fool of me by the childish notions of your love."

raine gritted her teeth harshly at his words. she can accept his rejections, no problem. but to call her love fake? to call it childish? she stepped forwards to him, pushing his chest with her index finger, rage clear on her features against the good night.

"i am tired of explaining over and over again. just like the fire, my love for you burns!" she stopped the action, throwing her arm back harshly as she directed all her will to her voice, "it will always because it must!"

"and you think me not burned?" he stepped closer, ire and passion blending in his sharp voice, "raine, i am ablazed! its flames are scorching me day after day. you haunt me! your presence screams, even in my dreams—especially, in my dreams."

benedict looked at her piercingly in the eyes, "i dare not love you just as humans should dare not travel the stars. i am not worthy of such heavenly body."

he charmed, his voice gradually becoming smaller, trying to find the peace within him. he ran his fingers between his hair, looking away in utter shame of his words. he sighed heavily, opening his eyes to catch sight of her once again.

"i have seen you since you were an innocent young. i have been with you throughout everything." his voice small, like a child confessing his sins, "i have seen you grow into such a fine lady as you always were, even as a child."

the realisation of his words did not come to him, seemingly decided to divulge his side of ugliness and his twisted love—his deviant nature, all for her to see.

"does that not make your bones curl?! does that not disgust you enough?! for goodness' sake! the voice in my head is a monster, raine. he does not whisper. he has been screaming for me to do things—to grab you, to seize you, to put you under me. do you know how hard it is to drown him down?"

raine could do nothing but watch the man she has yearned for all her life reveal his innermost aberrant tendencies. it was a kind of undressing.

"i held lady arnold in my arms, her mouth exploring myself and all i can utter is your name, just as i have always done with other women. is that not sickening enough?"

he gazed at her beggingly, as if a cry for help—a cry for her to free him from whatever this is. he took a step back from her defeatedly, like a man afraid of touching what he loves in fear of it breaking.

"like the fire, i cannot touch you."

and at his final confession, she walked towards him, steps evident with striking determination and eyes filled with passion.

"then let me."

she took a hold of his collar and pulled him to her, their lips connecting desperately and mouth starving for each other. maybe, there was nothing more to say. perhaps, she has said everything.

his hands and lips moved in reflex, deepening the kiss as he pushed her back on the wall. she grasped on the back of his head as he lifted her leg, his lips brushing her ear as he settled on her jawline. his other hand explored her harshly, his mouth dangerously grazing her purity.

they took themselves away from the wall, lips longing for the other again as he guided her slowly inside, fighting for each other's taste. playing their aggressiveness in front of the door, he wasted no time in turning the knob, pushing themselves inside.

in contrary to what edgar allan poe said, years of love were not forgotten in the hatred of a minute. it was amplified.

taglist: @aadu2173 @imgondeletedis @pumkiinpasties @rebleforkicks @perseny @everavenclaw @datingbtr @peetahpahkah @omy0 @idek-what-to-put

[shmaptainwrites]

����𝐀𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐈 [𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐑𝐈𝐃𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐎𝐍]

PAIRINGS — Violet Bridgerton x fem!seamstress!Reader

SUMMARY — Madame Delacroix expands her business with a French seamstress and Violet is the first customer.

WORD COUNT — 6.2K

WARNINGS — 18+ NSFW MDNI, it’s just gay sex guys idk what to tell you, French dialogue used throughout (minimally but context helps explain)

NOTE — I feel obligated to tell you that this fic is in part inspired by a song I listen to on repeat, although I don’t think the French guys that wrote it realized it would be the catalyst for a sapphic fanfic

Lady Violet Bridgerton was never one for last minute endeavours. That wasn’t to say she didn’t appreciate a little spontaneity every now and again, but surely she preferred when things were planned and she was prepared. 

So it shocked her, of all things, that she could be the reason for her own unpreparedness. In reality, her family’s circumstances — with Francesca’s departure to Scotland, Anthony and Kate’s travels to India, and Colin and Penelope’s honeymoon — were the real cause of her scattered brain, but she still blamed herself of course. 

It was with a very apologetic look that she entered the modiste, hopeful that Madame Delacroix might be able to fit her in for a last minute appointment so that she could have a dress made for an upcoming ball. 

“Unfortunately, I will not be able to help you, Lady Bridgerton,” the seamstress said and Violet cursed internally, “but I have a colleague who has just arrived from France to help me since business has been so-err plentiful.” 

“Oh!” Violet was pleasantly surprised, blinking her eyes a few times, thinking something was better than nothing at this point. “Would she be able to see me?” 

“She is just getting settled, but I am sure she can make some time for a very loyal customer who I am sure has been just as busy as me recently,” Madame Delacroix gave Violet a friendly smile which was bashfully returned. 

She asked Violet to wait for a moment, going to the back where Violet could hear some quiet chatter before Madame Delacroix returned with you by her side. 

“Lady Bridgerton, this is Madame Bisset.” 

Violet had to remind herself to move her head up and down in a polite nod, her eyes glued so intensely to yours. She wouldn’t be surprised if her mouth was slightly agape like that of a fish, but she could have sworn she’d never seen anything as beautiful in her entire life.

“I have a space upstairs,” you explained. “It is still a little messy. I hope you do not mind.” 

“I-” Violet’s voice came out strained and she coughed and cleared her throat. “No, that will not be a problem.” 

“Perfect, right this way, Madame,” you motioned for her to follow you, going into the back of the shop, climbing up a set of narrow stairs until you reached the top, revealing to Violet another workspace she hadn’t seen before. 

Like you had already mentioned, it was a little rough around the edges, fabric was still pouring out of boxes, a few mannequins were tucked away in the corner, but there was a nice carpeted area in the middle of the room with a raised platform and a large mirror.

“Um, Madame Delacroix said you came from France recently,” Violet found herself beginning to talk. 

“Yes, I arrived just one week ago,” you explained. “I heard there is quite the market for dress making in London and I was looking for a bit of a change.” 

“I hope you enjoy it here,” Violet smiled. “Lord knows the ton cannot get enough of a good modiste.” 

“That is what I am relying on.” you chuckled, and motioned for her to step up on the platform. “Now, what is it you are looking for, Lady Bridgerton?” 

“Just an evening gown, for an upcoming ball,” she said, finding herself unable to break her gaze from you, watching as you brought out a measuring tape and looked through some boxes of fabric. 

“Any preferences?” you asked. “We just had this lovely fabric come in, I think it would look quite stunning on you.” 

Once you had found it, you pulled it out of the box with a smile and came to drape it over Violet’s shoulder so she could see it on herself. You smoothed out the fabric along her front and she almost felt herself stagger back at the gentle and light pressure over her chest and midsection. 

“What do you think?” 

She blinked a few times, like she was trying to get her eyes to work again, taking in the blushy pink fabric with darker pink paisley embroidery. 

“Yes, it’s quite nice,” her voice came out a whisper. 

“Perfect,” you smiled. “Then I will take your measurements and you can be on your way.” 

Measurements. Violet wasn’t sure if she’d be able to make it through that. 

There was something electric about your touch, even when your fingers were simply hovering over her, she could feel sparks sending signals to her heart, beating faster until she could hear it pounding in her ears. 

Violet had always known attraction to be strong and forceful, but this was bordering on violent. 

She watched as you adjusted the measuring tape in your hands, first starting with the length from her shoulder to her ankle. You worked with much concentration and diligence, and for that Violet was grateful, because it meant that maybe you wouldn’t notice how each time she felt your hands against her she would have to centre herself and remind herself how to breathe, repeating the words in and out over and over again in her head. 

Eventually, you needed to take the measurements for her hips and bust and Violet knew if she didn’t distract herself somehow she might faint. 

“Um when will I-uh need to come in for adjustments?” she asked, just as your hands wrapped the tape from around her back to the front of her chest. 

“Currently you are my only customer,” you said. “I believe two days will be more than enough time for me to finish. After the adjustments are done I can have the dress sent to Bridgerton house if that is agreeable.” 

“Oh, um, no there is no need for that,” she shook her head. “I can pick it up. The home is quiet nowadays with most of my children off in every corner of Lord knows where,” she chuckled nervously. “It’s nice to get out of the house and get some fresh air, perhaps get some tea, go for a stroll.” 

“Yes of course, whatever suits you, Madame,” you nodded your head. “And I believe we are finished for today.” 

Violet gave you a sheepish smile and stepped down from the platform. 

“Thank you, Madame Bisset. I am not normally this-uh disorganized,” she explained. “I promise next time I will plan things much better.” 

“Lady Bridgerton, I love what I do, really it is no trouble. Come any time to see me.” 

Violet lightly chewed on the side of her bottom lip, looking down at her feet, her hands moving to her stomach, perhaps to remind herself that she was standing. 

“I will keep that in mind,” she nodded and wished you a final goodbye before walking down the stairs and exiting the modiste, grateful now for the air outside more than she thought she had ever been in her life. 

—

Two days later, Violet returned anxiously for her alterations. When she entered the modiste she was surprised to see you already downstairs, looking through some drawers for something. 

You heard the ring of the shop bell and looked up from where you were hunched over, a welcoming smile gracing your face. 

“Lady Bridgerton,” you greeted.

“Madame Bisset, it is good to see you.” 

Her mind drifted back to the image of you moments ago, bent over an open drawer. It certainly was good to see you. 

“Did I drop in at a bad time?” she asked. 

“Not at all, I was just getting some lace for the hem of the dress and around the sleeves and neckline. I thought it might be nice to try, no?” 

Violet nodded, she would simply say yes to anything that either gave her an excuse to be with you longer or to come back more often. 

You led her upstairs to your workspace again, and this time when she entered she realized it was noticeably cleaner and more organized than last time. 

Boxes were replaced by racks of fabrics and shelves had been uncovered to host a myriad of little things, all of which she was sure you’d find use for in due time. 

“Should I help with the dress, Madame?” you motioned to her outfit and Violet gulped. 

“Y-yes, I suppose that would be…necessary,” she nodded her head and you moved to close the door for the workspace and lock it to ensure privacy while Violet stood up on the slightly raised platform in front of the mirror. 

You had come to stand behind her, your fingers carefully fitting themselves between her sleeve and shoulder, helping her slip one arm out at a time before pulling it down slightly over her chest and guiding the fabric to the ground so she could step out of it. 

It was something she’d done in front of other women countless times, but never had she felt this vulnerable and exposed. She looked down and saw the hairs on her arm stand on end, only to be followed by a slight jolt when she felt your hand against her corseted waist.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized with a chuckle. “I just need…” your voice trailed off as you looked down at her feet and she realized she needed to step out of her dress. 

A rosy colour quickly made its way onto her cheeks as she stepped out of her dress so you could hang it up for her and bring the new dress for her to try on. 

She stepped into the pink fabric and tried to make sure her body made no involuntary movements as she felt your hands graze along her sides, helping each bare arm slip into a sleeve, now finally covered again. 

“Hmm,” you stood in front of her and analyzed the way the fabric fit. “It is a little loose here, no?” you asked, tightening the fabric around her chest slightly so that it was more in line with the shape of her corset. 

“I suppose, maybe, yes,” she nodded, “I-I’m sorry, but do you have any water?” Violet asked.”I-I’m feeling a little parched.” 

“Oh of course,” you nodded, letting go of her dress and walking to a pitcher and some glasses you had set to the side, filling one up for her before bringing it back. 

She tried her best to drink it graciously, but there was nothing more she wanted to do than down the whole glass in one shot. Once she was finished, you took the glass from her and set it aside, picking up the lace you had brought up with you, to present your suggestion.

“I was thinking maybe we can put it around the hem of the dress, like this,” you showed her, bending down and lifting the skirt just slightly to tuck some of the lace under it so it was peeking throughout the bottom. 

“Oh,” Violet raised her brows as she looked in the mirror. “I actually quite like that.” 

“So do I,” you nodded, standing back up, “And I thought maybe the arms…” 

You tried the same thing with the sleeves and, again, it suited the look of the dress. Lastly, you placed it around the neckline, moving to hold it up from behind her so she could see. 

Violet thought at that moment it was probably better not to breathe at all considering if she did, with the restriction of her corset her heaving chest would be quite obvious. 

“Mmm, je n’aime pas ça,” you shook your head, your voice soft and close to her ear. 

“I-I’m sorry?” 

Violet had spent most of her younger years learning French, but for some reason, the entirety of the language had escaped her. 

“I do not like the lace here,” you switched back to English, removing the lace and pulling the fabric a little tighter around her bust, pinning it in place with the pins from your pin cushion. “It is better like this.” 

“You think so?” she asked quietly, feeling herself swallow harshly after she finished speaking. 

“I know so, Madame,” you nodded. “Why would one hide such perfect skin?” 

Violet looked in the mirror at what you were referring to, her chest littered with freckles and spots. 

“I hardly think it is perfect,” she shook her head. 

“It would be like covering a starry sky with clouds,” you offered. “One cannot gaze at the stars and wonder about the universe on a cloudy night.” 

Violet chuckled nervously and looked down at the floor for a moment.

“Madame Bisset, I think you mistake how many people are gazing.”

“You would be surprised,” you gently placed your hand on her arm, rubbing up and down in a reassuring motion. 

She could feel the fabric of the sleeves move against her arm in response to your touch and it caused a warmth to spread in the pit of her stomach. 

You moved to grab a container with a few more pins and began seeing where adjustments needed to be made and dealt with the fabric accordingly. Violet felt herself easily growing restless, her fingers fiddling around with the small bits of thread sticking out of the end of the sleeves. 

“So, um, where does the name Bisset come from? What I mean to say is what area of France?” she quickly clarified. 

“Bisset does not belong to a region,” you explained. “It means one who weaves.” 

“Oh, how fitting,” Violet hummed. 

“It is not my real name,” you admitted. “Just something I picked up for work.” 

Violet bit the inside of her cheek, trying not to let her curiosity get the best of her, but when she heard your quiet chuckle from behind her, she tried to turn her head to look back at you. 

“What is it?” 

“It is okay, you want to know what my name actually is,” you said. “You can ask.” 

And so she did, and for the first time she heard your name. She tested it in her own voice, like she was savouring having your name on her tongue, burned into her mind. 

“Mine is Violet,” she said quietly. 

