#lit up the bushes on the way to the train | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

jaylaxies · 2 years ago

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ROMAN HOLIDAY

PAIRING: jake x fem!reader

GENRE/CW: smut, slight fluff, protected and unprotected sex, (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!), cunnilingus, marking, creampie, mentions of petnames (princess, baby, darling, daddy), lots of kissing and brief mentions of smoking, stealing, running away from cops, drugs, somnophilia (consensual), etc.

WC: 10k words

SYNOPSIS: visiting your grandma’s place was more or less your entire plan for your summer vacations and only break you get before your university starts, although, meeting your neighbour, bickering with him and clutching his hand while running away from cops wasn’t in your bucket list.

PLAYLIST: welcome to wonderland by anson seabra, movement by hozier, if you let me by alina baraz, how to love by jen z, roman holiday by halsey.

WARNING: 18+ content, minors dni

A/N: hihi, my sweetest angels <3 i'm finally here with a jake fic which was long due! i hope you guys like it <33 all likes, comments, reblogs and feedbacks are highly appreciated :D loveyou all <3

Bagging a window seat for a day-long journey sure is a blessing, peculiarly when you have to stay sitting at your spot in a train for a sum of six hours. Nestled in your seat, you sit straighter when the scenic view of the sea water meeting the sky graces your eyes—which you capture on your phone’s camera with a soft smile.

It felt as if it had been ages since you got out of your room, where you used to be cooped up during the entirety of your day, studying for your final year of school.

Your parents were concerned. They were highly proud of you for achieving top honours, yes, but it was about time you went out and cherished your life a little before you got winded up in the stress of University yet again, which was to start in one month.

And what’s a better place to spend your vacations at if not at your granny’s home?

It was a few minutes past six when you finally reached your desired destination, dragging your luggage behind you as a swish of cold breeze hit you. It looked straight out of a movie with how the train station was lit up by old-fashioned lamps which radiated warmth just by glancing towards them.

You hugged your cardigan tighter, walking out to find the taxi stand just outside the exit area of the station, pulling out your phone to show the driver the address you’d be meaning to go to. He was a kind man, helping you put your luggage into the trunk of his taxi. Your curious eyes looked out, observing how much the town had changed over the years.

You were seven when you last visited her hometown. Ever since then, your grandma used to be the one who visited you in the city, at your place, however she did not wish to leave her town and move in with your family. You could see why she chose to stay here—the serene view, the freshness in the air, the tranquil surroundings, it made the corner of your lips curl up into a smile.

It only got wider once the driver stopped his taxi in front of your grandma’s house. It was exactly how you had remembered it to be—a small but two story house with a big veranda which was lit up by fairy lights on the big bushes. The back door connected the path towards the small pool and then yet another door linked the beach from your backyard.

Your grandma stood by the door with the fondest smile gracing her ever so beautiful face, a few grey strands fell on her face and you couldn’t help but get out of the taxi and run towards her, capturing her in an embrace. A hearty chuckle filled the air, the scent of your favourite cookies encapsulated you, making you wonder if she had baked a batch just for you as you snuggled further, her hand patting your head exactly the way she used to do ever since you were a kid.

“I missed you, grandma.” Your expression said it all, and she looked more than happy to usher you in the house, saying how chilly the night was and you made sure to pay the driver, thanking him for his service as you dragged the luggage in.

A wave of nostalgia hit you as your eyes wandered off to observe each corner, but your grandma didn’t hear any of it, making sure her granddaughter was well fed and rested after the long journey.

She spent a good while telling you embarrassing stories of your father during dinner, which you listened to with delight, sharing your own stories with zeal before you climbed up the stairs, opening the door to the room you used to use each time you stayed over as a child.

It didn’t change, the bed was still too big for you, the windows were spotless as if it had been cleaned frequently and the scent of old books paired with a tinge of vanilla filled your senses. Your body felt calm and you couldn’t remember the last time you had felt this way.

Calling your parents, you updated them by telling you had reached safely as you walked in the balcony, feeling comfortable in a sweatshirt and cotton shorts. The night sky resembled a velvet blanket full of glistening stars.

However, a figure clad in all black captured your attention. It was a bit beyond one in the morning, which is why it was unsettling to see someone walk in such dim lights. The stranger made his way towards your neighbouring house, making you wonder if he lived there.

Shrugging, you sighed. Sitting at one place for hours does tire your body, so you proceed to finally get into your cozy bed, setting an alarm before your grandma comes in to check if you require anything.

“Sweet dreams my little peanut,” your grandma smiled, closing the door behind you as you replied back with a gentle voice.

“Sweet dreams, Gigi!” It was a nickname you used for her, she found it lovely.

The placid atmosphere and the distant sound of waves acted as a catalyst to your sleep, and you slept soundly, not knowing that the calmness was just a start to your inevitable venture—something no one could have prepared you for.

You found yourself walking alongside your Gigi to visit the lady next door in the afternoon. She was a kind soul—as stated by your grandma, not to mention that she treated her like her own family, making sure to provide help whenever she could and that’s the reason why you were going to meet her.

It wasn’t the first time; apparently you used to play in their veranda a lot as a child, which again, you didn’t remember. However, when the lady—Mrs. Sim, opened the door, the memories came rushing back to you. She was jolly, almost as if she was waiting for your arrival and soon, you were engulfed into a sweet hug.

She called out your name in sheer excitement, leaning back to take a good look at your face, which sported a silly smile due to embarrassment.

“Aw, love. You’ve grown into such a pretty young lady,” she gushed, ushering you both inside and into the living room area.

“And you don’t look a day over twenty, Mrs. Sim,” you replied, not lying considering how youthful she appeared to be.

Her smile only widened at your comment, “now, another word and I’ll be floating in the clouds,” she said, making you chuckle as you got engaged in a conversation, sipping on the cranberry juice which Mrs. Sim had so kindly offered you.

It was decided that you’d be having lunch together, and you tried your best to help the two women in the kitchen but you were soon shoved out, saying you don’t have to do a thing and rest—that’s the purpose of your vacations.

Which made you sit down and use your phone, scrolling through random apps and replying to all the texts.

“Y/n!” Soon, you were called into the kitchen, and you poked your head in with a smile.

“Yes, Gigi?”

“Oh, peanut, can you please go upstairs and call Jake for lunch? It’s almost done.” She asked.

You tilted your head in confusion, mind wandering back to the guy you had seen last night and you came to the conclusion that Jake might be Mrs. Sim’s son.

You nodded, heading up the wooden staircase. Would you have to introduce yourself to him? Would it get awkward? You had no clue.

Knocking on the door twice, you took a step back and patiently waited for the door to open and so, you tried again to no avail. You wondered if he had his headphones on, which left you with no choice but to open the door, peeking in slightly only to find the room empty.

“Oh,” you let out, closing the door behind you for the sake of privacy.

“He’s not in his room,” you informed Mrs. Sim.

She sighed, serving a good portion of food for all of you, “I could have sworn he didn’t go out,” she shook her head as you three sat down. You let the elders start eating first and only then you picked up your chopsticks to do the same.

“I haven’t seen him in a while, what’s the tough guy up to?” Your Gigi asked.

“He’s busy enrolling himself into universities,” Mrs. Sim says, a sad smile taking over her face, “he says he doesn’t want to leave me and is aiming for nearby universities.”

“My my, isn’t he a darling boy?” Your grandma praised while you chewed on your food, which melted right in your mouth, silently eating while hearing them converse.

It didn’t take long for your grandma to ask them to come over for dinner the very next day, “it’s only fair that I cook for you too,” she argued when Mrs. Sim told her that she shouldn’t bother.

This time, your grandma let you help with the cooking, and of course, you were sent to invite the Sims over for dinner. You hugged your white cardigan close to your body—the nights tend to get chilly. Walking over to the neighbouring home, you rang the bell and were greeted with the sight of Mrs. Sim, who actually dressed up for the little dinner party.

“Oh, darling. Can you please call Jake down for dinner too?” She asked you as she was busy tidying up her own kitchen.

“Of course,” you smiled.

It was the second time you were heading up the stairs. This time, you were sure you’d be meeting the said boy. You found yourself standing right in front of his room yet again, gulping down your nervousness. It wasn’t as if you weren’t used to introducing yourself to new people, school made sure you knew how to do that, however, your nerves were acting up.

With a deep breath, you knocked on the door, twice—just like the last time. The difference, however, was that the door was opened in this instance.

The scent of an intoxicating blend of masculinity and sophistication announced his presence, undertones of musk and wood laced up, providing him a complex aura altogether.

A tall guy with parted black hair leaned against the doorframe, eyebrow perfectly raised in question, his arms folded as his honey brown eyes with the slightest speckles of gold stared your way, his plump lips soon curling up into what seemed to be an assortment of a smile and a smirk.

“You must be Y/n,” he stated, standing up straight, which caused his muscles to flex enough to the point it was visible in his white button up.

You licked your lips unknowingly, moistening them up before you nodded, extending your hand for him to shake, “pleasure meeting you, Jake.”

His eyes travelled down from your face to your hand, a low chuckle left his mouth, him opening the door and stepping out, coming closer to you as he grabbed your smaller hand in his bigger, warmer ones in a firm handshake.

“I can see why my mom can’t stop talking about you,” he said, making you tilt your head in question, eyes never leaving his face which was captivating.

“And why is that so?” You asked, stepping back slightly as he leaned in to whisper in your ear.

“Because you seem to be a good girl,” he breathed, making you go still as he leaned back with the same smirk, leaving you behind, walking down the stairs.

Now, you didn’t expect the situation to turn out this way, yet you knew that talking to him further would only cause your head to hurt.

What even made him think about you being a good girl?

Is it your outfit? Plain, loose jeans paired with a pink top and cardigan. It’s basic enough not to be categorized so easily.

You scoff to yourself, already hating the situation as you walk downstairs, only to find Jake with a smile that genuinely looked sweet while he talked to his mother, helping her lock the door.

“I see you met Jaeyun,” she smiled, and you nodded, sitting alongside her, not sparing a glance at the said boy as you didn’t even know his real name was Jaeyun.

The table was set for four, which made you sit right across from Jake, who’s demeanour had changed as he complimented your granny, who laughed at his sweetness.

“Here, have some more,” he says, serving another portion to your grandma, who cooed at his kind conduct at the table.

He made sure to be on his best behaviour, only in front of others but when his gaze fell towards you, a bored expression overtook his features, which no one paid attention to.

You rolled your eyes. It hadn’t even been a whole day since you met and yet the boy made you dread his presence. He wasn’t being straight up rude per se, however his actions weren’t subtle either just like how he completely ignored your existence during the entirety of the dinner.

He offered to clean up, which included him having to clean up your plate as well, which was something he did with a frown on his face as Mrs. Sim endorsed that he should help with the household work.

Both ladies were in awe of how well mannered Jake was, and it left you irritated to no end before Mrs. Sim called out your name softly.

“Jake’s been acting distant lately,” she told you in a soft voice, making sure the said boy doesn’t hear you both, “and comes home late from his part time work, doesn’t share a lot these days too,” she sighs before looking at you softly, “you’re such a lovely girl, Y/n. I’m sure Jaeyun would love to have you as a friend he can rely on. Will you please look after him?” She asked, eyes sincere with worry for her son.

Now, you were provided with two choices—one to say yes and agree, but you’d have to be in Jake’s proximity for that. The second one would be a plain no, which would sound disrespectful and insolent.

So you put on your most convincing smile, which turned into an unadulterated one when you saw her being concerned about her son, “of course, I’ll do that, Mrs. Sim.”

“Oh please! Call me auntie,” she swatted her hand at your formal usage of name and you laughed, agreeing.

Since the dinner was summed up now and the dishes were done, courtesy of Jaeyun; you were asked to walk them back home, which wasn’t even a two minute walk, however you couldn’t say no to your grandma and hence, you agreed.

Mrs. Sim—or your auntie Sim, thanked you for the dinner, and proposed to at least have one meal of the day together each day, which you thought was a lovely idea given that you had grown to like the lady.

You were just about to leave when she went inside but a firm grip on your wrist stopped you right away, making you look up at Jake in question.

“You don’t have to bother being my friend, you’ll only be a hindrance in my way,” he says smoothly.

Your expression turns sour, almost as if you were bored, “why? So you can keep your fake good boy persona up and going?” You said, mimicking his tone.

Not expecting such a reply, he let out a surprised scoff, mixed with the slightest chuckle, “so what? It doesn’t concern you. Or are you offended that I’m not actually good, like you,” he whispered, leaning close, which made you realize how tall he actually was, “you know nothing about me, princess.”

The nickname rolled off his tongue seamlessly, sending a shiver down your spine while you kept a straight face, trying not to seem affected at all.

“Neither do you know about me, Sim. So stop making assumptions and just because I’m nice doesn’t mean I’ll take your bullshit.” You rolled your eyes, saying it all in one go before turning around to leave.

“You should be scared of me,” he chuckles behind you.

“In your dreams,” you retorted, not sparing him another glance as your heart palpitated.

You had never talked to anyone in such a manner before, it gave a sense of newfound confidence—which you needed.

Jake simply watched you walk back to your place, shaking his head once you disappeared from his eyesight and still, a humorous smile never left his face.

You had updated your parents about your three days here and later called your friend to do the same, who was also busy with her own vacation bucket list, yet it was a refreshing talk given that you currently did not have much to do to entertain yourself.

Which left you to grab your swimwear and go for a swim—utilizing the pool in your backyard.

Gigi loved to sit by the pool and made sure that it was cleaned every now and then. She had gotten it cleaned right in the morning today, which also gives you an opportunity to use it.

The sunset casted a warm glow on the calm waves of the pool, the slight breeze in the air making it serene as you immerse yourself in the water, it closing you right in, feeling like a warm hug.

You started slowly with effortless strokes, enjoying the feeling of lukewarm water on your body. You stopped after a while, resting as you let your body float with your eyes closed.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we now?” A voice broke your state of tranquillity, your eyes opening in a swift and the water sloshed with how fast you turned around.

Of course, it was none other than Jake sim who sat on the pool lounge chair, arms behind his back as if he was sitting to enjoy the view.

“The fuck are you doing here?” You breathed out in question.

He looked at you, feigning disappointment as he leaned to look down at you, “oh, princess. Didn’t they teach you not to use such filthy words?”

His condescending tone only riled you up, “didn’t they teach you not to show up at someone’s place unannounced?” You mocked, getting out of the pool and trying to find your towel, only for you to realize he was sitting right on it.

“I’m simply here to get cumin from your grandma, we ran out of it, you see,” he explained, not sounding sincere as he let his eyes wander all over your wet body, barely covered with your bikini.

Your eyes, however, focused on the cigarette he took out from his pocket, making you gasp as you made your way towards him in an attempt to snatch it off his fingers.

Nevertheless, Jake was quicker to get up, grabbing your hand which was extended and pinning it up against the wall, his body pressed up against yours, successfully making your body go still with shock.

Yeah, you didn’t really adore your body’s fight or flight response.

“Fuck—” your eyes widened, yet he wasn’t the one to give you even a second to complain.

“Shh, princess. I don’t want a single bad word coming out of your mouth now, is that understood?” He asked, using his condenscending tone again.

You could feel every ounce of confidence which you had yesterday leaving your body as you stared into his honey eyes, an unconscious slight nod betraying you.

That satisfied him, although he didn’t bother changing his position, nor did he mind your wet body as he took out a lighter from his free hand, lighting up the flame, keeping it close to the cigarette which was pressed in between his lips.

Your eyes were transfixed on his face, observing how swiftly he closed the lighter, stuffing it in his pocket right before he looked away, blowing smoke into the air, giving you the greatest opportunity to stare at his consummate side profile.

He took the joint back in his fingers, returning his attention your way, “ever smoked before?” He asked, tone seemingly raspier.

Not trusting your voice, you simply shook your head as to provide him an answer.

He snickered, “of course you haven’t. It goes against your good girl rulebook, doesn’t it?”

“Shut up!” Your sudden outburst of anger only humoured him, even more so when you tried to snatch the cigarette from him using your free hand to prove him wrong.

He didn’t let it happen.

Instead, you found yourself looking right into his eyes with his slender fingers holding your chin in place. His breath was cool with a lingering smell of mint—which was probably due to the flavour of cigarette.

“Want it that bad now?” He raised his brows, “open your mouth,” he ordered, not giving you a second to comply, his thumb parting your lips as he desired.

He took a drag, inhaling the smoke deeply as you gulped, you could hear your heartbeat, or maybe that was simply how aware you were of your surroundings—your proximity with Jake.

Tilting his head, he leaned in again, mouth parted just the right amount. He let the smoke out and into your mouth in an agonizingly slow fashion, his lips on the verge of touching yours.

Your subconscious took over once you inhaled the smoke and it hit your throat. The burning sensation caused you to push him off as you coughed out in distress.

“Guess you can’t handle it, princess,” he clicked his tongue in disappointment.

You glared his way, composing yourself enough to actually snatch the cigarette from his fingers and take a deep puff, ignoring the way it burned your throat. It was your turn to surprise him by pulling him closer, grabbing his collar.

Your eyes were closed when you leaned in, blowing the smoke right into his mouth, causing him to take it all in, him never once closing his eyes. He stared at you with such intensity that you could feel it, despite your eyes being closed.

Once you were done, you breathed deeply, throwing the cigarette on the ground, “don’t get ahead of yourself, Sim,” that’s all you said before walking back into your home, rushing up the stairs and into your room just to avoid running into him again.

Only when you were in the safety of your room, you let out a frustrated scream right into your pillow.

Three days in your vacation and this boy had already driven you insane to the point you had smoked right into his mouth.

You took a warm shower before taking a nap—something you required to calm your heart before you saw him at dinner, again.

In contrast to yesterday, when he didn’t provide you with an ounce of attention, his behaviour had done a solid one eighty as now, he provided you with his utmost attention, passing you subtle smirks during the entirety of the dinner.

You were more than glad when auntie Sim distracted you by indulging in random conversations, and you can easily say you enjoyed the information she was providing you with at the given moment.

“And, and!” Auntie Sim said full of excitement, “Our Jaeyunie was four and you were three when it happened. He was so curious about you playing on the beach building sandcastles alone, he wanted to talk to you and so he collected flowers from our garden and gave them to you,” she cooed.

You looked at the boy, surprised with the information of him being a sweet baby. Now, he was the one who tried to stop his mother from spilling the stories any further, averting his gaze but you didn’t let it go.

“Aw! That’s so cute Jaeyunie. Where are my flowers now?” You asked, voice annoyingly high to bother him.

Your grandma laughed as auntie Sim only urged Jake to get some for you. He looked your way, annoyed and you only passed him a sweet smile.

You couldn’t deny, being a menace did feel good at times and the dinner wasn’t so bad after all.

Yet, the events of the evening didn’t let you sleep, causing you to walk on the balcony yet again and you couldn’t miss the figure clad in all black leaving your neighbour’s home yet again, at two after midnight nonetheless.

It wasn’t something you should be indulging in yet you couldn’t help but wonder.

What exactly was Jake up to?

In these ten days of vacation, you had done quite a few things which included learning a few recipes with your grandma, bickering with your neighbour, minus the proximity as you made your mission to stay away for the sake of your poor heart. Majorly, you had grown to adore the beautiful beach which was right behind your home.

Seeing how you had nothing to do in the given moment, you found yourself sitting on the warmth of the sand yet again, close enough for your feet to touch the water which was cold, juxtaposing the temperature of your body.

You didn’t know how long you sat there dazed, watching the never ending blue waves stretching as far as possible, till you gasped and got taken back into reality once a hand on your shoulder shook you in annoyance.

It was none other than Jake, who stood there with his jaw clenched, a bouquet of flowers resting in his right hand, causing you to raise your brows at him.

“Mom forced me to do this, okay?” He huffed, handing you over the multicoloured bundle of happiness.

It didn’t matter that it was Jake who gave you the flowers, it still made you happy, a smile growing on your face as the scent infiltrated your senses.

This certainly wasn’t the kind of reaction Jake was expecting from you. He was sure you’d throw a snarky remark or maybe simply not take the flowers from him, but even you couldn’t deny the beauty of nature.

“Thank you,” you whispered under your breath, surprising him even more.

It was one of the days you felt calm, not wanting to channelize your energy into something as useless as picking up a fight, however, Jake won’t leave without that happening.

“That’s it? You just need flowers to shut up?” He tantalizes you to answer back.

You only give him a sour look in return, wondering what he’s even doing on the beach wearing shoes, clad in leather jacket as if he was going for the cliché illegal races you see in movies.

“You should go, Jaeyunie,” you nodded with a fake smile.

Your phone started ringing just then, and Jake caught the display name right before you picked up the call.

It was Lee Heeseung—the guy who was your study partner in school and also the guy who was your competition when it came to academics.

The call wasn’t long, he had simply contacted you to inform you about the university he got into as you also filled him up with the university you got accepted into.

You assumed that Jake would have gone back, which wasn’t the case as he stood behind you, eavesdropping shamelessly. His expression turned into one of realization when he saw you actually smiling and talking sweetly to whoever was the guy who had called you, a scoff leaving his mouth on its own accord.

“Yeah! Yeah, of course. Will text you later, goodbye!” You smiled, concluding the conversation only to find Jake still standing at the same spot, making you look at him in question.

“Didn’t know you had a boyfriend,” he said, seeming bored.

A sigh left your mouth, Jake was great at making assumptions, “why do you care?” You asked.

“I don’t,” he replied, not missing a beat, “I should go, I have work to do,” he said, walking back to his place.

Your lips worked before you could process anything, “yeah? Like you do every night?” You asked.

He stilled, turning back in a second and crouching down to your level, grabbing your nape, pulling you close to him, “don’t get involved in my matters, Y/n. I’m saying this for your own fucking good,” he seethed out, causing you to gulp, your heartbeat rising up due to the proximity again.

“What are you up to, Jakey?” You asked teasingly, trying to diffuse the tension.

“Nothing that concerns you, princess. I’m being serious, okay?” He held eye contact, repeating the last word again, and you nodded.

“Okay,” you mumbled as you felt him caressing your nape gently before he got up, leaving you there wordlessly.

