#marketing reason... n i think i was right

[wannaeatramyeon]

Meeting Student!Gun Park for the First Time

G/N. 3.2k. Remember when Gun wanted to get his GED? Well. Stranger to~ Masterlists

"How old are you?"

"20."

Press X for doubt, you think, and that's the exact meme you send over on chat.

"20 like 20 or 20 like you're mid 30s and planning your mid life crisis 20?"

You know you're being rude and making a terrible first impression. It's the first day of a new school year, of a new school in fact, and for some reason the class is held on video call and you're all forced to pair off with a classmate for an icebreaker introduction.

It’s already cringe worthy and awkward enough, icebreakers must have been created as a form of torture. To add insult to injury, you're sure this guy is bullshitting you.

"I'm 20." He deadpans.

Momentarily, you’re stunned into silence. It stretches almost a tad too long before you manage to choke out, “My bad. Sorry."

Wow. You're torn between thinking that's a rough 20, this guy has easily got 40 years under his belt and oh no, when is your puberty and hormones gonna kick in like that.

And that's also the exact moment this 20 year old Gun Park takes a drag on a cigarette and you decide that it's definitely a rough 20.

"So what do you do for fun?" You probe, and you have the distinct feeling he might say something like alimony, planning his third marriage, investing in the stock market - whatever someone in their 50s might say but-

To your surprise and glee, his body language turns shifty. 

He likes to game he says, like it's a dirty little secret. Amongst other things. Mentions something about training and martial arts and you fight to keep a straight face as it turns out you were also right about investing in shares and the stock market.

Gaming, however, is what you latch on to.

"Cute. I bet I could kick your ass."

"Oh yeah?"

"Oh yes."

And this is how you ended up at 4am on a school night, playing Tekken with your new classmate and getting your ass kicked.

"One more!" You screech down the mic, after the KO sign appears on screen, mumbling something about cheating and how if you can time this combo just right-

There's a huff of laughter coming through your tinny headphones and an amused "Fine."

.

.

Dark circles under your eyes grow. It's been a week of straight losses.

You blame the sleep deprivation on Gun Park, though really you have your own stubbornness to blame.

He never tends to say much during the gaming sessions apart from the odd expletive and you rant enough after each of your defeats for the both of you.

Sometimes this will earn you a chuckle and he will snidely add that you asked for this, you were the one who was supposed to kick his ass. This would piss you off enough for another game or three in the hopes of defeating him and getting to gloat.

Which unfortunately has not happened yet.

With a sigh, you hope your camera quality this morning is bad enough and pixelated enough that your poor sleep habits don't show.

You scan over your classmates, the few that have their camera turned on and find him.

Gun looks completely fine. He looks completely fine in what must be 4k and ugh, you scrunch your nose up in annoyance.

You keep an eye on him through the class. Observe how he's usually paying rapt attention, scribbling and typing up notes every now and then.

It's impressive how studious he is.

In comparison, you're daydreaming. Thinking about lunch, other combos or characters to play to counter his own when you catch on to the back end of a sentence as your teacher mentions ‘this’ is something to pay attention to as it will be on the pop quiz.

Huh? You blink a couple times. What is ‘this’? Unfortunately she swiftly moves onto another topic.

You type out a direct message to the only person you know.

You: I missed that, what did she just say?

Gun: You should have been paying attention.

You: Fuck you man!

You see his eyes dip to the bottom of the camera screen, briefly moving as he presumably reads your message.

He smirks.

That night he kicks your ass again.

Then as consolation, reveals what will be on the pop quiz.

.

.

If Gun looked like that in 4k, nothing could prepare you for how he looked in real life.

You're setting up your laptop and notepad in the classroom, the first actual in-person session, when someone takes a seat next to you.

Initially you feel a surge of irritation that they could have sat anywhere else and chose to sit next to you, then you look at the offender and-

Hold on.

You double, triple-take-

Is that?

It must be.

Shit.

It's fucking Gun Park.

You don't entirely regret your initial comments on his looks because this guy definitely does not look 20 but goddamn he looks-

He chooses that moment, when your jaw is on the floor, to turn to you and give you a nod of acknowledgement.

"Y/N."

"H-hi." You manage, and even to your ears it sounds like a simpering fool.

He must have thought so too if the quirk of his lips is anything to go by.

The cherry on top is that you expected this guy to smell like stale smoke, instead all you get is fresh laundry and something faintly dark and heady like leather and cedarwood.

Fuck.

Control yourself, a disapproving voice in your head says. Even that sounds vaguely like Gun.

It does nothing to stop your wandering gaze, peering at him in your periphery when you think he's not looking.

After you have taken your chance to not so discreetly run your eyes up and down his form, the only thing that makes you feel better is his hair. Because yeah he might be hot, but holy shit that must be a gallon of hair gel in there.

.

.

The other thing, as it turns out, that makes you feel a lot better is that he doodles.

It’s utterly charming.

Someone like Gun Park doesn't look like he doodles, but in between lines of his chicken scratch (seriously, who can even read that), there's little stick figures.

Maybe all the time you thought he was being studious he was just drawing-

Wait. You squint at the picture.

Is this guy for real?

"Are they fucking?" You whisper, using your pen to point at the page.

He doesn't answer straight away. There's a moment of surprise as he reacts like this is another secret of his he has unwittingly let you in on before his nostril flares and his eyes narrow and you grin in response.

Your grin grows when he grits out an answer. "No. Fighting."

He doesn't call you a dumbass but you can hear it loud and clear tacked on at the end.

"Whatever, pervert." You counter. You guess if you squint even harder then you suppose they could be fighting. Although the way one is lying on top of another is very suggestive. You don't hesitate to point that out to him.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

Even without a seating plan, one forms.

Places taken by chance on the first day becomes a regular arrangement.

You exchange a few words with your classmates, familiarise yourself somewhat with their names and faces. Pieces of their backstory, why they're here studying for a GED but take your spot next to Gun regardless.

No one really talks to him, you've heard them saying he's menacing and intimidating. Yet when your first encounter of him was mistaking him as someone about to hit mid life crisis, how intimidating can he really be.

Besides, he still doodles his lewd figures that he insists are not in any way shape or form comprising sexual positions. So no, you don't find him intimidating at all.

.

.

Gun, as you have come to know, is a man of few words. He is also unsurprisingly not great at literature.

What you don't yet know is he likes to say what he means and mean what he says. His patience only extends to The Art of War, so all the flowery prose and poetry only serves to irritate him.

If Gun glared at you the way he's currently glaring at the textbook, you think you may either burst into tears or burst into flames.

Luckily you do neither of those things but you do take pity on him. Leaning over, you ask him quietly if he needs help.

He doesn't respond but the pen he's clutching in his right hand snaps in half.

Alright then.

Half an hour later, when the class empties out you ask Gun to follow you to the library.

He hesitates, and you add "if you've got time" to give him an out. In the end he doesn't take it and trudges obediently after you.

You very quickly learn that he really doesn't like literature. You're explaining and working him through the analysis and also mildly offended at the bored look on his face.

"This is a waste of time," he interjects and there's a sullen undercurrent to his words.

"Just memorise the analysis then." Exasperation tinges your tone, "That's all you need to do to pass."

He arches a brow at your words.

"They're testing your memory. So just remember what our teacher says."

There's an angry air of resignation as Gun nods, and you slide your notes over for him to copy.

.

.

Not long after, you have your first minor evaluation on the literature material.

You notice during the test that while the vein in Gun’s temple is prominent and he’s clutching his (new) pen tighter, there’s barely any pause as he fills in the answers.

A few days later, the graded papers are handed back. There's a sigh of relief from Gun.

He gives you a smile, small and genuine, eyes crinkling at the corner.

"You owe me one," you tell him jokingly though he takes it to heart and gives you a stern nod.

.

.

Gun repays his debt, with a coffee.

He places the paper cup on the desk in front of you. Logo of the coffee house to the side but still visible. It's new, expensive, and there’s regular lines around the block.

Of course it would be from there.

The issue is, who repays a debt with an espresso. He didn’t even ask for your drink of choice!

"Thanks for this thimble of coffee," you remark as Gun sniffs in distaste at your comment, placing his own matching cup in front of him and saying something about how it's the best untainted way to drink it.

Of course he would also be a coffee snob.

You tell him you usually like it with a bit more cream and a lot more sugar and he mutters that you sound like Goo.

You think that's an insult.

"Well, at least Goo has good taste," you snipe back with a grin.

Gun closes his eyes and counts to ten.

.

.

You: Are you doodling or actually writing notes?

You: Cos on camera you look very studious but I’ve seen your notepad

Gun: None of your business

You: Still drawing your disgusting pornographic stick men then

Gun: They are not-

Gun: Whatever

.

.

You: Ok, maybe that espresso wasn’t terrible

Gun: I know

You: Who’s Goo anyway?

Gun: …

Gun: No-one

You: Suuuure

.

.

You: Tekken tonight?

Gun: Aren’t you tired of getting your ass kicked?

You: >:(

.

.

You: Do you wanna go over the new lit material in the library this week?

Gun: Ok

.

.

Gun: Thanks for your help

You: :) 

.

.

Gun: You’re tired. You should game less.

You: Spoken like a coward!

Gun: Dumbass

You: Hey!!

.

.

Gun: I’ll bring you an espresso tomorrow. You need it.

You: Does it have to be an espresso?

Gun: Yes

You: …Thanks

.

.

To anyone else, the figure standing in the doorway is just smoking. To you, it suspiciously looks like they’re waiting.

It's not a crime. Gun Park can wait for whatever or whoever he wants.

What really throws you off is his smoking. You've seen him casually take one single drag before throwing the whole cigarette away. Even to you, it seems like a waste.

However, this time he smokes one all the way to the filter before stubbing it out. Then does the same to a second, and third.

Strange, very strange.

You approach him. Taking gentle steps, in case he might get spooked and bolt which is really a ridiculous notion for someone like him. Nevertheless, you keep your footsteps light, yourself clearly in view and you wander over to him.

"Hey," you say, with a somewhat forced smile. He doesn't acknowledge your greeting apart from a brief nod.

"... Everything ok?"

It's a perfectly normal question to ask but a vastly bizarre one for Gun. He doesn't look like the type of person where people casually enquire about his well being.

He must have thought so too if the look he gives you is anything to go by.

In response, he stubs out his cigarette (his fourth!) then asks, stilted and stiffly, if you want to come back to his for a game of Tekken.

At least that's what you interpret as he seems to be crazy cryptic.

"Are you interested in Tekken?"

"...Yes." You wonder what on earth this question is because did you hallucinate all those games you played together?

"Then meet me. After class." 

"Where? Here?"

"No. At mine."

"Where's that?"

"..."

He gives you another look, as if you're the one trying to coax a secret out of him despite him offering.

Gun dips forward, murmurs quietly into your ear his address and some vague directions like it's highly confidential information.

You nod along, thinking what is with this guy. 

.

.

So firstly, what the fuck.

Then secondly, what the fuck.

Don't think you hadn't noticed the designer brands Gun wears. If they're fakes, they're very convincing fakes. But you're almost certain they have got to be counterfeit when he brought you over to a junkyard claiming this is where he lives.

You've seen films like this. Granted, it's less in a junkyard and more in the middle of nowhere in America where college kids meet their gruesome ends in fantastical ways.

You never thought this would happen to you. You have sorely miscalculated. 

Is this Gun Park (if that even is his real name) going to butcher you and leave your body on top of a pile of scrap metal in the corner?

Instead of a night of gaming where you’re the one KO-ing him, he’s actually the one that’s going to chase you around wearing a mask and wielding a knife or axe?

"You’re here. Come in," Gun says, opening his front door just as your inner monologue begins to truly spiral out of control and you're considering doing a runner.

"Eh?" You grunt like an idiot, not noticing when the shack appeared nor when you stepped onto his porch, or the side eyes Gun had been giving you.

He gives you another look, likely regretting inviting you at all, and leaves the door ajar for you to either enter or turn back and go home.

.

.

"This is... nice," you lie, through the skin of your teeth.

Gun sees cleanly through your white lie and exhales a huff of amusement.

It's sparse. Peeks of luxury here and there - the extensive PC gaming rig, the entertainment system and consoles, to name a few.

Apart from that, it's barely a home.

"Take a seat." He offers, and it sounds more like an order. Obediently you sit on his sofa, feeling very much a guest.

"You're not in danger," he says, bemused at how awkward you are in his domain, how tense you hold yourself.

'That's exactly what a killer would say,' you think and when you hear a low chuckle, you realise that you said it aloud.

"Don't worry," Gun reassures and it doesn’t really help before he strides off to somewhere in his house and leaves you sitting alone.

He returns back minutes later as you’re in the middle of admiring his entertainment set up and going through his vinyl collection (because obviously someone like Gun has vinyls) with a coffee for you that looks much more milky and to your taste than the usual ones he offers. 

“Thanks.” you take your drink and return back to your seat.

Taking the first sip, you finally manage to relax. Sinking into a sofa that is much more comfortable than at first glance and you take in your surroundings a bit more.

Sort of. You actually take in Gun Park more. 

He’s casual, in a way you have never seen or even considered. Dressed in a t-shirt and grey sweatpants, hair floppy and the only styling is done with his hands running through his hair now and then to keep it back.

Even during the online classes, he is usually dressed up in an open collared shirt.

If you thought he was hot before, it’s nothing compared to now. There’s an air of domesticity, the drink he made for you cradled in your hands, and the distinct feeling that not many people have had the luxury to see Gun in his natural habitat, so intimate and vulnerable.

You wonder if this is how he looks all those nights you’ve been gaming together.

You catch his eyes, having been caught checking him out and he raises his eyebrows at your blatant staring. 

Blood rushes to your cheeks as he chuckles into his own espresso and takes a sip.

.

.

"Holy shit, I won!"

You're familiar with the KO screen. What you're not familiar with is being on the side of victory. You're usually a hair trigger away from rage quitting, from throwing a tantrum down the mic.

Finally. All your hard work has paid off. Time spent thinking of combos, attacks and defences (which would have been better spent studying) is coming to fruition.

You peer over to Gun, expect the controller he is clutching to maybe have been crushed into pieces with his freakish strength. Expected nothing except for a vein throbbing on his temple.

What you do find is-

Gun looking at you, fondness in his eyes. He's taking in your grin, letting your gloating slide.

Doesn't do more than roll his eyes when you perform a victory dance of sorts around him.

And when you get in his face to tell him that you're the winner, you're the best-

(More words are on the tip of your tongue but your gaze drops to his lip, drawn to the small smile he wears.

It sinks in.

The patience he has, the attention he gives, the way he has opened his home to you.

From the very first meeting, the even-handed way he has dealt with your insults, entertained you to the early hours of the morning on Tekken.)

Gun reaches out, tugs your hand and pulls you into his lap and agrees.

"Yes. The best."

You think it's a lie, an embellishment.

But the way he holds you - tender and precious, and the way he leans forward to rest his forehead against yours - soft, like you might break - can't be anything else but the whole truth.

[msdk-00]

do you think if i knock on the embassy door and break down and cry they'll accept me for the gks scholarship. i mean im writing the fuck out of this essay but i fear that might not be enough

[evilminji]

Okay this is going to drive me INSANE. D:>

Dearly beloved, Phandom darlings...

Can DANNY EAT VIDEO GAME/TV FOOD?

I... I NEED to know. You don't UNDERSTAND!? Think about it. No, seriously. THINK about all those HIGHLY unrealistic, too good to be true, PERFECT looking meals. Animated shows n games etc where there are chefs who will "cook for Anybody!"

Now think about being 14 going 20. A teenager. A broke college student. Your fridge is empty and everything you touch? Comes back to LIFE. You're... you're just so hungry. Tired. Your bruises have bruises and you have a paper due tomorrow.

I kinda want to CRY.

Can only eat cup ramen so many times before you DO.

And this show? That commercial? Yonder cooking game?? Well... they did a REAL good job animating it. It looks so WARM. So FILLING and COMFORTING. You can practically SMELL it.

You look down at your sad, soggy, cheap but you can afford it, EZ Noodles and? Feel something BREAK inside. You... you KNOW you can travel inside technology. KNOW this. Have done it before. Why... why AREN'T you? You can't keep living like this.

You gotta TRY, right?

I? Wanna believe it TOTALLY works?? Because Ectoplasm is weird like that? And just shrugs? Says "actual food, the concept of food backed by electricity, what's the difference? Sure, we can fuck with this"? And so Danny? IMMEDIATELY fucking switches his diet.

Like? Dead stop screech, slam on the breaks, u-turn to take that last off-ramp. Type IMMEDIATE.

Grocery bill? No, no, you mistake him! No. NOW it's his "carefully researched for their cooking, games and shows" bill. Touch his collection and he'll FUCKING BITE.

They got sticky notes on the cases. Menus n lil fold out "grocery store" locations. He punched a dragon for this fruit. Mmmmm, home cooked meeeeeals~

Just? Weird Foodie Danny. Yes he DOES know what those steaks taste like. While YOU fuckers were staring at the cat girls bizangas, HE was eating granny cat lady's home made meatball stew! Ha! YOU FOOLS!

More then that? I want him to write reviews. Like "yeah, fight system was OKAY but- *5 hour glowing rant about the food, sounding like a food critic who'd actually fucking gone and loved it* " and people are like?? Who? Is this funky lil madman? This is hilarious?

I want it to be DPxDC JUST? So everyone slowly starts to play the game "Meta or Shtick?" Because no one REALLY knows who he is. This dude gets POPULAR though. For some reason can't be hacked (shame on you guys! Way to try and ruin the FUN!). And like? Eventually? Someone just fucking ASKS?

And Danny is like... " wouldn't YOU like to know, weatherboy?"

So everyone is like:

"Meta."

But hey... since they're already ASSUMING~? >:3c WHOOOOO wants to help him PAY RENT~? Let's VLOG this fucker! Wooooo! Say "hi" Catchef! *feline noises* like? It's like a let's play combined with a mukbang.

Teen Heros everywhere are FACINATED. Game developers are suddenly like? "If there's food. You BETTER make it look amazing. We want that weird YouTube twink to... whatever his powers are, our game! Free viral marketing!" Food channels? Rending their clothes, on their KNEES, please! PLEASE! Just ANSWER OUR EMAIL! Just ONE SHOW! A one off! Guest appearance!

We have MONEY!!!

All while Danny? Is finally happy with his life. Weird as hell. Harrasing the world. Good food on the regular. Gets to travel, kinda. Best of all? He's raising money from it! Can help people! Now... who wants salad?

@babbling-babull @hdgnj @hypewinter @legitimatesatanspawn @spidori @dcxdpdabbles @the-witchhunter @lolottes

[astonmartinii]

careful what you wish for | alex albon social media au

pairing: alex albon x fem norris!reader

be careful what you wish for because sometimes childhood dreams come true (not the way you think though)

MASTERLIST | BROTHER'S BFF MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, landonorris and 453,096 others

yourusername: it's sweet treat hour in the paddock

view all comments

user1: oh to be a person in the f1 paddock getting a sweet treat

user2: ummm actually i think i deserve one more than any of the guys on the grid

yourusername: probably true lol

georgerussell63: BLASPHEMY

landonorris: blood is CLEARLY not thicker than water 🤨

maxverstappen1: i can't believe this betrayal

charles_leclerc: puppy play date is OFF

yourusername: not you people proving them right within 0.5 seconds.

user3: y/n really is god's strongest soldier these fools must be so annoying

alexalbon: not me tho

landonorris: nuh uh 😐

alexalbon: sorry to burst your bubble lando but on the scale of least annoying (me) to most annoying (carlos) ... well marketing love carlando for a reason

landonorris: Y/N TELL HIM TO STOP BEING MEAN TO ME

yourusername: i'm not your mum, defend yourself

landonorris: ???

carlossainz55: THERE IS NO WAY I'M THE MOST ANNOYING ON THE GRID? Y/N TELL HIM THAT

yourusername: keep your car away from oscar and maybe

oscarpiastri: thank you grid mum 🫶🏻

carlossainz55: grid mum clearly showing favourites 🤨 does my sleepovers at the norris household mean anything?

yourusername: your old ass does not need a grid mum be fucking for real

carlossainz55: GASP!

alexalbon: nevermind what ever the fuck that was... the sweet treats slapped, thank you very much

yourusername: see this is why you're my favourite

oscarpiastri: i am right here

logansargent: :(((((

yourusername: NOOO MY LITTLE DUCKLINGS I LOVE YOU

user4: the way y/n has taken to oscar and logan makes my heart so warm

user5: her missing a lot of the start of the 2023 season and logan saying he started to feel less lonely when she was back coming to races as she went out of her way to support him

user6: her and alex going to miami a week early and acting more like parents than logan's actual parents

user7: it's like the older drivers are her grid kids but she only goes full mama bear for oscar and logan

user8: i'm gonna need this friends to lovers arc for alex and y/n

landonorris: do you people ever shut up

yourusername: LANDO ???

landonorris: sorry you have to die single sorry i don't make the rules

f1

liked by yourusername, georgerussell63 and 1,405,788 others

tagged: alexalbon, landonorris & georgerussell63

f1: ALBON P5!!! now that's why lando had a poster of him in his childhood bedroom

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user9: i know lando forever regrets bringing that up all those years ago

user10: since we know how close alex and y/n are... i'd bet a lot of money y/n brings it up at any opportunity

yourusername: LET'S FUCKING GO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

alexalbon: always knew you were my biggest fan

yourusername: it must be a norris thing

landonorris: alex the literal f1 account is making fun of me and you're SAYING SHE IS YOUR BIGGEST FAN

alexalbon: okay buddy lets calm it down

landonorris: don't put me in time out you're not my grid dad

alexalbon: am i not?

this comment has been deleted

alexalbon: i wouldn't claim you dummy

landonorris: i saw that ............. interesting

user11: the way this is the biggest hint for y/n x alex we've ever gotten but lando is not putting 2 and 2 together

yourusername: i've never had to try to keep a secret from lando i've always had to spell it out for him we're safe

landonorris: who is we?

user11: i see what you mean

georgerussell63: good lord, will i ever get out of the alex DRS train?

alexalbon: NEVER MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAA

georgerussell63: have you already started drinking?

alexalbon: maybe, you know y/n can't mix drinks for shit

yourusername: P5 in a williams calls for a throwback college tequila punch

maxverstappen1: college tequila punch without me THE FAVOURITISM HAS GOTTEN OUT OF HAND

yourusername: you AND I QUOTE said "never talk to me again, i don't want to see you with any kind of receptacle that a person could drink out of, i never want to see a bottle of tequila ever again i feel like this is a hangover that will be passed on as some kind of generational curse"

maxverstappen1: now you say that i do recall saying something similar

user12: the way oscar and logan were so happy for alex, that's a grid dad for real

logansargent: we knew all of our drinks would been on his tab 🤞🏻

oscarpiastri: and he brought our kebabs!!

user13: how do i get this kind of treatment on my nights out?

logansargent: you have to third wheel alex and y/n when they're insufferably cute 👍🏻

this comment was deleted

user14: i'm on to yall

alexalbon

liked by landonorris, maxverstappen1 and 720,987 others

tagged: yourusername, logansargent & oscarpiastri

alexalbon: post night out munch with my favourites

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user15: oh i can smell the arguments coming

yourusername: no one die i'm putting my phone on do not disturb

user16: so real

georgerussell63: HOW DARE YOU DISRESPECT THE SANCTITY OF OUR FRIENDSHIPS I THOUGHT WE WERE PLATONIC SOULMATES OUR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER SEWN INTO THE VERY FABRIC OF OUR BEING

alexalbon: well damn

georgerussell63: well damn? WELL DAMN? THAT'S IT YOU ARE NOT INVITED ON MY ANNUAL EASTER SUNDAY WALK AND BOUTIQUE EASTER EGG HUNT

landonorris: wow that'll really show him george

georgerussell63: LANDO WHAT THE FUCK WE NEED A UNITED FRONT

yourusername: babe this isn't trench warfare

georgerussell63: i thought you weren't getting involved this is a GALEX DISCUSSION

charles_leclerc: i thought this was a twitch quartet dicussion?

georgerussell63: maybe if you people MADE YOURSELF USEFUL IT WOULD BE

charles_leclerc: you know what i don't like your tone. i am very secure in my friendship with alex and am happy he has other thriving friendships especially with those who have recently joined the team and need the extra comfort

alexalbon: finally a normal person

user17: what is happening

user18: i think this is what the kids call losing your shit

user19: kinda feels like it's ended prematurely

alexalbon: he's at my door

user20: oh? should we like maybe be afraid?

yourusername: WHY AM I LIVING IN THE SHINING RIGHT NOW DOES HE HAVE AN AXE?

landonorris: hold on .... why are you there?

yourusername: george russell is at the door screaming for justice potentially wielding a weapon and that's what you took from that?

landonorris: ummm yes? there's something weird going on here

oscarpiastri: i'm also here

logansargent: me too (PLEASE SEND HELP)

user21: well wasn't that just ... delightful

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, alexalbon and 903,788 others

tagged: oscarpiastri & yourusername

landonorris: this whole grid kid thins has gotten out of control why is this kid being treated better than ME in my OWN HOME

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user24: how could lando be angry look how pookie oscar is

oscarpiastri: this is what i'm sayingggggg

yourusername: so fuck me i guess

user24: babe that's alex's job

yourusername: you right

user25: HOLD ON PEOPLE IS THAT Y/N/ALEX CRUMBS ???

user26: quick add it to the spreadsheet

alexalbon: there's a spreadsheet?

user26: we don't fuck around about your hypothetical relationship with y/n

alexalbon: that much is clear (send it my way asap)

yourusername: talking about favouritism in the norris household as if i have not lived with this for MY ENTIRE LIFE

landonorris: booooooo let me complain (did you or did you not get your weird kids from my career favouritism in the family)

yourusername: don't weaponise my children against me

landonorris: but they're so annoying oscar is eating all of the ROAST POTATOES THIS IS THE NORRIS FAMILY DINNER EVERYONE KNOWS THE ROASTIES ARE MINE

oscarpiastri: not anymore :P

landonorris: choke

oscarpiastri: don't make me call my dad

landonorris: call him up i'll beat his ass at this point I CAN SEE YOU TAKING ANOTHER POTATO

oscarpiastri: @alexalbon :(

alexalbon: keep my kid's name out your fucking mouth

landonorris: excuse me?

yourusername: ugh that's so hot

landonorris: EXCUSE ME?

user27: well .... add it to the spreadsheet?

landonorris: i'm so close to blocking all of you

yourusername: i thought you loved alex :(

landonorris: not that much

alexalbon: i see....

landonorris: NO I'M SORRY I TAKE IT BACK I LOVE YOU ALEX (YOU BETTER NOT BE SHAGGING MY SISTER HYPOTHETICAL OR NOT)

yourusername

liked by alexalbon, charles_leclerc and 528,095 others

tagged: landonorris

yourusername: silverstone babyyyyyyyyyyyyyy i hope my home treats my boys right

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user28: i would give a kidney to be there for real

user29: you might have to the prices at that race are INSANE

landonorris: finally the home race which means you actually have to root for me

yourusername: ehhhhhhh

landonorris: girl i did not get much sleep last night wtf do you mean EHHHHH

yourusername: alex is a london boy

georgerussell63: once again fuck george i guess

yourusername: you didn't give me time !!!!

georgerussell63: were you actually going to say it?

yourusername: no ❤️

landonorris: right george i think it's time to unionise against y/n and alex

yourusername: the fuck do you (do we?) know about unionisation babe our family are the capitalist machine

user30: so like when are we getting the full albon pets meetup with sausage?

alexalbon: you always treat me right

yourusername: only the bestest for you

alexalbon: oh wow i'm blushing

yourusername: i can make you do a lot more than that

landonorris: do you mind?

yourusername: LET ME FLIRT IN PEACE GOD I CAN'T HAVE ANYTHING

alexalbon: yeah let y/n flirt with me in peace

logansargent: he's giggling and swinging his feet - we might even get a skip away

alexalbon: sue me

user31: alex and y/n being so tired of lando is so true

oscarpiastri: they match each other's freak and they really need to let that freak flag fly

logansargent: as they should i need to post some of the cute pictures of them my phone storage is suffering

landonorris: i'm throwing my phone out of the window

user32: confirmation? CONFIRMATION?