“Violet,” your French pronunciation of her name made her feel a shiver behind her neck, or maybe that was simply your breath against her skin. “Un nom joli pour une personne même plus jolie.”

Violet blushed at your admission, and you grinned. 

“So you understand me then?” 

She nodded her head. 

“Then what did I say?” you teased her a little, while adding a few more pins, now along the length of the sleeves. 

Violet looked at you as if to ask if you were really going to make her say it out loud, and when you didn’t seem to back down she caved. 

“You said that it was a beautiful name for a beautiful person,” she said before pressing her lips together. 

“Close,” you looked up at her. “A beautiful name for an even more beautiful person.” 

“You flatter me too much,” Violet shook her head. 

“In my experience, a dress is only as beautiful as the person wearing it,” you said. “It is always a pleasure to make something for someone who shines just as brightly as the fine fabrics and silks. Even more so when they believe it.” 

You put in the last pin and looked content with your work. 

“I should have this ready by tomorrow,” you told her. “You still wish to pick it up?” 

“Yes,” she nodded with a smile. 

“Alright, let me help you change so that you can be on your way.” 

Carefully, you helped Violet take off the dress, conscious to make sure none of the pins pricked her, and after she stepped out of the dress, you put it on your work table, getting what dress she came with and helping her slip back into it. 

“I will see you tomorrow then, in the afternoon, in case anything comes up,” you said and she smiled. 

“Tomorrow afternoon it is, Madame.” 

“Au revoir,” you gave her a small wave and again, she held her hands against her stomach. 

“Au revoir.” 

—

Violet wasn’t sure she’d ever gotten so many compliments on a dress as she had on what you’d made for her. There was something new and cutting about it and much to her surprise, it became very hard to book an appointment with either you or Madame Delacroix afterwards. 

News had spread to the rest of the ton of you and your talents, and everyone wanted a piece. 

It wasn’t until a few weeks later that Violet managed to get herself in for another appointment, needing a dress for a wedding along with a few odds and ends she thought with all this uncertainty she may as well get done now.

When she arrived at the modiste, it was overflowing with people. She never thought she had seen it so busy and she wondered if it was really all from that simple pink dress. Although the dress itself wasn’t necessarily simple, it was elegant in its style, its function, and of course, it had a certain je ne sais quoi.

“Lady Bridgerton,” you grinned, seeing Violet enter the shop. “I believe I have you to thank for all this business. Both Genviève and I do.” 

“Oh, I didn’t do any of the work,” she shook her head. “I simply wore it.” 

“And you wore it well, which is half of the battle,” you chuckled. “Come, I am always happy to see my favourite customer.” 

Violet’s heart warmed when you called her your favourite, a sense of pride overcoming her. Still out of all of the young debutantes and busy mamas, she somehow remained at the top of your list. 

When you arrived at your workspace, closing the door behind you and walking further inside and let out a small breath of air, a bright smile came over your face. 

“How can I help you today?” 

“I need a dress for a wedding,” she began, “along with a few other things.” 

“Such as?” you pressed. 

“Some clothes for the country, a few dresses for home, and some new night clothes. I was thinking perhaps a robe and a nightgown or two.” 

“Madame, you are keeping my hands busy,” you smiled. “Now I already have the measurements I will need for the dress, so we can pick fabrics, then maybe I can show you some things I have already made in case something catches your eye and we can make alterations and then fill in any gaps after.” 

“Sounds splendid to me,” she nodded. 

“Parfait,” you grinned and clapped your hands together. “What colour are you thinking for the dress you will wear to the wedding?” 

“I usually stick to blue,” she said. “It was the colour my late husband’s family used a lot, but…” she paused. 

“You’re thinking of something else,” you put your hands on your hips. “Purple.” 

“How did you know?” she looked at you a little astounded, a small chuckle coming past her lips, lacing her words with a certain playfulness. 

“A suspicion,” you shrugged with a teasing wink. “Now light or dark?”

“Light, it is getting warmer outside after all.” 

You rummaged through some things and pulled out a few swatches of fabric for her to choose from. 

“They are all nice,” Violet chewed on her lip while trying to decide. “What do you think?” 

You took a long look at the collection in front of you and then looked up at Violet, sizing up each swatch to the woman in front of you, fabricating the dress in your mind’s eye until you figured out which one you liked the most.

“This one, I think.”

You held out a simple silky fabric for her. 

“I can add something to it, a design, some beads,” you said. “But I like this colour on you.” 

“I will leave it up to you,” she said. “I am sure I will be happy with whatever you make. Surely, the rest of the ton is.” 

You chuckled and placed the fabric back down. 

“Now some of those other things,” you motioned for her to follow you. 

You showed her a few dresses to see what ones she might be interested in taking with her to the country. Some were made with simple cotton for days spent resting inside the house in the off season. Once she had decided which she liked, you set them aside to make sure they were properly fitted for her. 

“And nightclothes?” you asked. “What about something like this?” 

You pulled out a particularly sheer gown, probably meant for someone on their honeymoon, or maybe at the very least with someone to share it with. 

“Um,  I am not sure I am the right fit for that,” she chuckled nervously, knowing her resolve with you already wore thin, hoping you would accept her reasoning and move on to something more modest. 

“Why not?” you asked.

“I am a widow, Madame, I wouldn’t have anyone to wear it for,” she said truthfully. 

“You could wear it for yourself,” you said. 

Violet tilted her head and blinked, “Myself?” 

“Ben oui,” you nodded like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Who said you have to wear something for someone else?” 

Violet chewed on her cheek. She supposed she wasn’t really wearing anything for anyone but herself at the moment. 

“It is okay to wear something that makes you feel beautiful even if you are the only one to see it,” you reassured her. “If you do not think you would feel beautiful in this, now that is something different.” 

Violet pressed her lips together. It had been so long since she had worn something other than a simple cotton nightdress, but there was something alluring about wearing something that matched her desire, even if she would end up being the only one to see it. 

“And the fitting for this?” she asked. 

“We could do it right now, if you wish,” you said. 

“L-Like for alterations?” she looked at you wide-eyed.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, draping the dress over your arm, ignoring her surprise. 

She looked between the dress and herself a few times, contemplating whether or not she should do it, or more, whether she could handle it. 

Wearing it for herself was one thing, but wearing it in front of you was something else. 

She nervously scratched behind her ear, thinking in her mind that it might be best to pass on this for the moment, but when she opened her mouth to speak, she said,

“Alright then.” 

You smiled and turned to go back to where you would do the alterations and Violet blinked hard, processing what had just left her mouth. 

“Are you coming, Madame?” 

Violet looked over at you and nodded, slowly walking over to the platform. 

Similar to before, you helped her out of her dress, and she stood in front of you again in her corset and undergarments, but this time after her dress was placed off to the side, your fingers nimbly worked on the laces on her back, deftly loosening the material and unravelling it until it was loose around her. 

Violet, not quite ready to let go, held it up from the front, noticing her breathing becoming shakier by the second. 

“I can take that for you,” you extended your hand out for her corset and she swallowed thickly. 

It took her a few moments to remember how to work her hands again, carefully peeling the material away from her chest and handing it to you, unsure of what to do with her arms before deciding her best option was to cross them over her chest. 

When you returned, you came to stand in front of Violet, the nightgown in your hands, ready to help her put it on. You looked down at her crossed arms then back up at her blue eyes and her cheeks flushed before moving her hands and lifting them above her head so you could slip the fabric over her. 

The hem of the dress stopped at her knees, much shorter than anything she was used to wearing. The slight blue colour almost enhanced the sheerness of the fabric and Violet tried to take it all in, running a hand down her midsection, noticing how she could see her bellybutton.

She tried not to focus on how she could feel your gaze burning into what felt like her very soul. 

“What do you think of the fit?” she asked quietly. 

You pursed your lips. 

“I like how it fits around here,” you ran your hands along both sides of her waist down to her hips. “Less, up here.”

Your hands migrated to the fabric barely covering her breasts and she could have sworn she let out a small squeak, feeling your fingers brush against her. Her suspicion was confirmed when you spoke. 

“Everything alright, Madame?” you looked up at her. 

“Fine,” she whispered. 

“T’es sûre?” you murmured, stepping a little closer and adjusting the straps over her shoulders. 

“Mhmm,” she almost whimpered, pressing her lips together and looking up at the ceiling. “I’m fine, it is just a little chilly up here,” she said. “You know when you get cold, you um…you feel things more.” 

You nodded your head. 

“That is not to say it was cold before, I am just cold now because-” 

“Tais toi.” 

Violet blinked. 

“Excuse me?” 

“You heard me,” you looked up at her and placed a finger under her chin. “I said tais toi.” 

Despite Violet’s shock that you had essentially told her to shut up, she found herself speaking still.

“Really?” she began. “You won’t even use le vous poli?” she asked, referring to your less polite and more informal grammar choice. 

“Why would I use that when everything I want to do to you is very, very impolite?” you whispered, merely millimeters away from her mouth, your breath mingling with hers. 

Violet wasn’t sure what overcame her, she grabbed your hands, placing them over her breasts, her mouth agape as shaky breaths fanned over your face. 

With that permission, you brushed your thumbs on top of the fabric, over her nipples, her whimper deliciously clouding your senses, encouraging you to do it again. 

“If you are really so set on wearing this for someone,” you gripped her tighter, eliciting a surprised gasp, your lips travelling closer to her ear. “You could wear it for me, ma belle.” 

Violet hummed and leaned her head against yours, feeling you move along her until your foreheads were pressed together, noses brushing against each other. 

“We shouldn’t,” Violet breathed. 

“We shouldn’t,” you shook your head, still moving closer until you captured her lips with yours. Her hands found their way to your waist, narrowly avoiding your pin cushion, pulling you against her, your thumbs still gently massaging over her breasts, content hums and soft moans echoing in your mouth as you kissed her. 

When you pulled away, you pressed your forehead against Violet’s again, your eyes shut. 

“You have another appointment don’t you?” Violet whispered and you nodded and she had to bite back the whine that wanted to escape. 

“Come back tonight,” you murmured, your hands moving to hold both sides of Violet’s face, a reassurance. “Two doors down.” 

“W-What would I tell my carriage driver?” 

“Pick your most discreet one,” you whispered, pressing your lips to hers again in a much softer kiss. 

She nodded her head and when you pulled apart further and she opened her eyes, she could see you smiling back at her and she thought if you were so certain, maybe everything would be okay. 

It wasn’t until much later in the evening when Violet was standing outside your door, waiting for you to come and open it, that the reality of the situation fully set on her. She was caught in such a haze before, her stomach swirling with an all consuming nausea that was almost delightful. 

She felt her arms wrapping around herself tighter, nervously looking around to make sure there were no unwanted eyes watching her, until she heard the door open in front of her, bringing her attention back to the present. 

You were quick to wordlessly take her hand and bring her inside, closing the door behind you. 

“You are tense,” you remarked, holding her hand in both of yours, gently massaging its back with your thumbs. 

Violet was unsure of what to expect, but she did know wherever this led, she wanted to follow it, to chase that staggering violent feeling until she couldn’t take it any more. 

“I just didn’t want anyone to see,” she whispered. “I am fine.” 

You smiled. “Bien.” 

You helped her take off her cloak, biting your bottom lip when you saw what she was wearing underneath. 

“C’est jolie,” you hummed. “But I think I am more excited to see what is underneath.” 

Violet chuckled nervously, feeling a certain heat come to her cheeks. She let herself be pulled into you when you took your hand in hers, melting into the kiss that followed, allowing you to lead her through the hallway and into what she assumed was a bedroom. 

Her suspicions were fully confirmed when she felt the back of her legs hit a plush mattress, making her fall back, only to be gently lowered the rest of the way by you, now leaning over top of her. 

“W-Wait,” Violet whispered.

“Hmm?” you looked at her patiently. “Ça va?”

“What happens next?” she asked. 

“Do you want me to explain it to you?”

You tilted your head to look at her and she nodded. 

“First I take this off,” you murmured, working at the series of ribbons in the front of her dress that kept it tied shut. 

She watched as you undid each one, single handedly, revealing more and more of her bare skin until your hand came and fully pushed both parts of the fabric aside, leaving her exposed in front of you. 

“Then I listen,” you kissed her jaw. “Your breathing, your body, it…tells me things.” 

One hand moved to cup her breast and she sighed. 

“Like that,” you smiled. “And I follow that, I see where it takes me.”

You pinched her nipple between your thumb and pointer finger and she arched slightly into your touch. Carefully, you twisted it between your fingers, your mouth trailing its kisses down her neck and chest, until eventually your mouth replaced your fingers, tongue swirling and teeth grazing against the soft and sensitive flesh. 

Violet let out a breath of air, a whine caught in the back of her throat as she arched further into you, her hand coming to hold your head against her. 

With a gentle kiss, you paused your mouth’s movements, taking your hand from where it rested against her waist, dragging it across her stomach. 

“Next,” you began, “No, it is too vulgar in English,” you shook your head. 

“Tell me in French,” she begged. “Dit-le moi, s’il vous plaît.” 

You smiled and kissed her breast again. 

“Since you asked so nicely.” 

Your finger trailed a little lower, now tracing lines across the base of her stomach, the skin there soft and stretched from many pregnancies, and oh so precious. 

“Je prends mes doigts,” your fingers moved even lower, the blood pumping to Violet’s head so fast she thought she might faint. “Et je les appuie ici.”

“Oh!” she moaned, her head turned to the side, your thumb firmly against her, massaging in slow tantalizing and tortuous circles.

“Mais, je préfère les mettre comme ça.” 

Violet gasped, your name on her lips as she felt your fingers inside her, beginning a slow and steady pace that her body seemed to match with the movement of her hips. 

“Is this good, or do you want more?” you asked her, not stopping the movement of your hand and fingers. 

“More, please,” she breathed. 

“En Français, ma belle.” 

“S-S’il vous plaît.” 

“Bien sûre,” you smiled and increased your pace, fingers carefully searching until they found the intense response they were seeking from Violet. 

“There,” she nodded her head, eyes squeezed shut. “Mmm.” 

She pressed her lips together so tightly you could have sworn they went white. 

You listened to her instructions, continuing to work at that spot, leaning over top of her, feeling her breathing pick up with each fan of warm breath over your face. You pressed a few kisses to her jaw, your ear right next to her mouth, listening intently as breathing turned into moans that didn’t stop. 