You didn’t realize how hard you were clutching the flowers while watching his walking figure. The sudden mood switch made you curious, and despite him warning you, it was something you wanted to see for yourself.

Was he in trouble? Was he caught up in illegal activities? Or was he simply out partying somewhere?

Another sigh left your lips.

You shouldn’t get involved in his matters.

You got yourself involved in his matters.

Sneaking out of your home was easy and you made sure to grab your jacket as the night got chillier than usual. All this to follow Jake.

It was easy since he didn’t use any cars, walking towards his desired destination. It almost felt comical how you tried to tiptoe for a total of fifteen minutes, hiding in random alleyways whenever you made even the slightest noise of stepping on a pebble.

For a second you even regretted coming out and spending so much energy on this, till you saw Jake actually stop and get inside an alleyway, which you approached exactly two minutes after he went in.

Peeking in, you noticed how wide the way actually was, people clad in black and hoodies which hid their faces were present all over, more than thirty people you’d estimate.

You squint your eyes to get a better focus of what they were up to, only for them to widen in realization when you found them exchanging packets and smoking what looked like drugs. Jake was also engaged in a conversation with a guy, purchasing drugs from him, which caused you to gasp slowly.

“Looking for something, kid?” A deep, hoarse voice spoke near your ear, causing you to flinch and move away, turning around to see a guy full of tattoos smiling down at you, which disgusted you.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, looking towards your right to see Jake looking your way, eyes full of shock and worry as he whispered your name under his breath, not believing that you’d actually follow him there despite him saying a firm no to you.

Maybe he was right, maybe you shouldn’t have come here.

“Uhm, I—I lost my way back home. I’ll get going now, I didn’t see anything I promise! You guys please continue,” you said, trying to sprint but the guy was quick to hold your jacket, making you stop as Jake rushed your way, leaving whatever he was up to.

Before anyone could take up any action, the sound of police sirens alerted everyone in the vicinity, which was more than enough for all the guys to scramble as you stood there with panic, trying to move your body seeing how the guys were climbing up the wall full of graffiti on the other side as it was the only way to their escapade.

“Run,” Jake breathed out, grabbing your smaller hand in his without any notice and running towards the same way, his jaw was clenched.

You followed wordlessly, mouth open with how deeply you were breathing, chest heaving up and down while you ran and reached the wall.

The sirens got closer as if someone had tipped the cops to search this particular area and you were worried if you both would get caught up in this mess.

“Jump,” he commanded and you stared at the wall, shaking your head.

“I—I can’t,” you stuttered, watching how the others claimed it

He pulled you closer, picking you up with ease as to provide you with some kind of elevation, which definitely helped when you grabbed on to the top brick, pushing your body up and jumping to the other side, stumbling slighting as you fell down.

Jake was swift, landing by your side before he grabbed your hand again, pulling you up with him to run again. Your legs hurt yet you didn’t stop till he pulled you by his side, getting a bobby pin out of his pocket to unlock the door, which he opened in a go and pulled you inside, locking the door.

Silence.

Your breathing is all you could hear, but Jake’s eyes were louder than anything else, which scared you even further.

“I specifically told you to stay out of it, what’s so hard to understand here?” He more or less shouted, pushing you against the wall.

You gulped, not looking at his face but he wasn’t having it, he grabbed your chin and forced you to look his way.

“What if they did something to you? What if the police caught you? What if something had happened to you?” His voice got smaller after each sentence, more breathy and desperate, making your heart break when he genuinely made it seem like he cared about you.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, which probably wasn’t helpful at the given second, “I thought that you were in trouble and,” you whispered, not having more to say.

He sighed, resting his forehead on yours as his eyes closed to get some rest. You couldn’t move, your whole body felt more alive than ever, maybe it was the adrenaline rush, or simply Jake being so close to you.

He stepped back after a few seconds, “go change,” he said, and that’s when you looked around to find yourself in a boutique full of clothes.

“W—why?” You asked.

“Because the cop saw us, he knows what we’re wearing,” he answered, trying to find clothes his size.

Maybe he saw you when you were climbing up, meaning that you barely escaped him.

“But surveillance cameras? Technically, won’t this be considered stealing?” You bit your lip.

“There are none,” he replied, “and we have more pressing matters than to sit and worry about stealing.”

You nodded even though he wasn’t looking your way, trying to find some outfit, or rather, you were stealing it given the circumstances.

“So, why were you out there?”

“I should be asking you that, Y/n,” he said when you went into the changing room.

“You had drugs with you!” Your voice boomed from the stall and he simply took off his shirt in the store.

“So what?” He uttered, pissed.

“Did you smoke drugs that day too? Did you give me drugs?” You screeched while asking and he opened the curtains, seeing you soothing the top down.

“I don’t fucking do drugs,” he groaned, “I buy it and sell it to the guys next town at a higher price,” he explained.

The dim light from the changing stall only enhanced Jake’s shirtless body, his abs full on display alongside his torso, which was well built. Your eyes settled on the tattoo he had on his left side of the rib.

Taking a step further, your fingers gently traced the intricate design, making him shiver without you knowing, his fingers clasping around your wrist to keep it away again.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He whispered.

“I—” you started speaking, looking at him with wide eyes which shone of innocence and worry, lips jutted in the slightest pout and hair slightly messy.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he breathes out, not letting you complete your sentence, coming closer to your face, “why do you have to do everything I tell you not to do?” He asked, however his tone wasn’t filled with anger.

It was something you quite couldn’t pinpoint yourself.

He sighed, “let’s get you home.”

“Are we gonna walk back? Isn’t it too dangerous?” You asked as he turned around to put on a shirt averting your eyes from his back which flexed with his movements, your body felt warm and throat parched, especially when he turned around with a smirk.

“We’re driving back home.”

You soon found yourself on a lookout at the garage entrance of what Jake called an illegal garage which was used for repairing old racing cars. The place wasn’t authorized, which is why stealing from here would work perfectly.

“How do you even know this?” You asked, exasperated as your nerves got the best of you.

It certainly didn’t help that the place was dark, and Jake wasn’t replying as he was hot wiring the car without a number plate

You had no idea where he learned that from.

“You need to learn things if you want to survive in this world, darling,” he said, focusing on his work, not once thinking how you’d shiver with his use of nicknames.

He’s glad it’s not some new high tech car, which he won’t be able to hot wire as they contain ignition immobilizers, which makes it impossible for it to happen—you nodded as he explained all of this, your focus elsewhere.

“Let’s go,” he said after a few minutes, seemingly done with his work.

You rushed to get into the car, a scream leaving your mouth as he started driving almost instantly, his fingers gripping the steering wheels hard enough for his veins to pop out as you struggled to put on the seatbelt.

“I can’t believe this is actually happening,” you let out in half a scream.

“Why? Not having fun now, princess?” He chuckled as he changed the gear, resting his hand on your thighs right after which caused you to squirm around in your seat.

Your body was extra attentive when he was around, and you weren’t sure how to control your heart anymore, so you closed your eyes.

“What’s so fun about this?” You asked, clutching the seatbelt.

“You,” he confessed, messing up with your brain even further.

“I hate you,” you mumbled, looking elsewhere.

You didn’t trust his driving despite it seeming effortless, he was over speeding after all.

“Now, we both know that’s not true, princess,” he stated and you huffed, knowing that he was right ignoring the fact that he was insufferable.

His pace ensured you to reach home in record time, your legs felt wobbly the second you stepped on the road.

“Stay here, I’ll be back in a second,” he rushed, leaving you standing alone as he parked the car outside a random garage two minutes away from your place.

It was hard to believe how you got chased by police, stole clothes and a fully functional car all in one night.

You saw him jogging back to you after a few minutes, standing right in front of you, “I think I should get back now,” you started to stay, however he stopped you.

“You can’t do that, your gate’s got a surveillance camera so we need to go from the back side,” he stated, his hand automatically reaching for yours as you started to make way towards the back side, on the sand.

All of a sudden, you felt smaller, heat creeping up your neck due to the body contact and you let him guide you wordlessly before you realized something.

“Wait, how will you go back? Your place doesn’t have a back door,” you asked and he shrugged.

“I’ll just jump to the other side of the garden wall, princess. You don’t need to worry about me,” he teased and you pushed him away, the warmth of his hand leaving yours.

Tiptoeing into your home, you shut the back door as silently as possible before you rushed up the stairs and almost into your room, only to find Jake coming up with you.

“What are you doing?” You whisper asked, eyes wide.

“I’m curious about your room,” he answered with that usual smirk of his and you wanted nothing more than to slap it off his face.

“You—” you tried to say, but stopped the second you heard another voice.

“Oh, Peanut? You’re awake?” Your grandma’s voice called out from the balcony, and your mouth hung open as you shoved Jake into your room in an effort to hide him.

“Y—yes, Gigi! I woke up to get some water,” you lied, wincing slightly as she acknowledged it and wished you a good night in her soft tone.

You rushed in and locked the door, only to find Jake getting cozy in your bed.

It was one of those days when your grandma missed your grandpa, and she spent hours on the balcony, looking at the glistening stars to find solace. You felt sad but the more pressing matter here was—how to get Jake out of your room?

He can’t leave from the back door, he can’t go out from the front door as Gigi would see him, your room windows weren’t the opening type which left you with no option but for him to spend the night right here, with you.

“Now what?” You asked, hand on your forehead while you paced around the room.

“What? We sleep together, of course.” He had a cheeky smile on his face.

“Are you crazy?” You almost screamed, but you didn’t wanna alert your grandma, which made you repeat it in a hushed tone.

“Why? Too scared to sleep with me? You’re the reason we’re in this situation, princess,” he smirked.

You sighed. He was right about that part but you weren’t willing to sleep with him, so you proceeded to ignore him as you went into the bathroom to change into your comfortable clothes for the night.

Jake simply patted the bed when you came out, silently asking you to sit next to him, and suddenly you realized that you’re locked up in a room with him, which didn’t help your nerves as you sat down with him.

Somehow everything was rebellious against your rules when it concerned Sim Jaeyun.

“Can’t you sleep on the floor?” You almost whined.

He cocked his brow, “is that what I get after helping you escape?”

“That’s not it—”

“So? Is it the boyfriend?”

“I don’t have any—”

“The guy you were talking to in the morning.”

“He’s a friend—”

“Then there’s no problem, right?” he rasped.

You didn’t realize your lip was bitten till his thumb brushed against your bottom lip, tugging on it gently to free it, caressing it while looking into your eyes.

“Right?” He repeated.

“Yeah,” you breathed, nodding ever so slightly.

“Atta girl,” he chuckled, flustering you as you tried to look away, which wasn’t something Jake allowed, his fingers gripping your chin now, “god, you look so fucking innocent.”

“I’m not!” You argued.

“Yeah? Have you been kissed before, princess?” He asks, amused.

His deep voice sends a shiver down your spine, to the point you almost whimpered out loud, but you were glad you didn’t, “no. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t fucked anyone before.” You confessed, eyes on his plump lips.

“Oh? Who’s the loser who fucked you without even kissing your prettiest lips?” He asked, frustrated that someone even dared to touch you, even though his words said otherwise.

You gulped, “we were drunk,” you whispered, remembering your graduation party and how the guy had failed to please you.

“Did he make you feel good?” Jake asked, expression serious.

“What?” You were surprised by his question.

He wasted no time in pulling you to his lap, your gasp only made him smirk wider, his hands resting on your waist, squeezing it lightly.

“Did he satisfy you, princess?” His voice was an octave deeper, giving you goosebumps.

“H—he didn’t,” you stutter, which pissed him further, his jaw tensed.

“So you’re telling me that some asshole was deep inside you and didn’t even bother making you feel good?” He scoffed.

“Jake—”

“Y’know what I would have done instead?” He asked, caressing your cheek, his thumb resting on your lips right after, “I’d kiss your lips till you get obsessed with mine.” his hooded eyes lured you in.

His fingers travelled down to your neck, rubbing circles just above your clavicle, “I’d kiss you till my lips memorize every inch of your body, till your mind goes blank,” he whispers, biting your earlobe.

You breathe in deeply, a whimper leaving your mouth, Jake’s name rolling off your tongue in a whisper right after, making him groan in response.

“I’d ruin you, princess,” he breathes, eyes meeting yours.

“Please.” You struggled to breathe, his pointy nose brushing against yours, lips threatening to kiss.

“Say it,” he urged you, pulling your body impossibly closer on his lap.

There was no denying that Jake made you lose every sense of rationality and morals in you, it almost felt as if you were intoxicated in his presence, your heart raced, thumping faster than ever, urging you to say yes.

“Please ruin me, Jake,” you whispered, giving in and looking at him with innocent eyes.

“That’s a good girl.”

He was swift to push you down on the mattress, getting on top of you with hungry eyes to the point you almost felt as if you were a prey, and you liked it.

His cold chain brushed against your clavicle, making you shiver as he leaned down to press his lips against yours in a fervent kiss, a groan leaving his mouth as he finally had you so close to him.

Your fingers held on to his shoulders desperately, he was difficult to resist, and who were you to resist such pleasure? His plush lips moulding against yours, his hand squeezing your waist as you allowed yourself to get immersed into him.

You could feel the warmth spreading in your abdomen like wildfire, a gasp giving him the perfect opportunity to taste you, sliding his tongue down your mouth to deepen the kiss, the taste of chocolate lingering in his mouth and you let yourself moan into his lips.

You tugged on his hair, realizing how correct he was about you being obsessed with his lips as you found yourself chasing after it when he broke the kiss, making him chuckle at your desperation.

“So fucking pretty,” he muttered, staring at your slightly swollen lips, which glistened with the mixture of your spit.

He wasn’t the one to waste time, his tongue licking your neck, placing kisses all over it, causing you to squirm and pant till he found the spot which had you rolling your eyes with sheer pleasure.

Placing a hand over your mouth to silence your moans, he felt a feeling of possessiveness take over him. You looked so fucked out and he hadn’t even done anything to you yet, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he sees someone else with you.

The mere thought had him biting and sucking on your skin in an attempt to mark the very spot which had you shivering and your toes curling. He slipped his other hand inside your flimsy tee, and in your bra, feeling your hardened nipples which he flicked between his fingers.

Your body felt more awake than ever, each touch of his getting a reaction out of you, “so responsive, have you been waiting for this, princess?”

You could only nod in desperation, trying your best to keep your moans at bay, not wanting to alert your grandma. He kissed your cheek before he got up to get rid of his own clothes, giving you a few seconds to stare at his faint abs, highlighted by the dim lights along with his tattoo, which you so desperately wanted to kiss.

The image of you looking his way with such big eyes, chest heaving up and down only ignited the carnal feeling of him wanting to be deep inside you.

It all felt new to you, being aware and not drunk this time, however it wasn’t just that—Jake made you feel this way, your thighs closing when you felt a fluttering sensation down your abdomen.

“Undress,” he ordered.

“What—”

“Undress for me, darling,” his words were smoother than the melted butter, making you work upon it instantly.

His eyes were fixated on your figure the entire time you took to get your clothing off, feeling shy under his gaze, not to mention the outline of his cock in his boxers intrigued you even further.

“Fuck, you’re all mine,” he said under his breath.

His plush lips were soon on your tits, his other hand fondling and caressing your nipple while he worked his tongue, swirling it ever so perfectly before giving it a soft bite, making you arch your back as you bit on your discarded clothes, tears forming in your eyes with these euphoric sensations.

He’s giving you all you could ask for and you? You’re a mess with your lipstick smudged and ragged breathing. Just when you thought that Jake couldn’t get you anymore wilder, he stuffed his hand down your wet panties, which brushed against your extremely sensitive clit. Even biting your clothes couldn’t stop a moan coming out of your mouth.

“You like it, baby? That’s my good girl. So pretty and wet all for daddy, yeah? Daddy’s gonna taste you now, princess,” his spoke, his accent deep.

“Daddy?” you asked, whimpering right after when his lips touched your bare pussy, pressing a kiss on your clit.

There was something in the way he addressed himself so confidently which made you want to submit yourself to him fully, only pushing yourself deeper into sub space as he worshipped every inch of your body.

“That’s right, baby,” he spoke against your, sending waves of pleasure through your body as his strong hands held your thighs open.

Obscene noises of him licking and sucking resonated the room as you bucked up your hips unconsciously, desperate for friction, making his cock twitch while he licked languid strokes up and down your cunt, his hot breath fanning your folds, wishing to hear you moan despite the circumstances.

“Shh, princess. We don’t want your grandma to know now, do we?” He smirked.

Your hand slithers into Jake’s hair, tugging on it as you convulse in pleasure, letting him continue his ministrations on your leaking pussy, his lips soft unlike his actions, which were rushed and aimed at your pleasure.

Your eyes roll back, arousal reaching its peak at the unadulterated pleasure as you repeated his name when he moved down to shove his tongue into your cunt, lapping at your juices when you reach your orgasm.

Yet he doesn’t stop, inserting his slender finger in your tight hole, pumping it in and out gently at first while you whine and he gets up, wetness coating his lips. He lets you taste yourself by kissing you yet again, his fingers entertaining your cunt.

Your breaths are heavier, louder and you can’t wait to have his cock shoved into you. You weren’t the one to have lewd thoughts in general yet here you were, moaning into Jake’s mouth, clenching around his two fingers which thrusted into you at a newfound speed.

“Yes, daddy! Yes, oh god,” you mumbled to yourself, letting the lust consume you.

His fingers curled inside you before he decided that you were ready for his cock.

“Let’s see how desperate you are, beg for daddy’s cock, princess,” he demanded.

Now that his cock was in view, you stared at it dumbfounded. It was veiny and stood hard and leaking, the tip was red and ready to fuck you dumb, it pushed you over the edge.

“Please, daddy? I’ll be a good girl for y—you please fuck me?” A tear left your eye, tainting your image even further which aroused Jake as a sadistic smile overtook his face.

You continued to beg him, and he gave you no warning as he lined his tip on your entrance, coating it with your juices, almost pushing it all in but instead, he gave you just the tip, which made you beg out of frustration.

“Tell me about your darkest fantasies,” Jake teased, seeing you pout and whine, “do it baby, only then you’ll get this cock into you.”

You were going crazy, “I—I want to be fucked awake,” you confessed, hiding your face.

“Is that so? How cute,” he commented, pulling your body flush.

Within a second, he thrusted into you sharply, your wet juices acting as the perfect lube to suck his cock right in as he bottomed out fully, cussing at the feeling of your walls clenching around him.

You could feel the imprint of his dick on your lower abdomen, and he pressed on it with a proud smirk, only to make you whimper lowly, your voice quivering with deep he was in you, “big—so big.”

You laid beneath Jake in such a way that the sight was captivating for him, your vulnerability paired with his ignited primal hunger.

He firmly wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling out slightly before he thrusted into you again as you were clinging onto him.

He had never found anyone like you before, it was as if you were the only one for him, the one who reacts to his touch in such ways, the one who drives him insane to the point he has to rile you up just to get you to talk to him.

His slow thrusts soon turned into relentless, pleasure inducing thrusts, and you found yourself bucking your hips up to meet him, helping him reach deeper spots in you, his tip hitting your g-spot.

Choked moans escaped your lips, reaching the point of complete incoherence as you got drunk in the intensity of Jake’s presence, your senses overwhelmed as he fucked you without any interruptions.

“Daddy—please!”

Sensing that you were close, he thrusted harder, twitching inside your pussy, his lips capturing yours as you both cried out, reaching your climax in harmony, breathing in deeply before he filled you up with his warm cum, which mixed with your own juices.

“Fuck,” you breathed out, causing him to laugh and pull you in a sweet kiss.

You could see the clear switch in his demeanour when he cleaned you up, asking gentle questions about how you felt or if he went overboard.

He was perfect.

Something had changed in the air, and you both were aware of it, but rather than verbalising it, you slept in each other’s arms, Jake staying up a few minutes just to see your peaceful face.

“Good night, princess.”

Jake woke up early despite not getting enough sleep, still not believing that he fucked you—the prettiest girl he swore he’d ever laid eyes on.

And he was sure to make your desires come true.

You wore nothing but his shirt to sleep, which made your pussy accessible to him, his fingers playing with your folds ever so gently as he didn’t wish to wake you up, not this soon at least.

He continued to do so for a remarkably long time, smiling each time he saw you stir in your sleep, his lips leaving kisses on your neck and shoulder blades till you were fully wet for him.

Jake was shocked when you revealed that you were into somnophilia, but who was he to deny his girl some pleasure?

His other hand was busy taking care of his raging boner, seeing you dressed in his shirt, your scent mixed with his only drove him crazy.

His grip on your thighs was firm when he straddled you, pumping his cock a few times before he pushed it in you with a few thrusts, the stretch being enough to wake you up with a whimper, your state disoriented but the second you realized that Jake was making your wish actually come true, you moaned.

His dick throbbed inside you and you were still not over last night’s adventure as curse words filled the air, along with the mist of your unholy activities and fervent longing as he thrusted with a groan, kissing and nibbling on the skin of your neck.

You were sure you had bruises forming on your clavicle by now, which also extended down your breasts and inner thighs, Jake being particular about having you marked through and through.

You could only sigh and plead for more, beg for more, the word daddy coming out of your mouth effortlessly, which was effective to the point it made Jake fuel with desire as he provided you with the most overwhelming, ecstasy filled orgasm, him coming all over your pussy, pulling out this time.

“I like you,” he revealed all of a sudden, his smile the epitome of boyishness which made you chuckle with your newfound happiness.

That’s one good way to wake up in the morning.

“Guess what, Sim. I like you too,” you confessed, growing shy by the last word and he pulled you in a sweet hug, swinging your body along his, your laughter filling up the room.

You gasped, looking at him with wide eyes.

You had forgotten to help him escape without your grandma knowing.

The escape was successful, and so were your holidays which were nearing. Your sadness was apparent on your face, having no desire to go back leaving your grandma and aunt Sim.

More importantly, Jake.

It has become a routine for him to slip into your room ever so professionally to sleep with you—some nights you did sleep, other nights he gave you every reason to be awake.

Which also served as a solid reason for Jake to stop indulging in the so called drug trade, one instance of almost being caught was enough for you both, not that you were involved in the first place.