alexalbon

liked by georgerussell63, maxverstappen1 and 1,359,086 others

tagged: yourusername

alexalbon: bro my nurse is hot as fuck

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user32: bro nearly died and THIS IS WHAT HE POSTS

user33: is it insensitive for me to celebrate that they're together on a post just hours after he was in a massive crash

yourusername: probably but we'll take the compliment regardless

georgerussell63: let it be known i'm annoyed that this is how i found out about this relationship but i'm so glad you're okay and that you had your person with you as support

alexalbon: my person awwwww georgie you're such as softie, but thank you i'm all good

yourusername: i knew you loved me really georgie

georgerussell63: i'll come round to this i guess

yourusername: so no more morning visits with weapons

georgerussell63: THERE WERE NO WEAPONS

alexalbon: you called me many mean words and sometimes words are our biggest weapons

georgerussell63: shut the fuck up

yourusername: that's not very peace, love and kindness he nearly died russell change up your tone

user34: YESSSSSSSSS WE CAN FINALLY SEE THE TRUE POWER OF THE ALEX/Y/N SASS

user34: also obviously very happy alex is okay

user35: i fear we as a fandom do not have our priorities in check

landonorris: i wouldn't leave the hospital if i were you

alexalbon: is that a threat?

landonorris: very much so

maxverstappen1: he's serious i'm literally holding him back (it's not hard he's like a gremlin)

landonorris: A GREMLIN WHO HAS BEEN GIVEN WATER

yourusername: but i thought you loved alex? surely this is the least offensive option on the grid?

alexalbon: awwwwww babe

maxverstappen1: i'm really not sure thats the compliment you think...

landonorris: NO I DO LOVE ALEX BUT NOT LIKE THIS

yourusername: it could be worse, you're besties with alex - i could've gotten with carlos or pierre!

carlossainz55: excuse me?

pierregasly: what did i ever do to you?

yourusername: whores ❤️

landonorris: true they are whores

alexalbon: and i'm a big ol family man

landonorris: you keep that to yourself

oscarpiastri: get well soon dad

logansargent: we love you !!!

yourusername: don't think we've forgotten about you exposing our relationship....

alexalbon: but we love you anyway

yourusername

liked by logansargent, landonorris and 783,209 others

tagged: alexalbon

yourusername: f1 cars are too dangerous actuallyyyyyyyyyyy you're all BANNED

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user36: finally some good fucking food

user37: i feel like we've been waiting for this relationship for so long i expect a wedding invitation at this point

alexalbon: yeah soz only the girl with the spreadsheet is getting an invite

user26: SCORE

alexalbon: well aren't we just the cutest couple in the world

yourusername: i fear we are

yourusername: and if any of you hoes try and comment any dumb shit like "us erasure" i'll break your toes

georgerussell63: oh! okay...

maxverstappen1: sure i guess so...

charles_leclerc: i'll let you have your moment for now

landonorris: i'm single but i want to be involved

user38: the lipstick print... i'm weak

user39: they already made me feel lonely before we got confirmation i think i might need to redownload hinge

landonorris: ugh i guess you guys are kind of cute

yourusername: of course we are one of us is a norris

landonorris: TRUE 💅🏻

alexalbon: ??? so you don't want to kill me anymore?

landonorris: no i guess not

landonorris: also max put a bell on my chain and my fingers are too fat to open the clasp so i can't sneak out to kick your ass

maxverstappen1: he really is an overgrown toddler

alexalbon: also your 5'2 ass is not beating mine

landonorris: i am NOT 5'2 i am 5'10 at the least

yourusername: girl you're maybe 5'5 and i WILL be getting my lick in if you fight alex - revenge for all those hair pulls all those years ago

landonorris: i'd say stop defending alex but you've always done that... i should've known

user40: so y/n really wasn't lying when she said she didn't have to hide anything from lando cause he doesn't pick up on anything 😭

landonorris: sorry i'm not actively looking for clues about my sister's sex life

alexalbon: bro i am in love with your sister lets frame this better

yourusername: hehehheheeehehhehe

landonorris

liked by maxverstappen1, logansargent and 1,874,036 others

tagged: alexalbon & yourusername

landonorris: i guess i always did say that i wanted alex as a bigger brother, be careful for what you wish for kids

view all comments

user41: FINALLLLY

logansargent: you're telling me we've BEEN waiting

oscarpiastri: i kinda miss having a secret like what do i hold over lando now?

landonorris: DON'T THINK I HAVEN'T FORGOTTEN ABOUT THIS YOU WILL BE DEALT WITH PIASTRI

oscapiastri: okay babe

landonorris: you really take after your mum and it scares me

yourusername: you shouldn't have such good friends that i just can't help falling in love with so really this is your fault

landonorris: sure.... but you have a good point, i'm very happy it's alex of all people

yourusername: you've really come round fast since you realised that we'll pay for your stuff whenever we go out

landonorris: what can i say stuff tastes better when it's free

alexalbon: you literally make double what y/n and i make

landonorris: and i'm the younger sibling so you should TREAT ME BETTER

user42: yeah we all knew lando was the younger sibling but he's giving massive annoying baby brother vibes

alexalbon: and he wonders why we prefer oscar and logan

landonorris: i'm just going to pretend i didn't see that

alexalbon: but for real lando, thanks for being the most annoying norris and having such a lovely and cool (and smoking hot) sister - i appreciate it!

yourusername: i love you too babe

alexalbon: don't worry you'll get to drop the last name soon

yourusername: AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

yourusername: i can't wait to be mrs. albon

landonorris: blocked.

user43: i can't believe we got the conclusion to the lando alex poster storyline

landonorris: it wasn't exactly the conclusion i thought it would be but i'll take it

yourusername: you love us really

alexalbon: really you were just manifesting this for like ten years

fin.

note: here's a wee post from brother's bff before the race because i need somehtign to distract me from my horrible NERVES - ENJOY!

[corollaservant]

Night in the Net // Shigaraki x f! reader (18+)

Synopsis: You find yourself stranded in one hell of a sexist environment: the small town's internet café. Shigaraki's on the night shift. (3.6k)

Warnings: sex with Shiggy basically, mild degradation and misogyny from our fav incel, dom!Shiggy with a twist (no quirk obviously), use of “dollface” (i like it)

A/N: No dark themes here, peace n luv. Also.. yeah he is always linked to some gaming/electronic business ik!! but I like the trope/hc/almost canon.

You'd never imagine this was how your night would end.

Why are you there again? Right, your friends wanted to go to that after party, as if the club wasn't enough. What was supposed to be a night out ended up with you in the local internet café (the only after hours spot) while your friends decided to go to a house party with loud techno music, which definitely wasn’t your vibe. You and your friends lived close and would often call a taxi on your way home, money wasn’t enough for you to ride solo today though—you prayed in times like these that you at least had a job; you wouldn’t have to rely on anyone then. 

You knew pretty much everyone there, it’s not like the town had more than ten thousand residents and considering the age group and schools you’d all gone to, the internet café only had a few unknown members. On today’s shift was none other than Tomura of course, that guy was taking up as many shifts as his body would allow him to, apparently there was this rumor a family member was in crucial condition and they were in need. Tomura Shigaraki was one of these people you had branded as incel. Though hardworking (he kept a house of his own, cleaning and doing all chores by himself while providing for whomever he had), you still considered the guy as one. Now—you know the term is heavy, matter of fact, quite offending and serious as an allegation but it’s not like there weren’t rumors. Rumors he’d bash women and call them prostitutes, try to sleep with girls and trash them to his friends a day later, hating them for anything they did and claiming true love didn’t exist nowadays because “all women are sluts, who need money and validation.” Plus, he worked at the local internet café (should be enough reason), engaging in heated conversations with his friends and fellow streamers. God, one look in their chats and you'd get as violent as possible— (not much, you'd discovered it the hard way). Thus, it was no surprise that when you enter the place, you hear whispers and scoffs.

‘’The hell are you doing here?’’ A voice was heard from within, the café had the computer screens up front, a bar and a couch with TV in the back. Tomura was occupied in the designated bar the place had (you often wondered what kind of needs these people had—all they ever consumed was energy drinks and pre-packaged meals, takeouts were for reasons of competitive market prohibited).

‘’Just dropping by for a couple of hours, will leave soon.’’ You sigh as you take a seat on the couch, not bothering to talk to anyone, it wasn’t like they cared anyway. Loud noise and laughter can be heard all around, a couple of guys swearing and some younger boys excitedly standing above their screens. The store had a 16+ policy, but of course, no one ever checked so kids could practically stare unattended. Tomura also encouraged younger boys to play, such a piece of shit, you think, getting them to learn young. 

‘’Oh my fucking God, a slut just joined!’’ You hear some guy swear, presumably because a girl joined their online server. These guys were so disgusting, you cringe, it was no wonder they were celibate without wanting it. You stand up, you need to kill some time and you're feeling bored, you think about starting a fight with Tomura, how else could you have a little bit of fun?

You weren’t ever necessarily afraid of the guy, even though you had to admit, he looked intimidating. Quite tall with a pale complexion, ashy, dull hair and scars across his face; no one actually knew much about him and whether he was troubled, it’s not like he ever showed to work beaten up or high and usually kept a low profile. The only frightening thing this man had was his smile, it terrified you sometimes as it looked downright evil. 

‘’Getting them to learn young, huh?’’ You ask him, he’s washing up some cups from the previous round of gross gaming guys, who have now left.

‘’What?’’ He responds, not bothering to look up. 

‘’How to not get women, I mean.’’ You sigh as he huffs in annoyance.

‘’You should be grateful I let a female in my store in the first place.’’ He retorts, but doesn’t seem very angry, just ironic. Usual.

My store (you decide to skip over 'female') sounds funny but you choose not to comment on it. 

‘’So how long until you guys close?’’ You don't bother with the vocabulary—it’s routine at this point. It also never ends well and you had a great night so far, why ruin it now?

‘’Two hours.’’ 

‘’Mind if I sit on the couch? I’ll be quiet I promise’’ You ask—technically beg, as you see no other options.

‘’Ugh.. yeah I mind. There’s some guys wanting to use it, I have a group for GTA on the PS5.’’

‘’Seriously? People still play that?’’ You whine but force yourself to continue.

 ‘’Can I sit with you then?’’ It takes strength—but you say it regardless. You came to terms with the fact he was your last resort minutes ago.

‘’Sure. But you need to make yourself useful. Here, take this.’’ He hands you a wet sponge, ‘’Wash these up... carefully, while I go clean the floors.’’ He orders, as if you’re part of the staff (and new on the job apparently.)

‘’Do you actually want me to wash freaking dishes? I just came here to chill, I don’t even bother anyone!’’ You start feeling annoyed with the chores, you aren’t 16 and he isn’t your mom.

‘’You can always leave.’’ The running tap stops and he turns to you, practically shoving the wet gloves on your chest. 

‘’Or...you can stop being a brat and be of use during your stay, I have two hours left.’’ He smiles, that same smile that makes your skin crawl and blood boil as he moves away.

‘’Fuck! My dress, you asshole!’’ A wet patch now covers the too short dress as you glance at the time on your phone. 

Two hours. Two hours until your friends leave and he closes up anyway.

-

Tomura was at least true to his words. Within two insufferable hours of having to listen to appalling conversations between men (hardly to be considered as such), plate washing and the toilet being constantly occupied, the last customers get up to leave. 

You dry your hands and plop down the couch exhausted.

‘’Finally.’’ You exhale checking your phone, your friends hadn’t given you any life signs in the meantime, so you decide to patiently wait, they’d message eventually. Tomura is done sweeping the nasty floors from crumbs and dried Monster remnants, which he still has to mop (for the fourth time, you note and you've only been there some hours). You notice how restless he seems—the guy has been running the whole night after ignorant customers, who had not once shown basic respect for the order of the place yet never complained. Truly a shame he has such a misogynistic mindset, you think. He could get women, if he wanted to. 

It’s around 6:30 AM, when he presses a button to close the store's roll-up shutters halfway. Small light outside makes its way in but the place is still relatively dark, as he places the mop near the wall and takes a seat next to you.

‘’Fuuck, I’m so tired.’’ He sighs, making sure to spread his legs on the couch as much as he can, not caring (of course) about you also sitting on it. 

You always branded Tomura as an incel, that you knew about. But despite that, you now can’t help but feel for him, not knowing much about him at the same time. Sure, he technically isn’t the nicest guy but a look around would show you that he tries enough for a job kicking his ass. You find yourself sympathizing with a man, whose ideals you hate and try to brush these thoughts off.

‘’And why the fuck am I an incel anyway?’’ He asks, his head rests on the couch and his eyes are closed, he is scrunching severely—almost threatening to fall down. And he manspreads. A lot.

‘’W-well– I..’’ You never thought he’d caught on to that, stammering to stand your ground as you continue. ‘’Well, there have been rumors about you.’’ You say, but it doesn’t come off as confident as you’d hoped for. You also realize, it sounds kind of stupid.

‘’Reaaally? And you made sure to believe them, right?’’ His tone’s laced with irony but the way he talks like he whispers in a raspy voice doesn't annoy you anymore. It makes you more... uncomfortable? On the edge? Excited?...what?

‘’It’s not like you don’t claim it yourself.’’ You retort, finally finding some courage. You notice him looking at you as you awkwardly shuffle in your seat.

‘’All I’ve ever said was that I think women are good for nothing. And I still believe that, but I wouldn’t waste more of my time on that.’’ The statement makes you roll your eyes.

‘’How can you generalize a whole group of people, who are literally in no way inferior to you, you can’t tell me you’ve tried—’’ 

‘’Listen dollface, unless you want to change my mind there’s no reason to fuss that much, my opinion won’t change.’’

Unless you want to change my mind?

‘’I-I don’t.’’ You stammer, because the answer and pet name (dollface??) takes you by surprise and he laughs.

‘’Relax, you branded me an incel.’’ He jokes, ‘’don’t want the rape allegations on me too.’’ 

The more he talks, the more your mind races and you curse yourself. He seems..funny? He has a mole under his lips—fuck, it looks cute...He also looks good so (stupid as it is, yes!) you silently want his attention. Why can’t he just look you in the eyes more?

This is so wrong. He must've noticed your lost gaze as he speaks up.

‘’Wanna watch a movie?’’ He proposes and you nod, anything is better than the silence hanging in the air. Silence you caused. For thinking... things about him. 

Of course Tomura ends up choosing the most depressing film anyone can possibly watch in an internet café at 6 AM, Fallen Angels, and the dramatic cuts make it hard for you to concentrate. He at a certain point leans closer to you but you justify it, how else would he be able to see?

During this one scene, the woman pleasured herself with her legs closed, rubbing together and that’s when you feel a soft hand touch on your thigh. The dress you wore rode up, because your legs rested on the table ahead so it gave him the space he needed. The movement made you tingle and your core involuntarily contracted. The smooth fingers teasingly trailed up and down your leg, from your knees to your inner thighs. You didn’t want to look at him—he was too close and the scene seemed endless. But…he went on about it as if nothing was happening. 

Without saying a word, he carried on. A pad of his finger tip dangerously close to your now heated entrance, the images flashing before your eyes lewd, his hand tempting and threatening to reach your already soaked cunt—all this while the two of you hadn’t even shared a kiss. But he doesn't stop, looking ahead and acting like everything’s fine, until he touches your lower lips and you hiss, his finger traces the wet spot over your underwear while you try to move and speak up. 

‘’W–what are y—’’

‘’Shh..’’ is all he says. 

You want to tell him no. But no to what? You like the feeling of his two fingers against your folds. His palm moves your panties to the side and he stuffs them inside—they dampen from the fluids. How is he that quick? You can’t form a response but you’re about to ask him why—

‘’All that and I haven’t even kissed you.’’ He murmurs, gaze still fixated on the television ahead as you moan, when he slowly pumps them within your walls. Fuck, are you turned on by this?

‘’P-please..’’ You whisper, turning to look at him and for the first time, his eyes are removed from the stupid TV, a sly smile on his features as he tears away his hand.

‘’What is it? Want the incel to kiss you? Maybe even fuck you to prove a point?’’ He says and you frown.

‘’I—no, I have to go.’’ You get up, fixing (lowering) your dress—you have nowhere to go but you’ll figure it out eventually. You think staying longer only plays into his cruel intentions and whilst you can’t deny the pleasure he could give you, your pride’s in the way.

‘’You’re not going anywhere.’’ A wet hand clasps around your wrist and brings you on his lap, as he grins; you seem confused at the sensation. You are hiding the TV screen but he couldn't care less, he never paid attention to the movie.

‘’Feel the stain you left, too?’’ He says as he brings your face closer with the sticky palm grabbing you by the hair. You softly moan, noticing the small mole up close and feeling a bulge poke where your bodies meet. You sway your hips in a silent effort to have him initiate a kiss, you feel desperate and curse yourself again internally. He can only smile.

(You were so clueless, walking around in that slutty dress earlier—making him hard like that, did you even know it?)

He’s quick to kiss you, eager for more already, as mouths clash, teeth collide, the need you both have exceeds proper manners. You sloppily grind against him, the friction from a long outline beneath you makes it hard to think.

‘’I’m guessing, you’re really fucking the incel then.’’ He half smirks as he grabs you and repositions you to sit on his now fully hard cock that throbs in his pants; he lifts your dress above your ass and guides your hips sluggishly back and forth—he’s tormenting you and he enjoys it to the fullest.

‘’T-tomura..p-please.’’ You whine, the urge to have him inside you makes you blabber.

‘’Please what?’’ He slides a hand behind your waist, lowering it to find your slit from behind, his fingers pet your cunt and you moan. Loudly. He is tugging at your panties, the fabric annoys him and he wants full access and the words. The words to prove his point.

‘’P–please...fuck me already!’’ You breathe out and he groans to the sound of your voice. 

The ironic remark he prepared evaporates as he quickly pushes you back, just enough to not fall off his lap and quickly unzips his pants, thanking god for not wearing a belt. 

His pants and underwear are sloppily moved down his knees, as his cock jumps with a pop on his lower abdomen, stiff with a weeping tip. Pretty veins throb around it as your eyes widen.

Shit, he’s big, can you take him?

‘’I’d ask for a nice blowjob, dollface, but wouldn’t want the feminists after me.’’ He says as he brings you close, kissing you yet again, a string of spit runs down your jaw, as your hands roam his tangled, uncombed hair. 

He positions you on his cock, one hand snakes around your waist while the other one clings to the back of your scalp and you’re swiftly lifted by the head and pushed down on him, as you let out a scream.

‘’Shut the fuck up.’’ He hisses, quickly looking around, the sensation from almost his whole length makes you tremble, he feels too full, too painful...too good.

‘’Shit, c’mon now you got this.’’ He encourages as you hesitantly move up and down his cock, gripping his shoulders and looking at him; he seems more concentrated on the sensation than your body, staring at you while you wrap around his length.

‘’Fuck...dollface, this too much for ya?’’ He tries not to grunt and you give your best not to cry, each moment that goes by turning the initial pain to pleasure—your cunt adjusts slowly and bit by bit to his girth. 

‘’T-tomura... y-yes..it’s too much!’’ You whine, sweat forms in your forehead as his hand finds your swollen clit and circles it while your nails dig deeper in his shirt.

‘’You can take it.’’ He says, he feels you squeezing him in, you bounce with dedication on his legs, making the couch squeak as if on some sex tape—you want to bring yourself even closer. So nasty, aren't you? Acting righteous, only to fuck yourself on his cock like a desperate whore.

‘’I-ugh-p-please..’’ You try to speak but he secures his hand around your torso and sinks (lower than before) down the couch. Two strong hands force you to stay still in the air while he drills himself into you at a steady pace, kind of sloppily too. Both of you moan, the position gives equal pleasure, your clit bumps on his groin and his cock reaches your g-spot with ease.

‘’S–Shit, you’re squeezing way too much, haven’t you been fucked like this before?’’ He sounds annoyed but the stammer in his voice betrays him.

Not like this, you want to say but can’t really speak the words. Your weight falls entirely on him, he doesn’t mind one bit—he loves it actually, this skin on skin contact as he guides you on his cock, it feels surreal. He hits soft and spongy spots inside while you slowly fall apart. 

‘’T-Tomura right there..I ugh—I'm close!’’ The sensation overwhelms you, his eyes are still fixated on your face, yeah I can tell, he thinks. He gets off on your desperation, mouth parted all for him? Your eyes threaten to spill by the way he tears apart your cunt and morals bit by bit.. it’s–

‘’Tomura, aren't you closing yet?’’ Someone asks from outside, interrupting the moment. The shutters only reveal a pair of shoes. 

‘’Yeah, I’m on it.’’ Shigaraki stops composed, cockwarming you in a funny way, while a hand, his hand covers your mouth. Your eyes widen as slick trickles down his thighs in silence.

‘’Alright, see you then.’’ The man leaves and he cusses him out. (''Cunt.'')

‘’We’re not done.’’ He turns his attention back to you and seizes your face, bringing your mouth closer.

‘’Open up.’’ He orders and you do, clenching around him in anticipation.

He spits in it and closes the gap with his index finger. 

‘’Swallow or I won’t continue.’’ You quickly gulp down.

‘’So obedient all of a sudden, aren't you?’’ Sarcasm evident as he gives your ass a solid hit, before starting to get back on his pace, only more rough this time, he longs for your release on him. You’re moving up and down his length, trying to grab anything accessible really, his hair, the back of the couch, under his shirt and you feel your orgasm resurface stronger; the delay highlighted all of your senses.

‘’T-Tomura—’’ You shudder, as his cock hits your g-spot expertly–fuck, this guy wasn't some incel–and your swollen clit has to brush one last time past his groin before you feel an overwhelming orgasm take over. You clamp down his length and moan embarrassingly (Fuck Tomura! I–I'm...too good!) This time he lets you, he needs to hear this.

‘’Fuuck—agh, look at you dollface.’’ He hums, a feminist creaming herself on my cock, he wants to add but it’s too many words and you just came so he wastes no time. He brings your neck close to his mouth and bites on it, teeth sink into your flesh and hands force you all the way down. His cum spills inside and he groans, trying to stifle his moans by biting down the sensitive skin even harder. 

And fuck if that isn’t hot.

He keeps you on him, arms fasten around your waist with cum dripping onto his lowered pants but neither of you bother to care; ragged breaths and the sounds of the film still playing are audible as more light enters through the rolled shutters.

God must’ve been on your side that day because a message appears on your screen moments after you both wordlessly got up and cleaned yourselves in the bathroom. Tomura would have to clean again, you think, as the message on your phone signals your time to leave.

You turn to look at him, he has removed his shirt and small nail scratches decorate his pale back and you..smile. What the hell? Was this..? Oh no—You try to find an appropriate goodbye.

See you soon? Thanks for the mind blowing dick? You aren’t the incel I thought you were? Everything seems embarrassing at present time. 

‘’I-I’ll be seeing you soon.’’ You opt for that, stupid as it is, you still look at him in anticipation. He turns to you, hands on the mop cleaning near the couch and nods. 

Great, you think, that was a disaster. You defeatedly walk (actually stoop to get past the almost closed door) feeling like a hooker after a client, miserable and kind of used. This is always the worst part. 

You feel an arm touch your shoulder, you’ve only taken a few steps in the daylight.

‘’Take this in case you revoke your incel statement.’’

Tomura hands you a piece of paper and quickly disappears behind the store’s shadows.

[bweeeb]

WILDFLOWER

Carmen Berzatto x Reader

Angst

Notes: I started watching the third season of The Bear and my love for Carmen returned.

Summary: When Carmen compares Y/n to Claire on a stressful day, he almost ruins everything with the woman in his life.

Carmen Berzatto was never a kid with many friends. In fact, he didn't have any for a big part of his life, until you came along. The principal and teachers thought you were too advanced for your grade and bumped you up a year, where Carmen was. Berzatto never imagined a girl as pretty as you would be his friend. He thought you’d hang out with Claire or the cool kids, but no, you obviously became friends with everyone, especially Claire, but mostly with him. It was you and Carmen. After school ended, your friendship lasted six years until he moved to New York and came back when Michael committed suicide. At first, things started off well again. You worked in your family’s marketing business, filming and promoting restaurants with creative and interesting videos. Carmen needed you to promote The Bear. You two started getting close again. Suddenly, you were helping him late at the restaurant, joining him and the crew for family meals, and then he asked you out, thanks to Richie pushing him to do it, and that’s how you got to where you are now. Maybe it was a bit early, but after a few long months, your lease ended, and without thinking much about it, you ended up moving in with Carmen. He was always working, so you didn’t get in his way, and he didn’t get in the way of your editing work. You didn’t have much to complain about. Every night, Carmen would come home, you two would shower together, helping him relax, and fall asleep watching something. Until it wasn’t like that anymore. You were always a clingy person since childhood. Your parents told you that, but never in a bad way. You always thought it was okay to show love through touch and words of affirmation, until Carmen seemed bothered by it. He started showering alone, saying he’d be with you soon. He’d let go of your hand on the couch and sit farther away than usual. The messages you used to send, which he said he loved because they relaxed his mind when the restaurant was chaotic, he no longer seemed to appreciate. You tried to make sure he was okay with all your emotions before starting a relationship, and Carmen assured you he was, even saying your touch calmed him and he’d never felt that way with Claire. Claire was never a tough subject between you two, but it was inevitable for you not to feel a pang of jealousy knowing Carmen sought her out before you.

It was almost eight in the morning, and that morning Carmen had left in a rush after oversleeping. While you were organizing things at home, his chef's coat appeared in front of you, and without much doubt, you realized he had left without it, which was almost unacceptable. You grabbed the coat and drove to the restaurant, not knowing that Carmen was having a bad day and taking it out on everyone in the kitchen. Entering through the back doors, your eyes widened at the commotion coming from the kitchen. You passed Marcus, who smiled and raised his eyebrows at you.— You need to calm your man down. He said, handing you a small bag and letting you pass. Walking through the kitchen, you passed by Sydney, who shook her head in disapproval, with Richie right behind her, clapping his hands.

— S/n, the cousin's losing it. If I were you, I wouldn’t go in there, but I think you’re our only hope.

Richie said, hugging you tight and lifting your feet off the ground, causing you to let out a low laugh that made Carmen look out of his office, seeing you in Richie’s arms. Carmen's neck vein popped out for no reason, feeling jealous of your friendship with Richie, which had never happened in the fourteen years of friendship. Now, his already bad day seemed worse. Carmen, without thinking, walked over to you both, and as Richie let go of you, he grabbed his coat from your hand roughly, turned his back, and ran his fingers through his oily hair that hadn’t been washed properly, unlike when you washed it. Yesterday, he had skipped your shower together. — Maybe a thank you would be great. You said, following him through the kitchen with Richie behind you like a loyal puppy.

— She brought it for you, cousin.

— Yeah, big deal. He muttered, and you stopped in your tracks, tensing at his harsh tone.

— Leave this to me, Richie, thanks. You turned to the older man, who nodded and stepped away, ensuring that if you called for help, he’d come running.

You slowly approached Carmen, who was at the counter cutting vegetables, and leaned on one arm to look at him. — Hey, babe, what’s wrong?

Your soft, calm voice, which usually soothed Carmen, made him swallow hard in irritation.

When you got no response or even a glance, your smile fell into a disappointed sigh. — Are you okay?

— Yeah, I’m fine, Y/n. Another robotic response.

— Okay, are you mad because you woke up late?

— Your hair’s gonna fall into the ingredients. His voice raised rudely, and you widened your eyes, taking a hair clip from your bag strap and tying your hair up. — There, better? Your voice stayed calm and low, not letting the others in the kitchen hear what you were saying, always the opposite of Carmen in bad moments. — Can you at least look at me when you talk to me, please?

You asked, and the knife in Carmen’s hand stopped. His fiery gaze landed on you, and you didn’t know if you’d ever felt such a strong urge to cry from a look before. — I don’t wanna talk to you, Y/n. I didn’t ask you to come here. Carmen’s harsh words escaped, and you frowned. You knew he hadn’t called you, but you knew him well enough to know he was freaking out about not having a coat.

— Excuse me? Why are you acting like a child? I know you didn’t call me here, you jerk, but all your coats were at home, and I brought one for you.

— I don’t care what you say. I don’t want you here. Didn’t you notice that? I don’t even know if I want you in my bed anymore. Carmen’s words gradually softened until his last words came out as a confession that made your eyes fill with tears. — Stop being so clingy, for fuck’s sake. Claire was never like that. Carmen exploded, causing the kitchen to fall into an awkward silence.