You could feel the heat radiating off of every part of her, clouding your own senses, encouraging you further to push her over that edge, eager movements guiding her until her mind went blissfully blank, her back arched towards you while you slowed your hand, her breathing much more ragged than before until you carefully removed your fingers. 

Wiping them carefully on the sheets next to her, you then took her face in your hand, pressing a slow kiss to her lips. 

Violet hummed into your lips, like she wanted to say something so you pulled away, watching her finally open her eyes once more. 

“Can I?” she whispered. 

“Can you what, chèrie?” 

“Do that for you?” she asked. “Teach me.” 

You grinned, leaning down and capturing her lips in another kiss. 

When you pulled apart this time, she pushed herself up on her forearms, watching as you moved to sit next to her. She knew the first step, her hand brushing against the sleeve of your nightgown, pushing it off your shoulder, studying how your skin felt against her fingers. 

You took your arm out of your sleeve and waited for her to do the same with the opposite side before tugging the sides down until the fabric pooled at your hips. 

She leaned in to kiss you, guiding you to lie back on the mattress before her hands came back to the fabric, pulling it completely off of you. 

She took a moment to admire you in front of her, feeling that same intense pull towards you as she did when you had first become acquainted. 

With her lips against yours once more, she hooked her fingers around the top of your underwear, pulling it down as her lips detached from yours so she could finish the job. 

She leaned over top of you, her brown hair falling in waves on either side of her head, the soft fabric of her robe-like dress, creating a curtain around her, but her body still on full display for you. 

You couldn’t help but reach out and snake a hand around her waist, your thumb brushing back and forth in small motions. 

“Tell me,” she whispered. “What do I do next?” 

You moved your hand up from her waist tracing along her side and down her arm, until her wrist was in your hands. 

“You can touch me here.”  

You placed her hand on your breast. “Or here.” 

Your hand moved hers lower, only hovering over your core. 

“Or anywhere that feels right when you listen.” 

She nodded her head slowly, your hand finishing its guidance as she watched with bated breath, your eyes closed anticipatorily, small shaky breaths coming past your lips as her fingers made contact and you finally let go of her wrist. 

Violet tucked some of her hair behind her ear with her free hand before letting herself feel and explore you. 

She paid close attention, listening to what sounds filled the air, a small smile coming to her lips when you moaned her name. 

She moved so her thumb replaced her fingers, continuing to brush against that spot that seemed to make your face twist and contort in beautiful ways she’d never seen before. 

Violet became curious, her other hand moving to cup your breast, brushing her thumb over your nipple, noticing the new reaction it had brought, a groan and a plea for more. 

Both of her thumbs worked in tandem on different parts of your body, pulling your focus in two directions, back and forth with no end in sight.

Violet was entranced by you, squirming slightly under her touch, the fact that she was the one making you feel this way, like you had no control. The only thing possible for you to do was let her know how much you wanted, no, needed her. 

“Violet,” you whimpered. “Please, m-more.” 

Violet smiled devilishly and leaned down, her lips ghosting your ear. 

“En Français.”

“S’il vous plaît, Violet, mon Dieu,” you groaned before she increased the intensity of her ministrations. 

Her hand moved from your breast up to your face, holding it up so she could kiss you as her thumb worked against you, a warmth spreading in her stomach as you moaned into her mouth, your hips meeting her touch until you were gripping onto Violet for dear life as the only hope of reminding yourself you were, in fact, still on earth. 

She stopped a little more abruptly than you would have liked, still thrumming with pleasure, and holding her close. 

“Was that right?” she teased and when you finally looked up at her, grabbing her chin with your thumb and forefinger, pulling her down in a kiss, your last words, a mutter against her lips. 

“Tais toi.” 

TAGLIST —

@paola-carter @madde11 @thesamesweetie @cherrysxuya @philocalistwrites @mako-mermaids2021 @oh-mydarling @courtneyteal @amethyst-bitch

[writers-hes]

All Things End

You always knew Tommy as the cheerful boy who took care of you. He always knew you as the smart girl that he visited by the docks. The daughter of a prostitute, the son of a deadbeat father; a soldier who protected his country; a whore who protected him; a gangster who controlled Brimingham; and now, a wife. War changes people, you just didn’t realize that war could change you both. (angst, depictions of abuse, poverty, prostitution, canon-typical themes, death, war, time jumps, depictions of mental illness, and a toxic marriage)

A/N: This whole fic was inspired by Hozier’s latest releases; Nth/Unknown, All Things End, Francesca, and Eat Your Young. I recommend listening to the album before or after you read this. This dedicated to everyone who reblogged the last chapter. Thank you for the love; it means the world.

PROTECTION SERIES TAGLIST | PROTECTION MASTERLIST navigation | main master lists |

PART ONE: Toy Horses Outside the Brothel

BIRMINGHAM, 1914

You’ve been inconsolable since the Shelby brothers left. Everyone can see how different you were ever since they left. The Shelby’s reached out to you—but you didn’t like going to Watery Lane. You begged Polly to remove the Blinders that were supposed to watch you and she agreed after a while. It wasn’t the same without Tommy protecting you. You didn’t have the strength to face them, to go to their house and pretend like it was all okay. 

“Angel, I’ve missed you,” he sighed into your hair. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course, I do, Simon,” you told him. “How are you? It’s been a while since you last saw me. You don’t like me anymore?”

“You know that I could never forget about you, darling,” he said. “I have a gift for you,” 

“Really?” you asked, eyes hopeful. “What is it?”

Simon smiled, fishing a velvet jewellery box out of his pocket. He opens it and you gasp. A pair of sapphire earrings. 

“I have to start dressing you up when I take you to London,” he says. “You’ll wear it for me?”

“I’ll wear it,” you confirm. You fixed your hair up in a faux bun. “Will you put it on me, Simon?”

“Of course,” he says, doing what you asked. “I’m fixing everything for us,”

“For us?” you asked, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“I told you that I’ll show you the world, didn’t I?” he asked, grasping your jaw softly to make you look up at him. “I’m taking you away from this shit hole.”

“We’ll stay in Birmingham?” you asked, voice wavering. Fuck. What do you do now?

“No, we won’t,” he shook his head. “I have a mansion in London waiting for us. Why would I want to live here?”

“But…”

“But what? Are you not thankful that I’m showing the whole world? I thought I was your hero?” he asked, his hand over yours. 

“You are!” you said, inching closer. “You are. But I have friends here,”

“We can visit them,” he says dismissively. “Anytime you want. Or they can visit us, you know? Once you’re mine, you’ll have everything you want on your fingertips,”

“Why are you so nice to me?” you asked. 

“Because you’re my Angel. The most beautiful girl I’ve ever laid eyes on. You make me want to take care of you,” he says. “I love you. You love me too, right?”

“Of course,” you lied. “Of course, I do.”

-

Polly and Ada liked to visit your house every now and then. They said that it makes them forget all about Watery Lane. Over the times you’ve spent here, the house was fully in bloom. You’d buy plants and some fresh flowers to keep in a vase. There was always a pot of water ready to be heated for tea. You hated your job but this freedom, your own house…it sometimes made everything worth it. 

“Shit, love. Your rich bastard must be buttering you up,” Polly says, helping herself on some tea. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the way you wore those sapphire earrings. You like him?”

“No,” you shook your head. “He has some of his men guard me…I’m afraid that he’ll stop showing if I stop wearing these heavy earrings.”

“Waiting for…”

“It’s hard,” you said. “I don’t go to the brothel anymore. Simon forbade me to work there after he gave me this. He said he’s fixing up things in London.”

“Do you want to leave?” Ada asked, looking at you. 

“No,” you swallowed. “I’m thankful for…for being here. Not having to work anymore and just living comfortably but the price that I’m paying for it…”

You wanted to be there when Tommy comes back. You wanted to be the one to kiss him the first time you see him out of that train. But if you left…if you didn’t wait like you promised, what good would that be on the end of things? You wanted to see how life with Tommy plays out but what would you in the meantime? Where would you go?

“You have to choose what you’re willing to sell, then. You can’t live like this if you won’t string that rich bastard along. You won’t have to leave if you still work at the brothel.” Polly said. “Did you at least…think about it?”

“He said I could visit…or you could visit,” you replied, looking at anywhere but them. “But…but…I want to be here,”

“What if he doesn’t come back? This war…war changes people. Would you really toss your entire life away for a man in the war? I’m supposed to be on Tommy’s side, but I don’t want you missing out on life just because you're waiting for him,” Polly said. She’s always been practical, and she was…right. But you desperately wanted to see him before anything else. Still, Tommy and his brothers might never come back. If you turned down Simon’s proposal, you’ll be the town pariah. You could be wasting a good life away for Tommy Shelby. 

“Pol,” Ada hissed but her aunt only smoked her cigarettes. 

“All things end, darling. Maybe whatever you have with Tommy has run its course,” she exhaled, clouds of smoke entering your lungs, closing in on you. All things end. All things end.

-

LONDON, 1915

“I can’t believe I’m going to be married today,” you whispered. Your voice betrayed you, wavering slightly. “Fuck,”

“Hey, you can still stop the wedding,” Ada replied, stopping the work that she was doing on your veil. It was an expensive one, it cost more than your home in Birmingham. You never let that go, asking Ada to take care of it while you were gone. “We can run away,”

“I’m already here,” you nodded. “I want to…I want to see Tommy.” Your face was crestfallen, heart drumming in your chest because you never imagined your wedding to be like this. You were picking on your nailbeds again, nevermind the lacquer that coloured your nails. You were getting married in the most expensive place in London. Flowers hung from the ceiling; pearls lined your wedding dress. The sapphire earrings hung from your ears like albatrosses. The diamond ring on your finger demanded attention, a big rock on a silver band embedded with smaller diamonds. You never imagined being married like this. You always thought that you’d marry in the countryside, a nice flowy gown that you borrowed, wildflowers, and dancing. Not like this…surrounded by other businessmen, rich families who never gave a shit about you until you married Simon. 

“You’re getting married but you’re unhappy. This should be your day,” Ada said, ensuring that nothing was out of place. “You’re the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen in my life.”

You smiled tightly. You should be thankful—ecstatic. You should be happy. So many girls dreamed of this. A fairytale wedding. The war was getting worse but not for you, not for Simon. In any case, Simon relished in the war, it brought him more money. You hated yourself for marrying him today when Tommy was most probably out there, fighting for his life.

Were you to blame for marrying Simon, though? It’s been a year and Tommy has never sent you a letter. All the letters you’ve sent were never replied to. It saddened you at first because his family would have something to look for, but you were left in the dust. You never brought that matter to light, maybe Tommy didn’t want to talk to you.

It hurts to be forgotten by the person you loved most. The only person who ever truly knew you. It hurt you to realise that for him, you were forgettable, replaceable. It’s like all the years you spent together were nothing. Maybe it was spite mixed with sadness and desperation that made you accept Simon’s proposal last year. Polly was right,—all things end.

Walking to the altar with Johnny to give you away was something else. Simon was kind enough to let the Shelby’s come to the wedding. He provided them with rooms to stay at a hotel. You should have been happy but the dryness in your mouth says otherwise. His family were there, judging you for being a prostitute; judging him for marrying someone so penniless. 

Simon’s smile was genuine, at least. He was waiting for you, a bundle of nerves. When you reach him, he thanks Polly. Taking your hand, he brings you to the ordainer and the wedding starts.

The reception of the wedding was in your new mansion in London. A real estate treasure with a little bit of plush green land. Your husband had a professional come in to decorate the garden—you never knew that a job like that existed. 

“This house is so big!” Finn said, after he ran to you. He was playing with the other kids. “You’d let me visit you?”

“Of course, Finn.” you said, a smile on your face. “But you have to be with Ada or Polly,”

“Okay,” he says, a toothy grin. “Maybe I can bring Tommy too when he comes back.”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Maybe…” Tommy. Tommy. Tommy. Would he appear if you called him in front of a mirror thrice? You just wanted to see him.

Simon comes to you and Finn. 

“Hi, Finn,” he greets. “How are you?”

“Hi,” he says sheepishly, hiding behind your gown. “I’m good. Thanks for letting me come,”

“My wife really wanted you guys here and I really needed to see who’s the famous Finn Shelby,” he said. 

“I was telling Y/N about how my brother, Tommy and I can visit sometime,” he said. You visibly tense at the mention of Tommy, Simon notices. You’ve talked about Tommy before. Tommy Shelby…

That night, after consummating your marriage, Simon asked. 

“Who’s Tommy? I know who he is but what did he do?” Caressing your naked back, he pressed again. “Finn was telling me about his brother, and it made you uncomfortable.”

“He’s no one,” you lied, looking up at him through your lashes. “You shouldn’t worry about him,”

“Are you sure? I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable…if he’s making you uncomfortable, I’ll have him dealt with.”

“No!” you cleared your throat. “You don’t have to, Simon. Thank you for caring,” you smiled, kissing his lips softly to forget about Tommy Shelby—the man who broke your heart. 

NEW YORK, 1915

You were staying in one of your husband’s properties in America, a penthouse in New York when he came barging in, throwing you an envelope. He was angry, you could tell that clearly. He never got angry except now. 

“Simon,” you said, smiling up at him.

“Who’s Tommy Shelby?” he asked, demanding you to answer. He knew who Tommy Shelby was. He knew of the Shelbys in Birmingham. But who was he to you? “Don’t even fucking lie to me,”

“What’s wrong…?” 

“Who is he?” he asked, his tone more forceful now. “Don’t tell me that he’s no one! Who is he?”

“He’s a friend. A childhood friend. What is this about?” you asked. “Simon…”

“You told me during our wedding night that he was no one but I had him investigated,” he said. You furrowed your brows. “Guess what? I found out that you grew up together. You were seeing him while I was seeing you. You told me you love me!”

“I do love you,” you lied, trying to soothe his worries. “You don’t have to worry about him, you know? We didn’t see each other like that, Simon,”

“Fuck…I gave you my everything and you hang onto this Tommy Shelby cunt. Like, like…I had to buy your love and you gave it to him,” he said, stalking towards you. “I gave you everything! What could he give? He’s poor and he’s in the war. I’m here. I am!” he roared. 

“Simon—“

“You are to cut off any ties and communications that you have with the Shelbys, understood?” he spat, pointing a finger at you. 

