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viktorskrums · 2 years

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they’re not the only ones | benedict bridgerton

Summary: 4 times you and Benedict judge others for their obliviousness, and 1 time they all judge you

Pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

Word Count: 4k

Warning(s): a classic 4 + 1 (that deserves a warning right?), pining idiots, friends to lovers (almost), an abundance of obliviousness from all parties, fluff, some angst…the works

A/n: hi lovelies! I’m excited to share this with you, even though I do apologize that the dialogue is likely not very accurate considering the time period, but I tried. This is my first time writing for Bridgerton, but I thought this would be a cute idea, and if you’d like a part two, let me know! I hope you all enjoy!

daphne and simon

“So,” you start, tipping the book you had been reading downwards, eyebrows quirked in curiosity, “what has Anthony so irritated?”

Benedict perks up from his seat in the Bridgerton sitting room, following your line of sight. Anthony is pacing, agressively so, and Benedict can’t help but find the humour in his brother’s anguish. He smiles, one that reads, isn’t Anthony always irritated?

And as if you’d just read his mind, you clarify, “more than usual, I should say.”

Benedict nods, amused. “Daphne and Simon are to be married.”

Ah. You smile wickedly. “Well isn’t that lovely.”

Anthony’s eyes catch yours for a brief moment, his deep amber orbs ablaze with frustration. He’s pacing towards you now, more than ready to challenge your immediate acceptance of his sister’s upcoming nuptials.

“Lovely,” his voice is cold, “is not the word I would use for it.”

“Should you be given the choice, which word would you use for it, Viscount?”

Anthony lifts his right hand ready to list, and before you know it, he’s counting with his fingers, one, two, then three, “unfortunate, entrapping, and loveless, to name a few.”

“Then you are simply in denial.”

Anthony’s scoff fills the room, disgust written on his face. It almost looks like he’s going to snarl at you.

Licking his lips, his nostrils flare in disagreement. He blames himself, you notice, for what he thinks will be a loveless marriage.

“This is not your fault Anthony.” You mumble. He’s making this about himself, not Daphne, and that irritates you.

Beside you, Benedict nods, sending his brother a sympathetic smile. Ever the peace maker.

“Oh?” Anthony leers. He’s trying to be intimidating, but it’s not working. It’s never worked on you. You’ve known him for far too long. “And how might that be?”

Anthony’s always been more than a bit self righteous, and you’ve always been more than a bit willing to put him in his place, a feat that not many besides maybe Violet Bridgerton are willing to attempt.

You leer back at him, (e/c) eyes menacing.

“You are under the impression that Daphne and Simon are to marry out of duty, trapping themselves in a union without love and passion,” you start, watching a grimace grow on the eldest Bridgeton’s face. “But what you have failed to notice, through your own arrogance and blatant guilt complex, because everything must be either by your fault or your victory, is that despite everything, Simon and Daphne do in fact love each other.” You pause, gleaning his reaction.

He does not look happy.

“Dearly, might I add.” Benedict cuts in, eyes reassuring, trying to ease the tension between you and his older brother.

“You have not failed in the way that you think you have Anthony.” You continue. “You have never failed Daphne, nor any of your siblings for that matter. Your only blunder is that you have not given yourself a chance to see just how enamoured they are with each other.”

Benedict’s eyes meet his brother’s, and they both relax, their shoulders dropping. “I agree with her Anthony. The way they look at each other is undeniably loving.”

Releasing a breath, and a bubbled up laugh, Anthony allows himself to smile. “Of course you agree with her. I wouldn’t expect anything less from you.”

You all pause in silence, hearing the door to the sitting room open, and the sweet sound of laughter pour through. Each of you turn your heads expectantly towards the incoming bodies, spotting Daphne and Simon walking hand in hand, eyes trained solely on each other.

In a moment of clarity, Anthony shifts his focus to you and Benedict. “How could I have been this incognizant?”

“Well,” you share a grin with Benedict relishing in your mutual triumph, and nudging Anthony teasingly, “it can happen to the best of us.”

