Imagine Bucky Breaking Up With You

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?

Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist

Love always,

Alma xx

SAM'S NEW WINTER OUTFIT IS A PERSONAL ATTACK

Image how confused the entire Bat family would be if Jason— touch repulsed, wants to work alone, barely even tolerates them most days— Todd finally gets sucked into one of Bruce's charity events, only to come with a date who he *cannot* keep his hands off. I'm talking, has his arm draped around her waist or over her shoulder whenever they're walking, hugging her from behind with his jaw on top of her hair (carefully though, so he won't mess it up), occasionally randomly kissing the back of her hand, or her cheek, or very quickly her neck before she smacks him away playfully.

And the media LOVES this.

The reporters who usually bother Bruce about his company, Dick about his romantic life, Damian about school, Duke about being recently legally adopted, Cass about her improving speech skills, Tim about recent publicity statements, all suddenly leave them alone to take picture after picture of Jason and whoever his date is. And Jason—has threatened, attempted, and actually punched reporters— Todd doesn't even care. He doesn't bat an eye, (pun intended) because they should take pictures with how gorgeous she looks.

He'd be offended if they didn't.

And when she blushes, getting a bit shy after hearing a few too many clicks, he runs a hand up and down her arm, tearing her away from the buffet to dance. Dance. Yes, Bruce thought he'd lost his mind when he saw his son whisk a beautiful woman into the middle of the room, willingly, even eagerly wrapping his arms around her comfortably and familiarly, while she rests her head against his chest and he rests his cheek against the side of your head, his eyes fluttering shut every once in a while.

Of course, his family tried to get to talk to him, really, they did. Something or someone conveniently got in the way every single time, until the event is over and Jason and his date manage to slip out in the crowd before the family gets to interrogate him about it.

His phone? He has to shut it off from all the calls and texts that overwhelm his inbox. Alfred even sent an email.

When he eventually does pick it up after having it on do not disturb for a while, he simply types in the group chat, "You told me to bring a date." Before putting it face down on the nightstand and rolling over in bed to wrap his arms around her, kissing her temple softly as she sleeps, out of your fancy dress and in his arms, where she belongs.

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.”

the first time dick hears jason laugh after he becomes red hood is during a time they both got kidnapped. dick was scooting his chair closer to jason’s, because no time like when you’re both ties up literally to get in some brotherly bonding, and his chair slipped causing him to fall. Jason has never laughed harder in his life.

gold rush ; benedict bridgerton x reader (part one)

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: you have loved benedict bridgerton since you first met him, but after anthony married, he became the ton's favorite bridgerton, and now that everybody wants him, you realized you don't like a gold rush.

warnings/tags: unrequited love (at first), benedict bridgerton being a clueless disaster, benedict is a curious little shit, married kate and anthony, platonic anthony bridgerton & reader, song: gold rush (taylor swift), inspired by taylor swift lyrics

word count: 2.5K

❁ part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

❁ mila's anthology (main masterlist)

You have loved Benedict Bridgerton since you first met him, that you wouldn't deny. However, it was complicated to say the least because he was the talk of the town.

Especially after his brother, the Viscount, had married. Right then, he was the Ton's favorite Bridgerton.

Every mama wanted him to marry her daughter… The artist was always getting the attention of every lady around. Including you.

You have loved Benedict Bridgerton since you first met him, when your family returned to London after having lived in New York for longer than you have lived. Your father was Edmund Bridgerton's childhood best friend, and as soon as he had heard of your family's return, your invitation to their home arrived.

Aubrey Hall was the lovely home of the Bridgertons, where Lord and Lady Bridgerton lived alongside their seven children: Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, Eloise, Francesca, and Gregory. Unfortunately, you were older than the oldest daughter, and the one who was closer to you in age was the second born. Still, he was three years older than you and, as a man, there was no way he would play with you. There was your older brother who is Anthony's age to play with, so you were left alone mostly.

When your eyes met Benedict's, you were instantly in love. He, as expected, barely looked at you. In spite of his indifference, your heart used to beat faster than the fastest horse every time he was around, which, after a few years, was more often than not. The Bridgertons returned to London after their Father's death, and your Father took as his newest life purpose to help Anthony become the lord of the house. Therefore, there were frequent dinner parties, balls held together, and many events in which both your families were seen as one.

You have loved Benedict Bridgerton since you first met him, even when everyone expected you to marry Anthony. Even he saw himself married to you once the moment came, an idea that you managed to erase as you confessed to him you were hopelessly in love with his younger brother.

Then, once Anthony got married to Kate, all the attention was set on the next Bridgerton: Benedict, and you knew it would be for the best if you decided to throw away your feelings for him.