“Simon, they’re my friends! They took care of me,” you pleaded, putting your hands on his waist to appease him but she just shrugs you off. 

“I said ‘Understood’?” he seethed. “I gave the Shelby’s and Johnny a hefty sum of money so you won’t have to think of them ever again but you have to promise to never fucking think of them—of him—of-of your life in Birmingham. Do you understand me?”

“Simon, you—“

“I know where Tommy Shelby is in France. Tunnelling. You’ll know better than to defy me. Trust me, I have my ways of getting him and his brothers killed. I know people. Do you understand me?” he spits.

You couldn’t cry in front of him, so you just gulped, nodding. 

“I understand,” you whispered, a frown set upon your face. Relief washes over your husband and he pulls you closer.

“You know that I only want what’s best for you. What’s best for us,” he whispered. “You’re my little bird. My beautiful flower, I won’t let anyone else have you. Okay? I’m sorry for making you sad but this is for the best. For us and for the family that we’re going to build,” 

“I know, Simon,”

“I love you,” he says but it felt like a threat.

“I love you too,”

-

BIRMINGHAM, 1915

Tommy,

I hope you’re well. We all pray for your safe return home. Have I told you that Y/N got married this year in London? His name is Simon Coventry, I’m sure you know him as ‘Rich Bastard.’

He truly loves her and has taken care of her so well. We’ve been to their mansion in London multiple times. Finn loves to visit because he gets him everything he wants. Did you know that he gifted Finn his own horse for Christmas? Please, don’t worry about her anymore. She’s in safe hands, in a loving marriage, with a husband that could give her the world. 

Pol

(This letter was never sent.)

BIRMINGHAM, 1911

“What do you think will happen to us?” you asked Tommy once. Twenty-one, and you allowed yourself to make bad decisions when it came to him. You were sitting close together in the balcony of your home; it was the morning, and you had the day off because it was your birthday. No serving customers today; Tommy didn’t go to work because you were free. 

“We’ll stay together,” he says, like it was a no-brainer. He had stolen a bottle of whiskey in the place where he worked out and you both decided to drink today. Twenty-one and you’d make all bad decisions for Tommy. There was a crinkle in his eyes when he looked at you. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you,” you replied, taking a sip of the whiskey.

“I got you something,” he says, tossing his cigarette butt away. “It’s not as…expensive as what that rich bastard got you, but I was thinking that…well, here,” he says, showing you something wrapped in a handkerchief. “Don’t know how to wrap gifts.”

You took it from him and undid the knot of the handkerchief. 

“Tommy…”

“I asked Polly and Ada,” he says. “So, that’s not all me.”

A picture frame of pressed flowers. It was more than that for him. For Tommy, it was a declaration of his love; a life-long commitment to you.

“I’ve been picking flowers that remind me of you for the past year,” he tells you. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Tom.” you told him, tackling him in a hug. “This is the best thing anyone has ever given me. Thank you so much,”

LONDON, 1916

Simon hardly allowed you to go anywhere without him or at least the presence of a bodyguard since last year. It was understandable, since he was a wealthy man—the world was too dangerous for him. But you couldn’t grasp why you needed his permission to go to the shops, why you needed to ask him if you could do something. Your wardrobe was chosen by him and you hardly had any control over that. The jewellery he bought were things he thought would look the best on you too. 

You had to ask him for approval to meet your friends—if you had any. None of them really stayed longer than a year. It was fine, they were never him anyways. They all had ulterior motives when it came to seeking a friendship with you. They were all parties and dinners and events. One time, there was a party in his house. Some charity gathering that you couldn't care less about. You were outside in the garden when one of your employees walked by. You called him to where you were sitting. 

“Can you please get me some water?” you asked. “I don’t really want to go back there right now,” you said. You spent the whole night portraying the happy wife; the younger wife and you were sick of it. To them, you were Simon Coventry’s wife. To him, you were somebody he owned. To yourself, you were a prostitute. He basically bought you from that brothel anyway. You sat there silently, allowing yourself to shed the tears that you’ve been keeping. 

You were sobbing, trying to comfort your body from the loss of personhood that you’ve experienced. You were a glorified doll for Simon to look at—a pet to protect. He’s never treated you like an equal and you will never be.

Your hands were shaky, makeup staining your face. If only Simon could see you now. He’d lose it. You clutched the locket that Tommy gave you. You told Simon that you needed it, that it was a picture of your mother and that you didn’t want to forget what she looked like. It was shabby; he asked if you wanted a better one, but you declined. When Tommy gave you that locket, he helped you put a picture of your mother right beside his. You still needed to give it back to him. 

In the quietness of the garden, you remembered Polly’s advice before your wedding. She was helping you fit into the gown when she started to talk quietly. 

“Remember, this,” she started, zipping up your dress. “Take advantage of the world you’re in now. Even if you do not love him, take advantage of what he’s willing to give. Take advantage of everything.”

The employee comes back to you with a glass of water. 

“Thanks,” you whispered. “You may go now,”

-

Simon loved your newfound interest in participating in his business. He always sought you in the brothel for advice. It didn’t matter if you never studied, what mattered was that you were correct. They were small matters in his company. Like, you told him that maybe he wanted to increase the bond to a partnership. Or that he had to host charity events to make his company more appealing; ensure that it was widely publicised. 

You were perched on his lap, looking through the documents, while he played with your hair. He was kissing your shoulder as you flipped through the pages. 

“Some of my investments have been transferred to your account,” he says and you look at him, surprised. 

“Simon—?���

“You deserve it,” he says, continuing his kisses on your shoulder. “You’re my wife. You should have your own money,”

“But that’s…that’s too much,” 

“Just enough for you to go on those shopping sprees, if you ever wanted anything,” he says. 

“Why—“

“You’ve proven to me that I could trust you after our…disagreement about Tommy Shelby,” he declared. “I’m sorry for cutting you off from your friends in Birmingham, darling but I promise, that they’re being taken care of. Especially Johnny. He doesn’t work in the brothel anymore after I bought him his house in Watery Lane,”

“It’s okay,” relishing in the newfound power that you had over your husband. You turned to him, your knees on either side of his thighs. You straddled him and grasped his chin with your hands. “I know that you only want what’s best for me, right?” you preened, dropping your lips to nibble on his ear. “Tell me,”

He sighs, clutching your body closer to his as you trailed your lips down his neck. 

“You’re so good to me, baby,” he moans. “So, so good. I’ll give you everything.”

FRANCE, 1917

Tommy had been injured and was sent to the wards immediately. There was a gaping wound on his chest when one of the tunnel rats shot him. His comrades were quick enough to retaliate; to put him above ground and call for help. He was on the hard bed, wondering if it would be easier to just give up and let the world take him. 

“Y/N…” he mumbles, reaching for you. He could see you, see your arms beckoning him to come closer.”Y/N…where…Y/N…” 

He mumbles your name over and over for what seemed like an eternity. He couldn’t say anything else, pleading with anyone.

“Just fucking kill me!” he shouts. “Fucking kill me, please…” he sobs, body shaking from the emotions that dwell inside. “Y/N! Y/N! Fucking kill me!” In…in-in the bleak midwinter…Y/N. Y/N. 

AMERICA, 1917

“How is it being married to Simon?” one of the guests in some event asked. She was supposed to be the wife of a big oil conglomerate. Simon’s father invested in their business awhile back and had been business partners since. 

“He’s kind,” you said. He is…you just can’t love him like that. “It’s amazing being married to him,”

“I see,” she replied. “May I ask where you met again?”

“We met in Birmingham,” was your meek answer, looking for your husband. You hated events like these. The heir and his younger wife. You hated everything about it. Where is he?

“What family are you from?” she asked, oblivious to the fact. Everyone was oblivious to that fact. Simon made sure to never let anyone know that you were a prostitute. ‘For your safety’ he said and you understood. She said that she’ll never forgive you for tainting her wonderful son but Simon said that it was okay. You both didn’t need anyone else. 

“Sorry—do you happen to know where Simon is?” you asked, trying to change the topic. 

“Can’t stay away from him too long, huh? You must really love him,” she gushed. “I hope I’m the same with my husband but our union was basically something that was already agreed upon,”

“Yeah, I do,” you half-lied. You loved Simon as a friend, as a companion. He tries his best to understand. He’s loving and as far as you were aware, hadn’t kept any mistresses. That came with a price, though. Simon never liked it when a man looks at you too long. He doesn’t like seeing you with the opposite sex. He didn’t like you exchanging pleasantries with them. “He’s the best. He allows me to help him out in the business, you know?”

“You’re involved in his business?” she asked. 

“Small things,” you replied. “Arranging charity balls and the like,”

“Your governess must have been a good one,” she replied. 

“I suppose so.” You lied, knowing that you could never have been able to afford one. You were living day to day when you were a kid.

The girl only smiled tightly before walking away. You watched her talk to other girls. How beautiful it is to be included in a group! You’ve always felt like an outsider. This room was filled with billionaires and millionaires. This room made up most of the world’s economy and you were a prostitute. You were in the nicest clothes that money could afford but it still felt like the same, cheap lace that you used to wear. You turned to look for your husband but he was already wrapping his arm around your waist. 

“Simon,” you greeted, kissing his cheek. You were relieved to see him, somehow.

“Hello, darling. Do you wish to meet my friends?” he asked, kissing the side of your head affectionately. 

“Of course,” you nodded, seeing the girl you were talking to with her own husband now. Simon took you to them, never letting your waist go. 

“Simon!” the husband greeted, regarding you with a swift look before shaking your husband’s hand. “Is she the wife or a mistress?” he asked, and you frowned. 

“The wife,” Simon replied honestly. “Don’t have a mistress,” 

“What about that bird you were seeing in…Small Heath? Is it Small Heath?” he asked. 

“Haven’t been there since I got married,” he replied. It was true. “By the way, Eric, I do hope your wife watches what she talks about with her other…friends,” he said, and you tilted your head in confusion. The girl looks down in shame. 

“What do you mean?” Eric asked. “Surely, Natalia only wished to make an acquaintance. Is that right, Nat?”

“Yes, of course. Whatever Y/N was saying must be untrue,” she said, feigning innocence. 

“I see. I must have been delirious when I heard your wife call Y/N boring,” he shrugged. “Anyways, if I see or hear you disrespect my wife one more time, there will be repercussions. Seeing as you’re financially unwell, I would hate to take out my shares in your company. Isn’t that right?” 

“Of course, Simon,” Eric coughed, glaring at Natalia. “I apologise, Mrs. Coventry,”

You could only nod before Simon whisked you away. 

“Let’s go home. No one’s worth talking to in this shit hole anyway,”

-

When you got in the car, Simon was already all over you. He was tugging on your sleeves, kissing your neck. You were used to this; the driver was used to this. 

“Did I ever tell you that you looked absolutely ravishing in this dress?” he growled, fisting the silk fabric. “The things you do to me, pet,”

“I dressed up just for you,” you whimper. “Do you like it?” You may not love him but he was good. Maybe it’s because you’ve known each other for years…or maybe, you’re more comfortable but Simon was good at what he does. He puts your needs first. In any case, that’s how he likes it. This is what you’ve been doing for about two years. Giving everything that Simon ever wanted from you and taking double back from him. You were wealthy on your own now. If you divorced Simon, you’d never have to worry about life anymore. He had put trusts, investments, and properties in your name that he promised he’d never take away. It was sealed in a document. You were his closest kin. You own everything. 

Except your freedom. 

“Of course I do,” he confirms, rutting his hips on your exposed thigh. He groans at the contact. “Fuck, are we close?” he asked the driver. 

“Twenty minutes, sir,” he replied. 

“I’ll triple your salary for the month if you could take us there in ten,” he proposes and the driver speeds up, never minding the laws of the road. 

LONDON, 1918

The war has ended and you were close to collapsing. There could only be two things—the brothers made it or they did not. You didn’t have any form of communication with them and you were nervous. What if they didn’t make it?

BIRMINGHAM, 1918

The boys were deployed in Birmingham. Cramped in vehicles, Tommy held the strap of his satchel tightly. He was anxious to see his family. He was so anxious to see you. He never received letters from you even though he wrote every week. He was too afraid that he'd turn his back on his country to come to you but he didn’t care. What kind of man would that make of him? 

There were a million things that he wanted to tell you—how he left without ever telling you that he loved you. How your face was the only thing that kept him alive in those tunnels. Would you still love him now that he’s not the same? Would you still soothe him until he falls asleep?

His brothers could see his nervousness. So, Arthur offered him a tight smile. John was looking forward to seeing his kids again. 

“She’ll be there, Tom,” Arthur offered. “If anyone’s going to be there, it’s her,”

“Yeah, of course,” Tommy replied. They were nearing Birmingham. They were nearing the place you both grew up in and he felt bad because he should have been thinking about his family but instead, he was thinking about you. The vehicle stops and he takes a deep breath. Will he see you? Will you run to him and finally kiss him like he’s been thinking of for four years? He braced himself as soldiers spilled out into the road. He could see Polly and Charlie with Finn on his shoulders. He smiled, telling his brothers that he saw everyone.

“You boys are back!” Polly gushed, taking the three of them in an embrace. She blinks away the tears. Tommy was searching the crowd for you and Polly could see that. “She couldn’t make it, Tom. She’s in London,”

His heart drops. Why would you miss this reunion? Why were you in London? He nodded wordlessly, keeping to himself while John answered all of the questions. The day after that, he went to your house but saw that nobody was there. He went to the brothel but there were new girls who didn't know who you were. Johnny wasn’t there either. 

He went there every day for less than two weeks until one day, he saw a scrap of newspaper sitting in the kitchen. 

SIMON AND Y/N COVENTRY PURCHASE NEW HOME IN PARIS AFTER THE WAR. 

He furrowed his brows, turning the pages until sure enough, there you were. It was a portrait of you and Simon. He barged into Polly’s room, opening the drawer where she kept memorabilia. There were multiple pictures of you and your wedding with Simon. There was a picture of you and the whole Shelby clan along with Johnny. There was an envelope with a cheque worth a few thousand pounds from Simon. He shook, his heart beating loudly as he let go of everything. You were married. You married Simon Coventry. You didn't wait for him. 

“Tommy,” Ada whispers from the door, seeing her older brother crouch in defeat. 