“Right,” Anthony glances between you and his younger brother, a knowing smile growing on his lips. You two are just as oblivious to your own love for each other as he had been to Daphne and Simon’s. He wonders how long it will take for you to figure it out, before he can look back on this moment and tease you both for it. “Incognizance can happen to the best of us.”

Neither of you catch his double meaning…

anthony and kate

Nearly a year later, you find yourself at the Bridgerton country home, Aubrey Hall, with yet another oblivious couple dominating your thoughts. But this time, it involves Anthony himself, his incognizance truly growing since you’d last accused him of being so.

“They hate each other.” You can’t help but over hear Edwina’s sigh of defeat as she sits next to her mother and Violet Bridgerton, watching her sister and potential future fiancé argue over a game of Pall Mall.

Two glasses of lemonade rest in your hands, your eyes drifting a few feet in front of you where Benedict is standing patiently with both of your coloured mallets. When you reach him, you hand him a glass, trading him for your mallet. You take a moment to glance back over at the younger Miss Sharma, a guilt washing over you.

You hate yourself for thinking how perfect Kate and Anthony are for each other, even if they can’t see it.

“Are you unwell?” Benedict’s voice transcends your thoughts. Your gaze snaps to his, his blue eyes peering at you in concern. “You look,” he tries to find the word carefully, not wanting to push you, “drained.”

“It’s nothing.” You wave him off, gaze still trained on Edwina. You feel a light pang in your chest, seeing the look of utter adoration she’s sending the eldest Bridgerton. A wave of pity crashes over you. She’s in love with Anthony, and he’s in love with her sister, a tragedy of passion waiting to happen.

Benedict shifts beside you, finally understanding your drop in mood. “I see.”

“Hmm…” you hum, “see what?”

“I see what you see.” He says. “Anthony is going to break that poor girl’s heart.”

Your breath hitches gently, confirming Benedict’s suspicions. He can see the guilt written on your face, eyebrows creased in thought. But even more so, he can see what you’re thinking. Kate and Anthony are a love match, and as much as you adore Edwina, you’re rooting for the former, you’re rooting for their love to win out. And while Benedict can’t blame you for that, he knows you blame yourself.

“I know you care deeply for the young Miss Sharma,” Benedict’s voice is soft, never judging, “but you’re not at fault for believing in love (Y/n). Even if my brother and Kate are too oblivious to notice what is blooming between them.”

“I am trying to see it that way.” You sigh, watching Anthony let out a laugh at something Kate had said. It makes you smile; this is the most free you’ve seen him in years. You’ve known the Bridgertons your entire life, and even though Benedict has been your best friend through it all, the viscount holds a special place in your heart. You just want to see him happy.

He could be, with Kate.

A serene silence passes over the two of you, both pairs of your eyes drifting to the couple in question. They may vex each other, as Anthony so often says, but it’s undeniable the spark that burns between them. Like magnets, they dance in unison, straying from each other for mere moments before instinct is pulling them back into each other’s embrace.

Letting a shuddered breath fall, you break your gaze from them, turning your head to glance at the man beside you. He looks so pretty, lost in thought. The gentle breeze tustles softly with his chestnut hair, his ocean eyes focused on his brother’s developing love match. You wonder briefly if the look that passes on his face is one of longing. Maybe, just maybe, Benedict wants that too, and maybe for the first time in his life, he’s jealous of what his brother has found.

But you can’t let yourself get lost in translation. His inner thoughts are not yours to know.

Coughing politely to break the silence, a question rests on your lips. “Benedict,” you muse, “how can two people be so in love and not know it?”

His face turns towards yours, eyes blinking at the sudden seriousness of the conversation. “Hmm,” he ponders. “I suppose I think of it this way: People in love are often fools.” Benedict’s voice carries a lilt of amusement to it. “And fools are often oblivious.”