He opened up to you, actually acting like a goof at times, juxtaposing his usual bad boy demeanour. He provided you with the best of both worlds.

Your feelings for the guy you used to find annoying were increasing at record speed per day, and now that it was finally one day before you’d leave, you couldn’t help but be bothered by Jake’s absence.

He’s always around, which made you wonder where and what he was up to, especially when you wanted nothing more than to spend your time in his arms, lip quivering at the thought that he might not wish to see you anymore.

However, that wasn’t the case when he showed up in the doorway, huffing and hair messy as if he was running.

“Jaeyun,” you whispered, letting him pull you in the comfort of his warm arms.

“I’m coming,” he breathed, making you look at him with wide eyes.

“What?” You blinked, almost stuttering.

“I’m coming to Seoul with you, princess. I got into the same university,” he chuckled as you snatched the envelope from him, jumping with excitement as tears filled your eyes, hugging him even tighter.

You felt like your heart was going to explode with the excitement, which Jake found heartwarming. He had planned this the second he saw you and got to know you. It was a given that he wanted to be with you.

“What about your mom?” You asked softly, realizing that she’d be alone.

“She’s gonna stay with Gigi. Our ladies are strong women, right?” He asked, caressing your lip, which you had noticed was his habit.

“W—when did you even apply—this is so amazing,” you went on rambling, which was something he adored, but kissing your lips to shut you up was his favourite thing, especially when he got to see your shy smile right after.

“So, we’re gonna be together?” You questioned, shyness taking over.

“You’re wrong if you think you’ll ever get rid of me now, princess,” he smirked, teasing you again.

This side of him made you faux scoff, “but what if I want to get rid of you?” You challenged, knowing well you weren’t capable of that.

He took a step closer to you, his broad smile illuminating the room, his hand resting on your waist pulling you closer, “I’d like to see you try and escape me,” he retorted.

“You want me that much, huh?” Your smile was coy.

He brushed your nose tip with his, making you chuckle with joy.

“I’ll always want my princess.”

THANK YOU FOR READING!

PERMANENT TAGLIST: @ddeonuism @macaroonff @ajayke-reads @en-myworld @lunalovesstories @jayzdaze @deobitifull @silenth1lls @celeste-hoon @mari-oclock @kpoprhia @bolliwon @woniebae @lalalalawon @blessedcursd

permanent taglist open! comment or send an ask to be added <3

#fic : roman holiday #enhypen hard hours #enhypen smut #jake smut #jake hard hours #enhypen imagines #kpop smut #jake x reader #enha smut #jake #enhypen scenarios #jake sim smut

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furioussouls · 7 months ago

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Yandere best friend! x plus sized reader

🌔

Tags: yandere oc male!,cursing, plus sized reader, fem! reader, soft yandere themes and behaviour (I do not condone this sort of behaviour in real life, but alas this is fictional. So enjoy)

Reader uses she/her pronouns

It is a chilly evening in the middle of December. While various people all around the globe are getting ready to celebrate different holidays with their loved ones, you’re sitting at a freezing, wet bus stop.

Exhaling hot, foggy air into your gloved hands, you try to ignore the darkness surrounding you and the station. Usually in the other seasons, staying at this bus station this late at night scared you for different reasons; whether it’s the rustling bushes, the weird sounds from animals residing in the forest or the weird dark figures that you sometimes see out of the corner of your eyes. However, right now it’s the absolute silence that frightens you.

While scanning the area for any dangers your eyes stop at the printed out timetable for the bus arrivals.

Your eyes widen as you see that the next bus that drives by this bus station is at 6 in the morning. “Oh, of fucking course”, you groaned while rubbing your temples with your plump fingers. ‘This is what I get for being a helpful citizen’ ,you thought to yourself and rolled your eyes. While Mrs. Dresley is now settled in nicely in her granddaughter’s apartment (thanks to you), you have to walk all the way home, or probably have to catch an Uber. Or maybe even-

“(Y/N)!”, somebody yelled from behind you.

Alarmed, you jumped back and spun around to see your best friend Elliot. His frame towered over you and he was dressed in a less than weather appropriate jacket, which did little to hide the tattoos that racked over his collarbones and arms. His eyes lit up when he saw your eyes shifted to him and he waved while walking towards you.

“Jesus, Elliot”, you hissed at him. “You scared the absolute shit out of me!” You started walking towards him. The snow beneath your feet crunched beautifully and your body was now pretty adjusted to the cold.

“I’m sorry”, he grinned at you and wrapped his arms around you when you got close. His comforting cologne hit your nostrils, and caused you to sniff your nose, which was already runny from the cold. His big, warm hands glided from your upper back down to your soft hips. His hands lingered and you buried your face in his chest. Before letting you go, his hands went back to your squishiest parts and he gently pat them and exhaled shakily.

“Yeah, I’m sure you are”, you retorted, but your voice was all muffled from putting your face in his chest. It was enough for him to understand you though, judging by his low chuckle. His nose gently rubbed along your temple.

“What are you even doing here?”, you wondered. On Fridays, Elliot usually spends his time training further in Tae kwon do.

“Oh, Mr. Johnson said we’d stop early today. His missus has got the flu. I don’t even know why he would leave her in the first place. I wouldn’t leave my girlfriend if she felt sick. Anyway, I saw you and thought I could take you home?”, He smiled lazily and started unbuttoning his jacket.

“But the training studio is in the opposite direction?”, you raised your eyebrow at him.

His fingers stopped moving along his buttons and he looked up at you and his smile dropped slowly. He looked around and his smile widened, exposing his beautiful teeth and dimples “Wow,(Y/N). Obsessed much? How do you know so much about my whereabouts?” He wiggled his eyebrows and leaned down to put his jacket around you. Weirdly, his fingers were shaking and it doesn’t appear to be from the cold.

You rolled your eyes, but took the jacket. He draped it over your shoulders, already knowing you wouldn’t wear it normally, because you didn’t like the tightness of his jacket around your supple belly.

“Anyway, should I drive us home?”, he asked and walked beside you while matching your pace. You nodded and yawned, the exhaustion of the day catching up to you.

🌔

Elliots hands were shaking while he drove himself and his darling home.

Your beautiful round body fresh in his mind. Your jiggly thighs and big belly, the deliciously rounded hips and arms. Your soft face walking towards him and your beautiful scent, which engulfed him completely when you wrapped your arms around him. His goddess, trusting him enough to drive them home safely.

Your presence was like moonlight shining on a heavenly body of water. He could sit there forever, and bask in the ethereal light. A century wasn’t enough with her. He wishes he could spend a lifetime finding out about every single thing that you like. A lifetime of worship for his one and only. Elliot has filled Notebook upon Notebook with your hobbies, interests, facts about you and pictures he drew himself. Nothing could ever live up to the reality, of course.

He wanted to spoil you, buy you every gorgeous item of clothing and see you dress yourself up like the beautiful goddess you are, buy you the most expensive of perfumes and every expensive item that you put off because of its price range. He will reach the day where he can easily accomplish this goal as a mixed martial artist ,and will then confess his love for you. You, the person that has always been there for him and has been with him through thick and thin.

He stopped at the red light, and spared a glance at his passenger princess. Admiring your beautiful side profile, the wheels in his mind whirred trying to come up with conversations so that you wouldn’t notice how far gone he was. His addiction towards you wasn’t just a craving, you are the blood that runs through his veins, the very essence of his very being. His many tattoos of you, (of course tattoos of you expressed through double meanings so that you wouldn’t get suspicious) adorned almost every part of his body. What bliss. He was the snake and you the absolute gorgeous snake charmer.

“Is it alright if I sleep until we arrive?”, your beautiful voice broke him out of a trance.

“Of course.”, he winked at you. His hands tightened around the steering wheel when your eyes closed and his eyes closed as well. He inhaled softly, opened his eyes and continued driving you home. One day he’ll tell you about his feelings. One day he’ll tell you why he seems to know whenever you are in a dangerous situation or in a tight spot. One day he’ll be yours. One hopeful day..

Elliot as a yandere: worshiper, protective and tranquil

Authors note: Omg guys, this is my first post! What do you guys think?☺️

PART TWO ON MY PAGE

Do not copy, rewrite or translate my ideas please :)

#x chubby reader #fat reader #male yandere #soft yandere #plus size reader #yancore #yandere male #yandere boy #yandere x darling #yandere oc

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oneforthemunny · 2 years ago

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switching it up |dom!brat tamer!eddie x sub!brat!reader|

prompt: "go pick a switch" with mean!dom!brat tamer! eddie. based off a horny hours ask from my old account :)

for those who don't know a "switch" in this is referring to a small, thin branch that's picked and used (typically and in this case) for discipline. sorta like caning.

contains: mean!hard!dom!brat tamer!eddie, sub!bratty!reader, spanking, dom/sub themes, oral fem receiving, p in v sex, minors dni 18+

"Go on, now, baby." Eddie nodded from the steps, leaned up casually against the metal, rusted railing of the trailer. He inhaled deeply, cigarette crackling and ash falling by his feet, eyes trained on you, deep and dark.

You fidgeted in the grass, only a few paces away from the steps. Eyes cutting around you, looking to see if anyone was around, praying they weren't. Hoping that they wouldn't see the slow journey you were making to hickory bush, long and overgrown at the end of the gravel drive, scissors behind your back.

"Don't make me wait, sweet thing." Eddie blew the smoke out, eyeing you carefully. "Or I'll take that switch to ya right out here." He smirked at the threat. How your spine went rigid, cheeks flushed a deep crimson when you looked back at him, but you quickened your pace to the dreaded bush.

The idea had come to him while watching TV a few weeks ago. Some old, western movie from the fifties, he'd been too stoned to change it. Plus, he liked those kind of movies, reminded him of when he first moved in with Wayne as a kid.

The gruff male lead, mean and stern with the female lead, grabbed her arm, threatening to "take a switch to her hind-end" if she didn't obey. The threat made him twitch, cock stirring even in his drug induced haze. He was always looking for new things to try, new ways to get you embarrassed when you bratted, put you back in your place before fucking you relentlessly. You'd been taking the cane so well lately, he figured a little switch would be nothing.

"What's a switch?" You'd asked, nose crinkled in confusion when he presented the idea to you.

Eddie gawked at you. "You never heard about kids having to go pick a switch?" He blinked at you with a small smile. You shook your head. He laughed. "We came from different worlds then, baby." He pressed a kiss to the side of your head, and pulled you to the window so you could see the bush, long, thin branches that he explained you cleared the branches and leaves off before it was used on you.

"Kinda like the cane." Eddie grinned, hands rubbing up and down your waist, excitedly. "But you have to go pick it, cut it, clear it. Whole thing before you ever get spanked with it." What he didn't say was the before process added to the embarrassment of it all, a fact that he knew you loved- a sort of embarrassing foreplay that had you dripping before he ever even touched you. You grinned, agreeing to try it, thighs clenched in excitement.

It wasn't until today, nearly a month after the conversation, that Eddie actually used the threat. He always did that, waiting until you thought he forgot or changed his mind to act on it.

You'd been huffy all morning, a little whiny and snappy, like you always got when you wanted him to ruin you. Get you crying and your ass aching until he relented and fucked you stupid. He'd told you before you could just ask, he'd always oblige, but where was the fun in that?

"Hey, you better watch it," Eddie warned, snapping a finger at you after your third eye roll of the day. "Keep it up, and I'll take a switch to you."

Your eyes lit up, cheeks heating and tingling at the threat- the promise. Eddie bit back a grin, staying stern and stoic though he wanted to laugh at how excited you got. You got even more bratty, just like he expected, until he finally turned you over his knee. He took to spanking you with his hand, scolding you about being a naughty brat, until you whined and begged him to stop. A part of you thought he might have backed out of the initial threat, rubbing your ass and pouting. Until he crossed over to the kitchen, scowling at you sternly. He grabbed the scissors, shoving them in your hand and telling you to go pick your switch, that you'd earned it.

You fished through the scratchy branches and leaves of the bush, thankful it was overcast and chilly or the entire park would've been out, kids riding bikes and adults tending gardens- all to witness you cutting a branch, retrieving it and bringing it back to Eddie for his inspection. Fetching and retrieving back to your master like a dog. The humiliation of it all was enough to get your cheeks tinging pink, pussy throbbing and nearly aching.

You looked around when you walked back, tiny, limp branch in your hand, quick paced when you brought it back to Eddie. "Here," You muttered, holding it out with a furious blush.

Eddie scoffed, bumming his cigarette into the ash tray. "Baby," He tutted, taking the small, pitiful excuse for a branch. "You really think this is going to work? Look," Eddie lifted the branch, it was limp and blowing in the small breeze when he pulled his hand back, cutting it through the air with a small, whistling swish! before promptly snapping in half.

Eddie gave you an unimpressed look, arms crossing over his chest. "Go, try again," He nodded towards the bush.

You huffed, stomping down the stairs. "Hey," Eddie snapped, hard and gruff.

You didn't turn, continuing on to the bush, knuckles scratching through the rough branches until you found a better one. Sturdy but not as thick as some, enough for some movement and a nice swish.

"How's this?" You pouted, holding the second branch back up to Eddie.

He took his time, rolling the branch between his hands, inspecting it carefully. He swung it in front of him a few times, relishing the way you jumped, thighs clenching and squirming with excitement.

"Is it good?" You asked, gaze lifting to his, rounded eyes desperate for approval.

Eddie hummed. "I dunno." He sighed, lips twisting. He stepped back, swinging it behind you before he snapped the branch down, suddenly on your sweatpant clad ass.

You yelped, jumping at the sting of the hit, even through the thick cotton. "Ow!" You hissed, glaring at him, hands furiously rubbing the sting. Your head whipped around, scanning to see if there was anyone out who could have saw, cheeks red with embarrassment at the thought, but you were pulsing between your legs.

Eddie grinned. "What do you think? Is it a good one?" He asked, cheekily. The little shit.

"It hurt." You pouted, rubbing your already sore cheeks, still sensitive from the spanking he'd given you only a few minutes prior.

"Hm, seems like a winner then." Eddie smirked, grabbing the scissors from you. "Go inside. In front of the couch. I'll be there in a minute."

You pulled the screen door, watching him click and clean the leaves and spare branched away. Your tummy flipped, squeezing and rolling with excitement, heat shooting from your heart down to your core. You scampered in front of the couch, kneeling in front of the middle cushion that Eddie always favored.

The squeak of the screen door's hinges followed by the clatter of it closing came soon, Eddie's heavy steps coming in, spinning the branch in his hand. His eyes were excited, darkened with his domineering demeanor.

"You ready?" He asked, tilting his head to the side, you nodded eagerly.

Eddie grinned. "I'm gonna have you bend over the back of the couch. That sound alright?" He asked. You stood, hurrying to bend over the couch by him, his hand stopping you. "Pants down, baby."

You shimmied out of your sweatpants, kicking them to the corner. Cotton panties, thin and bikini cut, a little faded with countless cycles in the wash that made them irresistibly soft. Eddie's mouth watered. There was a reason he made you keep them at his trailer, "just in case", he told you, and you pretended you didn't notice them in the dirty hamper from time to time, covered in his release.

"You know, maybe this will teach you to not be such a bad little brat. What do you think?" Eddie hummed from behind you, pinching the hem of your panties and bunching them up, so they rode further into your crack, exposing your cheeks.

You shivered. "I don't think we'll know unless you try." You snipped, looking over your shoulder, thighs rubbing together for some sort of friction.

Eddie smirked, swishing the branch through the air so it whistled, taunting. You squirmed with anticipation, excitement building in the pit of your tummy. "Hm," Eddie hummed. "Eyes forward." He snapped.

You straightened your posture, focusing on the small hall towards Eddie's room. You felt the branch, scratchy and hard rubbing across your cheeks, splotchy and red from the assault of his hand from earlier.

"I think ten to start." Eddie suggested, looking down at you carefully. He lifted a brow, scanning your features. "That good?"

You nodded, legs bouncing and squirming. "Just do it already, Eddie." You huffed.

Eddie scoffed, walloping your ass with his hand so you yelped. "Keep it up, baby," He warned, tapping the switch across your throbbing ass. "I'll take you outside. Make you bend over, grab your ankles, and really take this switch to ya." He grinned when your thighs pressed together.

He tapped the branch to your cheeks, lining up his first hit. He pulled back, sending the branch forward and snapping into the meat of your ass. Not as hard as he would with the cane, he was unsure with this and didn't want to hurt you. You yelped anyways, back recoiling at the hit, fisting the blanket in front of you.

Eddie paused, looking down at you carefully. "How was that?" He asked softly. This was pure play, a fun, adventurous thing for the both of you. Sure, you'd bratted earlier to get your way, but when didn't you.

You groaned, low and throaty. The switch stung, worse than the cane, which was saying a lot. It was surprisingly rougher than you expected, you didn't think you'd be able to tell the difference, but the sting across your cheeks told you otherwise. A sharp, nearly itchy type burn that had you desperate to rub the irritation out, attempt to soothe it.

"I'm good." You sighed heavily, back relaxing back into an arch, toes curling into the mesh carpet. You tried to not focus on how painful the throbbing was between your legs, pulverizing heat that left your head spinning.

Eddie grinned, lifting the branch back up. He aimed lower for the next two, quick snaps against your lower cheeks, hitting close to your core. Your legs shook, crying out at the pain, feet stomping into the carpet. He watched the way you writhed, crossing your legs tight, rolling your hips to try and relieve some of the ache in your pussy.

"I think you'd like that if I took you outside," Eddie brought the switch down on the top of your thighs, right where the meat of your ass curved into them. You howled out at the sting, far more uncomfortable than you expected it to be.

"I think you'd like the idea of someone seeing what a bad girl you are." Eddie purred, barely giving you a chance to register his words before he brought it back down harder this time.

Tears flooded your vision, hands clenched tight, your nails biting and digging into the palm of your hands. Eddie rubbed the ragged bark on your ass, taunting and mean, you squirmed. He brought it down again, unmerciful, relishing in the way you cried out, back arching with the hit.

"You like the idea of someone seeing you get put in your place? Yeah?" Eddie mocked, pulling his arms back, the switch hissing through the air, high pitched almost as a warning of the searing pain that was to come milliseconds later. "Or do you just like it when I'm a little mean with you?"

You sniffled, blubbering through the tears that ran down your throat, down your face and into a damp puddle beneath you. "N-No." You shook your head. "I don't li-like it." Your breath stuttered, thighs clenching at the sizzle of your skin.

"No?" Eddie challenged, mocking. He brought the switch down again, making you wail, before his hand was between your legs, pressing onto the cotton fabric of your panties, your slick arousal wetting them easily.

Eddie hummed. "Well, something's got you all turned on, baby." He snickered, tapping the switch to your red cheeks, furious at the assault. He brought it down again, this time towards your center again, making you jump, whining in protest.

"Do you just like it when I treat you like a bad girl?" Eddie mocked, laughing at your small whimpers. He moved so he was leaning over you, lips near your ear. You could feel his curls on your cheek, your neck, tickling you and making you shiver. "I think you like it when I put you in your place. When I make up new ways to punish you when you've been a brat. Isn't that right?"

You shuddered, stammering breaths that hitched and caught in your throat. He was right, and he knew it. He could tell by the way you were grinding into the arm of the couch, so desperate for any type of release on your aching core, you'd do anything.

Eddie's free hand swatted your bottom, not enough to be punishing, but hard enough to get your attention, reigniting the fire on your cheeks and making you cry out. "Isn't that right?" Eddie repeated, a low growl that had you whimpering.

"Yes," You croaked, eyes cutting over to him. Eddie smirked. "Yes, I like it." You admitted softly, squirming against the couch, hips rotating softly.

Eddie snorted, softly, though his eyes were dark like they always were when you played. "Last one." Eddie warned, switch tapping against your lower cheeks.

You braced yourself, brows pinching while he toyed with you, tapping and rubbing the branch, pulling it back just to watch you flinch and laughing at you when you did. You heard the ominous whistle of the switch catching wind before you felt the final blow, thin lined and scorching, sending you forward on the couch.

Eddie grinned when you heaved, a sob muffled into the cushions of the couch. You were grateful when he set the branch down, hands rubbing down your abused skin, easing some of the burn. You knew you'd be struggling to sit for at least a few days, burning skin that would reignite when touched.

"Good girl, you did so good." Eddie whispered, dropping to his knees in front of you. His hands kneaded the flesh, warm and buzzing in his large hands.

You were limp, ass still elevated over the couch, body slumped into the cushions, crying at the sting and release. Eddie grinned, tongue running over his lips when he pulled your panties down slowly, eyes widening at your slick lips, peaking out from between your thighs.

"I think you deserve a reward baby, for being such a good girl." Eddie cooed sweetly, fingers running between your sopping folds.

You sniffled, turning your head to the side. You couldn't see him, knelt and hidden by the couch, but you could feel him. You could feel the small kisses he pressed into your skin, pressing one particularly sloppy, lewd kiss into your aching center.

"What do you say, hm? Want me to lick you, baby? Show you what a good girl you've been? Let you cum on my tongue?" Eddie asked, hands spreading your red cheeks apart, drooling at the sight before him. He was trying to restrain himself from devouring you right away, the sight of your clenching hole when he asked you nearly making him wither.

"Please," You croaked so pitifully and sweet that Eddie was sure his heart would melt.

He didn't waste time, no teasing or mocking. He licked you furiously, lapping at your clit like a man starved, nose buried in your tangy scent, eyes rolling back when you squirmed, pushing your hips towards him.

"Oh! Please, Eddie, 'm so close!" You cried out, toes clenching beneath him. His hands stretched the hot skin, making it burn and sting, only aiding to your rapidly approaching orgasm.

You wiggled, the tip of his nose nuzzling into your sopping hole while you whined, high and desperate. His hands squeezed the fat of your ass, abused and raw after his switching, tongue swirling around your clit, moaning loud into you. The vibrations from his throat made you clench, abdomen tight and eyes pinched, gushing over him, wetting his face. He didn't stop, not until you calmed, no longer thrashing and gasping out his name, hands reaching back to push him away.

Eddie fucked you hard after that, furiously humping into you, hands on your hips as he grunted loudly, slapping skin and sick squelches filling the trailer. You were glassy eyed already, whimpering at the sensation when he pulled out two more orgasms out of you.

