#hyacinth brown

[shesthespinstersimmer]

Grad season / Bonus Cousins (2)

Previous / Next / Beginning

[hyacinthstims]

a coffee & tea stimboard for anon!

☕️🍵☕️/🍵☕️🍵/☕️🍵☕️

as of 10/17/23, requests are open!

[peggy-sue-reads-a-book]

reblog to be blessed by the flying hippo

[androgynealienfemme]

Dreaming of past springs rn 🌸 may time go quickly I hate this cold.

[fayes-fics]

Eden

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...

I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.

Word Count: 4.2k

Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3

Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers. 

Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.

“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer. 

“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered. 

“Are you sure?” 

You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him. 

“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.

“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict. 

Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.

“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.

“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.

The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.

“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.

——

“Please?” Hyacinth wheedles.

“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.

“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.

“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room. 

“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.

“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.

“Listen to y/n, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”

“Hey…!” Benedict protests.

“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”

You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby. 

“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you. 

You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.

“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.

“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.

You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.

As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.

——

“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?” 

Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later. 

“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.

“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.

“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse. 

The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank. 

“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”

You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.

Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”

You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”

“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”

“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.

“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.

You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours.  “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.

He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome. 

Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.

“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.

Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot. 

“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is. 

You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.

He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.

“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.

“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.

“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.

This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body. 

“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.  

He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.

“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”

You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.

“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.

With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area. 

As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.

He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.

“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.”  His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.

“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise. 

“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”

Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.

“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you. 

“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.

You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time. 

You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.

“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.

With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.

Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.

“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”

“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.

“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly. 

He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does. 

“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.

Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.

“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone. 

“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.

He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage. 

Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.

You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.

“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.

He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.

You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.

“Perfect..” he intones.

In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm. 

“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.

His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…

“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.

“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.

Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.

“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”

He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.

You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.

You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.

“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.

That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.

“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.

——

As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.

“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.

“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.

“Even if it is a girl?!”

“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.

He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.

“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.

“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.

“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”

There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.

“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.

“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”

“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.

The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.

——

9 months later

Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.

But it was all worth it.

What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.

“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.

You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”

His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.

“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”

“Four?” he petitions with a wink.

You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.

“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world. 

Which to you both, they are.

Join my taglist HERE

Benedict taglist pt 1: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[miserycanary]

MY HELL FOR YOUR LOVE ᡣ𐭩

♡⃛ ‘A Fixed Heart in Your Hand' alternative ending

pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley & fem!reader

synopsis: alternative ending because I feel bad for hurting y'all

tags: hurt/COMFORT, fluff

"Sir? Sir!”

Ghost flinches as he realizes he’s been spacing out, the florist now looking at him with furrowed eyebrows. “Are you going to buy something or not?” she snaps, motioning at the display of bouquets. “Uh, yeah. Give me something with hyacinth and baby breaths,” he mutters, handing her a 100 bill. “Hyacinth? Never thought I’d see a day where a man knows a different flower aside from roses, tulips, and sunflowers,” the vendor chuckles, arranging the flowers neatly and covering them with a brown printed paper tied with a twine. “Ah,… if I know something, it’s about her.” The florist smiles, handing Ghost the bouquet and his change while saying, “Well, I can see that you love her dearly.” With a soft smirk, he replies, “That I do.”

You’ve always had a love for flowers. Going as far as to even beg him to make you a flower bed. Ghost didn’t like doing physical labor with him already getting beat from training at the base, yet when you flashed him that smile (and gave a toe-curling blowjob), how could he refuse? Since then, flowers as gifts have been rare between you two. Instances where he’d give you one are when you’re on a terrible period day or during milestones (the flowers coming from the patch he secretly planted months before).

It’s been two days since you’ve left the apartment, staying at your friend’s house, but Ghost insists on having you keep some of your stuff in the unit because, “well, you technically have ownership of the place since we shared the payment for this month.” It was a poor excuse, really, but it worked. Ghost knows you well enough to know that you haven’t broken up with him despite what you said. Leaving and staying somewhere else is something you do when you’re hurt and need space, and he knows that deep inside, you’re waiting for him. 

Don’t get him wrong. He doesn’t think you’re “easy to get” and he did really regret everything. The last 2 nights without you knocked some sense into him. The night felt colder, somber, and… lonely. Something he thought he would never complain about. I mean, this man has been through worse situations and he prefers solitude, but not if it’s solitude without you. You’re the one thing he can’t live without.

He has sent you multiple voicemails, messages, and even money as an apology. He’d always drop off by your friend’s place with some poorly attempted home-cooked meal of your favorite dishes. Sometimes he’d be able to steal a glance at you when he saw you coming up to the unit right before he arrived, sending flutters to his heart and butterflies in his stomach like a high school boy with a crush.

Now he stands by the door, hoping he’d leave the place with you in his arms, and him in your heart again. Three knocks (you always say less or more than that are for psychopaths) and a call of your name. Simon couldn’t help but chuckle when he heard your familiar cry, probably from rushing and stumbling. The wooden door cracked open, and the adrenaline that rushed through his nerves just from seeing you again could knock the man dead. He couldn’t even say anything except literally melt and give you the warmest smile. “Hi,” he softly greets, pulling the bouquet out of the paperbag and handing it to you with another gift. It was a charm... a tree bark with your initials engraved. You chuckle, pulling out the letter sticking out. 

One thing you learned about your Simon was that he’s not entirely good at conveying his feelings. I mean, that’s literally the reason for this fight. Yet he got out of his comfort zone, wrote you a fucking letter.

You look at him, tears in your eyes before jumping into his arms.

“I fucking missed you, pretty girl,” he mutters, holding you up by your ass and pressing a deep kiss on your lips. God, you taste like heaven; you taste like salvation. He tangles his fingers in your hair and pushes you closer, afraid you’ll slip from his fingers again. 

From that day on, Simon learned one thing. That he would rather go through the depths of hell (talk about his feelings) than go through a day without your love. 

| The letter: 

‘To my darling flower, I’m sorry for even hurting you. I’m sorry I was a shit-ass about how I processed my emotions and got you involved. You’ve always told me that you’re there for me but I didn’t want to burden you. I always want you to be happy but my actions just did the opposite. I’m sorry that I didn’t say anything that day. That I didn’t even ask you to stay. I’m sorry for being a coward. I’m sorry that I let you go. 

With this letter, I ask for your forgiveness and for you to have me back. I will be better because I cannot afford to lose you for you have my heart and soul. You are my whole life. You are the thing that makes surviving each day worth it.’

꒰ა ☆ ໒: Now you guys know why Ghost calls Y/N ‘flower’. This the comfort alternative ending because it was also requested. 📩

dividers by @cafekitsune

Please reblog!! Ask is open!

⟢ taglist: @softestqueeen

check out my other works in the masterlist: ୭!

[catboymoments]

Hunter and Hyacinth in the dark, gleaming brown and red eyes

They love eating snacks in the dark it’s their favorite activity

[hunnylagoon]

Right Where You Left Me

Pt1: Coming Down With Me

Ellie Williams x reader

I once met a girl with skin like kiwi. Even the butterflies were drawn to her, landing on the top of her nose, the dip in her palm. But the kiwi stung my tongue, scarred my lips and made me bleed. I do not care. Cover me in your kiwi kisses, burn my mouth and scar my flesh. Bleach my eyes and dip my heart in lemon juice. Sing your sickly sweet words until my ears bleed.

Premise: You and Ellie were childhood best friends until you grew up. Funny thing about soulmates is that they tend to find their way back to each other.

Warnings: Angst / reader has religious issues / people are mean lol / best friends to enemies to lovers / roommate! Ellie

Part two here!

Part three here!

Part four here!

I know everything about you,

You know everything about me.

I had always been bound to the earth while Ellie danced with the stars in the night sky among delusion and dreams. Though, more so than anything, we were bound to one another.

Our parents were friends, even before we were born. They met at summer camp when they were teenagers, the same camp that Ellie and I were eventually shipped off to every summer. Of course, I have no recollection of when I was an infant, only stories that my parents shared with me; My dad told me that I learned to crawl backwards before I learned to crawl forwards. Joel kept a photo album of his girl.

I can't remember days of crawling around and babbling incoherently, but I can tell you what I remember.

Five years old- Kindergarten

Despite the air being unbearable hot, it was infused with excitement as Ellie and me set foot in the petting zoo. I had never seen so many animals in one place, my little brain was going nuts. Accompanied by the gentle hum of content animals, the aroma of straw, and the distant melody of joyful chatter, the petting zoo rang true to its rustic charm.

Ellie, with her auburn curls bouncing in the breeze, led the way, her eyes widened at the sight of a fluffy alpaca lazily grazing in the sunshine. I giggled as we approached a pen filled with adorable piglets, their tiny snouts sniffing the pure air far away from the dirty stench of the city.

Our parents, watching with affectionate smiles, guided us to the lamb enclosure where soft, woolly creatures nuzzled against tiny palms. Ellie's fingers gently traced the contours of a lamb's ear, and she couldn't resist a delighted squeal as she felt the velvety nose of a goat.

As the afternoon sun cast a warm glow on the scene, the families strolled through the meandering paths, passing by a pond where ducks quacked merrily. Ellie and I, hand in loveable hand, marvelled at the wonders of the animal kingdom, our hearts brimming with the pure joy of discovery and a blooming friendship.

Seven years old- Grade Two

On this particular day, Ellie and I had been messing around in her backyard; that's all we did on the weekends at that age, you couldn't get us to go inside. We spent the morning entwined in daffodils and hyacinth that Joel has so tenderly nurtured, careful not to crush the dainty flowers beneath our wild flailing bodies. 

We had the brilliant idea to paint rocks so we had been searching her yard for the perfect flat stones we had in mind. Ellie picked up a rock and immediately threw it back down, jumping away with a shriek.

This had piqued my curiosity (As well as Joels who sat on the back porch, watching us), I went over to where she stood petrified and found nothing more than a little snake staring up at her. I dropped the stones I had been carrying and bent over to get a better look at it, it was brown and had a few white vertical stripes cascading up its thin body. 

I slowly moved my hand outwards to touch but was swiftly interrupted by Joel scooping me up "That's enough of that kiddo." 

Nine years old- Grade Four

Joel's house garnered an expansive backyard and just past the old fence that Ellie and I had thrown one too many softballs at was a lush forest. I would always clamour up the wood fence and poke my little head over it to try and gather a glimpse of wildlife, Ellie usually had to give me a little boost. "Hold still!" She hissed with her arms wrapped around my torso to help lift me, my scrawny arms shook as I tried to pull myself up even further.

The wood rot of the ancient fence finally set in and with the both of us pressing our mighty weight against it collapsed with the fence. We heard the splitting of wood, I got the worst end of the stick, toppling over and putting my hands out to protect myself. I could've sworn that I heard my wrist break like a crunch.

While I did what felt like a three-sixty frontflip over the fence just for my small head to come down on the end of it with a solid smack, Ellie had just flopped on top of it, green eyes widening in shock when she saw my once straight arm now had an abnormal bump coming out from my wrist. "What's wrong with your hand?"

"I don't know I'm probably dying!" I screamed as loud as my voice could carry, that was the first time I had felt adrenaline run through my veins. "You killed me!"

"No, I didn't!" She retorted, scrambling off the fence and back up to her feet. She was clad in a Jurassic Park T-shirt that she practically was swimming in and those pink and orange plaid Bermuda shorts that any kid in the 2000s owned. "Dad!" Ellie yelled, calling for Joel.

I felt the tears welling up in my eyes and finally, I released the sob that had been building up in my throat. She was almost dumbstruck and just ended up kneeling and wrapping her arms around me in a hug.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to." She muttered.

10 years old- Grade Five

Ellie had been practicing guitar the entire time I was at her house, Joel had gifted her his old guitar and she was so set on perfecting every cord, every half-hour she would ask for a song recommendation and then flip through the songbook she got to find it.

I was curled up in her bed reading The Hunger Games over again "Els, are you team Peeta or Gale?" I was always at Ellie's house, mine was too busy all the time; I had three siblings, Naomi and Aaron who were twins and two years younger than me and my brother Elijah who was three years older than me. I loved going to her house on Saturdays so I could sleep in and wriggle my way out of going to church. Even though her house was right across the street from mine and my parents would bang on Joel's door, he always covered for me.

"Uh," She was distracted by something in her songbook "Team Katniss?"

I nod in approval to myself as she isn't paying attention "You know who Gale reminds me of?" I ask and without Ellie giving me a response I answer anyway "Luke, I think I kind of like him."

Those are the words that get her to look at me "Ew, he's so weird."

"He's nice to me."

She wrinkles her nose in distaste then shrugs, returning to her guitar which sits awardly in her scrawny frame.

12 years old- Grade Seven

"Fuck!" I yell, kicking the grimy green dumpster in the graffiti-covered ally out of anger, though I kicked it a little too hard now my foot hurts I refuse to admit it "Fuck I hate them!"

Ellie leans against the brick wall on the opposite side of the alley, our bikes discarded on the ground while I hopelessly rant to my friend about my parents. She doesn't say much, just little nods of agreement. My parents had caught me skipping church and they laid into me, saying that I had no respect for them or god and whether that was true or not didn't matter, I was full of pre-teen angst and needed to call my friend to go for a bike ride around town.

"She fucking tore my room apart, I never see them get mad at Aaron or Naomi!" I drag my hands down my face before I look back at the dumpster and kick it again "Ow, cunt!" I'm now hopping on one foot while my knee bends my other leg and I hold my beaten red Converse, covered in doodles, to soothe the pain of my poor toes. It's moments like this that remind me why I love Ellie, because as stupid as I look hobbling around and cussing, she doesn't laugh at me even though I know she wants to.

After a little bit of me aimlessly yelling I finally wind down. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to remember those breathing exercises that we were taught at school assemblies. "Thanks for listening to me talk shit, I'm sorry."

"Don't be," She shrugs "I've seen you do worse."

This cracks a smile on my face, I turn my head and am met with the Jackson skyline, a beautiful pink sunset on the horizon "Sun's setting," I say.

"Sleepover?" Ellie asks.

"Sleepover," I confirm.

13 years old- Grade Eight

We were thirteen when our parents shoved cash into our hands and dropped us at the mall to go back to school shopping by ourselves for the first time. Every parent's nightmare was a busy mall so when they figured us old enough to venture into the dreaded foodcourt on our own, believed they were taking that opportunity. 

Ellie had bought a couple of T-shirts and hoodies here and there, not too particular about what she was buying, though I was very nit-picky over what I wore so I forced Ellie to judge every single outfit that I wore and rate it, she gave the same answer every single time "It looks fine."

"Cool but I don't wanna look fine, I wanna look pretty," I say in frustration, walking back into the dressing room to try on another outfit. Ellie is sitting in the fitting room on a pink velvet couch, arms crossed and waiting for me to finish. "How's this?" I ask, walking out of the changing stall and giving her a little twirl.

"It looks fine- I mean good, everything looks good on you." She sounds almost exasperated. Ellie's hair was still that vibrant auburn colour that my mother was obsessed with, it had yet to fade out into a duller brown with age.

"Really?" I perk up just the slightest.

"Yeah, you look really pretty." She gives me a little nod of confirmation. I know that she's only saying that because she wants to go to the food court and get a cinnamon bun but I believe her anyway.

14 years old- Grade Nine

We were just nearing the end of the second half of our soccer game. It was the tournament and we were only a point away from placing first in the league, the thought of it had kept me up all week I was running off of Subway sandwiches and Gatorade. 

Riley (the midfielder) swiftly passed the ball to me before she was surrounded by the other team's defence, I looked up to the clock and there were only seconds left in the match. I let my instincts take over, my parents forcing me into soccer since elementary school was not going to wind up useless. My footwork took me up the right wing just before the penalty box. 

I wasn't paying enough attention to notice the tall blonde girl in a slick back ponytail closing in on me. I hear Ellie shout my name and that's all I need to make this last pass, I barely even looked up before power-driving the ball to Ellie who was merely six metres away from me. I slipped onto the muddied field with that kick, watching Ellie waste no time to score our final goal the second her cleat touched the ball. 

The clock deadlocks and I drag myself off the ground running towards my best friend, I jump on her almost taking her down with me though she manages to steady herself. "I fucking love you!" I scream hugging her with all of the force I can muster. She hugs me in return, unable to get any words out between her laughs. The team is quick to swarm us, everyone is shouting about our well-deserved victory but not one person is louder than Joel in the stands.

15 years old- Grade Ten

Snow was falling as I stood in the foyer of the high school, still waiting for my date for the winter formal to arrive. Conner had asked me out weeks ago, we hadn't talked much since though I just figured that was because he was shy. I even left school early to get ready and spent hours meticulously pinning every hair into place and adjusting my navy blue satin dress so it would drape across my body in just the right way.

My sister, Naomi was an aspiring makeup artist so I let her dust my eyelids in silver glitter, I forced Warren to drive me. All of that was just for me to get stood up. Conner hadn't texted me all day, I knew he wasn't coming that didn't stop me from forcing denial on myself. "Hey," I heard a soft voice sound behind me, I wasn't surprised to see Ellie. Even though our parents were no longer friends, we were close as ever.

"Hi," My voice was hushed and feeble.

"The dance started an hour ago," She said, that night she had been wearing a white button-up with a pair of jeans and her hair half up. It was clear the dance wasn't as big a deal to her as it was to me. All she had done was ask Riley to go with her and call it a day. Despite her lack of effort, she looks beautiful as ever "I don't think he's coming," She said bluntly.

That's the exact moment I felt myself crack, tears welled up in my eyes and I lurched forward to hug her, flailing my arms helplessly to search for comfort "Then why did he ask me to go with him?" My sobs were drowned out by the sound of Kesha blasting in the overcrowded gym.

"I don't know, but he's an idiot for standing you up," Ellie holds me close and I never want her to let go "I wouldn't have ever done that to you."

16 years old- Grade Eleven

This is where things begin to fall apart. I found Ellie on the back porch of some random guy's house at a party. "I figured I would find you out here," I say, taking a seat next to her on the wooden steps, I hug my knees close to my chest.

"What's up?" Beside me, Ellie is unnervingly calm, she nurses a joint, taking a long hit and letting the smoke turn to clouds. 

"Conner kissed me," I say cutting to the chase

I can tell she doesn't like the thought, she hated Conner, ever since he stood me up at the winter formal but she bites her tongue "You guys gonna date?"

"I think so."

"Good for you."

"I don't know if I liked it," My eyebrows are furrowed, and I pull my knees in even further, inhaling the crisp autumn air and the smell of Ellie, she smells like cannabis, firewood and bar soap. 

"What do you mean?" Ellie puts out the end of her joint and tucks what remains of it into an empty Altoids container.

"Nothing," I dismiss it, "It doesn't matter, I just wanted to talk to you," Ellie had softened every burden for me since we were girls. "Um, so, my parents are sending me to boarding school next year."

"No, they're not-

"They are."

Ellie doesn't seem so calm anymore, she adjusts her body to face mine and she's so close I swear to god I could've counted every freckle on her face. "Why, what did you do?" The way she looks at me makes me wish that she was a boy.

"Nothing!" I retort "They think I'm straying from god, it's a Christian school." That was my code for 'they think I have a crush on you and I rather not get disowned by my super religious parents!'

"come stay with me and Joel-

"Ellie, please," I place a hand on her thigh "I don't think I can get away from this one."

That was at the end of September, it only got worse from there. I partially wished that I didn't tell Ellie that I had to leave, every time we hung out it just felt like words were hanging between us like birds on a wire and neither of us could say what we wanted. I forced myself to distance myself from her, I didn't know how else to handle my feelings. 

She would blow up my phone and come by my house even visit my work but I just told her that I was busy. I could tell that she didn't believe my excuses for a second, she had English with my new boyfriend, Conner and would get him to relay messages and notes to me.

It didn't get easier to ignore her, my family prying about where she had been. I never told my parents that Ellie was gay, though I know they had always had a suspicion and that's why they could never love her all the way completely, the way Joel loved me and looked out for me. My mom and dad liked that I swapped out Ellie for Conner, by February, my dad even started to call him son. 

In March Ellie and I had stopped talking completely, she gave up on texting me and coming by my house just for my siblings to lie about my whereabouts. It hurt to see the resentment gleam in her eye every time she passed me in the hallway. 

She didn't speak a word to me until the start of the summer bonfire which was custom in our town. If I had known she would be there I never even would have thought about going. I rather not rehash this awful night, not right now just know that it ended with some alcohol, a bit of blood in the sand and me telling Ellie 'I would pick him over you every single time.' Yikes, that's not a good look for me. I spent the rest of my summer burying her in the back of my mind until boarding school finally came upon me and I graduated with friends I didn't like in a place that didn't feel like home. 

I was sixteen then now I'm nineteen, no longer a girl but not yet a woman. Those were some key moments of our friendship. I'm not so sure why I felt so mature at the age of sixteen. I had taken a gap year and loved every minute of it, I backpacked in Australia, worked as a camp counsellor in the summer then left to work at a turtle conservatory in Bali, I was making pennies but the experience was worth it. 

I arrived at my new home sunkissed with Ellie far in the back of my mind. I didn't know much about who I would be rooming with, I had only spoken to Dina over a Zoom call who was a friendly girl with warm eyes and ink-black hair spilling over her shoulders. I just prayed that none of them were Craigslist killers.

It took me entirely too long to find parking, when I finally did, I grabbed two of my suitcases, unable to hold anything else, the rest of the boxes jammed into my car would have to wait. I read over the text that Dina sent me what seemed to be a million times to make sure I had the right address. It was a small-ish one-story flat with brown walls that had white accents along corners and the doorway with a wood-panelled gable roof. As far as college housing went, I was happy. It looked like something I would've made in the Sims when I was a teenager. 

I walk to the front door, the entrance is framed by intricately carved moulding, its details telling a story of craftsmanship and tradition. The wood, polished to a warm, inviting glow, exudes a sense of richness and history. I knocked on the door and heard a voice shouting that she would get it.

The door swings open and I'm met face to face with Dina "Hey!" She smiled "It's nice to meet you, I think you'll like it here," She held the door wide open, motioning for me to go in, and I obliged. "Let me give you a tour." Dina is clad in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt and her hair has been pulled back into a messy ponytail.

The layout of the house seemed somewhat odd to me, there was a corridor straight ahead when you walked in, the first room was the laundry room and contained the washer and dryer with some hampers and shelves of detergent and laundry freshener. "This is the laundry room, we have a wash schedule along with a chore schedule so we will put you on that tonight," Dina told me, I just nodded politely in response feeling a little too awkward and out of place to say anything. 

"Alright so this is the kitchen, there's a half bathroom beside it," She says, swinging her arms wide open for exaggeration I can see the chore chart hanging on the walls, it's written in chalk, and it is the laundry schedule. There are little laminated tags with each person's name on them, though I can't quite make out the names from where I am standing. The fridge is covered in postcards, magazine cutouts, polaroids, and bright magnets of papayas and flowers, I automatically assumed this was Dina despite not knowing the other roommates. The kitchen is open with no walls to hide it, the oven and dishwasher are built into counters against the walls as well as the sink which i spotless at the moment, there isn't a dining table but a kitchen island with stools. Past the island you can see the living room, there are two grey couches with decorative pillows and fuzzy throw blankets, a coffee table that looked handcrafted with care and of course a TV. 

Have I mentioned there are plants everywhere? Like everywhere. "Okay, so," Dina keeps on moving and I trail behind with my suitcases, over there is my room and Cat's and Abby's," She points to the left of the living room where there is a short hallway with three doors, one on each wall of it. "There's Cat now," She waves at her roommate.

