#IT'S GOING TO BE THIS ON HERE FOR THE NEXT 13 WEEKS (NOT SORRY) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kamiversee · 1 month

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➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 13 || The Unexpected

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language, sexual tension, & smut.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5.5k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——YOU RUSH OUT OF THE building completely flustered with an embarrassed expression written all over your face.

Perhaps after dealing with men who so easily compliment you and fell for your flirtatious traps you'd grown accustomed to not being turned down. Getting dismissed by a man like Toji Fushiguro isn't exactly something you planned for.

It won't stop you from showing up next week and trying again but it will leave you embarrassed and shamefully horny.

You strolled down the campus pathway, heading toward where your car was with your head stuck on what had just happened. The man seriously just told you to get out. You thought you had managed to seduce him at least a little but now you guess you were wrong.

So distracted with your thoughts of what just happened, you nearly miss as a familiar voice calls your name. Your lashes flutter as you blink a few times and look around the area to spot the man who'd called your name.

Your brows push together when you don't see anyone. Okay, now you're hearing things-

"Right here, gorgeous." Geto suddenly whispers into your left ear.

The sudden sound makes you jump and you move your hand to smack his chest for scaring you. He chuckles at your reaction and you give him an annoyed scowl.

"Suguru, don't scare me like that!" You huff.

Geto snickers at you, "Sorry."

A pout takes over your expression and the sight furthers his amusement.

"You're so cute," He hums, raising a hand to pinch your cheek. You immediately smack him off. "Oh c'mon, don't be like that. You didn't even send me a text after our date... How do you think that makes me feel?" He says with a sudden frown.

You blink. "Uh..."

"That's not nice, y'know. Leaving me all high and dry." Geto continues as he shakes his head at you.

"I just thought..." You trail off for a second and the man leans toward your face suddenly.

The words you were going to say fall off your tongue completely as Geto abruptly begins to study your facial expression.

"You alright?" He asks.

You try leaning away, "Yes, why?"

"You look..." His eyes narrow, "I dunno, horny?"

"H-Huh?" Your heartbeat spikes in alarm. If he can tell, does that mean Mr. Fushiguro was able to see that as well? "How the hell can you notice something like that?!" You question the man.

"Darling, I spent an entire night seeing you with that exact same facial expression. I don't think I'll be forgetting it anytime soon." Geto reminds you.

You grit your teeth slightly, "Is it... Is it that obvious?" You mumble.

The man in front of you grows surprised, eyebrows raising and a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "I mean, to me, yes. Though, I wasn't expecting you to admit it so truthfully."

You freeze. Shit, you just told on yourself. "Uh.."

"No need to try lying about it now." Get said with a shrug. He then stands straight up, "What-, actually, who got you all worked up?"

"Uhm..." Your eyes dart off to the side. Why the hell would you tell him anything-

"Was it Mr. Fushiguro?" Geto guesses. He was going based on the building you just left and who was likely to be in there.

Your eyes fly right back over to the man, "How the fuck-"

"Did you forget that I know about the list...?" He reminds you with a slight chuckle.

"You..." A sudden thought rushes to your mind. "Holy shit, you do, don't you?"

"Yeah, so-"

"Shouldn't I be pissed with you right now?" You ask as you remember that Gojo said Geto had videoed you the night of your date.

He scoffs. "What for?"

"Didn't you record me??" You question.

For a moment, Geto stares at you as if he's contemplating something. Then he swallows, "Uh, no."

"No?? But Gojo said-"

"He lied."

"He..." Your head cocks back in surprise, "He what?"

"He lied. I never recorded you." Geto says honestly.

You scowl at the male, "Bullshit."

"When would I have had time to do that?" He scoffs, "I could hardly think straight with the way you were sucking my-"

You move a hand over his mouth and look to your left and right. "Shut up," You snap at the man. "No need to put our business out there like that..."

Geto chuckles beneath your palm before lightly taking hold of your wrist and pulling your hand away. "My bad. But seriously, when would I have recorded you? And if you want," He moves to pull his phone out, "You can check my phone."

You stare up at him, glance down at his phone for a second, then look back up at him. "You could've sent it to Gojo and then deleted it from your phone." You point out.

"True but, I didn't," Geto says.

You fold your arms, "And how am I supposed to believe you?"

"What reason would I have to lie?"

"I don't know."

"And what good would blackmailing you do me? I'm not Satoru." Geto tells you.

He has a point, but you're still unsure if you want to trust him. "You're his best friend though."

"We're two different people. Completely opposite of each other." He hums.

"Okay..." You say, batting your eyelashes at him. "That doesn't prove anything or make me want to believe you any more."

"Alright," Geto sighs, "What if I offer you comfort?"

"Comfort...?"

"I can only imagine how alone you feel in your situation."

Fuck, he's right. You swallow, "I..."

"You can't tell Shoko because you feel embarrassed, can't talk to Satoru because you 'hate' him, and I'm not sure if you know anyone else that you'd comfortably want to talk to about this." Geto points out flawlessly.

You simply stare at the man with hardly any response to that. He's right, after all, you have been feeling ridiculously alone in your predicament.

"I obviously can't make you believe me about not recording you but, you can trust me." He claims.

You remain unconvinced, "How do I know you're not trying to manipulate me like Gojo?"

"Because if I was trying to manipulate you, I would've done it already."

"Uhuh, sure you would've."

"I'm serious. I only approached you today because I wanted to talk to you about this."

"Yeah right."

"I don't know what Satoru has going on in that head of his but even a blind man could see that what he's doing isn't right."

Your eyes suddenly light up, "Are you saying you're going to help me out of this?"

"No."

"But... you could if you wanted to," You say as you raise a brow, "Couldn't you?"

Of course he could. All Geto has to do is tell you the truth about the situation. "What makes you think that?" He asks.

"Suguru..." Your eyes narrow and you lean closer to him accusingly, "You know something that could get me out of this, don't you?"

"N-No." Geto stammers.

"Liar."

"Alright, let's say hypothetically I did... I wouldn't be able to help you out without fucking myself over."

You blink. "Huh, how?"

"Do you really think Satoru is going to be happy with me ruining his fucked up little plan?"

"Well, probably not... But you're his best friend!" You emphasize, "He'll forgive you."

"Perhaps." Geto hums, "But I don't think you realize, you're not the only one Satoru's willing to blackmail."

"...He'd blackmail you too?"

"Maybe. And if not, he'd probably go out and tell people things about me I never intended on sharing..."

"Kinda like how you're a dirty little pervert?" You blurt out teasingly.

The man halts for a second, then he snickers. "Yes... Like that."

"Speaking of which... Do you still have my panties?"

"I do," He smirks and moves as if he were about to pull something out of his pocket, "Want em' back?"

"Y-You don't just walk around with them, do you?"

He laughs at your facial expression, "No."

You sigh, "Thank god. A-And yes I want them back."

"Come over one day and take em' from me." Geto taunts.

"Not happening."

"That's what I thought," He chuckles. "Anyways, back to what I was saying, you can trust me. I can't help you out of your situation directly but maybe I can help you through it."

"Really? You'd do that?" You ask, smiling at him slightly.

He stares at your expression, "Sure."

"Wait... in exchange for what?"

"Nothing."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying." Geto sighs, "Here, I can even suggest something for you."

"What?"

"Satoru's paying you right?"

"...Yeah?"

"Ask him if he'll pay you for each time you sleep with someone," Geto suggests.

"You mean like," An eyebrow raises, "If I sleep with someone more than once?"

"Mhm." He hums.

"But why would I sleep with someone twice...?"

He shrugs innocently, "I mean, right now you're horny and I'm standing right here..."

"I..." You blink, "Suguru do you want to have sex again? Is that why you're trying to help me?"

"Okay, no. That's not why I want to help you, though the sex would be a nice bonus... I've been thinking about how you probably feel." Geto says. You can feel the genuine care in his voice but you're still wary of trusting him.

"So, what, you wanna be my therapist?" You reply with a playful scoff.

He chuckles, "You sound just like him, y'know."

"Don't compare me to that asshole."

"Sorry. But if that's what you wanna call me, sure. I can be your therapist." He shrugs. "Now," Geto moves to toss an arm over your shoulder and pull you close to his side. He then tips his head down to your ear, "Tell me what has you so aroused right now?"

Steadily, the two of you begin walking together.

You swallow, "You want the details...?"

"Sure, why not?" He responds rhetorically.

"Pervert."

"C'mon, what happened in that classroom?"

With a roll of your eyes, you give in, "The professor is fucking hot, that's what."

Geto scoffs, "Yet I'm the perv."

"You are."

"But... you're the one fantasizing about a teacher fucking you..."

"I-I wasn't..."

"Really?" He smirks, "You weren't thinking about getting on your knees and being like 'please sir, just the ti-"

Heat rushes to your face, "Stop it."

Geto starts laughing at you, "Shit, I'm right aren't I? That's one of your dirty little fantasies, isn't it?"

"It's not."

"You can be honest with me, I won't judge."

"...Okay, so what if it is..."

He pauses his words for a second. The man's eyes are all over the side of your face as you keep your gaze forward. "I personally think that's hot," Geto tells you.

"Of course you do." You chuckle.

"What do you mean of course??"

"Slut."

He frowns, "That's your second time calling me that."

"You like it."

He falls silent.

"See? Can't even say you don't."

Geto abruptly whispers your name into the crown of your ear, his voice lower than you expected it to be. "Careful now, darling."

You scoff, "Why?"

"Cause, you're turning me on."

You swallow. Your lower lip gets caught between your teeth at his sudden claim and you can't ignore the fact that your arousal has yet to go away.

"You uh... Do you think Gojo will actually pay me for sleeping with someone twice?" You question, slowly turning your head to look at the man.

Geto meets your eyes and both of you have the same exact thing in mind. The tension was so very obvious.

He didn't need to say anything and neither did you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

This was unexpected. You have no idea how you let yourself get in this position. Damn Geto and his way of convincing you to trust him.

Well, it's not a bad thing that you're trusting him. He made some very valid points, especially the one about him being the only one who knows about your situation and won't judge you for it.

Yet, none of that would've made you think you'd end up in the back seat of his car with his head in between your legs and his tongue deep in your cunt. Good god, the man eats you out like he'd be waiting to do so.

"Fuck Sugu," You breathed out.

The loud sounds of him sucking and slurping on your folds filled the car air. His tongue moved so sloppily over you, lapping up every drop of your wetness like there's no tomorrow.

It was all too much and too little at the same time.

"Tastes so fuckin' good," Geto groans, his voice vibrating against your clit and making your back arch off the seat slightly.

You've got your fingers tangled in that beautiful head of hair of his, unconsciously tugging at it every now and then. The way he'd wrap his lips around your sensitive bud has your lip quivering with moans pouring from your mouth.

Geto flicked his tongue over it and then shifted slightly to swirl the tip of his tongue around your clit. Those large hands over his were tightly gripping onto the underside of your thighs, keeping your legs spread no matter how much you squirmed beneath him.

He pulled his jaw back slightly and peeked up at you for a second before sticking his tongue out and pressing it flat against your wet cunt. Geto slides one of his hands up along your thigh while slurping your taste into his mouth.

Pulling away from your pussy with a loud pop, you hear him swallow. "You've gotta let me get these off you," Geto pleads, referring to the pretty lace stockings you had on.

"W-Why," You stammer as he moves to kiss over your sex.

"Mgh," He moans into you. "I n-need em'" Geto tells you, his voice desperate.

You were unaware but the man's cock was bulging against his pants and he'd been dry humping his car seat to get some kind of friction as he ate you out. You gasp as he moved to rub his thumb over your clit and his mouth focuses on your insides.

A breathy chuckle leaves you, "Need em' f-for what...?" You voice out in between a moan.

The man couldn't even respond to you as he needily worked to please you. Geto's tongue was buried so deep inside your pussy that you think you were starting to see stars. Along with his thumb, you felt his nose brush up against your clit as he pressed his face into your sex.

An arm draped over your mouth, "Y-You're makin' a mess... ngh, Sugu... hah..." You moaned out to the man.

You could feel the way he smiled at your words. The hand that's still on your thigh slides up and one of your stockings is suddenly stripped from you in an instant.

"Mmmgh... I know," He whispers. His face was so wet from you but he didn't care, simply shoving his tongue into your sopping hole regardless.

Confusion takes over your expression for a second but when Geto pulls away and spits on your cunt to further the sloppiness of it all, your brain fades to mush.

That one stocking of yours is soon used for the male to relieve himself. Another loud popping sound is heard as he pries his lips from you and lifts his head. His eyes are so low and lustful, his tongue hangs slightly out of his mouth, and the bottom of his face is coated in your slick.

Geto licks his lips, "Hah... I have class soon," He hums before sitting up.

Two of his fingers slot into you abruptly to make up for the lack of his mouth. "Hnngh... A-Ah, then why'd you w-want to..." Your words fade into a whine as he curls his digits up into your g-spot.

His other hand hastily works to free his cock from his clothes and you hazily watch him hold your stocking in his mouth for a second. After his dick is freed from restrictions, your cunt clenched around him at the sight of Geto using those stockings of yours to jerk off-- shamelessly moaning at the contact of the soft fabric to his shaft.

Your jaw drops at the sight, "You're so... f-fuckin' dirty," You say meanly, words going straight to the man's cock.

Geto tosses his head back, one hand working to please you and the other moving to relieve himself simultaneously. "F-Fuck, mgh... keep, shit, keep talkin' to me like that." He requests.

The fingers thrusting inside you increase in pace and you feel a thumb swat over your clit. "Ha-ah, you're so nasty Sugu..."

"Yeah?" He flashes a smile, "Fuck, 'm gonna cum if you keep degrading me like that."

"Mm-mmh... look at you, ngh-, getting off with my stocking..." Your eyes roll back a little, "So filthy-, fuck." You squeak out as your climax approaches.

"Agh," Geto groans, the jerking motion of his hand growing faster as his precum smears along his length.

The situation was so lewd-- Geto jerking off with a clothing item that'd just been wrapped around your leg for hours and his free hand eagerly fingering you as he did so. Your legs steadily drew together while the squelching sound of his two thick fingers plunging into you hit your ears.

It sounded so messy and sloppy. Your moaning and Geto's groaning were filling the car and fogging up his already tinted windows.

Your orgasm crashed over you when the male swiveled his digits around inside you. His eyes were on yours as you did so, large hand pumping his cock with vigor at the sight of you.

"Oh f-fuck," Geto moaned, his voice slightly pitched.

Your eyes were glossy as your orgasm died down but you clearly saw as the man slid his fingers out of you and brought them up to his mouth. You watch those pretty eyes of his rollback once your taste is on his tongue again and he groans against his fingers as he too reaches his peak.

Geto sucks your slick off his own fingers and cums hard into his hand and all over your stockings. The sight of his body shuddering slightly and a string of saliva connecting from his fingertips to his lower lip as he pulls his hand away from his mouth is something you drink in entirely.

You carefully shut your legs and innocently stare at the mess the man has made of himself. "You're gross..." You say teasingly.

"Hah," He pants slightly and glances over to you, "Am I?"

"You just came all over my stocking..." You say with a scoff, "Perv."

"S'that your new nickname for me or something?" Geto asks.

"Yeah, it is." You say with a sigh. After which you shut your eyes and grin, "Gojo better pay me for this or you're in trouble."

"I'm sure he will." He responds simply.

"If he doesn't..." You begin moving to sit up, "You'll owe me."

"Oh, so you're a full-time whore then?"

"N-No but... I need the money," You mumble.

Geto looks down at the nasty mess he's made of himself and chuckles, "I'll pay you if you come clean me up."

You blink, "Are you serious...?"

"Maybe."

You think about it for a second but when you look down at the pitiful sight of your cum covered stocking wrapped around his length, you frown.

"Nah, I'm good." You say simply.

Geto rolls his eyes, "You're no fun."

And with that, the two of you respectively begin to clean yourselves up. You ended up texting Gojo and asking him that question of yours. To which he responded with a bunch of follow-up questions regarding if you had just slept with his best friend again.

When you told him yes, he ended up leaving you on read and simply sending you more money. A smile had grown on your face when you realized that fact bothered him to the point where he couldn't even respond to you.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Knowing that you could hook up with anyone on the list more than once and still get paid for it was something that oddly made you quite happy.

Over the course of the next few weeks, you did two things. First, you and Geto ended up talking more than you expected to. He'd give you decent advice on how to seduce Toji and you used every bit of it.

Secondly, you attended that one class and endured a private lesson every Monday while getting riskier and riskier with your flirting.

Each lesson ended relatively the same nonetheless, Toji would say that it's been enough time the very second you had this certain look in your eyes. He learned to steal himself for the way you look at him or the questions you may ask and ever since that one time, he's never allowed you to tempt him again.

You used every ounce of advice that Geto continuously gave you-- maintain your posture, give him bedroom eyes, respond in ways that make the man feel like he's in control, etc. Surprisingly, Geto's advice was really good.

You notice subtle changes every time you use his suggestions and you're pretty sure it was all working. Slowly but surely, Toji was growing closer and closer to crossing that line with you.

After that spontaneous hook-up you had with Geto, you found yourself doing it a few times actually. It was always random and sometimes you didn't even bother to ask Gojo for money because having a fuck buddy was kinda fun.

And no, you didn't forget about the walking green flag that is Choso Kamo. The two of you went from texting every few days and a few phone calls to texting every single day and multiple phone calls. Although you couldn't tell him about the list, you were growing very close to him in terms of friendship.

In your mind, you had Geto to rant to about the list and Choso to talk to about anything else. You had started to feel comfortable in your situation. Well, to a certain extent of course.

There was always this little voice in the back of your mind screaming every time you flirted with Mr. Fushiguro but aside from that, you were slowly getting more and more into this role of yours.

You still actively ignored Gojo unless it was about the list, Geto was a good fuck every now and then and he'd listen to you complain whenever you needed to, Choso was just this little ball of sunshine who you wanted to avoid hurting at all costs, and Toji was...

Okay well, the man was completely fine up until the fourth week of your lessons with him.

It was the first and only time you had arrived late. You missed the entire lecture and arrived at his classroom just as the man seemed to be packing up to leave.

Toji was standing at his desk grabbing a few things but he paused when you came rushing into his classroom. Your breathing was heavy, your chest rising and falling rapidly as you tried to regain oxygen in your lungs.

Your eyes were noticeably low, your face flushed with emotions, and your top was noticeably undone. With your hands on your knees and your body hunched over slightly, you panted heavily to catch your breath.

"M-Mr. Fushiguro, I... hah, I'm sorry I'm l-late." You huffed out.

The man was quiet as he stared at you. Slowly, you stood straight up and began to fan yourself off.

"Fuck," You curse. "Sir it's so hot in here."

Toji blinked at the sight of you slightly sweaty and still out of breath. With a scoff and a light shake of his head, he turns and takes a seat at his desk. "Did you run here or somethin'?" He asks, voice deep and husk like always.

You nod your head, "Y-Yeah."

Was that entirely true? No, but, you weren't going to tell him that.