A smile finds its way onto your face, glancing at Anthony and Kate. A light laugh bubbles from your throat. “Fools they are.”

iii

colin and penelope

“Blind, blind, blind.” You huff from the sidelines of Mrs. Featherington’s dance floor, mere weeks after the Pall Mall incident. Fluttering your fan back and forth aimlessly, the air feels hot and sticky on your skin. This was becoming ever so hard to watch.

Benedict chuckles from beside you. “And who might I ask is this insult of yours directed at?”

“Your stupid and visually impaired brother.” You say with a shit eating grin.

“(Y/n), my dearest friend, the light of my life,” he murmurs in mock exasperation, “you’re going to have to be more specific. I have many stupid brothers.”

You laugh at that, relenting as you agree with him. “Colin.” You say through gritted teeth, watching as he waltzes with Penelope Featherington. “He is truly and utterly unaware.”

“That does sound like Colin.” Is his response. “But what has he done to earn such a title tonight?”

You take a gentle hold of Benedict’s arm, directing his line of sight towards his brother and the youngest Featherington girl. “He’s dancing with Penelope.”

“As he often does.” He tilts his head in confusion. “I hardly think that demonstrates his stupidity, nor his blindness.” He adds.

Puffing out a breath of frustration, you groan. “Are you trying to steal Colin’s title for most oblivious Bridgerton?”

When he fails to understand you, you release a louder and more exasperated groan, catching the attention of a few members of the ton. Waving them off with your gloved hand, you pull Benedict closer. “She’s in love with him.”

His lip slants upward at your supposed revelation. “You say that as if it is a secret (Y/n). The entire ton knows of Penelope’s affections for Colin.”

You sigh once again, rolling your eyes at his words. “I am aware of that.” You say. “But look closer.”

Urging him with a hand placed on his shoulder, Benedict narrows his eyes in thought, eyes widening when he catches onto what you’re getting at.

“Do you see it?” You ask in anticipation, pulling one of your gloves off as you allow your fingers to fiddle with it.

One second goes by. Two, three, four…then:

“He’s in love with her too.”

It’s almost like a breathless admission that Benedict cannot believe he’s uttered. But now that he has, it is nearly impossible to fathom how he had not seen it sooner.

Clapping your hands together in excitement, your smile is wide and bright. “Precisely.”

Benedict’s lips quirk upward, happiness written in his expression. His little brother is in love, with Penelope Featherington no less, a girl who the entire Bridgerton family adores. He could not have picked anyone better for Colin.

As he stands with you by his side, this revelation new in his mind, he wonders:

“Do you think he knows?” His eyes flick from Colin, then back to you.

“I’m fairly sure he is aware of her feelings.” You reply, watching as they glide gracefully across the dance floor. “Although he will never acknowledge it. Not in front of Penelope at least. But I am unsure as to whether he knows of his own feelings.”

Benedict nods, humming in agreement. “Colin is particularly difficult to read. Even more so when it comes to the people he loves.”

A peaceful quiet settles around you, and Benedict takes this moment to admire you, to observe just how beautiful you look. No one else matters. It’s just you and him and the prospect of young love resting just below the surface of the atmosphere. As he watches you watch Colin and Penelope’s delicate dance, he wonders if this is something you yearn for too, to be in love. He wonders if you ever think about marriage, not as an economical proposition, but as a partnership with the person you love most.

He wonders if that person might ever be him.

“They make a fine match, do they not?” A voice says from behind you, breaking Benedict out of his daze. It’s Violet Bridgerton, you recognize immediately.

Turning slowly, you catch a glimpse of her knowing and wise smile. She has always wanted this to happen.

Beside her is Eloise, a thrilled expression painted onto her face. After years of watching Penelope pine after Colin, her best friend thinking that he would never return her feelings, it brings Eloise joy to see the blooming of their love match.

“They are perfect for each other.” You assert.

“I agree.” Eloise replies, her gaze shifting between you and Benedict, and back to her mother, as if trying to communicate something to her. “One day he will see that the one for him has been by his side this entire time.”