Cat is relatively tall, she has black hair that's tied into a bun, and she's wearing plaid pyjama pants and a black tank top, I can see her abundance of tattoos. She has one sleeve of laurel cascading up her arm and the other is patchwork done right, each separate piece blends almost seamlessly into the next. "I like your tattoos," I say, not wanting to sit in any more silence.

She grins at me "Thanks, love," I nod in response to her, Cat looks down at the suitcases that I'm lugging around "Dina, take this poor girl to her room already."

"I was just getting there," Dina teases and motions for me to follow her "So over here is the bathroom and of course your room, I left your copy of the house key on your mattress," She opens it up. The bedroom is completely blank aside from the boxed bedframe, shelf, vanity and mattress that I had to send over prior. There's a built-in closet in the wall. 

I put my suitcases on the ground "I'm gonna grab the rest of my stuff from my car," I offer up a tight-lipped smile.

"Wait a second," She takes my hand and then knocks on the bedroom door parallel to mine. "I'm coming in!" Dina announces pushing the door open, there's a brunette girl hunched over her desk. My breath hitches in my throat when she turns around "This is Ellie."

I can see the panic that momentarily takes over Ellie when she spots me before it's replaced by a false coolness, "Hey," She says before turning back to her laptop and putting her headphones back on. It felt like my heart had shut down, why the fuck did I sign the lease?

"Sorry," Dina shuts Ellie's door "She's not the friendliest of the bunch but she'll warm up to you eventually," Dina walks to the front door with you Abby should be around here somewhere."

I had gotten so frustrated trying to set up my bed frame that I sheepishly left my room and asked for help, god bless Abby. She was putting everything together so easily, I watched her in awe as she finished adding the final screw to my bedframe. "Want help setting up the mattress?"

"Yes, please," I say, I grab one end of the mattress while Abby gets the other, she tells me to lift on three and I listen, she carries the majority of the weight but it still feels like an accomplishment on my part. "So does everyone here go to Northridge?"

"Yeah, except for Cat, she's a tattoo apprentice."

"Cool, cool," I search for words, "What are you majoring in?"

"Kinesiology," It makes sense, I could've called that by looking at the fit gym rat who was now sitting on my bed. "You?"

"Wildlife biology,"

"So you like animals and conservation and stuff?"

"Mhm," I nod "It's honestly kind of hard to not have any animals in my life." I was missing all my pets back home, when I wasn't with them I was working at a conservatory or at a summer camp where I took care of all of the horses, and Ellie's dog, Achilles.

"You'll get used to it, living with Dina is the same thing as living with an animal," She smiles and for the first time, I feel comfortable. Abby watching me with her blue eyes as I begin to unpack my abundance of boxes, I kind of just dump everything onto the ground because I can't remember which box has what, the first thing I search for are my coat hangers. I dump out a box with a bible, wall cross, and rosery and golden cross necklace from a box of random knickknacks. "You religious?"

"Kind of?" I question it myself "Not really, it's just my family, I packed that stuff to make my mom happy."

Abby nods "I get it."

"You do?"

She backtracks "No, but I can try to."

I shake my head, "I wouldn't try if I were you, I spent nineteen years trying to get away from it." I was sure other Christian homes were healthy but mine wasn't one of them, the way my parents obsessed over Jesus was honestly frightening.

"Hey, do you wanna come watch a movie when your done unpacking?" Abby asked, "Get to know your new roommates a little better."

I don't entirely want to, I wasn't ready to talk to Ellie. I still hadn't wrapped my head around the fact that I was living with her and that she was pretending she didn't know me, despite this, my words betrayed me "For sure."

I sat on one of the couches beside Abby, I made myself as small as I could, thinking that maybe I could make myself disappear. Cat and Ellie crammed themselves on the other while Dina took the plush armchair. I felt so out of place everyone here had relationships, I had one with Ellie before I severed it 'Grown Ups' was playing on the flatscreen though it seemed I was the only one paying attention.

The four girls all laughed and talked their way through the movie, Abby, Cat, and Dina would ask me a question here and there but I didn't know them well enough to pitch in. I kept telling myself that I needed to push through, if Spiderman could do it, so could I.

I didn't even finish the movie, halfway through I excused myself saying I was tired which wasn't necessarily a lie. It was difficult to fathom how well Ellie was playing it off, acting like she never met me. I walk into the bathroom, clean towel in hand, ready to scrub off the stress of today. Beside the mirror, I see a cardstock poster decorated with bright markers and doodles.

HOUSE RULES

#1 No underwear left in the bathroom

#2 Wash your dishes

#3 Break it? Tell Abby

#4 No smoking inside

#5 Privates are private!

#6 Pls don't drink and drive (We have a couch)

#7 Give your beloved roommates a heads up before having someone over

#8 This is a residence of women so the seat goes down!!!

#9 Respect the bedrooms

#10 Having sex? Keep it quiet

#11 NO DRAMA!!!!!!!!

#12 Follow chore and wash chart

#13 Don't eat what's not yours! (Without asking)

I finish reading the last bit and mutter to myself  "Wasn't planning on it." I run the water so hot that it feels cold and I'm quick to not use all of the hot water and have my roommates hate me on my first night here. Everyone has their little drawers in the bathroom, mine is empty aside from some floss and cotton pads that the girl before me left behind. I make a mental note to make use of my bathroom drawer tomorrow and fill it with makeup remover or conditioner, or something like that.

Brushing my teeth and wrapping myself in a strawberry towel that I had purchased at a craft fair, I open the bathroom door, I can see the light of the TV and the sound of chatter from the living room. However, I ignore it and make a B-line to my bedroom. Even though I had spent hours unpacking and pinning up posters it still didn't seem homey.

I slip into shorts and a t-shirt, leaving my hair as is and throw myself onto my bed. My towel is discarded onto my bathroom floor. When I turn on my phone I am bombarded my messages from my parents, my mother has probably sent me twelve Google pins to the closest churches, I answer her with a thumb-up emoji and settle into my bed to scroll through social media and see how much fun all of my friends are having. 

Fucking Ellie. She's plaguing my thoughts, I think of what I said to her and it makes me cringe, I want to smother myself with my satin pillow. I don't even have food to eat, grocery shopping wasn't something that I put on my priority list and right about now I was but Ellie, god, why was I such a dick? Because I didn't know what else to do- whatever, I was a scared teenager. What would you have done? Probably kiss her you lesbo.

Lord, it makes me sick to think about what could've been.

15 years old- Grade Ten

Ellie and I were sitting at a fire pit at her uncle Tommy's lake house. It was a Fourth of July party except we were the only teenagers there; everyone else was friends of Tommy and Maria or some distant relatives of Ellie's or children of said people.

After five years of practicing day and night, Ellie had just about mastered the acoustic guitar, she played and I sang, wrapped up in her flannel, I was tucked close next to her. 

She struck every cord perfectly and I began to sing absentmindedly, the song that had been carved into my brain. Ellie looked so insanely beautiful illuminated only by fire and the stars that hung in the sky, if it hadn't been a sin I would've kissed her.

Talking to her felt as holy as praying to god but I knew it was as sinful as worshipping the devil. 

If it was so wrong why was I born in God's image?

Her gentle hand strummed on the chords of the guitar, the same calloused hand that had once turned water into wine. Her laughter was the sound of a church choir 

I wish I told her how much I liked her but what would've happened if I did? What would my parents think, they would kill me. 

Part of me didn't care how my parents would react, if I spoke up, I could say goodbye to my inheritance and having college paid for. Maybe that was an unfair assumption to make on my part. Ugh. FUCK, I don't know, let's get to the next part of the story.

I couldn't sleep that night, I thought maybe a glass of water would soothe me, well I didn't really think that but I was hungry and thirsty and water was the only thing in that house I had the right to ingest. I figured that I could fill myself with water and zip to Denny's in the morning then grab some groceries.

Poking my head out of my door, I checked to see if anyone was still awake before gingerly taking hushed steps towards the kitchen, I was trying to be as light as Thumbelina. I hadn't noticed Ellie bumming on the couch, scrolling through her phone. 

"You cooking all of that non-existent food you brought?" She jeered. Oh, now she wanted to talk to me.

"I was gonna have some warm water soup for dinner and chew on pistachio shells from the cup holder in my car for dessert," I answer "I'm treating myself tonight." She didn't think it was funny at all, a few years ago she would've been cackling at my subpar joke, but now she just seemed unamused. "Sheesh, tough crowd."

She stays silent.

"You used to think I was funny," I say.

"I also used to think the tooth fairy was real."

"Harsh," I mutter. Turning the tap on and sticking a finger underneath it to test the temperature. I put my hummingbird mug underneath it and let it fill. "Hey, Ellie," She doesn't answer "Have you told them any bad things about me?"

She nearly scoffs "No, believe it or not, I don't talk about you, I don't even think about you," There's venom in her voice "You haven't crossed my mind since you walked through that door."

"Why are you pretending you don't know me-

"Because I don't fucking like you," She says it like it's so obvious and it honestly is in this moment "Just because you're pretty and you act like a sweet little Christain girl, that doesn't mean shit."

"I'm not trying to act like anything-

"Yeah, well it seems pretty insincere to me," Ellie seethed and I could feel a sting in my heart, I would do some pretty horrendous things for a time machine right about now.  I can tell that there won't be any salvaging for this, she hates me to death and rightfully so. 

This is where I give up "Okay, sorry," I grab my hummingbird mug and retreat to my room.

I endured four months of that.

Ellie was pushed to the back of my mind while I ran through classes and got a job as a waitress at a stake house. I did everything in my power to keep myself busy, to keep her out of my head but she was always there, she hung around like a song I can't shake, like I'm haunted by the melody. 

Some nights when the city decides to quiet down I can hear her play guitar, and I'll quietly hum along to it. Songs she used to sing for me, she now sings for another woman, another soul. I knew that she had girls over, but I never got to meet them as Ellie did everything in her power to pretend I didn't exist.

The only communication I got with her was in the roommate's group chat, and it was always brief.

Ellie: Having a friend over tomorrow night

D-manz: Friend? With benefits??????????

Kit-Cat: Nah they're hardly even friends, just benefits

Abs: Don't get her pregnant

Me: 👍

As long as I was with the girls, Ellie was not. She avoided me like the plague, it was like she despised my existence. If we go clubbing, she takes a separate taxi, petty if you ask me. The girls knew something happened between us but they couldn't pinpoint what it was. It was Dina's conspiracy that Ellie used to date one of my friends and broke her heart. While I bonded with Cat, Dina, and Abby, Ellie would pretend to like me. She would occasionally laugh at my jokes or ask how my shift was when Dina was in the room. 

Trust me when I say I would rather forget than dwell on it but it was impossible. I know that I'm nothing more than an obstacle to her, a stain on her bedsheets, a sore in her mouth, but she was still my diamond in the rough. I will willingly ignore all of her cutthroat words and her jagged edges. 

Because I know everything about us.

[rip-quizilla]

Meet the Teacher

Pairing: Modern!Older!Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!Teacher!Reader

Summary: Eddie meets his daughter's new kindergarten teacher and he's pretty sure you're his wet dream come to life. AKA: single dad!Eddie fantasizes about you while he jerks off.

Word Count: 2.4K

Tags: 🔥SMUT, modern au, masturbation, implied road head, pervert!Eddie, switch!Eddie (sort of)

A/N: She's a short queen, standing just over 2k words tall- barely more than a blurb. Quick 'lil read, but I hope y'all enjoy her ❤️

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Eddie needed to calm down.

This wasn’t the time for him to be straining against his jeans, getting hot and bothered at seven o’clock on a Tuesday evening. Wasn’t the place. Hell, given his history with school in general, he should feel uncomfortable as fuck in all sorts of other ways, sitting in a classroom for the first time in over a decade. The last time Eddie remembered being happy to be in a classroom was Miss Adami’s fifth grade class. She had always been nice to him. 

Eddie wouldn’t mind if this teacher were nice to him…

Fucking. Stop. You horny bastard. Eddie chided himself mentally, Get it together, Munson.

He crossed his leg over the opposite knee, willing his half-mast dick to soften the fuck down, and fast. Eddie did his best not to draw attention to himself as he readjusted his position in the too-small plastic chair, scooted about a foot away from the hilariously low table he was currently sitting by. 

He focused his gaze on Raven, his daughter, who sat criss-cross-applesauce on the rainbow-colored rug at the front of the classroom. Her big brown eyes were wide, rapt as she watched her new teacher leading her and all the other five-year-olds in a song that required various hand motions and claps and whatnot. Eddie couldn’t help but grin fondly at the little tyke as she listened intently to every direction, determined to do every little thing her teacher asked of her without a single flaw. 

The only problem was that no matter how cute his daughter was, no matter how much Eddie tried desperately to control himself, he couldn’t tear his eyes off you.

He knew schools were loosening up on rules and regulations and all that- more and more school districts now allowed teachers to dye their hair unconventional colors, show tattoos, have more than just their earlobes pierced, blah blah blah…

But he hadn’t expected his daughter’s kindergarten teacher to look this fucking hot. 

You were something straight out of his fantasies. Like some hybrid rockabilly/alt girl/teacher hybrid, with hair that shone such a vibrant red that he knew there was no way it was natural. Fine by him. Tattooed sleeves of black-inked flowers crawled up your arms, showcasing some of the most beautiful linework and shading that Eddie had ever seen. His eyes followed the vines without his permission, taking account of the foxglove at your right forearm, the hyacinth on your left elbow, the cluster of lilacs that peeked out of the capsleeve on your shoulder. 

And oh, god, he couldn’t look at the snake that coiled around your knee. He hadn’t seen it at first, but when you’d sat down in your chair at the front of the classroom, your dress had crept up your lower thigh, allowing the snake to slither into view, and fuck, Eddie wasn’t sure he’d be able to pay much attention to whatever information you’d be delivering that he probably needed to know. All he could hope was that you’d been considerate enough to print out any necessary information so he could read it later.

Tearing his eyes from his daughter’s teacher (christ, Eddie really was a horny bastard, this was in no way okay), he pulled his phone from his pocket in an effort to provide himself a distraction.

“Ahem.”

Eddie’s gaze shot up from his phone screen, realizing shamefully that your eyes were trained on him, catching him red-handed in the middle of using his phone in class (which was funny, since he technically wasn’t ‘in class’, just in a classroom). Still, that didn’t seem to make a difference to you as you raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him to do anything other than slip that phone back into his pocket. Trapped under your authoritative glare, Eddie gulped, cock twitching slightly as he slid the phone back into the pocket of his charcoal jeans. 

The moment your eyes left him, you were back to wide smiles that crinkled around your lashes, clapping along with the kids who already adored you, even though you technically wouldn’t be their teacher until next week. It didn’t matter- they were infatuated with you, a sentiment that Eddie could understand completely. 

When Eddie stepped up to shake your hand on the way out of your classroom that evening, his heart had leapt at the look that you gave him- one eyebrow raised, the corner of your lipsticked mouth clipping up in a wry, knowing smile. 

Just like you’d done for every child before they left your classroom that day, you first crouched down until your eyes were level with Raven’s and asked if she would prefer a hug or a high five. Unsurprisingly, the little firecracker had responded by simply throwing her arms around your neck, clinging to you with the reckless abandon and generous trust that only a five-year-old could give so freely. When you stood to shake Eddie’s hand, he had to bite back a what, I don’t get to pick a hug or high five? 

“Raven,” you said, voice still lifted with excitable inflection that would make any little ankle biter’s ears perk up like a doberman’s. “I can already tell you’re an excellent student. Do you think you can help your daddy remember all of the things we talked about today?” 

Raven’s eyes lit up, and her wispy curls shook as she nodded her head in agreement. “Uh-huh!”

Eddie gave his daughter’s hand a squeeze and nudged her lightly with his knee. “Yes ma’am.” he prompted, and it was echoed in her tiny, polite voice upon hearing his reminder. 

Your eyes flicked up to his, approval in your gaze dancing with the teasing sarcasm in your smile. “Excellent manners.” you praised, and Eddie wasn’t sure if you were talking to him or to his daughter. Either was fine with him. 

You took his hand in yours, shook it all-businesslike with a polite “Nice to meet you, Mr. Munson.” and before Eddie knew it, he was out the door. However, his mind was still on the cherry-red shine of your hair. The crimson varnish on your nails. The sweetheart neckline of your fifties-style dress, and how when you crouched down and he stayed standing he could see the top of a black lace bra underneath. 

Good god, he was a pervert.

It was all he could think about on the way home, all he could think about while Raven watched one of those Minions movies for the twentieth time before bed. All he could think about after he’d tucked her in, kissed her goodnight, and retreated to his own bedroom to think about you while he touched himself. 

Eddie was old-fashioned- he didn’t need porn. His imagination was a talented machine, fine-tuned after decades of dreaming up campaigns and writing songs. When he laid down on his mattress, it didn’t take long for him to conjure up the image of you there with him, climbing onto his lap, hiking up that black and white polka dotted dress until he could see the tattoos that he imagined must decorate your thighs. 

He spat into his hand, sighing as he felt the slick coat his cock with each pass of his hand. He applied the most pressure with his thumb, flicking it over that ridge beneath the head that felt fucking phenomenal when touched the way he liked. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine your red-painted nails slipping over the head of his cock, tongue poking out to kitten-lick the very tip while you looked at him with big, bright, forbidden eyes.

Your crimson-stained lips, shiny with spit, would envelop him warmly, causing him to groan ecstatically as his hips bucked into your mouth. His cock, fully hard and throbbing, would slide down your throat as you shoved your lips- no, as Eddie shoved your lips further and further down his shaft until your nose smushed against the hair at his groin. His hand would span across the back of your head, pushing you down and holding you there until you gagged around him, and God, that would feel so good, your desperate swallowing around his throbbing dick and the noises you would make- what noises would you make?

He imagined your voice as he fisted his cock, wove melodies of moans in his head that he could pull from your mouth. Would they be deep? Guttural? Or would you be the kind of moaner that whimpered at the highest register you had? Would you be loud, so loud that the neighbors would hear- either that, or he would just have to gag you. Slap his hand over your mouth. Stuff your panties between your lips (which he was sure were black lace to match your bra). Or would you be more assertive, quick to put Eddie in his place like you did today when he’d taken out his phone?

Which did he want to call you: baby? Or ma’am? He imagined trying both out on you while he was balls-deep in your wet little pussy, and thought about which word would make you squeeze him tighter. 

God, Eddie was so fucking horny. It had been so long since he’d cum inside anything that wasn’t his own hand. He thought about whether or not it would be inappropriate to text the cell phone number you’d provided in the email you’d sent out to the parents/guardians of your class. What would he even say? 

Evening, miss. Was nice to meet you tonight. Feel like grabbing a drink? 

Could he? Would that be appropriate?

He got harder just thinking about it. It definitely would not be appropriate… but what if you said yes anyway? What if you actually agreed to see him? What if you both hit it off? What if you actually did come back to his place with him, let him slide his hand around your waist, hold you close enough to smell the perfume on your neck? Let him see that lacy bra in all its glory?

The fantasy of an evening played out in his mind’s eye: Eddie would pick you up at your house, and you would answer the door wearing a cherry-colored dress that hugged your curves, painting you red to match your hair, your nails, and the angry shade of his cock. In the car, his fingers would brush the skin of your thigh, tracing the inked designs that lived there as you answered his questions about what you liked, what you didn’t, what you wanted or hated. Your hand would snake over to his thigh in turn, trace the seam of his black jeans- the ones that hugged his legs in all the right places- and the sensation would get him hard on the spot, right there in his car. 

Would you be scared away by that? By how quickly you turned him on, drove him nuts. Or would it turn you on too, making you sigh, a rumble through your chest as he felt your delicate, red-tipped fingers brush his hardening cock through the tightening fabric. Would you unbuckle his belt? Unbutton his pants? Unzip his fly and free his throbbing dick into the cool night air, only to shock him with the warm, wet feel of your mouth while he continued to cruise down a Hawkins country road?

Eddie groaned, feeling his release creep up on him. Closer and closer he drew, and with every stroke of his cock he succumbed further into his hazy vision of you. Now you were back in bed with him, naked and bouncing on his cock. You were rubbing your clit as you moved your hot, wet pussy up and down his shaft, leaving milky white wet in your wake. In his fantasy, you were arching your back, moaning as he thrust himself into you at a pace that hit places within you that made you cry out his name. 

His movements were getting faster, his grip growing tighter as it slipped over his cock at a speed that he knew would result in a sore arm tomorrow but he didn’t care- his release would be worth it. He squeezed his eyes shut tight, imagining your knees quivering as you made yourself cum on his cock. Imagining your body convulsing under waves of pleasure, your thighs threatening to close against his strong hands holding them open. You would moan and mewl and chant his name, and conjuring up the sound of his name as it left your lips was what did it for Eddie.

Heavy, white ropes of cum dripped over his knuckles, painting his stomach and sliding over the shining crevices of his rings. He stroked himself slower, coming down from his release with a shuddering sigh. 

It only took a few moments for the fact that he just jacked off to the thought of his daughter’s kindergarten teacher to sink in. 

Eddie didn’t feel… creepy… but he could tell there was a definite line he’d crossed somewhere. However, he was tired, and decided that he would deal with the moral implications tomorrow. 

***

The next time Eddie saw you, you were working the car line after school. He’d taken note of the Metallica shirt you were wearing, and rolled down his window, turning up the volume on his stereo. He watched as your smile broadened when you recognized For Whom the Bell Tolls. 

“Here for Raven?” You’d asked with a lopsided grin. Your voice was just as sweet as he remembered.

“Yep,” he’d replied, nodding to your t-shirt, “but if you want to keep her for a few more hours, I think I just decided I trust you with my kid even more than I did before.”

You grinned, showing all of your teeth this time. “She’s a cool kid.” you paused, as if debating whether to finish your sentence. “...I can see where she gets it.”

Eddie beamed, his smirk reaching up to the crow’s feet at his eyes. “You think I’m cool?”

You matched him, smirk for smirk, going as far as to lean your forearms onto the passenger side window sill. “You carry yourself like someone who knows they’re cool.”

Eddie stared at you for a moment, debating for an entirely too-short length of time whether or not he should shoot his shot. 

Fuck it. 

“Cool enough to buy you a drink sometime?”

[crazyk-imagine]

There’s a Heat Between Us, You Must Admit

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Plus size!rader

Characters: Plus size!reader, Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Mildred “Millie” Nightington (reader’s cousin), Bernard (the servant), Eloise Bridgerton, Francesca Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton, Simon Bassett, Augie Bassett

Warnings: Anthony is an idiot, the bee scene (mainly from the book scene), drama, Daphne doesn’t want to see her friend end up alone, reader gives Anthony the biggest side eye ever, reader and Anthony are idiots, Millie is a sweetheart, reader and Anthony are competitive, the sideburns line was something I learned about, reader is stubborn, Anthony is oddly very emotional in this, reader knows a lot of things, reader doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions, pregnancy scare, the pregnancy scare reminds me of a sitcom

Word Count: 13,647

A/N: Reader’s last name is Starlington and also, super excited to have finally finished this one. 

*1,700 follower celebration post*

Also, Happy Valentine’s day!!

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Sometimes you loved your dear friend Daphne and other times you didn't, right now for example, you don't. 

Honestly you don’t know how this got brought up (again) but you’d wish she would stop; it’s not going to happen even if she wants you to officially join her family. 

You knew her being the first to marry out of the two of you was going to lead to more of her shenanigans, but this was too much for you. 