Eddie finished his cigarette later, the thick smell of sex still linger in the air and mixing with the smoke. You were still ass up in the couch, glazed eyes and his release leaking down your thigh. Your cheek was squished the the cushion, drool and tears drying beneath you.

Eddie inhaled slowly, picking up the switch he'd thrown across the room. He turned it in his hands, inspecting it like he'd done before. "I think we should put this somewhere," He grinned, smoke clouding out of his nose. You blinked up at him, too fucked out and tired to fully engage. "Keep it somewhere special. A little keepsake, don't you think?"

He placed it on the TV stand, behind the framed photos and trinkets that littered it. A little reminder of your fun you'd had today, and a reminder to you to behave or he'd make you pick another one. Of course, that never deterred you much.

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Text

LANDLESS GULL (I)

|| COV MASTERLIST || PREVIOUS: PROLOGUE || NEXT: CHAPTER II ||

PAIRING: Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Three years later, you find yourself in a similar situation. But will new revelations put more of the past event into perspective? Or will your anger overcloud your judgment?

WORDCOUNT: 9.7k

WARNINGS: Implied stalking, angst, illegal activities, self destructive tendencies, insinuations of PTSD, sleeplessness, violence, abductions, talks of death, drugs etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The routine was the only thing that saved you, and it had never once wavered. Not in two out of the three years since the death of your father.

Wake up at five, sit in silence until six, and leave the house by seven.

Though you were in your last year of college, the wallet in the pocket of your sweatpants was still bare of the plastic of a standard driver’s license, so, you take the same long route you did every morning; feet hitting the concrete. The black iron under your grip leaves you shivering as you lock the front gate to your family’s estate, the end of the long walkway a grand, overgrown, sight as you take one last glance.

Hucking your backpack higher over your shoulder the elusive black form of the resident stray cat darts from one of the overgrown and thick bushes to another; the steadily browning leaves a barrier of dying flora.

“Don’t kill the finches, yeah?” You huff quietly, eyes dull and heavy with fatigue as the morning air chills your skin. Even if it was getting colder as the seasons changed, your mind never once went to the prospect of calling a cab.

The thought of someone you didn’t know driving you somewhere…you frown as you think it over, shoes stamping on top of weeds sprouting from the broken sidewalk as the utter stillness of the morning grows long. No. No, It was easier to walk or take the bus. A train, maybe.

But walking lets you think; makes you tired.

So, by eight AM you were always at the Café an hour's journey away, cheeks chilled and body quivering like your bones were made of ice. The winter was worse, so you didn’t have it in you to even consider complaining.

Hector smiles at you when you walk through the old front door, dodging the umbrella holder slightly in the way as your nose sniffles. You pointedly stare at his large mustache instead of into his eyes, sighing lightly.

“Ah, there she is!” He exclaims. The excitable Café owner had told you that his family had come up to Chicago from New Jersey only a decade ago, which would explain the still prominent accent. “Just in time, eh? C’mon then, I got a nice hot one ready just for you like always, Sweetheart.”

“Trying to make me wife number three, Hec?” You slyly remark, walking over the hardwood floors and itching at the skin under your eye. Lids flicking open and closed as a call to sleep seeps into your brain, you take comfort in the familiar atmosphere.

It was dimly lit, the business, relying more on natural light than anything. The scent of coffee and baked goods stuck to your nose, waking you up as you pull the thick cotton canvas of your jacket closer and look around as you shuffle to the counter. Shelves lined with bags and small homemade treats make a quick smile grow.

How does he find the time to bake all of that?

Hector laughs, but you pay little mind. In your coat pocket, your fingers play with a coin, thumbing the engraved face slightly. A slow glaze of memory spreads its fingers over your eyes when you spy a family picture on the counter—the mustached man with his two daughters.

“Hell, if all it takes is fresh coffee cake and two espressos, my odds are lookin’ pretty good if I can say so myself.”

You snap back to the present with a stiff neck, blinking quickly. Clearing your throat, you roll your orbs and remove your hands from your pockets, rubbing them together and creating friction when the lack of heat starts to burn.

“No offense, but I think I’ll stick to my oppressively single ways, Big Guy. You have better luck with the lady down at the bank anyways. What’s her name,” you stare at Hector’s large nose, raising a brow as he moves his body to the side and grabs his utensils. “Cassidy? Crissy? It’s something with a ‘C’.”

The man’s filling up your drinks and pulling a piece of fluffy cake from the display case, rushing about as if he’d never known peace in his relatively normal life.

Hector was in his mid-forties. Balding. Large and stocky—not exactly someone you’d envision running a business like this all on his own and actually enjoying it. His pasty complexion reminded you of a carton of milk left in the sun, but he got on well enough with the locals to a point where everyone on this street knew him personally. Above all, Hector was a people person. Speaking to him was easy, and the constant burning anger in your chest loosened when he was around. Let you breathe.

All things considered, you quite liked the man.

“Clarissa,” Hector enunciates, putting everything on the counter as you pull out your wallet from your back pocket. “And, yeah, she’s the security guard down there. Beautiful damn woman, Kid.”

Your lips quirk as you take the items in crowded hands carefully, slapping two tens and a few crumpled fives to the counter. As you’re turning and walking to your seat, you call over your shoulder.

“Like a woman who can beat you up, then?”

“God, do I.” You share a chuckle together, and, knowing your routine, Hector begins to whistle under his breath and wipe the front counter clean of crumbs.

Always taking the corner seat next to the large front window, you slip into the wall booth and put everything on the table grunting before shucking off your backpack. Besides you, most of the morning customers just came and went as they pleased, picking up what they needed and leaving—realistically you should as well.

Majoring in history and minoring in business left you deep in work and covered to the neck with projects; already sleepless nights didn’t help when the large classrooms of the University of Chicago got too loud to stand, the raised speaking of students like screaming in your ears. You always skipped morning classes, particularly the large ones for your own sanity. Attendance was tanked, but because the work was all posted online your grade hadn’t suffered.

You'd gotten it up since the first year, at least. That was all that mattered.

Taking a sip of your first cup of espresso, you let the caffeinated liquid hit the emptiness of your stomach and sigh. You place it down on the woodgrain, closing your eyes for a minute and tilting your head down. Around the beverage, your hands twitch at the warm material, feeling your own blood pump in your veins and the loose shirt under your jacket sag as warm air comes to create a dichotomy of senses. Hector always kept the Café warm, but it was never enough for you.

Everything always felt cold.

Blinking back to the present, the Tv situated atop the small bookshelf in the corner spews the early run of the news as you gather your laptop from your bag and set it down; eager to get to work.

“...As we experience the anniversary of the death of—” You blink, fingers pausing over the keys as half of your password is typed out. Staring at the blinking black bar, you hear a violent inhalation of air from the front desk.

“Oh, fuck, Dear, I’m sorry. I forgot that it was today. Here let me–”

“No,” you interrupt, shaking your head harshly and tiling your gaze in Hector’s direction. You stare hard at his dirty apron. “No, it’s okay. Leave it on.”

Your voice is stiff, digging into that well in your stomach of barred teeth and barbed wire. Blood instead of water and a bucket made of bone that dips into crimson liquid.

“But…” He trails, and your hands hover above the laptop. You notice a tremor before picking up your drink once more, downing a good portion of the scalding liquid with a gulp. You clear your throat against the burn and lower it.

“If I had an issue with it, Hec, I’d tell you. Trust me, I already know what the date is. Lived it for three years to the day.”

The man grumbles, itching at his round chin. Not too keen. He picks up the remote near the cash register and lowers the volume all the while he sends your hunched form glances with creased brown eyes.

“We remember the countless donations to those less fortunate than himself, the man always seen with a smile on his face greeting visitors, and the tragic end he met as a result of a robbery gone wrong.” Your jaw clenches, hands curling in as you glare at the blinking black bar with hidden hatred. A cruel smirk slashes your lips. Robbery gone wrong, now that was funny. You never knew how anyone believed that. “...Admissions to the Museum of Natural History are at half-price all week.”

The news anchor moves on and your fingers spread to rest atop the smooth keys, lungs tight.

They had been talking about your father, of course. The fabricated story was like a knife to the chest every time someone brought it up. Acquaintances at school, professors. Taking a peek outside, you see groups of random people walk past wondering for an instant if they’d come in and recognize you.

Your dad was incredibly well-known when he was alive.

A robbery, your sneer grows as you log into your laptop, face falling to a blank slate as you clink on a plethora of named files. Pathetic. Of course, the CIA would spew something like that.

“What’s going on? Please, Dad, what’s happening?” The world is swirling with technicolored lights. Amber eyes. A hand on the top of your head.

The words pop up as a document loads, bolded and black. You shake off nausea and take down more caffeine, finishing off the first cup with muted disgust. Pushing it farther down the table, you move the second closer.

OPERATION: KINGFISHER

OVERSIGHT: STATION CHIEF KATE LASWELL, TS/SCI

OPERATIVES: CLASSIFIED

STATUS: ACTIVE

MISSION REPORT: MONDAY, 0823, CHICAGO, USA: THREE YEARS PRIOR:

All the rest was blacked out in long streaks of dark highlighter, the image fuzzy. A sharp needle inserts itself into your nerves, every slam of your heart like a gunshot as your sides pinch with disappointment.

No. Your jaw clenches.

How long had you been trying to get access to all of the government documents that were relevant to your case after you figured out the CIA was behind your father's and your abduction? A full year at this point? So many sleepless nights and under-the-table deals. And the information that mattered the most was still a level above the fabricated station you had given yourself to slip past lines upon lines of code like a snake in the grass.

You want information on Private Samson Row. The name you had figured out belonged to the person who had pulled the trigger on your father. You’d sleuthed out the others’ names as well through a straight week of only coffee and red-eyes. But you'd done it.

Captain John Price, Lieutenant Ghost, Sergeant John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, and Sergeant Kyle ‘Gaz’ Garrick.

Private Samson Row.

What had given them away to be a government body was the one-word phrase that Price had barked after the shot was only an echo.

“What in the fucking hell are you thinking, Private?!” The leader's voice yowls and grunts as you slowly open your eyelids, lashes fluttering over your cheeks. “We needed him alive, you Muppet!”

From then it was history.

Blatant irritation stems in your veins at the brick wall that now presents itself mere black lines away from a reason as to why this all had happened, fingers flinging across the pad to fly through the fifty-two-page file. Not a single word was visible.

“Son of a…” You strangle the curse under your breath and go to dig your fingernails into the back of your neck until crescents form. Blazing white pain and a shifting of sinuses.

If it wasn’t obvious, the laptop with you now was rarely used for schoolwork. In fact, you never even planned on going to campus today—no one expected you to, so it was better to feign brokenness instead of icy fury.

“Kate Laswell,” scoffing humorlessly, you shake your head at the only portions of the document filled in, “I keep seeing your name on everything. Christ, with the intel that I’ve read up on involving you, I’m surprised your personal file wasn’t more difficult to crack open. Only took me four days. ” You mutter to no one and nothing numbly.

But it seems an answer is given.

The bell atop the front door swings, a small tinkering of tarnished silver metal and a creak of rusted hinges. Feet that stamp lightly, but press firmly. Bleeding contained purpose.

Your body stills; lungs going immobile.

When you were young, you could memorize the sounds of the staff going down the stairs at the mansion. Tell who was who just by the pace and the weight on the creaking wood; it was a game that you were sure you could still play even years later in that practically abandoned estate. The slightest sound made you snap to attention when you were alone.

Just as this one did. But that wasn’t because of paranoia.

“Ah! Hello, Sir, welcome!” Hector calls, motioning with a hand as the air goes tense. “What can I get you today? We’ve got a little Coffee Cake left if you want, I gotta say, man, it’s my best batch yet.”

It was because you knew him. Those feet.

This can’t be right.

A throat clears. “Sorry, Sir. Not today.”

That voice. Your eyes shutter wider, eyelashes frozen at the screen of your laptop.

British. Smooth. It was a voice that played in your subconscious at a constant—never leaving. A flash of amber eyes. Blood slashed your vision, coating the world in a sheen of red; gore dripping down your face faster than water. A funeral shroud of pure hatred.

Gaz. Kyle Garrick.

With a quivering hand, your finger slowly clicks the Escape key like it was an intimate partner, watching the document disappear on quick feet and with ruffled clothes into the scene of your wallpaper. Staring blankly at the multiple incriminating folders that meet you, your ears twitch to the sound of a slow inhalation; tapping digits over a pant pocket.

You don’t dare look up.

A tall shadow begins approaching, and you briefly seize. Humming emanates in the back of your head like a kind of drunken sloshing of senses.

Run.

Your heart mirrors the steps that Gaz takes. Against the nature of the cortisol and rampaging adrenaline in your blood, a flicker of your lips betrays a chilled amusement. A part of you had always known this would happen. It’s strange to say, but even as your legs start shaking, your expression is measured; held-back brows, loose lips, and a fluidness to your shifting eyes.

But your mind…

What’s he doing here? You panic. Why…why is he here? They couldn’t have possibly known I was reading up on them, could they? No, no, I’ve been careful.

You can’t move. Your mind can’t function. Every nerve is sparking with a need to sprint and flee. But yet again, your body leaves you frozen.

One of the double chairs in front of your table is pulled out, and a figure dressed in a white shirt covered by the second layer of a fitted blue athletic top calls your gaze. The build of an intensive workout schedule is shown unabashedly, sleeves pulled up to dark elbows that shift the tense forearm muscles. Brown and tan Army pants cause your eyebrow to raise incredulously before the limbs disappear under the barrier.

The frozen shackles on your limbs break and your lips move before you can shut yourself up. Maybe it was the familiar atmosphere, or maybe it was the therapist’s words from that month-long fiasco of court-mandated therapy way back in the beginning.

The coin in your pocket burns, and you long to clench it in your fist until you’re dripping blood like a stuck pig.

“Not exactly trying to hide it, are you?” You look back down at your laptop, opening the search browser and pretending to look up something unimportant. “I’ll admit it, Gaz, I like this instead of having a gun shoved halfway into my vertebrae. Not too fond of it, you understand?”

Silence holds out. A head turns away for a moment as his body shifts in uncomfortableness.

“I’ll be needing you to come with me, Ma’am.” The accent punches you in the throat, the stern order that coasts along like a fish in water.

What gave him the right?

How does one stay calm when your head is like a pot of boiling water? The bubbles roll in great waves of anger and fear as you try and stay outwardly calm with struggling success. You doubted you were able to look anything besides purely rage-filled, but didn’t dare check by looking into the man’s eyes—or even his face for that matter.

You glared over the screen and dug daggers into his bobbing Adam’s Apple, settling on your answer. Sarcasm.

“And I’ll need you to understand that I’d rather choke on this coffee cake.” Your finger points slightly to the untouched plate with a tremor in its bones. “I don’t want another barrel pointed at my forehead, no offense.”

Gaz’s jaw shifts, clenching before loosening, and in his sensitive ear, the radio sizzles to life with a spark.

“Kyle, I’ve got eyes. Talk to me.” The Brit looks outside through the glass, immediately finding the large figure leaning against the wall of a library across the street.

Gaz’s Captain has his arms crossed, beanie-covered head tilted to seem like he’s watching cars that pass by; a gruff-looking man simply people-watching. Everyone misses the bulge of a pistol stuffed into the small of his back—under a brown leather jacket and a black sweater. Price itches at his brown beard with a frown.

“In position, Sir. Speaking with her now.” The man at the front desk of the Café watches him closely, pretending to clean a spot on the back counter that seems to never go away despite the multiple passes. He wouldn’t be a problem if it came down to that.

“Copy. Keep on schedule.” The Sergeant wasn’t sure why he was here—why out of all the others in his Task Force, Price had decided he needed to be the one to engage with you.

“Roger that.”

This was the last thing he wanted to do.

He didn’t know how to convince you to come with him without replaying the scene from three years ago; it was imperative that he didn’t do that. Though it had been necessary…his thighs shifted over the rickety chair. It wasn’t supposed to end like that. Everyone was paying for it.

Gaz’s brown eyes glance to the table, one hand going to fix the position of his favorite ball cap over his head and press it down.

He felt naked without his gear.

Figures I’d be the only one bloody stripped down to nothing.

“Ma’am,” the Brit starts slowly, watching your ears twitch as you burrow deeper into your large jacket. A flicker of hesitation seeps into his heart. With a frown on his tense lips, he could still see your shoulders bunched up; breathing labored. You were terrified—rightly so. “It would be best to listen to me, yeah? No one’s going to hurt you. This is for your own safety but I need you to come quietly.”

Kyle had put all of his cards to the shock value; the hope that your fear of him would prompt you to come along in a shell-shocked reaction and a hesitance of an imaginary weapon. It worked in a few other missions, he’d even done it a few other times in the army, though it was always a hit or miss.

But staring hard at your thin lips, he noticed anger as well and was forced to face reality. This was never going to work.

Your internal timer ends, and all the primal instincts trapped in your mind let loose a vile scream. The memories are too great; too violent. Even this man’s voice is a brand in your soft tissue.

“Listen to who? An accomplice to murder? And ‘not hurt me’.” You snort, reaching up to grab the top of your laptop and close it with a slam. Hector pauses his fake cleaning as you stare at Gaz’s nose and the barely-there stubble that lives over his upper lip and cheeks. “You’ve done a pretty horrible job of that…The only way you’re getting me to go with you is in a body bag.” Your brow raises. “I’m sure you’re familiar with them, hm? I’d kind of hoped you’d already be in one by now if I’m being honest.”

“Listen,” Kyle prided himself on being patient, but the clock was ticking. Laswell needed you at the designated location and that was where he intended to take you in one piece. The injection needle in his back pocket was looking more and more promising if this continued to be difficult, a mixed concoction that only the CIA could put together to knock a person out for a long while. But why did he feel so hesitant to use it? He’d also been the only one to suggest someone try and speak to you first before forcing you to go along with them.

I guess this is what happens when I try and put in my two damn cents. Stick to procedure next time.

“I don’t think you understand the position you’re in—”

“The position I’m in is entirely you and your little friends’ fault.” You growl, voice breaking and eyes turning to look outside. Snapping when you see his lips part, “Don’t even try to deny it.”

Kyle’s mouth closes with a clench of teeth.

Trapped like an animal you have half a sense to gnaw your own leg off. There was a hunch in your mind as to what was happening—the files you’ve read that weren’t blackout out gave in-depth mission details; play-by-plays. These people worked in teams. Always.

Your eyes dart with frantic knowledge as Gaz sits tense, a subdued annoyance flaring as his hands tap the table and thinks deeply.

You find Captain Price easily and the agony grows. The stocky man shifts in the morning light, the familiar body leading to a slashed remembrance of folded arms and black balaclavas. His stare was like a burning piece of wood shoved directly into your eye sockets.

Alleyway in the back, your feet shuffle, tense. You had to get out of this. Take the corner and run to the busier intersections. Try to keep calm. Breathe.

Easier said than done. Kyle was the same man who had put a gun to your head with the intention of pulling the trigger—your life was nothing more than a bargaining chip. Would he do the same again?

Yes. No one was saying he didn’t have a weapon on him now; the only difference was this time you didn’t know why he was here in the first place. The easiest answer was the documents, but was it that simple? Why send the same people after you?

Not that simple, but it is illegal. The thought of going back to a small room; a rope around your wrists…your hands go to itch at the healed skin, still sensitive despite the years. The Sergeant clocks it with a pulling frown and tight brows.

“Ma’am,” Gaz’s voice snaps your vision back to the table, and you go to take a drink of the remaining cup of espresso to calm your nerves. You send a glance at the heavy backpack beside you and blink. “I didn’t have to come and speak to you, alright? I’m doing this to try to find some standing. This isn’t a ploy, but you have to follow me.”

“Isn’t it?”

“Bloody…no.” Kyle grunts, itching at his neck as his earpiece goes off. He looks sideways.

“Kyle, this isn’t working. Stick ‘er.”

“I can get her to come along,” he mutters harshly, not noticing one of your hands going to place the drink down while the other sneaks to the strap of your bag. “There’s no need to—!”

The force hits him right in the neck, and his head snaps back with a heavy jerk. His chair falls backward from the weight, sending him sprawling in a tangle of limbs and rushing feet over the floor. A heavy crash emanates throughout the building and the wind is knocked from his lungs as brown eyes bug out of the sockets.

“Hector! Call the police!” The front door is slammed open with a violent noise of shaking glass and a bell. Shrieking hinges.

“Bloody fucking hell!” Kyle shouts, shoving the backpack off of him and ignoring the sharp pang in the back of his skull. He recovers quickly. Hot irritation spikes as Price barks into the earpiece; the Sergeant scrambles after you with fast force.

“After her!”

Your feet slam to the concrete as the laptop stays tucked into the crook of your elbow, chest conforming to the press of it as you puff out quick breaths. Inside your ribs, the blood rushes out to your head, creating a pound like a drum.

Shoving aside others on the sidewalk, shouting sounds out from behind you before the dark shadow of an alleyway meets your snapping vision like a blessing from above. Pushing past an older man, you take a sudden turn into the darkness, the morning chill momentarily getting pushed back by the fire under your skin. Wind rushes past your ears.

Faster, you tell yourself, feet flying over stray garbage bags and puddles, don’t let them catch you. They can’t catch you.

Easier said than done. They were trained soldiers. SAS in league with the CIA.

Panting, you clutch your laptop tighter and feel cold sweat drip down your spine before a yell echoes from the entrance behind you.

“Hey!” It was Kyle’s voice, stern, but the sound of another set of feet told you who else was in pursuit. If you were being honest, the Captain scared you far more than the Sergeant did.

Your eyes go unfocused as reality sets in.

“They came back for me,” muttering, you see the brief alleyway end up ahead. “They tracked me down again to finish the job.”

“Bravo 7-1 she’s comin’ to you!” You don’t register the grunted words until you’re already taking the corner on the opposite side of the street, about to disappear into the expanse of a crowded downtown rush.