As you look at the older man you notice that his gaze is slowly trailing down your body. That little stockings and skirt combo is hugging your body again and you don't miss the way Toji oggles the sight of you.

As his gaze rises back up, it comes to a pause at your chest and he raises an eyebrow at you. You blink and look down at yourself, noticing you've got more buttons undone than intended to.

"Shit," You whisper while raising your hands to fix yourself, "Sorry Sir."

"You're fine." The man says. "Sure you still wanna' interview me today?" He asks.

You nod your head again and glance up to look at him as your fingers work against your shirt, "Yes. I know I came late but I'm here now."

Toji moves to rest his elbow on his desk, propping his arm up and resting his cheek against his knuckles. "Care to explain why you were late?" He questions.

You freeze. "U-Uhm."

How are you supposed to tell him that you were late because you were too busy sucking Geto off in his car and almost completely forgot about these lessons of yours?

"Uhm?" Toji mocks, raising an eyebrow.

"Traffic." You result in telling him before looking back down at your shirt.

You began to struggle with one of the buttons and it was starting to frustrate you, especially since you left Geto completely untouched and now you're all hot, horny, and frustrated.

Toji's eyes narrow in on the messy state of your shirt. You looked more disheveled than you realized. "Traffic, huh?" He hums.

"Mhm."

"Traffic's got you all messed up like that?" The man quizzes further.

Again, your body freezes. Your sights slowly rise back up and over to him, "Y-Yes Sir..."

He scoffs and you watch his hand raise. Toji beckons you over to him with two fingers. At first, you don't move. Then, after the slight stutter in your brain, you carefully walk over to him.

Toji's seated comfortably in his chair and peers up at you in front of him. He tilts his head to the side and nods his chin at your chest, "Need some help?" He offers.

You're not sure why his words make you shift around where you're standing. "U-Uh... yes." You murmur.

"Yes, what?" He taunts.

The words slip out of your mouth faster than you wanted them to, "Yes please."

Toji smirks and then sits up. It's so slow and teasing how his large hands rise up along your body, just barely grazing you before he reaches your chest. The man stares for a second and then flicks his gaze up to you.

You watch his fingers latch onto the buttons and he too struggles to fix your shirt properly. Something in your head tells you that he's struggling because of the angle he's at so, your body moves before you think about it.

You take another step forward and move so that one leg is planted in between his larger ones. The upper half of your body leans forward into the man's touch and you place a hand on the armrest of the chair to hold yourself up.

Then, to take it further, you lift the leg in between his and push your knee into the chair. You grow dangerously close to his crotch but you pretend not to notice it.

Toji bats his eyes at the sight of you over him. Your tits are practically in his face and he can smell the freshly sprayed perfume oozing off your body. The fingers he had on those buttons of yours slip off of you and he sits back in his chair.

You swallow, "S-Sorry is this..." You start moving back.

Toji licks his lips before saying, "Did I tell you to move?"

Your body halts all movement in an instant. He smirks at your sudden obedience. The man weighs his head to the side while looking up at you.

Those seemingly hazel eyes of his narrow at you, "Let's do somethin' a little different today." Toji suggests.

You remain over him, "Different l-like what?"

His legs spread further apart and you don't miss the way his hips roll upward as he adjusts himself in his chair. The sight alone makes the annoying throb in your core continue. Toji doesn't lay a finger on you just yet, simply gazing up at you.

"I want you to tell me about yourself today."

"H-Huh?"

"It's been four weeks and I've hardly learned anything about the woman interviewing me," Toji points out. He then tilts his head, "How's that fair?"

You blink dumbfoundedly, "Well... I didn't think it was uh, necessary for you to learn much about me."

"It's probably not but," A slow hand rises slightly and his fingertips graze the end of your skirt playfully. "I am curious."

"Why?" You ask, chuckling nervously.

His eyes drop down to where his hand is and you feel two of his fingers move to pinch the fabric of your skirt. "Every week you show up in a similar outfit and ask me all kinds of questions. And the one thing I've noticed is that somehow," Deep colored eyes snap back up to your face, "The questions always turn into something sexual."

"Well I've said it before Mr. Fushiguro, those questions-"

"Make your project better, yeah, yeah, I know." He cuts off. "But if that's the case, why don't you just find out the answer to some of those questions yourself?"

You swallow, "What do you mean...?"

"Last week you asked me about my kinks." Toji recalls casually, "Why don't I demonstrate one on you?"

Your whole body is hot and needy at the very idea of what he's suggesting. The look in your eyes is unavoidably lustful and the man could clearly see from the moment you'd walked in that you were unusually flustered.

"D-Demonstrate?" You repeat innocently.

"Yeah, how's that sound?" Toji asks, looking for your consent. "You can tell me no if I'm misinterpreting all those looks you've been giving me-"

"No, no," You cut off, "I wanna do it, sir."

Toji's cock twitches at the sultry sound of your voice and the words you just uttered.

That painfully attractive smirk of his appears, "Yeah?"

You nod your head, "Mhm."

Okay, this is not how you intended things to go today. It was supposed to be another day of you flirting and asking more suggestive questions but, this works out for you anyways. Not only are you shamefully wet because of the way Geto was moaning and praising you not too long ago but you also can't help but feel so very needy for the touch of Toji Fushiguro.

His hands are so large and veiny, you want them all over your body. You crave for this professor to manhandle you and fuck you til' you can't think straight.

"Alright then," Toji sighs, sitting back in his seat. His eyes then focus on your own with complete seriousness, "Sit."

You hesitate. Glancing around the area, you wonder if he was referring to a nearby seat or something.

Toji chuckles at the clear confusion in your eyes but then he bobs his leg one good time to gesture where he was talking about. "Right here, pretty girl." He directs.

You slowly look down at his large leg in between yours, "O-On your leg, Mr. Fushiguro?"

"My thigh. Sit." He orders.

Embarrassment was coursing through you. Surely if you sat on his thigh, he'd feel the mess you are in your underwear.

You swallow, "Why...?"

Toji snickers at your hesitance. "I wanna watch you get off on my thigh."

You think you feel your cunt throb as his words hit your ears. The thought alone is dizzying.

"So," He continues, moving a hand to your lower back and lightly tapping you. "Sit."

Finally, you do just as he's instructed. As you seat yourself on his thigh, you feel so jittery and nervous. You're soaked right now and you just know he can feel it.

When Toji sees you've made yourself comfortable, he moves his hand to your chin and grabs a light hold of it, "Good girl." He praises.

You think you had to bite back the moan that wanted to escape you in reaction to the praise alone.

The leg in between yours suddenly lifts into you slightly, making your lips part and a breathy noise leaves you. "Now," Toji takes his hand off you and stares at the full sight of your smaller body resting atop his thigh. "Go on, lemme watch you fuck yourself on me."

GOJO SATORU ✔︎

GETO SUGURU ✔︎

TOJI FUSHIGURO ☐

KAMO CHOSO ☐

NANAMI KENTO ☐

??? SUKUNA ☐

??? NAOYA ☐

mlist || previous chapt || next chpt

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goldenlikedayl1ght · 6 months

Text

the lakes - m. murdock

a/n: hey guys so i've been struggling a lot with the fact that i might have hearing loss (i'm going to the doctor next week) and as always i am projecting, but i am not 100% sure everything in this fic is accurate and for that i apologize. but it's my little passion project and i hope you enjoy <3 as always, comments and reblogs are always loved and appreciated! warnings: hearing loss, hearing aids, tinnitus, reader struggling with being disabled, some parts are more vulnurable and don't have the reader being like overly confident in their disability, matt being soft, some suggestive behavior at the end, kissing, nicknames, pretty pg-13 honestly word count: 3.0k summary: your hearing aids run out of battery, and you're forced to struggle through a day of ringing ears and being deaf. matt helps, as he always does. pairing: matt murdock x hard of hearing!reader now playing: the lakes - taylor swift "take me to the lakes/where all the poets went to die/i don't belong/but my beloved, neither do you."

“Are you deaf?”

“What?”

You’re eighteen, home from college for the first time since fall break. Your family sits around for Thanksgiving, and there are so many people talking. There’s about thirteen people at this long dining room table, and they are all talking at once. You’re sitting next to your sister, but you can’t hear her well.

You know she’s speaking, and you’re sure you’re yelling, but you’re frustrated.

“I said, are you deaf? I repeated myself like, four times!”

You feel your face flush.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you. You’re mumbling, and it’s loud in here.”

Your sister looks at you like you’re crazy.

“I’m right next to you, and I’m not mumbling. In fact, no one is yelling, either.”

You poke your fork at your sweet potatoes and feel hot, angry tears in your eyes as you avoid everyone’s gaze.

Your mom sits across from you, and frowns, planning to tell you to make an appointment at the student health center when you get back to campus.

She doesn’t even have to. You’ve booked one by the time she says it to you.

At the student health center, they administer a hearing test, and then refer you to a specialist for further testing. You call your mom, crying and she gently comforts you, before driving to the nearest bookstore and picking up a book on hearing impairments and a copy of ASL for Dummies.

At the specialist, they do another round of tests. Your doctor tells you that you do in fact have hearing issues and that you should come back in a year for more testing, to see if your hearing gets worse. For now, you get a doctor’s note that requires all your professors to take your hearing impairment into consideration. The process for getting that applied at your university is painful, and only gets worse through your years there.

Before you get to law school, your doctor tests you again, and tells you how your hearing has been decreasing in quality in the past few years. He says that you’ll need hearing aids to regulate it. You cry because you cannot afford that.

You get captioning accommodations throughout law school, as well as a note taker for certain classes that are entirely lecture based. You still try to take your own notes, but it frustrates you that suddenly you need all this help. Your own notes are incomprehensible and often miss key parts of the lecture as you sit for a few minutes trying to decipher what your professor had said a few minutes prior.

You go into corporate law after law school, choosing to stay out of court initially because you find yourself frustrated that you wouldn’t be able to process all of what’s going on due to the many voices.

You stay at this company long enough to get your hearing aids, long enough to pay your loans, and long enough to save up a good fund for your hearing aid needs.

You quit your job and get hired at Nelson, Murdock & Page as an interim while you decide what you want to do.

With your hearing aids, life isn’t so frustrating anymore. You find yourself enjoying casual chatter and not worrying about processing what your friends are saying. At family dinners, you take your hearing aids out when you’re mad at your family, to which your stepdad, another hearing aid user, always laughs.

And, despite the pay not being stellar at your job, you love it. You love working with people who need help, love fighting injustice, and you love your coworkers.

...

If only Matt Murdock would reciprocate your feelings towards him.

You’ve been dancing this dance for months. You come into work with coffee and stutter when you get to his doorway.

You wonder if he’ll ever know how desperately you want him.

You go about your days quietly, going to the bar with them at the end of a long week. You love your friends and find yourself hoping they know how much you love them.

Karen and Foggy, as well as Foggy’s fiancé, know about your hearing aids since they sit sort of clunkily on your ears.

You don’t tell Matt, though, not at first.

You know how bad it is, to not even tell your blind crush that you have hearing aids. But you’re embarrassed. It makes you sound like an old person even though you’re in your twenties.

But when Matt crawls into your window late at night, bleeding, you don’t even flinch as he crashes onto your floor behind you. You’re reading, your hearing aids out, and he’s unsure why you can’t hear him. Your heartbeat had no reaction, it’s like you don’t even realize he’s there.

He taps you on your shoulder and you turn quickly, and gasp, before starting to sign at him. Even in his disoriented state, he knows you’re doing something with your hands and moving your mouth. At first, he thinks that he might have stuff clogging his ears, but then he realizes you’re signing, probably because you think Daredevil isn’t blind.

He takes off his helmet.

“Matt?” You say, and it comes out a little louder than it should, because you can’t hear yourself to gage how loud you’re being.

He says something, and your gaze focuses on his mouth, where you can barely make out what he’s saying.

“I can’t hear you.” You say, softer now. You reach over to your bedside table and put your hearing aids on. By the time you look back, Matt has passed out on the ground. Oh fuck.

You get your first aid kit and begin to work on his wounds. When you’re done, you pull him onto your couch, now stained with his blood, and watch as he sleeps. Blood covers your hands, and you listen to him breathing.

When he wakes up that morning, you’re asleep on the couch, and when you feel him start to stir. You grab your hearing aids, and turn them on, before watching him wake.

He says your name softly, and you take his hand in yours.

“Hey.. You.. You’re Daredevil...”

“You’re deaf.”

“Hard of hearing. Not fully deaf, just… My right ear is a lot better than my left, but without my hearing aids I’m close to deaf, yeah…”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were Daredevil?”

“I was scared. Scared that… That you would view me differently, scared that you wouldn’t like me as much.”

“I was scared too..”

“When did you start losing your hearing?”

“In college. I realized it when I went home for Thanksgiving, and then it got worse from there..” You tell him. A hand reaches out to your face, and you lean into it, letting your cheek rest in his palm. His fingers trail up towards your ear and gently run his fingers over your hearing aid.

“Thanks for stitching me up.” He says softly.

“No problem.”

“The hearing aid does explain the buzzing I always hear when you’re around.”

“You can hear my hearing aids?”

“Apparently. I can hear a lot of things. I have heightened senses. You use pomegranate shampoo and had red velvet cake for dessert tonight. Your heart is racing.”

Your face flushes.

“I can turn them off if it’s bothering you.”

“How would you hear me, then?” He has a point.

“I just don’t want them to bother you.”

“Don’t offer to hide your disability just to make other people more comfortable.”

You kiss him when he says this, in a careful way. You’re gentle, making sure not to hurt him as you do. He lays there and lets you kiss him, his hands on your face. You realize you had no reason to be scared that Matt might reject you for your disability, because he is the only person in your everyday life who really gets how it is to have a disability that affects all aspects of your life.

You trace the healed scars on his skin as you kiss him gently, careful not to hurt him. You promise that you’ll kiss him more passionately when he isn’t freshly stitched up.

• • •

A few weeks passed after that night. You and Matt start seeing each other more and more as you fall deeper in love. You find it silly that you wasted so many days, afraid of talking to each other and maybe disappointing each other over the fact that you both lack a vital sense.

But Matt never views it that way. You wear hearing aids and it’s perfectly fine because most of the time, you aren’t struggling to hear him and cannot communicate with him, and he can’t see when you can’t hear him.

Instead, Matt loves that he can hear your hearing aids buzzing softly because it always alerts him that you’re there. He can hear your heartbeat and smell you, too, but it’s not quite the same as this soft little buzzing that reminds him often of a bee.

Except for this one day.

You slept over at Matt’s on a Thursday and really, you should have known better. You knew your hearing aids were going to need a battery change soon, but you’ve been so busy with work and with Matt, and worrying about him at night, that you’re tired. So tired that you forget to pick up batteries before your hearing aids die.

You sneak out of Matt’s apartment early, sending him a text that you needed to go get changed before work. Really, you want to avoid the fact that you wouldn’t be able to hear him. But he didn’t respond to your message. You decide that you don’t care at this moment and head out to work, debating the right way to tell your coworkers about your predicament.

When you get to work, Foggy is immediately talking to you, and you are tense.

“Foggy—” He’s not stopping. It sounds like he’s mumbling, and there’s this ringing in your ears. “Foggy, I can’t hear you.” He finally looks to you, and says something, you make it out to be a phrase of confusion. “My hearing aids died.” You tell him. You’re frustrated, and Matt isn’t in the office yet.

You deem this as a blessing and a curse. Foggy goes to tell Karen what’s going on and as you’re settling down for the day, you get a text. You hope it’s from Matt, but when you see Karen’s name, you falter slightly.

‘Hey! Foggy told me what was going on. We’ll have your calls redirected to one of us and you can spend the day doing housekeeping and paperwork.’

‘Thanks’, You respond, “Sorry about all this. I’m usually on top of my battery life.”

“Don’t worry about it. These things happen.”

“Still, thanks. Did you hear from Matt at all?”

“No, he probably just slept in late. He should be in soon.”

You try to ignore your anxieties over his absence even though you know that when he does come into the office, you’ll have to struggle to communicate with him all day.

So, for the first hour or so of your day, you try to get some work done but there’s a light ringing in your ears that’s getting worse and worse as you attempt to try and focus on other things. Everything sounds so muffled. You’re so focused that your teeth grind against each other, your muscles tense, as you attempt to try and block out the ringing in your ears.

You have a feeling that by the time you leave today, those hot frustrated tears will be threatening to pour once more.

You don’t hear Matt as he steps into your office and stands by your left side, where you’re almost completely deaf. He stands there for about ten minutes, trying to get your attention before he realizes the light buzzing of your hearing aids are not there.

You must not have them in.

So his hands find your shoulders gently, and instead of tensing, you actually relax under his touch, because you realize that it has to be Matt. A slight turning of your head confirms it and you lean into his touch.

Neither of you say much for a while, deciding to let your frustration slowly dissipate as you lean into his warm hands. They stay on your shoulders and upper arms, rubbing gentle patterns into your skin.

After a good ten minutes of this, his body shifts to your right side and he leans down, before speaking at full volume, maybe even a little louder, just to make sure you can hear him. It still sounds like he’s mumbling, but you can hear him.

“Forgot your hearing aids?”

“Batteries died.” You tell him. “You never answered me.”

“My phone died. I forgot my charger, too.. Are you gonna be okay to work all day?”

“Mhm..” You smile softly, “You’re gonna have to help answer calls, though.”

He kisses your cheek, and you lean into the warmth.

“Anything for you, sweetheart.” He says, a soft smile on his face.

The day goes by pretty much as you expect it. You spend it doing paperwork and dodging phone calls, your tinnitus gets worse as the day goes on. By the time the day is finally winding down, Karen sends you one final text.

“Matt’s staying a little late to catch up on some work. Want me to walk you home?”

“No, I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

You realize that because she and Foggy are heading home, you’ll be able to sit with Matt, maybe get a little bit of peace. You’re thankful, too, because you’re about to lose your mind over all of this. The ringing is just getting to be too much.

You wait a few minutes after Foggy and Karen head home before you go into Matt’s office. He smiles at you and gestures for you to come in, and you do. You lean against his desk, as he speaks loud enough now that you can hear him.

“I’ll just be a few more minutes, Bee.” Even the soft-spoken nickname doesn't get you out of your funk, too busy wanting to get on your hands and knees and beg God for your hearing back.

That doesn’t usually happen, but every once in a while you ask him for a normal life.

God sends you a blind man as your soulmate, because he must think that the whole thing is quite funny.

“Okay…”

You feel hot tears pooling in your eyes as you bite your tongue and dig your fingernails into your skin. You almost draw blood.

“What’s wrong?” He can tell that something is wrong. He can always tell, and you’re foolish to think anything less of him, and even more foolish to forget his super senses. A part of you bites back a bitter feeling, since you wish you could’ve had super smell, super sight, super taste, anything in exchange for your hearing. You were not given an exchange, only forced to give, with nothing in there for you.

You forget that your boyfriend has super senses and can taste and smell your salty tears and blood in the air. Damn him.