You sigh, setting your cup down to look her in the eyes, “I have no plans on being in this season.” 

Her shoulder sagged, “I understand that but-” 

“But, nothing. Daphne, I am more than content with my being staying very much untied to a man. If I happen to meet someone worth it, you’ll know.” 

-

Anthony glances over in your direction and his mind goes elsewhere. 

You’re his sister’s best friend who also became Benedict’s best friend soon after you met the rest of his family. 

He isn’t particularly upset at the fact that you’ve managed to befriend his siblings (slightly better than he could) but, there’s something that keeps bringing a certain idea to the front of his mind. 

“Are you going to take your turn or continue staring?” Benedict asks. 

The eldest shrugs off his brother’s comment. 

Anthony uses the dreaded “death mallet” and once again, manages to pass the others. 

-

Daphne heads towards her siblings before they can scream and shout at her for sitting down instead of taking her turn. 

You sigh, shoulders sagging because you know she means no harm; you know that but, you can’t force yourself to love and care for someone you don’t have feelings for. 

You’d never admit it (out loud or to her) but there are nights where you do wonder how it would be if you did get married to someone you loved. 

The concerning part is how her brother sneaks into your mind; not your closest friend, Benedict, or the third oldest, Colin, and of course not, Gregory. 

No, Anthony is the one to invade your mind and corrupt your dreams with his charming smile and smooth movements. 

And you would never dare tell Daphne or your cousin of your thoughts; no matter how hard she tries to convince you he feels something for you. 

You take a deep breath, returning your focus onto the game only to meet a pair of oak brown eyes gazing upon you. 

You tear your gaze away at the sounds of Violet walking down the stairs, carrying a smiling Augie in her arms earning a smile from you as you observe the happy baby. 

You glance towards her and offer a polite smile, giving her a moment to settle down in the free chair before turning to focus on the young babe. “Hello, Augie,” you greet him with a baby tone and shake his chubby fingers. 

“He’s always taken with you,” Violet comments. 

“I am the one who always manages to search for his mother when he cries for her. Sometimes I believe myself to be a dog.” 

She chuckles, “that’s not it.” 

“Why else would he like me?” 

“You have a natural instinct that he senses. Children know these things.” 

“If that’s what you say.” 

Daphne steps away from the others, wanting to see her child. “She is right, you know.” 

“Not you too,” you groan. 

“You will make a fantastic mother.” 

“Someday.” 

“It could happen sooner than one would think.”

“What are you planning?” 

“Nothing.” 

Anthony stares back at you once more, observing the way you interact with his dear nephew. As he searches for someone to call wife, his most secretive thoughts keep coming to mind. The more he searches and the longer you stay, the more he finds himself wondering. 

His mother continues to help him in his search for a wife albeit reluctantly since she finds herself so fond of you. She’d never explicitly tell him to pursue you but, she could always kindly ease him into the right direction, which is when his disbelief comes to the surface, truly believing you to feel nothing for him. 

He knows if he tried to pursue you and it fell through, he will have ruined a lifelong friendship for his family- as he watches Daphne hold her purple mallet for you to take- he realizes he can’t pursue you. 

Not that he’d ever given it any real thought, but he’d never be able to forgive himself if he was the reason, you stopped coming by. 

You shake your head. 

She puts it in your hand, persuading you into taking her place so she can attend to Augie. 

You step down from the seating area with little energy. 

His sister offers encouraging nods. 

“I see you finally came to join us,” comments Anthony. 

You avoid his gaze- you can barely stand beside him. “Not like I wanted to,” you reply. 

“You’re scared to lose?” 

You scoff, turning to look up at him, “that is not what I said.” 

He smirks, leaning closer to you, “you didn’t have to.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, “we’ll see who’s laughing when I win.” You walk away, taking your turn. You’re satisfied until you sense him behind you. 

He follows you, “for someone who didn’t want to play earlier, you’ve certainly found your spirit.” 

“Or was it a trick?” You smirk, glancing at him when the ball rolls through the metal hoop with ease. “You look nice,” you comment, turning around to walk away. 

Anthony’s brows furrow together, his body takes over as he steps closer to you, standing beside you. “What do you mean?” 

You turn, struggling to find the right words without sending the wrong message. “I only meant you look nice. You know, people- people can actually see your face now.” 

He continues to stare at you. 

“Your sideburns were nice but it- they- people may have assumed you grew them to hide what lies in your heart.”

“And what do you think lies there?” The words escape him before he could process his thoughts. 

“I believe the love for your family and future wife is there, along with the care and compassion you hold for them. I do have to admit, I am a bit glad you shaved.” 

He tilts his head, “and why is that?” 

“I was afraid you would have continued growing them and at some point, they would connect,” you use both hands the gesture from your sideburns to your upper lip, “and you would look as though you were wearing a mask of sorts,” you say with one hundred percent seriousness until you think about it and snicker, covering your face with your hand. 

Anthony is also unable to keep himself collected and joins in. He straightens his posture, “what of you?” 

You take a deep breath, fanning yourself. "What of me, for what?” 

“What do you think lies in your heart?” 

“The same as you, I suppose. Love and compassion for my family and the few friends I have.” 

“What about me?” He asks before he can stop himself. 

“What?” You don’t know what to think. 

“I-” He walks past you, placing his mallet back into place before exiting, wandering to the garden. He needs to get as far away from you as he can in order to clear his mind. 

You don’t understand what’s happened and place your mallet beside his before chasing after him. 

-

He stares at you, half listening to you and his attention moves elsewhere. 

“Are you even listening to me?” You stare at him, wanting to understand him. You’re too into your thoughts to hear the faint buzz. 

The noise sends a shiver down his spine, he knows the noise too well; his nightmares (if he can remember any) always start with the faint buzz. 

He doesn’t move as he searches for it. Sadly, for the eldest child, he doesn’t have to search for long as the small, striped animal floats around you. He prays to whoever is listening to hear his silent prayers for it doesn’t sting you; he can’t lose someone else to the blasted creature. 

“Anthony?” You ask, glancing down when you feel something land on you. You realize why he can’t look away. “Hey, it’s alright.” 

He can’t focus on your words, his mind rattled with the memory of his late father. “Don’t move,” his voice is low and shaky.

“I know, it’s a bee but, it won’t hurt me as long as I-” you close your eyes due to the discomfort you get from the sting, and it sends him into a whirlwind. “I’ll be alright,” you say, still trying to reassure him. You open your eyes to see how pale he’s gotten. 

He invades your personal space, grasping onto your arms. “Are- are you-” He glances back and forth between your face and your wound. His voice is low, far too low for you to understand what it is he is trying to say but you swear you hear him mutter something along the lines of, “don’t move'' repeatedly. 

You know you must calm him down before he can do anything. You reach for him, placing a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “Breathe, Anthony. I need you to breathe.” 

He can’t say anything, almost as if he’s choking on air. Images of his father invade his mind, filling him with worry and dread. 

You can see he is close to tears. Your voice draws him out of his thoughts. “I promise you. I hope you know I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m fine but I will still have a doctor come and look at it so that it may heal properly. I’m right here. I’m here with you.” 

Anthony’s hands grip your biceps, he notices how swollen the sting site has become. 

“It stung me, but I am not hurting. This has happened before. I will be fine.” 

None of your reassurances are having any effect on him. 

The image of his father taking his last breath in his mother’s arm is enough to make lean in to suck the venom out. 

“Anthony?! What are you-” You cut yourself off at the feeling of his shaky hands trying to remove the stinger. “Anthony, you must stop.” 

“Shut up,” he hisses, trying to stay focused on keeping you healthy (and alive) while fighting to keep his father’s death out of his mind. 

You take deep breaths, you try to push him away, but he is insistent and stronger than you. “I am fine, I just need to see a doctor and I-” 

“Would you be quiet,” he finally lifts his head to look up at you. 

You gulp, “I know- I know what tragedy has happened in your family but, today will not be the same for me.” 

He doesn’t listen and continues to squeeze the area. 

You gasp, eyes widening at the feeling of his hands being so close to your breast. This has gone too far; you must stop this before someone sees. “Anthony,” you place your hands on his chest to push him away once more. 

“Stop it,” he shoves your arms off him. “Let me get rid of the venom.” 

“There is a doctor who can do this and-” 

“The doctor is not here. I am.” He stops squeezing when some liquid begins to spill out of the wound. 

You look down, finding the trail of liquid, “see, you did it. Now, I am going inside to-” 

Anthony pulls out a handkerchief, wiping away the trail. “It’s not all of it.” 

You wrap your hand around his wrist, stopping him from patting you dry. “You must stop this, Anthony. If anything were to have happened, it would have happened already.”

“There is still more,” he mutters, staring at the irritated area. 

“You need to stop.” 

“I haven’t gotten all of it,” he turns, staring at you. 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing. Don’t.” 

“I have to get the venom out before it kills you.” 

“It won’t kill me-” you gasp, seeing the determination in him as he leans forward. You place your hand on his shoulder, keeping his head away but fail to remove his hand. 

The click clack of women’s shoes against the rock pathway alerts you, but you feel as though you can’t move. 

A gasp makes you turn to find his mother alongside your cousin, Mildred (Millie for short), staring at the two of you with shocked expressions. 

Your heart rate increases and gain enough strength to fully shove him away from you, knowing how this looks. 

He glances up at you with a confused expression. 

“Anthony?” Violet calls out. 

His brows furrow further, he looks over your shoulder, “mother?” 

“What is going here?” 

“She was stung by a- a bee.” 

“A bee?” 

“Yes, a bee. I’d told him repeatedly I was fine. I’ve dealt with being stung before,” you say, struggling to keep yourself together. 

“You were stung by a bee and the boy found himself attached to you?” Mildred raises a brow. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Millie.” 

“I’m not, I’m wondering how you think this can be kept quiet.” 

“Kept quiet?” You repeat quietly to yourself. 

“Neither of us would repeat a word of what occurred today,” he argues. 

“That doesn’t mean anything for a woman’s reputation,” Mildred says with an attitude. 

“You do realize anyone could walk out here and spot the two of you, don’t you?” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Don’t you?” 

He grits his teeth, “I do.” 

“You should consider yourself lucky that it was us who found you and no one else, rake.” 

“That’s enough now, Mildred,” Violet intervenes. “Let’s,” she takes a deep breath, “let’s go inside and talk about this further. Lady Starlington needs to be seen by a doctor.” 

You can’t stand to be there any longer and turn away from him, walking past the two ladies and Anthony; your pace speeds up before you know it, you’re sprinting back to Audrey Hall. 

Mildred sighs, “now what are we to do?”

“We will all walk back and discuss this,” Violet says. 

“Of course, we are but, what am I to tell my parents? They’ll be curious to know why their niece’s name is in a Lady Whistledown column.” 

Anthony grunts, taking a step towards the two. He passes by them and quickly announces, “we will marry before the end of the season.” 

“Did he say what I think he did?” asks Mildred, watching his figure walk away with wide eyes. 

Violet sighs, shaking her head, “I believe he did.” 

“Did I do the right thing?” 

The mother of the family stops, turning to face your cousin, “what do you mean?” 

“I- I basically pushed themselves together into this potentially unhappy marriage. I know I sometimes I can’t keep my comments to myself but, I swear I had good intentions. It's just- when we came around the corner to see that I- I worry about her. I fear I may have ruined my relationship with the two.” 

“I can’t give you an exact answer but, I can say that as long as you have your cousin’s interest and happiness in mind, the most you can do is hope for the best. They are both emotionally driven people, even if neither wishes to admit it. This will be hard for them, and it may be a test.” 

“A test?”

“To see if they will make good of their marriage. You and I, as well as my other children, have come to realize how they connect with one another. They can’t see it for themselves but there is something there and now is the time for them to see it.” 

“I suppose so. What if they can’t make it work?” 

“Then I fear they will be in a miserable marriage.” 

-

No one else disturbed you after the doctor left. 

You sit at the edge of the bed, your vision blurs; you cover your mouth with shaky hands. You don’t want others to hear if they happen to be walking by. You cry, struggling to catch your breath. 

Everything you’ve been feeling with the last few days is slowly escaping you. Your mother is requesting to visit and marriage situation with Anthony; it’s too much. 

You take deep breaths, aiming to calm yourself down. 

Maybe it would be better if you left and went home or maybe somewhere far from here.

A knock disturbs you from your thoughts. 

You wipe your cheeks, hoping whoever it is will go away but fail as another knock comes through. You take a deep breath and open the door, “Viscount Bridgerton?” 

He lifts his gaze off the floor, “what happened to Anthony?” 

Any curiosity falls from your expression, “your making light of the situation?” 

He shakes his head, “I would never.” 

“I think you’ve done enough today. It’s almost time for bed.” 

He takes a step closer to the door, his hand inches away from being crushed, “I,” he sighs, taking a step back, removing his hand from the door. “I have come to ask if you would have dinner with me.” 

“With you?” 

“I think it would be wise if we talked before anything becomes… official.” 

“Now?” 

“Are you going to use full sentences any time soon?” 

“Why should I? Is it bothering you?” 

“Nevermind that. Are you going to join me or not?” 

“Will there be someone else there?” 

He gives you a reluctant nod, “yes, your dearest cousin, Mildred.” 

“I’ll be down in a moment. I will meet you there.”

“I’ll wait here.” 

“Do you have to?”

“No but, I think it might be good practice for us.” 

“Practice,” you mumble and shut the door. You walk over to the vanity, staring at yourself, wondering how you got into this situation. You snatch the extra handkerchief and pat your face, removing any evidence of your despair. 

You take careful steps toward the door and exit, Anthony leaning against the wall across from your room. He holds his arm out for you to hold. 

You shake your head. 

“Don’t you think you’ve touched her enough today?” 

He sighs, “Mildred.” 

“Who else would it be?” She interlocks your arms together, pulling you ahead of the eldest Bridgerton. “Come on.” 

-

“Do either of you know how to use it?” Anthony asks, staring at the stove. 

Mildred shakes her head, “the maids are always around to do it.” 

“Both of you sit down,” you say. 

“Do you know how to work this?” he asks, sounding surprised. 

“I do. It’s too late for us to have a full meal, instead we can have a glass of warm milk.” 

They sit at the table in the corner of the room. 

Anthony watches as you move gracefully around the kitchen.

“If you keep staring, she’ll catch you.” 

He turns to her, “what?” 

“You’re staring.” 

“No, I wasn’t,” he denies. 

“You can lie all you want but I know you care for her. Perhaps, you always have and never wanted to admit it before and the whole bee situation was a ruse so that you could stop being a ninny and marry her instead.” 

His jaw drops, he doesn’t know how to respond. “I did not-” 

She waves him off, “do not lie Anthony, I know you love her and have for some time now, only you must realize it now than later in your marriage. I do not want her… or you to be unhappy. Oddly enough, I seem to care for you but, obviously not the same way she does you.” 

He scoffs through his nose, muttering to himself, “obviously.” 

You place the glass of milk in front of the two, interrupting their conversation. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided to marry my cousin instead.” 

Anthony nearly chokes on the liquid, setting the glass down and snatches the handkerchief you hold out for him.

He wipes his chin, “what makes you think I would want to marry, Mildred.” 

She scoffs, “you’d be lucky to have me, Bridgerton.” 

He narrows his eyes to her. 

“I’ll be just outside this door, leaving the two of you talk and nothing else.”

You furrow your brows, “wait. Mil-” 

She waves to you. 

You take a deep breath, not wanting to face him. 

It was different when he wasn't paying attention to you and rather his own life, but now... you hope he doesn't want to talk. 

"We should- we should talk." 

Everything in your screams to not run away and hide, even though it sounds like it would be the better option right now. 

"How are you?" 

"I would be happier if I was marrying for love and not because of your concern over my virtue," you mumble. 

He overhears and sighs. “Don’t-” 

“No, I understand. Truly I do, just- I need- it’s late. Apologies for keeping you up.” You grab the skirts of your dress and walk out. 

Mildred watches as you run away. She spins around and stands in the doorway. “What did you do?” 

“Me- I-” 

She sighs. “Just shut up.” 

He sighs and slumps in the chair. Mildred storms into the room after you. 

-

“What happened?” 

“Nothing.” You take a deep breath, hunched over your vanity. 

“You know, you two act as a married couple who have known each other for too long and no longer know how to act lovingly around one another.” 

“You are wrong, cousin. He is- he is the scum- the scum that rests at the bottom of my shoe. Why would I ever marry someone like that? Much less that Bridgerton, I mean, Colin would be a better option and I don’t like him as much as I do Benedict.” You keep your head down, “people marry for less.” 

“I wish to marry for love, if it ever decides to come my way but until then I will deal with him marrying the only person, I care about that is close to my age.” 

“So, you care enough about me to marry me off?” 

“Don’t phrase it in such a way that makes me the bad guy,” she throws herself onto your bed. 

“Go to bed. I will be fine, Millie.” 

She props herself up on her elbows. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Please,” you look up and turn around, putting on a brave face. “I promise you. I will be fine.” 

“If you’re sure-” 

“Which I am. Goodnight, Millie.” 

She sighs and steps outside of the room, “night.” 

-

“Good morning.” 

You don’t respond to Mildred. 

“Are you ignoring me?” 

“I am simply showing you the way my soon-to-be husband will treat me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It has already begun. I awoke early and decided I wanted to speak to him after thinking about it all. I say hi but he does not.” You shrug, "it doesn't matter now." 

"It does though. Let me," she sighs. "Let me speak with him. I can- I can fix this." 

"No," you say. “I don’t want you to be in the middle any more than you have.” 

“Alright... now onto more pressing matters.” 

“Such as?” 

“Your plans for the wedding?” 

“Oh, right.” You continue to stare out the window. 

“Are you sure you're alright?” 

“I just-” 

Anthony stops himself from knocking on the door and decides to listen. 

“I thought when I was to marry, I would marry for love not because I need my virtue protected or saved." 

"If he didn't agree to this-" 

"I would be a spinster." 

"That is how I will live my life," Mildred grabs your hand and gains your attention. 

Anthony takes his leave, unable to stay there any longer. 

“That is not how I want you to live your life. I want you to be the one to have another you can call upon if there is something the matter because I won’t always be there and I need to know that you are protected before I leave.” 

“You’re leaving?” 

She sighs. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out but yes. A week after you’ve been married, I plan on traveling the world.” 

“Your childhood dream.” 

“Precisely.” 

"I- what if I'm not good enough to," you wave your hand around. "This."

"This what? I'm not sure I understand." 

"What if- what if I am not fit to be a wife. I mean," you push yourself out of the chair and pace around the room. "I don't want him to be disappointed in the person he is to call wife. I don't want to be in a marriage of..." 

"Regret?" 

"Precisely." 

She stops you by placing a hand on your wrists, “now is the time for us to plan your wedding. Violet and Anthony have been sitting in the tearoom since I came in here.” 

“She’s- they’re- why didn’t you tell me?” You rush out the door. 

-

You clean yourself up outside the door and nod to your servant, Bernard, to open the doors. You nervously smile at both. 

Violet pops up from the chair closest to the window. “How are you?” 

“Oh- uh- I’m,” you glance to the side and stare at her eldest, who locks eyes with you. 

“I mean from the- well, you know,” she struggles to say. 

You let out a breath of relief, “ah, yes. I do. I am- I am fine. I’m just happy that everyone else is fine.” 

She smiles, “that is kind of you to say, but unnecessary.” 

“I hear you came to talk about our upcoming… event.” 

“Is that what Mildred told you?” 

You furrow your brows, “is that not what you’re here to discuss?” 

Anthony pushes himself off the couch. “Not yet. Mother, if you’d excuse us.” 

“Anthony, I don’t-” 

He gives her a look. 

"We will be right outside this door." 

"What did you want to discuss?" 

"If we are to marry, we should have stipulations." 

"You think I'll be so horrible that we need rules?" 

"Not you. I believe if we have these, we'll have a better understanding of what should come from this marriage." 

"Why don't I just stay by your side and show my face when you need me to so you can look like the perfect husband? Would that make things easier?" 

He sighs. "That is one of the things we need to discuss, which events you'd prefer to come to." 

"Oh, I get to choose those?" 

"Please stop. I am trying to make this as easy as I can." 

You clench your fists. "How am I supposed to be okay with this?" 

“It’s my fault and I am trying to make up for that.” 

You pause, “your fault?” 

He nods, “yes, it was- it was me who... couldn’t.” 

You step forward and place your hand on his, drawing his attention onto you. “It is not your fault when something so devastating comes to mind and you do all you can to prevent another. I do not blame you, but you must understand that I do not want to be one of those ladies.” 

“Who?” The only word he can get out as he studies you. 

Your compassion shifts into something of annoyance, one he knows too well. “You know who, someone who wants to be like Penelope’s mother or maybe even... all of the other ladies,” you chuckle, proud of the joke you made.

"I'm glad you can make jokes at a time like this." 

You roll your eyes, "oh hush, I am still upset about pretending to be a perfect housewife for the one man every woman dreams of being with." 

"Are you included?" 

Your mouth agape as you stare at him. 

"You two haven't maimed each other, perfect." 

"Millie," you pinch the bridge of your nose. 

"Oh, don't act so coy now." 

You roll your eyes and sit down, waiting to hear what Anthony and his mother have to say. You pace along the floor, finding it to be quieter here than in the tearoom with the others, even if they weren’t talking it was still too loud. You know there’s no alternative for what’s transpired between you and your soon to be husband, but it still hurts knowing he will never love you the way- 

“Are you alright?” Daphne’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. 

You give her a small smile and hope she doesn’t poke further. 

“I know this isn’t how it was supposed to happen but there is one good thing about your marriage.” 

You scoff, “and what, pray tell, is that?” 

“I finally can call you sister.” 

You try not to show how happy that makes you, not wanting her to know she was right. “Thank you.” 

She drags you over to the piano. 

“I still don’t understand why you have many so pianos.” 

She shrugs, “for moments like this, maybe?” 

“Are you waiting for me to play?” 

She nods, “of course, I am. You were always much better than I was.” 

“I was not.” 

“Show me then. Show me how awful you play, and I will not ask you again.”

You don’t know how long you had been playing for, but it was something you missed- not having a piano in your own home, you didn’t realize how long it had been. 

You usually prefer to play when no one is watching but having Daphne by your side was nice, she always knew how to help calm you before things could get worse; everyone knew of your father’s temper, and no one wants to face that through his only daughter. 

Anthony raises his hand to knock on the door but pauses as he listens, he doesn’t realize Daphne had learned a new piece. He slowly opens the door and finds you playing instead. 

‘When did you learn how to play?’ He wonders. 

Or maybe it was, you had always known, and he was too into his fantasies that he forgot to pay attention to the true version of you. 

Just when he was hoping to learn something horrible about you; you’re becoming more and more like his... 

“I didn’t know you played.” 

You open your eyes and glance up at him, standing up as quickly as you can. “I don’t.” 

He furrows his brows, “that’s not what I heard.” 

“That- that was nothing.” 

“Why are you lying?” 

“I prefer to keep this information to myself so if you could kindly pretend you didn’t hear anything, that’d be best.” You exit the room, knowing you’ve left 

Anthony in a wave of confusion. “What was that about?” 

“She doesn’t like others to know of her talents because she knows they’ll ask her to perform one of them.”

“Her mother.” He finally understands. 

“And her aunt.” 

Now he truly gets it. "Is this what you two would do while I was out with mother?" 

She shrugs and pushes the seat back. "Perhaps, or maybe you were never around long enough to learn about her even though you're entranced by her." 

He stutters, unsure of where she could have gotten that idea. "What?" 

She quickly hides her amusement before he can see. "Nothing. Goodnight Anthony." 