The wall of muscle sends you sprawling out on your back, the laptop flying from your hands in a wide display of just how fast you’d been running as discomfort ripples up your spine as the ground meets you. The pain that blossoms in your nose is sharp and immediate; a groan exiting into the air as you close your eyes tight to push back the shock and the momentum that had just been immediately halted. Nonsensical words exit you in slurring huffs.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” A Scottish accent hits your pulsing ears, as your shaking hand covers your eyes, teeth bared as a dull ache stems from the back of your head. Rocks poke into your back. “You alright down there? Didnea expect that.”

A hand snaps to the collar of your shirt, hauling you up easily as your bearing has yet to come back to you. The word spins.

“Ow,” your lips release a whine, face turned down as you blink away black dots. Large feet covered by brown combat boots become clear as the running slam of the other two gets closer.

Starling, you snap your head forward and attempt to rush off with barely functioning feet.

“Ah, ah!” The Scot laughs, and a locked fist stays rooted into the textile of your clothes. “Can’t have that, now.”

You look up at a strong man with pale skin—brunette stubble over a sculpted jaw and a scar over the chin. Long lips that curl into a smirk to show off white teeth. If you had to guess, this was John MacTavish. Soap—otherwise called Johnny.

You’ve seen the photos in the files, but you have no rush to look into his bright cerulean gaze anytime soon, but you see wisps of his mohawk sitting on his forehead.

“Get your hands off of me.” You growl, feet straining to stay steady. Your lids blink quickly to gain control as, like a newborn foal, it’s like your body doesn’t know how to control itself. “Bastard.”

Jesus, my head’s yelling at me to sit down. The hell is this guy made out of? Stone?

The Scot only chuckles as Gaz and Price catch up.

“No can do, Little Lady.”

Kyle lets out a deep sigh as he stops, having seen the entire scene play out when you ran head-on into the older man and tries to tell himself to feel bad—he did slightly, but the mirrored pain in the back of his own skull found some sort of redemption.

Girl’s got an arm on her. He rubs at the back of his head.

“I think that makes us even. Wouldn’t you say, Ma’am?” The Sergeant huffs light-heartedly, staring at you without so much as breaking a sweat from the short pursuit. The Captain shakes his head, going to pick up the laptop on the ground as your teeth clench.

“Call Ghost. Get him over here for the Exfil.” Civilians watch, but like they usually do, no one steps in to say anything or to spare more than a glance. “ASAP.”

“Shut up.” You scowl at Gaz’s chest, replying to his comment. Jerking yourself out of Soap’s hold, he lets you stand fully by yourself before he presses large fingers into his earpiece to mutter something out. The Scot still eyes you closely. There was no use trying to run anymore. “It was the least you deserved. Or are we forgetting how we met in the first place—should have dumped coffee over your head too.”

“Now that’s overkill, isn’t it, Love?” He can’t help but snap. Perhaps it was the dull thumping in his skull, or perhaps it was just you. “Manners never a prospect in your home?”

No one tested his patience quite like this and he’s only just re-met you. Your anger was justified, the Sergeant knew deep down, but he’d never expected this. In the brief time, you had insulted him, thrown a bookbag at his head, and then insulted him some more. Maybe the Captain had been right when he suggested all those weeks ago that it would be better to just knock you out right off the bat.

Still could…Kyle twitches his nose, huffing to himself and shaking his head.

You bare your teeth. “Shove that overkill and that stupid nickname up your—”

“Enough. Both of you.” The Captain interjects, growling out as a black van pulls alongside the road. Walking to it, Price shakes his head, fingers pressing into his nose bridge as he enters the passenger seat. “Fuckin’ hell.”

You fall silent and fight back the burning heat in your cheeks as the lack of ability to escape becomes evident to you. What else could you do? Scream? No—they’d just shove you in the car and put a gun to your spine again.

Every option led to you getting into that car. That…that compacted black car with tinted windows and filled with the men you hate the most.

Will Private Row be in there? A pang of horror enters you. Will he…?

Your father’s blood is forever stuck into the fabric of your flesh like a tapestry. Lining the stitching of your pores and the embroidery of your genes.

“Go on, then,” Soap prompts, a hand pressing into your shoulder blades like you were an unruly calf. Your eyes narrow, lips pinching down into a tight frown.

Today was supposed to be easy. Simple. No college, no questions, and certainly no abductions. Your dad was always on your mind—what happened? Why did the Private shoot him when in every report you had read interrogations of that kind took hours upon hours to finish?

If I keep my cool, you reason, feeling all of the eyes on you as you grab the car handle and pull it open with a pop, maybe I can get answers as well. Straight from the source.

Your eyes search the interior and a great weight is lifted. No one else besides the driver and the Captain, who are separated by a wall and a small window in the front, is present. No Private Row.

Thank God.

What would you have done then?

These last three years were a learning period, and when you hop into the vehicle and shuffle to the far right, your hand delves into your jacket pockets; the one connecting with the coin, its metal cold to the touch. Your finger skims it, pressing into the groves until an indent forms in your flesh. But there was one thing you learned in the time you spent destroying yourself to get even a sliver of information on your abductors. They were always playing games.

Games of intellect, of mental fortitude and knowledge. It was a chess piece being moved and hoping yours was in the line of fire so the king could be checked. Your unease is still present, the quivering fingers and the snapping gaze but if you can keep your head on, then maybe—

The car door on your side opens.

“Excuse me, Ma’am. Can’t have you by the door,” Gaz mutters, and your lips release a stifled scoff. But you do as you’re told, watching from the corner of your eyes as the tall body scoots inside, easily situating itself in between you and the door they were apparently afraid you’d throw yourself out of.

They’re going to lock it anyways—what's the point? You could call them paranoid, but that would just be hypocritical. When the last sliver of outside light is cut off as the door closes, you flinch at the loud noise and take a steadying deep breath. Soap sits on your opposite.

You’re completely stuck in the middle.

Kyle watches as Ghost sends a glance back. The Sergeant nods stiffly and the car peels out. Johnny leans back, arms crossed, and watches the world as it passes by while those brown orbs stay locked on you. The subtle shaking of your shoulders; the way your eyes bug and the pupils stay small.

Sweat stays on your eyebrow ridge, and Gaz thinks about how close you’ll become to a snowball if you pull in even farther. The man clears his throat in dismissal and a small sliver of regret. After all, you are a mostly innocent party in this.

He’s about to open his mouth and ask if your head is okay when a deep chuckle sounds off from the front of the car.

“Well, you’ve been busy. Laswell was right.” Your ears perk, mind forcing back thoughts of the walls closing in around you as Price’s gravel voice sounds out. The car smells like gunpowder and leather. “How’d you manage this, then?” You blink at the interior window and say nothing.

You’d seen the bear of a man take the computer; had no doubt he could find a way into it, though you had never thought it would happen that fast.

Your lips thinned.

Kyle and Soap exchange glances, curiosity sparking as Ghost drives them to where Laswell told them to meet with the package.

“That’s none of your business.” The comment exits you in a string of whispers, defensiveness sparking.

“Well, it’s my business when my name’s on it, eh? How long did this take to pile together?” Your mouth stays shut as the Captain’s visage looks back at you from the rearview mirror with narrowed lids.

“Sir?” Gaz asks, confused.

“She’s got files on us—on all of us. Kate too. More than she thought.” The Sergeant looks down at you in surprise, eyes going slightly wider.

“What in the hell does that mean?” Soap questions, hands gesturing out from his cross-body hold as you sink even deeper into yourself. Bitter tears bite at the back of your vision.

“It means someone’s been digging where they weren’t supposed to.” It’s the first time that Ghost has spoken, but it was all that was needed. Your body shivers at the Manchester accent; the numb brutality of it.

But you say nothing, and the ride is silent besides the way all of the hard stares nearly spoke words out loud.

Everything just felt like a blur of sound and color. Separate; removed. If you tried hard enough, you were back in the Café with Hector—eating that coffee cake you never even got a bite out of and chugging down espresso that you were already craving again.

Your finger digs deeper into the coin in your pocket.

The cops would show up. There was no doubt that the past New Jersey resident hadn’t called them when you told him to. But there was also no doubt that the CIA would step in and take jurisdiction. It was what they did when your father was murdered—they’d spun a story as you sat in a room that belonged to a detective and sobbed in an inconsolable state. Reporters and news crews outside.

Nothing we can do, you were told, it was a robbery. Out of our hands, but we’ll try our best to find the culprit.

You already knew the culprit. The man in the corner. His name was Samson Row and he had been nervous. He had a trigger finger.

Your eyes harden as they glare at the floor and your jumping feet. For your father, you would get as much information as you could, and then leak it if you had to—if these people let you live. But before that, you wanted to know why. Why had he died? You’d do nothing until that was answered.

Swallowing down saliva, you speak as the car turns off the main road, heading farther and farther away from the parts of town you knew. Your lungs go stiff.

“So where’s Row?” The air shifts as your hoarse voice coldly utters, “What? Is he not part of your little group now? Figured he’d be here to finish off the rest of it, he only did half a job last time.”

Kyle looks to the side, an elbow resting on the window sill. Soap clears his throat awkwardly as his great body shifts.

“Hm,” Price grunts out. But if you were looking for an answer, no one gives you one.

Hatred flairs. What gave these men the right to think they could just push you aside like that? They put a gun to your head! Killed your father!

The rabid sense of justice and entitlement grow until your jaw is clenching, unease mixing with agony. You deserve answers even if it kills you.

Your mouth opens, and your instinctually watering eyes stay stuck to the floor.

“I–”

“Laswell’ll explain,” Gaz’s quiet voice leaves you tense, muscles wound up as if you had forgotten he was there. A barrel flashes over your sight and you want to shift away but know you can’t.

Kate Laswell. So that’s who you’re going to meet.

“...Good,” you lick your lips.

About time.

It’s only ten minutes later that you’re let out of the vehicle, an underground parking garage and its dim lighting making your pupils widen to accommodate the darkness. Gaz gets out first, keeping the door open for you by the frame and you pause before following after, keeping a wary eye on him.

“Head alright?” You frown and stare at the Brit’s nose.

“Hope yours hurts even more.”

“This way.” You follow after the Captain’s voice, leaving the Sergeant behind to gape, blink, and slowly shut the car door. Ghost slips past with a hidden amusement and the group continues on.

This is going to be one hell of a mission.

To you, it was clear that this was a military base.

The entrance needed a keycard, and the vehicles stored underground were armored besides the one that you’d been brought in. The hallways were lined with tile and the staff that walked past were all dressed in clothes ranging from fatigues to full-on issued uniforms. People would try to meet your eyes, but you always looked away before they were able.

“In here.” Price utters, sliding an identification card through a reader before a faint clicking emanates out. The brunette tilts his head firmly as he opens the door.

You blink, but unlike the strange and heated interactions with Gaz, you hesitate to get on the Captain’s bad side. The chilled eyes digging into you as you state at his scarred hands… Your body shivers and you slip past the men into a brightly lit room.

Even without a weapon pointed at you, their eyes still felt like knives. Their words like bullets. Everything reminds you of three years ago, and try as you might, all you want to do is go to bed and forget about this.

Still the adrenaline hadn’t crashed, and when it did you knew you were going to be out of school for a week. Shaking. Sobbing. Rolling on the floor refusing to eat because what if they were right outside the door of your bedroom?

As you expected, the door closes behind you with a lock being set in place. But what you didn’t expect was to not be alone in this medium-sized room holding only a table and…

Your gaze widens on the figure in one of two chairs. Slim, yet fit, her pale skin sits under a simple white blouse and a lanyard over her neck. Hands intertwined and sitting over a stack of physical files in manila folders as a wedding band glints.

Dirty-blonde hair forms strands of bangs with the rest held back like a hostage near the top of her back, wrinkles in her forehead and around her lips. Without thinking clearly, your eyes make contact with hers, and you’re left violently flinching away, blinking rapidly and tilting your head down to force away amber and gold. Your heart seizes, but you recognize that shade of blue you’d just seen.

Gunmetal. So, this was Kate Laswell in the flesh.

A soft sigh meets the air.

“Please, sit.”

Biting your lip wearily, you start forward, hand connecting with the extra seat before you slowly pull it out. Your fingers tap the material before you hesitantly lower yourself into it, eyes going to any possible exit beyond the door behind you.

There was none.

“I’d like to apologize for the stress, but you can imagine that we wanted to cause the least amount of panic possible. To both you and the public.” Your vision sits on her lanyard, watching the picture jump as she moves to sit farther upright. “Kyle was the one to suggest speaking to you first, though I didn’t think it would work.”

You slouch.

“It didn’t.”

Kate blinks at your frame, studying the ragged look and evident sleeplessness. She would almost call it sickly. A frown grows over her serious face.

“Do you know why you’re here?”

“Where’s Row?” To hell with subtlety, you decided.

“It’s not as simple as that.” The woman doesn’t miss a beat, shaking her head back and forth slowly. “I’ll need you to listen to what I’m about to tell you.”

“...And why should I do that?” Your brow raises, voice gaining ice. “You’re responsible for my father’s death. You know that? You had oversight for that Operation.” Laswell stares at you, you can feel it. “Hell, you had oversight for a lot of Operations. What was the number… forty-five and counting? But that’s really just a blanket number, isn’t it?”

You can’t help the comments, they fall from you quicker than blood, and the back of your head burns something awful. Lights dance.

“John told me you had government documents on your laptop. A number on all of the members of One-Four-One.” Kate sighs quickly, motioning to you with a hand. “I have to admit, I did expect something like that to happen—so I made sure to let them know that you most likely already knew they were SAS.” A pause. Your hand goes to itch at your nose, peeling back skin as a way to ground yourself. But you’d be lying by saying you weren’t intrigued and a bit in awe. You’d underestimated how much Laswell actually knew about you. Who was to say they hadn’t been keeping an eye on you this whole time? Who are you kidding, of course they did. You curse yourself internally. “But unfortunately, that’s not why we’re here.”

Your fidgeting halts; eyes narrow. The Agent moves back, taking up a file and spreading it open, you watch with rapt attention.

If not the stolen documents, then what?

“Do,” pictures meet light, and your interest peeks, “these individuals seem familiar?”

One was of a man in a nice suit, expensive looking with a well-trimmed beard of blonde hair and a bald head. Tattoos are inked into visibly pale skin. The photo was taken as he was getting out of a large vehicle, armed guards holding a door open though it looked like he himself wasn’t in need of the entourage.

He was built like a boar on steroids.

Your hand grabs the page and brings it closer, face pulling close in concentration as your hands go clammy. You had no recollection of this stranger.

So what is this about?

The next was of a woman with a darker skin tone, perhaps from South Asia, though you couldn’t be certain. She was dressed nicely as well, in silk skirts and a long-sleeved shirt that wraps around her smaller body. The look is finished off with a thin garment over her shoulders.

She’s picking out spices at an outdoor market, the image partially covered by the lip of a jacket as if someone had been trying to be discreet.

But the guns of the armed guards are still seen as they flank the woman.

You look up, placing the photos down and shaking your head. Pulled in eyebrows causing your gaze to stop at Kate’s nose. “No, why?”

“Because they’ve put a price on your head.” Your body freezes and it takes a moment to register what she just told you.

Eyes wide and lips slightly parted; the ache in the back of your skull burns brighter as you find your breath has stopped. Sucking down a gasp, you bring a hand out of your pocket to scratch at your neck, mind running.

“What…what?” Laswell takes the pictures back, continuing nonchalantly as if your heart isn’t about to explode. You feel faint, and the lights buzz in your ears.

A price on my head?

“Crime syndicates with terrorist connections.” She begins, and you can’t help but listen. “Since your father’s death, they’ve been waiting for you to take up the mantle. Your families held tight bonds in the past—the museum your father was running was a cover to smuggle Yaromir Osipov’s weapons,” Kate points to the man, then to the woman, “and Mala Kham’s drugs. They were later sold at an undisclosed location and a portion of the profits was sent back to fund conflicts. Hired assassinations. Symbolic murders...”

The rest is left as an open statement.

“I…” You stutter, panic palpable. The air was getting thicker; harder to breathe. You can’t remember a time when your own clothes had felt so suffocating to wear.

It wasn’t a question to you as to why you’d restrained yourself from looking anything about your father up in the CIA databases. It was a fresh wound and an incredibly bloody one. The man that raised you wasn’t that man—the one that would smuggle drugs and weapons into Chicago and sell them off somewhere else.

The man you remembered was respectable and above all, kind. Indirectly causing the deaths of people? No, that wasn’t him. Your mind broke at even the barest insinuation. It… it refused to even consider it.

Kate Laswell watches blankly, humming under her breath and nodding to herself. As if she’d just confirmed something that she’d been on the fence about.

She continues.

“When three years passed and you never got into contact, your mother either, their product wasn’t getting sold at high rates anymore. Chicago is a vastly important playing field. The best way to get another house in power is to take out any remaining opposition and reinstate someone else.”

“My mother and I,” you murmur with a hysterical look that snaps into your eye. A sharp rigidness enters vertebrae, hands hastily slam the table in a grand display along with a crashing chair behind you as your feet push you upwards. “She’s in Ireland,” your mother was a traveling nurse, going abroad more often than not and away constantly. You hadn’t talked much after the first year of your father's passing. She left you to your grief and took hers with her. “D–do you have her in custody already or…or—She should be with someone! Is she still just—?”

“She’s in a secure location.” Kate interrupts, her hands raising. She’s calm; incredibly so, and you feel that serenity of her voice leaks into you, your shoulders lessen from their raised-hair stance. “And an Agent I trust is with her. She’ll be back in Chicago soon.”

“Jesus…” A hand spreads over your face, digits on the table clenching. While your mother and you didn't talk often, there was no part of you that wanted her dead. Not a single piece.

A sheen of embarrassment floods your blood at the scene you’d just made, but that doesn’t stop the confusion.

“But, wait,” your hand lowers, and you frown at the lanyard, “why would you care?” Kate places the photos back into the folder and closes it. “And why would you murder my father if you felt like this would happen?”

Where’s Samson Row?

“Our intention was never to have a casualty involved with our investigation.” Laswell sends you a glance with her emotionless eyes. “Nonetheless with a witness. It was an unfortunate accident.”

Your face blanks.

Unfortunate accident.

“Then why did your Private,” your mouth spits, hostility immediately pushing past formality, “shoot?”

No hesitation.

“We don’t know.” The laugh that rockets from you is cruel; violent and full of malice.

“What?!” You point at her, leaning forward over the table as your common sense vanishes. “You're the CIA and you can’t even control who you employ?! You murdered an innocent man!”

Kate looks at you with nothing, blinking slowly as you glare at her forehead. Did she not even care? The Agent says your name seriously.

“Your father was many things, but I can assure you, innocent was never one of them.”

“You expect me to just believe you?” You nod sarcastically multiple times, your loud voice no doubt flying under the opening of the door. “Just to, what? Accept that your Private shot him in the head right next to me for nothing? That’s hilarious if you think I’m that dumb.”

“What Samson Row did was against orders. No one here gave him the green light and thus I can’t say why he pulled the trigger. You’re going to have to accept that we don’t have the answers you’re looking for.”

Angry tears are splattering the table, a rampant betrayal. It was getting incredibly hard to not start swearing at this woman, but your father raised you better.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I have no doubt about that,” Laswell speaks lowly, “but I’m not lying to you. If your father kept all of this hidden…then there’s no thought as to if he cared about you,” a delicate silence as your jaw clenches, both hands clenched over the table as your head bows down, salty water bouncing off the flesh. “You should remember that.”

Your mouth opens, but you close it just as quickly. What could you say to that?

“You…don’t know…” Whispering can’t hide the enraged tremor of your tone. “Why?” The hopelessness.

Kate gives you a minute, and when your tears come to a slow stop, she opens her mouth.

“I’ll be providing you a protection detail until the cells overseas can be disposed of. You and your mother will be well taken care of in the safety of your own home.” She continues, “If you can do something for me in return in the meantime.”

A harsh laugh exits and bounces off the walls.

“Why am I not surprised?” Laswell ignores you.

“Your father had sensitive information that searches of his shipping lot and museum office didn’t offer any leads on. While you’re spending more time at your home, I want you to look for them. Anything that involves other dealers or a location to a hub.” You roll your eyes, smirk growing on bitter pieces of flesh.

“Why don’t you do it yourself?” You ask the Agent with a splay of your hand, foot tapping the ground in a rhythmic beat as you stare hard into the wall above her hair. Swiping at your cheeks until they’re raw. “I know you’re not above breaking into houses.”

“After the event three years ago, my superiors are,” a small noise in the back of her throat as she pushes herself up from the table, “less than pleased with how One-Four-One and I are handling this situation. It would look better on paper if you cooperated.”

“Is Samson dead?” Shoving your hands into your pockets, you lean back on your heels, tilting your head as you look at Kate’s collarbone. You can see her take a breath; lungs inflating like plastic sacks.

“Yes.” It’s like a punch to the gut—you have to stop yourself from staggering backward. Your next words are strained as your hands clench. But the woman just watches, intrigue laced in her studious eyes; half-narrowed with a dipped chin.

“How.”

“Do you have any other questions for me?” It was apparent that your inquiries would get you nowhere, at least the ones that mattered to you.

You nod stiffly, cutting your losses. You’d just look into it yourself. “Who’s going to be at my house?”

“Kyle.”

You’ve got to be kidding me.

“And why him?” Your voice growls, and you have a sudden need to pace around the room as your ears twitch to Laswell’s sighing and the shifting of her papers.

“Sergeant Garrick is trained in VIP protection. I’m sure you’ve read all about that.” Slyness enters her tone.

Of course you had.

Every file on your laptop was a mix of both professional and personal documents—all unimaginably delicate information if it were to get out into the public. For the Task Force itself, as well as their families. It would mean even more death and slaughter.

A nail in a coffin. Blackmail.

“I know that.” You grunt, taking a hung skin by your fingernail in between your teeth and biting down until you rip out portions of your flesh with a dull burn. “That’s not what I’m asking you—he’s the man who put a gun to my head.”

The insinuation is bare to the world.

“And now he’ll be the one using it to point at others.” The Agent slips past you, and your nose picks up the scent of linen and cigarette smoke.