The one thing on Earth you were certain was that he would never lay his eyes on you, and that was fine. He did not owe you his affections, regardless of how hot yours for him burnt.

Benedict turned into a gold rush right then, and you knew you did not stand a chance against any of those ladies when you were nothing new.

Your love for him grew and ruined you like poison ivy that tied your hands, and you would be lying if you said you weren't tired of being at his oblivious mercy.

Always romanticizing the tiniest of attentions, being like a flush around him, imagining a future together. All for nothing, because you despised feeling like that. Feeling the way Benedict made you feel.

It was scary, the way your world spinned around his. Terrifying, the amount of diaries filled with poems you have written about him. Horrific, how fond you were of the idea of spending every second you have left to live by his side.

"Are you, by chance, feeling heroic tonight? Even the smallest bit?"

You scoffed. "Colin, my feet are killing me, so I will not be dancing anymore tonight. Other than that, you may use me as an excuse however you please."

"But if Miss Cowper sees me available, she will come to me."

"Then get out of my hair, I don't want to have her near me after what she did the last time!"

"If you dance with me, I will stop talking about my travels when you're around."

You quickly changed your mind at this tempting offer. "Deal, but let's wait until the next song."

Colin rolled his eyes, reluctantly speaking. "I will be right back, I shall bring you some champagne."

You nodded, watching him leave. Your eyes crossed paths with Penelope's for a brief second, and then you turned to none other than Benedict Bridgerton in the flesh. He was, however, dancing with some girl from the Ton.

Jealousy creeped inside you, threatening to show on your face.

"There is only one moment in which I take pity on being married," Anthony said, standing beside you with his wife next to him. "I cannot dance with you to make Benedict jealous anymore."

You looked around, and as soon as you noticed no one was looking, smacked his arm. "Lord Bridgerton, that was low to say the least."

He and Kate laughed.

"My apologies," he muttered sarcastically. "What a charming young lady you are, I cannot fathom why you are not married yet."

"Anthony…" Kate threatened him.

"No need, Kate. He is so right, even Papa dearest agrees with him," you commented dryly. "He is still upset because I rejected him, please, cut him some slack."

She laughed. "What?"

"Her Father advised me to marry her," Anthony replied. "I courted her for weeks and she didn't even realize until I proposed to her. Right there, she confessed her undying love for my brother and we didn't marry."

"You would be the Viscountess now, do you regret it?" Kate joked.

"Well, at least I never was engaged to be married to the wrong sibling like a friend of mine."

Anthony rolled his eyes in annoyance as Kate snorted.

"You must admit that was quite funny, my love."

"Nothing to admit here. It was not funny at all."

"What did I miss?" Colin asked, appearing suddenly and offering you a glass of champagne.

"I was just informed that Anthony was planning to marry Y/N."

Colin nodded. "Yes, and she rejected him because he is the boring Bridgerton. Unlike me, let's dance."

"If you mention the word 'Greece' ever again, I will personally tell Lord Cowper that you dishonored his daughter, then you will be inevitably forced to marry her."

"It will be as if I never left London in the first place, Miss Y/L/N." he said with a cynical smile.

You laughed, and started dancing with Colin.

"I did not know that Colin and Y/N were so close," Benedict mentioned to Anthony, approaching him after some time. "They have danced three times now."

Anthony eyed his brother. "Why are you asking me that, Brother? Does it bother you?"

The younger brother scoffed. "Not at all, why would you think that?"

"No, no reason at all. I was just asking."

"So? Is Colin courting her?"

"One of us should be the one to marry her," Anthony said, a glint of mischief shining in his eyes. "I am already married, you seem uninterested, so that leaves Colin."

He nodded. "I see."

"Or are you interested?"

"She is our friend and I only wish the best for her," Benedict replied. "I just doubt Colin's intentions, that is it."

"Is it that you have better intentions, Brother?"

"That is not what I am saying."

Anthony smirked, seeing how you returned to where they were next to Colin. "Dance with her."

"I have the most wonderful news for you, my dearest friends," You grinned. "As long as you are near me, you will not hear anything regarding Colin's travels. You are very welcome."

"We have been blessed."

"We have indeed," Benedict agreed, seeing how Colin rolled his eyes. Anthony jostled him, but you noticed. "Would you dance with me?"

You pursed your lips, a serious expression. "I am quite tired, Benedict. Perhaps the next time."

Anthony's amused face softened at your response, and so did Colin's. You always wanted Benedict. You loved dancing with him and spending time with him.

They knew you could be dead tired, but if he offered, you would dance to death.