“Loud… Ringing in my ears, my tinnitus is always really bad when I don’t use my hearing aids for a while..” You say softly. “It’s just.. it really hurts...” You confess, tears slipping down your face.

“Sweetheart..” He takes off his glasses and rests them on the desk in front of him. “C’mere..” You can’t hear that last part, but the way he opens his arms gives you the hint.

You sit on his lap, burying your face in the crook of his neck with a shaky sigh. You feel the thumps of his heartbeat and hold onto it, the ringing in your ears slightly muffled by his skin. It doesn’t fix the problem, but it helps.

His hands linger on your body, gentle caresses of your knee or thigh happening here and there. He just wants you to know he’s there, in the same way he desires when everything becomes too much for him.

“”m sorry..” you say gently, and he just hushes you softly, kissing your head. He traces patterns into your skin. He traces words into it as well.

L-O-V-E.

S-W-E-E-T-H-E-A-R-T

He traces your name, his, and your last names.

You kiss him softly, realizing that you might never be 100% okay with your hearing, but Matt will help. He’ll understand. He loves you, and it’s enough to be confident in your future again.

You spend only a few minutes more in the office before you decide to head home, his hand never leaving yours.

You make it back to his apartment and Matt plugs his phone in in case you need to text him and get his attention. You wind up stealing a pair of sweatpants, a tee shirt, and a pair of fuzzy socks. The two of you wind up tangled together on his couch.

Your ear is pressed against his chest as he gently caresses your skin, occasionally moving your hair from your face. He mumbles sweet nothings, and while you can’t hear them, you feel the rumbling vibrations in his chest, and you relish in them. You bathe in the feeling of his heartbeat thumping against his skin.

You fall asleep like this, with Matt touching you and talking in this low tone to make sure you can feel the vibrations of his voice in his chest and in his throat. It’s enough just knowing he’s there. That this thing you thought would deem you unlovable is no match for Matt Murdock, who on your wedding day will throw up the sign for ‘I love you’ in ASL.

For Matt Murdock, who, when you’re taken for loving the devil, will find you and take you into his arms and kiss you so that you know he’s real.

For Matt Murdock, who touches you in all the right ways so you can hear the sounds of your own pleasure.

For Matt Murdock, who will gently trace patterns into your skin when you need to be grounded. For Matt Murdock, who feels himself slipping further and further in love with you and finds himself searching for the soft buzz of your hearing aids when you walk into the room.

#matt murdock #matt murdock fic #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock x y/n #matt murodock hurt/comfort #matt murdock angst #matt murdock imagine #daredevil fic #daredevil x reader #daredevil fanfiction #hoh!reader #hard of hearing!reader #deaf!reader #self indulgent

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blue-jisungs · 11 days

Text

ONE SHOT

author's note. first of all thank u @kyrjnie for helping me out w the idea fot this one!!! its kinda ironic how it was one of the fics i had a plan for but it ended up being the last one lmaooo and also @eternalgyuuu w the banner<3 BUT my dudes its the last fic of the 2 year event!! thank u for sticking around - both around me and the event hehe - i'm very grateful <3 i hope you more or less enjoyed it!!!

summary. when a stranger keeps you company

warnings. its said that there was a creepy man following yn:(

word count. 1339

seungcheol has a good heart.

no matter how scary may he look or how tough may he act, deep down he always has and will have a pure heart.

he never considered it a flaw. not even now, that he is way too far from the stop where he was supposed to get off. in the middle of the week, at almost 1am.

but he can’t leave you alone, can he?

it’s not like he knows you… but on his way home at this late hour, he listened to music and just drifted away. the subway was gradually emptying, not many people going as far as him.

but there was this one girl, who must have entered before him – you were already here, dozed off, when he took the subway.

he glanced at you, subconsciously smiling at how cute you are. that was another thing about seungcheol – he was so pure. upon seeing an adorable thing, person or anything else, he’d always smile and adore it.

and today it just happened to be you. he liked to think about others – one would call it being nosy but he genuinely cared about people, even strangers.

so when he was about to approach his stop and leave, he furrowed his brows. there was this one man at the end of the subway car, eyeing you from time to time.

and seungcheol despite glaring at him and having an overall intimidating aura (especially with the freshly dyed red hair) didn’t manage to scare him off. he just had a bad feeling and decided to wait for you to wake up.

the creep must have been either stupid or stupidly stubborn since he just shrugged and relaxed in his seat.

which is why now seungcheol is 13 stops away from his house and at the end of the line.

the subway halted, announcing it’s the last stop.

he sighed and stood up, observing with a corner of his eye how the stranger left the car.

seungcheol stretched and sat next to you, hearing a muffled sound of a studio ghibli soundtrack playing in your earphones. he tapped your shoulder gently, observing your reaction.

you seemed to gradually wake up – scrunching your nose, stretching, opening an eye open, fighting a yawn and then finally, a sleepy gaze meeting his.

your eyes widened upon seeing an unfamiliar man this close to you and he immediately moved a bit further.

“sorry to wake you up, it’s just… it’s the last stop” he smiled and you noticed his cute dimples. nodding, you grabbed your purse and blinked slowly.

“um, thank you. i get off here either way but i really appreciate it” you sent him a warm smile and you two left the subway.

the weather was a bit stuffy but it was nice to catch some fresh air. you saw the stranger looking at something behind your back.

“do you get off here too?” you asked hesitantly.

you take this route everyday at this hour, after work. you should’ve recognized his face if he was a regular too – especially with his handsome face and bright red hair. he shook his head softly.

“i don’t” he smiled tenderly and his cute, brown eyes moved to need yours “i… there was a weird guy, he’s over there. i couldn’t bring myself to leave you alone. sorry if that made you uncomfortable”

you felt your stomach twist at the thought of some weirdo following you but then… the man in front of you willingly missed his stop to prevent anything from happening.

“what’s, uhm, your name? if i can…” you didn’t finish, shyness taking over you. but the redhead grinned, the cute dimples poking out again.

“seungcheol. and yours?” he asked, hiding his hands in the pocket of his jean jacket.

“y/n” you introduced yourself, unable to stop your own lips from forming into a smile – the gesture was too infectious not to do so. “seungcheol, thank you so much. you’re a real gentleman, i thought… there’s no good left in the world. but you proved me wrong

he scoffed, shaking his head.

“no problem” he grinned and hesitated for a moment, biting down on his plump bottom lip. then he whipped out his phone in a cherry case and checked the time “i still have like… half an hour before the next ride. and i would sleep way more peacefully if i knew you arrived home safe. can i walk you back?”

normally, you’d decline. but upon slightly turning around you noticed a weird man glancing at you two. besides, you had a good feeling about seungcheol. maybe you shouldn’t… but there was just something so warm and genuine about him that you agreed.

with a small nod, you grabbed his arm. turning around, you passed the man.

“i know we’re strangers but sleeping on the subway doesn’t seem like a safe idea” seungcheol said softly.

the night was peaceful, stars shining beautifully on the navy sky. a soft gust of wind blew in your face, running through your hair.

“i don’t usually do this, don’t worry” you scoffed and fixed the bag on your arm. “today was just exhausting and i made the mistake of putting some calm songs”

he smiled and took a glance over his shoulder. the man was nowhere to be seen. good.

you had a small talk with him since your walk home usually takes up to 10 minutes. upon arriving at the entrance to the staircase, you slowly let go of his arm. stepping at the stair so you’d be on his eye level, he grinned cutely at the gesture.

“i really appreciate your gesture, seungcheol. i know i said it like, five times already but… you know” you said shyly, fidgeting with a strap of your bag.

“and as i said: no problem. seriously, y/n” the man nodded and your eyes suddenly widened.

“wait here a second!” you gasped and entered the code. seungcheol only saw a glimpse of you disappearing in the hallway.

seungcheol let out a scoff and hid his hands in the pockets of his jacket, suddenly taking a deep breath.

you’re so adorable.

just when he was about to check the time, the door swung open and you appeared in them again. there was a silver package in your hand, your chest moving up and down irregularly.

“the… stairs…” you breathed out and he laughed, noticing your messy hair. “i almost… tripped…”

shaking your head, you put the item in his calloused hand.

“i made you a quick sandwich. i figured you’re hungry and to even slightly return the favour, you know?” you smiled and tucked your hands in the pocket of your jeans. he smiled sweetly, his heart melting on the spot “it’s, um, lettuce, ham and cheese. nothing crazy, sorry”

“thank you so much. i bet it’ll be delicious” he hummed and silence fell between you two.

seungcheol bit his bottom lip.

he had only one shot. he had to be casual.

“um, i was wondering–”

“hey, if you ever–”

you exchanged surprised looks when your voices merged upon speaking up at the same time. you both laughed, cute wrinkles forming around his eyes.

“you go first” you insisted.

“if you ever need like… a scary dog privilege or some help, i can give you my number” he said with a boyish smile. the words were said and now…

“even help with ordering a coffee?” you asked. seungcheol caught the hidden meaning and just nodded.

“of course” he said and you exchanged numbers, moonlight shining on his handsome face.

“and um, text me when you get home. i wanna know if my guard arrived safely too” you hummed, wrapping your arms around your torso. seungcheol saluted and slowly began to walk away back to the station.

you stood there until he disappeared from your sight and he turned around like, 3 times.

with heart thumping in your chest and a foolish smile on his face, cheol was glad he took that one shot.

main masterlist | event masterlist

taglist. @mirxzii ,, @primoppang ,, @l3visbby ,, @nicholasluvbot ,, @planetkiimchi ,, @weird-bookworm ,, @slytherinshua ,, @kazmura ,, @laylasbunbunny ,, @mon2sunjinsuver,, @eternalgyuuu ,, @rubywonu ,, @haecien ,, @mine-gyu

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ilguna · 6 months

Note

Could I please get #1 from the 2nd list with finnick? Maybe it could be him leaving his SO in 13 while he goes to the capitol but this time he lives?

☼ broken promise (Finnick Odair) ☼

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, ehh gore, gun use.

wc; 2.6k

prompt; 1. "Just close your eyes. I will be here when you open them again."

—

A scream lodges in your throat, waking you, rocketing you into an upright position so that you can breathe. With one hand, you grab your throat, gasping for the air that’s been deprived of you, heart beating wildly in your chest. The other is reaching out to his side of the bed to make sure that he’s still there, that he hasn’t left you like the nightmare led you to believe.

Your fingers come into contact with his thigh, you slide your hand over his skin, fingers slowly digging in. You close your eyes, and try to remind yourself that it wasn’t real, and Finnick’s not going to slip through your fingers. He’s here, he’s right next to you.

“(Y/n)?”

You look over at Finnick, finding his eyes on you. His head is turned over his shoulder, one eye closed and the other one barely open to keep himself awake. You loosen your grip on his leg, most likely the cause of his wake.

“Sorry, Finn.” You murmur.

“What’s the matter?” He mumbles, beginning to roll over to face you.

“I’m fine.” You brush his hair out of his face. It’s getting long, he hasn’t cut it since the reaping.

“You’re not.” He says, voice raspy but sounding more awake. He grabs your arm, tugging at it slightly. “Come here.”

“It was just a nightmare, Finnick.” You tell him.

“I don’t care.” He says, pulling again.

You sigh, but scoot down in the bed, anyway. Finnick lifts the blanket up, arms out to make it easier for you to lay in them. He’s got his eyes closed, waiting for you. As soon as you’re as close as humanly possible, he drops the blanket and pulls you closer, chin on top of your head.

He’s warm, the exhaustion returns to your body slowly. It’s one of the curses of sleeping in the same bed as him. There will be times where he’s tired and needs a nap, but you’re fully rested. He’ll force you to cuddle him, and the next thing you know, the whole day has been wasted away because his body heat has made you drowsy.

However, this time, it’s different. It doesn’t take long for you to get to the brink of sleep, yet you never fall over the edge fully. Each time Finnick adjusts, you’re jolted awake. There’s something keeping you from reaching bliss, and you know exactly what it is.

How are you supposed to sleep when you’re afraid that Finnick’s going to join that stupid Capitol mission? You heard him talking about it with Haymitch a few days ago, and when you asked about it, Finnick told you that it was nothing to worry about. Except, you’re not that stupid.

You might have been caught up in your own problems here in District Thirteen, but that doesn’t mean you hadn’t noticed his schedule changed a couple weeks ago. He’s not where he’s supposed to be during the day. You did a little prying, some sneaking around, collected the clues and had it put together by his own best friend.

Johanna admitted to you that they had been training the entire time. They found out about a rebel mission to storm the Capitol and seize President Snow’s mansion. It turns out that Finnick isn’t the only one that has been getting ready for this. Katniss, Johanna and Gale have been, too.

Only, Johanna can’t go because she failed the final test. Finnick passed.

You didn’t know how to react to the information she told you, besides standing there and staring into her eyes. She knows how much Finnick means to you—what the two of you have been through to get to this point. She didn’t think, throughout all these weeks, that it might’ve been smart to give you a head’s up that your fiance would be leaving on a suicide mission?

Is he ever going to tell you, himself?

Johanna knew you were mad, and she didn’t have any defense. She simply told you that she had advised Finnick to let you in on it, but the conversation never went on any further than that. Since then, you’ve been waiting for him to tell you. Especially since the hovercraft should be leaving any day now.

“You’re not sleeping.” Finnick suddenly mutters, you jerk slightly at the sound of his voice. “Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it, my love?”

You press your lips together. “Promise me you’re not going to leave me, Finnick.”

“What makes you think that I’d leave you?” He asks, pulling you closer into his body. “I would never want that.”

“That’s not what I mean.” You whisper. “I want you to promise that you’re not going to leave this bunker to go on that mission, Finnick. And then I want you to keep it.”

“I promise I’m not going to go on the mission.” He says without hesitating. You can feel his fingers combing through your hair. “Just close your eyes, baby. I will be here when you open them again.”

The heavy feeling in your chest keeps you from believing him.

–

You cross your arms over your chest, teeth tightly grit together to keep from saying anything that might get you in trouble. Although, no words need to be said. The hard glare you’re giving Haymitch speaks a thousand words.

“Oh, (Y/n), what a pleasure.” Plutarch says, coming through an adjacent door. Behind him is President Coin, hair neatly straightened, eyes landing on you when Plutarch moves out of the way. “How are you?”

You give him a sarcastic smile. “The pleasure is all mine, Plutarch, really. It’s always fantastic to be around you. You simply have the best and most charming personality in this entire cement coffin, you know that?”

“(Y/n).” Haymitch warns.

“And I’m doing great, actually. I would be doing better if someone explained to me why the hell my fiance was allowed to get on a hovercraft to District Two.”

“I don’t believe you have clearance to be in here.” Coin says, coming down the steps.

“I should.” You tell her. “I don’t see a reason why you’d want to keep me out of here. Oh right, how else would you then go behind my back after everything I’ve done for you?”

“Who let you in this room?” Coin asks.

“I did.” Haymitch says. “She’s got a point. Why was Finnick allowed to train and she wasn’t?”

“That’s because Katniss and Johanna found out about the program we have, and then told Finnick about it. We didn’t have anything to do with him joining.” Coin stops a few feet away from you. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Miss (L/n).”

“And it didn’t occur to you once to let me in on something like that?” You ask her, not moving from where your feet are planted.

“If it helps any, Peeta wasn’t allowed to, either.” Plutarch says.

You press your lips together into an angry smile. “No, that doesn’t help.”

“We can’t do anything for you.” Coin has her hand outstretched toward the door.

Your jaw goes slack. “Is that right?” She doesn’t say anything. “Get Finnick Odair on the next hovercraft back here, now.”

“That’s not possible, (Y/n), and there’s no need to.” Plutarch tells you. “Finnick is part of a group called the Star Squad. They’ve already traveled to the main camp outside of the Capitol, it’ll take a full day for him to get back to District Two. Their jobs aren’t to fight, though, they’ll be traveling behind the main rebel lines. They won’t be put into any direct danger.”

“You better hope not.” You tell Plutarch. “If anything happens to him, I’ll make sure it haunts you for the rest of your fucking life.”

—

“Let me see!” You shout, slamming through the Command room’s doors. “I want to see it for myself!”

Several heads swivel in your direction, daring to remove their eyes from the screen in front of them to see who’s intruding. When they’re met with you, they look away, uninterested.

No one makes a move to escort you out of the room, despite the fact that Coin made it very clear that you weren’t going to be allowed into Command ever again. The doors swing shut behind you, locking you inside.

You drag your feet forward a couple of steps, watching a replay of what’s just taken place in the Capitol. It’s a video of the Star Squad, the group that you were told wouldn’t be put into any danger. There’s a voiceover from the Capitol, explaining to you what’s happening.

They had been trying to film a propo, when they set off a bomb in the middle of the colorful apartment’s courtyard. It blows off the squad leader’s legs, and you watch as they all scramble to regroup, and descend into chaos when black gel shoots from the street.

They make a run for it, trying to get into an apartment before the oil gets to them. A previously level-headed Peeta turns rabid, trying to kill Katniss. One of the trained squad members tries to save her, and in return, he gets kicked into another pod, where barbed wire strings him up above the street.

From there, it takes two people to get a hold of Peeta, where they drag him inside. You catch sight of Finnick, carrying someone over his shoulder, alive. Then, everyone else files in, except for Gale, who tries to shoot the soldier down from the wire. This is the last glimpse you get of the situation, before the camera goes black.

The Capitol reporter is able to identify Gale, Finnick, Peeta, Cressida, Katniss and a man named Boggs, by first name.

You watch in horror as the next clip begins to play. Peacekeepers line up on the roof of the building across from the one the squad ran into. Bombs are launched into the row of apartments, setting off a chain of explosions, and then the building collapses in on itself.

You can feel your heart drop.

It cuts away to a reporter, standing on the same roof the Peacekeepers were. Behind her, the apartment building is aflame. The firefighters work hard to control the flames. The reporter pronounces each person that was inside of that building, dead.

“Oh my god.” You breathe, hand clutching at your chest, beginning to hyperventilate.

They play this scene over and over, proud of their victory. The only time they stop is when a montage of Katniss begins. They talk of her rise to rebel power, and then proceed to tear her down, claiming that she deserved such a violent end.

The room begins to spin around you, an icy feeling spreads from your head down your chest and back, reaching for your legs. You try to hold back the tears that build in your eyes, but once the first one falls, it’s over. A loud sob escapes you as you take a step forward toward the screen.

You quickly change direction, stumbling to a desk with a computer and keyboard on it. You’re barely able to pull the trash can out from underneath it, before you’re vomiting up your entire breakfast and lunch. You can’t breathe. Between the hyperventilating, the tears, and the puke, you struggle to get more than a breath of air in you at a single time.

You sink to your knees, hands coming into contact with the cold cement. You cry for a few seconds, until it dissolves into a coughing fit, that has you gagging.

He’s dead. Your fiance is dead, and it’s been less than a week since he left for the Capitol.

The doors to Command open behind you. The sounds of boots scuffing on the ground is hardly audible over your sniffling. You tilt your head back, letting the tears roll down your chin, to your neck.