This is the point that you should stop talking. Cut off loose ends and think of a way out of this. But you’d gotten cruel; cold-hearted with little regard for others feelings. What you wanted was the upper hand. You needed it. Some semblance of control in a situation that was so far out of it that the concept itself should be in space. Control was how you’d survived. You recall a flash of a file with Kate Laswell’s name attached and you’re speaking before the connotation fully registers.

“I wonder if your wife knows what you do. How many families have you ruined?” The woman pauses behind you, a hand on the door. Her legs shift. “Do you tell her? Or do you keep her conscious clean as you spread the blood on your hands over to her?”

Scream at me, you plead, eyes small. Yell. Rage. Please, just do something predictable. Let me win something.

Kate looks over her shoulder at you, but your vision stays anchored ahead; back turned away from the door entirely. Eyes blinking; lungs jumping like frogs to find oxygen as if to suck down flies.

“I should thank you.” The words echo. “You’re giving my department leeway to move on Osipov and Kham now that a US citizen is in direct crossfire…” The woman turns back to the door. “I’ll be expecting Garrick to send updates every two days. Try not to kill him.” She walks out the door on steady feet and it stays unlocked behind her when the metal eventually closes with the semblance of a period in a sentence. The almost inhuman silence left in its wake makes your ears ring with noise in the absence of all else.

Alone, mere seconds later, your hand quickly snaps to your mouth to muffle a wail, eyes kept firmly shut in grief as your knees shake. You only barely stop yourself from hitting the floor as the panic finally registers; halfway folded over the table.

A ways off in the hallway, none the wiser, Gaz leans against the wall—arms crossed and head resting behind him. It’s only at the sight of Laswell that the calm man perks to attention like an eager soldier.

Since he knew his charge already, Kyle had stayed behind while all the others of the Task Force had left with various degrees of goodbyes and well-wishes. Pats on his shoulders as he chuckled and made them swear to not have too much fun without him.

About to open his mouth and ask the fast-paced woman how it went, he’s interrupted by Kate’s blue eyes blazing as she glances at him.

“Good luck, Sergeant.” Her still voice is grim. “You’ll need it.” The female Agent walks on without another word, leaving the Brit wide-eyed and staring after.

“...Brilliant.” He fixes his cap and sighs before the sound of his cracking knuckles echoes through the hall. “Just bloody brilliant.”

TAGS:

@fatunn , @mh073099 , @littlegaypng , @untitled69555 , @babybooday , @caffeine-anxiety-and-randomfacts, @underrated-youngster , @jupiterredolent , @idocarealot , @karnellius , @latteisaqueen , @petrat97 , @jade-jax , @roosterr , @escapefromrealitysm , @renaich, @kysa32 , @human-turtle , @aurora-basin , @terumisworld , @violet-phantoms, @xxfeelmylovexx , @neelehksttr, @nezukos-number1fan , @20forty9 , @mdjenjen, @marrianena, @angeldaisyy, @alhaizen , @homicidal-slvt , @emerald-valkyrie , @raissadoesthingslmao , @misfne , @hollyhopesworld , @wasteland-babe , @330bpm-whiplash , @anna-banana27 , @justherebecausesafarisucks, @sunnynomoar , @doggydale, @thecrispypotatochip, @74478328 , @blueoorchid , @das-conk-creet-baybee, @dragonfruit1985, @chestnutsandcurls , @vamqyr3 , @lavalleon , @nebula67 , @urfavsunkissedleo

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holybatgirlz · 10 months ago

Text

The Cluedo Incident of '19

Read on ao3 here.

Summary:

Or: That time Bridgerton Family Game Night left five of the spouses contemplating the idea of divorce.

Words: 12k+

Notes: Been worked on this since January and finally finished it 😮‍💨😮‍💨. All credit to @bridgertonbabe for this.

“Unit 1813, please respond.”

“Go ahead, dispatch.”

“We’ve got a potential stabbing, an active labor, a few cases of smoke inhalation, and what looks like appendicitis at a home fire in Mayfair. Firefighters have made sure the fires have been put out and we’ve got a few units on the scene as well, but they’re requesting additional back up. Family on sight is giving them problems.”

“What’s the address?”

As Harriet continued driving the ambulance, listening to dispatch relay the address of the emergency, she glanced towards her partner Pete, an older and more seasoned paramedic, let out a loud laugh. Chuckling to himself, Pete told dispatch they were on route and were only a few minutes out.

Noticing her confusion, Pete only chuckled more. “Don’t worry. I’ve been to this address before.”

“You’ve been there before?” Harriet asked, still concerned.

“It’s the Bridgerton family’s address. Had a few calls to their home in my career. They're a nice bunch,” Pete explained. “And given the situation, my guess is they had another game night.”

Now, Harriet was really confused. She vaguely recalled the last name.

“Game night?” she asked, clarifying.

“Every once in a while they have a family game night, which usually ends in some level of chaos. With injuries to match,” Pete continued. “Eight kids. All a bunch of high achievers and also incredibly competitive. Do not get into an argument with any of them. In fact, don’t talk to any of them when we get there. Two of them are solicitors, and another one used to be, and a fourth one is training to be. So, I’ll do the talking.”

As they pulled up at the scene, Harriet was taken aback by the amount of ambulances parked in front of a grand, white stucco home with pillars and a painted black metal fence in front, with a beautifully maintained garden of rose bushes outfront. Firefighters were coming in and out of the front door, which had soft trails of gray smoke escaping out from. They’re were two police cars parked in front as well, the lights of the cop cars along with the ambulances lit the home in blue hue. There was a noticeable crowd of people both watching from across the street as well as a small cluster by some of the ambulances, all of whom appeared to be arguing with one another.

“This was because of a game?” Harriet asked, stunned.

“Yep,” Pete told her as he turned off the engine and hopped out of the ambulance.

Making their way towards the home, and the crowd of arguing adults, they passed an elegantly dressed, yet soaking wet, woman sitting on the front steps of the home, unperturbed by the firefighters moving up and down the stairs next to her.

“Evening Mrs. Bridgerton,” Pete nodded. “How have you been?”

As he spoke, Mrs. Bridgerton held up a finger as she took a long swing from the wine bottle held in her hand, chugging a few gulps before pointing her thumb towards the other parked ambulances. A cigarette was burning between her pointer and middle finger. Harriet noticed that while she was soaked to the bone, she had no ash or soot on her. Let alone blood on her anywhere.

“There all over there,” Mrs. Bridgerton told them once she was finished drinking.

“Another game night?” he asked, knowingly.

Mrs. Bridgerton nodded sullenly, taking a drag of the cigarette before speaking. She didn’t even look up at them, just continued giving a thousand yard stare to the rose bushes in front of her.

“Unfortunately.”

Receiving all the information they needed (and were going to get) Pete hoisted the large medical kit higher over his shoulder and made his way towards the group of arguing adults.

“This happens every other year?” Harriet said slowly, still shocked as she looked around the scene.

“Roughly. We’ve been getting calls here because of the Bridgerton Game Nights since the late seventies. You should have seen the father and his siblings when they lived here,” Pete whistled as he recalled that time. “They flooded the entire downstairs one year and blew up a microwave another time. This lot just seems worse because there's more of them.”

As they got closer, Harriet was able to make out some of the arguing coming from the crowd. A group who all looked to be disheveled and soaking wet. Some even had blood on their clothes. Half the group was yelling at each other, while the others were silently observing. Looking, frankly, embarrassed and exasperated by what was happening in front of them.

“I cannot believe you would accuse my wife of faking contractions !”

“Benedict, please get in the ambulance.”

“Who has eyes on Hyacinth?!”

“ She stabbed my husband, Anthony !”

“Daphne, I’m fine. Now get in or we leave without you.”

“At least”– cough cough –“At least I didn’t start a fire !”

“Eloise, be quiet and let the paramedics help you!”

“Who's driving Mum to the hospital?!”

“Where the hell is Hyacinth ?!”

“Like I said,” Pete told her. “Let me do the talking.”

| Fourteen Hours Earlier |

BSSG Chat

Penelope: Good morning my fellow spouses. Are we ready for tonight? 🙂

Kate: Yes 😀😀😀

Simon: Not particularly, no.

Sophie: I guess.

Sophie: Ben and I may be late tonight. Our sitter canceled at the last minute, so Posy is going to watch Charlie after she gets off work.

Phillip: Eloise made it sound like a lot of fun so I’m excited to see how this goes.

Michael: Yeah, same here.

Simon: …

Penelope: Well, we’re excited to have you guys. ☺️☺️☺️☺️

Kate: You guys are going to get crushed 😈😈

The Sane-y Bunch

Penelope: Before anyone asks, yes I have the first aid kit.

Penelope: I got the biggest one I could find.

Penelope: Like almost professional grade.

Simon: Oh thank Christ.

Sophie: Is Violet really planning to stay for this? I thought she was going on a spa retreat with Agatha?

Simon: Canceled. Apparently the place flooded due to a burst pipe, so they had to close. Agatha’s trying to reschedule them somewhere else but at this point all they can get is a post-game night retreat next weekend.

Penelope: Lucky them.

Penelope: Alright. We all know the plan.

Penelope: Sophie you're on Violet watch tonight. The last thing we need is to call an ambulance for alcohol poisoning. She’ll be too busy fretting over your pregnancy to focus on drinking, and that way you don’t need to be on your feet too much or get involved in the game. We can keep you both in the lounge.

Sophie: 👍 That sounds absolutely fine to me.

Sophie: As much as I love Ben. I do not enjoy watching the man he becomes when game night happens.

Penelope: I’ve got team pairings I think will work, so we just need to make sure they happen. Especially Kate and Anthony. They have to be paired together or God help us if they are on opposing teams.

Simon: As much as I hate when they team up, they are better managed when they’re together then they are apart.

Sophie: I do feel kinda bad for Phillip and Michael. They seem so excited. I really don’t think it's fair for us to not warn them.

Simon: Sophie, there is nothing you can do for them. The only way they will understand the hell that is about to break out tonight is by experiencing it first hand.

Simon: WE all had to experience it blind ourselves.

Penelope: You know they would never believe us if we tried to explain it.

Sophie: Still. I did warn Phillip that Eloise can get a little intense when Game Night happens.

Penelope: I told him not to let her have any sugar before she gets there.

“Pen! Have you seen my bag for tonight?”

“No!” Penelope yelled back, staring down at said missing bag.

The small plastic bag was filled with items that her husband had bought off Amazon to help him cheat at tonight’s game. How? Penelope had no idea, but she was currently looking at a small bag filled with items found in a Cluedo board game box, along with a packet of invisible ink pens.

He’d initially hidden the bag (and quite stupidly) under their bed, after excitedly informing her about how he planned to cheat and finally win at Game Night. Penelope had had to plan it perfectly how’d she’d get the items before Colin had enough time to replace them.

Stashing the items into her Mom’s old, Valentino bag, one she’d given Penelope after Phillipa let a lipstick melt in it, knowing full well Colin would not dare go through her mother’s stuff after the last time he’d done so and found items he’d never needed to find in her mother’s possession, Penelope then shoved the bag deep into the back of the hallway closet as her husband came into the room.

“I could have sworn I left it in our room,” he told her.

Penelope plastered the sweetest, most sympathetic smile she could as she watched him. “Are you sure you didn’t leave it where your siblings could see it?”

Colin cursed. “You don’t think Gregory took it?”

“I don’t know,” Penelope shrugged, then faked a gasp, eyes wide with alarm. “You don’t think he’s in cahoots with Anthony?”

“You’re right,” Colin told her, falling for it. “He’s always been a stickler for doing what Anthony wants.”

“You know, we should probably make sure they don’t team up tonight. I was thinking we do couple pairings,” Penelope suggested. “If he and Kate are together they’ll be too busy arguing to focus on winning.”

“You. Are. Brilliant,” Colin told her, coming over and placing his hands on her shoulders before kissing her on the forehead. “I love you. And I love when you get manipulative.”

Oh, you have no idea how manipulative I can be, babe , Penelope thought to herself as she continued to smile sweetly at her husband.

Familia Bridgerton Group Chat

Colin: All right Gregory made his pick.

Colin: It’s Cluedo

“Daddy?”

Phillip looked up and found his daughter standing in the doorway of his greenhouse. Amanda, only nine years old, was still dressed in her pjs. He let out an exhausted sigh, it was now almost one in the afternoon and Marina was going to be here in an hour to pick the twins up for the weekend.

“What is it Amanda?” he asked as he continued misting his orchids.

“Mama Eloise has gone crazy ,” Amanda replied, dragging out the last word in an over the top tone.

“It’s she always crazy?” Phillip teasingly returned, smiling fondly.

Amanda thought it over for a second. “Well, yeah, but this time she’s gone really crazy.”

Phillip frowned. That did not sound good.

Putting the spray bottle down, Phillip exited the greenhouse, Amanda following close behind, and made his way back into the house. Which was when he entered the home and found Eloise pacing through the halls, muttering to herself. Held in her hand was a bag of jelly babies that she was currently munching on.

“–complete and utter incompetent ass,” he heard her say to herself as she popped another candy in her mouth and aggressively chewed it.

“Good morning, Eloise,” Phillip said with forced cheer as he tried to hide the concern in his voice, slowly approaching his wife like she was suddenly a wild animal. When she began stress eating, it was never a good sign.

Eloise’s head snapped up towards him.

“There you are!” she said, suddenly charging at him, making Phillip quickly take a step back in surprise. “What’s your experience with Cluedo?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Cluedo,” Eloise repeated. “You’ve played Cluedo before, yes?”

“Um…yes,” Phillip told her, hesitantly. It had been a few years, but he’d certainly played the murder mystery board game before.

“And you're good at it?” Eloise asked next.

“I mean, I’ve only played it a few times. It’s been a while since I last played it,” he answered.

“Damn it,” Eloise cursed, turning away from him. “That ass. I knew it. I knew he would try to do this.”

“Do what?” Phillip asked. “Who are we talking about?”

“Gregory. It’s Gregory’s turn to pick the game and he chose Cluedo,” Eloise told him, furiously. “The little ass picked the one game he knew I hated.”

Phillip’s frown deepened. “Don’t you love mystery novels?” he asked her. He had an entire shelf worth of them now in the library upstairs.

“That’s different,” she snapped, as if it should be obvious to him his error.

“Okay,” Phillip said slowly, watching Eloise continue to pace back and forth through the hallway, until he stepped in front of her and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Honey, are you alright?”

Eloise frowned. “Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Well, you seem…stressed,” he told her.

But his wife only rolled her eyes. “It’s fine, Phillip, you obviously don’t understand the importance of game night.”

“I don’t?” he asked her.

“Yes,” Eloise replied with an exasperated sigh.

🐝 The Children Group Chat 🐝

Violet: Good morning, children ✨💗✨💗

Violet: I hope you are all ready to be on your best behavior tonight. Before you all arrive tonight. I wanted to make sure you all remembered the rules.

Anthony: Of course, mother.

Violet: Would you all like to remind me what they are?

Anthony: No cheating, no weapons, no cursing, no threatening family members or significant others and no emotional manipulation or targeted insults.

Anthony: And especially no cheating.

Eloise: Love how you of all people feel the need to remind us about the no cheating rule.

Anthony: Because I cheat???

Eloise: YES

Eloise: All the time!!

Violet: …

Violet: I will see you all tonight.

“Honey, did you really need to bring this much food?” Simon asked as he placed the stack of baking trays he’d been made to carry down.

Every available space in the kitchen at Number 5 was now covered in baking trays and containers Daphne had brought from their house. It was enough to feed a small army.

“We could have just ordered pizza,” he added.

The glare his wife gave him over her shoulder was enough for Simon to be reminded that silence was the best option for him right now, as he watched Daphne continue to unpack the food and turn on the oven.

“Oh, Daphne,” Violet awkwardly laughed as she walked into her kitchen and saw the sight before her. Her pale blue eyes were wide with concern. “My…you’ve brought so much… food .”

“Well, whatever is left over you can save Mum,” Daphne told her as she continued preparing. “Everything is really good as leftovers.”

Violet gave Simon a panicked look, but he only shook his head at her. A warning that Daphne was in no mood right now to be critiqued or questioned.

“I’ve got a few more things I need to get out of the car. Be right back,” Daphne told them cheerfully as she left the room and headed back outside.

Once she was gone, Violet looked towards him and asked.

“How long has she been baking?”

“Since um…two nights ago,” Simon told her, having had to deal with his wife’s stress cooking as today’s game night got closer and closer. He’d woken up at two in the morning to find her baking a croquembouche, a bloody croquembouche , in their kitchen while she muttered away about how she was definitely going to win game night this time.

“Well, she unfortunately gets stress baking from me,” Violet informed him, apologetically.

THE Children Group Chat

Hyacinth: Alright, we placing bets on tonight or not??

Francesca: On who??? Ourselves?? We all ALWAYS vote for ourselves every time this question is brought up.

Colin: Tbh I think Kate might have a chance this year. We all know she spends most of her time plotting how to kill Anthony, she’s probably an expert at it by now.

Anthony: You win Cluedo by process of elimination not whether or not you know how to kill someone.

Colin: So you agree? That Kate knows how to end your life?

Anthony: I’m not dignifying that with a response.

Colin: You literally just responded to my question 😮💨

Benedict: I’m calling dibs on being partnered with my wife tonight 🥰

Eloise: Omg we get it Benedict. You're whipped.

Benedict: 🖕

Hyacinth: You ASS. You said I could be partnered with Sophie this time!!

Benedict: I have no recollection of ever having that conversation.

“I’m just saying, I don’t think it’s really that big of a deal.”

“Honey, I love you, but I’m starting to think you just don’t understand how important it is that we win tonight.”

“Why? So you can laud it over your siblings that you’re better than them at Cluedo?”

“Yes.”

Sophie couldn't hold back the eye roll she gave her husband, but still accepted his hand as he helped her up the short staircase leading to Number 5. The closer she got to her due date, the more her round stomach and swollen ankles slowed her down, and stairs in particular had become quite cumbersome in recent weeks

“Benedict, it’s a board game. You’re supposed to have fun, not fight your siblings to the death like you're in the Colosseum,” she told her husband as he rapped his knuckles on the front door, watching as he bounced around in a manner that looked as though he desperately needed to use the restroom.

“Don’t you remember Pictionary?” he asked, smiling dreamily at her.

Ah, yes, the Pictionary Incident. She'd conveniently blocked it from her memory given everything that had happened that night.

She'd been dating Benedict for a year when she got invited to her first Bridgerton Game Night. Right after everything with her stepmother finally hit the fan, culminating in her spending three days in jail before Benedict and his mother had found her and got her released. They'd helped her file a lawsuit against her stepmother for the fraud and harassment, but that very lawsuit had left her overwhelmed and unable to sleep. Add to it Benedict yelling at her for her quote, “abysmal” drawing skills and casting her aside in exchange for teaming up with Kate, she’d come to believe Benedict wanted nothing to do with her.

And then Anthony and Colin purposefully dropped a mini keg on Benedict’s hand while she’d been wiping tears away in the bathroom, almost costing him his career (and the ability to use his right hand), and Sophie had been so exasperated by that point she ended up punching Anthony in the face hard enough to give him a black eye and slapping Colin.

She’d been mortified by her actions. Sophie had thought she’d never be able to face his family again after what happened, but Benedict thought otherwise. As did his siblings, who had all lauded her as a hero for what she'd done. It had still taken Kate and Simon, along with Penelope, to convince her they weren't upset with her.

Benedict proposed to her twice in the aftermath. First time after he woke up the next day and was still a little groggy from the morphine, which had led to the famous “soap bucket my finance” text that her in-laws still teased her about, and the second time after he’d been discharged and they had gotten back to the apartment. When he’d finally been able to give her the ring he’d been hiding in their side table.

“You were so hot that night. Not that you aren’t always but God, when you sucker punched Anthony, I swore I could hear a choir going,” Benedict continued.

She raised a brow up at him, unimpressed. “Honey, that might have been the morphine the paramedics gave you. Or the pain from having your hand crushed.”

“Or maybe you are just a literal angel,” Benedict replied, swooping down to give her a quick kiss before she could retort. And right as the front door finally opened.

The sight of her mother-in-law, Violet Bridgerton, wine glass in hand, and a pained, forced smile on her face as she opened the door for them, was the first cause of concern for Sophie. It didn’t do anything for the mounting worry she felt in the pit of her stomach. That she’d had for the past two weeks, since the idea of tonight's game night had been suggested in the main family group chat.

“Evening, mother. You look as lovely as ever,” Benedict said excitedly, greeting his mother with a kiss on the cheek before quickly bypassing her and throwing his coat off. Tossing it over the staircase railing as he passed by it and went straight into the living room.

A room where arguing could already be heard already coming from.

Violet blinked as her son disappeared, turning to Sophie before sighing, giving her a tired smile. “How are you Sophie?”

“Well,” Sophie told her as she entered the Bridgerton family home, giving her mother-in-law a quick side hug (given her pregnant stomach made hugging tricky at the moment). “All good?”

“They are still deciding teams,” Violet told her flatly. “It’s been an hour.”

“Sophie, come on!” Benedict called out from the living room. “You’re going to be on my team!”

“Great,” Sophie commented flatly. There went her plan of staying out of the conflict.

At least she’d be able to reign him in if they were on the same side, and things started to get out of hand.

Violet, meanwhile, downed what remained of her half full glass of wine. “Good luck. I’ll be in the lounge watching Love Island if you need me. Do not find a need for me.”

She then disappeared into the room across from the one all of her children were in, closing the door and returning to her marathon of reality TV in the hopes of distracting her from the noise which was her insane children.

Sophie sighed, pulling off her coat and hanging it up (along with Benedict’s) in the front hall closet, before making her way to the living room. Which was where she found her fellow Bridgerton spouses looking exhausted (Penelope) and exasperated (Simon), and a very alarmed looking Michael and Phillip. Kate, it turned out, was one of the loudest arguing voices at the moment.

Benedict, seeing her, patted the space next to him on the couch like an excitable golden retriever. He’d already grabbed another pillow to support her back. And thankfully, Sophie would be next to Francesca and Michael, meaning she wouldn’t have someone screaming in her ear for most of the night.

Penelope flashed her an apologetic smile as she passed by, as Kate and Anthony continued to argue over being on a team together. From what she quickly gathered, the pair had unfortunately ended up on opposing teams. Kate with Gregory and Anthony with Hyacinth. And neither would agree to changing.

