Y/N: Did You Tell Anybody We Are Engaged, Benedict?

La Vie En Rose

jason todd x fem!reader

aka jason wildly preferring you over everyone else

4 in 1 blurbs

warnings: standard batfam arguing etc.

You sit curled up embarrassingly close to Jason on the couch, head on his shoulder. The team is still in their gear as they filter into the living room, masks and helmets discarded in scattered locations between here and the cave. The mission had been fairly simple and with all of them together it only took a couple hours to finish up.

As you waited, Alfred had kept your mind busy in the kitchen while he taught you how he makes his famous ice cream from scratch.

The clamor of the heroic party’s return had made itself known sooner than later, and you think your face must have displayed your emotions nicely because Alfred nodded you away with a small smile and no second thought.

You’d walked into the living room, weaving through the mess of siblings until a hand snuck out on your left and grabbed your wrist. You barely had time to look at him before Jason pulled you down to sit next him on the sofa. He wrapped an arm over your shoulder, pulling you in and leaving virtually no space between you. His armor sits heavy against you, but a welcome weight on your shoulders.

Tim plops down on the couch across from you and you can just make out a bit of blood on the side of his head, aptly accompanied by an irritated look sprawled across his face. It’s not enough blood to be concerned about—not for them—but you can venture a guess that whatever they were up to shouldn’t have called for any injuries and his pique is likely directly related to that.

Though Dick’s goading aura might have something to do with it too, as he comes crashing down next to him a second later, partially sitting on Tim’s cape and pulling him into an awkward angle. 

Nightwing doesn’t seem too perturbed by the younger vigilante’s agitation and curt manner of pushing him off.

The others are too caught up in chatter to pay much attention to you, and you can be certain that’s why Jason takes that moment to press a kiss to the side of your head. He lets his lips linger there for just a second as you lean into him.

Alfred’s own entrance is the only thing able to subside the flurry of conversations skirting around the room.

“A job well done,” he commends with a nod. “A selection of ice creams awaits you in the kitchen.”

He gives you a sly wink before retreating back through the swinging door, leaving Stephanie and Cass to practically trip over themselves trying to beat each other to the kitchen. Robin follows after unhurried, mask still on, with his hands behind his back.

Jason kneads your thigh before pushing himself up to stand. He turns back, looking down to you. “What do you want?” he asks softly.

You hum, "Just strawberry's good."

Tim sits up, "Can I—”

"No, you've got legs,” Jason grumbles, stalking off to the kitchen.

Dick barks out a laugh and you bite back a smile.

Tim looks absolutely aghast. 

“That’s such bullshit. You know, he used to be nice.”

“No he didn’t,” Dick laughs, shaking his head. “Not since you’ve known him.”

Stephanie stumbles out of the kitchen then, the door hitting her back on the way, as she mutters a curse behind her. You can vaguely makeout Jason grunting something back before she rolls her eyes.

Steph looks at you, shaking her head as she returns to her seat, “You live like this?”

You shrug, “He’s nice to me.”

“Yeah, I bet,” Tim grumbles.

Jason returns after Cass a minute later with a bowl of strawberry ice cream and two spoons. He expertly ignores Tim’s unwavering glare as he resituates himself beside you.

He scoops your legs up over his lap and positions the bowl in between you, wrapping the sleeve of his jacket around it so that the cold porcelain doesn’t make contact with your skin.

The others have set themselves up so that the four of them are stuffed up against each other on the sofa adjacent to you, very obviously examining you both. 

And while you’re willing to acknowledge the amused stares and singular glare, Jason only sighs heavily, rolling his eyes as he glares at the coffee table.

Only a few seconds of this are allowed to go by before he pulls over a throw pillow and sets it over your knees, so that it rests atop your heads like a mini-fort, successfully blocking out his siblings' view of the two of you.

You smile and press a light kiss to his shoulder as he simmers.

Regrettably, you miss the way Damian side-eyes the pillow above you as he re-enters the room, perching himself atop the back of the couch behind the others.

“This is so nice,” Dick preens. “He used to just leave the room when too many of us gathered in one place. Now he has to stay.”

Stephanie watches the makeshift fort with wary eyes, scooping ice cream into her mouth. “Yeah…I don’t wanna freak you guys out but, uh…”

It’s quiet for a moment and you guess Cass is speaking. 

You’re proven right when Stephanie starts up again, “My thoughts exactly.” Her voice drops into a raspy whisper that isn’t really meant to go unheard, “I don’t know who the hell that is, but it is not Jason.” 

“This is unprecedented,” Damian mumbles, dipping into his own chocolate cup.

“Do they always talk about you like you’re not here?” you ask Jason quietly. 

“Yes,” he grumbles with a scornful look directed at the bowl.

A low hiss can be heard immediately after, “I’ve never heard him whisper before, what the fuck?”

You can’t hide your laugh as well as you mean to, but you know Jason’s light swat to your thigh is nothing more than a rib.

Mumbles continue along the other couch, mostly going unacknowledged, until Tim busts out, “He doesn’t even like strawberry!”

Jason snaps the pillow out of the way, “The fuck do you know about what I like?”

Tim resets his posture with one hell of an attitude, snarking, “Well I can name one thing you really seem to fucking—”

Jason grabs the pillow harshly and chucks it at Tims head which connects with a loud thwack.

Damian swats it away before it can knock him off balance, though his scowl is only half worth what Tim’s is. 

“You’re unbelievable,” he says with a sneer. “This is why you don’t get invited to movie night anymore.”

Jason doubles back at him, “Sorry, is this not your own fucking house?”

Tim huffs, “Yes, which i—”

“Then get your own goddamn ice cream!”

Tim huffs as he stands, sending Jason a pointed look. “I’m going because I want to.”

Jason barely gives him a sardonic nod as he stomps off.

“Get me some too!” Dick calls back, only for the back of his head to be met with a sideways grimace from Tim.

As he leaves, the focus of the room seems to shift towards Damian dripping chocolate onto his cape and it fades away from there.

You turn to Jason, lowering your voice to just below a whisper, “If you don’t like strawberry—”

“I like it,” he tells you, leaving no room to argue as he takes a bite.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Voicemail. 

Voicemail.

Declined.

Voicemail.

Declined.

Declined. 

“I swear to God, he better be dead,” Stephanie mutters to herself.

She shuts her phone off and tosses it into the passenger seat with a huff. Her fingers drum against the steering wheel as she scans the sidewalk across from her car.

The night before the majority of the team had been involved in a less-than-successful plan, which some have called “a display of complete idiocy and inability to circumspect.”

Then Tim had to go and make a joke about that word choice in what was apparently a bad moment. This gave way to a harsher punishment of the team being forced to clean the batcave foot by square foot—notably, an impossible task.

So naturally, they had to retaliate.

The plan was to dismantle the batmobile piece by piece and leave it a collection of parts for Bruce to find. Problem being, the group as it stood didn’t possess the capability to do so without doing a great deal of damage to the parts. Damage, that the family was not willing to face extra retribution for.

Fortunately, they knew just the man for the job. 

Unfortunately, said man has devoted his life to ignoring their messages, favoring to live peacefully and distantly from them. And because that peace and distance does come with an add-on of borderline complete secrecy from his family, no one had any idea where to look for him.

So, Stephanie decided to do the next most rational thing and track down your location. She’d hoped he would be with you like he always is, but for seemingly the first time in the last year—he’s nowhere to be found.

Now, was revenge for a minor-slight by Bruce so important that it required Stephanie to take all of these steps to get a hold of Jason? No, absolutely not. She’s pretty sure that the others have already given up on it by now and started cleaning. But it’s about the principal. And also, she does not want to clean the floors of a cave.

She jumps up in her seat when she spots you exiting a store, scurrying to unbuckle and pry the car door open.

She’s across the street in half a second, running directly into your line of sight. It actually would’ve been very difficult for her to miss your line of sight, considering she’d landed only a good six inches in front of your face. “Hey!”   