“(Y/n).” Someone says, coming to crouch next to you. A hand is placed on your back, between your shoulders, rubbing gently. You think it’s Haymitch. “You have to get out before Coin gets here.”

“I don’t care.” You whimper, “Let her. It doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters to me without him.”

—

Finnick survived.

He’s in the Capitol, waiting for your hovercraft to land so that he can be the first person you see when you step off. From what you’ve heard, he’s not even significantly hurt from his time navigating the streets and the sewers.

When they had first told you that he wasn’t dead and he’d successfully made it to the mansion alongside Katniss, about twelve hours ago, you thought they were playing a cruel joke on you. It wasn’t until they pulled up pictures of him in the aftermath, helping navigate the wounded around him, did you believe them.

There was no question about it, Coin didn’t even bother to put up a fight against you. You, Johanna and Haymitch were put on the first hovercraft that would be traveling to the Capitol. And you haven’t been able to sit still in your seat the entire time. It’s driven Johanna crazy enough to have Haymitch switch seats with her.

You reach for your engagement ring, twisting it on your finger. You should be landing any minute now. It’s only been a week or so since Finnick left you in Thirteen, but it’s felt like months. You went from having him, to losing him, and getting him back only a couple days later.

The hovercraft jerks suddenly as you land. Your fingers fly to the belt they advised for you to have on during the landing. You pull it off, getting to your feet. The pilots shout for you to stay back while they open the rear door. Nothing happens for the longest second, and then the door begins to creak and groan, sunlight flooding in through the cracks.

You start forward, eyes adjusting to the sunlight. When it’s about halfway down, you’re able to get your first glimpse of the hovercraft runway, and the people coming toward you. His bronze hair is shining in the sunlight, and he’s changed into street clothes, instead of wearing the bulky armor that he’d been pictured in.

The second the door touches the concrete, and the pilots tell you it’s safe to leave, you’re out the door and running in his direction. The people he’s with move away, expecting a large impact, while Finnick opens his arms widely, ready to embrace everything you have for him.

You slam into his body, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you against him so tightly, that you’re sure you’ll become one person. Finnick presses kisses on your forehead, temple, cheek, neck—anywhere he can touch skin. When you tilt your head back, he seizes your lips in a long kiss, that you have to force yourself to break apart from.

His face twists, eyebrows drawn in, about to ask you why you’ve pulled away like that, but you’ve already grabbed a hold of the front of his shirt, beginning to shake him. He grabs your arms, eyes widening.

“If you ever do that to me again, Finnick, I’ll leave you!” You shout at him, jerking his shoulders. “Do you understand? I will leave and never come back!”

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n).” Finnick says, holding onto you. “I’m so—”

“How could you do that to me?” You sob, “You could’ve died!”

“I know.” He tells you, “It won’t happen again, honey. I promise you. And I’m going to keep it this time.”

You cup his face, pressing your lips to his.

414 notes · View notes

i-hate-accidents · 4 days

Text

i hate accidents: the beginning

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

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

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

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

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

word count: 13.9k (of 38.8k)

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you do not know how you got here.

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

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

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

so, you close your eyes shut.

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

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

their eyes widened.

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

“i am all right, thank you.”

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

“wait! you’re a writer, yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

that caused the person in blue to laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

“can you keep a secret?”

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

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

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

i should run. i am going to run.

and so you turn and start—

“y/n!”

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

“good day, pen.”

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

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

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

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

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

“the— bridgertons?”

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

your jaw drops.

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

this is not a dream. this is a nightmare.

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

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

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

“very well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y/n y/l/n.”

“excellent. now! with introductions all sorted—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, my god.

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

you turn back to the family.

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

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

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

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

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

butterflies flutter in your stomach.

oh.

shit.

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

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

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

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

“err— yes. likewise.”

another cough.

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

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

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

shit.

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

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

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

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

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

“may i call you ‘kathani’ instead?”

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

“yes. yes, you may.”

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

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

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

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

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

“what! what did i say wrong?”

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

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

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

“y/n.”

her eyes shine once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“very well, then.”

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we must continue when you return next!”

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

“they seem to quite like you.”

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

“colin bridgerton,” you begin, “yes?”

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

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

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

“and you look after him.”

“what did i do?”

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

“i— yes. of course. understood.”

you smile again.

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

you turn away and start to walk towards the house.

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

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

–

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

“so, what are you?”

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

“eloise.”

—when penelope comes to your defense.

“what? what is it?”

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

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

“did i— did i not?”

penelope turns to you.

“are you comfortable to answer?”

“i would prefer that i didn’t.”

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

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

“and what are you three gossiping about?”

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

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

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

“do you two always come in a pair?”

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

stupid butterflies.

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you clear your throat.

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

ocean. charcoal. smile. flutters.

shit.

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

prologue. two households—

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

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

“‘starting with’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

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

“and what do you insinuate by that!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you turn to colin and benedict, grinning.

“you two must have been saints then.”

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

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

“shall we begin, then?”

–

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

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

“i am not!”

“you are, indeed,” anthony deadpanned.

“prove it!”

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

“are they always like this?”

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

“indeed, they are,” grinned kathani.

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

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

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

you hear snickers and snorts from around you.

“i said nothing of the sort!”

“did you think it?”

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

“i did,” he admits defeatedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

benedict moves like water. free. fluid.

as if he is dancing while dueling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and he winks at you.

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

“but a little distraction does help.”

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

“it was a pleasure to duel with you.”

“yes. likewise.”

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

"mama? papa?"

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

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

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

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

mama takes his hand into hers.

"i as well."

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

"for the better, dearest?"

papa laughs heartily.

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

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

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

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

she looks nostalgic until something mischievous quickly overcedes her countenance.

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

“it’s one of the brothers, isn’t it?”

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

“pardon me?”

“is it the artist brother?”

“what!”

fluffing their pillow, they smile.

“so i am correct.”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“that is not true. you said ‘what.’”

“that reveals nothing!”

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

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

“i have no feelings!”

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

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

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

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

your heart swells. you love your sibling.

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

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

you almost shoot upright from your bed.

“you’ve been reading my writing?”

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

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

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

“you are impossible!”

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

“i love you too.”

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

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

you feel your eyes start to drift.

“his name is benedict, by the way.”

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

“that’s a lovely name.”

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“good day!— robert?”

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

“pardon the confusion in my greetings—”

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

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

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

“he is ill at the moment.”

“ill! with what?”

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

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

“that is all good to hear.”

“shall i announce you to the drawing room?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh,” is all you say.

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

“miss y/l/n.”

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

you roll your eyes.

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

benedict smiles.

“all right. y/n.”

shit.

perhaps that was a mistake.

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

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

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

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

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

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

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

benedict cocks his head towards his drawing.

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

“ah, a man of wit, i see.”

“i am a man of many attributes, y/n.”

ignore the butterflies.

“such as?”

“what attributes would win your favor?”

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

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

“so, a man of thoughtfulness.”

“oh yes, a myriad of thoughts.”

“name one.”

“how much i am enjoying our conversation.”

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

you return his smile.

“as am i, benedict.”

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

“this sketch, on the contrary—”

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

your smile falls.

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

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

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

as if you are making a jest.

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

it reminds you of a recent memory.

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

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

“eloise, are you certain?”

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

“right. yes— of course. thank you.”

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

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

thank you, you mouthed.

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

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

“y/n. y/n!”

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

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

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

you turn to face him.

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

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

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

it infuriates you.

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

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

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

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

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

you rub your wrists against your eyes.

stupid bloody tears.

stupid fucking heart.

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

because i love—

no.

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

it cannot happen, the two of you.

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

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

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

you and benedict will never happen.

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you sigh deeply.

have courage, y/n.

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

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

you cannot help but smile back.

“good day, giles.”

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

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

“you could’ve fooled me, miss y/n.”

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

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

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

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

“three.”

you grin.

“precisely.”

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

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

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

the elderly man smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“mister benedict has been absolutely despondent.”

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

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

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

“no, i— i do not.”

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

i do.

i do know benedict.

you clear your throat.

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

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

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

“i am unfamiliar.”

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

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

–

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

“y/n,” he utters.

“benedict,” you breathe.

and he looks just as surprised as you are.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

edmund bridgerton, the 8th viscount bridgerton.

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

“you have his eyes.”

“his are gray; mine are blue.”

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

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

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

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

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

“i’ve missed you.”

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

i’ve missed you, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“where shall we begin, then?”

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

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

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

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

“none of your work is on display.”

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

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

“horse shit.”

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

“you have not even seen my work!”

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

he scoffs, and it aggravates you.

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

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

–

“you are full of horse shit!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what—”

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

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

“—are the two of you doing?”

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

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

“alone? together? in your bedchamber?”

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

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

anthony curtly bows his head at you.

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

“of— of course, right— of course!”

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

“what is that supposed to mean!”

eloise waves a dismissive hand at you.

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

“by both parties, it seems.”

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

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

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

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

“by—”

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

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

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

and he deeply bows his head at you.

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

“it is no laughing matter, eloise!”

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

“ELOISE BRIDGERTON!”

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

“what ever is the matter in here?”

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

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

“disgrace,” scoffs eloise, crossing her arms.

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

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

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

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

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

“eloise, you were not even there!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“pen!”

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

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

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

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

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

you truly, really love this family.

you love the bridgertons.

“though,” the dowager viscountess starts.

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

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

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

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

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charliesgoodboy · 7 months

Text

2023 M. MORALES-42🕷

hi! i'm tila! lips full of filler.

unapologetic,

always thinkin' bout dick

so pink, so cutie

bouncy bubble booty

feeling esoteric,

watching daniel derek.

my sexy aesthetic is highly synthetic,

fuck my genetics(i'm totally plastic)

song: . . .ılı BIMBO DOLL tila tsoli

TW: age gaps(reader is 12-13 miles is 15, and i'm sorry i love cute lil age gap stories), reader is mad persistent, male leaning reader(fem still welcome), leaning afro-puerto rican/hispanic reader, today is my birthday so it's also readers birthday, if you don't like de la rosa you need HELP

MILES MORALES who would always say you were just nobody. everytime you'd wave to him at school, walk with him all the way to his grades hallway, or sit with him at lunch even if it wasn't your lunch period. "ain't you got math right now?" "you remembered my 7th period!" "go." his eyes would roll watching your face turn into a fake sad one as you'd walk away dramatically talking about some 'i'll miss you' and 'don't forget about me mi corazón!' he'd call it stupid, idiotic, dumb shit. but he wouldn't be able to get through the day if you weren't there.

MILES MORALES who would get 'teased' by others in his grade, he was one of the most liked so it wasn't serious, while you would get cheered on my kids in your grade since he was a grade or two above you and you were trying so hard. it was a shame the next day you didn't show up, not at his locker, you didn't walk him to class, you weren't even at lunch. he would here around in your class that you had gotten pretty sick and you wouldn't be back for maybe a week. and that whole week his mood was absolutely terrible.

MILES MORALES who ended up hurting your feelings by accident. he didn't mean to yell his mood was still just a little sour from when you weren't here. you were just some kid who bothered him but he was just so used to you which was why. he knew what today was which is why you were way more excited to see him—hoping he'd at least wish a happy birthday to you, and he really was. he had a whole card in his backpack and a few de la rosa candies and he was god awful careful with them.

MILES MORALES who would wait outside the school grounds watching as your head was down, your feet kicking a rock then kicking it somewhere else getting ready to walk home. he'd take a deep breath, walking over to you stopping you by your backpack making sure you wouldn't trip, and handing you the card and candy. "be careful, i ain't buying you new ones." "miles? you remembered? i knew you loved me!" "don't push it chiquito." watching you almost skip home a smile would cross his face as he'd shake his head heading back home.

MILES MORALES who couldn't wait to see you tommorow.

'mi corazón': my sweetheart or my heart

'chiquito': male version of shorty

#miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales x male reader #prowler x reader #prowler miles #prowler x male reader #miles 42 #miles 42 x reader #miles 42 x male reader #spiderman atsv #atsv x reader #atsv x male reader

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wrongplacerighttime · 2 months

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agent!harry x agent!fmc

the one where grace meets someone, harry gets jealous (again), and something unexpected is confessed. // little bunny part 4

write this and i don’t really like it but it’s set up for the next part so WHATEVER IDC 😭🤣 if it doesn’t make sense just…ignore it please 😭 i know it’s almost midnight and that means this probably won’t get seen but it’s HERE NOW.

little bunny masterlist

wc: 3.4k

tw: jealous!harry (briefly), phone sex, masturbation. (think that’s all.)

halley’s comet

To Grace, her worst personality trait was that she’s always been afraid of love. In middle school, a boy she couldn’t even remember the name of confessed his crush on her as she sat alone in the lunch room with her nose in a book, and a spark of hope twinkled in her eyes and her 13-year-old mind going haywire as she watched the blonde haired boy smile at her. Then he turned his head to look back at his friends, her eyes followed his and they were laughing. She never forgot the feeling of the stain of embarrassment marking her cheeks, or the single tear that fell onto the page she was reading when he turned and walked away.

Then, in high school, she had her first “real” boyfriend, Jake. For some reason or other, he had been pining after her and she couldn’t make sense of why the captain of the boys basketball team wanted anything to do with the quiet and reserved girl who only took advanced classes and spent her free time with her nose in the pages of a good book. He followed her like a lost puppy after one tutoring session with her, driving her around in his truck on backroads through the little town in Tennessee where they resided. She gave him everything, in every sense, and after he got it he left her high and dry. She still remembers the way the stars shined in the sky that night. It was just a blip in Jake’s timeline, but felt like a goddamned gorge in hers. As a girl, you never forget your first time…and he played her up so nicely. Being gentle with her, brushing the strands of hair from her lips, the kisses he left just behind her ear when she turned her head to the side. She didn’t leave her bed for weeks. She swore off love after that. It was real to her, even if it wasn’t to him.

Then came Harry, and to her, he was just like the rest of them, and she refused to let him get to her…keeping him at arms length even though she was insanely drawn to him. Then one day, she didn’t look at him like the rest of them. She knew in the back of her mind that sleeping with him would fuck with her head. They didn’t get along unless they’re fucking, and that can’t be healthy. Was it because they really didn’t like each other, or some other reason? She’s too selfish to give him up though, even if he might not want her that way, a relationship might be too much commitment for him but they didn’t talk about it. She had a feeling they never would. She pulls her coat tighter around her, snowflakes falling around her and her breath clouds in front of her. Her mind spins and she doesn’t pay attention as she looks towards the ground, running right into someone walking out of the building she was heading into.

“Oh my gosh. I am so sorry.” She looks up to a man she’s never seen around before, his eyes an icy blue that contrasts the green she’s been seeing in her daydreams.

“Not a problem. I wasn’t paying attention…entirely my fault. Apologies.” He smiles at her softly, an expression she mirrors back to him.

“No…I wasn’t either, it’s okay.” She blows a breath, a cloud forming in the cold air between them, and his smile widens. “Sorry, I haven’t seen you around before…I’m Grace Weston. I work on the sixth floor.”

“James Seeley. I’m in organized crime.” He pauses and smirks. “If you’re on the sixth floor that must mean…” He trails off and Grace nods, already knowing what he was going to say.

“You caught me. I’m a profiler.” She holds her hands up, pretending to surrender and he smiles at her. He looks across the street, pausing for a moment and looking back at her

“Can I get your number?” He asks, and her eyes widen. “I’m sorry! Was that too forward? I just think it would be nice to have a contact in the BAU…you know, for any future cases.” He rubs the back of his neck, a sign of his nervousness, and she pulls her lips in to prevent a smile from breaking at his nervousness. “I also think you’re pretty, and I’d like to get to know you better.” He rambles, and she nods. Maybe this would be good for her? He hands her his phone and she types her number into the designated spot, adding her name to the contact and hands it back to him. He briefly looks down at his wrist to check his watch and his brows pull together in the center.

“Sorry to be rude, but I’ve to get to a meeting downtown…and you know how traffic can be.” He says, jutting a thumb towards the direction he’s heading and she nods quickly.

“Oh, gosh! No, yeah! Again, so sorry for bumping into you.” She looks at him for a beat before looking towards the ground.

“Nothing to be sorry about. Glad it happened. See you around?” He asks and she nods again, making her way around him into the foyer through the sliding glass doors.

The rest of the team had made their way onto the jet and to Florida in the early hours of the morning, before the sun rose. Grace had sent Aaron a message privately before and asked if he cared if she stayed behind for this one. She was willing to consult from her position here and that was enough for him. A shiver travels down her spine and she thinks about the warmth of the Floridian sun and almost regrets her decision. She needed time away from Harry, she had convinced herself that much. She told herself if she kept her distance the feelings would go away. She wouldn’t feel this way if she stayed away from him, right? Love never came easy for her, and she was sure he wouldn’t make it easier either. She feels silly, falling for a person who was very much “no strings attached”. She can’t get him out of her head, her dreams filled with him, of a life with him…

She makes her way to her desk, shrugging her coat off and getting to work.

———

The day drags slowly and Grace is on the phone consulting with the team when the sound of the glass doors of the office open and tear her attention away from the video call. She looks up and sees the man from earlier this morning, James, walking over to her desk carrying what looks to be a bag of take out food. She grins over to him and he mirrors it back to her. He had sent her a message earlier after his meeting and asked if she wanted him to drop off lunch to her and she didn’t hesitate to say yes. He walks behind her, into the view of the camera before disappearing again and he perches himself on the edge of her desk. She silently thanks him as to not interrupt whatever Aaron was saying and her eyes flick to Harry on the screen. She can barely see the way the pixels of the video call catch the shift in his posture and the tick of his jaw, but she decides to ignore it.

She mutes her microphone as she listens to Aaron’s monotone voice through the speakers. Occasionally Harry or Kelly will add their input but for the most part it’s just Aaron. He’s throwing out ideas left and right trying to figure out where to start with the case. Grace can see all the files spread out in the table, the same ones that Grace has open on her other screen, and she scrolls. A crime scene photo catches James’ eye and he puts his hand up to halt her. He leans closer, pointing to a small symbol etched into the tree above the body, it's barely visible, blending into the seams on the bark. She turns her mic back on.

“Hey…guys? Did you see the symbol in the picture of our latest victim?” Her eyebrows furrow and she leans in closer to the screen. “Could it be satanic? Was there anything similar at the other scenes?” She asks and Aaron flips through the pictures to look for what she’s seeing.

“It’s not Satanic.” Harry mutters in a tone of voice that makes her eyes narrow, holding the picture closer to his face. He types in quick succession on his laptop, performing a quick google search. “It’s Egyptian.” He screen-shares a symbol that looks almost similar, more intricate than the one haphazardly carved into the tree.

“We need to have this picture blown up, it’s hard to identify from this distance. Good catch, Grace.” Aaron praises, looking down at the picture still.

“Oh it wasn’t me, it was James. We met earlier, he works upstairs in OC, we were eating lunch together and he caught it.” Grace replies, redirecting the praise to James while turning her camera towards him. He puts his hand up in a small gesture and Aaron nods, walking out of view of the camera. The screen goes black, the video call ending abruptly. Maybe the connection was bad? She pulls out her phone to text Harry.