“Alright, can we please just play the game!” Simon shouted suddenly, silencing the pair and the room. He blinked, realizing how snappish he’d sounded as everyone stared at him, then took a deep breath, saying in a calmer and quieter tone. “Now that Benedict and Sophie are here, we have everyone. Shouldn't we just start?”

“Let’s. Please,” Phillip added, gently.

It was going to be a long night.

| 20 Minutes Later |

Hyacinth Bridgerton to The Mothership

Hyacinth: Mother. I am texting you this because I wanted to make sure you knew that Gregory is a punk ass liar and anything he tells you or texts you tonight is nothing but a malicious attempt at slandering my name.

Gregory Bridgerton to Mama

Gregory: Hyacinth is the one who lost your diamond earrings last month. She wore them out to go clubbing and then lost them in Regent’s Park when she went skinny dipping with Gareth while drunk.

Gregory: I should clarify that at no point did Gareth make her do any of this. Nor did he get in the pond with her. I’m also pretty sure it's the reason she caught a norovirus.

Gregory: Also, do we have any antacids in the house? My stomach is killing me.

| Half an Hour Later |

The Sane-y Bunch

Sophie: And here I thought tonight wouldn’t be so bad 🙃🙃

Penelope: Literal clown behavior.

Simon: 🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡🤡

Agatha Danbury to Violet Bridgerton

Agatha: How goes it with the chaos octonary?

Violet: Bickering and threats mainly, but the night is still young.

Agatha: What glass of wine are you on?

Violet: My fourth but I’m prepared to shift to hard liquor if they don’t stop yelling profanities at each other as if I’m not home right now.

| One Hour Later |

“You are the biggest liar on the face of the earth!”

“Well, at least I didn’t crash Mum’s car when I was fourteen!” Hyacinth yelled back.

“That was you?” Anthony shouted at Eloise, who only rolled her eyes and slumped back against the couch.

Putting his head in his hand, rubbing a hand over his face as he rested his elbow on the arm of the sofa, Simon desperately tried to think calm, relaxing thoughts before he finally snapped and went on a killing spree. If he didn’t, his in-laws were going to put him in the ground. Or he would put them all in the ground. It had been almost an hour of arguing, with no one being able to roll the dice or move they’re spots until the debates that had broken out had been resolved.

Then, his phone vibrated in his back pocket. Simon pulled it out, hoping it was a call from work so he could get out of here.

It wasn’t.

Spouses (Minus Kate because WTF Is she on something???)

Michael: Hey, Michael here.

Michael: What the fuck is going on?

Penelope: Game night 😊

Penelope: And to answer your question. No Kate isn’t on anything.

Michael: I’m beginning to see that.

Michael: Again.

Michael: What the fuck???

Michael: Is this normal???? Because I don’t think I’ve ever seen Francesca this mean spirited.

Michael: I didn’t even think she could be mean.

Sophie: Yes. This is normal.

Penelope: Unfortunately, yes.

Sophie: Does someone want to check on Phillip? He looks ill.

Penelope: He looks catatonic.

Simon: I think he’s a lost cause.

Sparing a glance towards his brother-in-law, Simon found Phillip staring straight ahead, looking stunned, with his hands clasped together on his lap, back stiff and straight as a board as he sat in a perpetual state of silent shock. Ever since Eloise had threatened to throw weedkiller on his ghost orchids. All because he dared to second guess her about the dagger being the murder weapon. He’d been sitting there like that for the past twenty minutes, since the threat had been made. The constant buzzing of his phone in his pocket, vibrating from each text it received, appeared to do nothing in snapping his attention back to reality.

“It’s Ms. Scarlet,” Benedict repeated for the sixteenth time, even louder than the last time he said it.

“No it isn’t!” Kate (who it should be noted was currently Ms. Scarlet with Gregory) yelled back. Even louder than the last time she had yelled it.

“Yes, it is,” Benedict snapped back.

“I think Benedict’s right,” Sophie calmly said, from where she sat next to her husband.

“Sophie, I love you, but no one asked for your ditzy opinion,” Kate shot at her.

Sophie’s dark blonde brows shot up to her hairline as she stared, stunned, at her sister-in-law and close friend's remark.

“Ditzy?”

“Don’t call my wife a ditz,” Benedict ordered loudly.

“Hey, hey ! Don’t yell at my wife!” Anthony shot back, pointing a finger at his brother from where he was sitting on the sofa chair next to his brother. His finger hovering inches away from his brother’s face.

Benedict only slapped his hand away. “Don’t point your finger at me Anthony. You’re not my father.”

For the briefest of moments, Simon was certain that Anthony was capable of shooting laser beams from his eyes with the glare his friend shot his younger brother. The vein in his forehead was certainly bulging right now and he looked ready to lecture Benedict about respecting your elders (i.e. elder brothers ), which would have gone on for the next twenty minutes if he wasn’t stopped, but Sophie interrupted them both before he could.

“I think–” she announced loudly, moving to push herself up from her seated position. “–I’m going to get some water. Honey, can you help me up?”

Benedict was on his feet in seconds, having forgotten all about his brother as he moved to help his wife. Offering out his hands for her to take and pulling her up to her feet once she’d grabbed them, and moving one hand behind her back to help support her while she found her balance again. Simon had to give it to Sophie. She was pretty good at knowing when and what to say to diffuse an argument between the siblings.

“I’ll go with you,” Penelope said, rising to her feet as well. “I need to refill my glass.”

“Here too,” Simon quickly commented, jumping up to follow and snatching his bourbon glass off the coffee table.

“I think I need another beer,” Michael announced. “Francesca, you want something?”

“Not now,” Francesca snappishly replied over her shoulder, before returning to her argument with Colin. They’d been arguing for the past fifteen minutes over whether or not his notepad had invisible ink on it. She'd apparently seen him flashing a UV flight over it. As had Daphne.

“Alright then,” Michael said to no one in particular, before turning to Phillip, grabbing his elbow and pulling the man up to his feet. “Come on, Phil. Let’s get you a drink.”

“Sure,” Phillip replied weakly, still looking rather out of it.

Dragging him to his feet, Michael subsequently was the one to pull Phillip along behind him as the spouses all made a quick exit and headed into the kitchen. They found Violet in the middle of pouring herself another very large glass of red wine, which was empty by the time she finished pouring.

“How goes the game?” she asked them as they all entered.

“No injuries yet. We’re still at the sin list period of the night,” Penelope told her. “Eloise was the one who crashed your car and Anthony’s the one who washed all your passports before your Bali trip that one time. I also want to make sure you knew it was Colin who accidentally killed Daphne’s hamster. Not Benedict. That didn’t come up tonight but I wanted to make sure you knew.”

“Oh, I know about the hamster,” Violet told her before taking a long sip of her wine. “Colin admitted to it during the Pictionary Incident.”

“Is there by chance any more wine?” Penelope asked.

Violet lifted the empty wine bottle. “This,” she started, which was when they all noticed how flushed her face was. “Was the last bottle.” She then studied the bottle for a few seconds, lips pursed as she stared down the hole and into the bottle. “I should probably go get more.”

“I can drive you,” Simon offered quickly, before the other.

“I think I’m going to walk to the store actually,” she announced to them. “That way I can stay out of here longer.”

Simon visibly deflated. There went his only escape, even if it meant abandoning the others. He was forced to watch as Violet left the room and headed towards the front door.

“I’m going out!” her voice called out to her children, which was quickly followed by the front door slamming before any of them could reply back.

Not that they did.

“Well, this is turning into a wonderful evening,” Penelope commented.

Simon took a seat at the kitchen table, with the others following. Michael, after grabbing another beer from the fridge, pulled out a chair for Sophie, who slowly lowered herself down, one hand over her round stomach and the other clutching the chair as she slowly sunk down, before he took a seat next to her. Penelope made sure to get both Sophie and Phillip a glass of water before taking a seat next to Simon on the opposite side.

“So, what’s the plan?” she asked the group. All of whom gave her varying looks of discomfort or awkwardness back. “What? We all know this needs to end before it gets out of hand.”

“Sophie, you don’t think there is a chance Benedict Jr could come a little early?” Michael suggested.

“Michael, I can’t just make myself go into labor,” Sophie told him.

“Well, if you fake contractions that will at least get you and Benedict outta here and he looks prepared to strangle Anthony right now,” he informed her.

Sophie only ignored him, shaking her head as she turned towards the still catatonic Phillip.

“Phillip, are you alright?” she asked him.

“She threatened my orchids,” Phillip muttered slowly.

“Yes. We all heard,” Sophie responded worriedly.

“My orchids. My rare dendrophylax lindenii ghost orchids. Do you know how long they took to grow ?” Phillip looked at her fearfully. “Months. It took me months to grow them. I even had to get permission to grow them in the first place.”

Sophie, not the expert on rare plants the way Phillip, with his literal doctorate in botany, was, only nodded along politely, gently and supportively patting his shoulder. Simon pulled out his flask from his back pocket and offered it to Phillip, who took it with shaky hands and took a quick sip, before passing it back to him.

“So, let me get this straight,” Michael said to them. “This is normal for a Bridgerton family game night?”

“Yes,” Simon, Sophie, and Penelope all said back in unison.

“Jesus Christ,” the Scotsman muttered, shaking his head in disbelief as he leaned back in his chair. Taking a moment to think, then asking. “Why are they like this?”

“No idea,” Sophie told him.

“I think they chose doing this over paying for family therapy sessions,” Penelope explained.

“I think they're all just insane,” Simon said.

“They’re an endangered species!” Phillip suddenly yelled, evidently still caught up on the threats to his prized flowers and surprising them all with his sudden outburst. “Does she even realize how much trouble she could get in?! How much trouble I could get in?!”

“There, there,” Sophie gently said, patting his shoulder as Phillip put his head in his hands. “There, there.”

“Maybe we can get one of the babysitters to make up an emergency,” Michael suggested next, eyeing Phillip apprehensively as he spoke. A suggestion that had Simon bursting out into a brief fit of laughter, wishing he was as naive and innocent to this all as Michael was.

“Trust me when I say, we will not be able to do that,” he informed Michael. “Agatha’s got my kids right now and she will not help us. She’d rather sit back with a glass of merlot and enjoy the outcome of tonight then willingly involve herself in this chaos. And Edwina’s babysitting for Anthony and Kate’s and I know she won’t help us either.”

“Edwina was present for the Password kerfuffle back when Anthony was trying to date her,” Penelope explained, seeing the confused look on Michael’s face.

“Do I even want to know what happened?” Michael asked.

“Besides it being the night Anthony and Kate finally hooked up by hate-fucking in the gazebo out back, and Gregory slashing Simon’s tires, not the worst game night we ever had,” Penelope answered with a shrug as she looked to Simon for agreement. “But it was enough for Edwina to never want to deal with it again. In any capacity.”

“You’re forgetting Hyacinth nearly falling out of the upstairs window and breaking her leg,” Simon added, impassively.

Penelope blinked. She was silent for a moment as she recalled the minutes they’d all spent in a panic outside, watching on in horror as the youngest Bridgerton daughter, only ten at the time, clung to the railing of the balcony outside her room. If it hadn’t been for Simon racing upstairs and pulling her back over when they’d heard her all screaming, she probably would have fallen and broken something. Or worse.

“I think I actually suppressed that part,” she remarked to him and Simon nodded back his understanding.

“Posy might help us if I ask,” Sophie offered as she absently rubbed her hand up and down her swollen stomach. “Benedict would definitely believe something was wrong if she called.”

“The only problem with that idea, Sophie, is that you are a terrible liar,” Simon said.

Sophie gasped, appalled. “I am not.”

“Yes, you are,” Penelope told her. “Benedict might be blinded by your beauty and kindness to think you’d ever try deceiving him, but the others will see straight through it.”

“And during Game Night of all nights, they’ll already be suspicious,” Simon said and Sophie frowned at him. “Their paranoia increases tenfold.”

Before she had a chance to respond, another voice interrupted their conversation. A voice that had them all tensing in their seats, like school children who’d just been caught misbehaving by the headmistress.

“Oh, there you all are,” Daphne said, smiling, as she wandered into the kitchen. “I was wondering where you all had gotten too.”

The redheaded Bridgerton daughter immediately bee-lined straight towards the oven, which had been on during this time cooking the little appetizers Daphne had made. Deviled eggs and a charcuterie board were already sitting on the kitchen island, with a smaller matching one in the living room, but Daphne (the uncontested queen of hosting) had also brought some impressive bite-size food items like little sliders and savory tarts that she’d been cooking throughout the night.

If there was one benefit to the Bridgerton Game Nights, it at least came with good booze and Daphne’s amazing cooking.

But Simon still eyed his wife suspiciously. When he’d left her in the living room minutes earlier, she’d been arguing fiercely with her brother and sister over an alleged invisible ink pen and now she was standing before them, the picture of perfection. Cheerful in fact.

Abnormally cheerful.

Concerningly cheerful. In the manner that Simon recognized as when his wife was going to get particularly passive-aggressive about something.

“Hey, honey,” Simon started slowly, trying to act natural. “Need any help?”

“I’m good,” Daphne replied in her typical, cheerful bravado, but Simon could still hear the edge in her voice as she opened up the oven, pulling out the tray of food that had been cooking inside.

“Can I just say Daphne,” Michael started, flashing his trademark charming smile. “You’ve done a wonderful job with the food tonight. Truly spectacular.”

“Oh, thank you,” Daphne replied sweetly with a nervous giggle.

In any other situation, Simon might have been jealous of the subtle pink hue that developed on his wife’s cheeks, which only made her look even more beautiful, but if Michael’s compliments and charm kept his wife happy tonight, he was welcomed to endure it.

“Are you sure you don’t need help?” Simon asked again, watching as his wife used a spatula to move the little pastries she’d been warming from the metal cooking tray to a small plate.

“Yep,” was all she said.

“Daphne,” Penelope started. “I just want to say that I really did try to make sure Colin didn’t bring any invisible pens tonight. I made sure I had all of them.”

“Oh, it’s fine Pen,” Daphne said back with her cheerful, mom voice, smiling brightly back at her sister-in-law. “What with your history with my brother, I knew you had a like 1 in 10 chance of reining him in. It’s not like he has a good track record of noticing you when you're speaking to him.”

And there it was.

Penelope blinked as she registered the insult Daphne had directed toward her. The others sitting around her all watched on in stunned surprise, eyes all wide in shock. Even Phillip had lifted his head to look at Daphne in shock as the air around them became awkwardly uncomfortable.

But Simon only closed his eyes as he leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath, wishing he’d pushed harder to escort Violet to the liquor store earlier.

“See you all back in there,” Daphne cheerfully said in a sing-song voice and a wide smile as she carried the tray out of the room. “Don’t want everyone to think you guys are strategizing behind our backs.”

And then she was gone.

After a few moments, Simon sighed. “Penelope, I’d like to apologize on behalf of my wife for–”

But Penelope only held up a hand, silencing him. She took a deep breath. “It’s fine. We all agreed to excuse anything that lot says on game night.”

“I’m still more than welcome to call Posy,” Sophie offered again.

“If it comes to it, we’ll call her,” Simon told her with another sigh, relenting. They could make it work somehow if they had to.

“We should all probably get back in there,” Michael said. “Before Daphne throws us all under the bus.”

“Which she will gladly do,” Simon replied in agreement, rising up from his chair.

As he went to stand there was a sudden crashing sound from the other room, followed by loud and shocked expletives and shouting. Things were being tossed about and spilled, glass was shattering, as a loud high pitch scream was heard, followed by the other Bridgertons all yelling simultaneously.

“Oh my God! IS THAT A KNIFE ?!” Daphne shouted.

“Where the hell did you get a knife from?!” Anthony yelled.

“Hyacinth, put it down!” Benedict ordered.

"Why does she have a knife!" Francesca screamed.

“That does not sound good,” Simon said, rising from his seat.

As they all rushed to the room, Simon and Penelope were the first ones to make it in. Phillip and Michael had stayed behind to help Sophie out of her chair, meaning they were not witnesses to the sight that was Hyacinth holding a small switchblade in her outstretched arm as she stood on one side of the couch. Gregory stood on the other side, clutching his lower arm, a small trickle of blood slipping through his fingers as he stared at his younger sister in stunned shock. The rest of the siblings were all standing a safe distance away from the two, hands out in front of them as if they were handling feral dogs.

“You bitch!” Gregory yelled. “You fucking stabbed me!”

“You told Gareth about my lisp?!” Hyacinth screamed back furiously.

“I thought he knew!” Gregory shouted back. “He’s your friend! I thought you told him everything!”

“Not things he could use against me!” was the youngest Bridgerton loud, shrill reply. She tried to move around the couch to get him, but Gregory only moved at the same time as her, keeping the large sofa between them both as a makeshift barrier against his sister’s assault.

“Hyacinth, put the knife down!” Francesca ordered this time.

“Where the fuck did you get a knife from?” Anthony shouted again, trying to approach them before stopping, unable to see a clear opportunity to get in between them.

“Oh my God!” Sophie gasped as she came up behind Simon and Penelope, and saw what was going on in the living room.

“Sophie, honey, stay out of the living room,” Benedict, hearing his wife, ordered. He was clutching his hand tightly from where Hyacinth had cut him after he tried to grab the knife from her.

“Is someone going to stop her from killing me?!” Gregory shouted in a panic at his siblings.

“Who gave Hyacinth a knife?” Michael asked, not to anyone in particular. And not that anyone answered.

But Penelope knew. She knew exactly who it was that had given Hyacinth a switchblade. A certain dumbass named Colin Bridgerton who’d bought the knife for his sister while he was in Japan, after Penelope explicitly told him not to. After she'd told him that it was a terrible idea to give Hyacinth her own personal weapon.

And her dumbass husband currently could not meet her glare as he kept himself on the outskirts of the group. To remain, hopefully, unnoticed.

Gregory, seeing an opening now that Penelope and Simon had moved out of the doorway, made an attempt to escape the room. With his sister hot on his heels. He dodged and weaved between the spouse with the skills one could only expect from a rugby player and fled out into the hallway.

And Hyacinth almost caught him as she went after him, getting close to grabbing him when she suddenly tripped over her feet, flying forward, the switchblade still grasped in her hand–

And stabbed the knife straight into Simon’s upper arm.

An audible gasp was heard through the room, before it went dead silent. And it didn’t help that Simon barely even flinched, grunting as the knife stabbed through fabric and skin and into his arm, sliding through the muscle like a hot knife through butter. He was too caught up in the shock of what had just happened that all he could do was stare at Hyacinth in disbelief, brows furrowed and mouth partially open. And Hyacinth only stared back, equally just as surprised.

The silence lingered a few more seconds, with Simon and Hyacinth both staring at one another in shock while the others watched on, before it was broken by Daphne screaming.

“Did you just stab my husband ?!”

The noise immediately amped up again as the siblings all began to frantically yell and admonish their youngest sister for what she’d just done. Penelope slipped from the room to grab the first aid kit while they were all busy focusing on Hyacinth.

Who said nothing as she let go of the knife, leaving it stuck in Simon’s arm, before fleeing the room and racing towards the stairs.

“Hyacinth!” Anthony roared, charging after her.

As he rounded the coffee table and chased after his sister, followed by Kate, Benedict, and Colin, he accidentally knocked over the candle that had been burning on the table, which quickly started a small fire when the flame caught the alcohol soaked paper scattered over the wooden tabletop.

Something that was overlooked in the chaos.

“Simon, are you alright?” Francesca asked.

Daphne rushed over to his side, hands hovering over the knife. “Oh God, oh God, oh God–”

“Honey,” Simon gently told her. “It’s alright. I’m fi–Do not pull out the knife!”

“But she stabbed you,” Daphne said, hand still clutching the handle of the knife.

“I’m aware,” Simon replied, panicked eyes trained on her hands. “But when someone is stabbed with something you leave the object in. You do not pull it out .”

“But she stabbed you.”

“I’m aware, Daphne.”

“I got the first aid kit,” Penelope yelled as she rushed back into the room, carrying a medium sized red duffel bag with ‘first aid’ in bold white letters on the side. It certainly didn’t look like the tiny plastic ones you could get from the store. More like the ones professionals would have.

“Where did you get that from?” Colin asked, confused.

“Phillipa. Her friend’s an EMT who told me where to buy these ones,” Penelope answered.

“Why do you have it?” he asked next. “You could have just taken the one from upstairs.”

Which was a simple store bought one that hadn’t been replaced in years and one Penelope knew did not have enough supplies to handle the stabbing that had just occurred in the home. And while Violet was smart enough to have enough first aid supplies for all eight of her children, she was the only one who knew where they were and was currently absent.

But there were more important issues going on right now.

“Um if I could just have everyone’s attention–” Michael started behind them, eyeing the growing flames building on the table.

The flames had begun to lick the arm of the closest sofa, blackening the fabric as it too began to catch alight. Smoke had slowly begun building in the room. Somehow unnoticed by the seven people still standing in the living room.

“Because I suspected we would need it,” Penelope told her husband, looking at him in disbelief, as she ignored Michael.

Colin’s brow furrowed deeper. “Why did you suspect we would need a professional level first aid kit for game night of all things?”

“Excuse me, if I could just–” Michael started again.

But Penelope waved a hand to what was going on in front of her, still oblivious to the growing problem behind her as she placed the bag down and began to unzip it.

“Because of this!” she hissed at her husband. “Do you not see what is happening, Colin?!”

“I’ll just deal with it myself then,” Michael muttered under his breath, getting the sense he was on his own, as he hastily exited the living room and headed towards the kitchen.

“Where’s Gregory gone?” Penelope asked.

“Gregory!” Simon shouted. “Gregory, you can come out now!”

“Oh!” Sophie quietly gasped behind him as he yelled, pressing a hand to her stomach. Grimacing as she felt a thousand little needles stab into her groin before her eyes widened in panicked realization. “Oh no.”