“Oh, fuck—” you jump, grabbing your chest. You take a breath when you realize who it is, less surprised now by the theatrics of the introduction. “Hey Steph.”

“Hey,” she smiles casually, like she didn’t do what she just did. “So Jason’s been ignoring us and I need to get a hold of him,” she tells you.

You nod, still collecting yourself. “Oh. I don’t know where he is—”

She shakes her head, “That’s fine. Can I use your phone to call him?”

You frown, “Is something wrong?”

“With him, yeah,” she snarks. “I called him, Tim called him, Dick called him, Cass called him, Damian called him, we used Bruce’s phone to call him—that was a bit of a long shot, but still. This is our last option. Well, not our last option, if this doesn’t work I could get really invasive, but—” She shakes the thought from her head, “Nevermind.”

You nod blankly, taking in the mountain of information she’d just handed you. “How’d you know I was here?”

She scans your eyes back and forth for a second before her own widen in realization and she’s shaking her head. “No, no, don’t worry we’re not tracking you! I just hacked into the traffic cameras to find you.”

“Oh!” you exclaim, nodding some more. “Okay.”

You hand her your phone without any further questions—for your own sake—and she happily accepts. 

“You know I texted him 115 times?” she tells you as she scrolls through your contacts.

You furrow your eyebrows, watching her click his name and press the phone to her ear. “Did you count?”

“Well, I had the time, di—you son of a bitch! One ring?” Stephanie scorns into the phone.

You can hear Jason groan on the other end of the line. 

He says something to Stephanie that she follows up with a firm shake of her head.

“No,” she says defiantly. “She let me use it.”

Stephanie rolls her eyes, not pleased with his response. “What if it was an emergency?”

She listens for a second, skeptical look on her face.

She gasps suddenly, “I am not overstepping, we thought you were dead!”

Over the course of about ten seconds the shock on her face drops into just-been-caught guilt. “Well, I mean we considered it.”

You imagine Jason’s telling her to give you your phone back as she stands her ground, pushing, “If you promise to text me back.”

A short response on his end.

“Promise to text me back!”

There’s a brief lull before she’s giving a self-satisfied nod and jostling your phone back into your hands. “Here ya go. Thanks, babe!” She smiles wide at you before jogging back across the street, not waiting for the cars.

You smile as you watch her go, putting the phone up to your ear, “Hey Jay.”

You can hear the relief on the other end of the line. “Hey sweetheart. You know if you see Steph in public, you can just walk away?”

“I’m not going to walk away from your family.” You look again across the street, “Also I don’t think that was an option for me this time.”

“That thing is fucking scary.”

Cass smiles fondly, signing, “I think he’s cute.”

Tim eyes the way Salem traipses around his feet, yellow eyes staring up at him. “Why’s it even here?”

Jason rolls his eyes, continuing to scroll on his phone. “He’s hers. Deal with it.”

Tim scrunches up his mouth. “She knows I hate it. And she, unlike you, wouldn’t subject me to this just for the hell of it. So again I ask: why is it here?”

Jason huffs, looking up from his phone. “What do you want me to say? He wants to be.”

Tim scoffs at that, “‘It wants to be’? You’re the one who put it in the car.”

“No, I didn’t,” Jason says factually.

Tim looks at him sideways as Salem leaps onto Jason’s lap and nudges his hand up. Jason follows along as requested, petting the top of Salem’s head with an open palm. 

Tim squirms to the other side of the couch with a look of disgust on his face. Salem watches him the whole time.  

A smile adorns Cass’ face as she signs, “She says he can read people’s energy.”

Tim huffs, resting his head against his fist. “What does that even mean?”

The conversation is cut off by the clatter of you and Dick stumbling into the room, carrying a freshly painted headboard. Blue paint coats both of your hands and has no doubt stained your clothes.

You’re clearly struggling a bit to keep your grip on your end, the weight of the wooden frame dragging your arms down.

Jason stands and Salem flows along with his movements easily, leaping down onto the hardwood. He comes over and helps you lift your end of the frame with a stupid amount of ease, to the point that you’re not even holding any of the weight up anymore. The three of you—less so you—move the headboard and lean it up against the wall. After it's set down Jason steps back and looks over it gingerly.

“It looks good,” he murmurs to you, quiet enough to not give his brother the satisfaction of his approval.

Dick had asked you over to help him paint Damian’s bed frame as a surprise for him for not getting in any “altercations” at school this semester. You’d decided on coating it with his favorite color first and then fill it in with a collection of what Dick has “on good authority” are his favorite animals. It’s a fairly random assortment that you’re not sure adds to or disproves Dick’s credibility. You’d spent the better half of the afternoon googling animals you’d never heard of just to make sure you projected their likenesses accurately. Dick had been very clear that you had to be precise on the details because Damian would know if he was really looking at a komodo dragon painting or if it was “some common lizard.”

You sigh, “I hope he likes it. I’m worried we did it too childish for him.”

“He is a child,” Jason says plainly.

“But he is not childish,” you counter. And he sure isn’t. You’d had a hard enough time convincing Damian to watch cartoons, adding a colorful animal mural to his bedroom might be one step too far. You’re still trying to figure him out.

“He’ll like it,” he says firmly.

You smile, slipping around under his arm and tucking yourself into his side.

Not a moment later, Dick slings an arm around Jason's shoulder, grinning as he pulls his brother in close.

Jason’s immediately louring. "No, get away from me."

Dick, unfazed and still smiling, removes his arm and takes a big step to the right. You do the same, figuring he needs his space, but you get caught by the wrist before you can do more than sway to the side. 

“Not you.” 

He pulls you back under his arm, wrapping it around the front of your shoulders. You hook your fingers around his forearm, letting your hand hang.

You hear a double-clap from the other side of the room that has you both turning around to face Cass. 

She signs something to Jason with a fond smile on her face. 

You look back and forth between them as Jason waves her off. “What?”

He shakes his head, “It’s nothing. She said—she said we’re cute.”

You smile up at him and he deflects—not so subtly—and starts nudging you back towards where the group is gathered, now all standing. 

Dick’s quick to start bragging off to the room about how great of a job the two of you did and how really complex and daunting it actually is painting animals for a child.

As he talks, your eyes find Jason, who’s definitely about to roll his eyes any second now. A bit subconsciously, your hand comes up to brush Jason’s white streak of hair back, away from tickling his forehead. 

On the other side of Jason, Tim does the same, sweeping Jason’s hair back in a much more mocking manner. 

This gives way to Jason smacking his hand away, harder than he needed to.

"Wha—You let her do it!" Tim protests, overplaying how much the slap hurt.

Jason scowls, "She can do whatever she wants."

Tim drops his shoulders, looking at Jason as if he’d been scandalized. “Oh but I can’t?”

“Not if it involves touching me,” Jason grumbles.

Tim steps closer, putting a finger to Jason’s chest. “You’re such a—”

From the floor, Salem hisses up at Tim, successfully startling the teenager. “Auahh—”

He stumbles backwards, grimacing at the cat. 

“Fucking demon,” he hisses, walking away.

When Tim’s far enough away and Salem’s seemingly satisfied, he brushes up against your leg, purring. 

You peer down at him with a furrowed brow. 

“What’s Salem doing here?”

“I’m not doing this shit with you.”

“No, come on, 9 out of 10 times is what you said. How ‘bout just once? Beat me one time at anything, Jaybird.”

“Anything?” Jason asks like he knows damn well Dick can’t swear on that word.

Rightly so, Dick backtracks. “Something agreed upon.”

Jason throws his hands up, partially in exasperation, partially relenting.

Dick smoothly turns his back to him, announcing, “Opening up the room for ideas.”

Damian’s eye roll is almost audible from the corner armchair, where his attention is unmoved from intently sharpening a blade he’d recently come into possession of.

Bruce similarly remains unbothered in his seat, trying to read despite the distractions. 

“Ooh, okay. Okay.” Stephanie wiggles up a little on the couch. “You could race!”