He tries to stop her, but she ignores him, offering an excuse for needing to put Augie to bed. He wonders what else he doesn’t know. 

You pace back and forth in front of his office door; this isn’t something you can do in person, is it? You sigh and wonder if it’s a wise choice to be doing this at all. 

You slip the letter under his door and take a step back. “That wasn’t so hard.” You turn around and briskly walk down the hallway, hoping he doesn’t see that it was you who was there.

Something moving in the corner of his eye piqued his interest and moved closer to figure out what it was. He picks up the letter and opens the door, seeing someone’s figure turning the corner before losing sight of them. 

He closes the door and opens the letter, wondering what you could have said when you’ve already said plenty. 

Dear Bridgerton, 

I I want to start off by apologizing for my outbursts, you don’t deserve them, and they are not aimed at you, but you happen to be the person I am talking to and... This is not how I expected the season to begin or end and I’m sure you didn’t either but if there is someone I were to marry, I’m happy it’d be you... because I trust you. I will do all that I can to be the perfect wife for you and if not, I apologize in advance. 

Sincerely, Your annoying soon to be wife 

The next day came, and you didn't know how to act. 

You sit between Daphne and Mildred when he enters. 

He sits in front of you and nods, acknowledging you, which you return. 

The girls beside you don't know how to react, each staring at the other with a raised brow. 

You two talked with his mother about the decisions for your wedding. 

"Have you two discussed what you want?" 

Anthony opens his mouth to answer but finds himself without an answer. 

"Everyone will talk, and it will no doubt be in Lady Whistledown's column, but it would be preferred if we had a small ceremony, family only." 

You don’t look up from your plate. Violet nods, listening intently. "I will use the dress my mother made when I was born, it'll save us time on getting a dress. The flowers can be your choice." 

"And after?" 

You turn to her, "it'd be smart to hold a small reception after all though it will increase because everyone will want to see who married the handsome and fortunate viscount."

You push yourself out of the chair. "I apologize but I realized I promised to spend time with the girls before we go out for our shopping trip." 

"What just happened?" 

"Have you two talked about anything regarding your wedding?" Violet asks her son. 

"Every time we discuss something-" 

"No, have you sat down and discussed what you two are to do? Who will be there? Anything that a soon to be husband and wife should discuss?" 

His shoulders sag. "No." 

"I want you to go in my place." 

"What? Why?" 

"It will give you two a moment to talk and prepare for the future hardships you two will face as a couple. Raise her spirits. She got a letter from her mother, saying she will not be able to attend. Perhaps that is why she is so uninterested today." 

"She- how do you know?" 

"I'm your mother, I know more than you would think." 

-

Anthony waiting by the door frightened you. “Are you joining us?” 

“I’m here in place of my mother.” 

It takes you a few seconds to process what he said. “You are?” 

He nods. “Shall we?” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

The failed whispering voices of the women around you, annoys you to the point where Anthony feels that he needs to do something. “Is there anything that has caught your interest?” 

You shake your head. 

“Let’s go. I know somewhere we can have a better time, away from the whispers of these women.” He leans in, whispering into your ear, “they’re jealous of you.” 

You cover your mouth to hide your amusement, not wanting him to know he’s helping lift your spirits. You two exit the shop and return to the Bridgerton home. “Why are we back here?” 

“We are going to have a drink.” 

“With your family? Couldn’t we do that any day we wanted to?” 

He holds his hand out for you to take, which you do. “Although that may be true, that’s not what I had in mind.” He places his arms behind his back, clenching his fist not wanting you to see the control you have over him. “We’re going to spend time in my office.” 

“Oh? I’m invited in, I feel so special.” 

“You should, very few are allowed in here, especially when I’m working.” 

“Of course. The head of the house needs quiet or else.”

-

“I see going out has helped you.” 

You watch as he fills the glass for you before grabbing it and swallowing it in one gulp. “You could say that.” You scrunch your nose at the sensation, maybe doing that was a bad idea. 

He takes a seat in his chair. 

“Could I ask you something?” 

He nods, staring at you over the glass as he takes a sip. 

“Did your mother inform of the one guest we won’t be seeing at our wedding?” 

He slowly sets the glass down before returning his gaze to you. “She may have mentioned it.” 

“Is that why you came with me today because she told you to and not because you wanted to?” 

“She may have said she thought it was best if I take her place, but it was initially my choice to go.” 

“You’re not lying?” 

“What would I gain from lying to you?” 

You sit up and reach for the bottle, filling your glass. “A relationship built on a lie.” 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you trying to make this harder than it needs to be?” 

“I can’t just- you can’t honestly expect me to ignore that we are marrying one another when you never wanted to marry and I hoped that when it happened, it’d be with someone who loved me.” 

He’s out of his chair before you realize he’s now sitting in the chair beside you. “What will it take for you to stop saying that?” 

“What?” 

He leans in closer. “Why do you think I could never love you?” 

“I-” You gulp. “You have spoken before that you never want to marry, what else am I to think?” 

“How do you know I couldn’t change? What if something comes of this relationship?”

Your breath hitches and you continue staring him in his eyes. “I suppose we’ll have to cross that bridge if we get to it.” You set the glass down and rush for the door, “I’ll take my leave now. I’m feeling quite tired after our outing.” 

He grabs your wrist, pulling you back in before you could open the door. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you into answering my questions.” 

“What if I enjoyed them?” 

You turn to face him with a small smile. “Then I am concerned for your being.” 

“Don’t worry about me.” 

“Be honest, did you mother tell you about my mother is not coming?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, but you know the truth. 

“You don’t need to lie on order to preserve myself, it’s okay.” You sigh, “is it sad that a small part of me wishes for her to be there?” 

“Not in the least. It’s natural for you to want your mother there-” 

“It’s not because she’s my family, I just- I need her to stop pushing marriage onto me.” You pace back and forth, “this is my way to prove her wrong but that makes me feel worse because it makes me seem as though I’m being a bad daughter.” 

“You’re not,” he disagrees with you. “That is anything but you being a bad daughter. If anything, she’s- she’s scared to lose her daughter to a new family because they know you will be starting a new life, away from her and that’s why she doesn’t want you to help.” 

“But what if-” 

His hand slides down your arm as if his hand lingering wasn’t enough to drive you mad, he tightens his grip on your hand. 

You force yourself to focus on his words and not the warmth emanating from him. 

“Stop. All the negative thoughts you have are not going to help you. But listen to this, you are a good daughter, and she should be happy to know her daughter will be taken care of. As long as you are a part of this family you will be taken care of and not have to worry about expectations.” 

“I won’t,” you whisper, not meaning to. He shakes his head and gives a small smile. “I promise.” 

He realizes he’s been holding onto you this whole time and his arm falls. “Can I walk you back to your room?” 

You nod, ignoring the warmth flooding your cheeks. “I would like that.”

-

“Will I see you at breakfast tomorrow?” 

“You will, and if I ask you the same question?” 

He smiles, “I will be there.” 

“Good, I think this is a good start to our future marriage.” You step inside the room. 

“I am sorry.” 

“What?” 

“The marriage… and the reason we are to wed.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I lost myself and-” 

You shake your head, placing a hand on his chest over his heart. “I do not blame you for something as traumatizing as your father’s death. Please know that.” 

“But-” 

“Anthony Bridgerton,” you tell him using a stern tone. “Stop it. It may not have happened under the best of circumstances, but I am happy that I will be wed to you than some other man. I can at least trust you.” You step back into the doorway, slowly closing the door as you bid him goodnight. 

He stands there, touching the spot where your hand was until he drops it, straining his hand as he fights to clench it.

-

Benedict and Colin happen to be there when he turns the corner. 

“Quite a show you put on there,” the second eldest says. 

“Yes, you’re whole “I’ll be the perfect husband” speech was wonderful,” the third eldest chimes in. 

Anthony scoffs, “would you two quiet down?” He grabs them by their collars, dragging them into one of their miscellaneous rooms. “Why aren’t you two out?” 

“How could we be out when you’re here?” Colin asks. 

“Trying to woo the love of your life,” Benedict adds on. 

“I’m not- you two are acting like children.” 

“Us? Acting like children?” Colin starts, glancing at his brother. 

“No,” the artist shakes his head, “I don’t think so.” 

The soon to be married man glares at his brothers, unsure if he wants to listen further or not but if he doesn’t let them continue it’ll be worse in the morning. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I let you two continue, will you keep quiet in the morning?” 

“Morning?” Colin turns to partner in crime. “What’s happening in the morning?” 

The artist glances over his older brother and grins, “is the soon to be wed joining his family and future wife for breakfast?” 

“With him being silent, I’m going to say yes.” 

“Finally, you agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” the third eldest argues. 

“I don’t recall.” 

“Okay, now that you two are done, I’m going to bed.” 

“To dream of your wife.” 

“She looked quite nice today, wouldn’t you say brother?” Benedict asks. 

“I dare say, she looks even more radiant since her recent engagement.” 

“You two are done,” Anthony shoves them out of the room. “You two will not speak of her like that again. She is your friend,” he jabs Benedict’s chest. “And your future sister-in-law,” and does the same to Colin. “You will respect her and not talk like this again, understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

-

The next morning as soon as you step out of the door, your future husband paces. “You’re awake.” 

“I am, it’s time for breakfast.” You close the door behind you. “Shall we go downstairs and join the others?” 

“We’ll be the first ones down there.” 

“Either way, I’m going down.” 

He holds his arm out for you to take. “Shall we?” 

You give him a small smile and nod. “After breakfast, what are your plans?” 

“I have a few things I need to look over but after that I’m free. What did you have in mind?” 

“I planned on going for a walk along the back of your family’s estate and perhaps we could talk about things.” 

“Just the two of us.” 

“Mildred could join us?” 

“I’d rather she not.” 

“I don’t blame you; she’s been on a rampage since earlier this week.” 

The doors open and his brothers, Daphne and Mildred, are already sitting at the table. 

“Of course,” he mumbles. 

“Did you say something?” You ask him. 

He turns his head towards you, offering a small smile. “No, it’s nothing.” 

The glances between him and his brothers were interesting, intriguing to you and the girls, who also had no clue what was going on. 

He stands behind your chair, hand resting on your shoulder. “I shall find you after I am done.” 

You nod and watch him go. 

“Well, that was interesting.” 

Daphne shushes your cousin. 

-

You lay across the couch, reading another book and were so into it, not even realizing that he had entered the room. 

He smiles as he steps closer, wondering what’s going on inside your head, finding you to be more interesting as he observes you reading, compared to his sister. He leans against the back of the couch, bending down to catch your attention. 

A shadow moving catches your eye and you turn, screaming soon after. 

You place your hand over your heart, taking deep breaths. “For heaven’s sake! What was that for?” 

“What do you mean?” He smirks, arms on around the sides of your body as he stays behind the couch. “What are you reading?” 

You turn around and cross your arms, “why does that concern you?” 

“Can’t a future husband be curious as to what his future wife is into?” 

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Is that all?” 

“It is. But that’s not why I’m here.” He doesn’t say anything else. 

You get impatient and wave your arms around. “Spit it out. Come on.” 

“We are to marry by the end of the week.” 

Your brows raise is surprise, “oh.” 

“Is that alright?” 

You take a deep breath, “I just- I wasn’t expecting it to be so soon but that’s- okay.” You place the book beside you and stand up, brushing the wrinkles out of the skirts of your dress. “I need to go over some things with your mother.” 

The humor falls from his face. “Wait- where are you going?” 

"I just told you." 

He follows after you, "I heard you but-" He reaches for you, pulling you back. "Can we talk?" 

You take a deep breath to calm your beating heart. Why is this happening now? You thought you were over this. Your lips part as you stare at his hand. You shake your head, staring up at him. "I- what do we need to talk about?" 

"Lady... things." He’s quiet for a moment. "I won't push you but know I'm here to talk if you need someone." 

"Thank you." You take off, not noticing the way his hand slowly falls or the way he clenches his hand. 

It's been a long time since he's felt the skin of a woman he was enchanted by, especially one he's to call wife. 

"Did we catch a moment between you and your beloved?" 

Anthony sighs, "don't you have charcoal to break for your fruit drawings?" 

His younger brother puts a hand to his chest, offended by his brother's comment. "I'm hurt, Anthony. Truly, I am but it's not why I'm here." 

He turns to face the artistic Bridgerton, taking notice of the serious look on his face. "What's wrong?" 

"Sister." 

"Which one?" 

"Not one of ours." 

He furrows his brows, mouth agape to ask why but realizes who his brother is referring to. "I thought we had taken care of this situation?" 

"We did but then she decided to cut their trip short and has been calling on you since she arrived today."

"I need you to take care of her. I cannot allow her to ruin my marriage." 

Benedict nods, "you finally figured out you truly care for her, didn't you?" 

Anthony chuckles, "I'm not discussing this with you. Call Colin if you need help." 

"We got it. Go take care of my future sister." 

-

He nods for the doors to be opened. "Good morning, ladies." 

Your cousin shakes her head, your mother fawns over him while Violet takes a sip of her tea. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. 

He places a hand on the back of your chair. "I expect you all enjoyed your breakfast before discussing more of the wedding." 

"Oh, certainly. Your family has been nothing but kind to us, Viscount." 

You adjust the napkin on your lap to keep you from rolling your eyes at your mother's fake enthusiast tone. 

Mildred pats your arm, knowing the strained relationship between you and your mother. 

He notices the tension in your shoulders and wishes he could pull you away from all this madness. "Anything I can help with?" 

"Oh, heavens no. You have other more important things to take care of. Leave this to us ladies, isn't that, right?" 

You purse your lips and let out a quiet, "mmhmm." 

Maybe it was better when she said she couldn’t come to the wedding. Yes, you were sad, but it was better than the real thing. 

Violet glances between you and your mother. "Why don't we let the girls go on a walk with Anthony watching over them?" 

"But-" 

"I think this will be good for them. It will give them more time to talk." 

The woman hesitates to say yes, debating if this is truly a wise decision before making a decision. 

-

You didn't realize how tight you were squeezing Mildred's arm until she let out a whine. 

Your eyes widen, "oh, Millie. I'm so sorry." 

"It's fine. I should have known better. I know how crazy she makes you." "This always happens?" You don't look in his direction. Your cousin nods her head, "unfortunately." 

"Why has she made this unexpected visit?" 

"She," Mildred pauses, giving herself time to think of a better answer than truth. 

"She wants to know if I am with child and if the reason, you're marrying me is to save my family's name." 

Anthony nods, he understands why you preferred planning this with his mother and your cousin. "Should we?" 

You two glance over in his direction. "What are you implying?" 

He shrugs, "I merely suggest we pretend as if there is something going on, give your mother something to worry about." 

"You want her to pretend as if she is with child?" 

He nods, confirming Mildred's nightmare. 

"Please tell me you're not thinking of going through with this. It’s absurd and- oh, no. Now I like it." 

You glance between the two. "Is this something you two finally agree on?" 

They stumble for a minute, waiting for the other to argue and tell you no but come to realize you are, in fact, correct. 

Daphne stumbles upon the three of you and smiles, neither Mildred nor her brother are arguing, and you don't look uncomfortable. 

"Daphne!" Your cousin waves. "Come, come. We need your knowledge on a subject." 

She nods, smiling. "May I ask what you need my help with exactly?" 

"How does one pretend to be with child?" 

She owlishly blinks, tilting her head staring at the woman as if she's lost her mind. "I'm sorry?" 

"We are feeding into my aunt's absurd idea of her precious daughter being with child." 

Anthony purses his lips, finding himself to be offended more than he had been by Mildred's comments. "I'm not the worst option for a father." 

"Moving on," she waves him off before returning her attention to his sister. "We need information." 

"And you want to do this?" She turns to face you. 

Your eyes widen slightly, not realizing she was going to ask. "I think it would be... nice to show mother how well her child is without her watchful eye." 

"And you're sure this is the way to do it?" 

You shrug, "it's not so much if I think this is okay, it's more like she needs to realize I am my own person and can live a life without her dictating everything for me." 

Daphen nods, "okay. I will help." 

Mildred smiles and interlocks her arm with the Bridgerton girl's. "Come, we have much to discuss." 

You turn to your future husband and raise a brow. 

He stares at the two, wondering what advice his sister could have to offer before holding his arm out for you to hold onto as you all return to the hall for dinner. 

"Are you sure about this?" 

You hum, not having listened to a word he said. 

"I asked if you're sure about this. Mildred and I were joking, we don't expect you to play along with this idea." 

"Your kind, but this is something I need to do. She won't listen to reason if I tell her I don't need her help, she'll involve herself, no matter what." 

"And this is how you'll get her to stop?" 

You sigh, "we'll see." 

The dinner was entertaining for most, you felt bad for embarrassing Violet and the Bridgerton name all to get your mother off your back, but you felt there was no other way to stop her from inserting her wants and needs before yours. 

That was the first night you had a stern talking to from your future mother-in-law and- even though you could have thought of a better way to handle the situation, it felt nice to be taken care of the way a child should, compared to the way your mother raised you. 

You didn’t talk to your cousin or future husband after and went to bed with too much on your mind. 

-

Then came the wedding, it was as lovely as could be even if it was short notice and only family was invited. 

It came as a surprise to everyone, mainly yourself, when your mother decided it was time to stop and act like a caring parent. 

She smiled and fixed a piece of hair that was out of place. “I know this isn’t the wedding you dreamed about-” 

“I didn’t dream of a wedding often.” 

She sighs, realizing she’s been putting words in your mouth rather than stopping to listen to you. “I never dreamed of marrying someone I didn’t love. If I were to ever get married, I’d rather it be with someone I could have a future with than someone who would rather be with another.” 

"I know." 

"And you know what else- you know?" 

She nods, "I've been trying to relive my life through you, and it isn't fair. I'm here to watch you marry the man who will provide, take care of you," she cups your cheeks. "And love you the way you deserve." 

You shake your head, fighting to keep your composure, not wanting anyone to know of your breakdown. "He doesn't love me." 

She nods, "he does, you just can't see it." 

"How-" 

Your mother shushes you, "it's time." 

The reality of the situation didn't hit you until it was time to walk down the aisle but with the help of Mildred and Daphne, you were able to overcome it. 

That was also the only time you've felt the lips of your husband. 

-

Since the wedding it feels as though all the progress you two made was wasted, even Mildred was tired of your constant complaints before and after she left. 

You sit in the library, biting your nail until it hurts and turn the page; a new habit of yours, one Eloise would be proud of. 

You started hiding away to read when everyone went off to live their lives now that the beginning of yours has ended started. You’ve been reading more since your cousins’ departure; it was a tearful morning but you're happy to know she’s out living her life the way she wants. 

Then Daphne and Simon left the hall so they could return to their lives in their own home with little Augie. 

You've tried to go out with Violet and Lady Danbury, but they preferred to ask when you two would expand your family; safe to say you also hide in here for another reason. 

The youngest Bridgerton’s are swept away for their studies as they continue to grow. Francesca and Eloise are nowhere to be found half the time (hence where you got the idea). 

You don't know if you'd be able to handle talking to the other two brothers since marrying the eldest. The comments they make at breakfast are enough, going on a walk with them would be too much. 

Not that you mind the quiet even if it does get lonely at times. 

You push yourself off the ground, placing the book back in its place only now realizing how dark it had gotten and your candle has died, providing little light to guide you; its barely the size of your thumb and the wick is dying the longer you stay here. 

You open the door, carefully closing it and wince as the hinges creaking echoes down the hallway. You pause at the sound of footsteps only to hear a familiar girls whisper. "Hyacinth?" 

She smiles, "what are you doing here?" 

"I was reading." 

"In the dark?" 

You two glance down at your source of light that died as soon as she mentioned it. "The candles died." 

“Can you take me back to my room?” 

You smile and nod, “of course I can.” You grab her hand and try to find your way back to the hallway where her room is. 

-

“Finally, we found it.” You glance down at her, “I told you, we would.” 

She smiles up at you with a sleepy expression. “I knew you would.” 

You open the door and get her settled into bed before exiting. 

You wonder what it would be like to have your own child and stop. Are you really thinking about what it would be like to have a child when you haven’t seen your husband since your wedding day? 

You shake your head and continue down the hallway before turning around, realizing you made a wrong turn; you sigh, leaning against the railing, staring at the ballroom floor. 

You remember the first time you arrived at the hall and saw him. You didn’t know why your heartbeat was so fast until your cousin explained it to you. 

You wonder if he knows how you feel and if that’s the reason, he’s been avoiding you. 

“What are you doing awake at this hour?” 

You spin around and find- “Ben!” You cross your arms to cover you. 

He smiles, “what are you doing out of bed and away from your husband?” 

You take the jacket he offers you, “I’d rather be reading but my candle died- oh no.” 

“What?” 

“I left it in your sister’s room.” 

“Ah, so you’ve seen the whole family other than the one man you should be seeing.” 

“Quiet now, Benedict. Unless you want others to know you’ve seen your brother’s wife in her night dress.” 

“It wouldn’t be the biggest scandal our family has dealt with.” 

You lower your head, rubbing your forehead at his words. “You’re an idiot. I’m going to bed.” 

Anthony had a rough night and going to bed was something he desperately needed, maybe seeing your figure laying in our shared bed would make him feel better; he always seems to calm down when his eyes land on you. 

That was something he always enjoyed about you whenever you were around. 

He stops removing his coat when the door opens, and his brother is behind you while you stay in the doorway with his coat around your shoulders. 

His brother takes the item from you and takes his leave before Anthony starts asking questions (not before Benedict gives him a suggestive look). 

He doesn’t want to ask- he shouldn’t ask, it’s not his place. “Something I should know about?” He hopes this doesn’t lead to a fight. 

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re going to pretend as if my brother walking you, my wife, wouldn’t be a scandal if we were elsewhere.” 

“Why? Don’t you trust me?” You ask, tired of all the games; him avoiding you and now having an interest in you. 

“Do you know how much it affects me?” 

An annoyed sigh escapes him, revealing to you how he feels (about the situation and not yourself). “What affects you, sweetheart?” 

You ball your fists, “stop calling me that.” 

He can’t call you such an endearing name when he hasn’t been acting like your husband. “That is what a husband is supposed to call his wife, is it not? A charming word of endearment for a handsome lady, such as yourself.” 

“Stop talking…” 

“What else am I to call you? I cannot call you by your name, it would prove-” 

“How little we care for each other.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You. I’m talking about you.” 

“Me?” 

“You are a pest.” 

“A pest,” he whispers, finding himself offended. 

“You have never once thought of myself in the manner of being one’s wife but yet you act like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re my husband.” 

“Am I not?” 

You study him. “You want to make a big deal out of this when you’ve been avoiding me since the wedding? Therefore, you are a pest.” 

“I- I haven’t- when was I avoiding you?” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

He struggles to remove his coat and you make your way towards him, helping him. 

“Your brother found after I helped Hyacinth get back to bed after she found me exiting the library. He didn’t want anyone else to see me in such a… intimidate manner.” 

You stare at him through your lashes. “Anything else you want to add? Maybe,” you place his jacket on the back of the chair before taking a seat at the vanity. You start removing the pins and ribbons keeping your hair up, your tiredness hitting you as you prepare for bed. 

He sighs, untying his collar. “I wasn’t avoiding, I’ve been… busy.” 

“Busy? You’ve been busy?” You undo the sheets, settling onto your side. “I’m going to sleep until you can come up with another excuse on why you’ve been avoiding me.” 

“I- believe me when I say I wasn’t avoiding you because I- this isn’t easy.” 

You spring up, glaring at him. “And you think this is easy for me?” 