She shares a glance with her mother, the latter quickly picking up on the double meaning of her daughter’s words. Eloise is no longer talking about Colin and Penelope, shifting her focus to her second eldest brother, and you, the girl who had become more like a sister to her over the years of knowing her.

Lady Bridgerton hums in contentment, neither you nor Benedict any wiser to the change in the conversation, “I believe he will.” She says. “I know he will.”

In due time, both Bridgerton women think to themselves. One day Benedict will open up his eyes.

eloise and penelope

“Stay here.” You instruct Benedict as you stand outside of Eloise’s room. She’d rushed home from the Featherington’s ball wholly upset, and you’re fairly certain you know why. “I think it would be better if I do this alone.”

He nods gently. “I will be right out here if either of you should need me.”

You send him a grateful smile before placing your hand on the door handle to Eloise’s room, turning it until it creaks open. Stepping inside, you intake a calming breath. In and out. You tell yourself.

“Eloise.” Your tone is soft, comforting.

“Where’s Benedict?” Her raspy voice sends shivers down your spine. “Are you two not attached at the hip? I thought he never left your side.”

“I suppose it seems like that sometimes.” You chuckle.

“All the time.” She responds, correcting you. “But you did not come here to speak to me about Benedict.”

“No.” You confirm, trying to find the right way to go about this. “I saw you and Penelope.”

“And?” She asks, a slight annoyance in her tone. “You were surely not the only one.”

“Eloise.” You try, nearly pleading with her. “You came from her room. And it looked like you had been fighting.”

Eloise’s entire demeanor shrinks. Her shoulders slump and her head hangs low, eyes refusing to meet your own. She looks utterly heart broken. You step towards her, leaning in to take a seat on the side of her bed, next to her. The skirts of your dresses touch, and you can hear her breathing, she’s trying hard to contain it.

“This is about Lady Whistledown, is it not? And that boy at the printing press?”

She nods, and you can see the tears forming in her eyes. In the years that you’ve known her, you can’t recall a time where you’ve ever seen her cry.

“You can tell me anything Eloise, you know I would never judge you.”

She sighs, a heavy and shaky breath. “I wish deeply that I could.” She says. “But that would mean betraying Penelope’s trust, and even if I am to never see her again, I could not live with myself if I were to tell you.”

“Eloise.” You place a hand on her shoulder, “surely you cannot mean that.”

“If you knew what I know, you would think it best.”

Your eyes flicker to hers, they’re swimming in pools of pain. She may be angry, but already she misses her best friend. “I have to disagree.” You say.

Eloise scoffs in return. “You,” she pauses, “are not in a place to disagree. You have no idea what Penelope has done.”

And yet you do. You’re one of the only people who has known. It’s a secret you’ve been keeping for many months, one that has filled you with guilt, Penelope none the wiser to the fact that you had uncovered her identity.

“I know.” You say so quietly, you’re not quite sure you even said it.

But Eloise hears you, “You know?” Her heart beats faster, her chest tightening. How could you possibly know?

Turning to face her, you glean the importance of your next words. “Penelope is Lady Whistledown.”

“You-“ she stops, trying to collect herself. With the shock beginning to subside, she motions for you to continue, expectant for an explanation.

You breathe deeply. “I had begun to suspect her of it a few months ago, just before Lady Whistledown made her return.” Your eyes meet hers, bright and curious. “And while I knew it was wrong, and I should never have followed her to the printing press, I could not help myself.” You wring your hands in shame, fiddling with your fingertips in anxiety. “I needed to know.”

“As would I, had I been in your position.” Is the first thing Eloise says to you after you finish. And it surprises you. You half expected her to slap you, but she is not mad. There is no anger in her tone, her posture has relaxed, and she seems relieved. Relieved that maybe someone else has and will have to keep this secret.

“And after everything, knowing what you know,” Eloise’s voice is softer now, gentler. “You think I should forgive Penelope.”

“I do.”

“Of course you do.” She smiles. “You always think the best of people.”

You return her smile, placing your hand in hers. “You and Penelope are like two sides of the same coin. You complete each other.” Eloise knows in her heart that you are right. She cannot imagine her life without Penelope, despite trying hard to do so.