— Well, maybe you should call Claire then, Carmen. You said, biting the inside of your cheek, feeling like you were being stabbed in the chest. And you couldn’t stop thinking that Claire had always been the center of Carmen’s attention as teenagers, why wouldn’t she be now?

— Maybe I will, maybe I’ll call her and say my annoying girlfriend is being a pain in the ass at my fucking job. At least Claire didn’t stick to me like glue when I got home and knew how to respect my space. She did something useful at work, for fuck’s sake. Carmen yelled, and your throat formed a huge lump, knowing you’d either cry like a baby in front of him or outside, and you preferred to do it away from his eyes.

— Go fuck yourself, Carmen. You said, turning your back on your boyfriend, refusing to look at him with tear-filled eyes again. Walking through the kitchen, Richie came up to you with wide eyes, stopping you midway, but you just pushed him aside, making him run to Carmen with his hands on his head.

— What the FUCK did you just do, cousin? FUCK. That woman is the love of your life, damn it. Look at what you just said to her, you idiot. Richie yelled in Carmen’s face, who looked at his friend with his hands on his face as regret hit him. It was like while he was saying all those nasty things to the girl he loved most, his mind was clouded with adrenaline and anger, not at her, but at the pressure he was feeling that ended up being dumped on her. Running out of the restaurant, trying to catch up with you, but it was too late, and you had already disappeared.

When night came, Carmen walked into the house, and immediately when the emptiness greeted him, his chest felt heavy with regret again. There were no warm kisses, whispered caresses in his oily curls from spending all day at the restaurant, and no you, tiny and eager to try the food he’d brought for you to taste. He approached your shared bedroom and saw you curled up under the covers, hugging a pillow that used to be him. You never slept before he got home, and immediately, the fear of losing you hit Carmen, who got in the shower and felt his tears fall as he thought about how stupid he’d been to treat the person who made him feel safe and good after Michael left so badly.

After he got out of the shower, Carmen knelt by your side of the bed and gently caressed your cheek with his thumb, making you stir briefly and open your eyes quickly. Your usually bright eyes were red from crying so much, and it was impossible for Carmen not to notice. In a leap, you pulled away from his touch and sat up in bed, avoiding his gaze.

— I brought food for you. Carmen said, and you just shook your head, lying back down, unable to really sleep again.

— I’m not hungry, thanks. You murmured weakly, and Carmen wanted to slap himself for treating his sweet girl so badly. Even after hurting you, you thanked him when he couldn’t even properly apologize.

— I… I’m sorry, sweetheart. Carmen said, looking at your back and only receiving a nod. You knew your voice would crack from the tears starting to fall again, and you didn't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you cry anymore. Carmen's heart sank at your lack of response, feeling the weight of his words crushing him. — I didn't mean it, any of it. I was just... I'm an idiot, and I took everything out on you. You didn't deserve that. You never do.

He whispered, his voice trembling with genuine regret. You stayed silent, trying to process his words. You wanted to forgive him, but the pain was still fresh. — Please, look at me, Y/n. I can't stand seeing you like this.

Carmen pleaded, his hand reaching out to touch you again, but stopping midway, unsure if it was welcome.

— Do you know how much it hurts to hear that from the person you love the most? You finally spoke, your voice breaking, making Carmen wince at the raw emotion in your words.

— I know, and I'm so, so sorry. I don't know how to make it right, but I'll do anything. Just don't leave me, please. Carmen's desperation was evident, and you slowly turned to face him, seeing the genuine remorse in his eyes. It was hard to stay mad at someone who looked so broken.

— I just need you to be honest with me. If you need space, say it. If something's wrong, tell me...— You stopped for a second, apprehensive — Can I ask you something? Do you see her in the back of your mind all the time wishing I were her? You asked, sniffling, and immediately Carmen shook his head. — Because I see her, and I can't keep on someone's place.

— Claire and I didn't work out because she couldn't stand me, and I couldn't stand her. You're the reason I wake up every day, knowing I'm going to come back from the restaurant to here and you'll be here is what makes me want to keep going, Y/n. Claire didn't do that, she never did. I'm sorry. He whispered pulling you into his arms in a hug. — I love you, Y/n. I'm sorry for making you doubt that.

— I love you too, Carmy. But I swear if you make me feel this shit again, I'll leave you forever, that's your only chance to do the right things, Carmen

— I promise. I'll be better. I don't ever want to lose you. You're the best thing that's ever happened to me. He confessed, his eyes filled with tears. You sighed. and Carmen hugged you tighter as he mumbled several apologies in a row.

— Can we take a nap now, please? I can't sleep without you.

— But what about the restaurant?

— They can handle lunch without me. He said, picking you up and carrying you to the neatly made bed.

[leaentries]

NEVER MEANT FOREVER - QUINN HUGHES

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SYNOPSIS: there was no way quinn would ever have feelings for his best friend, never.

WARNINGS: angst w/ happy ending, misunderstanding, alcohol, drinking, getting drunk, loser guy harassing reader in a bar, reader breaks a bottle over a loser guys head, reader gets punched, quinn pulling a colin bridgerton (iykyk), swearing, reader gets into an accident, non-life threatening injuries, protective quinn, not proofread

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“You know, the longer you stare at her the more pathetic you look.”

“I’m not staring.” 

“Really? Cause I don’t think you’ve blinked in the past ten minutes.” 

With rolling eyes, Quinn finally tore his gaze away from where you stood, enticed in an animated conversation with a random guy. He looked to Jack with an unamused face, hands twirling the straw that danced with the ice of his empty rum and coke. Irritation stirred at the back of his neck, causing him to grunt as he stretched out the muscle. As annoying as Jack could be, he wasn’t necessarily wrong in this situation. 

“Can you blame me?” Quinn barked, “She’s over there smiling with some jackass she’s never met before.” 

Jack just let out a cackle that, to Quinn, reminded him far too much of their father, “It’s called mingling, Quinny.” He slapped a hand firmly onto the older boy’s shoulder, “We came here to have fun and that’s exactly what she’s doing.”

“Well, she could at least be smart about it and not talk to strangers.” He placed the tip of his straw into his mouth, blowing into the empty cup. Quinn knew he sounded like a whiney toddler, but he couldn’t seem to bring himself to care. Not when it came to you. You had been by Quinn’s side since he got drafted, recently having been hired onto the Canuck’s marketing team. It was all too easy for the boy to immediately cling to your side since both of you were new to living in a new country by yourselves. The both of you found a special solace with each other that could only be described as “home.” At least, that’s what it felt like to Quinn. 

You had become a rock, a symbol of strength and perseverance through his rookie year, and that only seemed to grow stronger with each passing season. He found himself falling reliant on you and your presence, through the little things you would do, such as bringing him lunch when he had been going overtime on the ice or simply helping him clean up the mess of his apartment. Whatever it may be, Quinn couldn’t push away the feelings he had associated with you and your relationship. However, all he could chalk it up to was that you were his best friend, nothing more. 

“Said the world’s biggest introvert,” Jack remarked, “Dude, if you don’t want her to flirt with other people then grow a pair and ask her out.” 

This statement had Quinn’s eyes bulging and shards of ice shooting through the straw he had placed in his mouth. He turned his head, partially to cover his cough, but mostly to hide the red that bloomed on the skin under his stubble. Quinn felt a twang of panic surge through his stomach, nerves spiking. 

Now if you ask Jack, he’d say Quinn was stupid, which could be the only reason the eldest brother let the phrase fall from his lips. 

“Ask her out?” He asked with disbelief, “We’re just friends, I could never be into Y/N like that. Never.” 

Jack felt his own eyes widen at Quinn’s words, coughing awkwardly as his gaze fell behind the brother’s right shoulder. Quinn’s brows formed a deep ‘v’ as he turned around. He swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling his mouth run dry. His throat felt as if it was closing, a gate to the words that wanted to chase after you. He watched the way your eyes filled with an unknown emotion, your shoulders slumping as you made a b-line past him. Quinn’s body was screaming and fighting against his skin to run after you, yet he stayed put. He sat firmly in that chair and watched you run out of that god-forsaken bar. 

He felt as if he was watching his heart rip from his chest and walk away. And in some ways, he was.

-

You felt stupid. 

Stupid for letting yourself feel things for him, stupid for getting close to him, but most of all, for thinking you actually had a chance.

You had been excited to go to the bar that night, having gotten the invitation from Quinn that morning. Admittedly, a sparkle of hope glimmered in your chest every time he invited you somewhere. What started as a casual outing between friends, developed into something far more. His hand would often find home on the small of your back, guiding you and keeping you close if it was crowded. Always taking the liberty of ordering your drinks and food because he somehow managed to remember them all. Beyond all of that, he cared for you. He put in the effort to hang out with you, to check up on you, something that many others lacked in doing. However, all of this seemed pointless now. Empty promises and misread signals now resided where the longing and hoping used to live. 

You could feel your resolve break the second you heard Quinn say those words to Jack. Embarrassment consumed you, and an uncomfortable burning painted your skin red. You felt your heart fall to your ass the second he turned back to look at you.

The worst part? He didn’t even care. 

Quinn made no moves to check up on you later that night after you’d found a ride home, nor did he the following day. Two days eventually turned into a week, and you’d officially gone without speaking to Quinn longer than before the two of you had met. Your heart ached every time your phone lit up, hoping his name would appear under your notifications. You grew tired of waiting, tired of the itch that seemed to cover your fingertips every time you hovered over his contact. 

After the seventh night, your girlfriends decided you needed to quit sulking and go out. And, as if scripted, the familiar knocks at your apartment door announced their arrival. You opened the heavy door, as your two closest friends barged their way in, practically pushing you over. The searing squeak of the metal hinges were begging for help as the door heaved open so quickly. You smiled as they ran to your kitchen, grabbing the tequila bottle, which just so happened to already be on the counter and a few shot glasses. 

“Get your ass over here, y/n/n, we are pregaming this shit.” Demanded Willa, one of your close work friends. She had been there the night everything went down at the bar and didn’t hesitate to get you the hell outta dodge the second she saw tears welling up in your eyes. 

“Do we have to?” You droned, “I want to at least be able to walk to the bar without falling over, Wills.” 

She just rolled her eyes, swatting her hand through the air as if it were your words, “Just one, pretty please?” Her wide brown orbs were rimmed with amusement, clearly getting a kick out of your hesitance. Unfortunately for you, the shit-talking brunette also knew that you were very easily peer-pressured, at least when it came to her. 

“Aren’t you gonna try to convince me to drink too?” You questioned the ginger sitting to the right of Willa. 

Duke just grinned, her freckled cheeks rising to meet her sapphire eyes, “Don’t need to, Will’s already got you covered.” 

You sucked in a harsh breath, giving in to the liquid temptation sitting on the cool granite countertop, “Fine,” You waltz over, snatching the shot glass out of Willa’s hand, “Bottom’s up, bitches.” You guzzle down the shot, the burn almost mute at this point. The situation with Quinn, paired with the off week the Canuck’s had, it was horrible timing for you. But proved to be great timing for the local liquor store. 

Managing to take another shot, you all quickly go to your room to finish the final touchups for your nightly escapades. Duke hooked her phone to the speaker, playing the shared playlist the three of you had, specifically for nights like these. You could feel the tension from the past week melt from your body as you jumped around with your two best friends. 

After the first few songs, you settled down into a comfortable chatter, talking about nonsense as you curled your hair on the ground by your floor-length mirror. Willa sat on the bed, legs crossed as she did her eyeshadow in the camera of her phone and Duke somehow wriggled her way onto your dresser, feet dangling as she sat back against the tan walls. She had never been one to overly dress for clubbing, but her style suited her. 

“...and then he told me that I had a pretty voice,” Willa giggled as she rambled about her newest boy toy. As much as you loved the girl, there was no denying that she got around, but you’d never judge her for that. In all honesty, it was almost refreshing to hear about her many rendezvous, giving you insight into a life you could never live. Not that you wanted to, the thought of jumping from guy to guy made your skin crawl and dread fill your throat. You were more of a one-stop-shop kind of girl. 

“Which one is this again?” Duke’s voice slurred slightly, a tell-tale sign she was already tipsy. 

Willa rolled her eyes, “Duke, have you not been listening this whole time?” 

Duke slumped over to her side, “Sorry,” She snarked, “I’m sure this guy is fantastic and will be the one to get you to walk down the aisle.” 

The brunette scrunched her nose up in disgust, “Ew, not a chance.” 

You just laughed at their banter, finally curling the last few pieces of your hair. Duke turned her attention to you, eyeing you up suspiciously. “You seem rather quiet, y/n/n. Is everything okay?” At her words, Willa looks up from her phone, brows furrowing as she waits for your answer. 

You manage a nod and a half-assed smile that wouldn’t fool them from a mile away, “Yeah, I’m all good. Don’t worry about me.” 

Duke gave you her “don’t lie to me” look, which almost had you spouting yout guts out to them about Quinn, but Willa managed to beat you to the punch.

“Is it Quinn?” She asked, voice uncharacteristically serious. 

You just sighed, giving them the answer they needed. Willa moved off the bed, sinking onto the floor beside you, “Look, I know we are normally supposed to gang up on the guys that hurt us, but coming from someone who watches the two of you interact on a daily basis,” She paused, thinking of the right words, “I think you should text him.” 

Your eyes widened at her statement. Usually, Willa was very anti-man, in the sense that she would smite anyone who looked at you wrong, so hearing her tell you to reach out to him was shocking, to say the least. 

“Why would I do that? You heard what he said about me at the bar. He made it very clear he would never have feelings for me.” 

“All I’m saying is, you never even gave the guy a chance to explain himself, that’s all.” Willa’s voice was resolute. You just nodded, taking her words into consideration. Maybe you’d text him, but not tonight. Tonight was your time to let loose, to have fun. The calm before the storm that surely awaited the second you clicked the call button under Quinn’s name.

-

Getting out of the Uber, Duke grabbed your and Willa’s hands, leading you to the front of the line. 

“Duke? The line starts back there,” Willa said, pointing back to the line that wrapped around the brick exterior of the bar. 

With no reply, Willa just huffed and continued to let Duke lead the way. The redhead turned sharply on her heel, “Stay right here a second, I’ll be right back.” 

“Du-” You cut yourself off. She was gone before you even had the time to call out her name. You looked around, leaning up against the wall. You let your head fall back, blowing out a deep breath into the night air. Despite it being warm outside, your skin erupted in goosebumps, no doubt due to your outfit, which didn't serve as much insulation. Willa groaned, slumping back next to you. She took this moment to bring up the one guy you were trying to avoid thinking about for the night. 

“Do you wanna know why I think you should text him?”

“Depends,” You snapped, “Are you gonna give me an actual answer?”

She nodded, not at all phased by your attitude. Having worked with you for 6 years, she had gotten used to the front you put up when you were frustrated. 

“I think you should text him because I think he was lying.” 

Your eyes snapped to her, and you shook your head in confusion, “Why would he have any reason to lie?” 

Willa shrugged her deep-brown shoulders, “Because I can see the way he looks at you. Y/N if you actually paid attention to the way he treats you, you’d understand where I’m coming from. That boy doesn’t just see you as a friend.” 

Your body tenses, scared to ignite that flame of hope again, “That still doesn’t explain why he would have lied about it and made it seem that dating me was a fate worse than death. You didn’t hear him, Wills,” Your voice dropped, “He was being serious.” 

She turned her body to face you completely, her arm now fully rested against the copper-toned brick, “Maybe not, but you didn’t see his face when you ran out of there. He looked like someone just killed his dog.” 

You huffed, annoyed at the whole ordeal, “Then why didn’t he just come and tell me himself?” Your teeth bared down, sending an almost painful tick through your jaw. 

“Now that, I don’t know. I just said he wasn’t being honest, not that he wasn’t a coward.” 

You couldn’t help the puff of amusement that escaped your nose, Willa now sounding more like her usual ball-busting self. Just as you began to grow impatient, Duke emerged through a side door, ushering you two inside the building. 

“What the hell, D?” You asked, very concerned and slightly worried about the fact that you were sneaking into a very infamous bar in downtown Vancouver. She just rolled her eyes and continued down the long hall until you reached the end. A dark metal door with a keypad served as the only barrier between you and the dance floor just beyond. Duke quickly typed in a code, the door making a dull ‘click’ signifying that it was unlocked. 

Before the three of you made into the main floor, Willa grabbed Duke’s arm, “What the actual fuck is going on?” 

Duke laughed at your faces, her husky voice echoing through the, otherwise, empty hallway, “Remember how I mentioned I was seeing someone new?” You and Willa nodded simultaneously, “Well, he happens to own this place and gave me the code for whenever I wanted to bring some friends.” 

You felt all your worry ease from your bones, no longer nervous about getting kicked out, “You know you could have just told us that.”

Duke chuckled as she opened the door for you all to walk in, “I know, but where is the fun in that?” 

Walking into the crowded room, you could already feel the smile forming on your face. Maybe your friends were right about getting out of the house. The DJ on the big stand played some early 2000’s songs and you fought the urge to scream along. You laughed as Willa immediately dragged you to the floor, Duke running off to find her mystery man. You threw your hands up, swaying your hips to the beat of the music. It was intoxicating, being able to let loose and not feel the pressure of everyday weighing down on your shoulders. For once in the past week, you could confidently say, you weren’t thinking about Quinn Hughes. 

After an hour or so, you and Willa managed to push your way through the crowd, desperately needing a drink to soothe your sore throats after all of the screaming and singing. On your way to the bar, a large frame steps in between you and Willa, her body quickly blending in with the sea of people around you. You look up to the man who all but blocked you, noting the devious glint in his eyes. His light hair was cut short, not complimenting his crooked nose or the way his lips turned up. There was something about this man that made your hair stand straight and your gut clench. 

“I saw you dancing with your friend, you looked really good out there.” His rough voice almost made you cringe. You looked over his shoulder, eagerly trying the find Willa or Duke. 

“Uh, thanks,” Your hands picked at the fabric of your dress, nerves now on edge. 

“Wanna show me some more moves?” He bent down next to your ear, “Maybe something a little more personal?” 

His words shot panic through your body, a shiver of fear running up your spine, “I’m actually trying to find my friends right now,” You say curtly, hoping he’d catch on and leave you be. “So if you’ll just excu-” However, he proved to be more stubborn. The man quickly grabbed your wrist, stopping you from going anywhere. Your eyes widened in terror, breath picking up as you rapidly searched for someone to help you. As you tried to pry your arm from his grip, the man let out a sound that was borderline animalistic. 

“You’re not going anywhere, sweet cheeks.” He smiled wickedly at you, his perfect teeth almost sickeningly white. The nickname made bile rise in your throat, stopping any screams or pleased for help from coming out. Seeing a nearby table with empty glasses, you quickly reach to snatch one, not missing to smash the bottle down onto the man’s head. His hand loosened around your wrist and you took the opportunity to tear away from his grip. 

“You little bitch!” He snarled, starting after your retreating form. 

You turn back, noticing the man growing closer on your heels, you try your best to escape him but he grabs your shoulders roughly. As he swivels you around and you reach a hand up to scratch down at his face, aiming for anything to get you the hell away from him. Tears shook through your ribs as a fist came hurling at you. Blinded by the anxious sobs, your head flew back at the impact of the punch. Everything around you went blurry, sounds mixing. A high-pitched ringing echoed through your head, all of your senses seemingly disappearing. At first, you don’t register what happened, but the searing pain on the left side of your face has your mind crashing back into reality. Fresh tears well in your eyes as you stumble away, the man having appeared to run off. 

You manage to get to the bar top, Willa sprinting over the second she notices your bruised and bloody face. 

“What the fuck happened?” She thundered, anger plastered all over her delicate features. 

You couldn’t answer over the deep sobs that racked through your entire body, the pain in your face growing worse by the second. 

“Shh, shh, it’s okay. We’re gonna get out of here,” She soothed as she pulled you into her body. She quickly took her phone out, presumably to call someone, but you were too focused on getting the hell out to notice. Once you got out of the building, Willa guided you to sit on a nearby curb, letting you lean onto her body as you stared blankly into the black asphalt of the road. You somehow managed a breif recap of what happened, Willa beyond furious, her brown eyes dark with anger. You were so caught up in your head, that every echo or screech sent your muscles tightening and body flinching in response. You whined at any subtle movement in your face, the pain had you hoping to the universe nothing was broken. 

“I called Duke to let her know what happened, she said she’s gonna have her boyfriend look through the cameras to see if they caught anything.” You could only break out a weak nod, not wanting to aggravate your injury any more than it already was, “I also called Quinn.” 

Your head shot up, but only earned a deep whimper out of you as the pain shot through your face and down your neck. Willa just gently guided your head back down to her shoulder, running a hand through your hair.

“FIghting or not, Quinn is still one of your best friends. Are you seriously gonna tell me you don’t want him here?” 

If you had the energy to argue, would you? Probably not. Willa always managed to see right into you, and blame it on the injury, but you wanted nothing more than to feel Quinn’s arms wrapped around your body. You remained in that positon until you heard heavy footsteps hurrying towards you. Picking up your head, you couldn’t fight off the rush of relief you felt when Quinn came up beside you. 

“Who did this to you, baby?” He rasped breathlessly. The boy inspected your face closely, not even noticing the nickname rolling off of his tongue and maybe if you weren’t so uncomfortable, you would have acknowledged it. 

You shrug, swallowing the fresh batch of tear that threatened to fall, “Some random guy,” Your voice cracked, laced with emotion and pain, “I was just trying to get a drink.” 

Quinn pulled your body into his, making sure to be careful with your head and face, “Oh, baby,” He cooed, trying his best to keep his voice soft through the anger that coursed in his veins. He stroked your hair soothingly, letting you grip tightly onto his hoodie, “It’s okay, pretty girl. I’m here now, no ones gonna touch you.” Quinn’s words grew sharp with venom at the end of his sentence. He couldn’t describe the feeling he got when Willa had called him. All he knew was he needed to get to you, and he needed to get to you fast. Did Elias give him a weird look for bursting out of the room at record speed? Yes, but Quinn didn’t give a fuck, not when you were hurting. He would gladly burn down the city if it meant protecting you from the vile monsters like the man who put his hands on you. However, Quinn knew that wasn’t possible, so he settled for what he could do, and that was keep you close to him for as long as he could.

You’re not sure how long the both of you stood there, but the night began to grow colder and a chill ran up your neck. 

“You cold, pretty girl?” His voice asked softly, placing a kiss on your forehead. You nodded, not quite ready to try and speak again. “Okay, come on, I’ll take you home.” 

Bidding quick goodbyes to your friends, you let the comfort of Quinn’s body and hands guide you to his car. Luckily he hadn’t parked very far. In all honesty, he hadn’t really parked at all, far too busy rushing to get you. He helped you in, turning on the heat to the exact temperature you would always pick when in his car. The engine hummed to life as he gripped the steering wheel in one hand and intertwined your fingers with the other. 

The ride back to your apartment was silent, but the unspoken words hung heavy in the air. Neither of you spoke until he walked you up to your place, helping you inside and locking your doors. The both of you stood awkwardly, not knowing how to address the tension. Biting back the pain, you decide to break the ice.

“Why did you say it?”

Quinn let out a shaky breath, “I don’t know.”

“That’s not good enough, Quinn.” You quipped, shaking your head in annoyance. 

“I-I don’t know why I said it,” He replied desperately, “I guess I’m a coward,”

You scoffed.

“But what I do know,” Quinn looked deep into your eyes, “Is that I didn’t mean it.” He grabbed your hands, his warm palms encasing the bitter cold that nipped at your fingertips, “Jack caught me off guard and I didn’t want to admit to myself that I’m in love with my best friend.” 

Your eyes widened at his confession, but before you could speak, Quinn continued, “So here I am, because I don’t want to be a coward anymore and I can’t live without at least telling you how I feel. Because even if there is a sliver of a chance you might love me back, then I have to take it.” 

You were speechless. For the first time in your life, Quinn Hughes had left you speechless. When he got no response, he nodded glumly, taking that as his que to leave. Your mouth gaped as you screamed at your mind to say something, anything. Whatever it took to stop your boy from leaving for good. 

“I love you too,” You squeaked. 

He stopped in his tracks, body turing back to face you, “You what?” He whispered, not believing his own ears. 

This time, your voice came back full force and even the pain in your cheeks wasn’t gonna stop you from saying those five words, “I love you, Quinn Hughes.” 

It took three stride for Quinn to make it back in front of you, his hand gently cupped your non-injured cheek, eyes darting down to your lips. 

“Can I kiss you?” Quinn’s voice was timid, as if he was scared you’d break if he talked normally. 

The only answer you gave was colliding your lips with his. The kiss wasn’t exploding fireworks, but rather a ‘welcome home’. The taste of morning dew and the comfort of a freshly made bed. He tasted like the honey you’d put in your tea and felt like the warmest fire on a winter’s day.

Quinn Hughes was a man of many talents, a man of many things, but home was definitely number one. 

[letorip]

kiss with a fist [ii]

"Blood sticks, sweat drips, break the lock if it don't fit, a kick in the teeth is good for some, a kiss with a fist is better than none"

===+++===

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: you signed up to help tara with her stupid plan. not whatever the hell one would call this.

warnings: implied sex, use of alcohol, puking, arguing loudly and wrongly, curse words(?)

word count: 5.2k

A/N: sorry to make you wait so long, but here's the second part. there will probably be a third, so fear not, the story doesn't end here. i originally thought i would be able to just end it off right here, but it’s going kind of really well and i think a third or maybe even a fourth part is more reasonable

===+++===

===+++===

For almost the entire walk to the frat house, Tara didn't actually say much. It surprised you too, the way she just glanced around the city that passed as you walked and fiddled with her nails. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, but you were so used to Tara having something to say that it made you speak instead.

"Wow, for once, you're speechless," you commented as you passed under a streetlight. Tara shot you a glare, shoving her hands into her jean pockets.

"Would it kill you to shut the hell up?"

“There we go, back to normal. Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not being weird,” she scoffed. “Mind your own business.”

"I'm just saying."

"Well don't say. Don't say."

===+++===

The party fucking sucked. It was quintessential college, with frat boys who attempted to yell over the loud music that rattled your eardrums. Coolers upon coolers of shitty, cheap beer sat against the far wall, and a crowd had gathered around them to pick off all the free alcohol they could. Maybe a year ago this would’ve been fun. Now you found yourself disenchanted with the ordeal.

Tara was off god knows where, doing god knows what, which you figured was the point of the arrangement anyway. You weren’t too concerned with tracking her down, especially if situation also presented itself as a pleasant bonus— not having to put up with her.

Chad had wandered out of the room when he saw you and Tara arrive together hand in hand, going deeper into the party without a word. He was usually the one you hung around with at these kinds of things, but he had been a sad little dog with his tail between his legs since you and Tara announced you were meant to be a few days before the party. It seemed some of your friends were still adjusting.

The immediate reaction after Tara said “soooo, we’re together,” was to laugh, like you two were doing a bit. It got less funny when they saw you both blankly staring back at them and then Tara grabbed your hand and held it up with a forced smile.

The whole group was going through a somewhat awkward seven stages of grief thing. Chad was avoiding you completely, Quinn was a bit annoyed you were off the market now after an egregious few months of hitting on you, and Ethan was the only one to be a bit normal, even though it was clear he too had a crush on Tara and was disappointed with the matter.

When Mindy had gotten over her disbelief, she dove right into an endless game of questions, only occasionally staved off by Anika. "So who confessed first?" had been one of the first ones, accompanied by a glint in her eye. Tara jumped in before you could even open your mouth, eager to answer.

"(Y/n) showed up on my porch, all sweaty and disgusting looking, just smelling so unbelievably bad it was overpowering-”

“I had been working out,” you rolled your eyes. “That’s why I was sweaty."

“Mhm, whatever. Anyways, apparently they were just being such an asshole because they were in love with me," Tara said, with a wide, shit-eating grin. "Right?"

You had to hide your glare behind your solo cup. "Mhm. I was just overflowing with it. I have so many things to say about you."

“All nice things,” Tara corrected.

“Yeah. That’s what I said.”

“Was it?”

“Uh huh.”

Mindy’s questions followed you everywhere she did. Who kissed who first? Who’s more cuddly? Have you guys slept together yet? They volleyed back and forth and you and Tara fought for the first word each time to pin it to the other with gleeful sadism. Of course, it was then flipped around once the next question came and you would huff in annoyance at the other for being an asshole.