“I’m not saying anything about our marriage. I have been,” he pauses, thinking of the right word. “Dealing with personal matters, things you shouldn’t have to worry about because of a mistake I made in the past. I am trying to protect this because I care about you.” 

You gulp, “I’m sorry.” 

“What was that?” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m sorry for thinking you were avoiding me but to be fair,” you spring forward, pointing to him. “I- I-“ You struggle to speak as you catch the sight of his bare chest. 

He knows what he’s doing to you and his chest warms at the thought of only you being the one to see him in such an intimate way. 

You turn away, fiddling with the sheets. “Like I said, I’m sorry for assuming the worst but considering-“ You close your eyes, following the way his lips moved against yours. You push him away, the warmth of his chest lighting a fire within you. “Just because we are married, does not mean you can use your body to change the subject or get me to stop talking about something you don’t want to.” 

The corner of his smile twitches before he allows himself to smirk. 

You’ve only ever seen him use this expression with his family, never once was it directed at you. 

You’re happy tonight ended the way it has, you’re feeling closer to him, learning more of what makes Anthony Bridgerton tick. 

-

He closes his eyes, chest heaving with every breath he takes. “I’m here.” He pulls away from you. 

Your hand falls at your side. 

His figure fades away, leaving you confused. 

You burst up, confused as to what your dream means and glance beside you, finding him still asleep. You push yourself out of bed, needing the get away for a moment, sitting in the bench underneath the window. 

You stare at the stars, wondering if there was some way, they’d be able to respond to your questions. It’s only been several days since your marriage became official; you still feel as though you’re not and none of is real. 

You think back to your first kiss you two shared at the altar and the one you shared before going to bed. Your fingertips brush against your lips, relishing the sensation you felt then as it fills you with something you never thought you’d be able to enjoy. 

‘Is this what love is?’ You think, staring at the bright moon, knowing it won’t answer you. 

You glance back at him and wonder if he’ll ever love you the way-. You wipe away the stray tear, knowing how much it’d break you if he decided to cheat or leave you entirely. 

Your greatest fear was thinking you’d end up alone. 

Now you fear he’d be the one to leave you without looking back. 

He squints, the moonlight disturbing his slumber. “What are you doing up?” 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Hmm?” 

He repeats his question, sitting up in bed, his night shirt wrinkled and slipping off his chest. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you tell him, not believing your own words. You crawl back into bed when you notice he won’t fully fall asleep until you’re near. 

As soon as you settle onto your side, his breathing evens out. 

You lay your head on the pillow, fighting the thoughts you know will keep you awake, feeling you’ll need more sleep than anything. 

-

"We need to try for a child." 

He glances up from his work. "I didn't realize your mother was in town." 

You narrow your eyes to him, something he is truly fond of even if you are upset with him. "I'm going to pretend as if you didn't say that." 

You close the door and pace around the floor in front of his desk. 

“If you find yourself calm enough to talk, could you repeat what you said when you busted into my office.” 

He knows what you said, there's no denying what he's heard but what's got you riled up to bring up such a topic. 

The wedding was only three weeks prior, he knows of the idle gossip some of the other women enjoy talking amongst each and he's curious as to who said something. 

He's also been trying to keep himself busier than usual to keep him from staying up too late and thinking of performing such acts upon you. He sets his pen down, giving you his full attention. “Why are you asking now?” 

“I’m not asking,” you argue. 

Is it such a wise idea to try and push for this? Most likely not but you're too upset over the gossip to think logically. 

He studies you for a moment, wanting to understand what happened to make you think such a thing. 

“What happened? I mean, you and Daphne went out for a walk, right?” 

You pause, trying to understand where he’s getting at before nodding. 

“Who said something to you?” He raises his brow. 

“No one… exactly,” you huff, crossing your arms. 

“I know they’re expecting me to be with child by now or at least, in the works of trying for a baby and I don’t want there to be another Whistledown column with either of our names in it. It’s not just my reputation that could be ruined, it could be yours or your family’s this time.” 

He can’t help but smile at your kind thoughts. “I appreciate the concern and I’m sure my family would as well, but everything is going to be fine. We don’t need to worry about this.” 

You continue having your pity party. “I’m glad you seem to think so.” You furrow your brows, thinking about how he’s avoiding the topic. “Why are you putting this off?” 

“Putting what off?” 

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t act as coy as your brothers do when asked about their courtships.” 

He doesn’t have a way out, does he? A knock on the door alerts him. “I have other business to attend to, I’ll see you at dinner?” 

You scoff, “you pretend as if you want me and need me when we are in our shared room but now that we are out in the open you want nothing to do with me? Tell me, are you just using me for your own gain?” 

He sighs, “please, can we,” he glances at the door to find his brother. “Talk about this another time?” 

You nod, offering a fake smile, “of course, husband.” 

His attention turns to you once more, “I thought we weren’t going to have the normal marriage?” 

“It seems we were both wrong.” You shrug. “Goodnight, husband.” You yank the door open, rushing past Benedict and the guest without looking back. 

Kate smiles watching as you put yourself further away from the one person she wants. “It seems you and your bride are having minor troubles, may I?” 

Anthony grits his teeth. “What’s brought you here, to my family’s hall, today?” 

Her mischievous smile turns into an evil smirk, “I’ve come to visit an old friend, after all, didn’t you say I was always welcome?” 

“That was before you tried to take my family’s fortune and run off.” 

She plays with the cuff of his coat sleeve. “If it makes you feel better, I have a husband.” 

“Then you should be with him.” He removes her hand from him. 

If this had happened a year ago, he would be crawling back into her embrace but now that he has you, the only person that can keep him sane; he’s not going to make that mistake. 

He sits down at his desk, rereading the page he was working on when you came in. He knows he’d be stupid if he fell for her tricks once more and ruined your marriage (and family name). 

She pouts, not liking the fact that he doesn’t want her anymore. 

“Perhaps you should go back to your home. We must clean up for dinner,” Benedict chimes in. 

She spins to face the second eldest, “dinner? I’d love to.”

Anthony pushes himself out of the chair. “That’s not an invitation.” 

“Why? Are you scared I’m going to ruin your precious marriage? You truly think I’d be harsh to do such a thing?” 

“We don’t need to think it if we know.” 

She smirks in trump, feeling as though she’s won. 

-

You glance at the two with a sinking feeling in your stomach. 

Is this the way your marriage is going to end? It took a while before you could remember where you knew her from and as soon as it clicked, you were fidgeting in your seat. Why did he allow her to sit so close to him? 

She knows he's a married man and doesn't care. Maybe she thinks the marriage is fake and- you aren't worthy enough to be his wife. 

You push the food around on your plate, your appetite forgotten. You remember the rumors about their relationship but could never be proven since she went back to India with her mother but now that she's back, you don't know what to think. 

He notices and wishes that she didn't invite herself to join his family tonight. 

You ask him about expanding the family line and him avoiding the topic entirely because he doesn't want you to feel as though this is a duty the two of you have to do. 

He remembers when you two were first engaged and how you wanted to marry someone who truly loved you rather than someone marrying you out of a convenience. 

His heartbeat when you told you should try for a child, he nearly passed out on the spot at the thought of you baring one of his children. 

He knows you'd make fantastic mother; he doesn't doubt that in the least but since the wedding day he's realized something he should have a long time ago- something Kate is seeing for herself; he truly loves you. 

Nowhere is it near what she thought they had but she's happy that he has someone who cares for him in more ways than she could. 

-

She bids her farewells before pulling you to the side. "I apologize for intruding on your family dinner, but I think you should know you have nothing to worry about." 

You furrow your brows. "I'm sorry, what-" 

She shakes her head. "He loves you in more ways than he ever could care about me. I saw it tonight." She smiles, "all I ask is that you take care of him better than I could. I know you're good for him." 

You stare at the door as it closes, unsure if anything that’s just happened is real or if this is a fever dream. 

“Are you alright?” 

You turn to face your husband and gulp. “Perfectly fine, why do you ask?” 

“Did- She didn’t say anything, did she?” 

The blank expression from your face falls and is replaced by one of annoyance. “What if she told me something she shouldn’t have? Is there something you wanted her to hide from me?” 

He shakes his head, “is it too late to say no?” 

You scoff, “you’re an idiot.” You close the door, not caring if it slams shut or not. 

He stops it before it closes in his face, “I’m sorry I- it’s not true.” 

“Then what is? Why do you care whether she’s told me about yours and her relationship or not? I know about you two. I’ve read the columns and-” 

“That’s what I was worried about. I don’t want you to think something that isn’t true happened.” He stands behind the chair in front of your vanity. “I don’t want you think I’m a rake when I’m not, us marrying has changed things-” 

“Us getting married is the only reason you’ve changed?” 

“No,” he stumbles over his words, something he does more when he’s around you than anyone else he’s ever spoken to. “I-” 

You push yourself out of the chair and walk towards the bed. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I keep pushing and I’m sorry but right now, I just want to go to sleep.” 

“After you listen to what I have to say.” 

“I have not felt the way I do for anyone else. I- no words can come close to what I feel for you.” 

His grip tightens on the back of the chair. “I cannot- cannot breathe when you are near.” He catches your gaze, “you drive me insane when you try and argue with me. I don’t understand how you have vexed me and stolen my every thought. When you are here all I can think of is you, when you go out with my sister, you are the one thing on my mind. I- you, you are the bane of my existence, but I can’t seem to keep myself from you.” 

You turn around, catching his gaze in the mirror. “Why are you telling me this?” 

He spins around, “so you understand why I have changed. It’s not because I don’t care for you. I care too much about you. I have for a long time which is why I was scared when that bee was near you.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I was terrified I was going to lose you and I didn’t understand why until our marriage.” 

“But- that was days ago.” 

“Exactly,” he takes a step closer. “I’ve been losing my mind trying not to push you into something you’re not ready for. And then, earlier when you came to me, telling me we should try for a child. I didn’t know what to think.” 

“What about Kate?”

He owlishly blinks, trying to understand where you’re coming from. “What about her?” 

“You’ve been with women before me and I’ve accepted that, but Kate was here, having dinner with your family. She’s- she’s been around town from what I’ve heard being whispered behind my back. She was here and you didn’t tell me. You- you say that you love me, but I don’t know what to believe when the woman you were in love with, who later broke your heart, returned into your life and you didn’t so much as think to tell me. Benedict was more involved than I was!” 

You don’t know why you’re getting so upset over this, it shouldn’t bother you this much since you don’t- 

“I didn’t want her to spout lies about me to you and make you think I am not going to be a good husband.” He grabs your hands, “believe me when I say she is not relevant. You are my future.” 

Your chest heaves with every breath you take. “How-” Your nose twitches as you purse your lips, collecting your thoughts before you completely explode. 

“How what?” He switches between looking into one eye and then the other. 

“How could I be blind?” 

“To what?” 

“I have loved you since I could understand what the word meant and now you- you-” You gesture to your back, “help me with my corset. I cannot breathe.” 

He nearly rips your dress off you as he pulls the strings keeping the oxygen from getting into your lungs. 

You hang your head, trying to keep your emotions at bay. 

“Sweetheart…” 

You turn around, pointing at him with wet cheeks. “You have ruined me. You have ruined me for any other man since before my first debutant and have had my heart for just as long and I didn’t know it yet.” 

He holds his hand out for you, allowing you to take a step closer to him. 

You accept and stand with a few inches between you two. “You have bewitched me from the beginning, if you can accept my foolishness and accept me now, I would happily give myself to you only if you can return the feelings.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to survive if I declined your love.” 

For the first time since the wedding, the two of you share a genuine kiss and not one where he tries to use his body to distract you. It’s one that makes it feel like the world’s stopped spinning and you two are the only ones in the world. 

-

A knock on the door alerts the two of you. 

You wince, covering your eyes with your hand before reaching over for him. “Anthony, wake up.” 

“I’m coming in and I hope you two are decent.” She groans, “God, you two are naked. Gross.” Mildred complains loudly to whoever stands outside the door with her. “I thought they’d at least have the decency to be awake by now.” 

You can hear Benedict’s voice, but it comes out all muffled because you’re not fully awake. 

He opens his eyes and turns his head to find your beautiful face lying beside him, hair in disarray on the pillow. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. “Good morning, Viscountess Bridgerton.” 

You find it hard to resist the urge to smile and open your eyes, staring at him with nothing but love and happiness. You hum, brushing back his hair so it doesn’t look as messy, wanting to see more of his handsome face. 

“Good morning, Viscount Bridgerton.” You remove your hand from his hair, pulling his hand away from your cheek to peck his palm. “What do you have planned for today?” 

“Spending time with my wife, although I do have to say, I don’t think she’d appreciate me lying in bed with someone as breathtaking as yourself.” 

You can’t help but smile. “I think if you paid her the same comments you do to me, she’d understand.” 

He sucks in air through his teeth, “I don’t know. I think you’d have to meet her to find out the kind of woman she is.” 

“I think I know.” You lean against your elbow, meeting him halfway for a morning kiss. 

“Would you two hurry up? We have plans. I did not come here on a boat to see you two to stay in bed when I have plans with my cousin. Do you hear me, Bridgerton?” 

He sighs, flopping back onto his back. “How could I not?” 

You smack his chest before pushing yourself out of bed. “I’ll be ready soon. Go downstairs and wait for me, Millie.” 

“If you’re not down here before sunset. I’m leaving.” 

You chuckle to yourself. “Okay.” 

He pulls you closer to him, hands resting against your waist, slowly wrapping around you. He kisses the exposed parts of your back before pulling you down, kissing along your shoulders. 

-

“This cannot be safe.” 

“Just because it’s a new corset, doesn’t mean it’s not safe.” 

“For the baby.” He ties the strings through the loops. “When can we tell them?” 

“When they won’t freak out.” 

“Never, okay.” 

You chuckle and spin around, placing your hands on his shoulders. “They will know soon. It’ll be fine.” 

He stares into your eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

“I think that’s my line.” 

“Not today.” 

You peck his lips before ordering him to tie the corset. “I’ll see you after our walk.” 

“Don’t overexert yourself.” 

“I won’t. Goodbye, ‘Thony.” 

His eyes never left yours as you’re dragged away by your cousin. 

Benedict steps inside. “Someone’s happy.” 

He shakes his head, ignoring his brother; so happy go feed into the comments.

[shesthespinstersimmer]

After party / Where’s Wiley?

Previous / Next / Beginning

[mediumgayitalian]

“I made this for you.”

Nico stares, blankly, and the freckly hand extended out to him. Twisted around the long, calloused fingers, snagging on a black-lacquered chipped nail, is a bracelet.

Hesitantly, Nico takes it.

It’s woven in some way. He doesn’t recognize the exact pattern; Annabeth probably would. Not a braid, certainly, not any particular shape he can recognise. It’s bi-coloured, a twist of black and yellow, strings wrapped around them in an aborted spiral, almost. There’s a snag a third way into the bracelet, a tiny little error betraying its homemade status.

Under the guise of still inspecting the bracelet, Nico peers through his eyelashes. Will’s attention has long since shifted to somewhere to the left of him, rocking back on his heels, teeth gnawing into his lips as he hums. No longer extended out between them, waiting for Nico’s next move, his hands pick at the colour on his nails, picking off the polish chip by chip.

Dozens of similar bracelets stack his wrists, his ankles; rainbow of colours clashing horribly with the mint green of the cheap plastic shoes.

“What…” He pauses, clearing his throat. He feels Will’s attention on him, the warming rays of his soft smile. Surely this can’t be…

“It’s a friendship bracelet! We were makin’ pottery in Arts ‘n Crafts; I got distracted and the whole thing went squelch.” He blows a raspberry, smacking his fist into his hand. Nico jumps. “Totally collapsed! Anyways. Made a friendship bracelet for all my friends, yellow for me, black for you. I got a matching one!” He holds up his his wrist. It takes Nico a second of squinting to find the matching one — yellow and black, twisted, just like the one he’s wearing, nestled against the others like he’s been wearing it for years.

I made one for all my friends.

“You, uh.” His palms sweat. He tucks them behind his back before Will notices, although the twinkle in his eye tells him he might have an idea. “You’ve done this before.”

It’s not much of a question. Will takes it as one anyway.

“Mhm. You don’t have to wear it, if you don’t want to, I can take it —”

Nico wrenches himself away. Will blinks.

“Absolutely not,” he says, before he realizes what’s coming out of his mouth. “You made it for me. It’s mine.” In a flurry of movement, he tugs the bracelet over his hand, twisting the loosely hanging part around his thumb.

Slowly, giving him time to pull away, a freckly hand comes back into his space. When Nico — frozen — doesn’t flinch away, they rest on the jut of his wrist, the scar on the palm of his hand.

“I got it,” he murmurs. Nico glances up to find Will already looking at him, blue eyes wide and imploring and soft.

Nico has never associated blue eyes with softness. Intensity, maybe. Clarity. Softness, to him, has long been the understanding brown of Reyna’s, the softly glowing embers of Lady Hestia’s. The golden glow of Hazel’s, especially, ever-smiling. (The gentle, endless, sun-warmed clay brown of Bianca’s. Too big for her face, hidden behind her bangs; except, of course, when Nico was overwhelmed and miserable and needed her, needed her, needed her. Or when the lawyer came to their room door, steel-faced, giving the same news, and Nico would slide a small hand in hers, squeezing.)

Will’s eyes are soft, though, he realizes. Like cotton candy at DC fairs, like grape hyacinth, like the blanket he toted around as a baby. Like a sunny smile and golden hair and teasing winks when everything is too too much.

“There.”

With a gentle tug, the loose strings of the friendship bracelet tightly pull the bracelet snug against his wrist. Looser, barely even touching, Will’s fingers follow the contours of the bracelet. He lingers. Nico wonders if he can feel his pulse, pounding, endless.

“Thank you,” he manages, finally. His throat is dry. “For.”

The rest of his sentence won’t come out. Before he can panic, Will smiles; beams, really, eyes crinkling shut, and the short breaths clattering his lungs fizzle out entirely.

“Oh,” he says, several things slotting together at once. “Oh.”

“Anytime,” Will responds grinning, squeezing Nico’s wrist once more before bouncing off. “See you around!”

He’s far gone before Nico finds his voice again. But he smiles, still, eyeing the pretty bracelet, and whispers, “You, too.”

[frost-queen]

The moment I knew // part 5 (Reader!Bridgerton x Tewkesbury)

Forever tag:@missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22 @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, @queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly@denkisclown, @wildieflower, @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @justanothercoco@subjecta13-thefangirl, @m-rae23, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr, @swampthing07, @melsunshine, @panhoeofmanyfandoms, @venomsvl, @the-uncoordinated-house-cat, @rosecentury,  @imagines-by-her,  @evilcr0ne, @vviolynn, @cayt0123, @powwowsworld, @yomamacrusty, @mileyy22, @omgsuperstarg, @helen06dreamer, @misscaller06, @l4venderia

Summary: Finally it is your time to debut, yet your idea of a first ball does not go as you imagined. A mystery girl taking your place by his side. Can hearts be mended or shall they forever live in spite? [ part 1 & part 2 & part 3 & part 4 & part 6 & part 7 part 8 & part 9 ]

The doors opened. The feeling of a breath held in. Slowly lifting your head. Eyes locking on the Queen. Her eyes slightly narrowed full of judgement from afar. Taking the first few steps, you kept your gaze on her. Walking by nobles of the ton. Your family amongst them. No matter how much you wanted to acknowledge them, you didn’t. The queen settled with ease on your walk. Then a stop. Taking a graceful deep curtsy for her. Anthony smiling proudly at you. Benedict pressed his lips together, turning his gaze away.

“I promised I wouldn’t cry.” – he whispered blinking rapidly with his lashes. Colin waving his hands before Benedict’s eyes to keep his eyes dry. When you rose gave the queen you a pleasant smile. Turning back around, you headed back. Francesca sighed dreamily. – “Now it is official.” – she whispered to Gregory. – “Now she can marry Tewkesbury.” – Gregory spoke looking back to Anthony.

“Hush.” – Anthony breathed out. Gregory’s gaze went to Colin seeing him mouth an ‘oh she will’ to him. Gregory chuckle turning to Hyacinth to whisper it in her ear. Hyacinth gasped loud making Anthony hush them. In the meantime had you returned to mama. Exhaling deep you flopped down into a chair. Immediately plucking the feather from your hair. You gave the thing a bored look before handing it over to mama.

“You were so graceful my dear. I suspect you’ll be the season’s diamond.” – Violet gushed letting her fingers slide over the feather. You laughed softly. Looking past mama, a girl caught your attention. Hair as brown as chestnut. A mischievous glance in her eyes and a charming smile on her lips. She briefly made eye contact with you before the doors opened for her.

Then she was off presenting herself to the Queen. Mama tapped you on the knee to sit more graceful. You changed your posture sitting better when the doors opened again. The same girl from before walking out. She barely left the entrance when she plucked the feather from her hair. You quirked your eyebrow up when she tossed her shoes off.

Bending down to pick them up and continue on barefoot. You huffed funnily at how little she seemed to care. Getting up you followed mama into another room. There you waited for the queen’s decision on who the diamond of the season would be. You didn’t really cared as you only cared about seeing Tewkesbury again.

After being a year parted from him, you desperately wanted to be with him. Dance the night away with him and declare your love for him. Violet puffed annoyed wrapping an arm around you when they didn’t announce you as diamond of the season. You re-joined with your siblings as Violet kept muttering complaints. You welcomed Benedict’s hug seeing he had cried a little. – “You’re a baby Ben.” – you whispered to him.

“I do not care.” – he whispered back. – “Everyone can see I cried because of my sister’s debut!” – he declared loudly embarrassing you a bit. – “Ben…” – you whispered seeing some nobles chuckle. - “Stop embarrassing her.” – Francesca pitched in slapping Benedict with her glove. Benedict jumped quickly hiding laughingly behind Anthony. Gregory and Hyacinth walked beside you, heading back to the carriage. – “Are you to marry Tewkesbury now?” – Hyacinth asked getting in with you.

“That is what I intend to do.” – you answered. Anthony joined your carriage. – “I do have a say in it.” – he made clear with a brotherly scowl. – “Try your best brother.” – you told him seeing Hyacinth giggle. Colin came squeezing himself in the carriage making Anthony move closer to Hyacinth. – “There is no changing her mind.” – he spoke sitting down. – “and that you must remember brother dear.” – you rubbed in with a pleasing smile.

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

The entire household was in a rush. Benedict crossing the hallway while trying to put on his glove. Anthony making final checks on everyone. – “Colin your collar.” – he pointed out seeing it stick out. Colin sighed trying to fix it. Francesca approached him, slapping his hands away so she could fix it for him. Violet held her hand against the back of her hair. – “I’ve lost a pin.” – she called out searching the floor. Eloise joined them presenting herself mockingly to her family.

Anthony sighed loud not even the energy to speak about her lack of care in appearance. – “Eloise at least tie your shoes.” – he said scratching the back of his head. Eloise pulled her dress up, revealing her ankles as she looked dumbfound down at her shoes. Anthony turned his head looking up to the ceiling with a soft groan. – “I’ve send the wrong sister away for manners.” – he muttered to himself. – “Where is she anyways? Y/n!” – Anthony shouted out your name. You appeared from out of the parlor, all dressed up. – “Mama a pin.” – you said walking over to her.

Violet turned to so allowing you to adjust her hair. – “Eloise your ankles are showing.” – you told her without a second glance. Eloise looked down seeing that her sock was not pulled up high enough. She immediately bend down to pull it up. You stopped Benedict adjusting his cuffs. Anthony watching you with admiration. How mature you appeared. You noticed him staring making you furrow your brows. Anthony slightly shook his head, letting you know it was nothing. Grabbing Benedict’s arm, you followed the others outside to the carriages.