Dick shakes his head negatively, “I literally just busted my knee up two days ago, Steph.”

“Convenient,” Jason mumbles.

“You were there!” Dick exclaims with an open mouth.

Steph continues, “Um…”

Cass waves to the room from her position upside down on the couch, head hanging down next to Stephanie’s legs. Attention successfully acquired, she signs, “Staring contest.”

Jason grimaces, “That sounds like a nightmare.”

Dick gives him a faux-smile.

“You should play chicken,” Damian chimes in, holding up his knife.

“No,” Bruce drones monotonously as he flips a page. 

“Tic tac toe?” Steph suggests.

Cass is already shaking her head as she scrunches up her mouth in thought.  

Jason rolls his eyes, “What are we, five?”

Dick nods, cracking his knuckles as he thinks. “No, we need something that really proves our worth.”

Bruce looks up from his book, staring numbly through his brow, but remains silent.

“You could arm wrestle,” Steph suggests.

The elder brother twitches at that, “Uh, no.”

Cass moves past that before a joke has the chance to be made. “Handstand contest?” she suggests.

Jason shrugs, “Yeah, sure.”

The elder brother looks at him incredulously. “You’ll do a handstand contest with me?”

“That’s what I just said.”

Dick scoffs, “Jaybird, I’m an acrobat, you’re just some guy.”

Jason, not giving him the courtesy of eye contact, pulls his sweatshirt off from his back. “Well, you’re a lot of things, aren’t you?”

Dick throws his head back with a squint.

Jason fishes his phone out of his pocket and Dick follows suit, offended stare maintaining all the while. 

No exchange is required as they both toss their phones across the room, landing together with a rough clatter on Damian’s lap. Damian’s resulting glare is borderline disgusted.

Dick starts them off, “Alright, go. One…two…”

Both men push up onto their hands, muscles flexing as they find their balance. Dick’s form is better, of course, but Jason looks to have a stronger foundation.   

They both hold strong as several minutes go by with the brothers only maintaining the attention of some of the room, and the interest of none of it.

Stephanie huffs and tilts her head, thoroughly unentertained with the consistency they’re both managing. 

“Starting to wish they’d picked something that moved along a little faster,” she murmurs to Cass.

Dick glances over at the younger brother, clearly displeased with his lack of trouble keeping up with him. He shuffles closer one hand at a time, using the decreased distance to poke at Jason with his foot, trying to knock him over.

Jason kicks him back harder, “Hey! Don’t be a dick—”

“Very funny,” Dick leers.

They both end up finding a struggle to keep balance and are forced to mind their own.  

A chime rings out from the corner that has heads turning briefly in his direction before coming back to the competition. 

“Who’s was that?” Dick calls out.

Damian leans over and inspects the screens with disinterest. “Todd’s.”

Jason adjusts his position, “Who is it?”

Damian responds with your name. 

“And?”

He picks up the phone shrugging like he couldn’t care less, “She wants to know if you want to go see some movie,”

There’s a brief silence before Jason drops out of the handstand, standing up. 

Dick’s blood-flushed face peers up at him, bewildered. “Wait, what?”

The family watches with wide eyes as Jason picks his sweatshirt up off the floor and tugs it back on.

Stephanie gawks, bordering on laughing. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” he says simply.

Dick lets himself fall into a kneeling position with a huff, “You would rather go to some movie you don’t even know the name of than win a bet?”

Jason moues at him, “Uh, yeah.”

He tosses a twenty at Dick, and plucks his phone from Damian’s hand as he strolls past him, typing out a reply.

Cass sits up a bit and signs up to Stephanie, “Does he even like movies?” 

Bruce, now attention now fully removed from his book, watches Jason exit with the slightest hint of a smile. Dick sits dumbly on the floor, staring after him with an open-mouth. 

Damian twists the knife in his hands around contemplatively before rising to stand. 

“I will go,” he announces, dropping his blade onto the seat of the chair. Jason grumbles a no but Damian follows after him just the same.

you know what happened to the last guy that didn’t reblog? … 🔪🧨💥😵⚰️🪦

Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.

me when I reach the angst part of the angsty fic that I specifically chose for the angst

lost mail | fred g. weasley

summary: after a bad break up you try to get rid of the memories, instead you find something that turns your life upside down word count: 4.3k masterlist

You cannot remember why you chose to keep every little piece of your life.

That was the only thought in your mind while you went through every box you kept in your attic. And every box came with the memories.

You couldn’t decide if you were grateful for it or if you hated it.

At the front of the attic were the newest memories you have kept, the ones who were involving the one person you were trying to forget.

The person who was at fault in the first place for you being up here and going through every box.

It hadn’t even been a week since the person you truly loved at one point told you that they were moving on, packing up their bags and that there was no space for you in those plans.

You were lying if you said you weren’t hurt, but you knew that you should be more devastated by this. Deep down you already knew that that ending was inevitable. And maybe you had made peace with that a long time ago.

And if you were truly honest with yourself, maybe you never really loved that person at all. How could you love a person that never truly saw you?

Giving yourself up and everything you stood for just to not be alone? You were foolish to believe that it could work.

You decided to make a clean cut. And that involved getting rid of the boxes that kept pieces of the memories you wanted to forget.

But once you started going down the memory lane, you couldn’t stop.

In every box were pieces of people you had not seen in a lifetime, at least that’s what it felt like to you.

These boxes had hidden secrets in them, ones you almost forgot but never really could. Like the coin that used to be your lucky charm, the one you would always carry around.

The castle was quiet at this time of night.

Not a soul around, just you and the moon.

You weren’t the kind of person who could easily break the rules, but at nights where you couldn’t sleep the only thing to help was to take a walk around the deserted hallways.

Never before have you been caught, but luck didn’t seem to be on your side tonight.

The sudden sound of footsteps made you stop in your tracks and with them came the one and only Fred Weasley.

He ran right past you, straight into the empty classroom behind you.

Before you could process that, Snape was in front of you.

“What are you doing wandering this castle at night?” he asked you, hair a mess and just a tad out of breath. He had been seemingly chasing after Fred.

“I was just thirsty,” you lied straight through your teeth, hoping he wouldn’t notice.

Snape on the other hand did not look impressed with your lie, but he seemed to have more important matters to tend to. “This is of no interest to me. Have you noticed someone running this way?”

“Have you lost someone, Professor?” you joked, immediate regret following with the way Snape looked at you. “I did, he ran that way,” you said, pointing in the opposite direction.

“If I ever see you again wandering the castle at night or see you misstep in any way, you will have detention for the rest of the school year. Also ten points lost. Understood?”

“Yes, Sir,” you replied, no longer finding joy in this situation.

Snape turned around before the words left your mouth, having no use for you anymore.

After he was out of sight, you knocked softly on the door of the classroom Fred was in. “You can come out, he’s gone,” you said in a hushed tone.

The door opened with caution, and you were looking at the grinning face of the red head. “Well, hello there and thank you from the bottom of my heart, love,” he said, sending you a wink that made your eyes roll.

“I think you owe me one,” you told him, taking a step back so he could step out of the room.

“Oh, I’d do anything for you,” he agreed, his grin widening even more if that was even possible.

“A normal person would offer money or something,” you hushed, with flushed cheeks. Never before have you been at the receiving end of the Weasley charm.

“Sorry to disappoint, but I do have…,” he rummaged through his pockets, fishing out one coin of a currency you did not recognize, “I have that.”

He offered it up to you, but you pushed his hand back to him, saying “I was only joking.”

“Maybe, but I’m not,” he said before taking your hand and placing the coin in it, closing your hand around it.

The brush of his hand was gone in a second, but something about it settled into your skin, a warmth you couldn’t shake even as you put the coin in your pocket.

“It’s my lucky charm, so you better keep it safe,” he said in mock seriousness, before turning around and walking away.

“I’ll try my best, Weasley,” you murmured as you watched him go.

You closed your fist around the coin, imaging that it still carried the warmth of Fred, but it did not. It was cold in your hand, leaving you feeling guilty when you remembered that you hadn’t been around at the shop as much as you used to.