“When were you planning to tell me?” he spat. “When?”

“Tommy, we didn’t know how to tell you—“

“Tell me when the fuck were you planning to tell me, Ada or I swear, I will blow this fucking house down,” he threatened, running his fingers through his hair. It’s not the same when you do it. Ada walked towards her brother, seeing her brother so defeated was something new.

“I…” his voice breaks into a sob. “I was under the tunnels and all I could ever think—all I could—I’m smoking fucking opium because I’m so fucking worried and she’s—she’s,” Tommy couldn’t breathe, hyperventilating. “She’s gone, she’s gone…”

There was a ringing in his ears, and he couldn’t hear Ada call for help. He was panicking, tears flowing freely from his eyes. He waited for you. He counted the days until he saw you again, but you were not here. He felt like he was underground again. It was Arthur who calmed him down, slapping Tommy across the face to wake him up. It works, it always works.

“Leave us,” Polly ordered everyone. “Drink some water, Tommy, we have to talk,” 

“Pol—“

“Leave us,”

“Polly, it’s not right!” Ada said. “I should’ve listened to her when she told me she didn’t want it,”

“He has to know, Ada. I’ll tell him now,”

“It’s alright, Ada,” he croaked. “Leave us,” His brother dragged his furious sister away. He was embarrassed to have been seen like that—weak. But what else could he do? He crossed the vastness of a sea of fire just to go home to you. Polly sighed. 

“It’s my fault,” she said once everyone was out. He exhales, a staggered breath as if he’s been carrying all the weight of love that he has for you. 

“It’s all I ever wanted, Pol,” he said, looking down on his lap. A life with you in your home. There’d be a big garden for you to run on. You’ll have so many horses and you'll teach your kids how to ride them. “You know that it’s all I ever wanted,”

“I know, Tom but you can’t blame her,” she said. “She didn’t want to leave and I saw that but what else could she be if she didn’t leave Birmingham? I prayed for your safety everyday, I did. But…but what if you didn’t come back? Would she work at that brothel until she fades? There was an opportunity for her to have a better life outside of Birmingham. I told her to take advantage of it,” she explained, trying to reach Tommy but he flinched away. Polly puts down her hand, clearing her throat.

“She’s all I ever wanted, Polly and you took that from me. You took her-you took her away from me!” he sobbed, cradling his head in his hands. “You took her away. You took her away…”

“She sent you letters while you were away,” Polly said, placing a stack of envelopes beside Tommy. “I’m sorry, Tom but I wanted her to have a good life. Birmingham isn't good for her. You were only going to keep her from making a name for herself,”

Polly nodded to herself before leaving Tommy and a stack of letters that he never received. 

He opens the one on top just to check—just today. 

Dear Tommy,

Every day passes by without you and I still can’t bear it. I hope you’re well, I hope my letters become a sense of comfort for you. 

It’s getting harder for me to spend time with your family. All I could think about was how the two of us would run freely in Polly’s house because you were chasing after me. I couldn’t spend time at home either because my bed reminds me of how much I liked sleeping beside you. It’s so peaceful. I sleep in your clothes sometimes and Ada gave me some of the shirts that you left. I’ll return them to you when you’re back but right now, it’s the only way for me to feel like I could breathe…that someday, you’ll come back to me. I’ll wait. I’ll always wait for you, like I promised. 

I haven’t told you everything yet, but I hope I can tell you soon. 

Tommy opens another one. What’s another stab to the heart anyway?

Dear Tommy,

It’s been years and you haven't written back. Are you mad at me? I’ll stop writing to you for the meantime but just know that I’ll wait for you.

-

LONDON, 1919

Dearest, 

I’m so sorry to tell you but Johnny has died. Please come to Birmingham soon. 

The letter from Johnny’s wife shook in your hands. Big Johnny was dead, and you had to go to Birmingham to the funeral. You ran to your husband’s office. Upon seeing your tear-stained face, his face falls in concern. 

“What the matter, love? Did someone hurt you?” he asked, patting his lap, telling you to sit on it. You complied, hiccuping. You were heartbroken but you knew that if you wanted to go, you had to play smart. You had to play the broken doll that he loved to take care of. 

“Johnny’s dead,” you whispered, burying your face in his chest. You allowed him the privilege to soothe you. His hand inching their way underneath your shirt for unbridled contact. “Johnny’s dead, Simon,” you cried. “I—I got this…letter,” you said, showing him the crumpled piece of paper on your hand. He had to fire whoever gave you this letter—it was a strict rule that he was supposed to read all the letters sent to you. It was a rule that no letter from Birmingham must arrive in your hands. 

“Oh, darling,” he said, kissing your temple. 

“I know…I know that I can’t go,” you said. “But…can I please go, Simon?” you asked. “He was like my father,” you whispered. It was true and Simon knew that. Johnny took care of you to the best of his abilities. You told Simon of the stories when you were younger. Him teaching you arithmetic, teaching you how to throw a punch to defend yourself…he helped you move into the house you bought. You’ve never been there for years, and you wondered if Ada continued to take care of it after abandoning them. “I understand if you won’t allow me,” you nodded, removing yourself away from him but he held you closer. 

“You can go,” he whispered. He’d have you guarded so that no one could even come to you. No Tommy Shelby. “Do you want me to come?”

“No,” you shook your head, regaining your composure. “I know that the partnership with Alfie Solomons will require your full attention. Do you promise to be home once I arrive? I need you,” You stilled on his chest.

You didn’t know what a lie was anymore. 

“Of course, I’ll be here,” he said. 

“I can take some of the guards with me for my safety,” you compromised. You weren’t lying, though. The business he had with Alfie Solomons kind of scared you. What if he sent men to take you as ransom?

“Of course,” he said. “Where will you stay? Are there hotels there?”

“I can stay at my old home.” you said. “We can send in some cleaners before I arrive to make it nice,” 

“Alright, darling. Are you leaving tomorrow? I’ll send some people now. Will that be okay with you?” he asked. You looked up to him, doe-eyed. 

“Yes,” you replied. “Thank you, Simon. I love you,” you said, kissing his cheek. “Thank you.”

BIRMINGHAM, 1919

The Blinders mentioned to Arthur that the old house that Ada takes care of had the lights on. There were multiple servants coming in and out of the run-down house and they asked who was coming. It was the owner of the house. That could only mean…

“Tommy!” Arthur called, nodding at Harry before barging in the special room at the Garrison. “Stop fucking the barmaid and listen to me, mate,”

Grace looks at him sheepishly before excusing herself. 

“Fuck, what is it Arthur?” Tommy asked, lighting a cigarette. 

“Y/N’s coming back,” he said. Tommy halts, looking at Arthur. 

“Arthur—“

“The Blinders saw the lights at her old house open with a fuck ton of servants cleaning up. They asked…told her that the owner of the house is coming back to go to a fucking funeral,” Arthur explained. “She’s coming back, mate. Your Y/N’s coming back.”

Tommy leans on the couch, running a hand through his face. He wordlessly leaves Arthur, not sparing a glance to Grace, before leaving the Garrison entirely. It was midnight, you could be home soon. In the shadows, Tommy waited, his peaky cap making him incognito. 

He waited the whole night, smoking his cigarette and looking at the spot where your house could be seen clearly. At around six in the morning, he sees a convoy of high end cars line up. A black Bentley stopped right in front of the house and there you were. Tommy’s breath is knocked out of his lungs. You were dressed in something simple and comfortable for your travel but you’ve never looked so ethereal. The driver gives you his hand to help you and you smile at him. Looking around the place, peace settles in your features. 

He doesn’t realise it but his face relaxes too. It’s like he hasn’t breathed in all the years he spent without you. He gulps, not allowing himself to cry. He’s stronger now and he couldn’t let his emotions get the better of him. 

He looked on, noticing that Simon Coventry was not with you. It was then he realised that guards dressed formally surrounded your house. It didn’t matter to him. Fuck your husband’s security system. He’ll make a way. Just because there was a change of plans doesn’t mean that you can begin again. He doesn’t care.

You were here. You were finally home, and he wonders if the frame he gave you on your 21st birthday was still there.

PART 3

A/N: Grace will not be romantically involved with Tommy in the story for obvious reasons. There will be mentions of her but they will be minimal. Thank you so much for reading and for giving my story love and support. I hope to see you in the next one!

BTW, we need a face for Simon. Who do you think will be a perfect Simon?

Don’t forget to reblog / leave a comment if you liked it! TAGLIST:  @shelbydelrey @runnning-outof-time @duckybird101 @thenattitude @swordofawriter @litteltourtius​ @trixie23​ @everythingelseisextra​ @majesticcmey @liveat1am @dumb-wh @denabp16 @yvonna-chan @goldensunflowe-r @therosabel @hunnibearrr @dazecrea @daddyslittleattentionwhore @the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf @dang-shawty-okay

[brummiereader]

We have come to the end of Y/N and Tommy's whirlwind of a love story. I want to thank each and every one of you for your likes, comments and reblogs, i have been overwhelmed by the support you have given this series. I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments, if you enjoyed the last part, if it ended how you thought it would, etc. Thank you once again, you are all truly amazing!

PREVIOUS PART

A Ghost Of A Man (PART TEN)

Summary: Both in their separate times Tommy and the reader come to terms with being apart. Will they ever find happiness again? Will they ever find eachother again?

Warnings: Language, supernatural themes, suicidal thoughts

Authors note: The letter to Y/N is heavily influenced by the song "Francesca" by Hozier. A song I listened to nonstop while writing this final part.

I could do it, he thought to himself as he stood in his office looking out the window. Right here, right now. She'd find me in the abandoned building, then we could be together, reunited, just like before. He imagined to himself as he turned around to look at the gun lying on his wooden desk, he was so tempted. It had been exactly thirty days since he last saw you, thirty days since he broke your heart along with his own. He was alive yes, but he felt dead, incomplete, empty, more than he ever had. Grazing his hand over the barrel of the gun he breathed in sharply, closing his eyes only to see your face staring back at him, haunting him.

"Y/N..." he said quietly, as he began to pick up the gun.

"Thomas Shelby!" Polly shouted as she barged through his office doors, anger on her face. Dropping the gun, Tommy turned around away from her.

"Tommy, you need to stop this!" she said approaching him. " You can't do that to her" she added as she walked around his desk.

" What difference does it make? She's not here Polly" he tried to make sense to her as he grabbed his coat, storming off out of his office. Watching her nephew walk out the door she took the gun from his desk emptying the chamber as she watched the bullets fall one by one onto the floor below her.

" Not yet" she said as she placed the gun back into his desk draw, only to see a letter addressed to you in Tommy's hand writing. A small smile formed on her lips as she adjusted her coat. What had Polly not told Tommy that night?

Sitting in the large chair by your bedroom window, you looked out at the view. Closing your eyes, you wondered what Tommy was doing, was he moving on? Was he even thinking about you? Your life was falling apart, you had dropped out of Uni, you and your roommate were barely talking, you hadn't visited any family in weeks. The only thing you did do, was go to work and come back. That was your new routine, you hadn't even gone back to the abandoned building nor had you visited the old lady. Covering your mouth with your hand you bolted up, running to the toilet. This was the fifth time this had happened in three days. You leaned into the toilet as you threw up for the second time that morning. " This is all your fucking fault Tommy" you said under you breath as you stood up, walking over to the sink to wash your hands. Splashing your face with cold water you looked up at your reflection, you looked a mess. Hair unkempt, dark bags, swollen eyes. Drying your hands, you then threw the small towel at your reflection in the mirror, a satisfied huff leaving your mouth as you walked back to the chair to sit In front of the window once again.

Thirty days, Thirty days since you had last seen him, your heart ached just thinking about it. Clutching the locket around your neck, you closed your eyes as you thought about him, longing for him. He didn't love you, he said it himself right there in that cemetery, cold and heartless he broke your heart in two, and like everything else that had been going wrong, here you was six weeks pregnant, carrying his child. Oh yes, you had forgotten about that part in the throes of passion as Tommy brought you to your high. Too consumed in his own pleasure, Tommy forgot to do one thing...pull out. You almost fainted when you took the test a week ago, you didn't think it was possible. Clearly, even time travel didn't interfere with the unavoidable result of unprotected sex, how could you have been so stupid? Burying your head into your hands you sobbed at the situation you had found yourself in, your life was a mess, alone and pregnant, desperately longing for a man that didn't love you back.

"Fuck!" You shouted as you stood up trying to recompose yourself, " I need to get out of here" you said aloud as you began to dress yourself.

"Tommy" John said as he handed him the book with the weeks takings.

"Leave it there" he said turning to look at his brother as he drank a glass of whiskey. Standing around, John watched as his brother poured himself another.

" You can go" Tommy motioned with his hand to the door as he slammed the bottle down onto the desk .

" Tom..." John said sighing as he walked closer to him. " Why don't you just go make things right with her" he asked his brother.

" Can't do that John, can I now. She's gone far away, far far away " he said as he downed his second glass of whiskey.

" Never seen anyone look at someone the way Y/N did with you" he said as he headed for the door, turning the tooth pick in his mouth.

" And I went and fucked it all up" Tommy mumbled under his breath as he leaned back into his chair, another glass of whiskey in his hand, as he pressed the other to his forehead, the unavoidable heachache beginning to pound in his temples.

Walking aimlessly along the path, your eyes spent of tears, with no destination in mind you walked and walked. Loud trucks passing by caught your attention as you finally looked up. "ROAD BLOCK, DEMOLITION" in capital letters were written across a large triangular panel in front of you. Great, you thought to yourself as you tried to figure out where you was. Continuing down the street you suddenly realised...you was back, back at the abandoned building. You watched as construction men secured the area as a large truck with a bulldozer drove down the road. Panic rising in your body, you climbed over the small plastic fence, racing over to the building.

" No no no, NO!!. What are you doing?" You shouted at the workmen as you ran to the metal gates.

" You need to leave the area love, it's coming down" a man approached you with a clipboard.

" Wha..what!? No you can't do that" you shouted at him in desperation.

" Only following orders" he said as he whistled for the truck to come forward. " We're ready!" he shouted to the driver. " Come on love, you gotta go" he said as he guided you away from the fences. Without thinking you turned around pushing him out the way as you raced to the wooden doors.