Your first attendance to a ball. Lady Danbury always hosted the first ball of the season. Once inside the carriage you felt the anxiety rise. Knee trembling whilst you fidgeted nervously with your fingers. Colin who sat beside you noticed it. Taking your hand, he put a stop to your fidgeting, bringing your hand to his knee. You thanked him with a warm smile. Feeling him squeeze your hand lightly, it eased your nerves. It was rather not the ball you were nervous off.

Rather seeing him again. A year. A year now you hadn’t seen him. Only his words written on paper to comfort you. Opening your reticule you looked down at the acorn inside of it. His promise buried inside of it. His promise of loving you. diving with your hand into the reticule, you held onto the acorn. Pressing it warmly against your palm. If you listened to your heart closely you could feel his words. His words of love for you.

Blink and it will pass. Indeed it has passed. The year you had been away from him felt at first like an eternity, till you had much fun and forgot to count the days. It no longer felt like agony, more like a deeper longing. Sometimes when you forgot to think about him, you felt guilty. Guilty of not having him in your mind. Would he forget about you too? Would he have days too where he forgot to think of you? Letting go of the acorn, you didn’t want to think of it. Pulling your hand back, you closed the reticule once more.

Eyes adverting to the shimmering dusk. Soft tints of orange and pink brewing behind a pressing darkening sky. Lady Danbury’s estate drew closer making you take a deep breath. – “Are you ready?” – Francesca asked you. You nodded. She extended her hand to you, making you let go of Colin’s hand to take hers. – “Don’t let anything stand in your way, Y/n. This is your season.” – she said encouraging. The carriage came to a stop. Colin stepped out as you had room to go closer to Francesca to give her a kiss on the cheek.

Colin waited for you to step out. Taking his hand, you stepped into the open air. Looking up to Lady Danbury’s estate. Out of the second carriage stepped out mama, Anthony, Benedict, and Eloise. Taking Anthony’s arm, he guided you inside. The warmth of her estate clasped around you like a blanket. The symphony of music becoming clearer as the doors opened. Dancers in sync as they twirled. Lady Danbury approaching to greet you all.

“Y/n Bridgerton, what a rare jewel you are.” – she complimented making you curtsy for her. – “Good luck to you.” – she smiled eyeing Anthony. Anthony swallowed nervously, not following immediately. Lady Danbury chuckled amusingly already seeing several interesting suitors looking your way. Smiling at herself, she walked off making Anthony more nervous than he already was. Getting on the tips of your toes, you looked around for a sign of Tewkesbury. Anthony saw two gentleman around their twenties hesitate to make their way over to you.

You gasped confused suddenly being pulled away by your brother. – “This is worse then I thought.” – he mumbled to himself, pushing a way through the crowd with you. – “I only have eyes for Tewkesbury.” – you reminded him. He turned to look at you with a hard stare. – “That I worry too.” – he confessed making you laugh pleasantly. Anthony came to stop where he had a good view of the entire ballroom from each side. He smiled noddingly seeing Colin and Benedict make their way through the crowd over to you. Francesca right behind them.

Francesca joined your side as your three brothers agreed on a set of rules regarding their sisters and possible suitors. – “Have you see him yet?” – she asked wrapping an arm around you. You shook your head, pulling yourself up to look around better. – “He’ll come and when he does you’ll be the first he dances with.” – she answered making eye contact with a young man her age. Anthony noticed it stepping in between Colin and Benedict to reach her and you. He came standing in front of her, shaking his head.

Benedict laughing loud. Anthony grabbed the both of you by the shoulders, pulling you away from the dance. – “Let us fetch a drink sisters.” – he spoke pushing you and Francesca forwards. Francesca smirked at his silly behavior. Benedict and Colin remained having a chat with each other. Colin was staring at the dancers, Benedict turned away from them to acknowledge mother from afar. Colin’s brows furrowed when a pair moved revealing a familiar face.

It was Tewkesbury. He sighed relieved having found him till he noticed the girl he was dancing with. Hair as brown as chestnut. He let her twirl under his arm, gaze constantly on hers till she rejoined him closely. – “Who is that?” – Colin wondered making Benedict turn around. His eyes fell upon Tewkesbury dancing with the young lady. – “Is that not…” – he questioned, Colin confirming his doubts. – “Tewkesbury with another.” – Benedict’s eyes widened looking sharply around to where you were. – “She cannot see this.” – he told Colin knowing how much it would break your tender heart.

Colin gasped anxiously seeing you return with Francesca and Anthony. Colin rushed over coming to block your view. He started you with his odd behavior. – “Anther drink sister?” – he questioned. – “Colin I just went to fetch one.” – you told him showing him the glass in your hand. Colin snatched it from your hand, drinking the lemonade in one gulp down. – “Another sister?” – he repeated. – “Colin!” – Anthony snapped at him.

“Colin what is with you?” – you questioned seeing him take a step aside to keep your view blocked out. Furrowing your brows something felt off. You leaned to the side to try and look as Colin blocked your view again. You tried the other way, getting the same result. – “What are you not letting me see.” – you asked loudly finding his behavior odd and annoyingly. Francesca groaned loud pushing him aside. – “Fran no!” – He called out as the view got cleared.

The dancers spun around as you saw Tewkesbury among them. Instantly you started to smile, till you noticed the girl stepping up to him, looking lovingly up in his eyes. Tewkesbury staring lovingly back at her. He waltzed with her around the room as you stumbled back, feeling like you were going to pass out. Francesca gasped loud, covering up her mouth. Anthony’s eyes widened with shock. – “I tried to shield you…” – Colin breathed out feeling a bit guilty.

Tewkesbury and the girl you recognized from the palace to meet the queen came to a stop. She twirled again under his arm, meeting up with him. Tewkesbury’s gaze was on her till his eyes shifted briefly to the side. His eyes staring in shock at yours. She stepped to the side, expecting him to follow when he didn’t. She furrowed her brows seeing him stare frozenly. Looking over her shoulder, she noticed you and your siblings. Heartbroken you turned around, wiping your cheek dry.

“Wait!” – Tewkesbury called out. – “Wait Miss Y/n!” – he moved to go after you, the girl needing to move to not be pushed over by him. Francesca went after you. – “Miss Y/n wait please.” – Tewkesbury said hastily reaching your brothers. Colin and Anthony blocking his path so he couldn’t follow you. – “Let me through! I need to speak with her!” – He said desperate and annoyed that your brother’s wouldn’t let him pass. Anthony grabbed him firmly by the shoulder. – “You stay away from her!” – He called out, pushing him away.  – “Miss Y/n!” – Tewkesbury called out loud catching the attention of many bystanders.

Benedict joined his brothers, leaving through the crowd. Tewkesbury stood still feeling a sudden hand on his shoulder. Looking to his side he saw Enola by his side. She motioned for him to follow her. Meanwhile had Francesca caught up with you. She had taken a hold of your elbow, pulling you to a stop. You turned round, letting yourself fall against her chest. Crying loudly as she comforted you. How betrayed you felt. While you remained loyal to him, had he found someone else.

Someone else to cherish and confess his love to. What a fool you have been. A fool for love to think someone would remain loyal to you. To have believed his words with such truth. It hurt with every inch inside of you, hating that you still wanted him. Your brothers joined your side, having found the two of you. – “I knew it!” – Anthony called out making Benedict glare at him for not being the right time. Colin wrapped his arms around you. He could not believe it.

Firsthand he had seen how caring Tewkesbury was towards you. Firsthand he had witnessed the pure love between the two of you. A love story crumbling down to ashes with the coming of another. Nothing more you wished to leave the ball. Benedict agreed, leading you towards the doors to leave for the hallway. – “Miss Y/n!” – you suddenly heard, catching Tewkesbury hasten his way over to you.

“Miss Y/n please.” – he begged coming closer. Benedict and you came to stop. Benedict stopped him by his shoulder, not letting him come any further. – “I’m going home, my lord.” – you said with a stiff curtsy. Benedict let go of him as you turned round. Tewkesbury grabbed for the ribbon on your back, wanting to hold you.

He felt the fabric slip through his fingers when you walked away from him. Lowering his head, he watched the doors close before his eyes. Benedict and you got into the carriage, returning home. Numbly you stared out of the window. Had you hoped too much?

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[selfishdoll]

❛favorite groupie...❜ ━━ ft. vamp! sukuna

SUMMARY ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ

the last thing you wanted to do was go to a vampire bar just because your best friend’s favorite fanged band was playing. but you did.. and met a certain pink haired drummer whose way too cocky for his own good. luckily, you just love matching energy.

CONTENT WARNING ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ

vampires so mentions of blood, bloodsucking, period blood, etc. | self-indulgent asf (reader wears glasses) | semi-public sex | sukuna is a drummer & vampire | ooc sukuna | mean dom! sukuna | praise & degradation | use of the word “groupie” to mock at first but later used as a term of endearment(?) | “pet names” (pretty, doll, minx, sweetheart, etc) | strangers to lovers(? there may be a part two to this) | rough sex | manhandling | throat fucking | sukuna comes on reader’s glasses | pussy drunk sukuna & cock drunk reader | tipsy sex (buzzed really) | sukuna & reader match energy fr. try to see who folds first | denied orgasms | spanking | fingering | etc. if i forgot something tell me please.

NOTE ೀ ׅ ۫ . ㅇ

this story is heavily inspired by the old show “true blood” that i am currently obsessed with. that’s where i get the idea of a vampire bar & the term “fang-banger.” you will see several vamp fics because they’re literally my favorite supernatural creature. also, sukuna is gonna be ooc cause i’m sensitive & can’t make characters too mean 😞. also this got longer then i wanted it to so it’s like 5k+ words. as always please excuse any typos & grammar mistakes.

Arabian Night burned upon the decorated holder rested on your vanity, the subtle notes of hyacinth and carnation tainting the atmosphere— warming the area around you. Your dark eyes were glued to the mirror, staring back at yourself delicately gliding the tube of mascara along your lashes, careful to assure no product got into your eye.

“I can’t believe you’re really making me go to a vampire bar.” The words left your glossed and lined lips in a hiss, eyes rolling the moment you heard your friend attempt to defend herself on facetime. To be frank you didn’t hate vampires. There weren’t many differences between them and humans. They were both beings that simply fed on other things to survive.

A hamburger to a human was no different then blood to a vampire.

But, you still did your best to avoid them. Which was easy since they were limited on when they come out and most establishments didn’t allow them in. Your friend knew this, knew your justifiable fear of being some vampire’s next meal— yet urged and lowkey manipulated you to going to a vampire bar.

“They’re only here for a week! We’re the first place they’re touring— we have to go!”

Through many days of urging, guilt trips, and puppy eyes you caved; declaring it would be cool to see a vampire’s world or even interact with them. You were still scared but the fear was sure to melt, right?

You rose from the plush pink chair, stepping back into the view of the full body mirror pressed against your wall. Placing your glasses back on, you looked over your form, searching for any imperfections. The outfit was simple; a red cropped edhardy jacket, your lacey white bra poking out from underneath. You wore dark blue jeans with a red belt, white thong straps resting high on your hips. You pursed your lips a bit, gliding your fingers through the honey brown lace you wore, watching the curls bounce perfectly. With another glance over and a push of your glasses you were satisfied, sliding your sock covered feet into some white sneakers— grabbing your other necessary belongings shortly after.

You exited your home locking up behind yourself and heading towards your car. You would have driven with your friend but there was a chance she would end up under the arm of some hot vampire.

“Fang-banger..” Was the simple word that escaped your glossed lips, grinning just a tad as you turned the engine over. She would be pissed to hear you call her that.

After about fifty minutes of driving you arrived to the bar, the entrance surrounded by people. You bit the inside of your cheek, feeling the anxiety rose. Sure humans were welcome and you’ve heard relatively good things about this particular establishment.. but there were still vampires.

A being that could end you in a single bite.

The thought alone caused you to shiver, shutting your car off and squeezing the steering wheel. You gave yourself a few moments before pulling your hands away, releasing a deep breath and opening your car door. Exiting it, you closed and locked the vehicle; turning in time to see a bubbly woman rushing towards you.

You instinctively opened your arms, eyes rolling as she practically tossed herself into them. You grumbled as kisses were pressed to your cheek, your best friend thanking you over and over again for coming.

“Yeah, yeah— whatever.” You mused, ignoring her hands groping your ass. Your hands lowered to her shoulders, pushing back a bit. “The band is gonna start soon, right? Come on.”

“Oh, right!” She grinned, pulling away whilst locking her hand around your wrist. You were then tugged towards the bar entrance, your free hand gripping your sleeve nervously. Your eyes peered up at the woman beside the door, her red colored lips pulling into a tiny grin at the sight of you and your friend.

A very toothy grin.

“IDs?” She questioned in a velvety tone, eyes focused on you for a split moment— as if sensing your nervousness. You breathed, reaching into the handbag you carried and grabbing your wallet. There you grabbed your identification, passing it to her while your friend did the same.

The woman glanced over the cards for a moment before nodding, passing them back to you two. “You’re all set, have fun girls.” She winked, stepping to the side to let you both inside.

Your friend giggled excitedly as you entered the bar, your eyes dancing around the area. It was a normal bar really; regular tables, a medium sized stage, and a dance floor. People of many different ethnicities — and species — danced and conversed, enjoying drinks and each other. Seeing a vampire feeding in real life was completely abnormal to the point you couldn’t look away.

“Don’t stare so much, it’s rude.” Your best friend whispered, stealing your attention from the scene. You went to apologize, her only smiling and shaking her head. “Here, let’s get some drinks.” She led you over to the bar, the two of you sitting down as she gained the bartender’s attention. She ordered two simple shots, the man nodding and getting right to them.

“I just.. never expected something like this.” You murmured, eyes dancing about. You did your best on not focusing too hard on a vampire sinking their teeth into someone’s neck or a couple basically humping on the dance floor; instead finding interest in the gothic decor and paintings that depicted the bloodsuckers. You turned back to your friend after the once over, giving a nervous smile. “I expected something bad, I guess.”

Your friend shrugged, flashing a gentle smile— thanking the bartender once your drinks were placed down. “A lot of people do. They hear vamp bar and think the worst.” She spoke softly, grasping her shot glass, watching you grab your own. “Even though I forced you.. I’m really happy you came.”

You rolled your eyes playfully, clinking your glass against hers. “Whatever slut.” You downed your drink, listening to the small snort that escaped your friend before she downed her own.

During this the lights on the stage flicked on, members of the bar shouting in excitement. Your friend did the same, turning in her seat at the bar with the widest grin. “They’re here!”

You could only smile at her excitement for her favorite vampire band known as Malevolence. You forced yourself to listen to their most recent music to appease your friend and while you didn’t hate the songs, it just wasn’t something you could get into.

Sigh.. the things you did for friendship.

You rested against your palm, watching as four individuals trudging on stage. Your eyes traced their forms, not overly impressed until you moved onto the last member. The drummer. He was.. better looking then the other three. Tall with pink hair and a black undercut. He wasn’t slim but wasn’t large either, right in the middle. Along with his physique were tattoos along his arms, the rest of his body covered in a black muscle shirt, baggy pants for bottoms.

“Who’s the drummer?” You questioned, eyes glancing at the bartender and requesting another shot. Your friend blinked as she turned, flashing a smile.

“His name’s Sukuna!” Her smile morphed a bit, a little coy now. “He’s not well liked by the media. He’s a little mean.”

You believed her, given how he scowled at a few fans that shouted his name. Even snapping at his bandmates for something briefly. Any interest you had melted away in that instant.

You straightened as they finished setting up the stage, the guitarist stringing his instrument a few times. You smiled at the bartender as he passed your shot, thanking him and taking a swig.

Soon enough, Malevolence started its first song of the night— the bar singing along to the rough voice of the band. You had to admit, it was nice to hear live and see humans bond over their shared love for the music.

You didn’t totally regret coming here.

The band played for about an hour and a half, fans close to the stage attempting to touch and or be touched by the fanged members. It was all entertaining to see, you and your friend taking several videos for your social media.

They closed out their show around ten o’clock, thanking the audience. You cheered along with the others, grinning and turning to your friend. “That was a lot of fun. They sound so good.”

“I know right!” She giggled, completely geeking out about the band. You listened to her ramble intently, the buzz of the alcohol lighting your senses. During her words, however, she suddenly placed a hand onto her stomach. “I’m sorry, I’ll be right back!”

“Take your time.” You waved the girl off as she rushed over to the bathroom, body turning to face the bar. You unlocked your phone, scrolling through your social media for a moment, simply waiting.

That was until you heard the chair two seats down be moved, followed by an annoyed voice.

“Piss off already. I’m not interested.”

It was no surprise your nosy self turned to spot the one and only Sukuna sitting at the bar, waving off a few girls that surrounded and attempted to touch him. The dejected expressions that clung to their featured nearly saddened you, if amusement didn’t interrupt the emotion.

You took a long stare at the man, watching as he instructed the bartender to pour him a glass of some liquid in a tall dark bottle; not even thanking him once he was served. You hadn’t realized your eyes were still on him until the man turned in his chair, facing you.

“You need something? I already said I’m not interested.”

You blinked a bit, snapping out of your trance whilst placing your arm against the bar. You sucked your teeth, turning. “Do I look like a fang banger to you?” You questioned, tone a little rude. From the corner of your eye you spotted the man taking a sip from the glass, tongue gliding across his bottom lip.

“No.” Sukuna started softly, fingers tapping against the short glass. “More like some needy groupie.” His tone was mocking, watching in amusement as you turned to face him with a subtle snarl.

It took a moment for you to reply, raising your shot glass and downing the rest of the alcohol. The burning sensation covered your body, melting your usual filter away. “Even if I was a groupie, I would try to fuck the singer— even the guitarist.” You murmured, knowing his inhuman ears would pick up each word. “Not some vamp that beats on the drums.”

His eyebrows rose, releasing a breathy chuckle as he took another gulp from his glass. You watched carefully, breathing the moment you noticed the hint of red staining his fangs. How his tongue glided to collect the residue, clearly enjoying the liquid you now realized was blood. Sukuna’s eyes landed on you once again, the glass clinking against the bar the moment he placed it down.

“You got a lot of mouth.. defending yourself pretty hard too.”

“And you’re implying?”

Sukuna gave a crooked grin, tapping the counter to which the bartender stepped over to fill his glass back up. “You’re just trynna convince yourself you don’t want me. Scared of being a fang banger?” The vampire’s tone was mocking again, enjoying the way you glared and snarled.

“Please.” You hissed softly, shifting in your seat, ignoring the warmth flooding through your body. “Ain’t shit to be scared of. Vampires are no different from a human man.”

To your surprise the man began to laugh, hunched over the bar with his forehead nearly pressing against the brown wood. You felt your cheeks flush with warmth the moment eyes turned to your spot at the bar, sinking into yourself.

“Sweetheart—“ He begun, laughter ceasing into nothing more than a snort. “I assure you I’m different than any other human man that you’ve been with.”

“Why, because you’re cold with no beating heart?”

“No, cause I’ll fuck the attitude out of you permanently.” Sukuna responded far too quickly, watching you gape like a fish for a moment, finally deciding to keep your mouth shut and turning to face the bar. He smirked at this, leaning on his elbow and tilting his head. “Cat got your tongue?”

You closed your eyes, breathing softly. You weren’t a fang-banger, you tried to convince yourself; attempting to ignore how much you were closing your legs together— avoiding his eyes that just highlighted he knew what you were abstaining from.

But as a moment of silence passed you felt that restraint dwindle. Whether the alcohol, Sukuna, or just you being fucking reckless— any logical part of your brain was rendered useless.

So, while pushing your glasses up you turned to face his awaiting gaze. “Prove it.” You dared softly, tilting your head at him.

Sukuna’s mouth quirked, tongue running along his bottom lip as he turned to the bartender. “Put it on my tab. Hers too.” He spoke, rising from his barstool. His hands found his pockets, motioning for you to follow with a tilt of his head. Rather quickly — embarrassingly so — you grabbed your things, following close behind him.

“My name is (Y/N), not her.”

“Think I like sweetheart better.” Sukuna spoke, leading you towards a door stationed beside the stage. You shouldered your bag as the two of you entered backstage, coming to a hallway. Three doors rested on the walls, you following the vampire who lead you to the one at the end of the hall.

He turned the knob, pushing open the door to reveal a simple room. A black vanity, a red sofa, with a black coffee table in the middle. Sukuna closed the door behind you, watching you for a moment as you bent to place your phone and purse down.

You turned, breathing softly the moment he stepped close to you. Your eyes traveled from his chest up to his face, licking your lips nervously. The man tilted his head with a little smirk.

“You were so damn cocky at the bar.. thinking of backing out?”

The nerves seemed to melt in that moment, stepping a bit closer, rising up to allow your lips to brush. “Sukuna.. are you gonna fuck the attitude out of me, or are you gonna keep talking?” Your eyes flicked between his lips and his dark eyes, gasping the moment you felt a cool hand rising to the back of your neck.

Wordlessly he leaned down, planting his lips against your own. His kiss was rough, stealing your breath away all while his tongue bullied it’s way past your pretty glossed lips. The wet, long muscle curled and slid against your own, licking into your mouth and claiming it as his own. The messy sounds of your lips surrounded the room, your soft moans following.

Sukuna’s hand moved to rest on your throat, thumb pressing against it just to feel you gulp. You pulled away for air, hissing the moment his fangs dragged across your bottom lip, nicking the sensitive skin. He chased your lips for another kiss, licking away the little droplet of blood whilst moving you backwards.

Your hands rose to grip his body, feeling your back press against a wall. You gasped in his mouth as you felt his hand slide down your body, catching the zipper of your cropped jacket and pulling it down your body. The cool air brushed your cleavage, moaning softly the moment his fingers found your hardened nipple under the thin fabric of your bra.

You pulled back, head resting against the wall; whining the moment he pinched your covered bud. “Sukuna, quit fucking teasing.” You hissed, chest rising into his hand for more. The vampire grinned down at you, removing his hand from your breast to instead trail down your body, flicking the belt you wore; buttons of your jeans following.

Now with enough space his hand was entering your pants, two fingers pressing against your wet, covered slit. “Already a fucking mess and I barely touched you.” The drummer commented, face pressing against your collarbone, dragging his fangs across your warm skin. You whined as his fingers found your clit through the fabric of your panties, legs widening and hips rising for more friction. Sukuna chuckled at this, fingertips pressing against the swollen bud, rubbing harsh circles upon it. “Opening your legs for a vampire like this— oh, what a minx you are.”

“Piss off.” You mustered, attempting to keep your resolve in tact. You cried out however, the moment he pinched your clit, the light pleasure and pain melding together.

“Still mouthing off huh?” Sukuna spoke, pulling away from your neck, hand rising to grab your cheeks. His thumb pressed against your lips for a moment before pushing into your mouth, pressing against your tongue all while his fingers entered your panties. The man didn’t tease this time, covering the digits in your slick before sliding them into your damp entrance. He wasted no time in curling the digits inside you, pressing against your gummy walls and growing closer to allow his palm to grind against your clit. A toothy grin was sent your way the moment he felt and heard your muffled moans, fingers scissoring inside your messy pussy, the wet squelches entering the room.

The muffled gasp of his name escaped you the moment he added a third finger, thrusting the digits quickly; stirring you up inside. Your hand fell to his wrist, pretty acrylics digging into his limb, clawing up tattooed skin. Your legs shook as the moments of pleasure continued, eyes pinched close as you felt your orgasm approaching.