It wasn’t that you had ignored him intentionally—you’d just been caught up in work and your relationship.

The same relationship Fred had disapproved of from the beginning. But you were determined to make it work, because that’s the kind of person you were.

You took crumbs of love and affection and tried to turn them into something more, desperately holding onto someone who did not even look back as they left.

Fred knew you better than anyone, and he’d told you this wasn’t right for you. But he’d respected your decision.

Still, it had put a strain on your friendship. Now, you felt a sudden urge to go and apologize, to make things right. But you didn’t—you were too much of a coward to admit you’d been wrong, especially so soon after the breakup.

You always used to be like that when it came to arguments, even if you knew deep down you were wrong, you still carried on. Maybe it was because you were telling yourself that sometimes it was better for everyone if you just ignored the truth—a tendency you also had when it came to other things.

“Why can’t you just admit you were wrong?” Fred asked, shaking with laughter.

You crossed your arms, turning your head to the side, trying to stifle a smile. “Because I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he insisted, tugging on your arm like a child begging for sweets. “Just admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it. Admit it.”

You kept your mouth shut, unwilling to give in. But despite yourself, you couldn’t help smiling at his antics.

“There it is!” he crowed in victory, as though your smile was all he’d been after.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you said, no longer able to hold back a laugh.

He gasped dramatically, placing a hand on his heart. “You wound me.” Dropping down beside you, he put on his saddest face. “I’m leaving soon, and all you can do is insult me. How terrible of you.”

You shook your head, though his words struck a pang in your chest.

It was true. In less than a month, Hogwarts would no longer echo with the laughter of Fred and George. They would leave to open their shop and leave everything—including you—behind.

This was Fred’s dream, and you supported him wholeheartedly, but the ache of his coming departure had settled inside you and refused to go away. You knew it would linger, long after he was gone.

“Don’t remind me. It won’t be long now,” you muttered, a grimace on your face.

He nudged you gently, offering a smile of his own. “Don’t be sad. Once you graduate, you can come work for me and George. You could even move in with us.”

A chuckle escaped your lips. “Where? In your room?” You knew their flat above the shop only had two bedrooms.

“I wouldn’t say no,” he winked at you.

All you could do was stare at him, needing a moment to process his words.

The idea of moving in with Fred warmed your cheeks, and your mind couldn’t help wandering to the idea of a life together.

But that’s all it was—a fantasy.

“Very funny, you git,” you laughed, trying to defuse the tension that had appeared for just a moment. Moments like these seemed to happen more often lately.

There were times when Fred said something that could have meant more, only for you to turn it into a joke. It was easier that way—or at least, that’s what you told yourself to not have your heart be broken by false hope. Because this was Fred, he was just joking around, nothing more. That’s just what he did.

Fred took the lifeline you threw him, laughing along before saying, “I’m not the one who said Chocoballs are better than Jelly Slugs.”

And just like that, your old argument started up again.

Maybe in a few weeks, you’d be ready to face Fred. For now, you kept sifting through memories in the quiet of the attic, where the evening sun cast a warm glow.

There were so many pictures and keepsakes from the past few years, and looking at them now, a sense of dread washed over you. Years spent giving your love to someone who had never deserved it.

One box was filled with old parchments, overflowing with thoughts—a diary of your mind. It was a habit you had given up soon after meeting your ex, who never understood its importance. Not like someone else, someone special.

In another box, you stumbled upon an old photo from your days at Hogwarts, familiar faces you hadn’t seen in ages smiling back at you. Underneath it lay another photo, this one taken by an unknown person—a candid shot of you and Fred. You still remembered the day it was taken.

Sitting by the Great Lake in your favorite hidden spot, you couldn’t put your quill down. So many thoughts were swirling around your head that you needed to pour them all out.

That’s how Fred found you.

“Slow down, you might set the paper on fire,” he teased, a smile on his face. You jumped at the sound of his voice, not having noticed his arrival.

“Merlin, you scared me,” you sighed, looking up at him. His hair was disheveled, the top buttons of his shirt were undone, and his tie was slung over his shoulders.

Before you could ask what happened, he settled next to you on the stone, asking curiously, “What are you writing, anyway?”

“Anything and everything,” you told him earnestly.

“Huh?”

“I’m writing down every thought I have—it makes it easier to sort through the mess,” you explained, looking out at the water, a little nervous about his reaction to your strange habit.

You did not dare tell him that most of these thoughts involved him.

But his answer surprised you. “You’re a clever one, aren’t you?”

You turned to him, confusion written on your face.

Fred scratched the back of his head, his tone softer. “I mean… I get it. I’ve got a million things going on in my head all the time. Putting them down isn’t a bad idea.”

You hummed, a gentle smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe you should take my advice, then,” you said with a wink.

That made him laugh. “Maybe I should.”

A comfortable silence settled over you before you quietly confessed, “It’s also the only way to make my mind go quiet.”

Fred didn’t answer right away; instead, he stared out at the lake, watching the afternoon sun dance on the water.

But you were watching him, admiring the way his brows knitted and his lips—just the perfect shade of pink—pursed in thought. That look of quiet concentration made him more handsome than ever.

The silence stretched on, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It felt like the perfect expression of the connection you shared: the way you could sit together for hours without speaking a single word and still feel content.

When Fred finally spoke again, you nearly missed it. “I have you for that.”

You didn’t even remember seeing anyone there with a camera, but you were grateful now for the photo they’d captured of you and Fred. Those were the moments you cherished most.

Beside the picture lay a stack of your old schoolbooks. As you picked up Advanced Potion-Making, a small note slipped out and fluttered to the floor. Your name was written on it in familiar handwriting, though you couldn’t recall what it was.

With a sense of curiosity mixed with something heavier, you unfolded the paper, revealing a handwritten letter addressed to you.

May 1996

My love,

you’re surly wondering why I’m writing you a letter but I was told by someone special that sometimes putting words on paper was the only way to sort though the mess in your mind, and that mess has been there ever since the day I met you.

I know that this is sudden but also not…

There has always been something between us, ever since I first saw you in that hallway when I was running away from Snape.

Ever since that night I couldn’t get you out of my head to the point George wanted to kick me out of our room, because all I was talking about was you.

I've been carrying this secret for a while now. I kept telling myself it would fade or that maybe it was just a momentary feeling. But here I am, still reeling from it every time I see you smile, or when your hand brushes against mine. It's as if my heart can't help but leap toward you, even though you're already so close.

I have known you now for so long and you’re still all I think about.

I don't think I tried to fall in love with you, yet here I am, helplessly yours in every way that matters.

Even if all we ever are is friends, l'll still be grateful to have you in my life. If there's even the smallest part of you that feels the same... then I want you to know that l'll be here, waiting.

I’m leaving tomorrow, I know that this is sudden and might be already too late or maybe this is the perfect moment.

Maybe in a year, after you graduate, you will be working with me and George, share a room with me, like we talked about and make me the happiest person every day just by being with me—in any way you want.

Anyways, I’m waiting for you at our spot.

Don’t leave me hanging.

Yours, always,

Freddie

You never knew.

Tears had fallen onto the letter, and you hadn’t even realized you were crying.

All these years, and you’d never known about this letter.

All these years, and you’d never given Fred an answer.

What must he have thought? That you ignored him? That you didn’t feel the same? That you’d simply left him waiting alone in your spot?

Your throat tightened, and your heartbeat quickened. With trembling hands, you read the letter again. And then again. Making sure that the words were real, not some figment of your imagination.

He had to watch you fall in love with someone else.

That thought shattered you. Pressing a hand to your chest, you tried to contain the pain spreading through you, tightening around your heart.

With shaky legs, you stood, clutching the letter tightly, and walked away.

&

You found yourself in Diagon Alley, moving toward a place you hadn’t visited in ages. You weren’t sure how you’d ended up here—you only knew you had to come.