It wasn’t as bad of an arrangement as you had dreaded. You only had to be couple-y when other people were watching you two interact, or when Sam would glare in suspicion. Hold hands a few times, smile, share a glance. Other than that, things stayed mostly the same. The group probably appreciated you both not acting head over heels for the other and you liked it because it meant you didn't have to pretend to like her.

Tara had a brazen way about her that made you roll your eyes. She never took no for an answer, had a teasing remark for anything, and always felt the need to be doing something. Other people seemed to find themselves charmed by it. Others, but not you. Never you.

The walk there had been about all she could take of your personality, and the moment after you two were seen together, she ditched you at the door and wandered off to the dance floor. After that you had lost track of her, and ended up splitting your time between the kitchen, the bathroom, and the front room, away from the crowd. Mindy found you there, tugging Anika along with her.

"Cut the bullshit," She said with an eye roll, sitting right down on the couch in front of you. Anika plopped down next to her. "There's no way in hell you got together with Tara."

You grinned, sipping your beer and partially using it to block your expression. "No, we're together. I really like her."

Mindy scoffed. "You're a terrible liar." Your cheeks warmed and you tilted your head to the side.

"We have to separate you two like warring chihuahuas every time we hang out together," Anika said. She leaned forward and narrowed her eyes in a study of your face. "You're not confessing your undying love."

"I did."

"You didn't!" Mindy said, and she threw up her arms.

"I did."

"You didn't," Anika snorted.

"I...," you looked at them both, "...are you guys going to snitch?"

"Snitch to who?" asked Mindy. Now they were both leaned in, like eager children around a campfire. You swallowed.

"Sam." Mindy blinked. Then she sat back.

"What the hell did Tara get you involved in?" she asked. As much as Sam was part of your group, it was known not to fuck with her, and that's exactly what Tara was making you do.

You frowned. If anyone was going to ruin the plan, it probably wouldn't be Mindy or Anika. "You can't tell Chad, but we're not actually together."

Anika raised her eyebrows and shot Mindy a glance. "That didn't take a lot of brain power to figure out." You shrugged.

"Well, we fooled Sam. Tara needs a fake partner so she can go to parties and see people and stuff. And, well, you know how Sam is about that stuff."

Mindy crossed her arms. "And you said sure?"

You shrugged. "I mean, I didn't really see why not. Plus, she was being super annoying about it. Showed up at my house. She was begging, almost."

"So, you what, took pity?" Anika asked, giving you a look. You rolled your eyes.

"Trust me, it's not because it's fun. She's way too annoying and she'd probably say the same thing about me."

Mindy frowned, looking out the doorway and into the booming party. "Chad wouldn't like it."

You sent her a worried look. "Please please please, don't tell Chad. I know he's upset by the whole thing, but Sam would literally kill me if she knew I was helping Tara run around town."

"I don't know...," she said. "I know Tara wants freedom, but this is kind of bullshit, (Y/n)."

"It won't be for long. She just wants to meet someone. When she does, it's over. Life goes back to normal."

"Do you guys have a target in mind, or something?" Anika asked, a bit amused.

"Not even a little a bit. It’s like, her second party ever,” you shrugged. “I don’t know if she’s really dead set on a person yet.”

“Well… she better figure it out soon.”

“Mhm.” You looked out the same glass door and into the booming party outside. Through the jumping crowd, you could see in the distance Tara, who was dancing with her eyes shut and a smile spread wide across her cheeks. She looked happy like that.

You took a swig of your beer.

===+++===

The boom of a fist on your door shook the thin walls of your apartment, and you jolted awake to hear three more hit the wood.

“OPEN UP (Y/N), NOW!”

Immediately, a headache washed over you and you groaned. You tried to smush your head into the pillow to make it go away but there were the banging fists again, and you sat up, letting your legs dangle off the edge.

“OPEN THE FUCK UP,” came the voice again, and you blinked. Oh shit. You knew that voice. You clambered to your feet and stumbled out your bedroom and down the hall in a dusty pair of shorts and shirt. “I’M NOT KIDDING! OPEN THE—”

You pulled the door open like a deer in headlights, seeing Sam seethe on the other side with her fist raised. Nostrils flared, forehead creased, eyes narrowed. She looked about ready to rip your head off.

“You,” she said, spitting the word. You flinched. “Where the fuck is Tara?!”

Shit shit shit shit shit. Had she not gone home the night before?? Things felt a little bit fuzzy still. You remembered grabbing another beer from Ethan and flopping down in an armchair, then another and another, and then maybe wandering home while the sun started to rise. Had you seriously lost track of the attempted murder victim on her first night out???

You blinked, already aware that your cheeks were a dusty pink. "I, uh... she, um..."

Her hands went to her hips, glaring at you expectantly. "Well?! Where the hell is my sister?!" When you were still staring like an idiot, she threw up her arms. "I fucking knew I shouldn't have trusted you with her! This is what I get"

You stared, feeling a lie (though probably a clunky one) come to your brain. "I think her phone must've died, but she just left."

Sam's eyebrows rose, but you weren't sure if it was in disbelief or even more rage. "What do you mean?"

"We, um," your eyes went to the floor, feeling her glare laser itself into you as you spoke. "We got super drunk last night at the party, and I brought her back here and we both fell asleep," you looked back up to see her giving your pyjamas a once over, nose wrinkled. You flushed. "No! No— we didn't do that. We just fell asleep."

Sam looked at you for a moment, then crossed her arms. "I waited all night for her, you know," she said.

You nodded. "I know. I'm so sorry, it won't happen again."

"It won't." Sam repeated. "When I don't hear from her for a whole night, you know what I assume happened, right? You know how that feels?"

You swallowed. "I do."

She sighed. "I'm really trying here. I know she doesn't want me worrying about her, and I know she wants freedom. So I'm trying, (Y/n). Don't make me regret it."

"I won't, Sam." It felt like a giant wedge in your throat, and you tried to smile at her but she continued to frown, and she turned around and walked off. The moment she was gone, you spun around and slammed the door. You dashed through your apartment, grabbing your phone off your nightstand and quickly pulling up her contact.

Little Shit (do not pick up). You pressed the button and put it up to your ear, wandering over to the nearby curtain and lifting it to look out onto the city. "Come on, come on," you pleaded aloud. "Fucking pick up, asshole."

After the third ring and a good prayer to god even though you weren't especially religious, it stopped ringing and you could hear her grumbling.

"Tara??" you rushed. "Tara, where are you?"

"Mmm," she groaned, "the hell do you want so early?"

You scoffed. "Tara it's almost noon." There was a pause on the other end of the line.

"What?"

"Uh huh," you grunted. "Your sister just almost ripped my door off it's fucking hinges because she doesn't know where you are. And you know what, neither do I!" There was some shuffling from her end, and then what sounded like running footsteps.

"I went home with this girl last night, I just woke up," she rushed. "Sam is going to kill me!"

"She almost killed me!" You almost yelled into the phone. Now that the worry had subsided you were left with anger. "She almost killed me because you wandered off and didn't go home."

"It's not like I meant to fall asleep," she argued back, and you could hear some talking in the background in faint voices. "I must've slept through my alarm— wait, what did you tell Sam?"

"That your phone died, and you were on your way home."

"WHAT?! (Y/n), this girl's apartment is at least fifteen to twenty minutes away," Tara said into the phone.

"Well it's not like I knew that, now is it?" you shot back, scratching your arm, "considering I didn't know if you were even alive until you picked up."

"God, not you too. I'm fine, drama queen."

"Drama queen?"

"Yeah, drama queen," Tara repeated, and more noises flooded in. It sounded as if she was in the city now, walking, "you sound just like Sam. I picked you because I thought you knew I didn't need a babysitter."

"That's not being babysat, Tara. That's making sure you're not dead," you rolled your eyes.

"Well, I'm not."

"Good."

"Great."

"Fine!" you shot back.

"Awesome."

You sighed into the speaker. "Pick up some flowers or something on your way back. Claim that's why you're late."

"Good idea, actually," Tara hummed.

"I know." And you hung up.

===+++===

You found yourself at an identical party the very next Friday night too, and the Friday after that, and after that too. The walls were just as stained. It smelled just as full of mold. This one didn't have a front room for you to barricade in, so you sat at the bar top instead, in the kitchen with your chin rested on the cool granite.

It had taken a whole night to get rid of the hangover from a few weeks before, and in doing so you had remembered why it was exactly that you didn't find these things too fun, anyways. You hadn't gotten anywhere near as drunk since. Mindy and Anika had decided on date night instead, and Chad and Ethan were off to watch a movie that originally you would've been invited to, had it not been for Tara.

It was painful, that Chad was ducking you. The irony wasn't lost, that the more time you spent with your fake girlfriend at parties and outings like a couple, the closer you got to actually repairing your relationship with him. You still would've rather gone to the movie, though.

You could actually see Tara, from where you sat. Through the bar window in the kitchen, she was on the dance floor, moving along with the rhythm of hard EDM as best she could. It was a giant mob of people, all clumped up and hopping around in excitement, and you didn't especially want to be out there.

As you watched, a guy came up behind Tara, tapping her on the shoulder and smiling down at her. You thought nothing of it, until you got a longer look at the guy's face. In the revolving, multicoloured lights that hung over the crowd, you recognised him in an instant, standing straight up and weaving your way through the party.

"You having fun, Carpenter?" He asked, with a douche-y smirk on his face as he said it. You rolled your eyes, coming up behind Tara and standing right behind her.

"I—" but you interrupted her.

"She is, Frankie," you shot, staring at him and crossing your arms. Tara whipped around to you with a glare.

"(Y/n), go away," she whispered loudly. But you stood your ground.

"Tara, literally anyone but him. I mean, anyone—"

"That's not your decision."

"Sam tased him in the balls last time. I mean, come on, you have to know he's a douche."

Frankie scoffed. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"(Y/n) is just a—"

"—We're dating," you interrupted again. "So fuck off."

"No, we aren't," Tara shook her head. "Not really."

"Yes, we are," you nodded at Frankie. "Please leave. She's not sleeping with you tonight." He frowned, but started to walk off.

"That's not your decision, asshole!" Tara scowled and she reached out an arm to stop him. "Frankie, stay. You know what, I wasn't going to, but I will now."

"Frankie, leave. I mean it, you creep." You turned to her and glared. "Tara, listen to me, you—"

"No! Frankie, stay. Maybe I need the company," she shot back, narrowing her eyes. Frankie looked between you both, as did a few other people in the room who were starting to notice.

"They literally call him Date-Rape-Frankie, Tara. There's no way in hell you're sleeping with Date-Rape-Frankie. Frankie, leave."

"Frankie, no, stay. Well, what if I want to?"

"Then you're being stupid."

"Bold choice of words coming from you! You're not my mother."

"I'm not trying to be your mom, Tara. I'm using basic common sense. That guy is a creep and a perv," you pointed to him.

"Hey!" Frankie interjected, raising a hand to your shoulder.

"Fuck off!" you and Tara said in unison, dismissing him to glare right at each other.

"Well maybe I deserve the freedom to sleep with weirdos and whoever I want! I mean, who are you, the fucking sex-Nazi?"

"I don't have a problem with literally anyone else, Tara, but he's a weirdo!"

"Well then let me make that call! I'm not five. You don't need to baby me, I know he's a weirdo!" People were definitely staring now. You were both shouting, but a lot of it was drowned out by the EDM. It didn't stop others watching you point in each others faces and scowl.

"It's not babying you, Tara! It's basic caring! You have no clue about this shit, this is like your fourth party ever!"

"I've managed this far, haven't I?!"

"What, you want a cookie?!"

"Yeah, maybe I fucking do! I'm an adult, asshole! Let me do adult shit!"

"Wow, it's so adult and mature of you, to sleep with creeps and get hungover every Friday. How adult."

"Well, maybe it's not, but who gives a shit! I'm having fun for once! I'm being free without a fucking serial killer on my ass! I know you can't relate, but Christ, take the stick out from your ass!"

"Real nice," you shook your head. "This is what I get for helping you. Of fucking course." Before she could reply, you turned around and headed out the sliding glass door, into the fenced-in backyard. There was a pool back there, and you collapsed into a wrought iron pool chair, right near the edge.

People watched you warily, as you sat out there, but within minutes, the party was resumed. Even from outside, you could hear the thumping bass shake the windows gently as the glass moved in the panes.

There was a faint scent of petrichor from the small patch of grass out there, and the sky rumbled in the distance. It was peaceful out there, with small hanging fairy lights and the pool in front of you. You propped your legs up on the glass table and tried not to scream.

This was exactly what you should've expected, from Tara. Of course she would be selfish. Of course she would be brash. A part of you wasn't surprised. Disappointed, sure. But not surprised. You just sat there and tried to cool your breathing, watching the city lights in front of you.

You must've sat like that for an hour or two, just watching the city. It didn't feel like long enough. You might've even felt at peace, until you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"Um...excuse me?" You craned your neck around, looking up in your chair to see a concerned guy looking down at you.

"Are you (Y/n)?" He asked, awkwardly scratching his neck. You nodded, confused.

"Uh, yeah? Do we know each other?"

"No! No, I was asked by Tara, I think was her name? She wanted me to get you. She's your girlfriend, right?"

The worry came back, and you stood up. "Why, what happened? Where is she?" Sam was really going to kill you.

"She's in the guest bathroom, I think she's sick."

===+++===

"Tara?"

"(Y/n)?" you heard a very uneasy voice on the other end.

"Can I come in?" you asked, and when there was no response, you let yourself inside. She was on the other end of the massive bathroom, leaned up against the bathtub with her head close to the toilet bowl.

Tara looked absolutely green, with her hair sweatily stuck to her forehead and eyes barely open. "Christ Tara, how much did you have to drink?" you asked in worry, coming to stand over her.

"Oh, just—" she gagged like she was about to puke and you bent down to grab her and tug her towards the toilet bowl. You spun back to the guy in the doorway, who stared at you both with wide eyes.

"Can you get me some crackers and Gatorade?" you asked him, sending a hopeful glance. He nodded and closed the door, and you turned back to Tara, who was bent over the toilet bowl.

You moved her gently and lifted the toilet seat up. "Are you okay?" you asked with a frown. You felt like an idiot the moment it left your mouth.

She raised her eyebrows. "Do I look okay?" Tara mumbled.

"Well, no."

"Thass' good," she slurred. "I had too many," she hiccupped. You nodded.

"I'd say so. How much did you have Tara?"

She giggled. "This many." She held up four fingers with a giant, toothy grin and slumped with her arms encircling the toilet bowl.

"Since when?" you blinked.

"Since you got allllllllll pissy!" You sighed, hands going to her hair and pulling it back. She wrinkled her nose at you. "Why are you touching my hairrrrr?!"

"So you don't vomit all on it, idiot," you replied, shaking your head. Tara huffed.

"I'mnuh gonnuh puke."

And then Tara puked. Everywhere.

===+++===

You both sat there, that way, for about ten minutes. Tara vomited three times, during that span, and when she was done, you handed her the crackers and Gatorade and told her to do her worst.

She downed them in another fifteen minutes, sitting in the bathtub and eating while you sat leaned up against the bathroom wall, across from her, just in silence. The sounds of the party seemed to have died a little bit as the night droned on, and by now people would be wandering home or to someone else’s place.

While you waited, you shot Sam a text, letting her know you’d bring Tara home and that she was okay. Sam didn’t reply but she saw the message, and you figured that was good enough. When you checked the weather app, Tara finally spoke, coming to her senses a bit with more food in her system.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, staring down at the package for the crackers in her hand. “Thanks.”

You shrugged, staring at the toilet in front of you. It probably reeked in there, but at this point you were nose blind. “For what?” You meant for that to be it, just a small little acknowledgment, but Tara shook her head.

“Thank you for that. For being here.”

She stared right at you when she said it, and you knew she meant it with conviction. You nodded. “I know we don’t always get along, but I had your back, back there.”

“You have my back?” she asked, smiling a little and grabbing her Gatorade from the edge of the tub.

“I agreed to help you, didn’t I?”

She paused for a moment, then nodded. “You did, yeah.” Tara looked over at you, then tilted her head to the side. “I still don’t get why, though.”

“You were honest, for once.” It came from a surprising place, and you said it before you entirely knew you were speaking. You didn’t completely know what it meant either, until after you said it, but the words passed between you almost like a new understanding.

A few moments of silence came and went, before she spoke again. “I walk silently places at night in case I hear I’m being followed. By Ghostface. Same thing as when I’m home alone. I don’t do it as much anymore, but I still do it sometimes. Don’t tell Sam, please please please. She’ll make me go to therapy.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding gently. You leaned your head back up against the wall, craning it up to look at the ceiling.

“Why are you being nice to me?” She asked. You laughed, tracing the popcorn pattern of the roof with your eyes.

“I’m not the devil, Tara.”

“…Neither am I.”

“I know,” you said, and you reached your arm out for a cracker. She gave you one and you crunched down on it, while an especially large bass hit came from the speakers outside. “God, this music fucking sucks,” you groaned.

Tara nodded. “It’s really hard to dance to.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “it didn’t seem like you were struggling earlier.”

Tara frowned, then tilted her head in curiosity. “What’s your favourite song?”

You raised your eyebrows in amusement. “Why?”

“Just wondering,” she said.

“Okay… you’re going to laugh, though.”

“Am I?” she grinned. You nodded.

“Do you know that one song, The Promise, by When In Rome? It’s from the 80s, it’s super cheesy?”

She stared off for a moment, in thought, then shook her head. “Don’t think so, how’s it go?”

You rolled your eyes, but began to quietly sing it in a tone that wavered in between spoken word and humming. It was terrible and you were tone deaf, but it was the song. “If you need a friend, don’t look to a straaanger. You know in the end,” your voice broke a little at the low note, and Tara giggled but you continued, “I’ll always be thereee.”

“Wow.”

“Mhm. And then it skips a little bit and the chorus goes, ‘I’m sorry but I’m just thinking of the right words to say, I know they don’t sound the way I planned them to beee.’”

She cut you off with her hand, laughing hysterically. You felt your cheeks flushed, and in any other time you would’ve been annoyed with her laughing at you. But this didn’t feel mean. You just smiled right back.

“That was good, actually,” she managed, between small laughs. “Why is it your favourite?”

“Um,” you shrugged, “my brother used to sing it to me, years ago when I was scared.”

“I didn’t know you had a brother,” Tara said, leaning her head on the tile wall of the tub.

“I have six.”

She blinked, then sat up straight. “Since when?!”

“Always, Carpenter,” you shrugged. “Everyone knows.”

“Everyone who?”

“Chad, Mindy, Anika. Even Quinn.”

“I didn't know. How come you never talk about them?”

”I just don’t,” you frowned. Tonight was definitely not the night to get into that. Instead, you pivoted topics. “Why, what’s your favourite song? I showed you mine, now you’ve got to show me yours.”

“I’m ninety nine percent sure that’s not how that saying is used,” she laughed, “but fine. When I was crying as a baby, my mom sung me this song, called Baby, I Love You by The Ronettes.”

“Don’t think I’ve heard of it.”

Tara shook her head. “Probably not, but they’re the same group that does that one song Be My Baby?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Apparently my mom had Baby, I Love You playing in the hospital, when I was born and everything. It’s kind of comforting. When I miss her, I play it.”

“How often is that?”

She shrugged. “More than you’d think, considering she’s a giant asshole.”

"That's always how it is."

"Mhm... and just so you know, I know Frankie was a creep. I wasn't actually going to do anything with him. Just flirt. Have fun."

"I know. I wasn't trying to babysit you, I just wanted to warn you. That creep has so many stories."

"I know. I just don't like being told what to do, sometimes. It's a whole thing. I'm working on it, seriously."

You didn’t know what to say to that, so you didn’t say anything at all. You both sat in what you assumed was a prolonged silence, until you looked down finally to see Tara’s eyelids falling heavy.

You stood up with a sigh. “You should go home.” There was no reply, and you checked out the small window in the bathroom to still see it was pitch black out. It was definitely too late to send her home this sleepy, and after the incident a few weeks ago, there was no way Sam would let her stay at yours. “Tara,” you nudged her.

She groaned, rolling over in the tub and snuggling up. You rolled your eyes, then looked out the window one more time with an annoyed grumble.

===+++===

The longer you had to walk with her on your back, the more you regretted this. Her arms were wrapped around your neck, face pressed onto the back of your shoulder and knees held up by your hands. You couldn’t see her, but you knew her eyes were shut and she was super close to being actually asleep.

"We make a good team, you know," she mumbled into your shoulder. You knew she was being funny, but you were too tired to laugh as you trudged up the hill. Carrying a drunk girl home was not at all what you had anticipated of the night, and though it had been shitty at the beginning and shitty until almost the very end, you could definitely say it wasn't shitty right then.

When you arrived at her apartment complex, Tara was soundly asleep and Sam came out to meet you both, taking her sister from you and stumbling with her towards the door. In the distance, right over another hill, the sky was already beginning to lighten up a bit.

Right as both Carpenters reached the door, Tara stopped for a moment to turn back to you with a smile. "Thanks, babe," she said with a cheeky grin that was only half awake. You smiled back.

"You too, babe."

Sam rolled her eyes, pulling Tara through the door. It was a pleasant night, still with the same faint scent of rain oncoming. In your weird, newfound peace as you walked home yourself, you didn't see that Quinn was watching you from the upstairs window.

===+++===

so that was fun lmao. anyways there will be a part 3 but you and tara are kind of maybe friends now? now it's time for feelings 😈

[barcaatthemoon]

at arm's length || leah williamson x reader ||

leah keeps you at arm's length until you potentially find someone else.

"i can't even bare you, just leave me alone." it wasn't the first time that leah had said something like that to you. usually, you would know that it wasn't the last time either. you didn't know what was different about today, but you didn't want to be spoken to like that anymore. if she was going to get to fuck you when she wanted, then she wasn't going to push you away until she decided that she wanted you.

things were becoming more mutual between you. there was a clear build of confidence in you that leah had to have noticed. some of your teammates had commented on your new attitude and all the ways that they liked it. leah had been oddly silent, never giving you more than the occasional insincere compliment.

you needed to find yourself someone new. the only problem was that you had already found someone you liked in leah. sure, she was an ass most of the time, but you really liked her anyway. still, you knew what you needed to take your mind off of leah.

her name was delilah, and you met her at a farmer's market booth. the two of you hit it off immediately. she was everything that you wished leah had been to you. it didn't matter that you weren't feeling the same things for her that she was for you. you told yourself that those feelings were sure to come later. and if you kept her a little closer after seeing leah's reaction to meeting her, that was your little secret.

"this is un-fucking-believable. it's team bonding night, not their fucking date night," leah grumbled into her drink as she watched you and delilah from across the bar. she had been in a shit mood all night, one that katie noticed started immediately once you walked in with delilah's hand in yours.

"come on, (y/n) was excited to have us meet her girlfriend. you'd like her if you went over and talked to her," katie reasoned. leah scowled at the irishwoman. it wasn't katie's place to be reasonable, leah wanted someone to be angry with her. "why are you so upset anyway? didn't you tell (y/n) to get lost last time you guys hooked up?"

"i didn't think she'd run off to the first woman who'd take her," leah said. leah felt a hard smack to the back of her head, one that surprisingly didn't come from katie.

"you were the asshole (y/n) was hooking up with!" beth exclaimed. everybody was a grateful that the bar was loud enough to drown out her outburst. leah moved to place her hand over beth's mouth, but viv beat her to it.

"okay, so no pity party for leah. if anything, you need to apologize before i let go of beth and she kills you," viv said. leah rubbed the back of her head where viv had smacked her and walked over to your table. you had seen a bit of that interaction from the corner of your eye. you weren't proud of it, but you weren't nearly as over as you had hoped. it had been months and while you enjoyed being around delilah, you didn't love her.

"(y/n), can i talk to you outside?" leah asked. you glanced between leah and delilah. if it wasn't for the way that delilah's hand squeezed yours, you would have followed her right outside and probably home.

"not right now, leah," you told her.

"oh, um, okay then…" leah trailed off, unsure of what to do. you had always given her the time of day whenever she asked for it.

…

you had never really thought about what your relationship with leah truly had been. yes, you knew that you slept together, but you had also assumed that you were somewhat friends as well. that was where it had started. you and leah had played alongside each other for far longer than you had slept together. that was why it hurt you so badly whenever she started ignoring you.

you were far too upset worrying about why leah was treating you so badly that you didn't notice that she was icing every else out. in the span of a few months, leah had isolated herself from the rest of the team. even lia and beth were done trying to take leah out of her shitty mood. what none of them knew was that it had begun to damage your relationship with delilah until the girl finally left you.

everybody seemed to notie your demeanor change after the breakup. you began to think that it was your fault. delilah hadn't gotten overly mean with you, but it was obvious that she knew your heart wasn't in the right place. it hurt to be seen like that, and even more so to be called out in the process. it was one thing for her to break up with you and another for her to tell you so plainly that you and leah 'deserved' each other.

"i'm sorry about delilah, but maybe this is a good thing." leah watched you curiously as you took your place a few seats away from her at the bar. katie and lia protectively sat on either side of you, as if they no longer trusted leah around you.

"i just want to have a couple of drinks and go home," you told your friends. lia and katie shared a look behind your back. you had holed yourself up for a week, and both of them knew you as a social butterfly who couldn't sit in at home for more than a couple of days.

"maybe you could find someone new to go home with," katie tried to suggest. you brushed her off and moved away from them as soon as your drink arrived. katie had to go back to caitlin, which left lia as the one to recruit leah to talk some sense into you. nobody really liked the idea, but lia was afraid that it was the only one that would work.

"(y/n) has really been struggling lately. d-do you think that you could talk to her?" lia asked. leah scoffed, as if she couldn't believe that lia was asking her that. leah had realized by now how badly she had fucked things up between the two of you. she liked you, and it scared her, so she pushed you as far away as she could get you. "i am being serious. this is your fault in the first place thinking that you could have things whatever way you wanted them. we want our friends back, so please leah, fix this. i won't ask you nicely again."

"fine," leah grumbled. she downed her drink as she got up and walked over to the booth where you sat away from the rest of the team. "moping around is my job tonight, not yours."

"fuck off williamson," you hissed. leah frowned as she slid into the booth across from you. "what don't you understand about fuck off?"

"i'm sorry for being an ass to you, especially after you started dating delilah. if i'm being honest, i was starting to really like you and it scared me. i didn't want what happened with jordan to happen with you, so i tried to keep you as far away as i thought you'd stay," leah confessed. it was very much what you had been waiting to hear, but you couldn't just take her word for it like that. still, you couldn't just take leah back so easily.

"leah, i can't do all of this right now. i'll call you, and we can talk then. i'm just not doing this tonight," you told her. leah watched you get up and leave, unsure of what to do. all she knew was that lia was glaring daggers at her.

…

leah felt like she wanted to run as she sat on your couch. there was so much that could go wrong. leah didn't know what to do with herself if you didn't want her. the fact that you had let leah in and then practically disappeared made leah's nerves go haywire. she was on the verge of running off when you came out of your kitchen with two mugs of tea.

"thanks," leah said as she took the cup from you. she took a sip as she waited for you to start speaking. in all honesty, you weren't really sure what to say. it was obvious from the fact that leah had come to hear you out that the ball was in your court. this was the time for you to get what you wanted from leah, like she was finally ready to listen to you.

"i tried really hard to move on. i found someone who should have been perfect for me, but i couldn't fall in love with her. all because you're an asshole, and you live rent fucking free in my head. it makes me so angry because i wanted us to be together so badly, but you kept pushing me away. then you tell me that it was all because you were scared. do you know how frustrating it is to know that i still have feelings for you?"

"so, you do still like me?" leah was grasping at the silver lining. you wanted to roll your eyes, thinking that was all she had heard from you. "after all that, you still like me?"

"yes, you idiot. we were sleeping together for almost a year, it's hard not to catch some sort of feeling for you. i won't put myself out there if i don't know that you'll be better. i want more than just sex with you, i want a relationship leah. i can't let you push me away only to pull me back in when i start looking for someone else," you told her.

"i won't push you away again. i'll hold you as close as you let me, and if you fall, i'll go down with you. just please, give me a chance," leah begged you.

"i mean it leah, if you push me away again, you'll lose me," you said sternly. leah nodded and scooted closer towards you. "you don't have to be physically on top of me, you dork."

"let me have this, i've missed you," leah mumbled as she laid herself across your lap. she grabbed onto your hand and kissed your palm before placing it in her hair.