Grace: “keep me posted.”

Harry: “k.”

His short reply makes her roll her eyes, and she almost puts her phone away when another message pops up.

Harry: “wanna start a group chat with lover boy so he can give me all his opinions directly?”

Grace: “i’m not doing this. he’s just a friend. and you’re being annoying.”

Harry: “just a friend my ass. friends that just met don’t bring each other lunch. he’s got a hard on for you.”

Grace: “so what? we definitely aren’t exclusive so it’s none of your business anyway. drop it. move on.”

She drops her phone down on her desk, shaking her head and scoffing.

He doesn’t reply.

———

A few days pass with no word from Harry, the case causing a build up of stress to fall on Grace’s shoulders. The Egyptian symbol was present at every scene in some form or other, and it had them stumped. James had asked her out on a date and she declined, really just wanting to go home and go to bed. She regrets staying behind, she feels out of the loop and she feels guilty she’s not there helping catch their suspect. Long distance while being an FBI agent doesn’t work, especially when her specialty is geographical profiling. It’s hard to create a profile for an area she’s unfamiliar with.

She showers. A long, hot, shower. The muscles in her shoulders relax with the steam blurring her vision. She just stands under the heat, washing away her stress…and she thinks of Harry. His words…his hands on her body…his lips on her neck, her tits…his teeth pulling her clit between them…Her breath catches and her legs feel weak at the thought of him. The way her body reacts to him, knowing he has this sort of control over her, she could never be with anyone else. She quickly finishes her shower, wrapping her hair in a towel and moving to her bed, not bothering with clothes because she has only one thing on her mind. She needs to cum.

Her hand dips down past her navel, running a finger through her folds before bringing them back up to her clit, rubbing gentle circles while tweaking her nipple between her fingers with her other hand, pinching and pulling, trying to replicate the way he does it. She replays every time they’ve been together over in her brain, remembering the way his breath fanned over her neck as he grunted in her ear, whispering words into her ear, words no one else has ever said to her. Words she didn’t even know she liked to hear.

The shrill ring of her phone pulls her from her thoughts, a groan of aggravation escaping her throat, so close to her release and she sighs, looking at the caller ID. Harry.

“Finally deciding to talk to me?” Grace answers out of breath, frustrated she didn’t get to finish. She tries to slow down her heartbeat, her breath left heavy in her lungs.

“I’m sorry, okay? I was being childish. I let my anger get the best of me, and I’m sorry. I know I have no right to be that way towards you. You’re allowed to see other people, you’re right. We aren’t exclusive.” He pauses. “Happy now?” He grumbles. She sighs,

“Are you okay?” His voice drawls through the speaker and she gulps nervously.

“Just peachy.” She answers sarcastically, trying to sound like she wasn’t just trying to get herself off less than five minutes ago. She gnaws on the inside of her lip. “Did you need something, is something going on with the case?” She turns over onto her side, waiting. He hums, choosing to ignore her response before diving into an update about the case as he paces around his hotel room.

Grace drowns out his voice involuntarily with her daydreams. She goes back to what she thought about to make herself get worked up in the first place, and then she imagines it…really imagines it. And it wouldn’t be so bad right? She lets her mind wander to the image of him curled around her in bed every morning, his hands gripping her waist as she stands at the kitchen sink, or her swollen belly in the mirror as she gets dressed for work for the day. A life with him.

“Earth to Grace?” His voice through the speaker pulls her from her thoughts and she blinks once to clear her head.

“I’m sorry, Harry. What did you say?” She’s breathless, feeling the arousal pool at her aching, empty hole. A smirk plays on his lips, one she can’t see, and now he knows exactly what she was doing before he called her. He knows her, knows how she sounds when she’s fucked out…when she’s needy. He knows just how to push her to the edge.

“Don’t worry about it, bunny.” He purrs and she whimpers into the microphone before covering her mouth and her thighs squeeze together almost on their own volition. “S’the matter sweet girl?” He coos and the drop in octave in his voice makes her squirm.

“N-nothing.” She stutters, lying straight through her teeth, feeling the flame igniting in her belly once again and she can’t help that he just does this to her. Her body reacts to him on its own despite the way her brain fights the feeling every single time.

“See, I know when you’re lying. I don’t like when you lie to me, Grace.” His voice is gravelly and he clicks his tongue as she pulls her lip between her teeth. “Let me help you make it better.” He mumbles and she whimpers out an agreement.

“What were you thinking about to make you all riled up like this?” He asks in a sweet voice and she stays quiet. She hears his breathing on the other end of the phone, silent. “Hmm?”

“You. Was thinking about you.” She admits and her cheeks heat with a little bit of embarrassment, but mostly with desire.

“Is that right? Well don’t let me interrupt, go on then.” He can feel himself hardening beneath his sweats at her honesty, but he refrains from touching himself. For now. He doesn’t hear any rustling on her end of the phone and his brow furrows. “What’s wrong? Need me to tell you what to do?” He jokes and she mewls.

“Y-yes. Please.” She whines and the tone of her voice tells him all he needs to know.

“Mm, okay.” He pauses, thinking. “What were you thinking about? Tell me, bunny. I’m curious.”

“Thinking about the last time…in the supply room.” Her voice is breathless and he smiles at the memory.

“Want you to pull your bottoms down for me, sweet girl.” He instructs her and hears rustling on the other end, her eagerness making his heart lurch in his chest and he feels all the blood in his body rush southward. “Have ‘em off?” He asks and she confirms that she does. “Good girl. Want you to touch your thighs, just drag your fingers over your skin, like I would do.” She follows his direction, the light touch of her fingers creating goosebumps in their wake.

“Want you to touch yourself, too.” She mumbles into the phone and he groans on the other end, his eyes fluttering closed.

“Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Want you to tell me how wet you are first, are you dripping? Want you to put a finger in and tell me how soaked you are at the thought of me fucking you against that wall.” His words come through gritted teeth and he shifts his hips, pushing his sweats down and he leans against the wall, palming himself through his boxers and biting the inside of his lip. She trails a finger through her folds, her arousal pooling on her finger before she pushes into her aching hole, feels herself clench around her own finger as she moans at the intrusion.

“Harry—” His name falls from her lips in a breathless whisper.

“Tell me.” He demands, jaw clenched and hand squeezed into a fist and he can hear the way her finger is pumping in and out, the sound of her arousal evident through her end of the phone and he could almost cum right then, without even touching himself.

“S-so wet. Wasn’t entirely from the sex, though.” She admits and he raises his eyebrow in an expression still unseen to her. “From what you said.” He combs through the memory, her pushed against the wall with his hand around her wrists, slamming into her again and again. He pries his mind and the memory of what he said to her comes flooding back. Gonna fill your pretty little pussy up, get you all full of my cum…bet you’d like if I got you pregnant too, huh? Wanna see that cute little belly swollen, let everyone know who you belong to.

“Little minx…likes being full of me, doesn’t she? Likes feeling me dripping out of her.” He can’t help himself now, the memory playing over and over in his head like his own personal porno. He pushes the rest of the barrier away and spits into his hand before wrapping it around the base of his hardened cock and pumping himself with a soft grunt falling from his lips.

“Yes, Harry.” She whines, feeling herself come closer to her release as she flicks her thumb over her clit and pulses her fingers in and out. “Want you to…need you to, Har. Just wanna feel you.”

“I know, sweet girl. Wanna have my babies in your cute little belly? Know you’re carrying around part of me and that I’ve claimed you?” He grits and she nods even though he can’t see her, his hand working himself at his own pace, his tip leaking and dripping onto his own hand as he grunts and groans at the frictions he’s creating. “Gonna fill you up, let your thighs be a sticky mess of me? Cum for me, bunny. Wanna hear you.” He encourages her and she squeezes her eyes shut and her toes curl, pleasure taking over every one of her senses. One flick of her thumb against her sensitive bundle of nerves again and she’s gone, moaning and crying out his name between them. He follows not long after her, his own release painting his hand and he leans against the wall to catch his breath, coming down from his high. Grace sighs into the phone, feeling a little hazy, not in the proper state of mind to continue a normal conversation with him.

“I love you.” She whispers, her eyes flutter closed, the pulses of pleasure still buzzing through her brain, clouding her better judgment. She doesn’t even realize the words have slipped past the barrier of her lips. He’s silent for a moment, mouth dropping open to speak but closing again.

“W-What?” He stutters, heartbeat quickening and nervous sweat forming on his brow. Her eyes fly open and her heart drops to the floor. Did she really just say that…out loud? “Grace…” He trails off, his vision blurring, his head feeling dizzy and he doesn’t know what to say.

The line goes dead, and he’s alone.

taglist: @indierockgirrl @hermionelove @storyschanging

if your tag is red it didn’t work :(

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry #styles #harry styles x fmc #harry fic #harry styles smut #harry styles fic #harry styles fluff #harry smut #harry edward styles #harry styles x oc #harry styles au #agent!harry #agent!fmc #little bunny #fic #jealous!harry

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misojunnie · 8 months

Note

Imagine Won's reaction when reader surprises him on tour? His eyes light up and he literally jumps and runs over nearly knocking everyone and everything over in the process. I live for soft Won. Could you please turn this into a drabble? 🥺♥️

✧ surprising bf!jungwon on tour!

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

Sweat dripped down Jungwon's forehead as he exhaled heavily. Three hours later, and the last concert in New York was over. After this, it was Aichi, then Konogawa, then Osaka as the grand finale. Aka, 28 days and 11 hours since he had seen you, 31 days and 13 hours since he would see you next. He thought he might die of a broken heart before he even got the chance.

Since you and Jungwon started dating, you hadn't been apart for more than a week. Despite his busy schedule and your own occupations, you managed to squeeze in time wherever you could. A kiss during dance practice, an embrace between train stations, whisking each other away for a brief moment just to say hello or press a chaste kiss to each other's forehead.

Without you, he felt like he was dying. He was beginning to think he was a little too clingy.

He sighed, patting Riki on the back as he passed by him, a stormy frown on his face. The younger boy took notice, a grin passing across his lips as he toweled the sweat off of his forehead.

"You missin' y/n?" he asked observantly, and Jungwon looked at him with a raised brow.

"Is it that obvious?"

"Pretty much," Riki chuckled, slinging his towel over his shoulder. A mischievous twinkle filled his eyes as he pointed down the hall. "The manager is asking for you. Down the hall, first door on the right."

"What does he want now..." Jungwon muttered, striding down the hall with his hands crammed into his pockets, shoulders hunched. His hand reached for the doorknob, turning it with a frown. "Hello? Manager-"

He straightened up as if pulled by a string, his eyes going wide as saucers the minute he laid eyes on you. A proud grin on your face, looking like a dream, in his own hoodie no less. It felt like someone had stole the breath from his lungs.

"Honey, I'm home!" you giggled playfully, eyes scrunched into smiling crescents.

He ran to you in the blink of an eye, his body colliding with yours as he reached for you, knocking a folding table over in the process, water bottles and various hair products crashing to the linoleum.

"Y/n!" he practically shrieked, his arms squeezing you so tightly it felt like your ribs were going to shatter. "What are you doing here?"

"I flew in to surprise you. Came straight from the airport." you laughed against his skin, his hair in your face as he nuzzled his face into your neck. "You miss me?"

"More than you can imagine." he replied, raising his head and pressing kisses all over your face, twice on your nose, once on each cheek, and longer one on your lips. "You smell good."

You giggled. "I'm wearing the perfume you like." He sighed contentedly. Just your presence had pushed him to the point of euphoria. He could already feel his heart mending itself back up again as you smiled at him shyly, grabbing his hand. "Wanna go to my hotel? We can order food and catch a movie."

"I'd love nothing more." His lips spread into a grin as he squeezed your hand enthusiastically, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips as he led you out of the room.

And he could've swore he saw you high five Riki as you passed him in the hallway.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ʚϊɞ.

a/n: oh my godddd this actual made me blush I could barely write. I love soft won too </3 also I'm sorry this took a million billion years for me to write, I was on vacation and got super distracted ;-; ty for the cute request!

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friendship-ditch · 5 months

Text

Training

(Katniss Everdeen x Fem Reader) ❀

Summary: You meet Katniss while training to be a soldier.

Warnings: Some light swearing and lightly described injuries. (SFW)

Word count: 2879

Having spent most of your life working the markets of District 12, you weren’t the best fighter, and you hardly knew how to wield a sword. Although your life had been full of poverty, it was also full of peace. That was why you were surprised when informed that you would be drafted as an emergency soldier for the rebellion on the side of District 13.

You progressed your way from dummies to other trainees, but the breathing beings were much more ferocious than the sacks of old flour. You’d been training for a week and hadn’t won a single duel yet.

After your third loss, you left to nurse your wounds and practice on your own again. You wrapped your shoulder and lost track of time. It was far past dinner and you finally stopped when you heard a clatter.

That was when you noticed somebody else was here too.

You abandoned your training and went in search of the sound. In the small arena beside you, you noticed another girl around your age.

The girl's hair was tied into a side braid, bow clutched tightly between her fingers. She was shooting effortlessly at the holograms, taking down one after one with ease. When the training session ended she turned over her shoulder and noticed you watching.

You felt a heat creep up your neck and spread across her cheeks as your eyes locked with her gray ones. They were cold and reserved, but not angry.

“Sorry.” You stuttered, stepping away from the wall. “I thought I was the only one here. You’re amazing.”

By some miracle the girl didn’t seem bothered. She slung her bow over her shoulder and came over towards you. As she stood a few feet away from you it finally clicked in your head who she was.

“I’m uh—I’m y/n.” You stammered, suddenly not wanting to meet her eyes in case you blabbered on.

Standing in front of you was not just any girl, but Katniss, Katniss Everdeen; The Mockingjay; The Girl on Fire; The girl who fueled a rebellion with just a few berries.

She was practically a celebrity down here in 13, and once upon a time back in childhood you may have even called her a friend. You were sure she didn’t remember that.

Was she always this beautiful?

“Katniss.” The girl said with a nod. She eyed you curiously for a moment, the smallest flicker of recognition in her eyes but she said nothing about it. In fact, she didn’t say much at all.

You nodded too, unsure what else to do. This was quickly turning awkward.

“You’ve been training for a while.” Katniss finally states. It’s a weird thing to say, but it’s a true observation. She then points to the wrapped wound on your shoulder. “Is that new?”

That blush sparkled across your skin again, this time from embarrassment rather than awe.

“Yeah. I’m… I’m not the best fighter, so I’m just training.” You explain. “They’re going to draft me as an emergency soldier.”

“Then you should definitely train more. You need it.”

The bluntness of her statement drew out a frown across your lips. “Thanks.” You mumbled, even more embarrassed than before.

Katniss seemed to realize what she said and gave you an apologetic look, though she said nothing else on the topic. She checked the time and then hung her bow on the wall.

“I have to go. You should rest, you won’t help anybody by wearing yourself out.”

You watched silently as she left the room and turned the light off. Katniss was a lot more stuck in her own world than you remembered, but she was just as good with a bow as ever.

The next day you came early to training and worked your ass off for an extra hour but it still didn’t work. You were as good with a gun as a mouse, you couldn’t even get an arrow to shoot the right direction from a bow, and a 2 year old would’ve been better with a knife. The only reason you hadn’t been brutally murdered in training yet was that you knew how to dodge and escape mostly unscathed, but that wouldn’t do you good in a real battle.

Every failure was just increasingly more frustrating and you were debating on signing yourself up as a human shield instead.

Finally, you gave up. You dropped the bow and sank to the floor with a loud groan.

“You’re holding it wrong.”

The voice snapped you out of your self pity and you lifted your head towards the sound, finding a surprise.

Katniss stood at the entrance to the small arena, her own bow in hand and quiver strapped to her back. She was a little sweaty but seemed just as alert as ever.

“Your hand is too low.” Katniss continued as she stepped in. She pulled her bow off of her back and held it up to demonstrate.

You watched wide eyed with curiosity.

When Katniss handed you your own bow, you hesitantly took it and tried to copy her example.

“Like this?”

The other girl let out a soft chuckle. She set her hand on top of yours, her fingers were warm. She gently moved your hand up just a little. “Yes, like this.”

You slowly nodded and did as she said, holding the bow her way. It did feel easier.

“There you go.” Katniss nodded with approval. She helped you up to your feet and offered you an arrow. “Now, aim and shoot.”

Her breath was hot and tickled the side of your neck, making your heart stampede. She helped you prepare, her hand still over yours. As you angled and aimed the bow, she nodded.

“Shoot.”

The command snapped you back to reality. You let the arrow fly and missed the target by more than a few feet. So much for getting better. Now you felt like even more of a letdown.

“Sorry.” You muttered, ashamed of yourself.

Katniss shook her head and handed you another arrow. “Don’t be. Nobody gets it perfect on their first try.”

You didn’t get it on your second try either, or your third, but you were getting closer. Finally, on your fourth try, the arrow hit the edge of the target and not the wall behind it.

Katniss congratulated you with a rare smile and helped you a few more times until you continuously hit the target.

“Now keep practicing like that. You’ll get it soon enough, you have good form.” Katniss explained, letting her hair out of her braid. She’d taken a seat on a bench to watch you shoot. “And remember to rest, you’re no use as a worn out soldier.”

You couldn’t help but smile too.

The next few days, Katniss continued to give you shooting lessons, and became less reserved. When you started to always hit the target straight on, she began to teach you how to hit moving targets.

“Keep your focus on them. Don’t aim for where they are, aim for where they will be.” Katniss breathed against the back of your head. One of her hands was on your shoulder, the other on your elbow as she slowly turned you with the hologram.

You did what she said, looking ahead of the hologram. When it was moments away from your gaze, you released the arrow. It shot right into the target.

Katniss gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Great!”

You looked up at her just as she looked down and her chin bumped into your forehead. As if the way she was holding you and how she stood a few inches taller than you wasn’t already making your heart flutter, that certainly did it.

“Sorry.” She blurted out, stepping away. You missed her warmth already.

“It’s alright, it didn’t hurt.” You assured her quickly. “Thank you for teaching me, I really think I’m getting somewhere now! I’m the best shooter in my whole group!”

That made Katniss beam with pride and instead of saying something, she responded with a hug, and a tight one at that.

“I’m so proud of you.” She whispered happily, resting her chin atop your head without any pain this time. She hugged you close.

You couldn’t help but melt into her embrace and hug her back as tight as you could. It had been a long time since anybody had ever hugged you in this manner and it just felt so good, especially since Katniss was the one doing it.

When you broke away from the hug, you couldn’t help the bright blush on your face but luckily she didn’t seem to notice.

“Well, I think I’ve taught you all there is about how to use and work a bow.” Katniss told you, unaware of the way that made your heart sink. “I think my work here is done.”

“Do you know how to use a sword?” You asked rapidly the second she was done speaking. “Or a knife? Or just… anything else? I suck at just about every weapon out there.”

Katniss let out a sharp sigh and shook her head. “No, not well enough to teach you at least.”