The shop was dark, already closed, but the door was unlocked, left open until they finished their work in the back. An old habit, one you knew well.

Because you knew Fred.

He had been the one constant in your life, someone you’d always loved, though you’d convinced yourself it wasn’t meant to be, forcing yourself to move on.

But the letter in your hand told you how wrong you had been.

Rounding the counter, you found the office. A soft orange glow seeped out from under the door, accompanied by the faint scratch of quill on parchment.

You hadn’t planned what to say—all you had was the letter, clutched tightly in your hand. Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open.

“George, I told you—” Fred began, looking up from his papers. His brows furrowed as he took in your disheveled hair and red eyes. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t know,” you whispered, stepping further into the office. The familiar scents of smoke and cider surrounded you, grounding you.

“What?” His voice was gentle, but cautious.

“I didn’t know you loved me,” you replied, holding up the letter.

You saw realization dawn on his face, the moment he understood what you were holding. He shot up from his chair, his breath shaky, though he didn’t speak.

“I just found it, and I—I didn’t know,” you repeated, needing him to understand.

You needed him to know that you never meant to cause him pain—that you had never intended to leave him waiting alone by your spot at the Great Lake.

Tears blurred your vision as you repeated the same words, over and over, like a mantra: “I didn’t know.” They were all you could cling to as you trembled, heart pounding, unraveling in front of him.

Only when you felt Fred’s strong arms enfold you did the world seem to steady, his soft whispers reaching you through the haze. “It’s okay,” he murmured, “shh…it’s okay.”

You pressed your face into his chest, clutching his shirt as the letter crumpled in your hand. His voice anchored you, each word a lifeline as you soaked his shirt with your tears. Every emotion crashed over you at once. Regret, anger, grief and fear.

Fred never stopped murmuring reassurances, nor did he release you from his embrace. Only when your sobs quieted did he gently ease you back, his gaze searching yours. “We should talk,” he said softly.

And that’s how you found yourself curled up beside him on a small, well-worn sofa in his living room, a cup of tea warming your hands. The letter lay on the table before you, a tangible reminder of the conversation he’d been waiting years to have.

For a long time, neither of you spoke. The silence felt heavy, filled with everything you needed to say but didn’t know how to begin.

At last, you broke it, voice barely above a whisper. “We broke up.”

If Fred was surprised, he didn’t show it, merely nodding, acknowledging your words with quiet understanding.

He sat beside you, though with a safe, careful distance—as if he feared getting too close too soon.

“It never would’ve worked, you were right.” You glanced at him from the corner of your eye, studying his familiar face, still as warm as you remembered. “I think I was trying to turn nothing into something more. Trying to make it work, because that’s just what I do.”

He looked down, fidgeting with his long fingers, a habit you’d always known. He didn’t look at you, but somehow you felt his attention, unwavering.

“I don’t know if I loved-,” you cut yourself off. “I just had to move on from you, that’s all I knew,” you confessed quietly, feeling shame. “When I was cleaning out old things, I found all these memories… I found this.” You pointed to the letter on the table, the heart of it all.

You took a deep breath, preparing for the hardest part of all. “I never saw it before, and when I read it…” You laughed, a sad, soft sound. “It was everything I ever wanted. And I didn’t even know I could’ve had it.”

A tear slipped down your cheek as you whispered, “If only I’d known… I would’ve been there. I would’ve done anything. You must have thought I was heartless. You must have hated me.”

Fred’s voice was soft when he replied, “I could never hate you.” He set his tea aside, finally meeting your gaze with an intensity that made your heart stutter. “I assumed you just… didn’t feel the same. That maybe it was too hard to tell me that to my face. But I never hated you, not for one moment.”

You shook your head, needing him to understand. “If I had known—”

But Fred shook his head, stopping you. “In time, I accepted that loving you from afar was all I could do, and I knew that keeping even a small part of you was better than losing you entirely.”

The weight of his words sank in, each syllable touching something deep within you. Could he still love you, after all this time? The thought was terrifying and exhilarating, both the possibility of an answer and the risk of rejection. But there was a way to show him how you felt, one you’d kept close for years. Reaching into your pocket, you took out the coin he had given you so long ago.

A spark of hope glimmered in Fred’s eyes as he took it in, the recognition softening his features. “You kept this? After all these years?”

“You told me not to lose it,” you replied, your voice tender with a hint of a smile.

He took the coin from your hand, his fingers brushing against yours, leaving a familiar warmth that seemed to linger in the space between you.

“But you never were a very good listener,” Fred teased, his familiar grin reappearing for the first time that evening, making your heart flutter. In that moment, you saw not just the man sitting beside you, but the boy you had fallen for so many years ago.

Though it had been months, maybe years, since you’d spent time together as you should have, he still felt like home.

His soft brown eyes, the faint crinkles at their corners, the freckles scattered across his face like constellations, and his flaming-red hair, now grown longer—he was so much the boy you’d once known, and yet now a man, shaped by life and loss, sitting close enough to touch.

“What happens now?” you asked, voice quiet, as if afraid to disturb the fragile peace of this moment. But you needed to know. This was new and terrifying, and all you wanted was for him to take your hand and assure you everything would be alright.

“Whatever you want,” he replied simply.

But what you wanted wasn’t simple at all. You wanted him in every way you’d ever dreamed, to be by his side and share in his life. You wanted him to hold you as you mourned the years lost to another, yet you couldn’t find the words to ask it of him.

Fred understood, as he always did. “If you want to be with me, we’ll make it work. And if you need time, I’ll give you that.” He gently took your hand in his, his touch a silent promise. “I’ve waited years. I can wait a little longer.”

“I don’t want to wait,” you assured him immediately, your voice filled with the weight of all the years you had spent denying yourself this truth.

You could feel the shift in him, a warmth filling his gaze, his smile softening. Slowly, he leaned closer. “Are you sure?”

His voice sent shivers down your spine, his breath warm against your cheek. But your answer came without hesitation.

“About you? Always,” you whispered.

And that was when his lips met yours, a kiss so tender it felt like a wish made real, warm and gentle, a thousand memories woven into one perfect moment. His hand cupped your cheek, grounding you as you melted into him, your heart beating wildly in your chest.

His lips tasted of tea and something indescribably sweet, like warmth and comfort, like every dream you’d ever had of him. It was soft, unhurried, the years of yearning unfolding as his fingers brushed your skin, leaving a trail of warmth that you felt in every part of you.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, a mischievous grin lighting up his face as he whispered, “Took you long enough, didn’t it?”

All you could do was laugh, nudging him away before pulling him back in, savoring the warmth you’d both waited too long to feel.

Fred’s gaze fell on the letter lying on the table, the edges worn and softened from years of waiting. He ran his thumb over your hand, murmuring, “Funny how one piece of parchment kept us apart.”

You looked at him, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Guess it was just waiting for the right time.”

Over the Garden Wall - Chapter One

Chapter One - Loathing Boredom

I'm baaaackkkkkkk and back on my Bridgerton shit.

After I watched Queen Charlotte, I couldn't get this idea out of my mind. And, as you know, I'm a simp for Benedict.

Takes place during season 2 as well as the "present" storyline of Queen Charlotte.

This fic will be really heavy, however, so please keep in mind the tags if you choose to read it! Even though our character is the daughter of Queen Charlotte and King George, there will not be any physical descriptors. It's Bridgerton, so...you know. Use your imagination.

I hope you enjoy it <3

Benedict Bridgerton Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Y/N used, fem pronouns, unrealistic/dramatic description of mental illness, isolation, feelings of suffocation

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 4.8k

As always, 18+ Minors DNI

It was always quiet in the cupboard. That was her only safe haven. It was the one place that she could turn to where nothing could find her. The voices and the doom didn’t exist there. It was only her and the dust bunnies. She preferred it that way. 

Y/N was the youngest child in a long line of children. But she never felt as though she had siblings. They were well about their lives by the time she really had any care for them. And, they kept their distance from her and their parents. It was hard to grow up as they did, so she didn’t fault them. However, in that large house, there was nothing to do. And with her illness, there was nowhere to go. 