Your voice softens to a near whisper, “The bond you share is one of love; and just because it is platonic does not make it any less so.”

Her chest fills with warmth at your words. “Where did you learn to become so poetically inclined?”

“Mmm,” you hum sweetly, “I suppose I have your brother to thank for that.”

You sit there for a moment in silence, allowing yourself to think about what you had just said. You meant it to be directed to Penelope and Eloise’s friendship, but subconsciously, you realize you had really been talking about your relationship with Benedict. Platonic or not, your love for him will always be whole.

Snapping you back to reality, Eloise rests her head on your shoulder lovingly, letting out a breath of sheer contentment. “You know,” She grins, mischief returning to her voice, “since we have uncovered Lady Whistledown’s identity, that makes us the two smartest people in London.”

“I suppose it does.” You giggle lightly. “And what does that make everyone else?”

“Oblivious fools.” She returns.

And in the back of her mind, Eloise thinks of you and Benedict, dancing around each other, so blindly in love, and yet so dearly unaware.

Oblivious fools indeed…

+ i

(y/n) and benedict

Pall Mall at Aubrey Hall, what a mouth full, you think to yourself. You feel a brief wave of déjà vu pass over you, reminded of the days you spent here a mere few weeks ago, under much different circumstances.

This time, Kate and Anthony are married, and while you initially believed that would lessen the tension of this stupid family game, you are quickly finding out just how wrong you were. Despite all odds, the newly married couple are just as vexed by one another, and even more competitive than before.

Oh. You turn your gaze away, body warming slightly at the sight. They’re kissing now, feverishly.

“Distracted are we?” His voice cuts in. You react to Benedict unintentionally, a shiver running down your arms. Why does he always have this effect on you?

Standing next to him, as per usual, you regain your composure quite nicely, hip checking him playfully after he takes his turn to knock your ball out of the way. “You, Benedict Bridgerton” your voice carrying in mock annoyance, “are truly insufferable.”

He smiles wickedly at you, watching as you step up to take your turn. “I do try.”

“As do I.” You challenge, aiming your ball straight for his, hitting it beautifully, causing both of your balls to be strewn off the path to the next hole.

Benedict rushes forward, lunging in to chase you. You let out a shriek at the prospect, trying desperately to run away. But you’re not fast enough, and before you know it, Benedict has you in his arms as he tackles you to the ground. There’s a touch of silence, everyone watching you in awe, before suddenly, there’s laughter.

Lots and lots of laughter. You and Benedict lay there howling, cackling in joy, ever so amused by yourselves.

Surely this would not be considered appropriate back in London, an unmarried couple, let alone a couple who are not even courting enjoying themselves this way, but with no one else around to see, the Bridgerton’s don’t seem to mind.

“I loathe you.” You manage to choke out in between your giggles.

Breathless, and with the biggest smile on his face, he replies, “You love me.”

Laying on your backs, heads turned face to face, and feeling the warmth of his skin touching yours, your breath hitches, “You wish.”

Turning his head away from you and glancing at the sky, mumbling so quietly he can hardly hear himself, Benedict murmurs, “I do.”

I do too, you think. In this moment, all you find yourself wanting to do is kiss him, and tell him just how much you love him, but you can’t bring yourself to it. Benedict, thinking much the same, cannot either.

Although Benedict is unaware that you’ve heard what he’s said, you gain enough courage to reach over to place your hand in his, resting comfortably in the peaceful quiet that passes over you. Maybe, you allow yourself to hope, maybe this means Benedict feels the same. This would have to be enough for now.

And as Benedict watches the clouds drift by, he smiles, feeling the warmth of your hand in his. He’s in love with you, he knows that now. He supposes he’s known it for a long time. And it seems, in this moment that you might just be in love with him too.