[lushxboba]

The Emperors Prize

Emperor Geta X Peasant!Reader

Word Count: 2k

TW// 18+ ONLY (minors be gone), mentions of family members death, mentions of murder, spitting, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, thigh riding, if i missed anything let me know !!

A/N: i haven’t written in months so be gentle with me pls 🙏🏽

It’d been the longest year of your life. Ever since Emperor Geta took over after his father died, your whole life had been turned upside down. Your father died the year prior, finally succumbing to his disease after being refused medical care by the kingdom. And your brother was left to do the only thing he felt was right to take care of your family. Train to be a gladiator. Perform in front of the Emperor and all of Rome to fight for his families survival. Only to not survive himself. Leaving you to take care of your little sister and sickly mother all to yourself.

Of course you blamed the only person you felt was responsible. Geta. He killed your father. He killed your brother. You wouldn’t let him take the last of what you had. So you did what you needed to survive, and stayed far away from his tyrants.

You’d heard of his army walking the markets day to day, blending in with the rest of peasants just to try and find someone stealing. They would take them to the temple and cut their hands off, cut their tongue out, maybe even behead them then and there. But you were smarter than those people. And faster. You had to be.

Before your father died, he always told you that your speed would be your superpower to survive Getas reign. You’d never have to face the torment of being in the arena and using your strength against your neighbors, but you could use your speed against his tyrants.

You spent days running in the slums, back and forth until you couldn’t breathe again. Or until you felt like you could’ve lost them. You knew you were ready for anything. Considering you did steal food to survive, you had to be.

You never thought you’d get caught. You’d been doing it for months now, and it seemed that only the elderly were the ones being dragged back to the kingdom. Call it population control if you will. But your time was surely coming to an end, and you could feel it.

You took your weekly walk down to the market, keeping your hood up and frequently looking out for suspicious vendors and customers. You’d seen people dragged away enough to know what they’d look like. They weren’t very good at disguising themselves. To you at least.

You tried to go to different stands each week so they wouldn’t catch on to you. You found a nice fruit stand with more colorful berries than you’d ever seen in your life.

You approached the stand as you practiced your distraction tactic in your head. You took a look around the stand, asking the man about how much he gets each week to sell, making him turn around to look in his inventory, giving you the perfect chance to quickly shove pints and pints of fruit in your bag.

Before he could turn back around, you were gone. Quickly walking through the market fast enough to be out of his eyesight but not fast enough to cause a scene.

You’d made it halfway down the road, just long enough to think you’d gotten away with it until you felt two pairs of hands gripping on each of your arms tightly.

“Little girl thought she got away, huh?” A deep voice husks behind your ear. You don’t fight it. No point in fighting when they’ve already made up their mind. And they are clearly much stronger than you.

You just roll your eyes as you let them walk you towards the kingdom. You can feel the eyes of everyone on you as they practically carry you towards the kingdom, but you pay them no mind. Your father always told you there was no reason to fight.

Once you reach the castle, the anger in you bubbles more and more. Knowing two people you loved died here made you want to rip the ugly brown wallpaper off of the walls and break down the pillars.

The men carry you up the steps to a large room bolted down with a big gold chain. You don’t even bother being nervous or anxious about what’s behind that door. You know your fate is decided the second your name is mentioned to the emperor.

One of the men unlock the chain while the other holds your arm even tighter. You’ve made no signs of struggle so you don’t exactly understand why they have to bruise your arm in the process. The door opens to reveal a long hallway, covered with a red and gold carpet leading to a throne. You’d recognize that throne anywhere. Along with the man who sits on it.

The walk down the runway seems like hours, as the man you despise most in this world stares you down with his wide brown eyes.

“You’re dismissed.” He says in a dark tone. The two men let go of your arms and bow before Geta before turning and leaving the room. Bolting the door down once again behind you.

“Most people bow when they see me.” He says, his legs and arms spread comfortably on the soft throne paid for by his slaves.

“I’m not most people.” You stand tall in front of him, keeping eye contact. “...your highness.” You smirk before playfully bending your knee and bowing in front of him.

Geta scoffs before standing up from his throne, slowly making his way towards you. “You look familiar.” His breath lingers down your skin as he circles around your body, his arms behind his back.

“You killed my father… and my brother.” You can see the gears click in his mind as he stops right in front of you. He places his hand roughly under your chin making you shiver. He forcefully turns your head both ways before nodding. “Caius’ daughter. How could I forget those innocent eyes?”

Your breathing gets heavier as you remember everything this man has put your family through. You spit on his cheek, making him quickly shuffle back. He chuckles under his breath, looking up at you as he wipes your saliva off of his face. “I should have you hung for that alone.”

“You’re going to kill me anyways. What else do I have to lose?” You get down on your knees, placing your hands behind your back as you ready yourself for the knife that is knowingly going to come to your neck.

“Who ever said anything about killing you? I surely didn’t.” He steps closer to you, leaning down to place his hand under your chin once again, this time softer. “Who could kill such a pretty little whore like you?” He lifts your head up to look at him, smirking as your eyes meet his once again.

He roughly pushed your head away as he steps back, slowly untying his robe. “I’ve already done enough damage to you, don’t you think?” He smirks, dropping his robe to reveal his extremely toned naked body. His cock jumps up to his stomach in anticipation, and as much as you hate him, you can’t take your eyes off of it. “In return for letting you live, I say you do a little something for me, don’t you think?” He spits in his hand, moving it down to stroke his cock as you watch on your knees. “You’re already in the position… it’s only fair.”

He moves back to his throne, sitting with his legs spread as he continues to stroke himself. Your mouth salivates at the image alone. You get up from your knees, slowly walking towards him until you’re standing in between his legs.

“I’d rather die than do anything to serve you.” You spit on him once again. Before you can turn around, he grabs you by the wrists and pulls you down on to your knees, holding your hair in one hand so you can’t move.

“This wasn’t an option.” He grabs his cock with his other hand, tapping it on your cheek before roughly shoving it into your mouth. You can’t help but moan the second you taste his salty seed lingering out the tip. “The good girl likes it, too.” He chuckles.

You look up at him with fire in your eyes, slowly bobbing your head up and down his hard member. You keep your arms behind your back and let him take control. That is all he wants after all. You watch as he throws his back in pleasure, moaning loud enough you’re sure the rest of the kingdom can hear you.

He grips your hair tighter with each movement of your mouth, pulling you every which way he wants you to go. “Your mouth is so wet and tight. Can’t wait to see what that perfect cunt feels like.”

You quickly pull off of him, removing one of your hands from your back to stroke him. “You never said anything about fucking me.”

“Oh, but I just did.” He smirks, leaning down to grab your hips and pull you into his lap. “You thought you were going to get away without me feeling your cunt wrapped around my cock?” He grinds into you, his hands roaming up and down your sides. You can’t help but to grind with him, moaning into his hair as he attaches his mouth to your neck.

His hand reaches down to lift up your skirt, revealing no underwear underneath. He moans into your neck as his fingers trace along your wet slit. You wrap your arms around his neck, holding him closer to you as you grind your pussy along his hand.

You reach down to palm his cock, making him moan even louder if that was possible. “Need to feel you already.” He whines as he pulls your shirt up, his mouth immediately sucking on your nipples.

You grab his cock and run the tip along your slit, smirking as you tease him. “Never thought I’d have the Emperor of Rome begging me to fuck him.” You laugh, still riding the tip of his cock.

He growls, grabbing his cock and quickly thrusting up into you. You gasp loudly, gripping his neck tighter than before. He wraps his arms around your back, thrusting into you hard. You match his movements with the bounce of your own hips, leaving both of you a moaning mess.

You can feel your own arousal leaking out and coating both of your thighs. The sounds emitting from this room were obscene, and you just hoped the Gods would forgive you.

You roll your hips faster against him as you feel the familiar coil burn in your stomach quickly. His cock twitches inside of you, making your ego bigger than it already was coming into this room.

“You’re going to cum.” You say breathily, gripping him by his hair to make him look at you. He doesn’t say anything. Just looks in your eyes with his mouth open as he thrusts into you one last time. His hands grip your hips tightly as you feel him dripping out of you. The feeling is enough to make you shake as you reach your own high.

You hold him by his hair tightly, your hips still slowly rolling against his as your both catch your breath. It doesn’t take long for him to remove you from his lap. He grips your hips and swiftly places you back on your feet.

“You may be dismissed now.” He says quietly, clearing his throat as he looks down at his feet.

“Nothing to clean me up at least?” You respond, looking at him even though he isn’t doing the same.

“You’re a peasant. You walk around dirty anyways.” He scoffs.

You walk close to him, lifting your skirt and placing a leg on either side of his thigh. You slide yourself down his thigh until it’s coated in your juices before hopping off.

You fix your skirt, smoothing it out as you smirk up at him. “Your highness.” You bow, pulling your skirt out each way before turning around and walking yourself out. Leaving Geta speechless… for now.

[russellsppttemplates]

I'll never give up on you (Franco Colapinto)

You think your age is an obstacle, but Franco is set on proving you otherwise

Note: english is not my first language. It's the big doe eyes, the curly hair and the fact that he's very funny, isn't it? It's a very crappy situation for everyone how they got here, everyone recognises that. This is also the first time I'm writing for him 🤍 I always feel and know I have to put this - for those who are here and have stayed, thank you for being so patient and for staying - I hope this is good enough ✨️

Thank you so much to everyone who likes and reblogs, your feedback is appreciated 🤍 and I'm not taking requests right now, so if you have any ideas or concepts you want to share, feel free to send them in but know that I don't know when I'll be able to get to them!

my masterlist

Cw: reader is slightly older than Franco (three years), alludes to previous bad relationships, alcohol consumption, relationship insecurity, reader gets accidentally hurt

Tag list: @myloverjk-blog @hiireadstuff @c-losur3 @sltwins

"You look gorgeous, Y/N! I love love love this!", Olivia squealed, clapping her hands when she got to your bedroom.

"It's nothing special", you blushed at her compliments.

"It will catch some eyes, you will catch some eyes!", she smiled, "can you help me with my dress, please?", she turned around so you could zip her up.

You and your bestfriend Olivia shared an apartment in university, and once you entered into the job market, you quickly realised that it would be best to keep the same living situation, knowing you'd save some money in a beginner salary and you both felt comfortable about eachother. Her boyfriend Mark had just got a work promotion and he wanted to celebrate it with his friends, so you had been invited.

"Who else is going to be there?", you mused as you packed the essentials on your small purse.

"Some guys from the new department he's in now, Luke - the one we met a couple of weeks ago at the shops -", she began listing the names she recalled, "Amber, and Franco, I think - he doesn't have a race this week", Olivia said.

"Oh, okay", you smiled.

Franco Colapinto knew Mark from one of the teams he had driven for, and despite his career, he was an incredibly down to earth guy. You had met him in a few other occasions and he was funny, kind, always up for a challenge and not easy to persuade out of things. "Things" including flirting with you. At first, you thought it was just his nature and posture towards new people, but after realising he only acted like that towards you, and the fact that he kept making advances and going as far as talking to Olivia about it, you knew it was something else.

"You still haven't changed your mind about him? He's such a good match for you, Y/N/N", Olivia pouted.

The premise was simple - Franco was younger than you, and as much as he seemed interested, it would never lead to anything good. He was young, aspiring an amazing career you were sure he would achieve, and frankly, you couldn't see you in there. He would like to party all out, not have responsibilities and certainly not have to date someone older than him. And this was just at the top of your head - if you let your insecurities really work you up, there were many other reasons.

"We are not! If we did date, it wouldn't last long and I'm not up for that - I've learned my lesson", you tsked.

"You know he's very into you, I'm not sure you can get him to back down", Olivia advised, "I get that you have your walls, but maybe you could give him a chance?".

"He'll probably find someone else, if he hasn't already - now let's go!", you pulled her with you, not wanting to arrive late.

Once you were inside, you quickly spotted the group, greeting everyone and ordering some drinks.

"You're sure you don't want anything else?", Mark wondered.

"I don't feel like drinking anything strong today, but I'll toast to your promotion - congratulations again!", you hugged him.

"Careful, everyone!", you heard the argentinian accent call out, getting you to make room on the table so the bartender could set the tray with all the drinks, "Hello, Y/N, how are you?".

Turning to face Franco, you were instantly met with his bright smile, shiny eyes and wavy hair perfectly tousled, "Hi, I've been good, and you?".

"Even better now that you're here", he winked, "you look amazing by the way, that colour looks beautiful on you", he complimented.

Hoping the dim lighting hid your blushing cheeks you nodded, taking the coaster to our your drink on before looking at him, "thanks, it's not new or anything", you brushed him off.

The night was on a good roll until you came back from freshening up in the bathroom - just as you were about to sit on the high stool, a guy pushed his friend in a playful manner, only for him to accidentally hit you and making you hit your knee on the piece of furniture.

"Fuck", you mumbled, bracing yourself against the table as the sharp pain climbed up your leg no matter how much your hand tried to soothe it.

Before you could process the whole thing, a large hand was placed low on your back, "are you okay, Y/N? What happened?".

"It was us, I'm so sorry", one of the guys apologised as he carried his friend to their table, "do you want me to get something? Again, I'm so sorry".

"It's fine, I've got her", Franco dismissed them before looking at you again, "are you okay?", he asked worriedly.

"Of course", you attempted to speak firmly even though you were sure your face said it all. Your mother always told you you weren't a great liar.

Franco didn't seem to be convinced either, and ignoring your words, he bent down to check your knee, "you should sit so it doesn't swell up, and ice it too", he stated, tapping his shoulders for you to support your weight in them and help hoist you up on the stool.

"I'll go get some ice", Olivia offered.

As she excused herself, Franco gingerly touched your knee, fearing that he would hurt you even more, "is this fine?".

"It's not terrible, but it's hurting, like, it's a pulsation", you winced as he squeezed.

"I'm sorry, Y/N", Franco apologised, "just needed to check that it's not broken".

"You don't need to stay here, Olivia is coming back already", you added, watching the rest of the guys back on the pool table after you assured you were fine all things considered.

"You're the only one I care about, the rest can wait", Franco spoke.

"Look at that group over there", you pointed with your eyes, "wouldn't you prefer to hang out with them?".

The balloons let you know it was one of the girl's 20th birthday, and judging by the way they were looking in your direction, they noticed you too. Or Franco, you assumed.

"I've told you, I don't care about them, now where is the ice?", he muttered, looking around in hopes of spotting your friend in the darkened room.

"She's coming back", you pointed out.

The ice pack seemed to help relieve the pain and perhaps help with the bruising you were sure was going to take over your knee, "Franco, you can go be with the guys, I'll be fine", you reassured him again, "or be with the girls over there, they're very keen on you", you nudged.

Franco looked up at you, his gaze intense and serious, "those girls don't interest me", he replied, "you're the only one I care about".

There it was again.

"Don't say that", you tried to push it away before it dwelled on, "they're all very pretty, your age I'm sure".

Franco smiled softly as his eyes remained fixated on you, "who I pay attention to is you, you're the one I've always paid attention to", he spoke, not caring about the fact that Olivia was right there as she seemed distracted, "I don't care about their age or what they do. They're not you, and I want to be with you, so I'll stay here with you", he stated.

You heart took a lep, and even though you wished you could say something rational, something that made sense, the way he was looking into your eyes didn't let you. There was honesty and sincerity that never seemed to fail and that you could never ignore.

"Let me help you", Franco spoke softly, "right now, you're the only thing worrying me".

Hesitating, you allowed him to adjust the ice pack and keep talking to you about random stuff to take your mind away from the state of your knee, and for the first time in a while, it felt good to let someone else take care of you.

.

"Do you really think that we won't workout because of our age difference?", Franco spoke.

Mark and Olivia went to get coffee for all of you and left you and Franco on the picnic blanket to save the spot and keep your belongings safe. The plan for the afternoon was to enjoy the sun outside and while you were sure your bestfriend had something to do with this whole arrangement, you decided to let it slip and focus on relaxing for the afternoon.

"What?", you mused.

"You always point out that you're older than me, and whenever I make any advances, which I assume you're not too blind about, you never say yes, but don't say no either", he offered, "is it an obstacle?".

"We're good, aren't we?", you spoke.

"We could be better", Franco spoke and he supported his torso on his hands on his sides, "do you know how much I care about you?".

"We're friends", you replied.

"And you're telling me we couldn't be more?", Franco wondered.

"You have so many things to do still, I can't imagine you'd want to be tied to a 24 year old with a job and mundane responsibilities", you chuckled.

"Is that what it is? Do you really think our age difference is an obstacle?", he spoke softly.

"I can't say with such certainty", you mumbled.

"Can I keep on showing you that it isn't?", Franco spoke.

"I'm very stubborn", you recalled, "and I don't want you to waste your time".

"I'm not going to pressure you, but I'm not going to stop trying to show you how much you mean to me - you're very important in my life, Y/N".

.

"Did you salt the water already?", Franco asked as he grabbed the pasta from the cupboard.

"I did", you told him as you chopped the peppers and onions to add to the sizzling pan.

Franco happened to be around the area for lunch, and after he saw your story about being on your own, playfully claiming that Olivia had abandoned you, he offered to keep you company. Taking Olivia's advice that you should give him a chance and explore what you felt for eachother, you invited him over for lunch.

"Can I ask you something?", Franco asked as he dried his hands on the kitchen towell, throwing it to you so you could do the same.

"Now I'm worried...", you joked, "but sure, go ahead".

The smell of garlic browning in the pan filled the kitchen as you added the rest of the veggies, and you could feel the driver's eyes watching you. Up until now, the atmosphere was light, but there was an unspoken tension at the prospect of the question.

Franco couldn’t take it anymore. He was spending time with you whenever he could, getting closer little by little, but he felt there was a wall. A wall that you held strong, despite your shared glances and conversations that often stretched into the night.

“Why…”, he paused for a second, as if he was choosing his words carefully, “why do you keep pushing me away?”.

You stopped stirring the pan, slowly setting down the spoon aside and turned to face him.

“What are you talking about?”, you asked even though you knew exactly what he meant.

Franco turned fully to face you, his eyes fixed on yours, “You know what I’m talking about,” he said, his voice low, almost a whisper, "I’ve been trying to… get closer to you. You know how I feel about you, but every time I take a step toward you, you back away. There’s something you’re not saying, and I want to understand why, and if it's the age thing...", Franco let it out.

You sighed, fiddling with your hands as you gathered your thoughts.

“It’s not simple", you murmured, looking down at your feet.

"Then explain it to me", Franco's voice was calm, but insistent, "because from my side, it seems very simple. I like you. You like me, or at the very least you don't seem to hate me and…”, he hesitated, leaning a little closer, "whatever is stopping you… I can deal with it, we can talk about it".

Your heart raced as you looked up at him, "the age difference", you began hesitantly, “we’re from different worlds, different lives. You have so many options, people around you who… who are more in your vibe and in the line of life you can have. I’ve been through things you haven’t even begun to experience. What makes you think this… us, would be a good idea?", you mused.

Franco took a deep breath, taking a step closer until he was almost touching you, “What makes me think this would be a good idea? That we may have something to explore here? Have a shot at something good together?”, he repeated, looking directly into your eyes, "because every time I’m with you, I feel like I’m in the right place. Because no matter how much you think age is relevant, for me, what matters is how you make me feel. I’m not interested in anyone else, because you’re the one I want to explore these feelings with".

You fell silent, feeling his words invade her defenses. No one ever stood up for you like this.

“Age?”, he continued, "That doesn’t scare me. What scares me is losing you for a reason that, in the end, has no bearing on how I feel about you. You're so amazing and I don't want to lose that".

You bit your lip, feeling yourself wavering between the logic you had always used as a shield and what Franco was doing to your heart at that moment.

He took another step forward and gently placed his hand over yours, “I just need you to tell me… is it really age, or is it something more? Because if it’s just that… then we have a lot more to gain than we have to lose.”

You looked at his hand on hers and, for the first time, let yourself relax a little, allowing your brain to consider the possibility.

“What if it doesn’t go well?”, you whispered, voice hesitant and full of vulnerability, "I don't want to make a promise I can't keep, and I haven't let myself explore these feelings yet and... I don't want to hurt you, Franco".

"Y/N", he sighed softly with unexpected tenderness, “What if it does?", he smiled, "I'm not going to pressure you, and from the moment you tell me that there's no interest, I'll stop and we can remain friends. What I'm asking you is that you consider it first... take your time, I'll wait".

In a moment of confidence, Franco cupped your cheek and kissed your forehead, and for that moment you allowed your wall to lower a little more.

.

The good thing about the hot temperatures outside was that most people had taken their Saturday plans to the beach or the pool, so there was less traffic on your way home. You parked your car in the building's underground garage and went up the stairs to the floor where the apartment you share with Olivia is. Judging by how late you left work, your best friend must be home given that she has the free afternoon on Saturdays.

Turning the key in the lock and opening the door, you find a completely dark apartment, which is strange considering you left the blinds half open this morning to let in sunlight. As soon as you step inside, closing the front door behind you, you're surprised by lights that suddenly turn on and a chorus of voices singing the Happy Birthday song.

You hadn't felt in the right mood to celebrate your birthday this year, given and the changes from studying and the stress of your new job, so to say you were caught off guard by this surprise was an understatement. You had told Olivia that you could have something special for dinner to celebrate the day, and while she insisted a little more, she ended up dropping the subject. And you thought that meant the had agreed to your simple plans - that morning, she caught you when you were having your breakfast, wished you happy birthday and gave your her gift, a very simple necklace with a medal with your initial in it, and didn't make any more fuss.

You definitely didn't expect her to be preparing a surprise like this for you.

Besides Olivia and Mark, Franco is the first person you see in the living room of your apartment - which makes you feel a little bad about yourself considering you hadn't even told him that today was your birthday. Besides the three of them, Maria and Julia, your two closest friends from school, were also present, as well as Pedro, one of your best friends from high school that moved to another city, and as it turns out, came all the way to your party.

When the chanting ends, Olivia approaches you with the cake so that you can blow out the candles, everyone's attention still on you. You know you should say something, but right now, you were completely surprised, and talking under pressure was never your strongest suit.

"Thank you everyone!", is all you can say at first, earning laughs from your friends.

You rolled up the blinds, as they had been down so the surprise had full effect and opened the windows, allowing the air to circulate as everyone gathered in the living room, picking at the foods and drinking on the table you were sure were Olivia's doing for the small celebration.

She is the first one you turn to, tapping her shoulder softly.

"I know... I know you said you weren't in the mood to celebrate, but I thought that this is actually what you need - being with the people that adore you and care about you", Olivia goes first before you can utter out a word, "so, please, just enjoy this, okay?".

"Thank you, Liv", you smiled as you pulled her into a hug, "I can't believe that you went through all this trouble".

"It wasn't too much trouble, and Franco helped a lot", she answered, "the guy didn't even know what day your birthday was, Y/N... That's cruel!", she jokes, to which you roll your eyes.

"I probably forgot about that detail", you answer with a giggle, "thanks again".

"Stop being annoying and enjoy it", your best friend says, joining her boyfriend Mark's and Pedro's conversation.

You take the opportunity to greet Mark and then Pedro, who you haven't seen in person for a long time, "I can't believe you came all this way for this!", you exclaim.

"Of course I came! Olivia told me all the news and not only could I not miss your birthday, but I couldn't not come at a time like this", Pedro explains, "besides, how long has it been since we've been together in person?".

"Too long", you reply with a smile on your lips.

"Exactly! We need to catch up!", your friend exclaims, earning your agreement, "but go greet the rest of your guests first and we'll talk more later", he squeezed your shoulder.

You approach Maria and Julia, hugging them both tight. Although you finished your master's degree as they finished their undergraduate just over a year ago, you hadn't seen each other very often since then as work kept you all busy.

"I'm so happy you're here!", you smile, feeling genuinely happy at having all your people together in one room.

"We couldn't miss it. Besides, we've been missing you so much - you were truly a mother to us and I miss being coddled by you -, and we've already noticed that there's news you haven't been telling us...", Julia comments, wiggling her eyebrows and sharing a suggestive smile with Maria.

"What are you talking about?", you wondered with a quirked brow.

"You don't know? I'll tell you then! About Franco Colapinto!", she snickered, "you didn't tell us you were that close", Maria says.

You're quick to roll your eyes - a common response at her usual antics over the years -, "I told you we were friends", you recall.

"Yes, but we didn't know you were that close!", Julia insists.

"I see your annoying curiosity hasn't ceased", you joked, rolling your eyes again, "Anyway, thanks for being here, I really appreciate it", you joined your hands over your heart before excusing yourself.

Your eyes are quick to search for Franco, but you can't find him in the room. A few seconds later, you spot him returning from the hallway, assuming he had gone to the bathroom or had to take a phone call.

"I should be mad at you for conveniently forgetting to tell me when it was your birthday...", Franco starts, to which you shrug your houlders, trying to put on your best angelic and innocent face.

"I know, I'm sorry... with everything going on, I barely had time to think what month we were on and I wasn't exactly enthusiastic about it to be honest", you explained, "but I must confess I'm happy Olivia arranged this, and I know you helped a lot, so thank you so much, Franco".

"I get, I was just messing with you", he smiles, "and you don't have to thank me for it, you know I'll always do anything to see you happy".

"I know, and that's why I am so grateful", you smiled back.

"Might as well give you the present I got you now", Franco points out, "give me two seconds so I can get it from where Mark told me to put it so it wouldn't be in the way of Olivia's plans and before she started staring at me with her 'I'm going to chop your head off' eyes", he chuckled.

You nodded and waited long enough for Franco to pick up a bag and give it to you, " I racked my brain to decide what I should gift you, because nothing seemed good enough, but I hope you like this".

Undoing the bow keeping the paper bag together, you found a copy of your favourite book with a collectable cover. The intricate detailing of the golden foil complimented the colours beautifully and there was a bookmark inside it, the little tassel falling to the side. Taking it to inspect it closely, you read the delicate lettering Don't lose the sparkle that makes you.. you.

"Wow, Franco", you gasped, completely enamoured by the beauty of it all, "this is spot on, I love it!", you exclaimed, hugging him.

"I'm glad", Franco smiles, jokingly wiping sweat off his forehead and making you laugh.

"Have you met my friends?", you wondered.

"Yes, Olivia did all the introductions", the driver answers.

"Good, let's find out what they're going on about", you suggested, setting the present back in a safe place and pulling Franco with you to join the rest of the group.

You spend the rest of the afternoon and early evening chatting, while you eat and drink the things that Franco and Olivia kindly prepared, and playing some board games. At the end of it, you end up having a really good time, in a way that you haven't in a while, feeling really grateful that Olivia had prepared this surprise. Without knowing it, this was exactly what you needed: your friends and some good moments of relaxation.

"Are you leaving already?", you ask Pedro when the young engineer announces his departure.

"I still have to drive back, Y/N, remember?", he reminds you, earning a nod, "but don't worry your heart too much, I'll keep bothering you with messages and calls and stuff... You won't get rid of me that easily".

"Fine by me!", you smiled at him, "thanks for coming, truly!".

"You have nothing to thank me for. I'll be here any time if you need me - I'm a phone call away", he reminds you, "Are you okay?".

"Of course", you smiled, "let me know when you get home, okay?".

"I will. I had a great time meeting you guys today", Pedro waves at everyone, "until next time!", before leaving the apartment.

At around 10pm, Maria and Julia also announce that they need to leave since they would have an early morning. You bid them goodbye to your friends with the promise of a lunch whenever you could find the time to catch up.

"Don't tell me you're chickening out now and going home too?", a slightly tipsy Olivia teases Franco as he got up from the his spot in the sofa.

"I've already told you that I have the day off tomorrow, my friend", Franco teased her back, getting you and Mark to laugh.

"Let's play another round then", Mark suggested, "since there's only four of us now, we can split into two teams and play Party & Co.".

"This is a recipe for disaster if I have ever seen one", you muttered, "Olivia is a terrible loser and you are a racing driver".

"That's why you should want to have me on your team, I'm used to competing", Franco argued in his favor.

"Strong point, argument accepted. Let's do it!", you declared.

During the game, Olivia ends up making up consequences for those who make mistakes, making everyone drink a few sips of their drinks and even Franco joins in with these punishments, arguing that today is an exceptional day to his usual regime.

By the end of the first game, it's clear that you're all drunk, so you make the responsible and sensible decision not to play anymore. Mark and Olivia end up retiring to the room, leaving you with Franco in the living room.