She had been sequestered to a wing in the house for as long as she could remember. Her family rarely found themselves there. The only people she saw were her staff or her father when she was allowed to journey to their home in Kew which he called his home. 

Life was not easy to live when you were the daughter of the King and Queen of England.

----------

Y/N’s father had always been sick. No one really talked about it and when she would ask her mother, she would be brushed off. He would have good days and bad days. When she was younger, the good days far outweighed the bad, but that changed quite quickly. The last time Y/N truly remembered her father being fully there was when she had disappeared. 

Charlotte loathed being woken up. She was The Queen, there was no reason for anyone to wake her up…ever. She was allowed the grace of sleeping in and waking up whenever she pleased. So when Brimsley woke her up one night in a panic, she feared the worst. 

“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked, terrified. 

“N-No, Your Majesty. It is…Princess Y/N.”

Charlotte furrowed her brow and stood from her bed. One of her lady’s maids was already standing there with a night coat. She followed Brimsley’s hurried footsteps into the East Wing of the house. The commotion had woken the rest of the children that were still living there. 

“What is it, Mother?” Alfred wondered. He had always been the closest to Y/N seeing as they were the closest in age. Still, that was all about to change. 

Sophia, Mary, and Adolphus hurried behind them. Charlotte paid them no mind. When Brimsley opened the doors to the stateroom. Charlotte stopped immediately in the doorway, making her children run into her. 

There were tubes of paint littering the ground, some of them spilling out paint onto the carpet. In the distance, on the opposite side of the room, she saw a figure disguised by shadow. And, in front of the figure, was a large mural. A synthesis of all the colors of the rainbow that formed something of a galaxy. And then she heard her daughter and her blood ran cold. 

“Im…Impressionists are…they don’t see the sky. They don’t…They don’t know what they…”

Sophia opened her mouth to begin to speak, but Charlotte held up a hand to stop her. 

“Y/N,” Charlotte called out, continuing on into the room. She stepped in the paint but didn’t mind. “Y/N,” Charlotte called out again, this time more forceful. As she neared she could hear that her daughter was still muttering to herself. 

“They d-don’t see the stars…” Her neck twitched. “The stars.”

Charlotte held her chest and forced back tears. “Y/N.” Slowly, she reached out a hand and placed it on her daughter’s shoulder which made her flinch, but she didn’t turn. Then Charlotte turned her around, making Y/N drop the paintbrush. The girl was looking at one spot on the ground, her entire body shaking. “Y/N,” Charlotte said, her heart breaking. “Come back to me.”

“The galaxy…” she said quietly, neck twitching again. “The-the.”

“It is me…your mother,” Charlotte said, taking a deep breath. “You are home in Buckingham House.”

Y/N took deep breaths, her eyes finally coming back. She looked up to see her mother illuminated by candlelight. “M-Mother? It’s…It’s you.”

Charlotte pulled Y/N to her chest so that her daughter wouldn’t see her cry. “Take the princess to her room and get her washed up,” Charlotte called out to the wait staff. “Bring her something to eat and some tea.”

“M-Mother, what happened?”

“Nothing you need to worry about, my dear,” Charlotte said, kissing her daughter’s forehead. Y/N was ushered away. 

“Is it happening to her too?” Mary asked. “What happened to Father.”

“Go back to sleep, children,” Charlotte said to them.

“But Mother—” Alfred started.

“Bed! Now!” Once the children were ushered out, Charlotte took a deep breath. “Brimsley, ready the carriage.”

“To Kew, Your Majesty?”

Charlotte nodded. “To Kew.”

----------

When Y/N woke up later that morning, she called for her lady’s maids to dress her, and they informed her that she had a guest. That was all they said. She was ushered out into the dining room to see her parents standing there. 

“Father,” Y/N smiled widely. She ran into his arms and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. That meant it was a good day. 

“My dear Y/N,” he said, pulling away. “Shall we eat?”

She continued to smile and sat at the large table between her parents. “Are you well, Father?” she wondered. “It has been some time since I’ve seen you.”

“I am well, my dear,” George nodded. 

“Y/N,” Charlotte said in her usual tone that made her daughter set down her silverware and take a deep breath. “We must talk about what happened last night.”

“I do not want to,” she said, picking up her knife and fork once more. The breakfast was more decadent than she was used to. She never understood why they put useless flowers on the fruit and sprigs of herbs on the potatoes. She picked them all off and created a wreath of them on the table. 

Her mother’s voice continued to fade in and out. She heard certain words like “doctor,” “sick house,” “paint,” and “need help.” And then, “Y/N!”

“What, Mother!?” Y/N spat. She could feel the air in the room tense immediately. “I understand, okay!? I know what this is! I know that you are disappointed and I know that this means I will be locked away from the public eye for the rest of my life! I know! I have seen what it has done to Father.” She stopped, looking at George apologetically, but he just nodded in understanding. Her hands started to shake and her breathing began to quicken. Quickly, George stood from his seat and knelt beside Y/N. He grabbed her shaking hand in his. 

“It is alright. We will take care of you.”

“You can’t even take care of yourself,” she said quietly through tears. “I don’t want this.”

“I know,” he nodded. “No one wants this.”

“W-Why did it have to be me?” She asked before breaking down into tears. In the distance, she heard her mother order everyone out of the room. 

----------

For the rest of the day, Y/N locked herself in the cupboard of her room. That was 10 years ago and Y/N had not seen the outside of the Buckingham House walls since that night and she rarely left the cupboard. It was safe there. It was quiet. As her father had always said and as she finally understood—the heavens could not find her there. 

Once she aged out of the need for a governess, she started having tutors join her at the house. It seemed that her mother believed keeping her busy would keep the fits at bay. It didn’t, but it did help keep her mind occupied. 

Marietta, her lady’s maid, was the one person that was always at her side. She knew how to deal with the fits and would always get people away when they started. She knew the quickest routes throughout the house to get her to her safe cupboard. She made life easier to live. Though it wasn’t the life she wanted. 

“Marietta?” Y/N asked one day as she sat in the gardens, easel and canvas in front of her. She was covered in paint and felt wholly free. 

“Yes, miss?” Marietta wondered from her seat in the sun. 

“I find myself quite bored with painting landscapes,” Y/N sighed heavily. “How many times must I paint this one area of the garden?” 

“We can move to the South garden if Her Royal Highness would prefer it?”

“I have painted it ten times over, Marietta,” she sighed. “The south garden, the west garden, all the dining rooms, details of sconces, portraits of every family member and every member of the staff…I cannot paint anymore here.”

Marietta looked apologetic. Even she got to go out onto the town, but Y/N never got to leave those walls. 

“Do you know that it has been ten years since I’ve seen a different sky? Ten years since I have seen a new face…T-Ten…” Y/N's hands started to shake so she set down the paintbrush. She took a deep breath, feeling her neck twitch. 

“Princess?” Marietta called out quietly, hoping to pull the girl back quickly. 

“T-Ten years,” Y/N continued, her body starting to convulse. Marietta stood so quickly that her chair knocked over. She ran to the princess and grabbed the girl’s hands. 

“Y/N,” she called out, brushing her hand along the girl’s cheek.

“T-ten years…almost as long as Jupiter,” Y/N said, her neck twitching again. She began to mutter under her breath and Marietta could not understand her. “Twelve years will be…I will be brought out…out of the sky. Jupiter will c-come back.”

“Y/N,” Marietta called out again, tightening her grip on the girl’s hands. “Take a deep breath. Come back to me.”

Y/N finally found Marietta’s face, her body twitching one last time. She took a deep breath. “I…I think I sh-should like to rest now.”

----------

It was her twenty-fifth birthday when Y/N decided to take matters into her own hands. She decided it was time to see the country her parents spent their lives representing. After a rather boring dinner with the siblings who deigned to join her, she retired to her bedroom, hands intentionally shaky so that everyone knew to not disturb her. 