An unconcealable frown broke out across your face and you slowly nodded. That was probably for the best anyway, Katniss most likely had better things to do then train you at odd hours of the night. But you didn’t want to lose her yet. You two never hung out or talked anywhere else but this was like your own little world together. You frowned even more and sighed.

“But… we could take a lesson together.” Katniss prompted the question hesitantly, as if you’d deny her. “If you want. I think learning more hand to hand things would help me as well.”

The permanent frown on your face was replaced with an even bigger smile and you nodded with glee.

The next day, the two of you signed up for a class together that would teach you the basics, give you each a wooden stick, and then let you at it. Katniss warned you beforehand that she could be a bit competitive and you took that challenge with a grin.

“I thought your aim was supposed to be good!” You called out teasingly as she swung at you and missed, hitting the wall. If there was anything you were actually good at on your own, it was dodging.

Katniss didn’t appreciate the tease. “You’re moving too quickly!” She shouted back, lunging at you again.

You stepped back and her stick smacked right into yours. You two had been at it for about an hour and were both sweaty and dirty. You were actually having fun, dodging and using your height as an advantage. Katniss was not and growing more and more pissed every time you ran. You couldn’t help but find it amusing.

“Maybe you should strike faster!” You exclaimed, blocking another one of her attacks and swiping at her feet. “Or just, I don’t know, be better?”

Katniss groaned and lunged again. This time she managed to take a jab at you and was coming back for seconds. She raised her stick high and struck.

The only reason you weren’t smacked in the head was that you frantically swung your stick back at her, and clocked her right in the nose.

“Shit! Katniss!” You exclaimed. Both of your sticks clattered to the ground at the same time as she stumbled backwards and you ran to her side.

Giving your trainer and now friend a bloody nose wasn’t on your schedule at all.

Katniss had a hand clamped over her nose, blood filling her palm as she winced and groaned. Tears were brimming in her eyes but she was fighting to keep them back.

“I’m so sorry!” You blurted out. You brought her over to the first aid station and held ice against her nose until it stopped bleeding.

Finally, Katniss looked up at you after she wiped the last bit of blood away. Instead of the expected anger in her eyes, there was actually a small glint of humor.

“I thought you said you weren’t good with combat.” She said, in a surprisingly teasing voice.

“I’m not. I just panicked. I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Katniss assured you, a smile teasing her lips. She rubbed the side of her nose. “I’ll just have a big bruise on my face for a week or two.”

When you realized she was messing with you, you couldn’t help but laugh and sit beside her.

“I think tomorrow, you and I should meet here, and you should train me.” Katniss told you, her voice now serious. “It’s only fair, right?”

You felt a little spark of hope in your chest and grinned. “Right.”

And so the next day you were at it again. You spent a lot of the time just teaching Katniss how to dodge, and in turn, she gave you a few tips on aim.

You’d also upgraded to an arena with some obstacles to heighten the risk.

Running after Katniss, you chased her up a rock. You were laughing but also focused; a little too focused. Katniss stopped at the top and you ran right into her, causing the two of you to topple to the ground, you landing right on top of her.

You two looked at each other, chest to chest, and faces both flushed. You were too stunned to move and Katniss had gotten the wind knocked out of her so she wasn’t able to talk.

Eventually you both just started to laugh. You stayed on top of her, shaking your head and giggling.

Finally she spoke up. “Alaina, you’re making my leg numb.” Katniss groaned teasingly. “My whole body is numb now.”

You blushed even more and rolled off of her and sat up. She sat up beside you, still panting.

“I need a minute.” Katniss breathed. Her head slowly found its way onto your shoulder as she tried to catch her breath.

You sat quietly, even more flustered by the way she was leaning into you. You gave her hand a gentle squeeze and waited until she felt okay enough to stand back up.

“Don’t go apologizing yet, you’ll regret it after I beat your ass.” Katniss said as she picked her stick back up, a grin on her face. She wasn’t done, not yet.

You were surprised by her persistence but grinned back at her. “You’ll be the one begging for your life when your ass is flat on the ground.”

The two of you spent the next half hour training and sparring, eventually giving up when you were beaten and bruised.

You sat beside Katniss on the bench, wrapping up the gash on her arm with some medical tape. You were exhausted from fighting, but you didn’t want the night to end either.

“There you go.” You sealed the tape off and pressed a soft kiss to the wound. You didn’t realize what you did until it already happened and you blushed bright red. “Sorry. My mother always did that to me.. She said it made the wounds hurt less.”

“It worked.” Katniss told you, looking over her shoulder at you. “But I think you missed.”

Confusion clouded your gaze. “What do you mean?”

“You missed.” Katniss repeated, flipping her whole body to face you. She took your hand and lifted it up to her face, using your finger to point at her lips. “You missed by a lot actually, I think we need to work on your aim.”

You could’ve fainted on the spot. Your heart raced in your chest and you grew even redder. Was she… Did she really ask you to kiss her? There was no way this was happening. She couldn’t have felt the same way you did.

Katniss watched your confusion with amusement. She took your hand and pointed it to your lips.

“May I? I think I should demonstrate this too.” She murmured softly.

You could only nod, the words stuck in your throat.

Katniss smiled softly and her lips met yours with ease. The kiss was short and sweet, but something you had been longing for so badly. You smiled too and then kissed her again, and then once more for good measure.

Finally, Katniss pulled away, her hand finding yours once more but just holding it this time. She smiled lovingly at you, her face red.

There was no way you could let her win this. You two had built up a competitive streak over the last few weeks and you weren’t going to let it off here.

“How about one more round?” You asked, picking up your stick. “And then, you come back to my room, and I’ll fix your wounds there.”

Katniss blushed even more but her eyes glimmered. She let out a laugh. “You think I’ll have more wounds by then? You’re that good?”

You laughed too and helped her to her feet. “I’m not sure, but I’m sure you’d want me to kiss every single one of them either way.”

“You bet.”

The two of you returned to the arena, eagerly awaiting what would come after the spar, and knowing that your lips wouldn’t just stick to her wounds.

#katniss everdeen x reader #katniss everdeen x you #katniss everdeen x fem!reader #fem!reader #katniss everdeen #the hunger games #catching fire #the mockingjay #katniss everdeen fic #2 fics already guys I’m on a roll

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sturniolos-blog · 2 months

Note

Can you do a dad Matt story but when his daughter is like older (10-13)

In trouble - Matt Sturniolo x Y/n oneshot

warnings - swearing, kissing, angst, arguing

—————————

12:34pm

"Sure, i'll come pick her up as soon as possible." I put a fake happy tone on my voice as the principle of my 12 daughter Estrella's school tells me i need to come pick her up because she punched a girl in the face.

The principle hangs up the phone as i sigh, tapping my pen twice before grabbing my papers and stacking them on my computer, i worked in an office as a journalist, luckily i already have what i need for my new article im producing.

"Leaving already?" My best friend at the office, Cassidy, asks me.

I nod, "Estrella." I say.

Her eyes widen, "Again? She's been getting in trouble a lot lately, she doing okay?" Cassidy takes a sip of her coffee as she asks.

I shrug, "I honestly don't know. Matt's been working a lot lately, he’s barely home lately and every time he's home we argue, which is probably why she's been acting up. It's not like i have time to punish her with work. And she seems perfectly okay with me taking her phone away, she stays in her room." I rant, i let out a huff.

"Alright, i gotta go, bye Cass." I smile.

"Bye babe, let me know how it goes." She smiles back at me.

—————————

12:48pm

I walk in the schools office, seeing Estrella looking down as she holds an ice pack on her right hand knuckles. I then walk in the principles office.

"Mrs. Sturniolo! Please, have a seat." Ms. Patterson, the principle offers.

I smile, "Hi, uh thanks.." I clear my throat as i take a seat.

Ms. Patterson flashes a smile at me, "So you know why you're here, we spoke on the phone, but i just wanted to give you a run down of what Estrella told me, if that's okay with you?" Ms. Patterson asks as she picks up a paper with notes on it.

I let out a breath and nod.

Ms. Patterson clears her throat, "Right, so when Estrella punched Gia, she said it was because she made fun of her for being stupid, which is obviously not okay, and should've never happened but at this school we do not respond in violence, and this has been the third offense in three weeks with something physical, i'm sorry to say but next time Estrella is looking at suspension or even expulsion." Ms. Patterson tells me.

I sigh and rub my forehead, "But this girl gia, she came at my daughters intellect, shouldn't that have been addressed?" I defend Ella.

Ms. Patterson nods, "Of course, and it was-"

"Was it? Does Gia also have a week of detention like my daughter or..." I trail off, waiting for the principle to speak.

Ms. Patterson lets out a dry cough but shakes her head. "Uh.. no, the insult was overruled once Estrella put her hands on Gia."

I nod, "Right, but if Estrella didn't start a fight, then the teachers would have never known about Gia insulting her, am i right?"

Ms. Patterson furrows her eyebrows, "I'm sorry, Mrs. Sturniolo. I'm not following."

I shrug, "Would Gia have gotten in trouble in the first place for insulting my daughter if Estrella didn't react the way she did or would it have just been ruled off?"

"Uh- well i'm sure a teacher would have heard Gia say some-"

I cut Ms. Patterson off, "And if a teacher didn't?" I ask.

Ms. Patterson stays silent.

"Yeah, right. My daughter would have been screwed either way, sorry but we are done here. Thank you for trying but i am always going to defend my daughter. I do apologize and i hope Gia's nose gets better." I say, standing up and leaving the room.

As i leave the office i see Estrella look up at me.

"Not a word and in the car, now." I demand, pointing at her to walk first.

Estrella goes to speak, "Bu-"

I cut her off, "Not a word."

—————————

1:12pm

We walk in the house and Ella takes off her shoes, she then goes to walk upstairs.

"Where do you think you're going? I've let it slide the past two times because i've been busy but lucky you i finished all my work today so we are going to have a nice long chat. Sit down, Estrella." I cross my arms as i look at her.

She looks at me and stands on the second stair, not moving.

"Estrella Leylani Sturniolo!" I yell.

Estrella jumps as i raise my voice, i was never the parent to yell at her, so that must of scared her.

I clear my throat, "Please sit down, Estrella." My tone lowering as she comes and sits down on the couch.

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" I ask as i stand in front of her.

She shrugs and bites her nails, habit she got from Matt.

"You're going to speak to me." I say but she stays silent. "Now!" I yell.

"Mom, what!?" She yells at me.

I bite my lip and nod, letting out a scoff.

"What's going on with you? Punching a girl in the face? This is your third physical altercation in three weeks! You're going to get expelled, Ella! Do you even care anymore!? You've gotten in more trouble in school then your father and I ever have!" I tell her.

"No, I don't care! I hate school and i hope every time Gia gets a bloody nose she thinks of me!" Estrella uncrosses her arms.

I let out a huff, "Just wait until i call your father. I was gonna give you a chance to explain yourself but you ruined it."

"Go ahead call dad! Maybe he'll actually come home for once!" Estrella stands up now.

I groan in frustration, "God, ella, what are you talking about?!" I scoff.

"Dad is barely home! And when he is all you guys do is argue! I- i thought maybe that if i got in trouble you guys would stop arguing a-and he would come home- and we could be a family again but clearly that's not gonna happen so forget it." Estrella says, running upstairs, i hear her door slam shut.

I sniffle and wipes my eyes, taking my phone out of my pocket and calling Matt.

The phone rings three times before he answers, "Hey, y/n. I'm kind of busy right now can i call you lat-"

I cut him off, "It's Ella. Can you come home, please?" My voice cracks.

"W-what? What's wrong? Is she okay?" Matt asks.

"C-can you just come home?" I ask, my voice evident that i'm on the verge of tears.

"Okay, i'm on my way, baby. Take breaths for me, sweetheart." He says softly, the most civil we've been in a while.

I take a breath like Matt said. "Okay, I love you." I say, almost in a whisper. The last time we said i love you was like two weeks ago.

I hear Matt chuckle, "I love you too, baby. Forever and always." Matt says before hanging up, presumably on his way now.

—————————

1:38pm

I was pacing in the living room, picking at my earlobe as i think of every time i went wrong.

The front door opens and i see Matt walk in, he was wearing a black t shirt, black jean jacket and black cargos.

“What took you so long?” I snap, probably shouldn’t have been my first move.

“Accident on the highway.” He replies, now taking his shoes off and setting his keys down.

“What happened?” He walks towards me.

I give him the write up that Estrella got today.

Matt’s eyebrows furrowed as he reads the paper, him opening his mouth to speak. “Isn’t this her th-”

“-Third time. Yes.” I confirm, nodding as i cross my arms.

Matt lets out a frustrated sigh, handing me back the paper and starting to walk upstairs.

“Matt wait,” I grab his hand.

“Estrella told me the only reason she got in trouble today was because she wanted you to finally come home, and for us to stop arguing.” I tell him.

He looks up at me, his look was upsetting, almost guilty. “What?”

I nod, “She’s been struggling and we haven’t known about it.”

He lets out a breath, him now clearly upset.

“We can call her down here to talk.” I suggest, playing with my fingers.

Matt rubs his stubble and nods, “Okay.”

“Estrella!? Come down here please!” I call out.

I hear her room door open and watch as she walks downstairs. Her eyes flicker between Matt and I and she lets out a huff.

I give her a sad smile, “Sit down, please.” I motion towards the couch.

She looks at me, not moving, like she had done before Matt got home.

“You can listen to your mother, Estrella.” Matt chimes in.

She scratched her head before walking and sitting on the couch, crossing her arms and leaning back.

Matt takes a seat next to her while i stay standing.

“What’s going on, Ella? Mom told me you got in trouble again.” Matt starts, looking at Ella.

Ella bites her lip and shrugs, bringing her nails up to her mouth to bite her nails.

I shake my head, “Tell him what you told me, El.” I say as Matt takes Estrella’s hand out of her mouth.

“You guys argue too much.” Ella says, her eyes flickering over to Matt as she speaks again, “And you’re never home anymore, dad. I miss you. A-and our family.” She says, her voice was quiet but determined to get her point through.

Matt nods, taking in a breath. “Your mother and I are perfectly fine, Ella. We argue yeah, but it’s not anything that deep, we love each other so much, just like we love you so much. And i’ve been working a lot with your uncles, but i can take some time off from now on, would that be okay with you?” He looks at ella, she smiles and nods.

Matt chuckles, “Great. No more getting in trouble, i’m only letting it slide because i know you don’t mean it.” Matt says.

She looks down and nods before Matt brings her into a hug, she hugs back. “Thanks dad..” She whispers against his chest.

He kisses her forehead. “Of course, baby.” He whispers back.

Ella gets up and looks at me, “I’m sorry for being rude, mom.. i don’t mean it, i pinky promise.” She holds her pinky out, i smile, that was a habit she got from me.

I interlock pinkies with her, “It’s okay, my love.” I smile before bringing her in for a hug.

She then goes back upstairs.

Matt stands up and looks at me. “I’m sorry i haven’t been home, and that i’ve been a bad father and husband.” He apologizes.

I shake my head and wrap my arms around his neck, “You’re an amazing husband and an even better father. I argue back all the time too. So as long as we work together we will stop, for ella.”

Matt nods, “For ella.” He then leans in and kisses me.

—————————

Took me too long to write and idk i think my writing has been getting way worse but i hope you guys like this !

taglist: @sturniolosmind @novasturniolo03 @hearts4chriss @vinniehackerslefttoe

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #spotify #matt sturniolo x you

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photmath · 9 months

Text

13 Laughing Emojis | Kylian Mbappé

Pairing: Kylian Mbappe x Female Reader

Summary: Wanting to see Barbie during Kylian's transfer incites chaos on Twitter.

Word Count: 1.5k (blurb)

Warnings: cursing, kissing, perhaps typos, transfer??, mention of barbie but no spoilers, brief social media usage

Note: To get me back in the writing mood before I drop a 10k chapter of Comme Les Fleurs. Also my first time adding a Twittter section---never again!

Kylian’s phone would not stop ringing as the two of you laid in the cushions of the couch. He would grumble with each vibration, kissing your forehead and whispering his sorry’s before carefully slipping out of the couch to answer the call.

There were days where his phone would constantly ring, especially when he was away from his mother. Some mornings you would find the other side of the bed empty, him already awake and talking in the kitchen with Fayza. She’d greet you as if you had been there this entire time, shoving a cup of coffee in your hand and ushering you to sit down next to Kylian. He would give you a sympathetic smile, kissing your forehead while rubbing circles on your back.

You had always been in Paris, your life was here. Your friends and family, they all lived down the street of your childhood home.

Kylian told you late at night, after coming back home from a disappointing loss. He said he wasn’t renewing, that he’d leave PSG in a year and start a new adventure. You were excited, wanting him to make his dream come true of playing with Real Madrid but you thought you’d have a year to get it settled.

Now, practically hidden in the shadows of Madrid, you were growing restless, wanting to feel the breeze or even the sweltering sun outside.

“No, mi amor, we can’t go out—”

“You know I’m good with disguises,” you scowl.

He pulls you into his chest, his lips meeting yours in a chaste kiss, “What do you want to do?”

“Anything, Kylian,” you groan. Your hands clasp around the nape of his neck, staring down at the overgrown stubble he was refusing to shave, not that he had the time. Having to pack your bags with haste before catching a private jet to Madrid, none of you had time to double check vanities and necessities.

His hands slide down to your thighs straddling him, squeezing them lightly before tracing your bottom to settle on your back. His eyes narrow almost immediately, a smirk drawing on his lips, “Anything?”

“No,” you smack his chest although his eyes don’t leave your lips. “Can I just walk around the lobby?”

He shakes his head with a frown, “Come on, amor, you know you shouldn’t. One more week, yeah?”

“I didn’t have to come this early,” you grumble.

You were hesitant about leaving, of course you were. You only had two months to gravitate that you were uprooting your entire life with the same boy who would knock on your door everyday with a flower he picked from the neighbor’s yard. You knew what you were getting into, but for his transfer to be regarded as the most talked about, the most sought out one, nothing could’ve prepared you for the way the media would’ve twisted the entire saga. Every hour they mentioned Kylian news, whether it was true or not.

You have been here before, hell multiple times now. People would stop you at your job, recognizing you and asking what Kylian was going to do. But this time it was different, it was official. Kylian was in Madrid, ready to be presented within a week.

Kylian’s hand moved to your cheek, his smile straining to not diminish, “Do you want to go home?”

His eyes go tender, taking one of your hands and pressing a kiss against the bone of your wrist. He’s gentle, the lamp’s incandescent light glowing against his cheek as his dark eyes await your answer. Warmth encompasses you almost instantaneously the longer your stare at him.

You don’t feel the lull of wanting to retreat back to Paris. You don’t feel the guilt for leaving so suddenly, for resenting the year’s notice you suddenly no longer had. All the mornings, nights, and dates interrupted by phone calls and meetings. You were used to them, yet sometimes they still made you upset. Kylian was always attentive to your subtle change in emotions, making up for the lost time in the sweetest of ways, but it was only a reminder of what you were to experience for the rest of your life.

You shake your head, snapping out of your trance, “No, why would I go there? You aren’t there.”