"I hope they don't make too much noise", you point out as you adjust your position on the sofa so that you're facing Franco, making him burst out laughing at your words, "What?! I'm not telling any lies! Have you imagined how uncomfortable it would be for us to be here and hear them having a baby making practice session?".

"You're right, you're right. I hope they don't make much noise", Franco repeats your words and, this time, you both laugh, "So... did you and Pedro date in high school?".

"Did he tell you that?", you ask, unable to contain your giggles.

"Yes, why? Is it a lie?", Franco asks.

"Half, half", you answered with a gesture.

"How is something half half a lie? It's either the truth or a lie", Franco states.

"I had a crush on Pedro, I tried my luck, but nothing ever happened between us", you admitted, deliberately pausing briefly before continuing, "Because Pedro is gay, Franco, and he was clearly making fun of you", you finally let out a laugh that's been bubbling up since he first asked you.

"Are you serious?", Franco mused.

"Yes. Apparently, he found a weak spot in you and decided to exploit it", you answered amused by the situation that must've enrolled when you weren't home yet.

"A weak spot? Nah... We were talking and he just dropped it, I have no idea why", Franco said, shrugging his shoulders.

"What were you talking about?", you wondered.

"Considering we were at your birthday party... We were talking about you", the brown-haired man answers.

"Please continue", you encouraged.

"Curiosity killed the cat, Y/N Y/L/N", Franco declared, but your glare was enough for him to keep going, "He asked me how we met and I told him. And then he told me about you. And he clearly told me a lie".

"Does it make you feel relieved that it's a lie?", you spoke before thinking properly about it. The sudden courage is unusual for you, but you're playing with all your cards on the table.

"I don't know what you're getting at, Y/N", the driver changes the subject, which makes you roll your eyes.

"I know you undertand it, stop acting like you don't. It's a yes or no question - are you relieved or not?!", you insist.

"Honestly? It doesn't do much. If it were true, it would be something from your past, not your present. We both have a past", Franco responds in a somewhat evasive manner.

"But it could be my present again, especially since he was here today", you decided to insist, wanting to understand how far you could push him.

You weren't sure about the game you were playing, and you couldn't quite say that you were thinking clearly, but this feeling of dominance and being in control was enjoyable. Understanding that this was making Franco uncomfortable also made you realize that he wasn't so sure about talking about what he felt for you. The part of you that wants to understand what he really feels for you is ignited, and you can't tame it down.

After the conversation you had, Franco didn't make any advances and never showed that he wanted more than a friendship, which, in a way, left you at ease, but also perhaps a little disappointed. Had he realised that you weren't worth it?

"Honestly, I don't know what you're getting at...", Franco pretends not to understand again, which makes you sigh loudly, "What's wrong?".

"What I'm trying to understand is if what he said to you bothered you or not. And if so, why. But clearly you are not ready to admit it", you state.

"You're playing a dangerous game, Y/N... You're trying to cross a very complicated line", he warns.

"Why?", you keep going.

"Because you asked for time and space and I gave it to you. And now you're trying to cross a line that I've been trying not to cross, because I'm trying to respect your wishes", Franco answers, this time sincerely.

"That's true, I asked you for time and space and you gave it to me. And I appreciate it", you begin, "but... I know I'm getting closer to that line, maybe I'm even playing a dangerous game too, but I'm doing it consciously".

"What if you're not ready for my honest answers?", Franco argues.

"Well, that's a me problem, isn't it?", you shrugged your shoulders, "can I ask my questions and get back honest answers?", and Franco's answer comes out in form of an unhappy sigh followed by a nod of agreement, "did what Pedro told you bother you? Did it bother you to think that we had dated and that he was back here?".

"Like I told you, we both have a past", Franco avoids the question. Tries to, anyway.

"Honest answers, Franco!", you exclaimed, pleading in exasperation, "of course we have a past, but I'm not going to give the past a shot and I think you won't do again what you did before! With Pedro, it would be different, because if we had dated and he was here, that would mean we had a good relationship. So, I'm going to repeat the question again, and I want you to give me an honest answer - did it bother you or not?".

"It bothered me!", Franco suddenly exclaim, "do you want honest? Here it goes! Yes, it bothered me exactly because of what you just said. Even if, by some act of the devil, your other boyfriend came back into your life, I know for a fact that he would never have another chance with you. However, if you had dated Pedro and if he was here today, it meant that he had a chance with you. And if he had a chance with you, then he was someone I would have to look at as competition".

"And now that you know that there never was and there never could be anything between me and Pedro?", you ask him.

"It makes me feel a little less worried. It means that I still have time to try to continue to mend the damage that others have caused, it means that I can still work to show you how much you mean to me and how high I hold you in my life", Franco replies in a calm and honest tone, which surprises you.

Faced with his words, this time, you are the one who doesn't know what to say. You did ask for honesty and there it was.

"You wanted honest answers...", Franco argues, as if he could guess what was on your mind. Lately, it seemed like he could do it effortlessly.

"I know, I'm not complaining", you admitted, "Does that mean that what you feel for me goes beyond friendship?", you ask directly. You needed to hear it from his mouth.

"What can my answer change in our relationship?", Franco asks, not answering your question.

"Nothing. I won't walk away from you this time, I promise. I just need to know", you clarified.

"Do you really want me to be one hundred percent honest with you?", Franco asks.

"Yes, please", you ask.

"Yes, what I feel for you goes beyond friendship. I tried not to let it be like that, I tried to pretend that I wasn't falling in love with you, but there's no way to control what we feel", he declares honestly without ever stopping to fix his gaze on yours, "Every time I look at you, I see someone with whom I can imagine a future... And I know how hasty this may seem, and I know your reservations about us, but it's simply how I feel. You asked me to be honest and I'm being as honest as I can... But I don't want to lose you, Y/N. In fact, I can't lose you, because, the moment that happens, I think I'll end up losing myself too", Franco stated.

His words leave you completely disarmed, not knowing what to say. Looking at it, you don't think anyone has ever said something like that to you. The words overwhelm you and there doesn't seem to be a right thing to tell him back.

"Can we just forget I said all this?", Franco says, "I don't want things to get awkward between us".

"But I don't want to forget it", you answer quickly, "It was the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me".

Judging it by Franco's expression, he was also caught off guard by your words, probably because he thought this would change your relationship again and brung unwanted distance between you.

Truth was, you weren't going to run away anymore. You didn't want to, and you couldn't do it.

Yes, you were scared, but you knew you need to move on. The comfort zone can be very good, but no boat was made to stay at the dock and you needed to drop the anchor and launch yourself into the unknown. Besides, you know that, in a few years time, you won't like to look back and regret what you didn't do.

"Can I ask you the question back, then?", Franco tries and you nod, "Is what you feel for me just friendship? Or something more?".

"I don't have an answer as assertive and confident as yours, but I know that I look at you and I don't see you just as a friend. You are very special to me, Franco. You are the person I want to talk to about everything, the good and the bad. You are the person who I know will never judge me, who will always try to understand me and help me. After all, you were the first person I was able to trust one hundred percent", you admit, "and I'm still figuring out how I'm supposed to allow myself to believe in love again after everything that happened, but I really wish you were by my side on this journey... That you would make me believe in love again", you offered.

"I don't like to make promises, Y/N/N, but there's one thing I'm absolutely sure of - I'll do everything in my power to make you believe in love again", Franco says, pulling you into his lap and embracing you in a hug that makes you feel safer than ever.

.

When Franco called you and asked if you could join him in the park, you were quick to let him know you were leaving work and heading to meet him. The past two weeks had been crazy with him travelling to races and you visiting your family, so texting had become the way you found to maintain contact.

As soon as you spot him by the trees, you walk a little faster, hugging him as soon as you are able to, "can I say that I've missed you?", you joked.

"I missed you loads, so I think it's only fair you tell me", he smiled, "Hi, how was your day?", he asked as he squeezed you against him.

"I missed you", you spoke, "and it was good, better now that I'm here".

Lately, your walls had lowered progressively - Franco's reassurance and a constant defiance of your thoughts had helped you break down the worries you had. Olivia pointed it out, everyone noticed how much happier you were, and even Franco could sense you were feeling more comfortable.

You end up sitting so close to each other that your knees touch and you rest your arm on Franco's and let your head fall on his shoulder, closing your eyes for a few seconds and just inhaling his scent.

"I...", Franco begins but soon stops before saying anything else.

"What is it?", you ask, raising your head to look at him.

"Nothing, nevermind", he shrugs.

"I don't like it when people say that to me. If you were going to say something, don't tell me to forget about it", you state firmly, "Whatever you were going to say, you can say it. Always. I will never judge anything you tell me. I know you, okay, Franco?".

"Yes, but...", he sighs, "I think I'm missing the courage".

"Please, just say it!", you exclaim, starting to get anxious and worried about his hesitation, "Is it something serious? Is there a problem?".

"No, nothing like that!", he clarified.

"Okay, then...", you encouraged.

"It's about a conversation I had with my mother", he says and, although you don't say a word, your expression lets him know he can continue, "about you".

"About me?", you ask curiously.

"She doesn't know it's you, but... It was about us and about what I feel for you", he offers.

At these words, your heart suddenly accelerates, "she told me that life is supposed to be lived and that..", he gulps.

You remain silent, because you don't know if ot what your supposed to answer. There's nervousness and anxiety as you're not sure exactly where this conversation is going to end up at.

"We can't predict the future, we don't know how much time we have", Franco spoke, "what I mean by this is that I've been thinking that, many times, we waste time on things that, perhaps, don't make that much sense. And I think I've been wasting some time in the sense that I've wanted to do things calmly, I've wanted to respect your time and I think I'm the one who's been afraid of taking the next step. I'm too afraid of losing you, but I'm wasting time and we never know when it is too late".

Part of you knows where Franco is going with this, but the other one doesn't fully understand what he's trying to say.

You're nervous, your heart feels like it's beating out of control and there's a lump in your throat. Despite not crying often, you feel the tears right at the back of your eyes, ready to fall at any moment.

"I'm not particularly good with words, Y/N, but what I'm trying to tell you is that I'm madly in love with you. Damn, I'm trying to tell you that I love you. And I know you're scared and I'm scared, because there have been bad experiences, and because what we have is very special and neither of us wants to ruin it. But I think we're wasting time apart when we could make the most of this time together", Franco continues, "I believe we were very lucky to have found each other when we did. I think we had the perfect timing. And every time I look at you, all I can think about is how lucky I am to have found you. I love you, Y/N, and I want to be with you one hundred percent", the brown-haired man stops his speech as if to catch his breath, and then concludes, "That is if you want to be with me, obviously".

What can you say to someone who declares themselves to you in this way? What do you say to someone who has told you everything? How can you say something that comes even close to what you just heard?

"Did I misunderstand everything and after all you don't like me the same way, is that it?", Franco asks, "it's just, your texts and the way you talk, feels like you do".

The insecurity in his voice is the trigger you need for the words to simply come out of your mouth without having to think much about them, "No, it's nothing like that!", you exclaim, "It's just that it's hard for me to say anything after everything you said. I don't want you to doubt for even a second what I feel for you, Franco. I know I haven't been the best person to express my feelings, because when we say things out loud, they become real. And I was so afraid to admit the truth, so much so that I preferred not to say it. But you're right. Life changes in the blink of an eye and it doesn't make sense to keep leaving things unsaid or undone and wasting time. I'm in love with you, Franco. A part of me has wished, since the moment you made an effort for me, that I could have someone like that by my side, willing to protect me, take care of me and be there for me. I have no doubt that my life has changed for the better because you came into it. And I should have told you all this sooner, because you deserve to hear all this and much more. You are an extraordinary person and you deserve to be happy. And I want to be able to make you happy", you stop for a few seconds, taking a deep breath and gathering all the courage in the world to say the dreaded words out loud, "I love you and there is nothing I want more in this world than to be with you and be your girlfriend".

Despite all the nervousness you felt when expressing your feelings, the relief that follows leaves you feeling like a weight was lifted off your shoulder. Suddenly, you understand that fear paralyzes people and prevents them from moving forward.

The fear of not being enough for Franco, that he couldn't possibly have a girlfriend older than him and the fear that he would suffer from that was what was holding you back, stopping you from being happy. Now that you got that off your chest, that you said what you feel out loud, you realise you're ready to be happy again with someone else.

The smile that appears on Franco's lips makes your day. He wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you towards him, pressing your lips together.

You close your eyes and savour every second of the moment: from the way his hand is resting on your waist, while the other caresses your cheek, to the way his lips slide over your and your tongues touch.

When you break the kiss, needing to breathe, you keep your eyes closed for a fraction of a second, enjoying the sensation his lips left on yours.

"I have something to ask of you", you say, opening your eyes.

Franco's arm continues wrapped around you and you remain very close to him without moving, appreciating the closeness.

"Whatever you want", Franco says.

"Don't give up on me. Whenever I try to push you away, pull me to you. Whenever I yell at you because I'm angry, hug me. If I don't answer your texts or calls, look for me. When I feel too insecure, remind me that I'm the only one and how lucky I am to have you. If I'm giving up on us, kiss me and remind me why I shouldn't give up. And I know this is asking too much, but I know you love me enough to do this, to stay with me. I promise to do the same with you, to never give up", you declare.

"I promise, mi amor. I'll never give up on you, not even if you ask me to", Franco smiles as you cup his cheek, bringing your faces closer once again to kiss him.

[allophonicmess]

Too Sweet

Logan Howlett x fem!Reader

Act 3

Warnings: spoilers for Deadpool & Wolverine

This is a fluff chapter. Gotta give you guys some candy after all that angst

Word count 4.1 K

Life resumed as normal after that. Or as normal as it could be when you are suddenly placed in the new timeline. Logan kept getting confused by little details that were different to the life he had lived before. Professor X ? Sure he exists but he had hair. Cyclops? Oh yeah. He was just as annoying as he remembered. Who are the fucking Avengers and what sort of rich nerd was Tony Stark? And what about Jean?

“A hot red head with the telekinetic powers?” Wade hummed, pretending to be lost in thought. “Uh, no. UNLESS! Charles used to have a beautiful flowing mane that I don’t know about. He is turning grey, you know… but it suits him. Silver fox”              

So Jean was out of the picture. That was good, right?

Logan groaned at Wade's bad joke. He shifted his focus outside, watching the landscape change from looming tall skyscrapers to even fields and trees that started changing colour with the season. It reminded him of home.

“Just to get this straight.” Logan shifted in his seat. The car that Wade had bought from the dealership had been heavily discounted and Logan now understood why. You would think it can’t get worse than the Odyssey? Oh boy, were you wrong. It was too small for 4 people, let alone 2 mutant men. He already felt sorry for whoever might have to sit in the back for whatever reason.

“Y/N has powers?” Logan asked, trying to play it cool. The whole drive had been a big Q&A.

“Yup,” Wade said with a pop. One hand on the steering wheel and the rest of him laid back in his seat.

“They call her Osmium, too?” Logan didn’t like this dependency on the wanna-be hero. But he had to make a good first impression.

“Osmimimum? Uh no. She is called Atom” Wade laughed “Don’t if she actually does stuff with atoms… It's more like…” Wade groaned as he tried to think of an example.

“She manipulates density.” Logan pointed out. They had trained together many times. But Y/n was never allowed to use her full potential with the X-men. They condemned violence and so she was often left out on mission and focused on keeping the school running.

“Ugh- I guess? She once told me in great, boring detail why ‘Atom’ is a bad superhero name for her but they kept it for the marketability. “ He shrugged “Oh! I remember that one time we stopped a child-mutant trafficking and she got mad, like REAL MAD, and then she turned this one guy into goop.” Wade nodded fondly, thinking back at that moment. “And I mean like Nickelodeon kids choice award goop, like slurpable slushy goo, like-“

“Okay, alright! I get it.” Logan groaned in annoyance. Shaking his head at Wade. He was thankful for the man’s support and friendship but god was he annoying. Constantly.

“I wish she would do that to me sometime. It’s on my ways-to-die bingo. But she keeps refusing!” Deadpool hit the wheel dramatically.

“You are disgusting,” Logan stated dryly. “The most disgusting person I ever met.”

“Don’t forget the most annoying!”

...

The decision to go back to teaching was not made out of fun or for the joy of doing it. Maybe partially, even though Logan would not openly confess so. It was made out of necessity. Living with Wade and Al became tiresome after the first few weeks. It was always the same antiques, the lack of schedule as well as a constant state of chaos that made him crave the ordered life at the school once again. He hoped that it would give him a sense of belonging. The X-men might be different here, with a few quips and details that didn’t match with his reality. But living at the school would tie him to a strict schedule and by god, he needed some structure in his life.

 But all in all, it meant home.

“Okay, peanut. Today is a big day. But I know you’ll do great and meet a lot of new friends.” Wade joked in a motherly tone as they arrived at the Mansion. “And no hair pulling or biting unless they ask for it, okay?”

“I can’t wait to be rid of you” Logan groaned as the car came to a halt. He exited the car with a low groan, stretching to lose stiffed muscles. Not having to constantly ride in Wade's joke of a car was another reason that he preferred living at Xavier’s Institution. Speaking off:

“There you are. Welcome, welcome.” Xavier rolled into the mansions yard.

“A pleasure to have you, Logan. I must say, I was very pleasantly surprised when I received your response to my inquiry.” He moved towards Logan, offering his hand for a handshake.

Logan inspected the man. He was older, in his 40s maybe. But younger than the Charles Xavier he had worked with. He sported shaggy longer hair that was starting to thin out. Soon he would need to get it trimmed to keep his professional exterior. Along with a beard that was rather spotty and seemed too reminisce of his look in the 70s. Xavier looked like a mix of the two versions that Logan got to meet during his time at the school and it made him wonder how time worked here. Events seemed to play out in different order, they didn’t happen at all or much later than seemed correct.

He shook Xavier’s hand, thanking him for the offer. “Of course. I was surprised when you contacted me.” Logan confessed. His gaze shifted towards the grand building in front of him. It was the same old English style build that he knew, with a few modern elements added here and there.

“Is it familiar to you? The school? I assume you have experienced quite a few dejá-vus since arriving here.” Charles observed Logan.

“I do. Some things are the same. Others don’t match what I know or didn’t happen at all.” He confessed. Already feeling the brother connection build, similar to the one he had with the other Charles.

“You will find your answers. I am sure of it.” Charles turned around motioning Logan to follow him inside. “I think it is best if we continue this conversation in my office.” He looked over his shoulder at Wade, who had waited in the car, listening in on the conversation.

“Oh, yeah, I’ll be on my way. You call me if you need to get picked up, Pookie!” He waved at Logan in a motherly way.

“You aren’t coming?” He asked, somewhat confused. But then he saw Charle’s face, the intense stare he gave Wade.

“Uhhh, no I technically have a house ban for no apparent reason-“

“You burned down the west wing” Charles answered dryly.

Wade clicked his tongue, “Right, okay. Yeah… But! It’s very modern now.” He chuckled weakly. “You’ll still call me up for a mission, right?” He tried to persuade the professor.

“If the mission takes place outside of my building then yes.” Charles agreed, focusing back on Logan. And leading him inside. Neither of them commented on the cheer that Wade gave as he drove off.

Being back at the school felt surprisingly good to Logan. It was like coming back from a long holiday. Most everything was the same: Students running in the hallways, playing games in the gardens and-

“Fancy seeing you here!”

Logan turned around quickly, looking for whoever addressed him. Some children were buzzing along the halls, none of them too interested in him. Then he spotted her by the stairs. Leaning onto the dark wooden rails of the gallery. The light from the window behind her illuminating her figure.

“Y/n”, he breathed.

“Hi! Charles told me that you wanted to start teaching again.” She made her way downstairs, focus shifting between not falling and keeping her gaze on him. She seemed pleasantly surprised to see him.

He turned more toward her, watching her get closer to ground level. With each step he felt his excitement grow “He contacted me, actually. Asked whether I wanted to work here…”

“Oh really? What a coincidence ”She grinned mischievously, stopping at the end of the stairs and leaning on one of the bannisters. She kept a little space between them. There might be some familiarity between them but she didn’t want to push him too far yet and give him the chance to get closer to her if he felt like it.

But Logan stayed in place: “Do you have anything to do with that?”

She smirked,  and he felt some of his charm return to him . He might be rusty but some things were just engraved in him.

“Maybe” She shrugged, smiling softly with a playful sparkle in her eyes “But I’m assuming that you won’t be teaching history, right?” Y/n teased carefully. The multiverse situation was a thing she wanted to be careful about. Wade had told her a little bit about what had happened to Logan before he transferred but she didn’t know any details.  

“No, I teach PE and defence classes. You do science, right?” He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, hoping to lose the tension in his body. He threw the tidbit of knowledge into the conversation, hoping that he was right and that the two versions of her had that much in common.

“Chemistry and Literature, yeah.” She smiled. She then looked at her watch before pointing towards another corridor with a sigh “I’d love to talk more, but I need to get to class. Maybe we could meet sometime.” She secured the book in her arms.

“Yes.” He answered with a stiff nod, his hands were getting sweaty.

They stood In awkward silence.

“Maybe over a coffee?” She asked, looking up at him, her lip curled upwards. Her look became more expecting as he watched her in silence.

 He would catch the bait she just threw, right? Scott had laughed when she asked him about what Logan had been like; What this version might be like.

 ‘He’s an asshole’ He said ‘a cocky asshole and who thinks he can charm any girl he likes’ she blushed at that comment ‘But he is into the dark, mysterious type if that is what you are after’

“Maybe”, Logan gave  cold and curtly.

He regretted his demeanor when he saw her smile slip for just a moment.

Fuck.

Her face slipped for a moment “Oh.. okay.” She huffed softly. “See you around then.” Y/n nodded quickly before running off.

...

A routine established itself after the first weeks back at the school. The work there itself was the same. Teach the children standard curricula, training them in controlling their powers and some extracurricular activities.

He would spend some evenings with the other members of Team X ,as they called themselves here. Sometimes he would meet Y/n in the hallway but he didn’t work up the courage to stop and talk to her beyond a quick ‘hello’.

What is wrong with you? You used to sweep women off their feet. She is offering herself to you at any chance and you still can’t manage to ask her out?

He sighed as he changed back into his regular clothes. The class had just ended. It was Friday, still fairly warm for October and the trees looked beautiful in all shades of red, orange and yellow.

 Would be perfect for a romantic walk… A charming, rugged man could ask a woman out for that.

“That guy died a long time ago…” He mumbled to himself. Picking up his bag and closing the locker.

He exited the gym, making his way to his room or rather apartment. Wade managed to burn down the teacher's quarters along with the kitchens and cafeteria in some wicked stunt. No one knew what happened and that was for the best, he guessed.

However, that incident resulted in a modernized reconstruction with more spacious rooms for the teachers and a communal cafeteria that students and members of Team X shared.  Great for extroverts but Logan had to pass it every time he went to his rooms, much to his dismay. To make it worse,  the communal space was separate from the hall via a glass wall, allowing for a perfect view of everyone who tried to sneak past. Which led to uncomfortable situations such as this.

“Logan!” Piotr called, waving his huge metallic arm to get the other man's attention. Logan's initial reaction was to ignore him as he had done many times with the members of his old team.

No, he wanted to do better. He needed to. It was that kind of behavior that made him spiral in the first place. So he took a deep breath and channeled all jolliness available to him after 6 hours of teaching and a generally low level of it to begin with.  He slowly made his way towards the teacher's table.

“Come, eat with us.” Piotr offered him the seat next to him on the thick wooden bench. A seat opposite of… fuck- of fucking course he was in on Wade’s plan to play matchmaker.

 “We can’t have you get scrawny, eh?” he joked.

“Not that that would be likely to occur” Y/n joked as Logan sat down. His look snapped towards her and her eyes widened in shock at what had just come out of her mouth.

A knowing, wicked grin spread across Colossus's face. That fucking asshole…

“What are we having?” Logan asked, ignoring the situation that had just occurred. He tried to keep his gaze on Piotr who was busy filling a plate with whatever was in the big metal pot on the side of the table. His eyes shifted to Y/n every so often.

“Pierogi. I am trying out new recipes for a cooking class with my students” He said proudly, placing the plate in front of Logan “Y/n said, they are very good. Right?” He asked her, putting the woman on the spot.

“Oh, uhm…yeah. I like the new… stuffing.” She said, the answer sounding more like a question, carefully looking at Logan when he tried it. She was thankful for Piotr’s brotherly demeanor and gentle nature. Yet sometimes he would tease her as any older brother liked to do. And they sure liked to do it in front of people that the younger sibling might fancy.

Logan nodded in agreement, complimenting the man for his cooking.

“You cook here regularly?” He asked with a mouthful.

“Of course! Cooking is a very important life skill. As well as baking. You should join one of Y/n’s baking classes, she is very talented.” Colossus complimented the woman, making her grin.

“I plan on holding a workshop on the weekend for older students and alumni. You should come.” She offered, a hopeful look in her eyes. Maybe she was too discrete the last time she tried to get Logan to ask her out. So this time she tried to be more direct with her offer.

“I don’t bake,” Logan answered in a backhanded comment as he continued to eat. He didn’t think too much about it. He had planned to ask her out after lunch. He was overly focused on what he would say to her once the others left to notice how he had sounded.

It only occurred to him when he saw how Y/n visibly deflated. “Oh, right” She hummed, swallowing another bite of her food, eyes looking anywhere but towards the man who had once again rejected her so swiftly.

Piotr, just sighed with disappointment, leaning back in his chair. His hard elbow bumped into Logan’s side.

You fucked it up. Again.

...

“Okay, stop. You mean to tell me that she tried to ask you out not once but TWICE and you rejected her?” Wade paced through the living room. Trying to make sense of what his friend had just told him. “You mean to tell me that you now spend 3 months at that school? Being in her proximity 24/7 and actively avoiding her?”

Logan sat on the familiar black couch that looked even more beaten up than the last time he was at the flat. With disgust, he realized that he didn’t even want to know what caused the new damage.

 “I don’t avoid her”

“Oh no? And yet the few times she does catch you creeping in the halls you manage to scare her off.” Deadpool said down one of the rotatable bar chairs. Swirling dramatically.

“No wonder the girl’s not interested in a sad drunk fuck like you,” Al commented from the table where she sat, carefully packaging her newest acquisition of sellable goods.

“ No, Al that’s the thing! The girl wants him DESPITE being a sad drunk fuck!”  Wade jumped from the chair to pace around some more. He had to come up with a plan to get the two to spend time together, and get to know each other better. Create some closeness to let the sparks fly and catch on.

“That’s even worse.” Al laughed, snoring.

“Thank you for the compliments… Reassuring.” Logan groaned, regretting to even have answered Wade when he asked him about how things were going with Y/n. Maybe he wasn’t ready to be with someone again. He liked her and wanted to get to know her but something was stopping him. The urge to protect her from danger and he still thought of himself as the greatest danger to her and his team.

“On the other hand, she is still interested after being rejected TWICE. So you still have a chance, Pookie.” Wade said, sitting down next to Logan, yet again way too close.

“I’m gonna help you, buddy, Don’t you worry.” He leaned in closer, his lips brushing Logan's ears “Act three needs some lovin’ and I make sure you get all the loving you need, baby” He whispered towards Logan. And with dread, and a bit of disgust,  Logan accepted that he had no chance of stopping the man.

...

By the time the midterms rolled around, Logan had gotten familiar with the schedule and his  profession once again. He slept better, tended to snap less at people and even his drinking tendencies seemed to get better. Being part of a community felt good and it made him angry at his younger self for rejecting the people who loved him out of some ill-placed ideology: that to keep them safe, he had to distance himself from them.

And yet you are doing it again.

He sighed as he trotted into the community kitchen. He broke his coffee maker in a fit of frustration last week and hadn’t found the time or energy to tell Charles to get a new one. He stayed out of the professor's way for the most part, not wanting to be roped into some conversation about ‘needing therapy’. So he sourced his caffeine intake from the machine that sat in the big, homely department kitchen. Another benefit was that there was always a fresh pot ready and waiting for him. Downside, there were almost always people in the kitchen, waiting for others to join in for conversation and breakfast.

This morning he should be safe from conversation. Most students and some staff went home for the fall semester break, leaving the school running on a minimal level to accommodate those who had no home to go to. There were no classes, meaning that the school apparatus calmed to a halt.