"Oh," Benedict gave you a forced smile. "It is fine, next time it is."

But the Cowper Ball came and you rejected Benedict once again. Then, the Schmidt Ball, the Bridgerton Ball, the Reynolds Ball, and you still said no to all of his dance invitations.

It reached the point he was just tired of your indifference toward him, since not only have you declined dancing with him every time, but you also refused to be near him for longer than strictly necessary or be alone with him anymore. Thus, Benedict had no other choice but to finally ask you himself.

One day, he just arrived at your family's home, looking for you most urgently.

He was let in. With him, there was no need to announce his arrival. Benedict just went to your studio.

Looking around, he spotted many differences since the last time he visited you: the paintings he had painted for you weren't hung anymore, just piled in the corner of the room; your pianoforte he had drawn himself the sunset on was replaced for a new one; the books he gave you long forgotten inside a decaying box.

Benedict's heart hurt at the sight of you erasing him from your life just like that, no warning or reasons he was aware of.

He approached the box, taking out all the novels and astronomy books he had picked just for you. Then, he stumbled upon loose sheets thrown around. He recognized easily your handwriting on them.

It is wrong to. Those are her intimate thoughts and should be none of my concern, Benedict thought, but again, the reason why she is pushing me away could be there.

So he took the first ones he found, seeing how the very first page had the title About Benedict Bridgerton.

Benedict bit his lip hesitantly, making sure no one was around and he could take a good look at what you wrote about him.

However, surprise clouded his features as he read the well worded feelings turned to ink.

I remember when I first met him. Benedict did not even determine me and I was devastated! However, I was still enchanted to meet him. He has always been so handsome and enchanting, and perhaps I have loved him since we first met.

A small piece of another sheet caught his attention.

Please, do not be in love with someone else.

Please, do not have somebody waiting on you

Another sheet followed.

Today, I saw Benedict dancing with that girl. I wish I could make her disappear with only one glance so he would like me without her around to stop it.

I constantly dream of the day he wakes up and finds that what he is looking for has been here the whole time. Why can he not see he belongs with me?

All this time how could he not know that he belongs with me? You belong with me. I have been here all along.

I am certain she cannot make him laugh like I do and that he does not tell her about his dreams like he does to me. She should just go away.

He chuckled slightly.

Then he spotted another one.

I hate Benedict Bridgerton. Despise him. Loathe him.

At the Bridgerton Ball, he danced with someone else and did not even look at me. He neither said hello nor goodbye!

Perhaps I should listen to my Papa and let him tell Anthony to propose to me (because Benedict will never like me). He will never realize I am the one he should be with. He will never return my affections.

And, guess what? At the Featherington Ball, she did not dance with Benedict and just then he remembered I existed and came to me. I hate him because I love him so much.

Everyone just assumes I know nothing, but I knew I would curse him for the longest time, I knew I wish he would have changed his mind.

Chasing shadows in the ballroom, I knew he would miss me once the moment died. I knew to love would be to lose my mind! I knew he would come back to me.

Because I know everything!

Benedict sighed, cursing himself for having been so blind all this time, for not being able to notice your affections or return your feelings before.

I am tired. This love will make me fall sick. I am tired of Anthony shaming me for loving his brother and having rejected him that time. I wish I had never met Benedict Bridgerton, I wish I had never come to London… I give up.

I do not like a gold rush. I hate that anyone would die to feel his touch. Everybody wonders what it would be like to love him, everybody wants him now.

I do not like that falling feels like flying until the bone crush. I hate a gold rush.

And I always wonder what must it be like to grow that beautiful? With his hair falling into place so effortlessly and a smile that could light up this whole town. I could be romanticizing everything, but my mind turns Benedict's life into something mystical. I cannot dare to dream about him anymore.

We will never be husband and wife, we will never have children together, he will never be mine. I must stop living under this naïve hope!

The town we never found will never bear witness of a love as pure as it, because it fades to grey. It will never be.

Benedict found another loose piece of paper.

Losing him feels as if I were bleeding. But again, he was never mine to lose.

He searched and searched for more pages, but could not find any.

"You knew all this time and had the audacity to not tell me?!"

Anthony frowned. "I knew what exactly?"

"You knew she loved me."

"Oh, that…" he pursed his lips, looking at Kate beside him. "I could not tell you, it was her secret."

"You let me let her hate me in the name of a secret?"

"If I had known you returned her feelings, I would have done something!"

Benedict kept quiet.

"You do not love her?"

"I- I do not know…" he replied to Anthony.

Kate sighed. "If you don't know, let her go."

"I cannot let her hate me."