And for all the judgement you’d both passed on to Anthony and Kate over their blindness in discovering their love for one another, you miss the irony of the situation. Oh how oblivious you are…

Watching from a far, taking in the scene unfolding before them is Eloise, Colin, and Penelope. As heart warming as it may seem, your hand intertwined with Benedict’s, it is equally frustrating. At least for Eloise, that is.

“They are so painfully blind.” She groans, picking her fingernails in bemusement.

Colin grins, “disgustingly so.” He’s enjoying this.

“Do you think they know?” Penelope pipes up, her quiet and sweet voice floating with the gentle breeze.

Colin smiles. “I believe they each know their feelings towards the other, but are unaware that their pining is mutual.”

Eloise huffs in distaste.

“They’re afraid.” Penelope sympathizes.

“They’re fools.” Eloise corrects. “Blindly, stupidly, and undeniably oblivious.”

Colin chuckles in amusement at his sister’s disdain. “And one day, they will know it.” He says. “Of that, I am certain.”

And he was right of course, as Colin so often was. For Benedict Bridgerton may be stupid at times, but as his siblings had come to realize over the years, he was not an idiot. He was simply, in love.

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tags: @a-lil-bit-nuts @nyptagypta

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viktorskrums · 2 years

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rum - stanley uris

↳ content warnings - aged up losers, drinking, swearing.

↳ 2.5k word count

↳ masterlists

@bucky-j-barnes @mikewheelerc join my tag list

the first thing that y/n could take into account when she had woken up was how bad her head hurt. she grimaced at the pounding pain across her skull. it felt like the devil himself was in her brain, banging the walls of her head so harshly it rattled her skull with each hit. fuck, she’d never had a hangover that bad before. when she saw richie she was going to throttle him.

it was all his fault she was so hungover, really, because he’d been pouring the drinks all night and she just knew that he was using the strongest shit he could find. richie was always, not surprisingly, the life of the party and wanted everybody to get as drunk as he was.

fucking asshole.

the second thing that y/n noticed was that she wasn’t laying in a bed like she had planned to when bill had offered her his spare bedroom the night before. instead she was on his couch - she’d slept on it enough times to know what it felt like - and she had something digging into her waist. she’d probably laid down on a tv controller or something.

though it was only when she stretched her arms upwards and accidentally clocked somebody in the face, causing them to groan out, that she realised she hadn’t slept on a controller at all and it was somebody’s arm.

y/n opened her eyes and turned her head to look up at who was there, hoping she’d passed out with richie (they’d shared a bed so many times because they were drunk and wanted to sleep it was normal. they knew they’d never go further than being best friends so they often shared a bed, despite richie insisting that she was too gross to sleep with. bastard.) but instead she was left staring at stanley fucking uris and almost choked on her spit. his arm was tucked under her waist and she had her arms pressed against his chest from where she was laying facing him. their legs were all interlocked and y/n all of a sudden felt like eddie, holding her breath against the urge to choke as she stared up at him. stan still had his eyes closed as he rubbed his jaw where she’d accidentally smacked him, and he tried to stretch out the best he could from where he was sandwiched in between the back of the sofa and y/n.

“fuck, i’m sorry stan.” y/n apologised, and then it was his turn for his eyes to open wide to see he was cuddled up with her on the sofa.

“y/n?” his voice was groggy with sleep and in a deeper tone than usual, and a part of her pushed the thought that it was hot to the front of mind and she shocked herself as she registered it in her mind.

“morning sunshine,” she laughed a little awkwardly, their faces incredibly close with how they were positioned, though neither of them moved away from each other. “sorry i hit you in the face.”

“s’okay,” he shook his head as he blinked a few times, still trying to wake up. his curly hair was sticking up everywhere and his eyes were only half open, in a way that made him look adorable. y/n watched as he rubbed his face with his hand, his head tipped back in the process. she couldn’t help but stare, noticing how the muscles in his jaw clenched slightly and had he always had such a sharp jawline?

“y/n?” she looked back up at his eyes quickly, worried he’d caught her staring, though he still had his eyes closed. “do you remember anything about last night?” he laughed softly. she felt his hand underneath her waist moving and she arched her back enough so he could pull it out easily, and he rested it between them along with her arms instead.