Your toes curled, stomach tightening as you grew closer and closer; pussy spasming around his fingers so intensely, he actually added effort to his thrusts.

“Su—sukuna, fuck—!” You whined against his thumb, drool trickling down the corner of your mouth, gagging the moment he pushed the digit farther into your throat. You were so close, squeezing him so harshly that it hurt.

And yet, you weren’t pushed over the edge. Because just when you felt like you would break, the man stopped; withdrawing his fingers before you could even think of finishing yourself off.

Your eyes flew open, glaring at the shit-eating grin plastered across his face. The moment he pulled his thumb from your mouth you were hissing;

“What’s your problem? I was so cl—“

“Did you think you could mouth off like that and I’d would reward you with an orgasm?” Sukuna questioned, head tilted, eyes sweeping your form. The man’s hand rose, fingers pressing into your cheeks and pushing; watching your messy lips pucker. “Fucking needy, looking at you whining just for my fingers.” Sukuna released your cheeks to instead grasp your waist, moving you over to sit on the couch.

The moment your ass met the cushion you felt the heat rise around you, watching in excitement at his hands tugging on the waistband of his pants. Thumbs hooking on the elastic, the vampire pushed them down, black boxers following. His dick escaped the confinements easily, resting tall and thick, beads of precum resting deliciously on the tip.

You bit your lip a little, breathing the moment you felt his strong hand grab the back of your head. “Gonna use that pretty mouth of yours for something useful, yeah?” Sukuna grinned, watching how easily your lips parted, tongue sticking out. His other hand grabbed his shaft, inching closer just to side his tip across your wet tongue. The moment you tried to wrap your lips around his dick, he was pulling you back by the hair— ignoring the whine that you released.

“Impatient brat.” He murmured, instructing you to lay your tongue out. You obeyed, groaning the moment he tapped his dick against the muscle, shallowing fucking your open mouth with just the tip. After a few moments of the teasing, Sukuna was flicking his hips forward; enjoying the way tears sprung to your eyes, hands rising to press against his hips. With no care for your well-being, the vampire began to thrust in your wet cavern, your soft hair spilling through the gaps of his fingers as he gripped it.

Your tongue dragged across his shaft with each thrust into your mouth, eyes closed as you breathed heavily through your nose. The sound of your saliva, gagging, and wet thrusts carried in the room; your hand falling between your legs to rub your clit, moaning around his cock. Your jaw began to ache from the relentless thrusts, the combined mess surely tainting the bottom half of your face— concerns that you could care less about.

Sukuna watched you carefully, gripping your hair, enjoying the way your cheeks would puff with each thrust. The moment he noticed your hand however, he was shoving his cock deeper, leaning to snatch your wrist. You went to whine, the noise coming out as nothing more then a wet, jumbled mess. He grinned above you, continuing to fuck your throat; “Gonna cry about it? Go ahead.” Sukuna snickered, gritting his teeth the moment he felt his orgasm getting close.

His head tilted back, breathing as pink strands rested against his forehead. Sukuna’s hips never stopped, heavy balls slapping against your chin as his grip on your hair began to ache. “Fuck.. such a good fucking groupie, letting me use your mouth like this.” Sukuna teased, feeling the vibration of your moans around his length. He looked back down, pacing increasing, strings of groans and swears escaping him.

The vampire pumped inside your wet mouth a few more times before he was pulling out, making a mess on your face. His come covered your lips, cheeks, and glasses; you quickly sucking up air greedily, tongue gliding across your lips to lick away his mess.

You breathed as his hand found your chin, raising your face to get a good look at you. Sukuna was truly satisfied with his work, grinning down at you. His thumb wiped some of the milky liquid left on your cheek, moving over to your mouth and watching you lick and suck his digit clean. “Mm.. that’s a good girl.” He praised, withdrawing his thumb and pulling your glasses off shortly after.

His hand slid to your throat the moment he pressed your lips together, rising you up a bit while you held onto his wrist. Sukuna’s tongue invaded your mouth once again, making it an even bigger mess. Soon he pulled away, staring down at you.

“Haven’t even fucked you yet and that attitude is no where to be seen. Maybe I shouldn’t..“ Sukuna was pulling away before you could even respond, reaching as if going to pull his pants up. “— looks like I already proved myself, right?” You quickly shook your head, reaching over to grab his wrists. The vampire laughed at this, coming closer to trap your form between him and the couch. “C’mon use your words, sweetheart. What exactly do you want?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, staring into his eyes. You were sure if you didn’t say anything in the next few seconds he would turn and exit the room, leaving you high and dry. You swallowed your pride, rising up higher to rest your hands onto his chest. “You. I need you so bad, Sukuna— please.” You gasped out, crumpling his shirt into your hands.

Sukuna listened to your pleas greedily, a permanent grin painted across his face. Just when you thought it didn’t work he was grabbing your shoulder, turning and pushing you to lay across the couch. Your heart beat fast against your chest, feeling the cushion dip as kneeled behind you. In one swift motion he was pulling your jeans and panties all the way down, revealing yourself to him.

The moment you tried to close your legs, his palm slammed against your ass; causing a cry to escape you, pressing your face into the cushion. “Don’t even try that. Wanted this so bad, you better fucking take it.” Sukuna hissed, grasping his length as he lined up with your fluttering entrance, carefully pushing in.

The stretch teetered between pleasurable and painful, rising onto your hands and gripping the cushions underneath you as you could do nothing but whine, body shaking. Sukuna sneered at your withering form, gripping your hips tightly. “‘M not even all the way in and you’re already losing yourself..” With a final thrust he was all the way in, resting deep inside your messy pussy, stretching you so pretty. You cried out the moment his fingers gripped your hair, pulling you into a deep arch whilst hovering over body, lips brushing your ear.

“Still think I ain’t no different then a human man?”

“Fu..fuck you.” You whimpered out, breathing heavily the moment he adjusted his hips.

Sukuna snickered softly, “You already are, princess.” With the continued grip on your hair he was pulling his hips back until only the tip was inside, slamming back in. The movement caused your body to lurch forward, gasping out and greedily sucking the air back up. You opened your mouth to speak, shutting up the moment another thrust racked through your body.

And another.. and another.. and another—

His pace was relenting from the start, fucking you so harshly your body bumped against the arm rest of the couch; nails digging into the cushions as shameless moans escaped you. Each time you attempted to pull away, to run— he was grabbing you back, slapping your thighs, ass, anything he could reach. All while speaking to you in that mocking tone, ridiculing you.

“Had so much to say yet you’re running..”

You opened your mouth to defend yourself, the thought melting away as his thrusts ruined you. His cock dragged against your walls, fucking each and every thought out of your mind; replacing them with him. Your eyes were pinched close, drawls of his name and moans escaping your swollen lips. “Su—sukuna, fuck..!” You cried out, feeling yourself get close.

Sukuna’s hands kept a tight grip on your hips, bottom lip caught between his sharp fangs the moment you began to fuck back against him. Your ass shook with each bounce, the man zoned in on the erotic display. Fuck, you felt so good, way too good. The man sucked his teeth, hand falling to your ass cheek and slapping one, thrusting harder than before. “Greedy fucking pussy, clenching me so damn tight..” He dragged, a groan rumbling in his chest.

Tears sprung to your eyes, head going slack as a loud cry escaped you, creaming all over his length. The mess trickled down to his balls and the couch, soaking the cushion. Your tired body went slack against the furniture, feeling his thrusts slow, but never stop. A sudden tight grip on your hair had your reeling, whining as he pulled you back.

“I’m not fucking done with you.”

The vampire wasted no time and flipping you onto your back, pulling you down by your thighs and pushing them up to sink deeper inside you. Your hands clung to his wrists, crying out at the slight burn the stretch left you. You were given no time to think, the man resuming his fearsome thrusts at a completely different angle, ramming agonist a spot inside you that caused you to completely lose your mind.

Your hands went slack, lips agape as babbles and moans escaped your raw throat. Your eyes were meeting the back of your skull, makeup a mess with wet dark streaks running down your chubby brown cheeks. Sukuna enjoyed the sight completely, eyes flicking between your face and the way his cock slid inside your pretty pussy, the white foamy mess coating his length.

He leaned over your body, legs now held up by his shoulders as he continued to fuck you. “What a mess you are.” The man hissed, hand reaching to grab your chin. “Can’t even think straight can you? I’m fucking you too dumb huh?” He mocked, your sweet moans music to his ears.

Your hands rose to his back, gripping his shirt for leverage as you came again, painting his lower body with your mess. Sukuna laughed softly at this, still fucking you despite just orgasming. “Claimed you weren’t a fang-banger yet here you are, coming all over my dick. Such a liar, (Y/N).”

Your whines didn’t go unnoticed, the man’s hand falling to your waist and lifting you up a bit, drilling into you. His cock pushed against your cervix, the pain melting with each thrust inside. You barely even registered his fangs pressing against your skin until they entered your collarbone, a strangled whine escaped you.

The man sucked the crimson droplets that released from the wound, blunt fingernails digging into your skin; Sukuna slowly getting drunk off your taste. When he had his fill he was pulling away, licking up the residue and sealing the wound. His other hand grabbed the back of your neck, lifting your head from the couch to lock lips; the metallic taste of your blood causing you to groan— all while continuing to jackhammer into you.

The vampire was right, he was fucking the attitude out of you. You so pliable, gripping onto him as if he was a lifeline and you were in the open sea. Your legs were trembling, pussy clenching and clenching, as he swallowed the sweetest moans with his lips tainted with your blood. A fucking mess you were.

His mess, obviously.

A different type of clench entered your stomach, one that caused your eyes to fly open. You pulled back from the kiss to cry out, gripping him tightly. “Wa—wait, Sukuna— hah…— please slow down!” You somehow managed out, hazy eyes staring up at the clear distaste resting on his features.

He didn’t listen, slamming into you roughly, swatting the hand away that went to press against his hips. Sukuna tutted at the whine that escaped you, drilling you deeper and deeper into the furniture. “Make another mess, ruin this fucking couch.” He hissed, feeling his own end growing close.

You tried to hold it back, back arching from the cushions as black filled streaks continued to glide down your cheeks. Soon enough you could no longer contain yourself, the band snapping inside you as you screeched in pleasure; drenching the cushions underneath you, making a complete mess of the both of you.

Sukuna grinned at this, far too caught up in his own pleasure to release a snarky comment. Instead his face fell to your neck, thrusts becoming uncoordinated before he shoved himself deep, flooding you with his come.

The sound of your pants entered the space, your hands continuing to hold onto Sukuna. Your head fell back against the couch, eyes pinched closed and focused on regaining your breath.

Moments passed before the vampire rose, pulling his hips back, shushing the sensitive whine that escaped you. Once no longer inside, Sukuna’s hands dragged down to spread you more, watching pearly white beads trickle from your opening and down to your taint. The man smirked just a tad, eyes carrying back to your tired face.

“Looks like you’re a fang-banger now.” Sukuna spoke, watching you attempt at a frustrated face which melted away the moment his thumb slid across your slit.

“Fuck, Sukuna.. I’m too sensitive right now.” You whimpered, shying away from his touch. You gasped as he gripped your thighs however, dragging you farther down the couch.

Sukuna leaned over your body, resting on a forearm placed above your head. “You have seven minutes sweetheart.”

You rose an eyebrow at his words, adjusting yourself, “For what?”

The vampire grinned, curling a piece of hair around his finger. “If you thought I was gonna stop there, I fucked you far too dumb. I’m getting rid of that attitude permanently, remember?”

Your eyes widened, excitement and fear bubbling inside you. The man leaned down, stealing your lips in a deep kiss.

You were thankful you thought to send a text message to your best friend to leave when she wanted, given you didn’t leave the room until the bar closed.

reblogs & comments are appreciated <3

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Hyacinth - Joel Miller x Reader

Hyacinth (Hyacinthus) - Meaning: Please forgive me

Summary: After hitting your car, Joel Miller takes you out on a date to apologize.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Reader

Word Count: 1921

Warnings: Fluff!, slight language, reader wears makeup and a sundress but is otherwise a blank slate, Pre/no outbreak AU, no Ellie, reader was left at the altar, dinner date conversation, making out, nicknames 'sugar' and 'darlin', Joel Miller is a warning in and of himself

I'm really happy with how this turned out! Just a fluffy first date with Joel Miller. Enjoy!

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, Reblogs are ALWAYS appreciated! ❤️

“Am I crazy?” you asked your best friend, Maria, while applying your mascara. 

“For what? Going on a date with the guy who smashed up your car?” Maria asked dryly, shrugging her shoulders while she watched you get ready. “Nah, I’ve done crazier shit.” 

“What if I remember him much more handsome than he is? Like the adrenaline made me think he was super hot?” you asked. 

“You can always invoke the code phrase and I’ll call you from ‘the hospital.’” Maria offered, putting ‘the hospital’ in air quotes. You smiled over at her and reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. She smiled back at you. “Though I hope he’s not a dud. It’s about damn time you got back out there.” 

“You’re telling me,” you muttered, touching up your lipstick. You hadn’t had anything more than a hook-up since you were left at the altar two years ago, throwing yourself into work and fixing up the house you bought with your ex. 

With a final look in the mirror, you fluffed your hair and gave yourself a look of approval, then turned to Maria for final approval. 

“You look hot, babe. This guy isn’t gonna know what hit him.” 

You laughed, “Good, cuz he’s the one who hit me. Well, my car, but you know.” 

Three days ago in the grocery store parking lot, you’d been pulling into a spot when a scruffy-looking man hopped into the truck in the spot across from you, started it up, and pulled forward without looking. The front of your little sedan stood no chance against the grill of his behemoth contractor’s truck. 

He’d been incredibly embarrassed and apologetic, offering his insurance info and to pay for the damages himself. Amidst all this, you couldn’t help but notice how handsome he was. Brown curls with a striking hint of gray at the temples, broad, square jaw, and his eyes. Oh, you couldn’t get enough of his eyes and their dark brownness that threatened to swallow you whole. He must’ve noticed you staring because shortly after the tow truck arrived, he asked you on a date. 

“I know this ain’t the best time and, y’know if you’ve got a boyfriend or somethin’ feel free to tell me to shut up, but uh, I was wonderin’ if you’d let me buy ya dinner Friday night? As an apology.” A light blush had risen in his cheeks and he shuffled his feet like he was nervous, so you agreed to it. The smile on his face could’ve lit up the whole city. “Great, I’ll drive.” 

You’d both laughed at his joke. 

The doorbell you installed yourself rang, pulling you back to the present. Maria went downstairs and opened the door. You turned back to the mirror for one last once-over before Maria called your name. You descended into the foyer of your house and couldn’t help the smile that rose on your face. 

Joel Miller framed in your front doorway, wearing a dark green button-down and dark wash jeans would forever be seared into your memory. He looked, in a word, delectable. When he saw you, he smiled. 

“Hey,” he said. “Ready to go?” 

“Yep,” you said, but Maria cleared her throat from where she held the door open. “Oh! Joel, this is my friend Maria. Maria, this is Joel.” 

They muttered hellos and you grabbed your purse, muttering to Maria that no hospital visit was necessary. She smirked her knowing smirk and nodded, bidding you good night. 

Joel brought you to a nice Italian place, behaving like the perfect Southern Gentleman the whole time. He’d opened doors for you, pulled out your chair, and kept his hands to himself other than a hand at the small of your back to guide you to the table. You’d thought manners like this had gone the way of 8-track players and rotary phones, but you were utterly charmed by him.

While you looked over the menu, you couldn’t help but steal glances at him in the candlelight. You didn’t know he’d been doing the same since he picked you up until he cleared his throat. 

“Uh, you look really beautiful tonight,” he said. You could tell he was nervous — dark brown eyes darting all over, fingers tapping on the table.

You smiled warmly at him to try and ease his nerves, “You look really nice, too, Joel. I’ve been looking forward to this since you hit my car.” 

Your assurance seemed to calm him and he chuckled, “Me too, actually. Best accident I’ve ever been in. Well, second best.” 

“What’s the first?” you asked, curious. 

A pink hue tinged his cheeks and he looked down at the table. “My daughter. She wasn’t planned, but she’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” 

“You have a daughter?” 

“Yeah, is that,” he cleared his throat again, “is that an issue?”

“God, no!” you insisted, “So you’re divorced? I hope?” you joked. 

“Uhh, her mom split before we got married. Haven’t heard from her since.” He muttered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat as the server came over and took your orders. 

When the server left, Joel wouldn’t meet your gaze. Before you got the chance to ask about his daughter he leaned forward a bit and made eye contact. “I’m sorry, I don’t do this often. I think the last date I went on was when Sarah was in preschool so it’s been a while.” 

Because you had a faulty filter, or because you wanted him to know you knew how awkward dating was you blurted, “I was left at the altar two years ago. So I haven’t dated much either.” 

“Really?” His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. 

“Yeah. We’d been together for six years, I followed him out here for his job, and then on the big day — poof! He disappeared. Two days later, he called from Florida and said he’d gotten a job offer he couldn’t refuse but he didn’t want to uproot the life I had built here,” you scoffed at the bitterness of your memory, washing it down with a sip of wine.

In the dimness of the restaurant his features softened, but you didn’t see pity in his eyes. Only understanding. 

And damn if it wasn’t exactly what you needed. 

Joel, you were coming to realize, was exactly what you needed. 

“Well he’s a goddamn moron,” Joel said. “Only spent a few hours with ya and I can tell.” 

Your heart fluttered when his big hand landed on top of yours on the table. The weight of his hand on top of yours felt incredibly intimate, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to mind. In fact, you really liked it.  

“How old is Sarah now?” you asked, not moving your hand.  

“Almost fourteen.” 

You couldn’t help your reaction — your eyebrows shot up and you tried the mental math. Joel wasn’t that much older than you, maybe mid-thirties, late thirties max, so if his daughter was a teenager he had her in his early twenties. 

“That must’ve been hard,” you said, turning your hand over under his so you were palm-to-palm and squeezing his hand gently, “Raising her on your own.” 

Joel nodded and squeezed back, “Yeah, but my brother helps out and working for myself helps too.” 

“What do you do?”

“I’m a contractor.” 

You lit up at that, mentioning all the little house projects you’d attempted and the two of you chatted about how much subway tiling a bathroom sucks until your entrees arrived. 

You kept talking as you ate, finding more and more topics as the night wore on. Joel agreed to split a tiramisu even though he “didn’t much like sweets,” which you giggled at. 

“Me neither, but tiramisu is the exception.” 

You let him have the first bite, and he nodded in pleasure. “Yeah, that’s pretty damn good.”

Once the tiramisu was gone and the server dropped the check, you did the check dance, but he insisted that tonight was about him making amends so he should pay. You conceded, but only after insisting that next time was on you. 

He’d raised an eyebrow at you, dark eyes getting somehow darker, “There’s gonna be a next time?” 

Returning his smile, you nodded, “If you’d like to. I know I would.” 

Joel finished signing the receipts and stood up, extending a large hand down for you to take. He lifted you up and your body filled with heat at his gaze. Even though you’d just eaten, he looked hungry. 

“Me too, sugar,” he said lowly, lacing his fingers between yours and leading you out to his truck. Again, he opened the door for you like a gentleman and you could feel his eyes on you as you climbed in. You watched him round the front of the truck and get into the driver’s seat, eyes fixed on his hands as he turned the key and made a show of double-checking before he backed out of the parking spot which made you laugh. 

You couldn’t help your eyes landing on him every few minutes as he drove you home, talking incessantly about his daughter. It was incredibly endearing how enamored he was with his kid, how much he admired her accomplishments and how he wished he could spend more time with her without work getting in the way. You could tell this was a man who loved deeply, was loyal to the core, and would carve his own heart out of his chest to make those he loved happy. 

You were half in love with him already, but you shoved that thought away because it was way too soon.

Joel turned down your street and pulled into your driveway, hopping out and opening your door yet again. He helped you down and you kept hold of his hand. 

“Walk you to your door?” he asked, voice husky and eyes dark. You nodded and he led you by the hand onto your porch. It was like something out of a movie. The warm night breeze wafted his spicy cologne toward you, making you lean in closer. His eyes bounced from your eyes to your lips, his own lips parted. From this close you admired each of the gray hairs blooming along his temple and in his short beard. 

“Can I kiss you, darlin’?” he asked, accent thicker than it had been. 

“Yes please,” you breathed, and he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was warm, soft yet firm, like the first bite into a perfectly ripe peach. He tasted like tiramisu and your hands wandered up to his chest. Underneath his shirt, you could feel his pulse quickening along with your own as his hands came to rest at your hips. 

You wanted more, wanted to deepen the kiss and pull his firm, broad body flush against your own — 

But then your front door opened, revealing Maria. 

“Oh! Sorry, thought I heard…”

You and Joel broke apart at your best friend’s interruption. Joel looked sheepish, burying his hands in his pockets. 

“Give us a sec,” you said to Maria, who shut the door. Years of friendship told you she was eavesdropping on the other side of the door, so you kept it brief. 

“I had a really, really great time tonight, Joel,” you said. 

He smiled down at you, brushing some hair behind your ear. “Me too. You busy tomorrow night?”

You shook your head, “Free as a bird.” 

“Good. Pick you up at seven?” 

“It’s a date.” 

[welcomingdisaster]

revenant

maedhros & nerdanel | t | ao3

The first sound he remembers is a woman’s voice. It is soft—there is sadness in it, at first, before it is overshadowed by an artist’s precision, sentiment giving way to craft.

“Yes,” she says, “quite right, for the shade of his hair; only it has been finer, and curled less. He was not quite so tall—his memory betrays you there. I would have him brought down perhaps half an inch. His eyes—”

The first touch he remembers is a calloused hand on the side of his face, a caress along his cheek. Fingers gently pulling back his eyelid. A glimpse of a marbled ceiling, columns decorated with sculpted stone flowers, all white. He can feel her lean over him. Can see her hair. Fine and brown, very slightly curled. Almost red.

“The shape is right,” she says, “and the eyelashes. But I do not remember them so pale.”

The first scent he remembers is hyacinths, and then rock dust. Wind tickles his skin. He turns his head and sees her, bending over him. Her face is unwrinkled, her lips pale, cheeks a little pudgy, eyebrows and eyelashes a chestnut brown.

“Are you awake, Maitimo?” she asks.

He nods.

Some cloud flits over her features at that, some grief, some doubt. Old hurts hang in the air between them. Then she quashes it. Speaks, now, to him. “Say something.”

“Something,” he echoes.

She smiles. Her voice carries the same dispassionate notes of a craftsman. “He would answer me so,” she says, “yes, quite right on the sense of humor. But his voice had not been so raspy.”

He swallows. Reaches to feel at his own throat. “I smoke,” he says, “it’s a bad habit.”

The woman turns away from him. He cannot see whom she speaks to. “I do not remember him smoking,” she says.

They change his height, and the texture and curl of his hair, and the glint of his eye. But itch for tobacco never leaves him.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

The woman is his mother. It is not usual, he is told, that she had been there at his rebirth. But he had not been able himself to speak for any adjustments that need be made to his body, for he does not remember what it had been like before

He walks with her through the white city, made of marble clean as bone. Low domed cathedrals, tall gleaming towers—statues, all white, of elves and not-elves.  Here is one of an elvish woman hewing stone; here is another, of a star-crowned king. The inhabitants of the city are a stark contrast to the buildings, dressed in silks so bright in color they seem to be distilled light. To his eyes there is something a little comical to them.

A child’s drawing, he thinks. The background left untended to, but the principal characters colored in.