" Oi! You can't do that, someone fucking go get her!" the man shouted to his colleagues in frustration.

Sprinting up the old wooden stairs you hurried to Tommy's office closing the door behind you. Running over to his desk, you stopped as you pressed both your palms onto the old rotting wood. "Tommy..." You cried as you called out his name. Walking around his desk you held onto your stomach, tears streaming down your face, as you sat down in his leather chair. Resting your arms on the wooden frame you looked around the room waiting, wishing that at any moment Tommy would appear and hold you in his arms once more. Wiping away your tears you looked down at the desk in front of you, noticing one of the draws slightly agape, you opened it further as you furrowed your brow. Lying there in the old wooden draw was a letter, a letter addressed to you. Picking it up, you sniffed back your tears as you rubbed your blurry eyes. Gasping you brought the letter closer to your face as you suddenly recognised the hand writing. With your heart rapidly beating in your chest, you frantically opened the letter.

" My dearest Y/N,

I write this letter in hope that one day you will read it. Until that day, it will stay here in this draw waiting for you. I never meant what I said that night, I do love you, I love you more than I have ever loved anyone. I wanted you to live, and in desperation I said the unthinkable, breaking both our hearts. I pray you forgive me for my cruel and bitter words, I never wanted to hurt you. I remember you once asked me why I wouldn't move on, what it was I was waiting for. I was never waiting for something Y/N, I was waiting for someone, and that someone was you, it has always been you. I would do it all over again for you, If I could hold you for just one more minute darling, I'd go through it all again. I Love you Y/N, and one day I will find you again and hold you in my arms forever, finally. Until that day, I wish you nothing but happiness and that all your hopes and dreams are answered,

Yours always, Tommy x"

Clutching the letter to your heart, you stood up as tears stung your cheeks. Opening the office door you was met with with the same construction worker you had pushed past.

"Right out" he said annoyed "We could call the fucking cops, you know" he continued as he ushered you out the building.

Stepping out onto the road you walked across to the other side of the street in a daze at the words you had just read.

"Y/N?" you heard someone say beside you, as you turned your head.

" Its you!" you said as you approached the old lady, wrapping your arms around her in a tight embrace as you sobbed into her shoulder.

" They're knocking it down" you said as you pointed back to the abandoned building.

" I know dear, come on, come with me, you shouldn't be here in your condition" She said as she walked you along the path to the bus stop.

Twenty minutes later, you was sitting on her sofa with a warm cup of tea in your hand.

"Why are you knocking the building down?" You asked her, scared that the only place left that you felt close to Tommy, about to be destroyed.

" It's time for the next chapter dear" she said looking at you with sympathy.

" But Tommy..." You said, desperately looking at her.

"Tommy's no longer there" She replied, concern in her eyes at your distraught state.

"But he left me this letter in his desk draw, it had been there all this time" you said handing it to her as you sniffed back your tears. Opening it, she smiled as she read Tommy's loving words.

" Why didn't it work, why did I have to leave?" You questioned her as she handed the letter back to you.

" It did work my dear, only it was not completed" she said knowing you could only be talking about one thing.

" But I did everything the way you told me to" you said looking at her confused.

" I know" she smiled as she patted your hand. " You traveled only as a visitor Y/N, I wanted to give you a choice my dear, wanted you to be able to come back, to know what you truly want, with no influence from anyone" she added as she looked into your eyes.

" I..I wanted to stay" you cried, as the elderly lady moved closer to you, wrapping you in her arms. " I need to go back" you said as you wiped your eyes. Holding you in front of her, she tucked your hair behind your ear as she gently nodded her head.

" And that you will" she said, smiling softly to you. " You won't be able to return Y/N" she added, as she looked at you for confirmation. "Once blood is given, it's a binding seal" she said turning your hand over as she traced a line down your palm." Your life line" she said as she pointed it out. "Once you cut through that line, your life in this time ceases to exist, it can't be reversed. It's a choice you need to make with great thought" she explained as she looked at you, anticipating your response

" I'm not living anymore, I feel like a passenger just passing through, not feeling anything, just going through the motions of life" you cried, at the realisation of how empty you felt. " And now there's this letter... I need to go back, back to Tommy, I...I need him to be there, for us" you said as you rested your hand on your stomach. Smiling to you she placed her hand over yours.

"You and your daughter will be with Tommy" she said as a tear formed in the corner of her eye. Tilting your head at her words, she let out a small chuckle.

" Oh my dear, you still don't know who I am, do you?" she said as she reached her hand out to your locket, opening the once jammed necklace with ease as she turned it around to face you.

" My grandfather she said as she pointed at Tommy in the small black and white picture, my mother she said as she pointed at the baby in his arms...my grandmother she said pointing at the woman beside him. Eyes wide you took a closer look at the old photo. There you was looking down at the small baby nestled in Tommy's arms, as he lovingly smiled at you.

"Oh my god .." you said as you looked up at the elderly lady in front of you, tears trickling down her cheeks.

" ...I've known you my whole life" she said with a tearful shaky voice. Reaching out you gently pulled her into your arms.

"' I see it now" you said as you placed your hand on the side of her face. " You have his eyes, and my face, how could I have not noticed" you said shaking your head.

" We often dont notice the things right In front of us" she answered placing her hand over yours. You told me the stories when I was a child. I believed you, I always did. I would have a role in bringing you and Tommy together. I waited for you, for you to go to that antique market. I knew you would be there, because you told me. Aunt Polly taught me the rest, she gave me this necklace before she died" She said as she held onto the black Madonna around her neck.

"She was there at the cemetery, when I went to Tommy" you said looking at her amazed, now understanding how everything had come full circle, all the little pieces fitting together perfectly like a puzzle, everything happening exactly when it was supposed to.

" Yes, in spirit she was there, guiding you forward" she smiled, as she held tightly onto your hand.

" She knew I was coming?"

" Ohh" she chuckled as she looked over to her cupboard full of pictures. " She would do, I told her" she giggled like she was a young child again. " Look" she said as she pointed to one of the photo frames on the old wooden furniture. Standing up you walked over to it.

" It's me and Tommy... on our wedding day" you said as you brought it over to the sofa sitting back down beside her. "This is the photo you put away when I first came here" you said as you looked down at it, your fingers brushing over Tommy face.

" Well, I think that would have been too much of a shock if you would have seen that, don't you?" she smiled, chuckling.

" Nothing shocks me anymore" you laughed along with her. "You know, you have never told me your name?" you queried, as you placed the photo frame down onto the coffee table.

" It's Y/N, after you" she replied as she placed a hand on your knee.

"Y/N" you said smiling to her. "God... this is crazy! " you laughed grinning from ear to ear.

" Us Shelby's never do anything the easy way, we like to complicate our lives" she chuckled as she looked down at the picture frame on her coffee table.

" Come with me" you asked her as you placed your hand on her arm.

" I can't my dear, I have lived my life I can't go back. But yours, yours has only just begun"

For the rest of the night you stayed with the old lady in her Watery Lane home. She told you stories of her childhood, of her mother, of you and Tommy as you both sat there laughing and crying, enjoying your time together as a family. She insisted on going with you the next morning to the cemetery, to say goodbye for one last time or as she put it, to say hello again two decades later. That night as the elderly lady slept you sat at the kitchen table with a pen in your hand. You was going back, but first you needed to say goodbye. You wrote one letter to your boss, one to your friend and the final to your family. You couldn't bring yourself to say goodbye in person and with the full moon beaming over the night sky, you had little time left .You explained in each one that you would be going away indefinitely. You couldn't for obvious reasons explain where you would be going, and why, but you tried with great struggle to write the words you needed to say in hopes that it would comfort them after your departure. Exhausted you went up to Tommy's old bedroom. Laying down on the bed you looked up at the ceiling as you placed a hand on your stomach, gently caressing it.

" Tommy, we're coming to you" you said, eyes slowly closing as you drifted off to sleep.

Laying on his bed Tommy couldn't sleep, his guilt was consuming him. Why did he have to say what he said that night? Leave you thinking he didn't love you, that he didn't want you to stay? Had you found his letter, did you forgive him? He closed his eyes only to see your face once again, memories flooding back to him of how you would smile at him, how your eyes lit up when you would make him laugh, how your lips felt when he softly embraced you, how you felt under his body as he slowly brought you both to your highs. You was to torture him for the rest of his life, never letting him forget, never letting him move on, no matter where he looked he would see you, forever there, a punishment for what he did. Sitting up he brushed his hands through his hair.

"Fuck" he said standing up, as he walked over to his coat and hat. Walking out his Watery Lane home, out into the cold crisp air of the night, with no where to go he walked endlessly through Small Heath, with only one thing on his mind, you.

"This should fit you perfectly" the elderly lady said as she pulled out a long sleeved cream dress that buttoned up all the way to the collar bone, tailored to fit as it delicately flowed down to the knee. "Some shoes" she said pulling out a pair of small black kittens heels. " These used to be my clothes" she added, handing them to you a smile on her face.

" They're perfect "you said as you left her bedroom, heading to the bathroom to get dressed. Brushing your hands down the dress, you stood there in front of the mirror as you looked at your reflection. Could you really do this, leave this life forever?

" Oh my, don't you look beautiful" she smiled as you walked down the stairs into the front room. " Come, we must hurry we don't have much time" she added, handing you a light brown coat she had found. As you was walking out the door you turned around, looking back at the three letters sitting on the kitchen table. Your heart felt heavy with guilt. You was about to leave everything and everyone you had ever known, you prayed they would only understand.

Holding onto your arm, you both walked up the old cemetery path. Memory's of that night flooding back to you as you tried to hold back your tears. Looking around the old cemetery, you made your way up to the top. It was nearly spring, small flowers had started to cover the once empty grass, a thick fog laid low to the ground, obscuring you view as birds chirped happily, welcoming the new season. Each step you took, nerves built up in you stomach, you was scared, scared to do this alone, forever binding yourself to 1922, never to come back.

"Are you sure you cannot come with me?" you asked as you turned to face the elderly lady at the top of the path.

"No my dear, It is only you that can go back. Go to him Y/N, he needs you, he always has" she said as she pulled out a small pearl handled knife, whilst you took out Tommy's pocket watch from your coat. " Do you remember the words I told you last night" she asked as she handed you the knife.

"Yes" you said as a tear started to fall down your cheek. " I'm going to miss you" you said as you held her one last time.

" It's only goodbye for now, only for a little while" she said as tears formed in the corners of her eyes. " Go to him " she said letting go of you, as you stepped away. Wiping your eyes you looked down at the pocket watch, turning the knob back one last time to 19h22. With the knife in your hand you slowly cut the inside of your palm cutting the life line in half, wincing at the sting of the pain. Facing the old lady you smiled to her once last time as she stood there, tears falling down her cheeks. Smiling back, she held onto the black Madonna around her neck, blowing you a loving kiss, she said goodbye. Closing your eyes you thought of Tommy and said the words.

"Send me back I choose this life, I've shed my blood with this pearl handled knife.

I've traveled already through time and space, my haven back in my loves embrace.

Now here my words as I end this spell, I love you all but I must say farewell "

With that a flash of light separated you and the elderly lady as you fell back onto the ground. A force swept through you as you felt the ground spinning beneath you sucking you in as you lost consciousness. Mere seconds later you bolted up from the ground, grasping your throat, breathing heavily as you tried to steady yourself. Standing up you looked around the cemetery, as the morning fog began part. And there is was, Small Heath 1922 sitting there like it always had, like it had never left. You was back. Grabbing the pocket watch from the ground you placed it in your coat pocket as you ran down the cemetery path, sprinting as fast as you could to Watery lane.

Frantically banging on the door next to the betting shop, you called out Tommy's name.

"Tommy! Tommy..."

" Y/N...what the fuck?" John said as he opened the door in just his briefs.

" Tommy, where's Tommy?" You said urgently as you looked behind him into the living room.

" His not here" he said half awake as he rubbed his eyes in confusion.

"Well where is he?" You said as you looked up and down the street panicked.

" I dunno, he left in the middle of the night, what are you doing here?" sighing you put your hands to your face as you began to cry.

" Y/N" Polly said pushing her nephew out the way as she grabbed onto your hand taking it away from you face. " His down by the cut, near the boats" she said urgently ." Hurry" she added letting go of your hand as you ran in that direction.

" How the bloody hell do you know that ?" John asked as he turned to his Aunt. Folding her arms a knowing smile on her lips, she walked away with a small chuckle.

Sitting on an old wooden crate by the canal, a cigarette in his mouth, your black ribbon from you hair in his hand, Tommy laced it around his fingers, holding it tight as he enclosed it into his hand. It had been in his pocket everyday ever since, the only thing he had of yours to remember you by.

Taking a drag of his cigarette he heard a voice in the distance, ever so quietly approaching him with every second. Squinting down the path, he tried to look through the thick fog, then he heard it again.

"Tommy..." his heart quickened at the sound of your voice. Turning away he threw the cigarette onto the ground. How long would you torment him, his mind constantly playing tricks on him. You was gone, never coming back.

" Tommy..."

He heard again only closer. Standing up he looked through the smog once again.

"Tommy!" It was you, your voice right here, right now.

" Y/N!" He shouted back as he ran through the smoke as fast as he could . And then as if he eyes were playing tricks on him, he saw you, running towards him clear as day as you collided into his arms, crying as you held onto him. His heart just about ready to explode, his emotions too much, he buried his head into your neck as he cried along with you.

" I came back" you said as you let go of him, tears streaming down your face. "Your letter" you sobbed as you held onto his arms.

" You did" Tommy cried as he cupped your cheeks. " Y/N, I'm sorry...I'm so sorry" he said as he placed his lips onto yours, his tears falling onto your cheeks. Was this real? Was this happening? He thought to himself as he pulled away, to see your face smiling back at him.

" Fuck" he said as he sniffed back his tears pulling you into his chest, his arms wrapped around you as he held you tightly against his body.

" Never thought I'd see the day Thomas Shelby would cry " you laughed as you wiped your tears away.

" Well" he said as he cleared his throat " You've had me feeling all types of things sweetheart" he said with a small laugh as he let go of you holding you at arms length, soaking in your face.

"You really came back " he said looking at you brushing your tears away with his thumb.

" We came back" you said as you took his hand placing it over your stomach.

"We?" He said confused, only for his eyes to quickly widen at your confession.