“uh…” y/n trailed off, trying to recall the party. so much of it was fuzzy. “i remember bev driving me to bill’s, i remember richie pouring us all drinks and then shouting at eddie for being a lightweight when he threw up,” she snorted. “i remember ben accidentally breaking one of bill’s vases, i remember…” the words died on her tongue as her eyes widened at what exactly she remembered. fuck.

“what?” stan urged, his eyebrows furrowing slightly as he looked her dead in the eyes. “what happened?”

y/n blinked a few times as she stared back at stan, her breath caught in her throat. vivid memories of his hands on her cheeks pulling her in closer as they kissed flashing through her mind. her cheeks reddened at just the thought and instinctively she had to look down to check to see if they both still had clothes on, and sighed quietly when seeing that they were both still fully dressed and hadn’t hooked up on bill’s sofa. thank fuck.

as she thought about it more, she could remember dancing with stan as the party had started emptying out - aside from the rest of losers, who had all decided to crash at bill’s.

stan had his hand enclosed around her’s as he twirled her and she giggled over the music, falling back into stan’s chest with a loud laugh. y/n had spent most of the night with stan as richie, eddie, bill, and bev had been busy playing beer pong for most of the night and she didn’t even know where the fuck mike and ben were. they had danced and did shots and talked with each other, and she’d had a genuinely good time with him. of course they were close - all of the losers were close with each other, but she couldn’t say she’d spent a whole night just talking to stan before. the only loser she’d done that with was richie, but that was because they’d been friends long before the losers club was even a thing. so y/n and stan had spent the night talking about whatever their drunken heads decided was the best choice of conversation. whether that was talking about school, to music taste, to stan’s obsession with birds - they spoke about everything. they were having such a good time that when richie had asked y/n had wanted to step in for eddie in beer pong she denied in order to spend more time with stan; and she never denied richie on something. richie had looked a little dejected, though he had glanced between her and stan and suddenly there was a huge grin on his face. “there’s a condom in my wallet if you want it.” he cackled.

once the song that they were dancing to had ended y/n giggled and fell back onto the couch with a huge sigh, stan following suit and sitting next to her. their hands were still enclosed in each other’s though neither seemed to mind, so they kept them like that resting between their legs.

the record had stopped playing and the room was silent aside from the odd complaint from richie down the hallway (“bill turn the light off dude it’s fucking blinding me! i’m dying!”). bill had come back into the living room to turn the record player off completely, looking pretty tired himself. he’d told y/n and stan something about going to bed but neither of them paid him any attention as he left the room again.

“hey y/n,” stan grinned, his expression carefree and entertained. y/n couldn’t remember the last time he’d looked like that. “i had fun tonight.”

“me too,” she’d giggled and nodded, a smile spread across her lips just as easily as it did with his. “i love you, stanley.” she grinned, and hadn’t quite realised what she had said until stan’s expression had gone all serious, like he had all of a sudden just completely sobered up.

“what did you just say?”

y/n furrowed her eyebrows, confused. “me too?”

“no, no after that.”

“i love you?” she asked, before her jaw slacked and she realised what had just come out of her mouth. oh shit.

“you love me?”

“i love you?” they sounded like a pair of idiots going in circles. “i love you? i do- i do! i love you!” y/n gave an affirming nod, and barely had time to take another breath in before stanley’s hands were cupping her cheeks and pulled her in to kiss him.

y/n practically melted at his touch as she leaned closer, her hand came up to grip the front of his sweater in a fist as she leaned into the kiss. stan tasted like rum and smelt like mint. his lips were soft and fit perfectly with hers, and he was intoxicating. more so than the drinks that richie had been handing out all night. more so than anything else she’d experienced before. as she leaned closer stan kept pulling her closer, an urgency that she hadn’t felt around him before making it into the kiss. one of his hands made their way up into her hair and y/n got close enough to swing one leg across his thighs until stan was leaning back into the couch with her straddling him. her fingers intertwined into his curls (something she’d wanted to do for a while, she realised, his hair just looked so soft) and she heard him groan into her mouth when she had tightened her fingers on the strands slightly.