In practice that meant that almost everyone slept in with no pressure to get up early. And for Logan, that meant that he could enjoy his drink in peace before people tried to talk to him.

Lost in thought he strolled into the kitchen. It seemed empty, thank god. He sighed in relief, stretching languidly. The air exiting his lungs in a low groan.

Then a soft click sounded through the room.

A fridge being closed.

“Oh hey, you’re up early.” Y/n appeared behind the full-size fridge door that had previously shielded her from his view. She looked a little tired, not yet fully awake and a bit tousled from sleep.

Aww C’mon. Maybe Wade was right about the universe wanting them to come together. But primarily to annoy him and allow for Wade to give him the ‘I told you so’ speech.

“So are you.”  He answered, leaving on the door frame and watching her pour some creamer into her cup. Upon closer inspection, she did look younger than her other iteration. Her features were softer looking with fewer wrinkles and scars. He needed to ask her about that at some point.

She leaned onto the counter to reach for another cup, taking it out of the overhead cabinet. Proceeding to pour some coffee in it. “How do you take your coffee?” She asked, turning towards him.

“I’ll take two sugars” He answered, moving towards her with slow even steps. The threat of Wade’s ‘help’ kept looming in the back of his mind, pushing him to be more open towards her and to come out of his shell. Who knows what that maniac had in mind?

Y/n hummed in agreement, dropping in two cubes of sugar and stirring the dark liquid before handing it to Logan.

He thanked her softly, holding the porcelain with his much larger hands. He had moved quite close to her, both leaning against the kitchen counter. The closeness and difference in height between them meant that Y/n had to look up to him, to make eye contact.

With a grin he noticed how she shifted her stand, one hand bunching up the material of her cardigan.

You still got it if you let it happen, man.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, enjoying their drinks and watching the sun paint pictures onto the kitchen surfaces, colored by the stained glass windows.

She was the one who broke the silence. “Are you ready for the training session today?” She asked, turning towards him, shifting her position so that her hip was pressed against the counter.

“Training?” He asked confused, setting down his cup to cross his arms over his chest, the muscles shifting visibly under his skin.

That’s right! Show her what you got!

“Yes, staff training? We got the call from Washington about a mutant security threat. Charles wants us to be ready just in case. Do you read your emails?” She teased, watching him over the rim of her mug.

“I don’t know how that stuff works if I’m honest with ya.” He shrugged “Do you go on missions regularly? On Government orders?” He remembered that Xavier had mentioned something along the lines of that. Some complicated struggles between heroes about government regulation and so on.

“Yes, after the blip it was decided that an X-team force should be established to take care of mutant-related threats or endangerments.” She explained.

He had heard of that, too. “Right. What was that blip again?”

The energy in the room shifted suddenly.

Y/n huffed, almost spilling a bit of her drink. “Ha, that’s a bit of a heavy topic for morning coffee talks.” She looked around uncomfortably. Logan seems to have hit upon a heavy subject.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He apologized quickly. Beating himself up for screwing it up once again.

“No, no it’s fine.” She shook her head, setting down her drink to cross her arms as he did. Only that she seemed to do it defensively. “Half of all life stopped existing for five years and… that left a few scars.” She explained somberly, softly nodding to herself.

Logan blinked, his mind moving at high speed to get the conversation on a good topic again. Anything to turn it around and to prevent her from having a bitter aftertaste to their first proper talk.

Yet it was her, once again, that stepped up. She noticed how he got nervous, eyes wandering, shoulders sagging.

“I’ll explain it to you later. When we are not so pressed on time.” She reached out slowly, placing her hand on his arm, squeezing it in reassurance. Y/n smiled at him softly, moving around him to exit the kitchen and prepare for the day ahead.

Without thinking Logan placed a hand over hers, just in time before she pulled hers away. It had her stop in her tracks. Her eyes moved to where his rough callused palm warmed the back of her hand, up to his eyes. He was watching her with intention.

She was nervous. This was either going to be an invitation to finally get to know him or he had enough of her and told her to stop fancying him.

“You can explain it to me on a walk to the lake? Tonight?” He asked, one eyebrow raising in question. His hand squeezed hers gently.

A second of silence followed.

She exhaled, the stress leaving her body but she had to keep her composure. A grin spread across her face “Sounds like a plan.” She held eye contact for a few beats, then let her hand slip out of his hold as she left.

That’s how you do it, Tiger!

Her lips pressed together to keep from smiling too hard as she exited the hallway.

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[ashessonfire]

Hello, i have a potential kaz x reader request for you!! I, for some reason, love the idea of a very soft/domestic kaz moment with reader who isn’t involved in the crime life. So what about y/n being married to kaz and for some reason she makes her way down to the crow club (maybe someone broke into the house or something) and kaz is extreamly confused and concerned and the rest if the crows are like "andddd who are you?"

if you don't feel it, feel free to ignore!

'Intruder' - Kaz Brekker x reader

Prompt - Kaz is a highly secretive man, even to his closest friends, but what happens when a panicked citizen rushes into the Crow Club demanding his presence? It could even suggest that he had the ability to love. - Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Civilian!Reader (Gender neautral)(married for at least a few years but not specified) - Warnings: Thief enters readers house, brief mention of fighting and injury, a knife?? Kaz just being super soft for you! <333 PART TWO NOW POSTED! (click here) - A/N: Thank you for ALL the love on the last post, and my first fic ever! I hope this does just as well and its enjoyed too. I know its not as fluffy as maybe expected but i really like how it turned out. PLEASE KEEP REQUESTING!!(some moonknight coming soon) <3333

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

The chilling wind of Ketterdam rushed past your face, adding to your already watering eyes that couldn’t stop frantically searching around for further threats.

You had been enjoying a quiet morning, browsing the market, drinking tea with friends, and even finding a new hat for Kaz. All was serene, until you turned the lock in the front door, only to be confronted by a menacing figure, knife gripped in one hand, Kaz’s favourite (and most expensive) tea set in the other.

A small gasp escaped you, before your mind took control, rushing forward to land a harsh blow directly on the figure’s nose, just at the right angle like Kaz had demonstrated.

He let out a murderous scream whilst dropping the tea set onto the ground, the shattering of the pieces echoing in your heart and mind. However, this granted you enough time to grab the edge of his jacket and pull him through the doorframe, using every ounce of your strength.

He stumbled down the steps of the small apartment, loosing his footing and falling rapidly, landing brutally on the cobblestone street below and roaring in pain as a jolting crack resounded from where he landed.

Without thinking, you scrambled inside, bolted the door, and ran as fast as you possibly could out of the side entrance, internally crying as your boots struggled through the remains of your husband's most beloved item.

As you struggled through the tight alleyway, you prayed that the Stadwatch had noticed the commotion and apprehended the man. As you bolted down the poorly lit streets of the barrel, thoughts of terror began plaguing your mind.

What if Kaz hadn’t taught you to defend yourself? What if you had reacted too slowly? Would Kaz be angry with you for not finishing the job? How would ‘Dirtyhands’ react to your utter horror at one intruder?

You were abruptly ripped from your thoughts by the unmistakable image of a crow, hanging magnificently above the crowded street. Pushing your way through the crowd, you suppressed the nerves rising in your chest, threatening to choke you, as you entered the crow club for the first time.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

The unmistakable smell of alcohol and smoke clouded your senses immediately, as crowds of ‘pigeons,’ as Kaz may call them, wandered around the floor without a care for others around them.

As frightening as the previous events had been, you didn’t allow yourself to be overwhelmed by this too, shoving your violently shaking hands into your pockets to stop the visible nerves from showing.

Jesper and Wylan sat in close proximity at the bar edge, as far from the yelling and cheering of the customers as they possibly could. Your gazed locked onto the face of the tall Zemeni man, thinking back to the hundreds of times Kaz’s mask had slipped, and he had spoken fondly of his best friend.

Despite Kaz’s firm objection to verbal communication, he often fell victim to your warmth and comfort, his affections for his crew spilling into casual conversation, almost subconsciously. Of course, the Bastard of the Barrel couldn’t hold onto something as weak as friendship. However, this meant that you were very familiar with each of his ‘crows,’ despite never officially meeting any of them.

Mustering all the courage you could, you sucked in a sharp breath, preparing yourself for the challenging journey to your last hope at finding him.

You weaved your way cautiously between the rowdy groups, dodging drunken gestures and swinging arms, until you reached the pair sat at the bar, panic spreading through your body like wildfire. You made note to keep your hands firmly tucked within the safety of your jacket, in a feeble attempt to keep up a façade of confidence.

As their gazes turned towards you, you gently cleared your throat in the hopes of removing any indication of fright, and in turn, weakness from your voice.

“I’m looking for Kaz? Kaz Brekker?” you stuttered out, eyes darting around to avoid the quizzical gazes of the two men in front of you. Under different circumstances you wished to have met them when your usual air of joy blanketed not only you, but all of those who encountered you too. Yet it seemed like the Saints weren't on your side for that wish today.

You were snapped back from your thoughts, as they glanced at each other, sharing an unspoken but clear sense of bewilderment between them at your odd request. Often drunken pigeons, or rough street urchins would request to see the boss, but it wasn’t a common sight to see a regularly dressed citizen in such a state demanding an audience with Mr Brekker himself.

“I’m afraid it’s pretty difficult to get a meeting with the boss, always busy you know?” spoke the man you assumed to be Jesper, in a kind but skeptical tone, swirling the drink in his hand as he failed to decipher the reason for your visit.

Panic began to claw its way deeper into your chest, as you quickly blurted out “Please, its important, I need to see Kaz. Please bring me to see him.” The sudden outburst once again surprised the men, however Wylan’s gaze softened at the clear desperation on your features, and Jesper’s confusion morphed into something that resembled pity.

Wylan subtly leaned into Jesper, whispering “I think you should take her, she seems pretty desperate?” causing Jesper to let out a sigh before meeting your gaze yet again.

Reluctantly, Jesper stood up, stretching his limbs well, before letting out a dramatic sigh, followed by a feigned annoyance at the request, analyzing you for a moment before stating, “Let’s go see the boss then.”

He quickly turned back to you, flashing a lopsided, yet winning grin, which put to rest some of the bubbling anxiety that was becoming inescapable. As you ascended the stairs to his office, a skeptical looking woman glanced curiously up at the three of you, hopping out of her chair to trail behind you, whilst stuffing the remains of what looked like a waffle into her mouth.

Before you could inquire about the third individual following your small group, you were suddenly met with the dark oak door of Kaz Brekker’s office. Jesper shot another reassuring grin back at you, as he rapidly knocked on the office door and let himself in before an answer called out.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

The instant you saw your husband, the tears glossed over your eyes, shining with a dangerous threat of escaping. However, to your surprise, you were able to win the valiant battle for a little longer.

You knew how vital it was for your husband to keep his personal life separated from his work life; one wrong move, and you could end up in the hands of another gang, tortured in exchange for information on the Dregs. This knowledge was what kept you from barreling towards his desk without a second thought, with even the smallest slip from Jesper potentially ruining every bit of yours and Kaz’s struggle to break down his walls.

Kaz sat at his desk at the centre of the bleak room, a faint patch of light hitting his face from a glowing street lantern, casting deep shadows across his sharp features. His shoulders tensed as he remained solely focused on the blueprint in front of him, his harsh glare at the sheet almost seemed as if he was planning to murder it. Perhaps if you weren’t so shaken you may have let out a soft laugh at his pure concentration.

“What is it? I have no time for irrelevant interruption, this marksheet needs to be completed before twelve bells tonight,” A sharp voice suddenly cut through the thick silence. Jesper cleared his throat before confronting his boss, shifting his weight between each foot at the temper that Kaz was evidently displaying.

“Well, you see, I was sitting downstairs with Wylan at the bar, when all of a sudden…” Jesper started, but was cut off by a deadly look from Kaz to get to the point. As his gaze shot upwards towards the sharpshooter, he finally noticed the second figure in the room and his heart plummeted.

Why were you here?

Kaz’s mind began spinning, grasping for any logical reason as to why you were in the one of the most dangerous staves of the Barrel, requiring his assistance.

An identical panic to yours seized his chest as he inspected your state, your hair was windswept, eyes glossed over and glinting with a touch of fear, a visible shake to your arms and legs, which he had been fortunate enough to never experience until now.

You looked utterly terrified.

A single murderous look was enough for Jesper to throw his hands up in defense, and saunter quietly out of the room, glancing curiously back at the two of you as he shut the door. Jesper thought to himself that his life in the long run would be far more valuable than the price of his curiosity now.

Although Kaz is a man of few words, he seemed truly speechless, barely managing to register his own steps as he moved slowly towards you, each limp bringing his comfort closer and closer to you. Once he had reached your figure, he noticed you had curled in on yourself, hands clasped firmly together in front of you, and eyes darting rapidly around his face, searching for something, as it appeared to him.

He slowly reached towards you, and with a gloved hand, tenderly unwound your fingers from their iron grip, instead intertwining them with his own to bring you comfort and slow your light but swift breathing. Kaz remained tight-lipped, words rushing through his head, yet not formulating into any combination which he thought would be appropriate to calm you down.

He gazed intensely into your eyes, softening with each moment as he took in your shaken state, something that was rare due to his exceptional ability to keep you away from his violent life.

Until now.

Yet you had taught him not to run anymore when he encounters challenges, leading him to battle his mind later, and care for you in the present. Plus, you had the courage to make your way through the barrel in this condition, the least he could do was give you his everything.

You released a long, shaky sigh, staring only at Kaz’s chest now in order to match your breaths, imagining that your hearts were beating together too. You knew Kaz was struggling to find a grip within his thoughts, fingers twitching against your own as his body worked overtime, in a way it only did for you.

Several minutes passed in a strange silence, as the pair of you basked in each other's presence, the close distance allowing both of you to be assured the other is safe and within reach, yet the tension and anxiety still buzzed through the air.

“Someone broke in, I’m not sure who or from where. Tried to steal your favorite tea set, you know the one you brought back from Ravka once? I hit him square like you said. But it, but it boke. Shattered actually. It gave me enough time to run, but I don’t know. He may have followed or…” you suddenly burst out, the emotions flowing out of you through your words, and soon to follow were the tears.

You were cut off in your rambling however, as a feather-light kiss graced your temple, drawing you into a pool of warmth, suddenly able to feel the heat of the fire and the glow of the candles that surrounded Kaz’s office, likely gifts of yours.

Although Kaz’s voice was hardened, you knew he was holding back significantly to soothe you, building up wrath to unleash on the unfortunate man who entered your house earlier. The claws of the anxiety released their hold on you, allowing you to breathe deeply for the first time in hours.

“I’m here, darling, and you don’t need to think about that anymore,” he eventually breathed out, “I'll take care of it. I promise. I promise you,” he whispered against your forehead, again leaving the faintest outline of a kiss on the soft skin.

Whilst he was nowhere near healed, over the years you had opened up his deepest wounds and started to stitch them up, with each moment the pain easing ever so slightly. Direct touches were now common, with light pecks, or hand holding being Kaz's most favored actions.

Sometimes if you were lucky, you could get a short kiss on the lips, or a long hug through the safety of many layers; each being evident signs of his love for you, and how you were truly the only one to crack the code to the Bastard of the Barrel's heart.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

Kaz didn’t leave your side for the remainder of the night, bringing you anything you asked for, sitting the armchair closer to his desk to keep him company, hands held tightly until he deemed it safe enough to escort you home.

Wrapping you warmly with his largest coat, he gently placed his best hat atop your head, offering a small smile and breathy laugh as it tilted at an angle. Looking up to meet his gaze, you returned the grin, smile spreading to your eyes and cheeks. Kaz carefully adjusted the edges of the coat to obscure your face, being thorough in the process to avoid any identification of who was accompanying him.

As the door clicked open, and the pair stepped into the hallway, pinkies interlinked, a group of three snooping crows barreled backwards, hitting into each other and the walls. Kaz sent a deathly glare at each of them, as they stood in shock at the sight before them, Jesper gasping, Wylan gaping with fright, and Nina's smirk widening by the second.

After a series of extreme threats hurled at the group outside his office, Kaz pushed past them and dragged you with him, turning his coat collar upwards to hide the growing embarrassment colouring his face.

He crushed the feeling down, instead turning to his internal plotting to enact revenge on your behalf, inwardly smirking at the image of the man begging him for mercy as he pays for his offence in blood.

Meanwhile, Nina stood grinning to herself, proud of her newfound knowledge which she was certain she could use against Kaz at some point soon. Because from that office, she not only heard the hammering heart of the poor citizen girl, but also the one of a love-struck gang leader too.

════ ∘◦ᵒ 𓅓 ᵒ◦∘ ════

[jyoongim]

So in the fic where reader is Alastor’s opposite you said she gives him attitude and that just stuck with me cuz I love giving attitude, literally as I child my mom gave me her old flip phone and I’d just flip it whenever someone got on my nerves. Can I please have a funny fic where reader gives him attitude a lot? She loves him but she’s spoiled rotten(his fault). Bonus points if she reads tf out Vox in defense of her man.

Bratty Princess

A/N: I’m not the funniest person in the world so I hope you like this little Drabble @queenariesofnarnia

—————————————————————————————

How could Alastor tolerate you? 

The Radio Demon was feared and many didn’t have the gall to stand up to the man.

You, however, always pushed the demon’s buttons.

You were a brat. In every sense of the word.

You didn’t listen to Alastor, you always gave him lip and fussed.

And the demon wouldn’t have it any other way. He liked that you gave him a challenge. 

You were Alastor’s everything. His little darling that he let do whatever she wanted.

It was his fault really. He spoiled you rotten, giving in to every desire you wished, treating you like a princess.

You loved the attention he provided, happily exercising your rights on the man.

Your bratty attitude came with pros.

You were confident, assertive, and arrogant. Alastor would play your little game until he had enough and put you back in your place.

The cons?

You were stubborn, sarcastic, sassy. You could get away with a lot of stuff and not bat an eye at the consequences. Alastor let you

—————————————————————————————-

The gang watched as you glared at the red demon.

Your eyes were narrowed, arms crossed as you fumed.

Alastor stood before you calmly. His smile on his face, arms tucked behind his back as he nonchalantly tilted his head at you.

What they were witnessing was shocking.

Someone chewing out Alastor and they weren’t shitting their pants.

”You think just because you’re some big and scary Overlord that I will do whatever you say! Well no! I finally have a chance, so I’m going and that’s final!”

you even stomped your foot.

The gang held their breath, thinking you had finally pushed the Radio Demon to the edge.

Their eyes widened when he looked at the finger poked in his chest and leered over you. He grabbed your chin, making you look at him.

”My dear if you wanted to go so bad all you had to do was ask.”

Their mouths dropped.

————————————————————————————-

“No I don’t like it”

Alastor’s eye twitched “You’re the one who wanted them.”

You turned your nose up in the air “I changed my mind. The color isn’t right”

The trembling demons before you almost sighed in relief when you walked away from them.

”Get rid of them” you said with a wave of your hand.

They tensed as the red demon let out a growl and turned to the shivering demons with a smile.

“Well you heard the little lady, you’re no longer needed. So I bid you adieu”

You hummed a little tune as screams ranged through the air.

————————————————————————————-

You were accompanying Alastor on one of his outings. He had some errands to run and you were simply bored and wanted to spend time with your lover.

The two of you walked past a group of bystanders, who were watching Voxtech commercials.

You didn’t particularly need anything from Voxtech, but you liked to see the marketing sales on the tech. You had a keen taste in business.

Vox, always watching, caught sight of you separating from the demon and approaching the store.

”ma cherie?” Alastor asked when he noticed you weren’t following him, he turned to see you looking through the window of the tech store.

A hand on your waist, made you aware of the demon’s present next to you.

Your eyes were fixated on the advertisements.

”No” he said sternly, already seeing the gears turn on your head.

You turn to him, a pout on your lips “But I just want to make suggestions ” You stomped your foot, pouting “come on Al. Why can’t I get a job? I make your radio broadcast a hit!”

”My dear I don’t see the reason you want to work. You can have anything you want if you ask” Alastor said as you began to whine.

You hadn’t noticed Vox materialize behind the two of you.

”You know Voxtech is hiring for a marketing director.”You spun around and Alastor cocked his head at the television, glaring.

Vox smiled down at you, throwing a smug look at Alastor.

”I’ve seen how much engagement your ideas have provided for Alastor, you got a real skill little lady. Why don’t I throw your name in the pot hmm?” He puffed his chest out pridefully.

Alastor latched his arm around you, eyes narrowed at the demon.

Vox ignored him, a sharp smile displayed on his screen.”Why don’t I give you a private tour huh? I’m sure you would like to work with more effective mediums your ideas would surely be appreciated. No need for old-timey wares”

You cocked your head “I appreciate the offer, but I like my position very much thank you”

Vox blinked. You were giving up lavish luxuries to stick beside a fossil?

He chuckled, playing off his confusion “My dear I don’t think you understand…”

You folded your arms, cocking “I don’t think you understand. I don’t need a job. I am provided for happily. I just thought you needed to clean up your marketing techniques.”

Vox screen glitched, before he cleared his throat, “very well but the offer is open.” He sent a invitation to your phone before walking off.

Alastor rolled his eyes as you giggled, giving him a smug look

”Seems I can appreciated elsewhere hehe better watch your back Al”

He walked off and you happily followed.

Why did he tolerate you?

———————————————————————————

Vox got on his high horse and decided he would try and degrade Alastor.

Top of the hour! Were discussing a certain has-been who’s been seen cavorting around town

did anyone miss him? Did anyone notice?

So the Radio Demon is back in town, why is he hanging around?

Well I’ve got good news!

Hes a loser, a fossil, and I don’t mean to sound hostile but the demon is a coward!

He can’t even handle his little sweetheart!

The doll’s got questionable taste don’t you think? He doesn’t even appreciate the little thing! 

She bratted out and he didn’t even give any backlash

Spoiled rotten that one HAHA!

What a pretty addition she could make?

So what do you say?

Your eye twitched as you heard Vox’s patronizing through the radio waves.

You and Alastor were in his radio tower and you watched Alastor hum as he sipped his coffee. 

 You didn’t even say a word as you made yourself comfortable in his lap as you flipped on several switches on his control panel.

”That sack of wires thinks he can just whatever he wants and you’re not gonna say anything? He right! But i will! No one get to get on your nerves but me” you grumbled as you cleared your throat 

Salutations all you wayward sinners!

Yes I know its been a while since SOMEONE with style graced hell’s broadcast!

Sinners you may rejoice!

Instead of a clout-chasin mediocre video podcast

you sneered into the mic

Vox are you that insecure? Stickin your screen where it doesn’t need to be?

At least the fossil is consistent. Everyday you got a new format maybe you should fix that

I have questionable taste? You’ve been screwing the biggest perv in all of Hell!

At least I know where my dick goes

hahaha

You think you’re such high shit! Are you as strong as you purport?

is it based on your support? 

Or maybe its because you’ll be nothing without the Vees!

And here’s the sugar on the cream

He asked me to join his team

I said no and now he’s being a total piss baby

thats the real tea!

You heard Vox growl and the signal glitch, but Alastor made sure to keep the frequency open.

He settled his chin on your shoulder, softly kissing your shoulder.

I wont disagree on me being a brat you got me there

But good dick does that

cant relate can you bottom bitch?

Hows that burnt circuit doing hmm? I would get that checked out

Heard viruses could cause malware function

You signed off the air, huffing, a soft smile gracing your face.

Your victorious high was short lived, when Alastor tightened his hold around your waist.

Maybe you did too much?

He chuckled in your ear, purring as you attempted to melt into him

”That’s my good girl”

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the beginning

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

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

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

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

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

word count:  13.9k (of 38.8k)

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you do not know how you got here.

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

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

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

so, you close your eyes shut.

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

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

their eyes widened.

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

“i am all right, thank you.”

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

“wait!  you’re a writer, yes?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

that caused the person in blue to laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

“can you keep a secret?”

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

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

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

i should run.  i am going to run.

and so you turn and start—

“y/n!”

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

“good day, pen.”

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

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

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

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

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

“the— bridgertons?” 

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

your jaw drops.

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

this is not a dream.  this is a nightmare.

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

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

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

“very well.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“y/n y/l/n.”

“excellent.  now!  with introductions all sorted—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh, my god.

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

you turn back to the family.  

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

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

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

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

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

butterflies flutter in your stomach.

oh.

shit.

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

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

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

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

“err— yes.  likewise.” 

another cough. 

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

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

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

shit.

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

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

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

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

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

“may i call you ‘kathani’ instead?”

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

“yes.  yes, you may.”

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

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

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

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

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

“what!  what did i say wrong?”

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

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

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

“y/n.”

her eyes shine once again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“very well, then.”

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

“we must continue when you return next!”

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

“they seem to quite like you.”

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

“colin bridgerton,” you begin, “yes?”

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

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

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

“and you look after him.” 

“what did i do?”   

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

“i— yes.  of course.  understood.” 

you smile again.

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

you turn away and start to walk towards the house.

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

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

–

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

“so, what are you?”

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

“eloise.”

—when penelope comes to your defense.  

“what?  what is it?”

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

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

“did i— did i not?”

penelope turns to you.

“are you comfortable to answer?”

“i would prefer that i didn’t.”

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

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

“and what are you three gossiping about?”

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

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

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

“do you two always come in a pair?”

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

stupid butterflies.

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you clear your throat.

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

ocean.  charcoal.  smile.  flutters.

shit.

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

prologue.  two households—

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

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

“‘starting with’?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

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

“and what do you insinuate by that!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you turn to colin and benedict, grinning.

“you two must have been saints then.”

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

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

“shall we begin, then?”

–

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

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

“i am not!”

“you are, indeed,” anthony deadpanned.

“prove it!”

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

“are they always like this?”

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

“indeed, they are,” grinned kathani.

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

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

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

you hear snickers and snorts from around you.

“i said nothing of the sort!”

“did you think it?”

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

“i did,” he admits defeatedly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

benedict moves like water.  free.  fluid.

as if he is dancing while dueling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and he winks at you.

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

“but a little distraction does help.”

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

“it was a pleasure to duel with you.”

“yes.  likewise.”

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

"mama?  papa?"

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

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

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

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

mama takes his hand into hers.

"i as well."

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

"for the better, dearest?"

papa laughs heartily.

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

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

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

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

she looks nostalgic until something mischievous quickly overcedes her countenance.

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

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

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

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

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

–

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

“it’s one of the brothers, isn’t it?”

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

“pardon me?” 

“is it the artist brother?”

“what!”

fluffing their pillow, they smile.

“so i am correct.”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“that is not true.  you said ‘what.’”

“that reveals nothing!”

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

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

“i have no feelings!”

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

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

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

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

your heart swells.  you love your sibling.

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

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

you almost shoot upright from your bed.

“you’ve been reading my writing?”

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

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

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

“you are impossible!”

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

“i love you too.”

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

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

you feel your eyes start to drift.

“his name is benedict, by the way.”

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

“that’s a lovely name.”

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“good day!— robert?”

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

“pardon the confusion in my greetings—”

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

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

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

“he is ill at the moment.”

“ill!  with what?”

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

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

“that is all good to hear.”

“shall i announce you to the drawing room?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh,” is all you say.

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

“miss y/l/n.”

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

you roll your eyes.

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

benedict smiles.

“all right.  y/n.”

shit.

perhaps that was a mistake.

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

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

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

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

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

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

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

benedict cocks his head towards his drawing.

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

“ah, a man of wit, i see.”

“i am a man of many attributes, y/n.”

ignore the butterflies.

“such as?”

“what attributes would win your favor?”

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

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

“so, a man of thoughtfulness.”

“oh yes, a myriad of thoughts.”  

“name one.”

“how much i am enjoying our conversation.”

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

you return his smile.

“as am i, benedict.”

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

“this sketch, on the contrary—”

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

your smile falls.

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

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

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

as if you are making a jest.

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

it reminds you of a recent memory.

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

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

“eloise, are you certain?”

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

“right.  yes— of course.  thank you.”

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

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

thank you, you mouthed.

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

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

“y/n.  y/n!”

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

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

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

you turn to face him.

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

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

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

it infuriates you.

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

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

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

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

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

you rub your wrists against your eyes.

stupid bloody tears.

stupid fucking heart.

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

because i love—

no.

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

it cannot happen, the two of you.

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

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

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

you and benedict will never happen.

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you sigh deeply.

have courage, y/n.

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

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

you cannot help but smile back.

“good day, giles.”