A small smile forms, “If you ever want to visit, don’t hesitate to tell me, yeah?”

“Of course.”

He craned his neck to kiss you, chuckling within it, “If you want to leave, we need to go somewhere that’s private.”

“You’ll be surprised with what strings I can pull.”

“Yeah?” he raises his brows. His arms secure around your back and swiftly lays you against the couch. “What strings can you pull, belle?”

“Two tickets to Barbie!” you snicker.

He scrunches his nose, “There’s people there.”

“No, I called around and found a place that is very private, big names go there. They have a separate entrance and everything,” you reason. His hips dip down to meet yours, a huff escaping you as he plants his deadweight against you. You laugh, snaking your arms around his shoulders.

His eyes crinkle, “You were going to go with or without me, weren’t you?”

The mischievous grin grows before you can stop it, “Maybe.”

“Ow,” he feigns before collapsing on top of you to kiss you. His stubble scratches against your chin, and you nearly push him off hadn’t he been Madrid’s most prized possession at the moment. “I’ll buy the tickets after this.”

You pull away from his kiss, "We have to wear pink!"

"Pink?"

"Please."

"You don't have to beg, love," he snickers. "Of course we will wear pink. I have a shirt."

"Oo," your eyes widen, "the one that exposes your chest?"

He nods, finally quieting you down with a kiss.

---

Kylian knew to shut off his phone before the movie started, you followed as well. The both of you hated interruptions at movies and it wasn’t like the two of you went to a cinema often.

Once the credits begin the roll, Kylian presses his lips against your nose upon hearing your sniffles. You pushed him away, not wanting him to see you crying although it was nothing new. He chuckles, sliding his phone out of his pocket and turning it on.

Within seconds of his phone loading, it’s bombarded with notifications.

“Sheesh,” he whispers, briefly scrolling through them. Your eyebrows furrow when you see your name within his messages, something about your Twitter.

Your eyes bulge, “Shit, shit, shit.”

“What?” he mutters, turning towards you and then turning back to his phone. He brings his phone closer to his eyes, reading along the messages that his mother and other family members have sent him. “Amor?”

Turning on your phone seems to be the most difficult task in the world, nothing wanting to load and Twitter glitching as you tap your profile. “Fuck!”

“Bébé, why is Mom talking about your Twitter, that you—posted something?”

Once the tweet finally loads, you realize in horror that your account was no longer private. Your last tweet had reached 500 thousand likes and millions of views. Your cheeks burn as you turn towards Kylian, who’s still focused on his messages instead of his Twitter.

“I think…” you start. Kylian’s head snaps in your direction at the sound of your trembling voice. His phone slips out of his grip and bounces against his thigh, landing on the floor. He doesn’t glance at it, only scanning your face for answers. “When Lana was playing with my phone yesterday, she might have made my Twitter public. When I had her in my lap, she was looking through my photos, and then I got distracted with us talking to Melissa. I’m sorry.”

You hand him your phone as he reads the tweet, skimming down to the comments and reading the first few. You wait for his face to change. You wait for anything to happen but nothing changes. The crease near his brow is still etched, his breathing ragged. Perhaps you were expecting anger? Disappointment? But none of it came.

He blows a raspberry, suddenly chuckling while handing you your phone back, “Amor, that has a lot of views.”

You cover your face with your hands, “Your mother is going to kill me. Kylian I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think to check—”

“It’s okay,” he leans towards you, his hands pull yours away from your face and clasps them. “I’m not mad. She’s not mad either.”

You were still too shocked to cry, despite feeling the bubbling and choking feeling in your throat. However, he seemed relaxed about it, his eyes twinkling as the lights turned on in the private area the two of you were in. He could only smile as he pulled your head into his chest.

“No te preocupes, mi amor. It’s not your fault. You might’ve just broken Twitter like that tweet said, but you didn’t do anything wrong. It was going to be announced anyway. I can just subtweet it with a bunch of laughing emojis and boom, all the attention will be back on me. You’re okay,” he kisses your forehead. “We’re okay.”

You nod against his clothed chest, hearing and feeling the rumbles of his giggles. Even amidst his transfer bomb, he was still laughing and being the most unserious man you were used to.

---

Note: Now let's all gather around in a cirle, draw our hands together and manifest a transfer asap (and for this man to continue being unserious).

#kylian mbappe x reader #kylian mbappe fanfiction #kylian mbappe #kylian mbappe fanfic #kylian mbappe x you #kylian mbappe imagine #kylian mbappe one shot #kylian x reader #mbappe x reader #em.writes

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worth-the-chaos · 3 months

Text

Adventures in Babysitting - Steve Harrington x female!reader - Chapter 13

Chapter Summary: As you all attempt to connect the dots of the gruesome murders occurring around your small but sinister town, secrets start to spill when Steve realizes you’ve been keeping things from him.

Content Warning: violence, descriptive details of Chrissy’s murder, scary upside down shit, swearing (maybe that should have preceded the previous warning), arguing, guilt and trauma

Word Count: 7.2k

Author’s Note: Ahhh! I’m so excited to be getting this chapter out! Again, sorry it took longer than usual…college is kicking my ass and syllabus week is not syllabus week-ing (kind of bullshit if you ask me). Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I can’t wait to see what y’all think!

Message me if you want to be added to the taglist to get updates when the next chapter is posted…I’d highly recommend it if you want to follow the story since I don’t have a definite posting schedule :)

Series Masterlist | Chapter 12 | Next Part

***

Once you had caught up to the police cars, to your horror, you were met with the sight of a body covered in a white sheet in the middle of the road. Nancy was there talking to a police officer and when she had noticed the five of you there, she quickly finished her conversation with the officer.

Now, you were all sitting at a picnic table in the trailer park, debriefing over everything you knew thus far. Your head was spinning hearing it all over again. Even though you didn’t feel quite ready to handle it, you knew that you had to. You looked around at your friends sitting beside you at the table and thought about how you were all just victims of circumstance.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Nancy finally spoke up after Dustin’s explanation.

“It’s just a theory,” Dustin replied.

“No, Fred and Chrissy don’t make sense. I mean, why them?” She shook her head as she said it. You wondered how Nancy was feeling. Knowing how much she had struggled with Barb’s death, you wondered if Fred’s was impacting her similarly.

“Maybe they were just in the wrong place?” You suggested. “I mean, they were both at the game…and near the trailer park,” you added, trying to find any and all connections you could possibly make. I just want it to make sense, you thought, if it made sense that means we could fix it.

“We’re at the trailer park,” Steve spoke up hesitantly, looking at you with worry in his eyes as he grabbed for your hand under the table. “Uhh…should we maybe not…be here?”

“There is something about this place,” Nancy began, “Fred started acting weird the second we got here.”

“Weird as in…?” Robin pushed the question.

“Scared….upset,” Nancy looked you all in the eyes. You felt a chill go down your spine as you considered the fact that these kids—your peers—likely died in terror.

“Max said Chrissy was upset too,” Dustin reminded you all.

“Yeah, but not here. She was crying in the bathroom at school.”

“Serial killers stalk their prey before they strike, right? So maybe Fred and Chrissy saw this Vecna before?” Robin suggested. You were all grasping at straws at this point. There wasn’t anything to even go off of.

“I don’t know about you guys, but if I saw some freaky wizard monster, I would mention it to someone,” Steve spoke up. You felt a pang in your chest as you remembered all that you hadn’t been telling him.

“Maybe they did,” you added hesitantly. “I saw Chrissy leaving Ms. Kelley’s office. If you saw a monster, you…you wouldn’t go to the police. They’d never believe you.”

“But you might tell your shrink,” Robin finished your thought, sharing a knowing look with you. She had been keeping secrets for you. What Steve didn’t know was that when he had picked you up in the middle of the assembly, the two of you had run into Ms. Kelley before you could make it to the nurse’s office.

You were still crying after you and Robin had gone back inside after hanging up with Steve. You were no longer inconsolable, but tears were still streaming down your face. Robin tried to quickly rush you to the nurse’s office, her mind going a million miles a minute trying to think of a good excuse. Suddenly, you turned the corner and you jumped as you were met face to face with Ms. Kelley.

“Y/n? Is everything okay?” She asked you. Her eyes searched your face looking for an answer and you felt your heart leap to your throat. You were choked up, unable to speak, so she continued, attempting to be quiet to maintain confidentiality. “Is this about the mall fire again? Do you need to schedule another appointment with me?”

You avoided eye contact with Ms. Kelley, instead more focused on looking over her shoulder at Robin as her face twisted into a look of confusion and concern. You felt guilt pull at your chest from the look on her face and you redirected your gaze to the floor, suddenly way more concerned with the dirty laces of your tennis shoes.

“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Ms. Kelley. Thank you though for all your help this semester. I think I’m just having one of those days and-and with Jason talking about it at the assembly…it just caught me off guard is all,” your voice was small as you responded, trying to swallow the lump in your throat.

“What can I do to support you right now?” She further inquired. All you could think of was the panic that had settled in your ribcage and how you desperately needed to leave.

“I guess…I just don’t think I’m in a good frame of mind to be in class right now. I have a quiz in O’Donell’s and I don’t want my grade to tank because of all of this,” you choked out. Ms. Kelley nodded as she rubbed circles on your back to help calm you down.

“How about I go to the front office and get you all signed out and Robin can wait with you outside for your ride?” You nodded and she turned to Robin, “you can call her folks on the payphone for her, yeah?”

Robin stood dumbfounded for a second before shaking her head to clear her thoughts. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, of course!” She quickly replied, nodding aggressively, still a bit shocked by the whole encounter. Ms. Kelley thanked Robin and headed towards the main office, and your eyes were still fixed on the floor when Robin spoke up again.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to, but I just want you to know that I’m here for you, okay?” She grabbed your shoulders and forced you to look her in the eye. “I’m not going to say I understand what you’re going through specifically, but I was there too, so if you ever need to talk to someone about it without shrouding it in lies about a fire, please just come to me.”

You stood there in silence for a little bit before you nodded. “You can’t tell Steve,” you warned, your voice serious. “Seriously, Robin. He can’t know about any of this.”

Robin looked like she wanted to protest but sighed before finally agreeing. “Fine. Let’s go wait for your dingus.”

Your breath caught in your throat as she had said it. You shot her a look that said “don’t even go there” as everyone was getting up to go. She rolled her eyes but dropped the subject. Suddenly you noticed Nancy was heading in a different direction as Steve started to follow after her.

“Woah, woah, Nance. Nance! Where are you going?” Steve called after her, concern lacing his voice. Your heart dropped a little at the nickname, knowing that was what he started calling her after they had started dating. You knew that he loved you, but you couldn’t help but feel less than when you remembered Steve had spent nearly a year dating the most perfect girl in Hawkins.

“Oh, there’s just something I wanna check on first.” She responded, though something in her voice made it clear that there was more than she was letting on.

“Something you maybe wanna share with the rest of us?” Dustin asked, exasperated, and you couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment. We’re all in this together and it doesn’t make sense to be keeping things from each other, you thought, but it was followed by an immediate pang in your chest as you thought about the things you’d been keeping from your own boyfriend.

“I just don’t wanna waste anyone’s time.”

“Uh, are you serious? Flying solo with this Vecna guy on the loose? No, it’s too dangerous. You need someone to go with you. In fact, I’ll go,” you started heading towards her, but Steve caught you by your elbow and pulled you back, the change in momentum causing you to stumble.

“Oh, absolutely not! No way in fucking hell!” Steve yelled, and your jaw set at the anger in his voice. You opened your mouth to argue, but Robin spoke up before you could get a word out.

“This is stupid. I’ll go with Nancy and we’ll sort out whatever it is we need to sort out,” Robin started heading towards Nancy’s car and Nancy quickly followed.

“Be careful!” You yelled out after them and they didn’t really respond because who could honestly be careful with any of this shit anyway? None of you really knew what the hell was going on.

Steve rolled his eyes as you all got in the car. “Wipe your feet,” he warned Dustin, who, in true dumbass fashion, began wiping his dirty tennis shoes off on the floor mats in Steve’s BMW. “Not on the inside! On the outside idiot!” You couldn’t help but chuckle as Steve aggressively started the car. “Always the babysitter. Always the goddamn babysitter!”

“Hey, it could be worse…the kids behave sometimes,” you reminded Steve and he looked at you like you had three heads.

“Yeah, sure, if sometimes means on the corner of never and not at all, then sure. They’re perfectly behaved,” he grumbled and you couldn’t help but laugh. The laughter, however, didn’t last long as the reality of the situation started to settle in. You were going to have to talk to Ms. Kelley.

“Hey, so I think I’ll go talk to Ms. Kelley by myself, you know. I just…I’ve been talking to her recently because she’s been helping with some college application stuff, so I’ve got a good rapport with her and whatever,” you attempted to remain nonchalant, but you stumbled over your words a bit and Steve looked at you funny. You just stared pointedly at him and he shrugged, making his way to her house. Luckily with it being such a small town, it wasn’t too hard to figure out where she lived. He parked on the street and turned the car off, beginning to unbuckle.

“What are you doing?” You asked quickly.

“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m going with you,” he responded, his brows furrowed in confusion and annoyance.

“No!” you put a hand on his shoulder, and he stopped in his tracks, his confusion significantly multiplying.

“This shit is fucked, y/n. I’m not letting you go by yourself, no way.”

“Well, then Max can go with me,” you offered, looking at the girl in the backseat who was equally confused. “I just think it’s a good idea for you to keep the car running…you know, in case something happens and we have to leave quickly.”

It was a dumb ass excuse, but Steve let it slide as he rolled his eyes and started the car again. Max opened up her mouth to ask you what the hell was going on as you made your way to the front door but you just gave a small shake of your head to shut down her potential questioning. You knocked on the door and Ms. Kelley finally answered, a look of confusion and concern painted across her features.

“Hey…I-I’m sorry to bother you over break but do you have a minute to talk?” You asked, trying to keep your voice even despite the anxiety settling in your chest.

“Um, yeah, of course. Of course,” she replied, stepping to the side to let the both of you in. You both sat down in her family room as she took a seat across from the two of you.

“So, what’s going on? What would you like to talk about?”

“I just brought Max here because with all of the murders going on…we’re just…I guess we’re just feeling a bit uneasy. It’s just making it difficult, especially since Max lives in the trailer park too where the body was discovered. It’s just hitting a little too close to home.” Max nodded, following your lead, though neither of you were being dishonest. You were both scared shitless.

“You both have experienced trauma and I know both of you don’t like to talk about it or deal with your emotions,” Ms. Kelley spoke up and you looked over to Max. She must have been seeing Ms. Kelley too. “But when you keep your feelings bottled up like that, it is very easy for something to set them off. So now, when it rains, it storms.”

“Yeah, I know,” Max replied, and your heart ached for the poor girl. You felt the ever present guilt tear at your chest as you tried to swallow the lump in your throat as she went on. “It’s just, I live right next door to where it happened. The police asked me a bunch of questions…and I guess I was just wondering if they talked to you? I know you were seeing Chrissy—“

Ms. Kelley cut her off, “you know I can’t talk to you about Chrissy.”

“I know but what if there was a serial killer loose in her neighborhood?” You chimed in. “Did Chrissy mention anything? Anything at all about who might have done this?”

“Girls, I really can’t discuss this, I’m sorry. You both wouldn’t want me talking about you to other students, right?”

“If I were dead and it would help catch the killer, then yeah, I most definitely would,” you shot back, beginning to get heated about the way this was getting you nowhere.

“Well, let’s leave that to the police then, okay?” Ms. Kelley responded, staying calm per usual despite your outburst.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you conceded, but another plan was already taking root in your mind. “Can we use the restroom on our way out?”

“Sure. Up the stairs to the left.” You grabbed Max’s wrist and gently but quickly guided her up into the kitchen, ignoring Ms. Kelley’s directions she had given you and grabbing keys labeled “office” out of a bowl on her counter.

“Come on,” you whispered, dragging her behind you as you both swiftly and silently made your way out of the house. You quickly got in the car before looking at Steve who was staring at you expectantly. “Drive.”

“What? Y/n, what did she say?”

“Nothing, just drive!” You emphasized and Steve abided as he took off. You would have to wait for the sun to go down, but as soon as it did, it was go time.

You were breaking in to Hawkins High.

***

You fumbled with the keys as you tried to unlock the doors of the school. You weren’t the type of student that did this shit. Sure, you weren’t exactly a goody-two-shoes, but breaking into the school? That was a bit too much, even for the likes of you guys.

You finally got the door opened, pushing into the dark hallway, flashlight illuminating the dark corridor as you made your way into the building. After making sure there was no one in sight, you waved the rest of the gang to follow you.

“This is dumb as hell,” Steve reminded you, “like I don’t know in what world you see this going okay…and—and if we get caught, you might as well kiss your chance of scholarships goodbye.”

“Well, some things are more important than college,” you grumbled, annoyed with your boyfriend. You guessed it was cute that he cared so much about your long term plans and aspirations—but still.

He scoffed and you rolled your eyes as you continued to make your way down the hall. Suddenly Dustin’s walkie talkie came to life, Robin’s voice echoing out into the empty hall. “Dustin, do you copy?”

“Yeah, I copy.”

“So, Nancy’s a genius. Vecna’s first victims date all the way back to 1959; her shot in the dark was a bullseye,” Robin sounded excited. Dustin was about to speak again when you took the walkie out of his hands, pressing down the button to speak.

“That is totally bonkers, but we can’t really talk right now,” you relayed quickly into the radio.

“Wait, what are you guys doing right now?”

“You know, just…breaking and entering in the school to retrieve confidential and extremely personal files,” you replied a bit sheepishly. Robin asked you to repeat yourself, but Steve grabbed the walkie talkie from you.

“Just get your asses over here, stat. We’ll explain everything,” Steve sounded irritated. He wasn’t super thrilled to be bringing two of his other senior friends into this who were likely to be expelled if the school found out about their actions.

You swiftly unlocked the door to Ms. Kelley’s office, immediately moving to unlock the file cabinet that contained all of her student files.

“It’s like a mini Watergate or something,” Dustin mumbled as you yanked the drawer open, flipping through the files. “Hawkinsgate!” Dustin emphasized, though you weren’t entirely paying attention, attempting to find Chrissy’s file.

“Didn’t those guys get caught?” Steve reminded the boy, his anxiety rising by the minute the longer you all were in the building.

“Holy shit,” you whispered, stopping at another hauntingly familiar name on a file.

“Did you find it?” Max asked, everyone’s attention now on you.

“Yeah, and not just Chrissy’s file…Fred was seeing Ms. Kelley too.”

You all looked between each other, the room becoming increasingly more tense as elements of what you knew were beginning to connect. You sat down as you flipped Chrissy’s file open. You were thumbing through the pages when you found a handwritten note with a list of symptoms. You felt your heart drop when you read them. “Um, can I see Fred’s file,” you whispered, not drawing your eyes away from the words on the page.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Steve replied, setting Fred’s file in front of you. You frantically flipped through the pages until you found a very similar handwritten note, detailing all the same ailments. You sat there, staring wide eyed at the page in front of you, hoping desperately that if you stared at it long enough that the words would change. They didn’t.