stan pulled away from the kiss for only a moment. their eyes met, both of them breathing heavily. stanley had flushed cheeks and his lips were swollen and god he looked so fucking hot. she only got to stare at him for a moment because his hand had moved down to her waist to pull her closer and his lips were at her cheek, then her jaw, then her neck and fuck she swore he was giving her a higher rush than jumping into the water at the quarry did. his fingers were digging into her hips over her dress and she could feel his chest rising and falling faster than usual. his breath tickled against her neck as he exhaled against her skin; deep and ragged. she continued gripping onto his jumper, her fingers curled into the soft material like she’d never let go again. in the hazy drunk state she was in she could still tell that she’d seriously wanted that for a while, and it wasn’t just the result of two drunk friends being in the right place at the right time.

when stan had pulled away from her for the second time they locked eyes for longer, blinking at him from where she was sat in his lap. and then she cracked a smile and she was giggling. her head leaned back and she laughed so loudly she swore that she probably woke bill up in the other room, and when she looked back at stan he was staring at her bewildered.

“what’s so funny, y/n?” he enquired, a smirk tugging at the corners of his own lips.

“it’s nothing, really,” she giggled. “s’just we kissed. i never thought that’d happen.”

“me either.” stan chuckled that time and shook his head, and the next time their lips met it was a soft kiss that was so gentle and loving that it almost sobered her up all together.

y/n couldn’t help the yawn that passed her lips once their lips had parted. it was really late and she was drunk, and if her head hit a pillow anytime soon she’d be out like a light.

stan smiled softly up at her, and expression that made her stomach flutter. “c’mon, let’s lay down.” he urged, patting the couch beside him.

“y/n?” stan nudged her arm gently and pulled her out of the memory of the night before. her mouth was open and her eyes were wide as she stared at him, and she could tell stan looked a little worried. she probably looked like she was having a fucking stroke.

“we-“ fuck, was it her or was it hot in there? “we uhm, we sort of- kinda-“

“oh, jesus, what was it?”

“we made out!”

stanley’s eyes almost bulged out of his head at the statement, and he went quiet as he blinked a few times, no doubt getting slapped in the face with the memories of the night prior just as she did before him. she watched as his cheeks steadily went pink and he hummed quietly, meeting her eyes again as he nodded slowly.

“do you regret it?”

his question caught her off guard and she almost choked on her own spit again. she hadn’t expected him to be so cool about it. stanley wasn’t one for too much physical affection, so she would have thought that the knowledge of them making out would have concerned him more.

“uhm…” did she regret it? not in the slightest, if she was being honest. she connected with all of the losers greatly, but things were always different with stan. she saw him in a different light to the others. he was the only one she’d ever thought of as seriously attractive, the only one who’d ever made her blush, the only one who she got awkward around when she was alone with him. the alchohol had given her the confidence to spill the beans on everything she’d be too shy to say sober. “no,” she decided softly, trying to gauge his reaction. “do you?”

instead of an answer, she had stan’s hand on her cheek and his lips pressed to hers again. he was gentle that time, like he was worried she was going to pull away, though when she had leaned in closer she could feel him smiling against her lips.

“no.” he whispered softly as they parted slightly.

y/n stared at him as a warm feeling bubbled inside of her belly. she met his smile with her own before she leaned in to kiss him again, her hand across his jaw as they breathed into each other. it was only when they heard a loud wolf whistle across the room that they split apart, shocked.

“you dirty dirty kids,” richie smirked as he walked into the room and y/n shot daggers at him over the back of the sofa, and threw a pillow his way which he dodged easily. “bill!” he bellowed after a moment, causing y/n to wince as the volume made her headache (that she’d completely forgotten about in the midst of stanley). “y/n and stan had sex on your couch!”

#it #stanley uris #stanley uris x reader

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