The one good thing about spending all of her life in the house was that she had everyone’s schedule memorized. She knew when the guards would change their rotations and when the maids would take their late night drink in the kitchens. So, sneaking out was easier than it probably should have been. 

By the time she made it through the grounds, her heart was racing so hard that she feared she had made a mistake. Her hands had begun to shake and she could sense her mind slipping. “Mercury, Venus..E-Earth…Mars, J-Jupiter is…Jupiter is coming…” Y/N took a deep breath, pushing it away, trying to pull herself back. “S-s-saturn, Uranus…Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus.” She took another breath, pulling it all back in. 

She continued on out of the grounds. She hadn’t realized that it was so large, or at least, she had forgotten. Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, she made it to the main part of town. People were milling about and men riding horses. Y/N assumed that these were not well-respected members of the ton, for her mother would frown upon such behavior. She always said that the night was for whores and debauchery. Y/N found herself quite interested in such debauchery. 

As she continued through the town, she found herself in a neighborhood of large houses illuminated by lamp posts. There were guards standing out front of some of them, indicating that she had officially made it to the more respectable part of the town. As she continued on, she was almost barreled over by a broad-shouldered man. As she began to fall, he caught her, his bare hand grabbing her gloved one. 

“Oh, dear, my apologies,” he said, a smile on his face. Y/N found herself immediately taken by him and his stormy eyes. His face was half illuminated by the fire from the lamp posts. 

“I…” she started, trying to contain her stammer. 

“Yes?” he asked, an amused lilt to his voice. He felt Y/N's hand shaking in his so he gripped it between the pair of his. “Are you alright?”

She took a deep breath and then nodded. “Y-Yes, my apologies, sir.”

“No apologies necessary,” he chuckled. “I am sure I gave you quite a fright.”

“Yes, quite,” she said, barely recognizing what he had said. 

He seemed to gaze at her in a way that Y/N thought did not exist outside of the books she had read. She looked down at his hands grasping hers, his hands were stained black. He followed her gaze, his eyes widening. 

“Oh, apologies,” he chuckled nervously. “Charcoal. I promise, I am not normally this…disheveled.”

“Are you an artist?” Y/N immediately wondered, her eyes wide. 

“I…dabble.”

“I do as well,” she smiled. 

“Really?” he said, his smile impossibly wide. “What is your medium of choice?”

“Oils, preferably,” she responded, and the man’s eyebrows rose. “Are you surprised?” she wondered.

“Impressed,” he corrected. “I have yet to tackle the mountain that is oils.”

“It is quite fun once you get the hang of it. Of course, having intriguing subjects always helps.”

“What do you prefer to paint?” he wondered.

That was the question. “I have painted landscapes, architecture…portraits,” she responded.

“But what do you prefer?” he wondered.

Y/N took a moment to really think about it. All she knew was what she did not want to paint. “I have yet to discover it, it seems.”

They stared into each other's eyes, the sounds of the town fading away. Then, a carriage passed them, the galloping of the horses pulling them from one another. The man cleared his throat. 

“It was lovely to meet you, Miss…”

“Y/N,” she responded. 

“Y/N,” he repeated and she loved the way it sounded coming from his lips. “I apologise for ruining your gloves.”

“They are dreadful things anyway,” she responded, pulling a breathy chuckle from him. 

He looked at her curiously. “I do find it strange that a woman such as yourself is out here at night all alone.”

Y/N felt her cheeks warm. “I found myself…suffocated....at home.”

“I believe I understand,” he smiled and she didn’t have the heart to tell him that he could never truly understand. “Will you be safe getting home? I am afraid I have no horse nor carriage lest I would accompany you.”

She smiled. “I made it out all on my own, I believe I can make it back.”

The man smiled again and gave her a parting glance before grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it. Y/N felt herself stop breathing and her body began to shake, but not in the way she dreaded. It was in a new and fascinating way that she had never experienced before. 

“Then this is where I leave you,” he said, smiling once more, before turning to leave. 

As Y/N followed him with her eyes, something struck her. “Wait, sir!” she called out, he turned immediately. “Do you have a name or shall I continue to think of you as 'that man with charcoal on his hands'?”

He laughed heartily. “Benedict,” he responded. “My name is Benedict.”

When Y/N got back to Buckingham House, it was with a wide smile on her face. She made her way to her bedroom, avoiding every member of the staff. As she got inside, she found herself staring at the canvases that littered the wall. Romanticized versions of her prison. Instead of walking over to her easel as she usually did, she dug through her drawers for something she rarely used. A notepad and charcoal. She had to commit him to memory for she would probably never see him again. Though, she found it rather unlikely that she would ever forget him. 

----------

The blinds being pulled open was what finally woke Y/N up. She sat up, groaning at the light, and saw Marietta watching her with a scrutinizing eye. 

“What?” she asked, her voice hoarse with sleep. 

“I cannot remember the last time I had to wake you up,” she said thoughtfully, then went about setting out the princess' clothes. 

“I was up late,” Y/N revealed. “Sketching.”

“Sketching?” Marietta asked, surprised. She stopped in her tracks and looked over to the corner where Y/N's sketchbooks and charcoals sat. Once she had finished setting out the clothes and Y/N had stood from the bed, the maid walked over to the desk. Y/N immediately dashed over and intercepted the sketchbook, causing Mariette to look at her curiously. “What are you hiding?” she wondered.

“It is of no concern to you,” Y/N responded. She held the sketchbook tightly to her chest which did not ease Marietta’s curiosity in the slightest. 

While Marietta helped the princess dress, she tried her best to not ask the questions that were pressing on her mind, though it was difficult. Y/N had never really been one for secrets, at least not in the safe walls of the palace. Marietta thought that she knew everything about the princess, but she might have been wrong. 

Y/N watched herself in the mirror as Marietta did her hair and she wondered what Benedict must have thought of her the night before. Did he find her as striking as she found him? She wanted to see him again, to feel his gaze upon her. But she had no idea where to even find him or if she would ever find him again. 

“Princess Y/N!” Marietta said with some form of impatience.

“What?” she asked, wincing as a rather sharp pin was slid into her hair. 

“I have been speaking to you for minutes,” Marietta claimed. “And yet it is though you have not heard me. Are you quite well? Are you feeling a fit come on?”

“No,” Y/N responded immediately. “I feel…fine, actually. Well, in fact. And yes, I was thinking. I am always thinking.”

“Only you seem more distracted than normal.”

She shrugged. “Perhaps I have become bored of normal.”

She spent the rest of the day locked in her cupboard. No one bothered her in there, thankfully. But, for once, she was not hiding from the heavens, she was hiding from the outside world. Armed with her notebook and tin of charcoal, she drew Benedict over and over again, but she could not seem to get him right. She could not get the correct gleam in his eyes. He looked so beautiful lit by the firelight and it was almost impossible to replicate. 

The only way to be sure was to go out again to find him. 

----------

Sneaking out two nights in a row forced a chill down Y/N's spine. An excited chill, it was. The town was as alive as it had been the night before, but she did not find it as frightening. She did, however, realize a bit too far into the journey that she had no idea how to get to where she had met Benedict. She had been wandering, taking steps that were almost impossible to replicate. In fact, she was finally remembering just how long it had taken her to get home. She had taken turn after turn, her mind wandering. Finally, she found something that looked familiar—a very specific lamppost. Of course, it was impossible to determine if it was the same one, but something in her made her think that it was. 

So, Y/N found a bench close to it, sat down, and pulled out her sketchbook. She rarely got to play around with the night’s sky—leaving her room at night was seen as improper. If only they knew that she had left the palace grounds all together. Y/N was certain that she would be found out at some point, but she found herself not caring in the slightest.

The worst they could do would be to lock her in her wing for the rest of her life, which seemed to be what they wanted anyway. At least this way, she would have some taste of freedom, no matter how long it might last. 

It was difficult, she found, to accurately replicate the light shining from the lamppost with simple charcoals. She wished she was able to sit outside with her easel and paints. Perhaps this sketch could act as a guide. 