Dustin spoke up from behind you, “hey, y/n…you have a file in here too?” It was more of a question than a statement, and you broke out of your trance as Steve looked at you confused. When you didn’t say anything, he turned his attention to Dustin, his confusion turning to anger.

“Hey, that’s not funny. Stop bullshitting, man,” Steve warned, but he stopped in his tracks when Dustin held up the file folder, your name printed clear as day across the top. Why in the hell were you seeing Ms. Kelley? His mind raced as he tried not to think about all the other things you might not be telling him.

“Y/n? What is this? Y/n…y/n!” Steve began to interrogate you, holding up the file folder in front of you in a white knuckled grip. He was mad…that much you could tell, but his voice continued to sound farther and farther away. Instead, a different voice rang out, your name echoing into the room in a low and gravelly register that made your skin crawl. Even though you didn’t want to, you felt compelled to follow it.

You turned, getting up from your chair and exiting into the hallway. You heard a slight, rhythmic ticking before a chime rang out. A chill went down your spine as the noise caused your heart to sink in your chest. If anxiety had a sound, this was it.

You tried to swallow the lump in your throat as you pushed on through the hallway. You were surprised no one else had followed you, but you pushed the thought aside as you turned the corner, you flashlight slightly shaking in your unsteady hands. The light caught the wall at the end of the tunnel, and you felt nauseous looking at the ornate grandfather clock sat nestled into the wall, fissures spreading outwards as the plaster cracked around its wooden frame.

The pendulum swung back and forth ominously…hypnotically as you continued towards it. Your mind screamed at you to stop, but your legs wouldn’t listen as they continued forward, bringing you closer and closer to the clock. It continued to tick evenly, which was almost more unsettling as you wondered what it was counting down to.

“Y/n,” the voice growled out again. It was all too much to bear, so you squeezed your eyes shut tight as you willed it all to be over. Instead, you were met with bright blue, yet sinister looking eyes staring back at you.

Suddenly, Steve’s voice filled your ears again and you felt someone shaking at your shoulders. “Y/n! Y/n, please wake up! Y/n!”

Your eyes shot open as you stared wide eyed into the familiar brown ones you would daydream about. Except, instead of having the familiar flecks of light as they twinkled when he talked to you, they were dark and full of worry, his brow furrowed as he stared deep into your eyes.

You gasped and leaned forward in your chair, collapsing into his arms. He immediately reacted to your movements, pulling you in close as his hands frantically moved across your back, as if trying to make sure you were still all there. You were breathing heavily and fighting back tears as you gripped Steve’s shirt in your hands.

The door suddenly burst open, causing you to shriek, and Steve swiftly pulled you up out of your chair, yanking you behind him as he gripped your hand in his. Your heart rate began to slow as you realized it was only Nancy and Robin…not whatever that thing was that you saw.

“What’s going on?” Robin asked hesitantly. You looked between Dustin, Max, and Steve as you tried to figure out what you could possibly say. After a moment, you finally settled on something, reluctantly opening your mouth to speak.

“I…I saw something.”

“What do you mean you saw something?” Dustin asked hesitantly. He had been scared out of his mind when he saw you go catatonic in the chair, unresponsive to Steve’s shouting. He had thought back to Eddie’s account of what happened to Chrissy as he sat frozen watching Steve try to wake you.

Your lips parted to try and explain, but you shook your head, moving around Steve and darting towards the door. He tried to stop you, but Robin put a hand on his shoulder, holding him back as everyone followed you out into the hall.

“It was right there….a grandfather clock. And—and it was so…real. When I got closer, suddenly I-I just…I woke up,” you explained, staring blankly at the wall in front of you. It sat there plain and empty, and it almost was more frightening that the clock you had seen was gone now.

“It was like she was in a trance or something. Exactly like what Eddie said happened to Chrissy,” Dustin elaborated. Steve’s stomach dropped and he suddenly felt nauseous. That couldn’t be it. He couldn’t live with himself if you…

He pushed the thought aside.

“That’s not even the bad part,” you interjected, turning to face your group of friends.

“What the fuck do you mean, y/n?” Steve asked, his voice dead serious. You didn’t answer him as you quickly made your way back to Ms. Kelley’s office, opening the files that had sent a shudder down your spine as you read them earlier.

“Fred and Chrissy, they both came to Ms. Kelley for help. Uh, they both were having headaches, nosebleeds…nightmares, trouble sleeping. And—and then they started seeing things. Bad things,” you started explaining. Steve thought back to all the times you had woken up gasping in the middle of the night, burying your head into his chest as he soothed you back to sleep. He thought about the tissues he had started keeping in his car and the jokes he made about your suddenly frequent nosebleeds. He thought about the headache you had just the night before. He felt more sick to his stomach than he had ever felt in his life as he followed the dots you had connected.

“These visions, they kept on getting worse and worse, until eventually…everything ended,” you whispered the last part, your voice beginning to fail you.

“Vecna’s curse,” Robin looked at you, fear in her eyes.

“Chrissy’s headache started a week ago. Fred’s six days ago,” you continued, “I’ve been having them for five days. I don’t know how long I have. All I know is that Fred and Chrissy both died within 24 hours of their first vision, and I just saw that goddamn clock, so…looks like I’m gonna die tomorrow.” A tear rolled down your cheek as you stumbled through your words, not ready for the inevitability that you were staring in the face.

“No, that’s not going to happen,” Steve spoke up, shaking his head aggressively. “I mean, it’s all just a coincidence, right? It has to be. It-it just has to be.” His voice began to falter as he looked between all of you, none of you sharing his optimism. No one responded, and he kicked the metallic front of the desk, muttering curse words under his breath. You went to stop him, but Robin held you back. He needed this. He needed the catharsis.

Each clang that rang out was like a knife to your chest, feeling the reverberation in your body as he kicked with all his might. He finally calmed down a bit, leaning over and panting as he placed two hands on the desk and stared as his feet while fuming.

Suddenly another clang rang out; however, this one couldn’t be attributed to Steve’s outburst. This one came from somewhere else in the building. You all jumped and Steve when saw the fear in your eyes, his jaw set and he spoke up.

“You guys stay here,” he muttered as he grabbed a floor lamp, yanking it aggressively to unplug it before heading out of the room. You all obviously didn’t listen, following close behind as you hesitantly made your way down the hall. Another clang sounded, this time closer, and you jumped, Robin grabbing your shoulders to steady you. Suddenly, you heard the distinctive sound of footsteps. Someone was coming for you.

The pace of them quickened as whatever was headed your direction began to break out into a clear and definite sprint. A figure suddenly turned the corner, and everyone broke out into a chorus of shrieks and screams as Steve geared up to swing the metal lamp.

“It’s me!” The figure screamed out and you realized it was only Lucas.

“What is wrong with you Sinclair?!” Steve shouted, his paternal side kicking in as he turned this instance into a lecture.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas panted, doubled over from running.

“I could’ve taken you out with this lamp!” Steve once again emphasized, shaking the lamp for effect.

“I’m sorry guys…I-I…just give me a second…I was biking…for eight miles. And-and…we’ve got…a code red,” he panted in response. You all looked at him expectantly before he continued. “Dustin, I’ve been with Jason, Patrick, and Andy and they’ve totally gone off the rails. They’re trying to capture Eddie and they think you know where he is. You’re in terrible danger!”

Your heart stopped in your chest, as you went to stand in front of Dustin wanting to further question Lucas. You needed to know every last damn detail if you were going to keep Dustin safe, and that was all you cared about right now. Dustin pushed back in front of you, glaring at you a bit before speaking up again. “That really sucks, but we have bigger problems than Jason right now,” he relayed to Lucas, looking back at you.

***

You had split up for the night…well kind of. Everyone else was spending the night at Nancy’s but Steve decided that the two of you needed time to talk so there you were, back in his BMW as you made your way to his house. You didn’t know what to say to him, and you both rode in silence, the air tense between you.

About halfway through the ride, he had removed one hand from the steering wheel, reaching blindly to grasp your hand in his. He needed reassurance that you were still here. He needed to find a way to believe that they would figure this out and you would still be here.

You went up to his room, quietly sitting on the bed as your eyes filled with tears again now that you were in an environment in which you could be more vulnerable. Steve stood at his dresser, getting a pair of pajama pants out as he broke the silence.

“How could you keep this from me, y/n?” He sounded hurt and you really couldn’t blame him. If the tables were turned you would have felt the same way, and you felt the need to justify your actions.

“I didn’t want to worry you,” you whispered. You were looking down at your hands, though you couldn’t see them that well as your vision blurred from the unshed tears.

“That’s bullshit, and I think you know it,” Steve replied, his voice still small. “I…I just can’t believe you don’t trust me.”

“Of course I trust you Steve!” You cried out, your head snapping up to look at him.

“You sure have a funny way of showing it,” he scoffed. He knew he shouldn’t be angry with you. That he shouldn’t be taking it out on you. But he felt betrayed, feeling as though the relationship you’d built was shattering before his eyes as he contemplated the secrets you’d kept.

“You knew I was struggling. Don’t even try and act like you didn’t; this shouldn’t be a complete shock,” you defended yourself, anger leaking into your tone as well.

“Yeah, I knew you were struggling, but not like this! This is kind of a bit more than just struggling, y/n. Why didn’t you fucking tell me you were seeing Ms. Kelley?”

“Steve, that doesn’t even matter, I don’t get why you’re so caught up on that one little detail! It’s nothing compared to all the other shit going on right now!” You yelled, exasperated that, despite everything, he couldn’t just let it go.

“‘It doesn’t matter’? Are you fucking serious, y/n? Of course it fucking matters! You didn’t come to me! You never tell me things! We don’t really fucking talk about it anymore—all the shit we went through, I mean,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair as you stared up at him from your spot on his bed. He still stood by his dressed, and the distance between you suddenly felt uncrossable. In this moment, it felt like you were strangers to one another. He took a deep breath and continued, “I-I…we used to talk about it; work through it together. It seems like ever since last summer, we don’t even fucking acknowledge it.”

You stared up at him from across the room, and he thought he could break at the look in your eyes. You were hurting. You had been hurting, and all he wanted to do was try and make it better, but you wouldn’t let him.

“I don’t know what you want me to tell you, Steve,” your voice was even as you said it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about seeing Ms. Kelley?”

“Steve—“

“No, cut the bullshit, y/n. Why didn’t you tell me you were seeing Ms. Kelley? It’s a simple question; answer it,” he crossed his arms, refusing to move on until he got an adequate response. You were reaching your breaking point, and you didn’t think about the words before they exited your lips.

“Because you would have tried to help, and I don’t want your fucking help!” You blurted out. As soon as you saw the way that Steve’s face fell as you said it, you wished you could take it back. He took a deep breath and hung his head as he turned to leave the room. “Steve, wait….I-I didn’t mean it like that! Steve!”

You ran to him, grabbing at his wrist to try and get him to stay. He shook your hand away, turning around to look back at you. You saw the way tears were beginning to pool in his pretty brown eyes.

“Y/n…just….I just need you to leave me alone right now, okay?” He choked the words out. You were expecting him to be mad, to yell, to be angry. Instead his voice was small and sad, and you felt your heart jump to your throat. You didn’t listen, grabbing his wrist again as tears began to stream down your face. You decided that listening to him shout was easier to take than watching him cry knowing you caused it.

“Just yell at me! Steve, please. Just yell at me! Don’t leave, please baby!” You begged, pulling on his arm with each word that left your mouth. You were choking back sobs and slowly, he turned back towards you.

Something about him set off alarm bells in your head as you felt a shiver run down your spine.

“Why would I stay for you?” The words felt like a knife to your heart as your brows furrowed, confused at his words.

“What?” You whispered, your hands dropping his wrist as a lump formed in your throat.

“I said, why would I stay for you? You’re a dirty fucking liar and the most self-centered person I fucking know. It doesn’t matter what I need, or what anyone else needs. I mean, you put the kids in danger all the fucking time! When are you going to learn that this Upside Down bullshit isn’t what’s scary. You are,” he spat, taking a step towards you. Your heart was racing and you took a step back. He had never acted like this before. He had never told you that he thought these things about you.

“I-I…I don’t understand,” you cried, continuing to scramble backwards as he approached you. You’d never been afraid of him before either, but you couldn’t help the fear clawing at your chest as he continued forward, slowly yet with an aggression that had you trembling as you quickened your steps backwards to evade his reach. His room was only so small, and you were running out of room.

“Y/n,” Steve laughed. It sounded foreign to your ears; it wasn’t the melodic tone you’d come to love and seek out. Instead it was sinister, laced in condescension and anger. “Did you really think I care whether or not I’m with you or some other bitch? Do you really think anyone cares about you? You’re just some misfit freak, and nothing is ever going to change that.”

You took a step back, jumping in fright as your back hit the wall. You had run out of room, and suddenly Steve grabbed your wrists and pinned them to your sides. You squeezed your eyes shut tight and turned your head to the side, hoping that it would all just go away.

“Look at me,” Steve’s voice rang out again, but this time it was distorted, your eyes fluttered open as you cried out, being met with the same piercing blue eyes that you had seen flash across your vision before you woke up from your trance in the school earlier. You heard a chime ring out; the same chime that echoed from the clock, and you remembered the way the pendulum had swung menacingly from side to side.

“Let go of me!” You gasped out. You wished you hadn’t opened your eyes, as you took in the sight of the figure in front of you. His skin was decrepit, a slightly translucent sheen apparent as the dim moonlight filtering through the window reflected off its surface.

“You think you can atone for everything that you destroyed?” The figure asked you. Your heart was racing, feeling his clawed hands grip your wrists tighter as you tried to wriggle free. “All you’ve ever done is hurt people, put people in danger, ruin lives.”

You thought back over the past two and a half years, feeling the guilt rise in your throat as you thought about Dustin. You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to make sure he was staying out of danger.

Instead, time and time again you led him right to it.

“Just let me go!” You shrieked. You couldn’t budge from his grasp, small cries escaping your lips in defeat as you continued your desperate and futile attempts to break free.

“Your time is almost up, y/n,” his voice was a low growl as he leaned in, saying it quietly into your ear. Goosebumps erupted over your whole body as you squeezed your eyes shut again.

“Y/n! Please! Y/n!” Another voice suddenly filled your ears. It sounded far away at first, but it became clearer and you felt someone shaking your shoulders as your eyes snapped open to meet the familiar brown ones you knew and loved. Tears were streaming down Steve’s face and when he realized you finally come to, he pulled you in, crushing you in the tightest hug you’d ever received.

You began to break down, sobs racking your frame as you grabbed onto your boyfriend. “I don’t know what’s real anymore,” you choked out between sobs, your tears forming a wet spot on his shirt as you cried into his shoulder.

“Shhhhh, it’s okay. I’m here, baby, I’m real,” he tried to console you, but he was still a mess himself. He thought back over what he just witnessed and he felt guilt settle in his chest.

He had just told you that he needed a second to be alone. He needed time to clear his thoughts because he didn’t want to say anything in the heat of the moment that he would regret later. You had clung to his arm, protesting and trying to get him to stay when all of the sudden you retreated into yourself, going catatonic as your eyes rolled in the back of your head. He felt his heart sink halfway to hell when you wouldn’t respond. Your eyes were moving rapidly back and forth underneath your eyelids and regardless of what he did, you wouldn’t wake up. All he could think about was what Eddie had said about Chrissy…the way she levitated and her bones began to snap and how her eyes got pulled back into her skull.

He couldn’t watch that happen to you.

“I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,” he whispered into your ear as he swayed with you from side to side. You could feel him still trembling and you thought back to what the figure—what Vecna, had said. All you ever brought on was hurt and destruction and chaos.

“I’m sorry!” You cried out, continuing to sob. At this, Steve immediately pulled away, looking at you quizzically.

“Why are you apologizing? Please don’t apologize, baby,” he begged.

“It’s just…I-I-I should’ve told you I was going to see Ms. Kelley! I was just afraid be-because I didn’t want you…to-to try and fix it because I knew that-that you would worry, and…and I didn’t want to put you through that stress,” you began, hiccuping through your words as you continued to cry. “Steve, I-I…I don’t think I have much time. I don’t want to waste what little we might have left being angry at each other, so can you please forgive me?”

Steve ignored your plea for forgiveness, instead focusing on the other aspect of your statement. “What do you mean you don’t have much time?” He asked hesitantly, afraid of what your answer would be.

“I saw Vecna,” you whispered, “he told me my time is almost up.”

“I’m not going to let him take you from me, y/n. I’m just not,” he shook his head aggressively as he stared at you wide eyed.

“Steve, this is exactly why I didn’t tell you—“ you began but he cut you off.

“Y/n, I don’t care that you don’t want me to worry about you; I’m going to regardless of whether you tell me to or not, and if you think that I’m going to let some Upside Down, inter dimensional, creepy ass motherfucker take you away from us, you are dead wrong,” he started, getting more and more emphatic and angry as he spoke. When he continued, his voice was softer. “I’m not letting anyone hurt my girl again, okay? We’re all going to figure this out and everything is going to be okay. We’re going to find Vecna and kill his ass, and everything is going to be okay…you are going to be okay.”

It sounded like he was trying to convince himself just as much as he was trying to convince you. You put your hands on the side of his face, trying to get him to settle, your heart hurting at his frantic speaking, a stark contrast to his usual more calm demeanor.

“Steve, but what if it’s not?” You asked, your voice a whisper.

“It has to be,” he whispered back. You could see the tears beginning to well in his eyes again, and you placed a soft kiss to his lips. He reciprocated, deepening the kiss as his hand went to the nape of your neck. He kissed you like his life depended on it; like he would never get to kiss you again as he pushed you towards his bed, laying you down gently.

His lips moved across your jawline as he kissed your soft skin, placing gentle but fervent kisses on the spot just below your ear. His lips trailed down your neck as he listened to you breathe. You were whispering his name and he took a second to take it all in.

Here he was, with the love of his life, who was presumably about to die at any given moment. Yet you were still sitting like a masterpiece on his sheets, his name dripping from your lips like honey. You were everything he had ever wanted and he cursed himself for not doing a better job at protecting you.

“Steve?” You whispered breathily, putting a hand on his chest to stop him. He propped himself up better, looking down at you, and he felt his heart skip as he looked into your lust filled eyes.

“What is it baby?”

“I’m ready,” you whispered. Understanding what you meant, he leaned down and placed the sweetest and most gentle kiss to your lips.

Tomorrow wasn’t certain, so tonight, Steve was going to love you as if there was no tomorrow, making sure you knew exactly just how much you meant to him.

While you spent the night tangled up in Steve’s bedsheets as he placed hot kisses across every inch of your body, for the first time in a while, you felt at ease. You allowed yourself to revel in the bliss of that moment because, come tomorrow morning, you were going to have to start facing the reality of the situation.

And the reality of a sudden and gruesome death was a hard pill to swallow.

***

a/n: anyway, so shit’s gettin’ real. Reblog if you want to give me a free dose of serotonin while I’m muddling through the dumpster fire that is college :)

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