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

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

“you could’ve fooled me, miss y/n.”

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

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

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

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

“three.”

you grin.

“precisely.”

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

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

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

the elderly man smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“mister benedict has been absolutely despondent.”

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

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

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

“no, i— i do not.”

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

i do.  

i do know benedict.

you clear your throat.

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

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

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

“i am unfamiliar.”

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

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

–

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

“y/n,” he utters.

“benedict,” you breathe.

and he looks just as surprised as you are.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

edmund bridgerton, the 8th viscount bridgerton.

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

“you have his eyes.”

“his are gray; mine are blue.”

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

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

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

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

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

“i’ve missed you.”

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

i’ve missed you, too.

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

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

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

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

the butterflies in your stomach flutter maddeningly.  you emit an exhale from your nostrils.  the urge to touch him intensifies, and you feel yourself flex your hand to let go of the sensation.  you huff out another breath, and smile brightly, sincerely, at benedict.

“well,” you begin, “with our friendship renewed, care to show me what other paintings you love in this gallery?”

benedict’s ocean eyes beam with relief and joy, a brilliant smile lighting up his face, and it takes all your self-control not to drop all discretion and wrap your arms around him in a crushing embrace.

“i would love nothing more, y/n,” he declares.

you try not to flutter your eyes closed at the words ‘i,’ ‘love,’ and your name in the same breath from benedict’s lips.  at the pleasantness and home you feel in them.  you smile on.

“where shall we begin, then?”

you and benedict walk together as he approaches a miniature in a wooden frame ornately carved with floral motifs.  he admits that he has not the slightest clue which bridgerton ancestor this is, and that makes you snort.  grinning, he points out how adeptly the artist portrayed the translucency and fluidity of the lady’s veil and how particularly impressive it must have been to accomplish such effects in paints during the early 1600s, if the remnant dating of the artist’s signature is correct.  you remark how particularly impressive it is that a painting has endured two hundred years of existence, details still intact, and benedict responds simply that rich people have a way.  that makes you snort again, and that makes benedict grin again.

he then leads you to a portrait of kathani and anthony, the viscountess sat in a chair with the viscount stood behind.  you marvel at the painting—how much it looks like them, how much it captures kathani’s confidence, how much it captures anthony’s conviction, how much it captures their love.  excitement coloring his voice, benedict imparts to you how he was given the opportunity to observe and assist the painter on the days the latter was commissioned to portray the viscountess and the viscount.  he also shares with you how impossibly difficult they were as models, always giggling and kissing and looking away from the painter and talking to one another, being overall sickeningly saccharine.  you chortle and share with him how that does not surprise you in the least bit.  despite his annoyance upon recalling the memory, an incredibly fond smile rests on benedict’s lips.  turning from his lips back to the painting, you remark how in love they are, and he remarks that, indeed, they very much are—and turns his fond smile from the painting to you.

coughing, you walk over and ask about the landscape of an enormous building.  benedict names it as aubrey hall, the ancestral home of the bridgertons.  you recall how you had heard of it early on in your friendship with the bridgertons; you had been unable to see them one week as they were preparing for kathani’s first ball as viscountess at the home.  you also recall how the usually collected and confident kathani was anxious and uncertain during that time.  benedict, beaming with pride, says how, of course, she absolutely excelled and how all of the ton—he rolls his eyes then and you guffaw—enjoyed themselves at the event.  while kathani had done an unsurprisingly resplendent job, the ball was not very entertaining to benedict.  he much more enjoyed the annual bridgerton game of pall mall leading up to the event.  after announcing how kathani had won—much to the contradictory disappointment and delight of her husband—and answering your questions about what sounds, to you, like a very silly, very fun game, benedict suggests that you join them next year.  you laugh, finding it impossible to imagine yourself at a home such as aubrey hall, particularly for the entirety of three days, but your heart swells at the invitation and the sincerity in his voice, and you say aloud how you would love nothing more.

your spontaneous tour eventually comes to an end, and the two of you make your way towards the entrance, still discussing the various art you had seen.  as you and benedict walk out of the gallery, a thought crosses your mind.

“none of your work is on display.”

you notice how benedict stiffens.  you feel your smile tug into a frown.

“ah, yes.  i do not think my work is— up to snuff— with the work on display here.”

“horse shit.”

benedict’s jaw drops, his face aghast and regaled in reaction to what you assume is your choice of language.  you merely shrug.

“you have not even seen my work!”

“i do not need to see your work when i can already see how harsh you are being.”

he scoffs, and it aggravates you.

“fine— i will show you, then, and prove to you my point.”

“fine, then!  show me, and i will prove to you my point!”

–

“you are full of horse shit!”

you and benedict are in his bedchamber, where all his works are hidden away.  he has shown you canvas after canvas, sketch after sketch, charcoal drawing after charcoal drawing, his palette of color ideas— and he still has the audacity to say that his work is not “up to snuff” for the bridgerton gallery.

benedict looks aghast again, perhaps by your language, perhaps by what you are (very rightly, very correctly) insisting.  he shakes the canvas that he holds in his hand in your face.

“look at the proportions, y/n!  they are entirely off!”

you roll your eyes, swatting his arm away, and begin to rummage through his other work.  you pull a sheet and hold it up to benedict’s face.

“look at this sketch, then look at the canvas.  there is a very clear, marked improvement, and with only a—” you look at the dates at the bottom right corners for confirmation, “—a difference of two days!”

“what does ‘improvement’ mean if the improvement is not even good!”

“it is good!  and!  improvement is everything, benedict!  it is progress!”

“what—”

you and benedict jump back from one another by the sudden new voice.  you had not realized how close the two of you were as you were shouting at one another, how close your faces were to one another, how close your lips were to—

a blazing heat creeps up your neck, at the tip of your ears, and across your cheeks as you turn from benedict’s flustered face to the scowl of the eldest bridgerton sibling in the doorway.

“—are the two of you doing?”

“brother!  i— i was merely showing y/n my work.”

you vigorously nod your head.  anthony’s glare remains unaffected.

“alone?  together?  in your bedchamber?”

your heart almost leaps out of your chest, your eyes about to bulge out of their sockets as you look around the room, suddenly aware of where you are.  you are in benedict’s bedchamber.  alone.  together.

“i—” you start, very pathetically.  “i——  we—”

anthony curtly bows his head at you.

“y/n, i would like to have a word with my brother.  in private.  please.”

“of— of course, right— of course!”

you hastily put the sketch on a nearby table and walk towards the door, pass anthony as he steps in, and are about to run down the hall and away from the scene when—

you turn and steal a glance at benedict, mustering up all the apologies you can convey through your eyes.  despite the peril of his current predicament, his ocean eyes soften immediately, and a thousand butterflies erupt in your stomach and flutter around viciously.  he offers you a slight smile, one that is sincere and unregretful.  you offer one back, just as sincere, just as unregretful, before anthony gives you another bow of his head and closes the door.

–

“are you pleased by the results of your consorted trickery?” you state blandly upon seeing the young ladies that you thought were your friends sitting in the drawing room.

eloise looks up from her pamphlet, beaming at you, as penelope wears a wide and proud smile.  well, at least they have answered your question.

“trickery?” eloise feigns.  you roll your eyes; their expressions answer honestly, but their words continue their game.  “i have no idea what you are referring to.  pen and i were merely keen on viewing the art gallery today, and i thought, my blue-deviled of an elder brother ought to stop moping about; what better to get him to leave his bedchamber than by way of his favorite topic?”

“and his other favorite topic,” penelope adds.  eloise chortles, and you feel the tips of your ears heat.

“what is that supposed to mean!”

eloise waves a dismissive hand at you.

“benedict knew nothing of your arrival, as i am sure you deduced by his surprise,” but the second eldest daughter grins wickedly.  “though, from the sheer amount of time you have spent together thus far today, i am also sure the surprise was very welcomed, indeed.”

“by both parties, it seems.”

you promptly ignore the flush you feel on the apples of your cheeks.  your friends are lucifer incarnate split into two.

“well, then you must be delighted to know that your shared plot has led to punitive action against him.”

that surprises them.  (good.  you are relieved to finally have some sort of an upperhand in this conversation.)

“‘punitive action’?  by whom?  for what?”

“by—”

the three of you hear a set of footsteps.  you look to where the sounds are heard and see the two eldest bridgerton siblings enter the drawing room, the elder approaching you with conviction and the younger trailing behind him like a pet that has just been reprimanded.  the sight would make you laugh, if you weren’t the one to have instigated the current conflict between the two brothers.

anthony stands before you, posture perfect and chin held up high.

“y/n, thank you for your patience.  please allow me to apologize most ardently on behalf of my brother for his complete and utter lack of propriety.  it will not happen again as i shall be more vigilant in tracking his every deed.  i do hope this incident of my brother’s disrespect does not taint the beloved friendship between you and our family.” 

and he deeply bows his head at you.

your jaw drops.  benedict shuts his eyes tight and scrunches his face.  penelope bops her gaze amongst the three of you.  and eloise just howls, causing anthony to break the gravitas of his decorum and shoot a glare at her.

“it is no laughing matter, eloise!”

“it is harmless fun, brother!  a pursuit of intellect exchanged between two creatives, who also happened to be by themselves.  i have never heard of a baby being conceived from sharing some art.”

“ELOISE BRIDGERTON!”

you have now entirely hidden your face behind your hands; no one needs to witness the deep crimson that you are certain is spreading very rapidly across your countenance.  an absurd hope also blooms in you that if you cannot see the others, then the others cannot see you.

“what ever is the matter in here?” 

your eyes shoot open upon hearing the much needed voice of reason.  removing your hands from your face, you see kathani enter the drawing room, a confused expression worn on her face.  

“my dearest,” anthony begins, “i have offered my deepest apologies to y/n for benedict’s disgrace.”

“disgrace,” scoffs eloise, crossing her arms.

“disgrace!” reiterates anthony with increased fervor.  kathani’s confusion does not lighten.  she looks to benedict, whose eyes are scrunched closed again (his nose looks adorable this way), and then to you.

“are you all right, y/n?” she inquires gently.

“i—” you had intended to say, am well, but that would be a lie.  you are utterly mortified.  so, instead, you state the truth.

“benedict has been a gentleman.  he has treated me with the utmost respect, and when he has done wrong by me— which!  which has nothing to do with our being in his bedchamber!—  he—” you steady your voice, determined to say this right, as you know and feel it with and in your heart, “he has corrected himself and bettered his words and thoughts and deeds.”

“you hear that, brother?  no harm has been done.”

“eloise, you were not even there!”

“i believe what eloise means, anbe, is that you are being dramatic.”

“dramat— they were in his bedchamber, kathani!  together!  alone!”

kathani rolls her eyes, her attempt at diplomacy entirely gone.

“speak louder, anthony; just a bit more and the entire country shall hear you.”

the viscount pouts grumpily at his beloved, emitting a huff of air through his nostrils.  

“you must trust y/n by her word,” the viscountess states.

“or do you not trust someone of feminine disposition to speak for herself?” eloise inquires.

“pen!” 

you all snap your gazes to the entrance of the drawing room and see colin making his way to your friend in blue, followed by—

“y/n!” shouts gregory and hyacinth as they run towards you.

“y/n, penelope!” remarks violet and approaches you both.  “how delightful it is to see you!  you—” she says, reaching out for your hand, gently taking it in hers, and smiling kindly at you, “—in particular.  it has been a moment, y/n.” 

it melts your heart, really.  the sincerity of affection that flows so easily from violet bridgerton.  you recall the kind eyes and benevolent smile of her late husband.  it is no wonder you so easily fell in love with this family; true, real love is woven into the very fabrics of each of their beings.

you look at them.  hyacinth and gregory cling onto your slides, holding you tight.  kathani and anthony are engrossed in debate, affection in their eyes despite the heat in their words.  colin and penelope speak with and blush around one another as eloise, unknowingly (and, in your opinion, frustratingly, endearingly), butts into their conversation.  and benedict.  who, with the gaze of the entire room no longer on his so-called indiscretion, is looking at you.  softly.  with those damned, wondrous, bewitching ocean eyes.  a smile on his lips that makes the flutterings in your stomach unbearingly, wonderfully unyielding.

you truly, really love this family.  

you love the bridgertons.

“though,” the dowager viscountess starts.  

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you see how violet looks at the others in the room as half of them now pointedly avoid eye contact with the matriarch and the other half share a similar sentiment to her.

“is everything all right?” she turns to you, peering curiously into your eyes.  “has something happened?”

you cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of you.  violet seems taken aback by your reaction, as are the others in your periphery, but her eyes, as well as theirs, shine on.

“i think,” you say, smiling, “it is just another day with the bridgertons.”

[cevansbrat0007]

Off the Market

Summary: Ari learns that you're not the sharing type. Which is fine by him, because neither is he.

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Jealous/Possessive Reader, Oral Sex (mentioned), Discussions of Public Sex, Mentions of Disordered Eating, Polite Fat Shaming, Cursing, Minors DNI

A/N: This story is part of my Sweet Renegades Series. Be sure to check out the follow-up fic, A Man Starved. Not beta'd. Not beta'd. All mistakes my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated.

“So?” You ask before taking another sip of your milkshake. The thick and creamy treat goes down easy, which makes the amount of time it took to get to you well worth it. “What’s the verdict?”

“Not bad.” Your companion mumbles as he eagerly gulps down his own shake. “Not bad at all. But just so we’re clear, drinkin’ one of these isn’t gonna get you out of our deal.” He stirs the drink with his straw before plucking out the cherry and popping it in his mouth. “Remember you swore on it.” He holds up his pinky finger as a reminder.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sugar.” You tell him as a smile flits its way across your lips. Without thinking, you go to feed him your own cherry. You find yourself giggling at the way he playfully nips at your fingers, his tongue lapping at the traces of whipped cream. 

There went your big Beast of a man proudly living up to his nickname, as per usual. Thank goodness you were the only couple dining outside today.

“Hey. How come yours tastes better?” Ari pouts suddenly, sending you into another fit of giggles.

“We got the exact same thing, honey.” You roll your eyes at him before returning your attention to the menu in your hand.

“Bird?” His growl comes out soft and silky. And it immediately has you on high alert. Because you recognized that tone. 

It meant you were in trouble.

“Um, yes?” You try ducking your head behind the oversized, laminated piece of paper. Maybe if he couldn’t see you anymore, he’d just let it ride.

“Did you just do what I think you just did?” 

“Well, I suppose that depends on what you think I just did.” You sneak another sip of your chocolate shake, doing your best to forget about all the extra unnecessary calories you’re putting into your body right then. After all, you and your man had a deal. And you aimed to see it through. 

“I think you just rolled your eyes at me.” Ari rests his elbows on the table, leaning forward on his arms in an attempt to get your attention. “Now, just because I gave you a pass back the boutique–”

You blow out an annoyed breath. “That wasn’t my fault! You kept making me model the most ridiculous pieces for you, even when I knew they wouldn’t fit.” You peek out from behind your menu long enough to scan the area for Stella, your waitress. Of course she’s nowhere to be found. 

Which, oddly enough, was fine by you. There was just something about the woman that seemed to ruffle your feathers a bit. Although you couldn’t quite put your finger on the reason why. 

“Except they did fit.” Your bounty hunter surprises you by yanking the menu from your grasp. He then tosses both yours and his onto a nearby empty table. “And maybe if you would’ve allowed me into the fitting room with you earlier, we could’ve scored you another bathing suit. I still think we should go back for that sweet little black and white number. That ass was made for it.”

“It was too small. Just like the other ones.” You counter, feeling your cheeks heat at the intimate praise. The burn only intensifies when you recall the way he’d simply let himself into the fitting room after you’d vetoed your third bathing suit. It had been his pick, which meant he felt that he was well within his rights to, as he put it, “see for himself”.  

One Hour Earlier

“Baby.” He said, chuckling softly. “If a woman expects a man to wait outside and do it patiently, then perhaps she ought to give him a little show.” When you balked he’d simply shrugged and picked up an ice blue monokini before handing it over to you, silently demanding that you try it on. With him right there in the flippin’ fitting room. 

And he hadn’t felt the least bit compelled to help preserve your modesty by looking away as you’d changed. Instead, he’d had the gall to take a seat in a chair that was tucked away in a corner.

“This is completely inappropriate!” You hissed, clutching the forgotten suit to your chest. “Wh–what if someone comes by?” 

“Then I expect you’ll have to be quiet then, won’t you?” He held a finger to his lips, playfully shushing you. “That way it stays our little secret. Now, how about you model the pink one for me?”

“I’ll model whatever you want once we get back to your place.” You tried, your entire body had been practically vibrating with embarrassment. 

“Nah. I’m afraid that ain’t gonna work for me.” Ari had leaned back in his chair then, leisurely crossing his long legs over his ankles. “See, this Beast of yours is itchin’ for some instant gratification.” He’d locked his fingers together before resting them on his firm stomach. “And I ain’t leavin’ until I get it.”

“Guess we’ll be in here for a long time then, huh?” You’d responded rather snippily. “Because I’m not about to–”  

“You know, sweetheart, now that I’m thinking about it, I just realized you haven’t fed me yet today.” 

“I thought we were gonna grab a bite after..?” The knowing look that passed between you two had been enough to make you feel weak in the knees. “Umm...”

“You know how I get when you make me go too long without a taste.” His piercing blue eyes had dropped to your (thankfully) still panty clad pussy. “I’m gonna need a fix, baby. And soon.” You’d watched him cup his impressive cock through the fabric of his jeans. “Otherwise I might start gettin’ antsy.” The silky purr of his voice alone had been enough to have your thighs clenching.

“Don’t – ooh! Behave yourself, damn you!” You’d done your best to ignore the way your core had spasmed with need. “There will be no funny business in this fitting room. You are not getting us kicked out of this store, Beast!”  

“But I’m hungry now. Starving actually.” He’d pressed, a wolfish grin spreading across his features. “And all I can think about is sinking to my knees and burying my face in that gorgeous pussy. Right here. Right now.” 

You'd watched as he rose from his seat, his big body crowding your smaller one. “Wanna taste all that sweet, wild honey of yours when you cum on my tongue like a good girl.” You’d also squealed none-too-quietly when he pinned you against the wall. 

And although the man had seen fit to warn you of his plan, you still hadn’t been prepared for his boldness. Even less so when he dropped to his knees in front of you, his nimble fingers tugging at the edges of your panties.

“Ari…” You'd breathed, rising on your toes to graze your lips along his bearded jaw. “We can’t. Not here. Patience, sugar.”

“Like I told you, I’m about out.” He’d responded on the heels of a groan. “But I might be able to find some more. Maybe. But only if…”

“If what?”

“If you stay the night once we get back to Bell’s Creek. I wanna spend the rest of the evening getting all tangled up in you. Especially after I managed to work up such a sweet tooth.” Ari had brushed mouth over your covered mound, loving the way your nipples pebbled at his words - his touch.        

“I accept your terms.” You’d told him with a soft giggle as heat suffused your cheeks. “Now let me go so I can model these last few for you. It’s about time we get a move-on to our next stop -- no more kisses. Oh God, Ari! Be patient!”

“I’m not trying on another thing after I stuff my face, honey.” You mumble as you take another sip of your drink. “We’ll just have to come back another time. Plus, you’ve already spent more than enough on me.” 

“You’re worth it.” 

“You should’ve at least let me pay for half.” You start to protest, feeling uncomfortable with being doted on in such a way.

“Already said no. And you ain’t payin’ for lunch either, so you’d best not get that pretty mouth all twisted up to ask.” 

“How about we–” You find your conversation interrupted by the arrival of your waitress, Stella. 

“Hey, ya’ll!” She chirps as she comes around the corner, her blonde ponytail bouncing behind her as she finally makes her way to your table. “Sorry it took me so long to get back to you. How are those shakes treating you, hm? Pretty good?”

“They’re great.” You and Ari respond at the same time. 

“I just knew you’d love ‘em!” She responds rather animatedly, her freshly manicured fingers lightly brushing over Ari’s shoulder. He doesn’t seem to notice. But you do. Because it’s not the first time it’s happened. “Looks like you’re doin’ alright over there, handsome. Can I get you another one?”  

“No, thank you.” Your Bounty Hunter hums, his gaze locked on the menu as he works to make a final decision. “But I do think we’re ready to order.” 

“Yep.” You readily agree, even as your eye twitches. “We sure are.” 

Stella makes an innocent show of turning away from you, her gaze focused on Ari. “I bet a big, strapping fella like you would be interested in one of our steaks. Our beef is grass-fed and sourced locally. Which means it’s always fresh, never frozen.”

“Actually, I think we’re both gonna have–” You attempt to interject, only to be shut down without so much as a glance in your direction. 

“Did you happen to see our line of Skinny Gal Salads, buttercup? They come with all the flavor, but only half the calories. They’re listed on page two if you wanna take a gander while I walk your lovely friend here through tonight’s specials featuring our signature porterhouse.” 

Your waitress’ audacity hits you so hard you almost feel a headache coming on as an unexpected fury burns in your belly. A belly that could probably stand to benefit from one of those so-called Skinny Gal salads, but then again that would go against the deal you’d made last night.

Which involved you and your man enjoying a couple of worry-free milkshakes and bacon cheeseburgers. You’d promised that you would try to relax and not get so caught up in all of that internal calorie counting like you usually did.

So, like it or not, a deal was a deal and you aimed to see it through. Regardless of what your waitress had to say about it. And if the woman was smart, she’d take her hand off your man’s arm before something happened to it.

“Now handsome, did I hear you say you were visiting from Bell’s Creek?” Your waitress cocks her hip against the table while she ignores you in favor of cozying up to your Beast. “Because it just so happens that I have a friend there that I like to visit from time to time. Do you happen to know–” 

“Actually, I’ve heard amazing things about your barnyard cheeseburgers. So I think we’re gonna have two of those with bacon. Extra bacon. Please.” You tack on the last word, which is spoken through gritted teeth. 

Finally, Stella turns to you and offers a patronizing smile. “Can I interest you in a side salad with that, buttercup? It comes with a spritz of our homemade red wine vinaigrette.”

Ari sits back in silence, apparently content to watch whatever the fuck was transpiring between you and this bottle blonde heifer with a notepad. Which was fine. You were a big girl who knew how to take-up for herself when the situation called for it.    

“I want fries, sugarplum. But who knows, my friend might want one of those skinny ass salads to go with his meal. Does that sound good to you, baby?” While your eyes never leave hers, you manage to catch a glimpse of a smile from your companion. 

“I, uh, would also like fries.” He coughs. You can tell he’s trying not to laugh, which only serves to piss you off even more. “But thank you.”

“That’ll be all, honey.” You politely growl, snatching Ari’s menu from him before your waitress could use it as an excuse to touch him again. “We’ll let you know if you need anything else.”

“But you haven’t heard the specials.” Stella turns back to Ari, a soft pout gracing her plump lips. “It just might change your mind. You might find yourself wanting something…better.”

Oh, no the fuck she did not. Your man was fine with his choice. You. The burger. All of it. Be gone, bitch!  

“We’re good.” You snap, seething inwardly. “You couldn’t possibly have anything more special than what he’s already got goin’ on in front of him, right here. Right now.”

Your waitress stares you down, but you refuse to be the one to blink first. If your eyes gave up and fell out, you had faith Ari would collect them for you before safely guiding you home. Your man was a gentleman like that.

“I guess I’ll go ahead and get these orders in. Two burgers, heavy bacon, coming right up.” The smile she gives you now is much more brittle and it doesn’t meet her eyes. But you also can’t bring yourself to give a fuck.

This woman needed to remember to stay in her lane before you ran her off the road.         

“Thanks.” 

“Welcome.”

And then she’s gone. You find your glaring at her retreating form. You’re actually in the middle of fantasizing about what would happen if you took a pair of scissors to her annoying ass ponytail when you hear your name being called.

“What?” You snarl as Ari comes back into focus. And what the hell was he grinning about? Didn’t he realize that that pretty face of his was in slapping distance?

“You’re really something, baby.” He murmurs, his gorgeous blue eyes dancing with mischief. “You know that?”

“Meaning?” At the moment, you were in no mood for anyone else’s bullshit.

Ari leans forward in his chair as one of his big hands comes to rest atop yours. “I just meant…I’ve never seen you jealous before. It just surprised me a little is all.” He finishes with a shrug. “I didn’t expect for you to…to…”

“Didn’t expect for me to do what, Beast?” Your tone softens as you watch his head dip, his bearded cheeks tinged with red. He perks up when you give his hand an affectionate squeeze, flipping your positions slightly so you can lace your fingers through his. 

“Claim me.” 

Those two simple words are enough to send you reeling. Is that really what you had just done?

“It’s no secret that I like you, Bird. A lot.” His voice drops an octave as he works to explain himself. “Every time I see you, it’s like there’s something in me deep down inside me that screams mine. I guess I wasn’t sure if you felt the same way about me. Until now.” 

Was he being serious? Of course he was! This man had never struck you as the type to joke about any of this.

“I like you too, Ari. But what I didn’t like was watching our waitress flirt with you like I wasn’t even here. I almost fucked her up with my spoon for touching what’s mine.” Ari’s perfect teeth sink into his plush bottom lip, his nostril’s flaring as his mind works to process your admission.

“Say that again.” The command rumbles out from somewhere deep in his chest, compelling you to obey. “Louder”

“You’re mine, Ari Levinson. For today. Tomorrow. For however long this magical thing between us lasts – you belong to me.” You breathe, butterflies filling your belly. “You’re officially off the market, you got that?”

“I hear you, Bird. Loud and fucking clear.” The grin on his face soon proves to be infectious. “And you have no idea just how happy I am to hear you say that.” Ari opens his arms to you then, beckoning you forward.

The next thing you know, you’re up and moving before you’ve even registered what’s happening. All you knew was that your man needed you. Which meant you needed to go to him. Now.

“I always want you, Ari. Even when I shouldn’t.” You tell him as you gracefully slide into his lap, looping your arms around his neck as you do. 

“I know the feeling.” Ari murmurs, brushing his mouth over yours. “Which is why I want to do something special once we get back to Bell’s Creek. Before I have to leave again.” The startled look on your face has your Bounty Hunter rushing to finish his thoughts before you can verbalize your confusion.

“What do you–?”

“I’m only gonna be gone a few days, baby. Three, maybe four, tops.” One of his large, slightly calloused palms presses against the back of your neck, drawing you in closer to him so that he can take your lips again.   

“Oh.” Comes your lame reply.

“I’m coming back to you, Bird.” Ari rests his forehead against yours as you try to calm your racing heart. “You have my word. But I still wanna do something special for you – for us – before I go. Will you let me do that without a fight?”

“Okay.” 

“Okay.” Feeling content, Ari leans in to capture your mouth with his own once again. After behaving himself all day, it was time for his reward.

“Wait.” You place your hand on his chest, halting his advances. “You’re still mine wherever you go. I don’t care if it’s fucking Siberia.” You grab a fistful of his shirt, hauling him forward. “You’ll still be mine there too. You with me?”

“Fuck yeah I am.” Ari growls, using both of hands to cradle your face as he slants his lips over yours once again. The kiss is as passionate as it is raw. Your tongues dance together, both fighting for dominance. But this time your Beast lets you win.

Desire burns in your belly as you savor the sensual victory. You bury your fingers in his hair, tugging at the chestnut strands. Meanwhile, one of Ari’s hands goes to grip your hip, making you moan when he gently molds and kneads your curves. 

Jesus Christ! You suddenly felt as if you were wearing too many clothes. 

His lips skim along the column of your throat as you pant. You were always so fucking needy for him all the time. It made it almost impossible for you to resist him during moments like these.

You’re so lost in each other that you don’t even bother to look up when you hear footsteps approaching. “Will these be separate checks or…oh.” You hear your waitress stammer as she tries to collect herself. “I’ll, um - I'll just bring the one.”

Ari briefly pulls away, eliciting a soft whine from you. “Thanks. And while you're at it, we’ll be taking our food to-go.” 

“Bye, Stella.” You giggle as you give a little wave before playfully nipping at his jaw, not even bothering to glance over at the other woman’s face. You knew it was petty, but staking your claim on this man in front of your so-called rival felt so damn good. Especially after a day like today.

Frankly, the only way it could get any better was if you could make yourself utter those three magic words – the same ones you’d been practicing in the mirror last night. But right now they simply wouldn't come. They kept getting stuck in your throat.

Oh well. Guess you’d just have to try again tomorrow.

END

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