“Will wonders never cease?” a deep voice chuckled from the depths of the darkness. Having been staring at the light for so long, it took Y/N's eyes a moment to adjust, but, when they finally did, she saw Benedict approaching her. “Miss Y/N,” he smiled, bowing his head.

She immediately stood and gave a brief curtsey. “Benedict,” she responded with an equal smile. 

“Out on the town again?” he wondered. “I must say, I find it intriguing that you are even allowed out this late.”

She found herself chuckling nervously. “I believe it is best that my endeavors stay between us.”

Benedict all but smirked. “I shall keep my lips sealed, then. Though, if the wrong person were to see you, it is only a matter of time before the whole ton knows. Lady Whisteldown seems to have eyes everywhere.”

She furrowed her brow. “Who is Lady Whistledown?”

Benedict chuckled heartily, then stopped. “You truly do not know?” he wondered. She shook her head. His smile was contagious. “She is a mysterious gossip columnist. She seems to know all about what happens here.”

“Seems quite intriguing,” Y/N said with a tilt of her head.

“Some would say so,” he shrugged. “Others find her utterly intolerable.”

“Are you one of those?” she wondered.

Benedict chuckled. “I find it quite entertaining, in fact. Though, I have yet to be the subject of one of her witty reports. My feelings might change when it is directed towards me.” She nodded in thought. “Are you drawing?” Benedict asked, looking at the sketchbook in her hand. 

Y/N looked down, flustered all of a sudden. “Oh, yes.”

“Might I take a look?” he wondered.

She stammered for a moment. “It is nothing…amazing,” she warned him, carefully handing over the sketchbook. He took it with a similar care and looked at the drawing. A smile formed on his face.

“How have you captured the light so perfectly with charcoals?” he wondered.

Her lips parted in a gasp. “I was just thinking to myself that I was unable to do that.”

“I disagree,” he said with a smile. “Might I look at your other works?” he wondered, his finger poised to turn the page. Y/N immediately jumped and grabbed the sketchbook. 

“I-I don’t think…you would enjoy those as much.”

“My apologies,” Benedict said, slightly shocked at her outburst. 

“N-No, no, it is I who should apologise,” she said nervously. “I should not have reacted in such a way.”

“It is alright,” he said, his smile reforming. “I too am possessive of some of my works.”

“I would love to see them sometime,” she said immediately, then shut her mouth. “I-If…Apologies if that was too forward—”

“I would love to show you,” he responded. “Though, I would find it improper to do it late at night. Perhaps…we can meet during the day?”

She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “I wish that were possible,” she responded. 

Benedict simply nodded. “I find you quite intriguing, Y/N.”

She swallowed harshly, nerves filling her entire body. Her hands started to get clammy and she feared she would drop the sketchbook onto the ground beneath her. “I don’t believe anyone has ever called me intriguing before,” she chuckled.

“Perhaps they do not know you well enough,” Benedict chuckled.

“And you do?” she wondered genuinely.

“I would like to,” he responded smoothly. She felt all of the breath leave her lungs. She would like nothing more but knew it was impossible. “That was too forward…I apologise.”

“No, no,” she said quickly. “I would…I would like to as well, but it would not be possible.”

“I would like to know why, but I will not press the matter,” he responded.

Y/N nodded in thanks, words completely escaping her. Suddenly, she could hear the sounds of others' footsteps on the cobblestone, she could feel the heat from the lamppost, and her hands began to shake. “I…I must go,” she said, immediately turning to leave. 

“Wait,” Benedict called after her. She turned back around to look at him. “Might I accompany you home? It is quite dangerous for a woman to be out here alone.”

“It is quite far, I can manage.” With that, she turned and began walking swiftly. She took deep breath after deep breath. “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus…Mercury, Venus…”

----------

She made it back to the palace without slipping which caused her to let out a sigh of relief. She quietly closed her door behind her and turned to lean against the wood, a smile on her face.

“Where were you?” a voice asked, pulling her out of it. Her eyes widened to see Marietta standing in the middle of her bedroom, still in her night things.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Outside,” she responded with ease. She set her sketchbook down on the desk and took off her cloak. 

“No, you weren’t,” Marietta said. “I have been looking all over for you. I almost alerted the guards! Where were you?”

Y/N turned. “You do not speak to me like that.”

“Shall I inform Her Majesty?”

“N-No!” Y/N jumped. “Please, please, Marietta…Just let it go.”

Marietta breezed past Y/N, who thought she was leaving. In fact, she stopped at the desk and picked up the sketchbook. She immediately opened it, much to the horror of the princess. 

“Y/N…” Marietta said, warning in her voice. “Where were you?”

“Outside,” she responded. 

“I was terrified,” Marietta responded, still gazing down at the sketchbook, more specifically, at a portrait of Benedict that Y/N had yet to finish. “I thought you had one of your fits. I thought you were hurt.”

“I am fine, Marietta,” she assured. “I was simply…outside.”

“How far outside?” she wondered.

Y/N swallowed. “Quite far…” she responded quietly. 

“And what were you doing?” Marietta asked slowly. It was obvious that she was nervous for the answer.

“Sketching a lamppost,” she responded. She was not lying about it, in fact. Of course, she was being rather vague and she knew that Marietta could see right through it. They knew each other almost too well to hide anything. 

“Alone?” Y/N did not know how to respond to the question. “Princess Y/N, were you alone?”

She swallowed harshly. “Not…completely.”

Marietta took a deep breath, her eyes closing. She closed the sketchbook and set it back down on the desk. “If you were to be found out—”

“But I have not been.”

“How long have you been doing this?” Marietta asked, shocked.

“Only twice,” she sighed. “I knew I would be found out, I just did not imagine it being so soon.”

“And this man…” Marietta said, pointing towards the sketchbook. “What is your relationship to him?”

Y/N shrugged. “I hardly know how to quantify it, Marietta,” she responded truthfully. “I only just met him last night. But…I have not been able to stop thinking about him since. Nothing improper has happened, I assure you.” Marietta’s shoulders immediately relaxed, though, only slightly. “And perhaps it is only because he is the first new face I have seen in over ten years…but…he makes me feel—” she started, then cut herself off, trying to figure out the words. “Well, I do not know…But he makes me feel, Marietta. For so long, I have been locked in this place. Controlled by my mind, controlled by my mother…And I want it to end. I need it to end. I can no longer breathe here. I have not been able to breathe for so long and he…he gave me my breath again.”

“So you will continue to see him,” Marietta realized. 

Y/N looked at Marietta for a long moment. “I only wish that you will not stop me.”

“I should,” Marietta revealed. “I should stop you. Because you know this cannot end well.”

“I know,” she agreed. 

“Does he know?”

“About what?”

“Any of it? All of it?”

“He knows nothing,” Y/N said. “Not of my title, nor my family, nor my…affliction. And I hope he never will.”

“So you will—what? Continue to lie to him? What if he finds out? What will you do then?”

Y/N sighed heavily. “I do not know, Marietta. All I know is that…he wishes to know me. And I will let him know only what is relevant. I will let him know who I am outside of these walls…on my good days. I will let him know who I really am.”

Marietta nodded apprehensively. “Do you even know his name?”

“Benedict,” Y/N replied with a whistful sigh.

Marietta’s eyebrows rose. “Bridgerton?”

--------------------

A.N.: So??? Let's just say, this will be a whirlwind. Will the Queen ever let Y/N out of the castle? Will Benedict ever discover her true identity? Who knows?

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Love always,

Alma xx

Nah you guys ain't understanding. I love Dante. I'll always love Dante. This is a Dantelover space. If Dante has 1 billion fans I am one of them, if Dante has 2 fans I am one of them, if Dante has only 1 fan THEN I AM THAT FAN. And if Dante has no fans then I'm gone. NOBODY DOES LIKE <HIM3

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SAM'S NEW WINTER OUTFIT IS A PERSONAL ATTACK

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling???? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.