(It swims before his vision then, briefly; dark inch lines drawn onto parchment, sketches of lairs and fortresses, filled in by a child’s hand with cheerful watercolor. He leans towards the memory, but cannot touch it.)

“You made me too tall,” he tells his mother, half-laughing, “look, no one is as tall as I am. Everyone is staring.”

“None of that,” she tells him, “you are just how you were meant to be, Maitimo.”

He does not feel made-right, made-well. He feels huge, ungainly, his limbs too long and his shoulders too wide.

They walk along the dirt road. Grass begins to cover it, here and there. Plainly horses and carts rarely come this way; only single sets of footprints, so light they barely leave behind a path. 

His mother’s house is carved out of the side side of a hill some ways away from the city. One big room in the center, tall domed ceiling, skylight carved into the very top of it, where the peak of the hill must be. Under that light there is a block of white marble, chipped in four places but indistinct. A chisel lays atop it.

Little coal-stove, in the corner. Scattered dishes, clean but disorderly. Half loaf of bread and a little jam, black currant. Hard cheese.

One wall unfinished. Three walls of wood, and one of dirt.

Seven chests in the corner by the dirt wall, stacked atop each other. Seals on the latches of the chests, like eight-pointed stars with one point broken off.

Two rooms branching off, dug-out and reinforced with oak-wood. They are dark, and he cannot tell what they are without stepping inside. 

“This is yours,” his mother tells him, of the right. He hesitates a moment, then goes. Sees the bed in the corner, wide and soft, hanging tapestries. There are four robes for him, in same bright silks everyone else had worn. Green as the first leaves of spring. Lilac, shimmering slightly even in the darkness. Bright, pretty coral-pink, decorated with embroidered leaves in yellow and purple, slightly raised and pleasant to the touch. Sky-blue, with patchwork clouds.

“They were yours once,” his mother tells him. “Long ago.”

His own robes, he notices, are a mottled grey. The color of a spider-web, he thinks, of dust. “How long?” he asks.

His mother shuts her eyes, as though counting. “Seven thousand years.”

He has some vague notion that in the damp clothes spoil, especially in so long a time. That moths eat holes in sleeves. That seams come apart. But when he asks she looks at him oddly.

“Nothing spoils, here,” she says, “do not be silly.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

They eat. There is one chair at the wooden table in the corner, so his mother brings a stool from the workshop to sit on. The jam is sweet and sour, just how he likes it. The bread is perfectly soft.

“Why do I not remember this?” he asks, pulling at the sleeve of his new, blue robe. “Why do I not remember you?”

His mother hesitates.

“You burned,” she says, “you burned and there was not enough left of you to put such memories together. You’re right handed, dear.”

He switches his knife to his right hand.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

She leaves him to rest and to gather himself. He wishes for smoke. Walks around the perimeter of the bedroom she’s given him and looks over every item.

A writing desk, prettily carved from dark oak, scratched with use. Pleasant, beneath his fingers. Familiar. Atop it—

A crystal ball, cold and heavy in his hand. A little light trapped within it, iridescent purple-red. He brings it up to his face and blows hot breath onto its surface. Sees age-old fingerprints on the smooth surface, there and then gone again.

Parchment, most of it blank. A few notes, scattered here or there on the papers, in beautiful, looping script, though he can make no sense of them. A snatch of a poem, rhyming turning eyes with burning skies, a note to procure radish-seed. Starred, and underlined—write to Elemmíre, Káno cannot play at the lilac-bloom festival—exile. A half-written apology, unaddressed, for a slight he cannot even begin to guess at.

He picks up the quill, and dips it into the inkwell. Feels scratch of the parchment under his touch as he writes:

Káno cannot play. Káno cannot play. Káno cannot play.

Three lines, neatly underneath the first. His hand is nothing like the hand of the first writer, his letters sharp and distinct and lonely where they ought to touch, ought to loop, ought to overlap. Maybe this is his mother’s writing, he thinks.

Though she had not seemed one for poetry, nor for ambling, awkward apologies.

Shelves. Books on history, on poetry. He runs his fingers along the spines and knows he has read them—can summon even the memories of the opening stanzas and chapter-headings. How odd, to remember these but not his mother. A flute, silver and black. Candles.

The bed is certainly his, for it is over-long. There is one blanket on it, a light thing of shimmering purple silk, and—he laughs to see it, then thinks he might weep—a little stuffed lamb, with cotton sewn onto its back to make fluff. He lifts it to his face, and breathes deeply.

It smells of sleep, of rose-soap, of tears. Its name dances somewhere just out of reach. It is not mine, he thinks, I gave it to…

But he cannot finish the thought. He sits, holding the little sheep in his lap. His fingers twitch.

Káno cannot play. Káno cannot play. Káno cannot play.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He does not mean to sleep. He is not sure he does, truly. Only that he is waking. With his left hand he is holding the little sheep to his chest. His right hand is bound, above his head. His shoulders are stiff and ache.

He sinks his fingers spasmodically into the lamb’s fur. Shakes.

Yanks his hand down, expecting to feel the chain bite at his wrist. There is nothing, because his hand is gone, because—

Because.

Sits. Stares at two hands, clenched around the stuffed lamb. Too tight. Strangling it, poor thing. Poor thing.

He breathes in deeply, smelling again the rose-soap, the tears. Outgrew it, he thinks. Gave it away, gave it to—

There is a longing in his chest, like half of him missing. The burned half, he thinks. He shuts his eyes and tries to picture it, but nothing comes. Somewhere in the other room he can hear a faint clinking, a shuffling, steps. An image swims in his mind, an elf; dark-eyed, dark-braided, pouring liquor, mixing herbs and honey.

For some while he lies and holds the lamb, listening to the movements outside. Then the soft light of the crystal ball becomes oppressive, and he rolls out of bed. Feels the cool wooden floor under his feet. Slips outside.

If he is disappointed to see his mother in the main room, standing by the little oak table and mixing tea, he knows better than to show it.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

They breakfast outside. Pomegranate, a day past ripe and a little soft with it. Honey. Crumbling cottage cheese.

He notices for the first time how far they are from the city through which they had passed. There is a dirt road, half-covered in grass and little-tread. No one passes by them.

In the light of day he can see how their blood runs together. The sun freckles them the same. Bleaches his mother’s hair into a shade resembling his. He sees the square angles of his body in her big, calloused hands, in the set of her shoulders. But that is to be expected, he supposes. She made him. Shaped him, out of whatever he had been before this.

He expects she might speak of who he had been, but she does not. She sits and eats, sits and watches him. He cannot think of something to say, and follows her example.

“You want something to do,” she says, as they stack their plates.

“Yes,” he says. In that she knows him. Already he feels too idle, too stagnant, caught without a purpose.

She takes his plates. She gives him a shovel. A hammer. A chisel. She brings him back inside, and bids him dig.

“Here?” he asks, running his fingers over the dirt wall.

“Yes,” she says, “there is a lot of work to do, Maitimo. We will have a hall, and five more rooms. The hill ought fit them.”

He drives his spade into the dirt. Mostly clay, he thinks. It’ll hold well.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

They work in shifts; first he digs and his mother takes the pile of dirt and carries it out. Then she digs, and he lugs dirt.

After some time his shoulders begin to ache, new muscles responding to unfamiliar work. It is a pleasant ache, the shape of it familiar. It is almost odder, he thinks, for his back not to hurt.

The work is mediative. They do not talk during it, beyond the exchanges necessary to the work—“give me that” and “rock, I think,” and “steer leftwards.”

When the sun falls pink-orange through the skylight they cease their work. She hands him a broom to sweep the last of the dirt off the wooden floor. Gathers up the spade and the chisel, and washes them.

They walk together out of the hill, and bathe in the river. The water is warm. When it sprays out onto his face he opens his lips and tastes it, almost sweet with its clarity. When he dives it whips his braid around his face.

They return.

She goes to ship at the square of marble. He goes to his room. Shoves down the ever-present craving for tobacco. Sits at the desk. Reads by the light of the crystal ball, old books of poetry.

He is not surprised he knows every line.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

Neither of them sleeps. In the morning they resume they work again, digging the tunnel. He starts to leave the door open, when he goes to empty the pile of dirt, knowing he shall return to it soon. She closes it, each time. He does not ask why.

The rhythmic movement of the shovel becomes second nature. Around it all thoughts cease. All that is left is the motion, the sound, the heft. He does not notice at first he is putting words to it.

Thumpthump. Thump-thump. Thumpthump.

Káno can-not play. Káno can-not play. Káno can-not play.

It is odd. He has read better poetry.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

On the fourth night he sleeps again, and dreams of the scent of burning tree-sap and screams, of dark soot staining his hands, of a woman that falls and screams, and screams, and screams. Wakes clutching the lamb to him and calls out for a name he cannot recall again.

For breakfast she poaches eggs. Cracks them each onto upturned plates with suns painted on. Swirls the water around the pot to as twisters turned inside out. Clink of the teaspoon against the black edge of the pot. Then the eggs go on, one by one, and turn around.

“Your father used to do this,” she says, “I never cooked. Only the bread.”

He holds out a hand. “Let me,” he says, and she steps aside. He picks up the spoon. Swirls eggs.

“Good eggs,” she says later, when they sit and breakfast on the grass.

He tears off a chunk of his bread-crust with his teeth. Chews. “Good bread,” he says.

The patterns of leaves dance over her arm. Shadows, in the sun.

“Right hand, Maitimo,” she reminds him.

He moves his fork. Takes a bite of egg, and feels the yolk on his tongue. “Are you angry with me?”

“I do not mean to be,” she says, which is answer enough. She must see it on his face, because she puts down her fork and looks at him. “It was all very long ago.”

He nods.

She reaches over to lay a hand on the side of his face. She has not touched him, since the first day, and now she strokes his cheekbone. “I wanted you,” she says, “I begged for you.”

He shuts his eyes. There is soot on his hands. The ocean is angry, horribly angry with him. “Did I burn,” he says, “aboard a ship?”

She stares at him.

“I cannot say,” she says. Then, more forcefully: “my Maitimo might have, I think.”

He leans into her touch. It does not last long.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He expects the summer to pass, but it never does. The sun rises at the same time each day, and does not go down for a long time time. They eat sliced peaches and flaky pastries and spinach-wraps and perfect fall apples, goat milk and sour bread, carrot stew, eggs made in a startling variety of ways, candied flowers. He learns where the food comes from; once every twelve days a young elven girl comes, carrying covered baskets on her head, and his mother takes them from her and tucks them into the dug-out place beneath the hill, where the earth and the ground-water keep them cool.

(He wonders why it matters. Nothings seems to spoil here. She could leave them in the heat, he thinks, and they would be fine.)

Sometimes the girl brings them letters. Some seem formal, rolled into official-looking tubes and sealed with wax. Others are clearly hastily written, scrawled on one scrap of parchment or another, sometimes with sketches on the back.

Usually she will open them at the table, and name the relation who had written to her but not the contents. “My sister in law,” she will say, or sometimes, “my father,” or, once or twice, “your cousins.” Sometimes it is a patron in Tirion that writes.

One morning a letter arrives sealed with dark blue wax, an address scrawled along the edge she reads but does not voice aloud. She tucks it into her inside pocket and does not speak its sender, ignoring his curious eyes.

They dig.

As they go further they must pull up more and more rocks, must navigate around sandy areas that fall when touched. His shoulders no longer ache with the work. Indeed he grows so used to it that it is odd not to do it, that it begins to pull at him to spend time idle.

During the nights she chisels away at the marble slab, working by moonlight, and he reads, or else goes to swim in the river. At first she is wary to let him go alone, but after the third time he returns unwavering at dawn she stops tracking him.

The marble begins to take shape. An animal, he thinks. A four-legged thing, bent low to the ground.

“Did you make the statues in the white city?” he asks her. It is night, then, or perhaps the first note of morning. The moonlight is gone. He has stopped reading, but she has not finished her carving.

“Only the good ones,” she says, half-laughing. It is not a joke.

He picks up the pan. Stokes the fire, to make breakfast. Picks up the knife, unthinking, with his right hand. In the faint light his own hand is pale as marble. Carefully carved.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

After some time he begins to call the little lamb Káno. The odd nights when he comes to sleep he holds it to his chest. Through his nightmares the scent of rose soap never fades from its cotton sewn fur, and he begins to tell reality apart by it.

There are the snatches of his dreams, the screams, the song, the slow grinding of war-axes and the rattling of fortress doors. There is the icy forest, the kind that doesn’t truly exist in real life because winter does not exist, and snow does not exist, and one does not dash madly between ice-covered pines chasing the prints of bare-footed children.  Then there is the smell of rose soap, and the softness of the cotton under his cheek.

(Sometimes he thinks Káno is in the next room, clinking around, humming under his breath. But that is an odd thought, because Káno is a stuffed lamb.)   

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“We are done digging, for now,” she says. The state of done digging should naturally follow the state of digging, but he has somehow failed to realize it is possible. But there it is, the tunnel. Five rooms branching off. “We must now go for wood.”

She gives him an axe. He looks down at it, and sees the dusting of red clay on the head first as blood, then as rust.

(Nothing rusts, he reminds himself. Rust is an idea in his mind with no real-world equivalent, like rot and ice and decapitation.)

They walk together along the overgrown dirt road, pulling an ass-drawn cart behind them. Not towards the city, this time, but away from it. The path fades, and fades, and fades, until there is nothing left but her intuition.

The wood is ancient, and untouched, pines tall and dark, their trunks many times the width of their shoulders. He reaches out and lays his hands on the bark, feeling its dark, deep ridges.

“The tree will bleed,” he says, “when we cut it down.”

“Yes,” she says, “so it will.”

She takes his hand, and draws it up to touch the deep green needles on a lower branch. When she begins to pray he knows the words, and echoes her. Together they ask for leave from Yavanna; together they promise to take no more than their due, and to pry the seeds from the pinecones of the fallen tree and plant them.

Then she makes the mark, and he begins to chop.

Some part of him expects soft yielding flesh under the axe-swing, expects gore, expects blood spray over his upturned face. Instead his axe hits hard wood, and only yellowish pine sap springs up around the cut.

It is long work, to reduce a living thing into material. First the tree must fall. Then it is cut again, to be rid of the thin branches for which they have no use; then again, to fit on the cart. Then they collect pinecones and twist them open, shake the seeds out and bury them in the dark soil, beneath the layers of dry pine-needles. Carry water from the river to drown them.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It is dark when they make their return. His body aches in new ways with new work. Pine-sap clings sticky to his hands, his green robes. He wants to chase the dew gathering in his lungs away with smoke. 

“The river,” his mother says, and he nods. But the water cannot wash the sap from him, and he goes to bed with his hands still stained.

He will not touch the stuffed lamb, except with the back of his wrist, to knock it from the bed. It stares at him plaintively from the floor, and he pities it.

“I am sorry, Káno,” he says, “but if I touch you you will be ruined. You are made of soft things, and shall not be washed clean.”

In his dreams there is a little boy, bright eyed and loud. He plays the flute, the same silver flute on the shelves, and laughs, high and bird-like, twirls in pretty mother-of-pearl court robes. When he reaches out to touch this child he sees his hands are covered in blood, that he has stained everything; the boy and the flute and the mother-of-pearl, and nothing is merry.

Then he stirs, half-wakes. Slips back down into his dreams. Now there is a figure above him, amber-eyed, more fair than any elf he can remember laying his eyes on. He has an axe in his hand, stained with red clay, and he raises it and hews off his right hand.

Oh, he says, unbothered, well, don't worry about it. I've still got my left. 

But tree-sap keeps pouring out of the cut on his wrist, spewing in messy, sticky arcs, staining the other elf’s gold-beaded hair and his cheeks and his lips and his eyelashes, and he will drown, he will drown.

When he wakes there is no smell of rose-soap to cling to. He curls up on himself and thinks he must have come from a different world, a worse world; that he is a stained and broken thing forced into a clean body. He does not belong here, he knows.

He wonders what it would be, to go back. Wonders if he’s scared of it.

Then he slips outside, and bids his mother good morning, and sits trying to clean his hands. Chops spinach into fine little slivers; beats it with cheese and with eggs, pours it into the pan to cook. Watches the edges crisp up, fine bubbles forming on the surface.

His mother stirs sugar into tea. He misses someone so fiercely he feels his chest a hollow, empty thing. They slip outside to breakfast. The sun greets them, cheerful and warm. 

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

They chop the wood into boards, long to accommodate the hallway, wide. His mother has a better hand for it, at first, but he is quick to learn. The first days they speak of nothing but craft.

When they sit polishing the wood the sap has nearly come off his hands. Perhaps he has grown new skin, and the sap has flaked off with the old.

“Who will live there,” he says, “in the new rooms?”

She looks up at him. Her sleeves are hiked up, the board in front of her gleaming bright in the sun. “Your brothers.”

He has thought so, though he could not have voiced it.

“There are five,” he says, and knows it to be a question. He thinks she nods. “Who is next, after me?”

For a moment she hesitates. “Tyelkormo,” she says, “if he is granted to me.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He touches the edges of the eight-pointed star on the sealed chest. The broken point. She sits behind him and reads one of her letters. He can see another still-sealed underneath, the one she had not announced to him.

I have five brothers, he thinks. I am one of six.

It does not fit. Shoes too small in the toe, pinching uncomfortably.

For the first time he can remember he feels angry, truly and properly. Kicks at the lowest of the chests, then yelps in pain at his foot. Tyelkormo, he thinks, Tyelkormo, Tyelkormo. Who can need you? Who can want you?

The woman who is not his mother looks up from her carving, but says nothing. He will tell her, he thinks, when their work is done.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

But he breaks. The secret is too heavy on him; he cannot take it. They sit, and polish boards. It is an endless task.

“Maitimo,” the woman who is not his mother says, “hand me the sponge.”

He hands her the sponge. “I am not he,” he says, quite casually, “they brought the wrong soul back, and put it in your son’s body. I am another creature, and I think an evil one.”

“Oh,” she says, “and why is that?”

“There are evil things,” he says, “in my mind. I know not this land, but another. I dream of ice and bloodied hands and scared children.”

For some time she turns from him. He is sure she weeps. He would touch her, but it is not his right. He looks down at the board, working his brush in random patterns.

“Against the grain, Maitimo,” she says.

He turns his brush against the grain. They do not speak of it again.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He likes to run his hands along the polished wood. Likes to press wood-braces into the soil. Likes the neat sharpness that they give the tunnel, the way it begins to take the shape of the house.

“Did you do the same for me?” he asks, as they hang up curtain-doors.

“Yes,” she says.

“There was a different home,” he says, “where the chest is from. The bed is from. K—the lamb.”

“Yes,” she says.

For some time they work in silence. He braces the doorframe, and she hammers in the nails. Then they switch.

“What are you carving?” he asks. “I thought it a sheep.”

“No,” she says, “only an elf hiding under the wool.”

He nods. She nudges him, to step aside. There is a little window on the other side of the room, the sloping end of the hollow hill. She measures it, for a frame. Writes numbers on the inside of her arm in charcoal.

She taps him on the elbow as she passes him, beckoning him to follow. Outside they trim the wood into shapes to fit. He holds, she saws. Then she has them switch, so he may get the practice.

“I have gown too used to solitude,” she says, as they brace the corners of the window-frame with metal. “I have no words left. I thought it would be easier, to speak to you.”

He looks up. For the first he sees the weight of her own neurosis on her, the weight of her pain, her fear, her loneliness. For the first time he thinks she might touch him, if she remembered how.

“How long has it been?” he asks.

“Six thousand years,” she says. “You spend dead nearly twice the time you spent living. But I lost you sooner, of course.”

They carry the window frame inside. They fit it.

It will have a good sill, he thinks. Perhaps Tyelkormo will like to sit on it, and watch the birds.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

It looks like a proper house, with the last of the boards fitted to the floor, to the walls. The woman who could be his mother tells him that there is not so much left to do; only to make make the bed frames and the shelves, fitted to each of them. Only to open the chests and lay out what she had saved, of them.

“Saved from what?” he asks.

She looks up at him, as though surprised he does not know. “The building was torn down,” she says, “the king’s body was inside.”

She makes a gesture with her hands, first twisted together then falling. Tower. Splat.

Do people die here, he wonders, or had the king been simply waiting to be born?

“Tyelkormo will want hounds,” she says, “on his bed frame. Likely in the house, too.”

So he sits, and whittles hounds. They turn out crooked, their noses too long. She has him try again, and that is better.

Káno cannot play, he thinks, the repetition of a song stuck in his head, Káno cannot play. Káno cannot play.

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

“I cannot tell,” he says, setting a book of insect sketches next to a fox-skull on his brother’s shelves, “if I know him.”

His maybe-mother turns to look at him. Her face is drawn.

He touches the bone. It is familiar, at least. Smooth. Oddly delicate, for what it is. In places the smooth surface has peeled off, and it is porous. He could hold it in his hands and squeeze the barest bit and watch it crumble.

“Sometimes I think I am your son,” he says, “but that something wrong has clung to me, as the tree sap has. Some other world I saw, in death, that lingers upon waking.”

She takes his hands. Holds, around the fox skull. Her fingers do not touch the bone.

“Do not leave me,” she says, “do not go there. Promise me, Maitimo.”

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*

He tosses dumplings into broth, one after the other. She sits across the table from him. Her eyes follow their fall.

“I have not told you everything,” she says.

You haven’t told me anything, he thinks. But that is unjust. She has told him how to chisel stone and chop wood, how to polish floorboards, how to whittle hunting-hounds, how poach eggs.

She reaches past him, across the table. Picks up the parchment sealed with blue wax.

“I didn’t want to give you this,” she says. For a moment she holds it close to her chest, so that he cannot help but suppose the ending of the sentence will be so I won’t. Then she holds it out to him. “It is for you. You were betrothed.”

“Oh.” He reaches for the paper. He cannot tell if that seems right. If it is true of him. “Perhaps I was.”

“I am not sure,” she says, “how serious you were about it.”

An old instinct almost calls him to argue. To cry, I will, I will, after—

But after what?

He breaks the blue seal. Twirls open the paper.

The handwriting hits him with a note of such intense familiarity he cannot see the meaning of the words. His head swims.

The first time he remembers weeping is in the kitchen, holding a piece of parchment to his chest, and it is over the slopes of his lover’s letters. Behind him the fire crackles. He feels his chest cave in.

Maedhros, his lover writes, I grow tired of waiting for you to call to me. If you have gotten it into your head that it is your righteous duty to crawl into a ditch and die, speaking to none, we shall have words... 

Maedhros does not make it past that opening line. He shakes with the clarity of the voice in his mind, its low, musical quality, its sardonic lilt. How well he can sense the desperation behind it. I know you, he thinks, I love you.

The woman in the room with him steps closer. She looks at the letter, but her eyes do not move to read the words.

“I never learned it,” she says, “some last defiance of your father. As though if I did not speak it it could not touch me.” There her voice breaks, her pale face flushing. "What do you think of that, Maitimo? Me lobbing one last insult at a long-dead man, and hurting myself by it?" 

Of course, Maedhros thinks. It is Sindarin. He knows it, though he cannot say how. He’s thought in it, now and then, without noticing. Perhaps if he had spoken more he would have used it.

He lowers the letter, and looks at the woman who had once been his mother. In the shadows here she seems as white as marble. How odd, to think of her, all alone, beating the shape of sheep’s wool out of stone with a chisel. To think of her hollowing out the hill to make room for him. To think of her clawing him back from the dead. To think of her carving herself out of loneliness and defiance and love and anger.

Well-made, she called him.