"She does not hate you." Anthony said calmly.

"She explicitly said so." Benedict replied.

"She could never hate you, Benedict." Kate retorted. "No matter what she said."

"She wrote it, Kate, she wrote that she hated me."

"What did you read, Benedict?" she questioned, threat lingering in her voice.

He exhaled. "I went to the Y/L/N Manor and saw that she replaced the piano we painted. She had the paintings I gave her gathering dust in a corner, and all the books I got her inside a box. I just… looked at the box and saw some pages with things she wrote about me."

"How dare you read that?!" Kate scolded him.

"I wanted to know why she hated me!"

"She doesn't hate you!"

"Yes, she does! That is what she said!"

"She did not mean that!"

"How do you know?!"

"Okay, enough!" Kate yelled. "Y/N does not hate you because she loves you, alright? You love her, too? Go talk to her. You do not? Give her space. She does not deserve to have her heart broken by your hand, Benedict."

Benedict rolled his eyes. "Fine. Fine."

Y/N: Did you tell anybody we are engaged, Benedict?

Benedict: Yes, I have no self-control and I told half the ton we are engaged.

Y/N: Okay, there is no need to be sarcastic.

Benedict: No, I really do have no self control and told half the ton we are engaged.

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Priority One

You come first for Jason ~800 words

At his core, Jason Todd puts himself last. He's the first to jump in front of a bullet, first charge into a burning fire, first to drop dead center into a group of thugs.

It's not that he doesn't care about his safety, it's just that he deems his safety as lesser. He's stronger, sturdier, and if he's the one that goes down instead of someone else? That's a good thing.

He knows people would worry. People would miss him. But they'd move on the same way they did before. They would fill the gaps in the spaces he leaves, and there wouldn't be a need to pick the pieces off the floor because nothing would break at his loss.

At least, that used to be the truth. It was the truth until you nestled your way into his heart, and he somehow became a fixture in your life. He didn't mean to do it, didn't mean to make you fall in love with him, and he certainly didn't mean to fall in love with you.

But he did.

And now he makes sure you sleep on the inside on the bed, safe between the wall and him. He walks between you and the road, always on guard for swerving cars and shady civilians. He checks your apartment during patrol, though it's more for his peace of mind than yours.

Jason Todd still puts himself last, but the thought of you comes first, when he dives into the line of fire. If he doesn't come home, who's going to fix the leaky faucet or take out the trash when it gets full?

You could do it, he knows you could, but he doesn't want you to have to. So, he upgrades his armor when he would normally put it off. He's quicker to stop the blood dripping from his wounds. He's more aware, when he's shifting through the shadows of an enemy base.

He never worried about what he would leave behind. Not until you started to kiss his jaw before his nightly patrol, not until you started to reach for him every time he came home, beckoning him to your side and under the waiting, warm blankets.

He worries now. He makes plans, sets aside money, and makes his closest allies promise to keep an eye on you if he ever can't. He becomes your shield, whether you're aware of it or not, he has you covered.

You're his priority, and in becoming so, he's slowly becoming a priority, too. You're happier when he's okay, so he steadies his reckless tendencies. He dismantles the bomb in his helmet. He turns on his tracker for Oracle to keep an eye on.

For all the times he looks after himself, it's with you on his mind. He double checks his gear because he needs to pick up paper towels on the way home for you. He cleans his grappling hook because you asked him if he wanted to go out to dinner and a movie tomorrow.

He waits for backup before breaking up Penguin's latest smuggling ring because you recommended a book for him to read, and he only has a handful of chapters left to finish.

It's you, and you, and you again, that gives him a reason to want to make it to sunrise. It's you, that makes him really want to live.

He wants to see coast cities and tiny forest towns outside of whatever crime he's hunting down. He wants to travel and explore and try everything and anything– as long as it's with you.

He'd give up the world, give up everything he knows, as long as he can give you what you want. But all you ever ask, even if it's not in so many words, is for him to come home. So he does. Every night. Every day. Every time. Jason Todd finds his way back to you because your wants are his first concern.

He sheds his armor and kicks off his boots and leaves everything but the thought of you at your windowsill. He smiles when you murmur your sleepy greetings because he knows you think his smiles are pretty. He checks the locks and changes into the pajama set that matches with yours because you giggle every time you see it.

And all these things are so little yet so big all in one. They fill the cracks beneath his skin, and when he finally has you in his arms again, Jason Todd knows that nothing will be greater than this, than you.

There is no adversary, no injury or mission, that would have his gaze from straying from his singular goal; making it back to your arms to fill your days with all you deserve. With joy. With love. And for as long as you desire it, with him.

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