" Fucking Hell" he laughed in astonishment as he caressed your stomach. " Life's coming at me fast" he joked, as you placed your hand over his.

" Would you have it any other way?" you said smiling up to him.

" No" he said shaking his head as he cupped your cheeks. The whirlwind that came rocketing into his life, never giving up on him, was now here beside him forever, finally. " I love you Y/N Y/L/N" he said gazing into your eyes.

" I love you Tommy" you replied as he lowered his head down to your face, pressing his lips softly to yours. Content in each others arms, finally together, you stood there by the water as one at last.

Twenty one years later...

"Tommy hurry up" you called out to your husband as you frantically put your shoes on.

" I'm ready Y/N, been ready for an hour " he said looking down at his pocket watch giving you a cheeky smile. Walking over, he held you In front of him. " They're not going anywhere, love" he said staring into your eyes as he pressed a kiss to you lips. " Come on grandma" he said taking your hand as he led you out of the house to the car.

"My darling" you said sobbing as you approached your daughter, laying in the large bed of her home, her newborn child bundled up in a white embroidered blanket, peacefully asleep in her arms.

"Oh my goodness, Tommy look" you said reaching for your husband's hand as he greeted his son in-law.

" Well would you look at that " he said holding the small of your back as he smiled down at the small baby in his daughter's arms. Taking the newborn into your embrace, you gently rocked the small bundle as tears welled in your eyes.

" We named her after you" your daughter said as you gently cupped your granddaughters cheek.

" Baby Y/N..." Tommy said smiling to you, as he watched the joy spread across your face. Walking over to the large bedroom window, your first grandchild safely in your arms, you looked out at the gardens In front of you.

"Feel like I've met her before " Tommy said approaching you from behind, as he stroked the small baby's head.

" Thomas Shelby..." You said rolling your eyes at your husband's obliviousness. If he wasn't going to make the connection now he never would. Kissing your cheek, a gentle stroke to your hip, he walked back over to his daughter as you looked down at the little baby in your arms.

" My sweet girl, I have waited so long to see you again " you said quietly as tears fell onto your cheeks. " It was you that brought me and your grandad together, you alone" you smiled as she held onto your finger.

" A love story that defied all things. And you my darling girl, you were the leading lady"

The end.

Tag list: @theshelbyclan @babayaga67 @sysymei @nataliewalker93 @cherryslyce @globetrotter28 @jyessaminereads @meowtastick @kathrinemelissa @casa-boiardi @ohmygodsebastianstan @ultimatreality

[the-amazing-boop]

My track by track first impressions for Unreal Unearth (with some contextualized thoughts of the singles)

De Selby Part 1 - straight into the lullabies playlist. Just perfect.

De Selby Part 2 - perfect fade in from Part 1. I couldn't have dreamt up a better, more subtle transition. Still my current creature comfort.

First Time - oh, ffs, it's bluesy and sad. Lethal combination. This might be another one on repeat later. Ow. Ouch, ow. THE FINAL TIME YOU CALLED ME "BABY". Wtf. I see why some of y'all were cussing him out on here.

Francesca - my beloved. Brutal to have this follow First Time, though. Mentally two-stepping through the tears. The bellowing at the outro still has the power to ascend me despite my replaying.

I,Carrion - another certified heartbreaker for the lullabies playlist. She's Greek, she's cosmic, she's pure love.

Eat Your Young - I am once again solidified in my conviction to refuse having children in this fucked up world. Y'all be safe.

Damage Gets Done (feat. Brandi Carlile) - Okay guitar lick! Oh the voices belting together in harmony is hitting me. I'm getting really 2010s feelings I haven't felt in forever. I feel the sudden urge to forgive myself. He's back at it again with the choral work, CAN I LIVE??

Who We Are - and just like that, I'm back on my emo shit. He really went for emotional whiplash in terms of song ordering, huh? Not me literally listening to this while engulfed in a dark room as well. Another one I'll have to repeat, I fear.

Son of Nyx - oh fuck. Oh no. Not the piano dragging along. And no words. THE CUTOFF. THE STRINGS. THE VOCALIZATIONS. It's definitely a warning. Shit's about to start hurting for real. It's so haunting and gorgeous.

All Things End - Hello, old friend, my first favorite. I'm terrified of what follows you. It was bad enough watching the man "die" on the table (my hands are in the air to receive the gospel).

To Someone From A Warm Climate (Uiscefhuarithe) - fucking hell. Just devastating. Idk how much more I can take.

Butchered Tongue - this hits like crazy if you have any connection to a diaspora that was nearly erased or just have ancestry DEEPLY rooted oppression and the like. Ffs, I'm gonna need stitches for a cut that deep.

Anything But - and then this happy shit. Back at it again with the whiplash, the bastard. I love it though! This is going on the light and bright playlist. I'm a sucker for sad lyrics dressed in bright colors. And the vocals?? Come on, now.

Abstract (Psychopomp) - I was right. Everything following Son of Nyx just hurts differently. Dare I say worse than the first half of the album. I really shouldn't get into how I relate OFTEN to the poor roadkill creatures in my area.

Unknown/Nth - a nice and plentiful helping of stake through the heart, as usual. The briiidge. I drown in it every time.

First Light - I'm gonna say it's an instant classic. The imagery. The love on love on love. The catharsis. The drumsss. Oh! The acoustic fade out.

Overall, he didn't bother not once to lift his heel on this album. He's outdone himself. No skips. I am foaming at the mouth, waiting for my vinyl to come in. All get 10s across the board from me. 16 works of art. I really wish I could lock myself in a room for three days to really digest this album.

[mlmarint]

hello to the bridgerton fandom: here is my thoughts about what happened.

first, i am a bridgerton fan since 2015/16 when i read the books, i was active on facebook and twitter about it back then, so i am not even a little surprised how much hate we saw in the last hours.

i remember VERY clearly how much racism there was involving casting people of color back when the cast was announced. i stopped being active on the fandom, i left the facebook groups, i stopped following pages, all because i hated seeing so much hate and racism. i remember how much hate regé had to endure “because simon wasn’t black”. honestly, i remember being confused about how they would handle casting poc in a history drama like bridgerton, but i LOVED the ideia of embracing history inaccuracy like they did it with the tv show. we need more of that on media.

but back on regeé, he had to suffer with “not looking like simon” and then being absurdly sexualized int he show. AND before anyone says “oh it’s an explicit show everyone was sexualized”:

1 - rewatch simon’s scene and compare them with others characters

2 - read the comments and the way people (specifically white woman) said about him

3 - also, read an article about the sexualization of the black body by white people

so, no i don’t believe that regé left the show because “he wanted to try other things”. this fandom it’s so so disgusting and has been for a long time.

when i met john, i saw a lot of people saying he was ugly. he’s a handsome man.

people loved the idea of lesbian!eloise, but it had to be with a white woman. the moment michaela appeared on the scene most of you didn’t hate her because she wasn’t michael, most of you hated because she was a BLACK WOMAN and that made frannie bisexual. probably if michaela was white the amount of hate would be less then we have right now.

listen, i am a fan of the book and frannie’s it’s one of my favorites loosing only for eloise’s and daphne’s. i was SAD that i wouldn’t had michael on the screen, but i also like the idea of michaela. i know sometimes they have to change things on adaptations, and when they change it to people of color or make someone queer?? i love it even more. “oh but don’t change a character for it, create another one, i want this one”. he have millions of straight histories out there, let’s tell queer stories in shows with audiences like bridgerton. let’s make a history drama not be about two queer people that suffered and died without being able to show their love. let’s make this because it’s necessary and beautiful.

and its okay to be sad about “losing” michael, but ask yourself: why am i truly sad about it? at what point this sadness it’s becoming hate?

now, about the fact that “this changes frannie storie and i don’t like it”. it only changes a little bit and honestly they have a possibility of changing for even better.

i personally didn’t like francesca’s reaction when she met michaela. one very important thing about her history and biggest one it’s that she wasn’t attracted or in love with michael when she was with john, she learned it was okay to want and love michael after johns death and THAT WAS BEAUTIFUL. i really hope they don’t go towards a infidelity plot (cheating it’s not just kissing or sex, it can be a lot of things) john was her first love, she loved two people, but she loved and was happy with john. now, if that was just a bi panic moment? don’t care about this, fine, it’s okay and understandable. i just don’t want her having sex dreams about michaela while with john. please don’t do this.

that being said.

the whole “infertility plot” can be EVEN more powerful on her season. why? she would loose john’s baby. she wants to be a mother. if she stays with michaela? she won’t have a baby. later she can realize that she can adopt and there’s more than one way of being a mother, but that would be something to work towards it. she would have to abandon her dream (again, later realize she can still have it) in name of being in love and happy again. THAT IS SO POWERFUL.

the queen probably will give some permission to michaela be the earl, michaela could fight for the titles go to woman’s too. again, it’s not a historical accurate show.

in queen charlotte’s story the society had to deal with poc be included in society, in frannie story they’d have to heal with queer people be included on it.

frannie story can be so more powerful and beautiful and important.

yes bridgerton it’s a not perfect show, it’s not a 100% good adaptation, but it can be a powerful show. having poc and queer representation on it would be so more important than having your little story book become real on tv.

i don’t think that they’ll change eloise’s story specifically because we already met her *male* love interest, maybe she can have a fling with a woman next season, but honestly she needs to grow up before her season.

i don’t honestly know about benedict’s season. i don’t think they’ll genderbent sophie, but if they did it i would like it too. i honestly think they only made him bisexual (and frannie too) because they saw it the fans liked the idea.

BUT i think they can change hyacinth’s and gregory’s histories too. AND i would love to see it two. imagine hyacinth doing crime with a woman, IMAGINE gregory STEALING the GROOM from the altar (said groom having to be force to marry a woman despite being gay). i would love to see it.

honestly, i stoped hoping for book accuracy since anthony’s season and as much i didnt love it at the beginning, i learned to love it with time as a different and separate thing from the books.

you can be sad. just don’t spread hate. don’t be a racist. don’t be biphobic and/or queerphobic.

it’s so beautiful to have something like this happening in pride month don’t ruin another thing.

and if you want to “stop the show, it’s ruined for me” go ahead and do it. honestly? it won’t change a thing, people will still watch and it will still happen. queer people will continue to fight and love, and queer histories will continue to be told.

[moonchildstyles]

announcement/sneak peek

ahhhhhhhhh I'm so excited to be announcing another series for you guys! imdoing this a little different in that im not quite as far written out this time as I usually am but that does open up the possibility of you guys kind of helping me mold and shape some of this story! there might be moments where something you might message me or comment that could inspire something for an upcoming part! while im a little nervous that im not as preplanned out as usual, these possibilities make me so excited!

but anywayyyyyy starting August 18th I'll start posting the new series here on Tumblr! im still working on naming it so shfhusfhsuhf but its a bodyguard h fic! y/n is a tabloid bunny/socialite who's father believes she needs more guidance in the form of a security detail and harry has been tasked w the job! I also have a Pinterest board up for it that you can take a look at if you want to get an idea of what I have in store and what kind of characters we have! below I have a sneak peek for you guys!

On my patreon rn though, there is an extended sneak peek up and the new series will begin being posted next Friday, August 5th! they will be getting early access of 2 weeks before Tumblr and will get the first chance to help me plan some of the unfinished parts of the story! if you're at all interested in taking a look at the story a bit early or what to get involved some, pleaseeeee WAIT to sign up for patreon until august 1st! that way, it'll keep you from getting charged back to back right away!

super excited to be posting this as this is the most ive posted series wise like ever so thank you guys for taking the time to read nad be supportive and yeah! thank you!

lmk if you have any questions or anything!!

—————

"Remember when we decided you wanted extra guidance, (Y/N)?" her dad asked, bleached white smile on his face, "After everything with Damien recently?" 

Ice touched her spine as she took in his sticky sweet words. She knew where this meeting was going now. 

As much as he tried to hide behind the "we" words and his fake smile, (Y/N) knew this wasn't some investor sitting beside her now. 

Harry was her new cage. 

"I remember," she offered, her own voice sounding far away. 

"Well," he continued with a flourish leaning over his desk with his elbowed propped on the wood, "Harry, here, is that guidance we were looking for.  He used to work for Camila and Monroe as their head of security, but he's agreed to be your personal bodyguard until you're back on track." He looked too proud of himself as he spoke. "He's going to take good care of you, sweetie."  

Bodyguard. 

Her personal bodyguard. 

When her father pitched this whole idea and sent her to her room like a child, she honestly figured it would be another handler he would find for her. While it wasn't ideal, she knew she could deal with a handler. She could deal with an uppity woman bossing her around from a distance; she could deal with painting a facade and adhering to her father's guidelines through a handler. 

But, a bodyguard—or personal security, as he so delicately put it—was a different story. 

Harry would be tasked with following her everywhere. He'd have access to her home, access to the person she was around her friends, who she was around her father. Downtime would no longer be a thing with Harry around—recovery and privacy being thrown out. 

Francesca had a bodyguard when they were teenagers. Though it was only over the summers when they weren't away at school, those months he was present were... odd to (Y/N). He wasn't a mean man, but he was always there. Franny wasn't as bothered as she was, but (Y/N) felt like there was no privacy—no space to talk to her best friend about anything. He was always there listening, watching, and anticipating any need for protection. She felt exposed in his presence, no secrets truly secret or downtime when someone constantly had eyes on them. 

If this arrangement was anything like that, (Y/N) didn't know if her sanity was going to survive these months. 

Despite her insides beginning to churn, her glossy-lipped smile stayed in tact with stiff cheeks. "Wow! That's amazing!" 

Her performance must have been subpar if the way her father flashed his gaze at her, a glance that hardened a little too much. She needed to be trying harder, was what he was telling her. She wasn't being perfect like he wanted. 

"I've already warned him about your history of outbursts," her father said, a stealthy jab at her, "and, we discussed everything with Damien. I think he's up for the challenge." 

It was an interesting feeling being called a "challenge" by her own father, knowing he must have shared much more degrading comments behind he back disguised as warranted advice. It was all preparation, he probably thought. A proper warning. 

She shoved that feeling down—whatever that feeling was called—and instead focused n her role. As long as she bubbled, chirped, and smiled, she could get out of this room sooner rather than later. 

"Good," she said, a breathy laugh floating out with her voice, "I'll try not to give you any surprises, then." Looking to Harry, she leaned into her persona and played along. He didn't glance at her once, keeping his gaze forward on her father as if he were watching a movie. 

"There won't be any surprises, actually, right (Y/N)?" her father said, a tad too sharp under his act. 

"Right," she settled, calming under the weight of the room. 

Silence settled over, neither she nor her father plucking up the words while Harry stayed an observing pillar. 

This was her opening. If she acted fast, she could get out of here before either of them could stop her. 

"It was really nice to meet you, Harry," she said politely, her fingers curling around the arms of her chair, "Thank you for coming to work with us. I actually have early breakfast plans with Fran tomorrow morning back in the city, so I should probably start hea—" 

"Actually," her father cut her off sharply, his eyes hardening as they landed on her, "I was hoping you would stay for dinner tonight, sweetie. After Harry and I finish ironing out his contract, I wanted to talk to you some more before he officially started with you." 

Instinctively, she wanted to fight him on this. Spending another night here less than a month after the last time she had a breakdown here wasn't on the top of her list of wants, currently. But, knowing there was someone here already expecting the worst from her, forced her to settle. If she talked back it would only reinforce everything her father probably spouted off about her earlier. 

"Okay," she smiled, standing to her feet before inching towards he door, "I'll wait in my room then and give you guys some privacy." 

While her father offered a small dismissal to her in the form of a stuff smile and a promise to call her for dinner, Harry didn't bother to look twice at her. She didn't waste a moment before she was rushing back to her room. She didn't care if they could hear the pacing of her heels over the floors, knowing she was all but running away from that room. 

After twisting the lock on her bedroom door, (Y/N) collapsed onto her bed. Her breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling a little too fast for her head to stay clear. Pinpricks of static began to dance on her palms, fingertips beginning to go numb. A hole began to develop in the pit of her stomach. 

This might be one of the last real moments of alone time for the next couple of months, and she was spending it on the verge of a panic attack. 

(Y/N) knew her dad didn't trust her, but to have someone on his payroll who's only purpose was to follow her around stung more than she was willing to admit. She wasn't a stupid child despite how much he wanted to believe that. 

[michelasnook]

NOBODY'S SOLDIER

Sergeant Francesca Herrald doesn't like being in the military. She is one of the best snipers and the most meticulous medic. But at nineteen she desires to just live her teenage years. Inside the Fourth Squadron she just has to work. And she hates it.

Lieutenant Johnathan Price sees in the sister of his Captain a sad teen that wishes to escape that reality of blood and death. Even if she works with extraordinary focus and energy. He tries to make her life a bit more cheerful, but just when he thinks he is doing some progress, she turns and leaves. However, he just can let her go.

Now, something is wrong with her, more than usual. And he will do his best to understand her.

Words (for the chapter): 2503;

Warnings and tags (for the whole story): Lieutenant John Price, angst, depictions of violence, age gap, eventual smut, fluff, brother-sister relationship, panick attacks, minor character death, eventually more warnings.

A/N: So I started writing this story and I am now ready to start publish it all around. I fell in love with Francesca since the first chapters, and I hope I can manage to bring this story to conclusion (I've never finished a story in my life, but I feel confident). English is not my first language, but I hope there aren't any errors.

I. The Emptiness Machine

LONDON , 23rd of October, 2009. 

   I can imagine them all screaming my name, in unison, and then headbanging at the rhythm of my music. Even if my eyes are closed, I can see them all, while I move my head and strung the chords of my imaginary guitar. The riff is hard, but I know I'm nailing every note, making them all scream in awe. 

   I reach the most difficult part, my left hand going up and down the air and pressing on the right chords, with the right pressure, and when I almost nail it completely- one of my earbuds falls.

   No, it doesn't fall: Elia has yanked it out. He is looking at me, slightly disappointed.

   The pub all around me takes form again as the other people at the table chat. I sigh and pause the music on my iPod.

   "Care to grace us with your presence, Franny?" Elia asks me with a smile. I respond with a playful face, sticking my tongue out. He chuckles, turning back to his beer as the others laugh and talk.

   I swirl my shirley temple and then take a sip from the straw. I hate when my brother forces me to go out with our squad. He wants for me to socialize outside our job, but it's hard if you can't even drink alchool and all you want to do is just read and listen to music. It's even harder to try and make friend at base if everyone sees you Captain Herrald's little sister, or as the child of Major Herrald and Colonel Pearson-Herrald. Yet here I am, Sergeant Medic of the 4th British Squadron.

   I pluck the cherry from my drink and pop it into my mouth, just as Lieutenant Price sits down beside me with a dark beer in hand. I glance at it, wishing I could take a sip.

   "It's a Guinnes, right?" I ask, clear longing and sadness in my voice. John turns with shy smile and nods to me, then turns towards my brother and checks him. Slowly, without drawing attention, he slides the pint over to me. Grinning, I take a quick, satisfying sip before handing it back.

   "Thanks" I mutter, still savouring the dark tones of that good and cool Guinnes on my tongue.

   "Didn't peg you for a beer person" he says taking a drink from the same spot I pressed my lips on.

   "I enjoy a fresh Guinnes," I admit, "It's harsh to just drink it every now and then only when you pass me illegal sips." I pocket my iPod and earbuds in the big and old hoodie.

   He chuckles deep and smiles, shifting on his stool. "So, are you in on this mission?"

   Lieutenant Jonathan Price is the only one in the squad that actually tries to empatise and understand me. All the men and women at the table have enrolled because they wanted to, because they needed to give all their life to our country. But me? I don't want to risk my life only to save people I don't even know.

   I enrolled in the military academy at sixteen, but already at twelve I was trained by my father and deep in medical books under the scrutinous eyes of my mother. They wanted for me to be a military medic, a trauma field surgeon. And they got that, even if every night, at least until at seventeen I accepted my fate, I cried until I fell asleep. Under the command of my brother they now have total control of my being. Them and the United Kingdom, even if I just want to disappear in my old room in Bournemouth reading stories of dragons and fairies.

   John doesn't know the full story, but he listens when I talk. He's my sounding board when I need to vent, and I ignore his growing nicotine addiction as a form of silent gratitude. Sometimes, we share a cigarette when my brother isn't around.

   "I have no way out, so Afghanistan here I come!" I say mocking a tost and then take another slow sip. "Again, I suppose".

   John doesn't laugh, but just tries to smile to encourage me. "You can still leave, you can't stay out of coercion" he whispers, trying to not be heard by my brother that is just in front of him on the other side of the table. Elia is laughing at some joke Private MacGavin has said.

   "Except I can't if I want to stay in touch with all my family and not be disinherited" I suck even the last drop of my drink and then push it with the other glasses that have gathered from the others. "You know, I still would like some kind of family. So... I am stuck".

   I have two families: my actual blood and all family, and my gunpowder and injuries family. If I walk away, I would lose them both.

   "You wouldn't lose me, Sonne" he says, cues another one of his cute smiles. But I cringe at him for using my code name. 

   "Oh, don't worry. My brother would make sure of that" Elia thinks exactly as my father, even if he is more pleasant to be around and he cares about me more. 

   Elia and John are best friends, my brother has took the young Lieutenant under his wing, almost making him de facto his second in command. There isn't one single thing John wouldn't do under Elia's command. 

   "I have a mind of my own. Elia can make sure of whatever, but I think I'll never stop sneaking you sips of Guinnes" he chuckles at the end of the phrase and then pats me on my head, a few strands of ash blond hair falling on my forehead. I look at him, admiring him a few seconds. 

   If just he looked at me the same lovingly way I am looking at him now.

   "Thanks, Price" I say with a half sigh, then I turn to the little stage where three young teens are performing a Radiohead's song. I don't dare look at the Lieutenant for the rest of the night, not if I can avoid it.

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HELMAND PROVINCE, AFHGANISTAN, 25th of october, 2009.

   The base is rumbling with action: trucks rolling in and out, squadrons full of privateers marching around, weapons firing off in the distance. And the dust, there is too much dust, that is around our boots, that deposit on our faces and threatens to get in our eyes. It's not a place I like, it's not where I can find myself, opposite of my brother. 

   I look at him while he talks off in the distance with a Corporal that has orders to pass to him. His hands are on his hips, nodding and moving his hands if he needs to explain something. In his uniform and combact gear he looks the part; hell, he is the part. Elia thrives in this life. Meanwhile, I am here, just surviving it. 

   Captain Herrald returns with a piece of paper that the Corporal has given him, and looks at us with a sigh. He looks displeased.

   "The Chinook's been delayed. We're stuck here until tomorrow afternoon. They need us to work in the meantime. Franny, report to Role 3. John, head to JOC..." His voice is commanding, as always, but I barely hear the rest. I gather my gear and head to the Combat Support Hospital without waiting for further instructions.

   Role 3 is where I find a sense of purpose, if not belonging. After stowing my things in a small office, I report to Major Sheffield, the hospital's commanding officer. She's tall, redheaded, and carries herself with quiet authority. 

   "Seargent Herrald, I heard many great things about your operations. Care to walk with me?" Major Sheffield asks me, and I nod when she starts walking like she owns the place. Because she does, she owns the place. This is her hospital. 

   "So young and already putting your hands inside men's stomach to make them return home to their families, you must be proud" she says while we walk up the stairs and enter the surgical floor, where the many wounded soliders are awaiting their surgeries or to be discharged, ready to go home or back to action. 

   I mentally sigh when she saysthose words, because I don't know how to answer. But I smile, put myself practically on attention with my hands together behind my back and give her a cordial smile. "Yes, I am" I simply say, lowering my military medical surgeon mask. 

   "We have one surgery where we could really use another set of capable hands. Can I count you in?" she asks, while another doctor gives her a chart. 

   "If we finish before dinner, sure" I say with a smile, she returns it and leaves the chart for me to study. 

   Here I am, back to work. And the only thing I hope is that this base has good hiding spots. Even in this place, which should feel like my sanctuary, I still feel trapped.

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   The desert wind feels fresh on my skin, like the vanilla ice cream I'm eating while sitting on the rooftop of our barrack. I can look at the stars clearly, like they've been painted just for me. One thing that I can surely be happy about this job is that it makes me travel around the world. Sure, it doesn't let me be a proper tourist, but at least I get to watch the sky from different parts of this planet. And this ice cream is actually really good. 

   I moan quietly with closed eyes when I savour in my mouth the last spoon of this wednesday's base dessert, then sigh at the sight of the empty cup. Even the small pleasure of life are short-lived here, and I am now left with the spectacle that is the base ahead of me. 

   It's dinner time, even if in half an hour everyone has to go to sleep, the base is still alive with activity. Everyone is busy with something, and me... I am just hiding. 

   Rooftops are my speciality, just like operation rooms. It's the duality of being a sniper and a doctor. I have two hiding places, but with time even these places feel so wrong to me. I don't belong. 

   I lean back on my elbows, listening to the rhythm of the soldiers marching below. I close my eyes and I take a big breath. Trying to convince myself that I belong here, that I am doing something actually right for me and for the people. But which people?

   Behind me, I can sense someone is climbing up the pipe to reach the roof, and then I hear the unmistakable sound of my brother's footsteps. Elia sits besides me with an non-alcoholic beer in hand. I didn't realise they would give beers out at base. 

   "Ugh, are you here to remind me that I'm still to young to drink?" I ask with a sigh. In response he hands me the green bottle. I smile and take a swig, but immediatly girmace at the taste and give it back in disgust. "Why do you drink this blonde shit?" I ask, wiping the drops around my mouth. 

   "I am blonde, we are blonde. Of course I am going to like a blonde beer" he says with a chuckle in his voice, looking out the base, but his expression is different from mine. 

   I can see it in his face, in his eyes. He is surveying his domain, his land, like a King. His dream is taking our father's position, rise to his rank. So yeah, he wants to be the King of this land. 

   "Everything good at the hospital?" he asks, still not looking at me, his diamond-like eyes reflecting the moonlight as his golden beard gleams.

   "I did four GSWs, a fasciotomy, and cleaned so many burns and immobilized so many fractures that I lost count" I say, groaning as my shoulders scream for rest. I give in, lying down with a tired sigh. "I was in the OR for nine hours, then spent the rest of the time in the trauma wing." My muscles ease as my back hits the ground.

   I open my eyes and see Elia's usual proud smile when it comes to my work. When it comes to be happy about what I accomplish, Elia does it for me. He covers joy and proudness for all my family, decanting my successes in the field, from the lives I save to the enemies I take down. 

   "You've been awfully quiet, Fran" he says, setting his beer aside and turning towards me for the first time this evening. 

   "I always am" I say, avoiding his gaze. 

   I look at his forehead, his cheeks, even his lips- anywhere but his eyes. If I look at him in his eyes he'll see that I am scared to be here, that I don't want to be here. Just like how when we were kids and he could always tell how much I hated our father's training. And he would take the beatings for me. 

   Elia doesn't know still don't want to be here. He thinks I found some deep sense of patriotism at sixteen when I enrolled. He doesn't know what convinced me to stay.

   I can't let him see how scared and angry I am. It would be misinterpreted as a lack of confidence in my ability, and even though I hate it, I'm damn good at my job. This whole setup is insane, but I can handle it.

   "If you are bothered in some way, you can talk to me. I'm here as your brother, not as your Captain" he says, trying to meet my eyes. My eyes fall on his collar, where his insignias are, then his chest, decorated with medals. 

   Here, he's just my Captain. He doesn't get it. He never will. This is his land, not mine. 

   "I am fine, Elia. Just need to get through this mission" I say with a deep breath, moving my eyes back up, to the sky, to the indifferent dying stars. 

   He nods, staying by my side for a few more minutes. Then he finishes his beer, pats me on my shoulder and climbs back down. I sit back up, look down and can see my brother meeting with his Lieutenant. 

   John looks relaxed, though a bit tired from the work day. However, he looks like he could do it all over again. He's twenty-three and already a lieutenant; at this pace, he'll have Elia's job in a few deployments.

   I see Elia telling him something, and then John looks up in my direction. I stay where I am and wave. He returns the gesture, touching the visor of his cap and flashing me a small, kind smile. 

   Oh, I really liked that smile. Damn as hell I need to get to Lucy after all this shit.