“Gregory!” Penelope called out again. “Gregory, seriously, she gone–”

She was suddenly interrupted by a loud shushing noise, which sounded like compressed air being released from a metal canister. They all turned to find Michael spraying the coffee table and curtains with the fire extinguisher kept in the kitchen. White smoke burst from the painted red can as it was released, the carbon dioxide lingered briefly in the air as it extinguished the flames, rolling over the furniture in soft waves as it slowly faded away. Leaving behind the burnt black evidence of fire damage; which was mainly on the table and the sofa that had been left at the mercy of it.

“Mum is going to kill us,” Francesca remarked as she saw the destruction.

“Yep,” Colin said, popping the ‘p’ as he spoke.

“Gregory?” Penelope called out again. "Gregory, come on! It's safe now!"

Down the hall, the door to the lounge cracked open.

“Is she gone?” Gregory asked them, not poking his head.

“I think the others are chasing her through the back of the house,” Penelope told him, which was followed by the sounds of glass shattering. As if right now cue.

The door creaked open further before Gregory stepped back out into the hallway. He looked pale and clammy, clutching his arm where his sister had gotten him.

And immediately threw up into the vase next to the door.

“Oh my God, Gregory, are you alright?” Penelope asked, worriedly as she came to his side. But Gregory only continued to heave into the porcelain vase.

“No,” he groaned out, clutching his side. “My stomach’s been killing me all evening.”

Simon looked concerned as he studied the young boy’s symptoms. He’d noticed Gregory had been complaining of a stomach ache all evening. Add to it the vomiting and nausea, the fact he hadn’t seen him eat any of the food Daphne had brought when he usually plowed through them at the same pace as Colin did, only raised his suspicions.

“Gregory, you’ve never had your appendix removed before, have you?” he asked and his brother-in-law only shook his head.

“I think we should call an ambulance,” Penelope suggested.

“Well, I think we can just get in the car and drive to A&E. It will definitely save us some time,” Simon replied.

“Simon, you were stabbed,” Penelope pointed out.

“I’ve already stemmed the bleeding and it doesn’t look like it hit anything vital,” Simon retorted as he studied the tourniquet he wrapped around his arm. “And Gregory’s wound isn’t too bad either.”

“Maybe it would be a good idea to call them,” Sophie said weakly.

“Sophie, I’m fine. It’s not too bad,” Simon assured her.

“Oh no, not for you Simon. I meant for me,” Sophie replied politely. Which was an immediate cause for concern.

With the attention shifted to her, they all saw she was leaning against the sofa, gripping it tightly with one hand while the other was pressed against her stomach. She was breathing slowly. Slow, long exhales out her mouth and deep inhales through her nose.

And there was a wet stain on the carpet by her feet.

Penelope gasped, eyes widening as she noticed the stain. “Oh my God. Sophie, did your water break?”

Sophie took another deep breath, grimacing. “Yeah...I think so.”

“I’ll get Benedict,” Michael told them all before speedily exiting.

Seeing his sister-in-law and dear friend going into early labor had apparently been enough to snap Phillip back to reality, and he quickly pulled out his phone to dial 999 while the others crowded around Sophie.

“Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod,” Penelope said rapidly as she came to Sophie’s side, taking the blonde’s arm and leading her around the sofa so she could sit down. “You’re having a baby?” Sophie nodded. “Right now?”

“Yes, Penelope, right now,” Sophie returned, exasperated.

“Hi, yes, I need an ambulance at Number 5–” Phillip started to say into the phone behind them.

Sophie squeezed Penelope’s hand as she felt another wave of contractions hit, gritting her teeth as she tried breathing through the pain. She could feel herself begin to panic, her mind begin to race. She wasn’t due for another three weeks. Her baby was coming a month early. A month early!

“It’s early. It’s too early,” she said weakly, voice quivering.

“You’re going to be fine, Sophie,” Penelope assured her. “You and the baby are going to be just fine.”

“ Oi !” Michael’s voice was heard yelling over the arguing in the other room, which was quickly silenced. “If you all are done trying to kill each other, Sophie’s in labor.”

“ What ?” Benedict’s voice yelled, followed by a quick scuffle, the sounds of something large being thrown and Hyacinth screaming.

Before they knew it, Benedict was racing into the room, nearly colliding with the doorway as he did. A panicked look on his face as he scanned the room for his wife, spotting her immediately where she was sitting on the couch, and rushing to her side.

“Sophie? Are you–?” he started and she quickly nodded. “Okay, okay. This is fine. We’ll just call an ambulance–”

“Already on it,” Phillip told him, covering the phone with his hand as he did.

Benedict nodded, before turning back to his wife, crouching down and taking her hand from Penelope, much to the redhead’s relief. Sophie had been squeezing the life out of it.

“I’m here,” he told her gently as Sophie began squeezing his hand. “I’m here. It’s alright.”

Sophie took another few deep breaths as she gave him a worried look. “It’s early. It’s too early,” she told him this time.

“It’s fine. You’ll be fine,” Benedict assured her.

“You asshole!” Hyacinth suddenly screamed as she charged into the room and immediately threw something at Benedict.

Whatever the hell it was that she'd thrown, it impacted directly with Benedict’s eye, causing him to curse loudly as he flinched back, slapping a hand over his injured eye, before bending over in pain.

“Ow, fucking hell, Hy. I think you got my eye,” he hissed, clutching his face.

“That was for throwing me!” Hyacinth screeched.

“For God’s sake, Hyacinth,” Anthony shouted as he came into the room, out of breath.

Realizing she’d been cornered, and knowing she was in for one hell of a lecture from her elder brother, Hyacinth made another run for it. Speedily racing out of the room once more and in the direction of the kitchen. Again.

“HYACINTH!” Anthony yelled, chasing after her. Again.

“Hyacinth, stop running!” Daphne shouted.

“So, nobody thinks that it's weird Sophie suddenly went into labor?” Colin remarked suspiciously.

“Babe, shut up,” Penelope told him.

“I mean he’s right. I just think it's a little odd that right now is when the baby decided to come,” Eloise commented as she looked into the room and saw Sophie.

“Eloise!” Phillip snapped at his wife, aghast by her indifference.

“What?” Eloise looked back at him with confusion (and a little defensive as well). “It’s just a little too convenient. Isn’t it?”

Penelope only sighed. Again.

“Eloise. Please stop talking,” she told her friend.

But Sophie was already crying at this point, her breaths becoming more ragged. It wasn’t apparent if she’d heard her sister-in-laws remarks but she was certainly descending into hysterics and panic.

“It’s too early,” she gasped out. “Three weeks? That’s a month! That’s too early, isn’t it?”

“Sophie, breath, it’s okay,” Benedict told her, trying to comfort her while also holding a hand over his still painfully injured eye. “You’re okay. The baby will be fine.”

Sophie's distressed had seemed to be able to bring some sense back to the Bridgertons. Well, two Bridgertons. The other one besides her husband, who arguable was the second most likely to keep a level head.

Francesca.

“The baby’s going to be fine,” she assured Sophie, coming to her sister-in-law’s side. “I was two weeks early. So was Hyacinth.”

“Hyacinth was a breech birth,” Sophie hissed back.

Francesca ignored her, taking deep breaths as she continued. “Following my breaths, Sophie.”

“Does anyone smell smoke?” Phillip, still on the phone with 999, asked them all. Seconds before the house’s fire alarm went off.

“My quiches!” Daphne screamed before rushing out of the room to the kitchen. Eloise followed her sister to see what was happening in the kitchen.

“I got it!” Michael yelled from the kitchen.

“Shouldn’t the sprinklers have turned on by now?” Phillip commented, glancing up at the chunk of metal sticking out of the ceiling above them.

“They’ve been broken for months and Mum’s still waiting for the handyman to fix them,” Francesca replied quickly as she gently pushed Sophie towards the front door. “But I think right now, the best course of action is for us all to leave before we get smoke inhalation.”

They all nodded in agreement, beginning to make their way towards the front of the house, Simon and Penelope were assisting Gregory, who was still vomiting into the small bin, while Sophie was helped by Benedict and Francesca.

“I mean at the moment I think we just have the three issues,” Phillip said politely into the phone as he followed them. “So, if you could just send two ambulances that would be greatly appric–”

Before he could continue, there were the sounds of an explosion from the kitchen, a loud bang followed by a multitude of expletives being yelled, and more screaming. Everyone currently in the hallway and living room could only stare in the direction of the kitchen with horrified concern and shock. None of them knew what it was that had just happened and frankly, none of them really wanted to know.

“You know what,” Phillip added, voice calm as he stared down the hallway. “Just send everyone. Fire, ambulance, police. Everyone you have.”

As he continued to relay information to emergency services, the remaining Bridgertons began making their way down the hall and out of the smoking kitchen, all coughing and choking on smoke.

And Anthony was missing his eyebrows.

“Good lord,” Simon remarked.

“What?” Anthony choked back, still trying to recover from his coughing fit, as he reached out and grabbed the back of Hyacinth’s shirt before she could make another attempt to run.

Not seeing it worth telling his friend what had happened to his face, Simon just shook his head. “Nothing,” he told him. “It’s nothing.”

“What the hell just happened?” Penelope demanded.

“Kate and Anthony just blew up the kitchen,” Hyacinth answered through her own coughing fit as she struggled against her brother.

“We did not!” Kate shot back. “It was Daphne’s bloody quiches that did it.”

“My quiches were already burnt to ash,” Daphne retorted, furiously. “You threw a rum soaked towel on to a candle!”

“I need you to understand that that does not explain the explosion we just heard,” Simon told them flatly.

But as Daphne opened her mouth, most likely to explain, she was interrupted by a panicked Francesca yelling.

“Where the hell is Michael?” she asked them, alarmed.

“Where’s Eloise?” Phillip added, looking concerned as he saw his wife was also not amongst them either.

Before anyone could guess, there were the sounds of a pair of people coughing loudly as they came down the hallway. Seconds later, Michael and Eloise both appeared, choking as they covered their mouths, gasping for clean smoke free air.

“Fuck,” Eloise cursed as she choked, doubling over to rest her hands on her upper legs as she continued coughing.

“Oh, thank God,” Phillip breathed out a sigh of relief as he saw his wife.

“So no one here thinks it’s weird Sophie’s suddenly in labor?” Kate suddenly asked loudly to the room.

“What the fuck, Kate?” Benedict yelled, appalled.

“DON’T YELL AT MY WIFE!” Anthony shouted.

“FUCK OFF, ANTHONY!” Benedict shouted back.

“Benedict, please–” Sophie started, breathing heavily.

“I just think it’s a little odd that now is when she’s in labor,” Kate continued loudly and stubbornly. “Like, obviously, I know they were losing and everything but–”

“Kate. Shut the fuck up,” Simon ordered curtly, but another shouting match had started between Anthony and Benedict, with Sophie pleading for them to stop.

“That’s what I said,” Colin told her and Penelope looked about ready to kill him.

But Penelope focused on doing a quick head count, noting that everyone was now present in the hallway, and with the smoke still coming from the kitchen, it was probably a good idea that they all leave.

“Okay, let’s all get outside,” she shouted over the alarm to all of them. “We can all wait for the ambulances outside.”

“Well, now that the fire is out, we should all probably–” Simon started.

“Oh no, Simon, the fire’s still going in there,” Michael interrupted him, still coughing.

“The fire is still going?!” Penelope yelled.

Michael nodded. “Fire still going,” he repeated back. Which was when it became apparent there was too much smoke coming out of the kitchen for it to have been extinguished.

“Okay, everyone– ” Simon started to yell but was cut off before he could order them out of the house.

“What on earth did the eight of you do?” a voice boomed suddenly.

They all froze, fourteen heads all turning to look towards and finding Violet staring at them all in horror as she stood in the front doorway, an unopened bottle of wine in one hand and a plastic bag from Tesco’s in the other.

(A plastic bag that seemed suspiciously like it was concealing a box of cigarettes.)

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately), none of them had a chance to respond. Because the moment Violet had walked into her home and found her living room curtains smoldering, with smoke billowing out from her recently updated kitchen down the hall, two of her children injured (one of whom was also throwing up into a vase) with a son-in-law injured as well, and a daughter-in-law experiencing full blown contractions as she sat on the staircase—

The broken fire suppression system finally decided to turn on.

Violet Bridgerton to Edwina Sharma

Violet: Hi Edwina. I tried calling but I must have got you at a bad time. Anthony and Kate are fine but they both landed themselves in the hospital tonight. They’re completely and utterly fine. There is no need to worry about them, but neither one is going to be able to come home tonight since the doctors want them to stay overnight for observation. Are you alright watching the boys and Newton? If not I can come get them or call a sitter.

Edwina: Hi Mrs. Bridgerton. Don’t worry. Kate told me you guys were hosting game night when she asked me to babysit so I sort of assumed something would happen. I already called Mum and she’s here with us right now. The kids are fine.

Violet: Wonderful. I’ll let them both know. If anything changes, do not hesitate to call me.

Edwina: When you talk to my sister again please tell her I said ‘I told you so.’

Violet: Will do.

Sophie Bridgerton to Posy Reiling

Sophie: Okay don’t freak out.

Posy: What happened?

Posy: Where are you?

Posy: Are you okay?

Posy: Is Ben okay?

Posy: Omg it is the baby!?!? Is the baby okay?!?!

Posy: Pls tell me everything's okay.

Posy: Sophie??

Posy: Sophie answer me!!!

Sophie: Posy breathe. It takes time to type up a text and I’m currently experiencing full blown contractions while texting right now so it’s taking me a minute.

Posy: Omg Sophie. Are you in labor???

Sophie: Unfortunately yes. The little peanut decided tonight’s the night he wants to come into the world so I’m currently heading to the hospital with Ben. I’m really sorry to put this on you but can you watch Charlie a little longer?

Posy: Absolutely. It’s totally not an issue at all. Charlie’s already had dinner and is asleep upstairs right now. I’ll text work that I’m taking tomorrow off. You're sure you're okay? Cause I can grab Charlie and be at the hospital as soon as possible.

Sophie: I’m okay. I promise. ❤️❤️

Posy: ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Sophie: Ben and I will try to keep you updated as much as possible but it may be a little difficult as both of us are going to need to get checked out by a doctor.

Posy: Is Benedict okay?

Sophie: It’s a long story.

Phillip Crane to Marina Thompson

Phillip: Hey. Can you keep the kids till Monday?

Marina: Of course. Is everything okay?

Phillip: Besides currently sitting in an ambulance on the way to the hospital with Eloise, who is getting treatment for smoke inhalation right now, I’m doing great.

Marina: Omg is everyone alright?

Phillip: We’re fine. Don’t worry. Just please don’t tell the kids.

Phillip: And can you also please go to my house and lock my greenhouse?

Marina: What happened?

Phillip: Marina. You do not want to know.

Agatha Danbury to Violet Bridgerton

Agatha: How many casualties this time?

Violet: Nine. Do you mind watching the girls longer?

Agatha: Not at all.

| The Next Day |

🐝 The Children Group Chat 🐝

Violet: I know I already said this at the hospital but I am saying it again here.

Violet: I will never EVER host another game night. Never again. And to make certain of this I have stripped this home of every board game, deck of cards and bloody party game we own or have ever owned. You aunts have graciously taken your father’s old poker set and blackjack set and so help me if any of you use your children as an excuse to bring new games into this home I will write you out of my will.

Francesca: Mum, I want to say again that I am so so sorry about what happened last night. It will never happen again.

Violet: I would hope so since five out of the eight of you ended up in the hospital last night.

Violet: And the damages. Good lord I don’t even know how I’m going to fix this.

Anthony: I’ll take care of that Mum. I’ve already called the contractor to come look at the house on Monday.

Anthony: I also want to say that I’m sorry. It was my responsibility to keep everything in order. I should have controlled the situation better and instead, I allowed it to reach the chaos it did last night.

Colin: Sorry again Mum.

Daphne: I’m really sorry about the kitchen Mum. I swear I’ll pay for all the damages. I promise.

Violet: Hyacinth do you have anything you would like to say right now??

Violet: Hyacinth I know you have your phone with you.

Anthony: Hyacinth Amelia Bridgerton, answer your mother.

Hyacinth: Omg jesus christ. I’m literally hooked up to oxygen right now.

Daphne: As if Anthony, Eloise, Kate, Michael and Gregory aren’t as well.

Daphne: Michael was literally almost intubated, that's how much smoke he got in his lungs!

Daphne: Not to mention what you did to MY HUSBAND!

Francesca: I would like to clarify that Michael is fine. He didn’t need to get intubated. The doctors were just concerned about the swelling. He was discharged this morning.

Hyacinth: 😮💨😮💨😒😒😒

Violet: I’m still waiting.

Hyacinth: Fine

Hyacinth: I’m sorry I stabbed Simon.

Hyacinth: and Gregory.

Anthony: And???

Colin: I believe you also stabbed Benedict

Hyacinth: I grazed him.

Colin: You hit him in the eye with the dagger piece after slicing open his hand.

Hyacinth: AND????

Benedict: I’m glad to see that you're so guilt ridden by it.

Violet: Benedict!

Violet: How are you and Sophie??

Benedict: Mum. Firstly, I just want to say how sorry I am for what happened last night. We were all incredibly immature, unruly and out of line. Myself included. The damage we did to the house you made with Dad was inexcusable and our actions towards one another was appalling. It was completely unacceptable what happened and I promise it will never ever happen again.

Benedict: And if it helps.

Benedict sent a photo .

Benedict: Alexander Richard Bridgerton got here about quarter after one this morning. Six pounds and five ounces and perfectly healthy. So is Sophie. She did wonderfully. We just got home. 🥰🥰🥰

Daphne: Oh, he’s adorable Benedict. Congratulations x

Anthony: Congratulations brother.

Francesca: He looks so content. And Sophie looks as beautiful as ever.

Violet: This certainly helps. Thank you Benedict. ☺️☺️☺️

Violet: But I’m still upset 😤

Violet: WITH ALL OF YOU 😡😡😡

Colin: Congratulations Ben.

Colin: And might I add I’m loving the eye patch.

Benedict: Shut up.

Hyacinth: Yeah Captain Hook. When are you returning to Neverland to get Peter???

Colin: 😂😂 I was going to say he already has with Charlie, but it looks like he’s too busy being Mr. Smee.

Benedict: Captain Hook is missing a hand not an eye.

Colin: Let me know when you find Captain Flint’s lost treasure?

Benedict: Okay. That's enough.

Anthony: Knock it off you two.

Violet: The two of you. Stop harassing your brother.

Hyacinth: 😂😂😂 Any ghost ships on the horizon?? Found the kraken yet.

Colin: how’s captaining the Black Pearl been for you???

Benedict: All right. That’s it. Sophie told me to me to be nice but fuck you both.

Benedict: Mother. The reason Hyacinth had a switchblade is because Colin bought her one while he was in Japan. I told him not to but he didn’t listen to me. She’s had this weapon for months and has periodically threatened us with it. Especially Gregory.

Benedict: She also, for those who do not know, has an illegal taser hidden in the shoebox under her bed.

Anthony: THERE’S A TASER!!!

Francesca: Jesus Christ Hyacinth.

Hyacinth: You DICK!!!

Hyacinth: Who told you??

Benedict: Gregory

Benedict: I went to check on him when Sophie was being discharged. He was high as a kite but very willing to tell me ALL of your secrets.

Violet: Hyacinth Amelia Bridgerton. When I get back to the hospital you and I are going to have a very long and frank conversation about safety and attacking your siblings.

Violet: with WEAPONS!!!

Violet: And Colin. I don't even know where to begin with you on this.

Hyacinth: Well you’ll have to find me first.

Colin: ✌🏻😔✌🏻

Colin: All I did was try and be a good brother and this is what I get. Betrayal.

Benedict: Colin also refused to believe Sophie was in active labor and was just faking it.

Colin:🖕🏻🖕🏻🖕🏻

Benedict: As did Eloise and Anthony. And Kate too.

Eloise: what the FUCK Benedict???

Eloise: We all nearly died of smoke inhalation!!

Benedict: MY WIFE WENT INTO LABOR!

Benedict: I had to meet my son three weeks before he due date while wearing a fucking eye patch because SOMEONE has such severe anger issues that nearly resulted in a murder charge being issued last night.

Benedict: Sophie had a panic attack last night because she thought our baby was dying. I have not gotten any sleep between getting treated for my eye/hand AND worrying over Sophie. At this point I’m running solely on very shitty hospital coffee and sheer spite!

Benedict: And I also almost missed Alexander being born because of all this and now Charlie keeps demanding I play pirates and sword fight him while Sophie tries to get some sleep because Posy was so worried about him being emotionally scarred by all of this she told him I became a pirate!!

Eloise: I’m guessing you're making Barbossa the godfather.

Colin: 🤣🤣🤣🤣

Benedict: Banned. You all are banned from visiting us save for mother. I don’t want any of you near Sophie or my children right now. And I don’t care how much you beg. None of you are ever allowed to be near us again.

Benedict: And I’m not even going to start about being completely and utterly fucking right about Ms. Scarlet being the murderer with the fucking candlestick in the fucking library. I cannot believe you all almost convinced me I was wrong!!

Eloise: Omg did you check the damn envelope while we were being loaded into ambulances?!?!?

Benedict: Of course I fucking did!!!

Violet: Benedict. Sweetheart. I’ll come check on you and Sophie after I’ve dealt with the taser currently sitting in my house and then the owner of said weapon. Please get some rest and take it easy.

Benedict: Thank you Mum ❤️ Can I just say how incredibly grateful and blessed I am to have gotten you as my mother? You do a wonderful job every day at managing us and it is forever a testament to your strength and character. I truly do not know what I would do without you.

Violet: ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Colin: Kiss ass

Eloise: Mama’s boy

Benedict removed Colin and Eloise from the chat.

Benedict: And one more thing.

Benedict: How are your eyebrows doing brother???

Anthony: You absolute piece of shit.

#bridgerton #my fics.

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honeyscara · 3 months ago

Text

•Giyu Tomioka• kny

Part 2 of friends?

Summery: it's been a few months since you and giyu became friends and you guys start to develop feelings for eachother. One day after a mission giyu gets hurt while trying to save you.

Cw/Tw: little blood, fluff

~silent longing~

It had been a few months since that mission. Giyu started being more comfortable around you and grew more protective of you. He would always make sure that he was right next to you during missions, if not at your side, and his presence in the background was comforting. He started helping you train aswell.

The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the forest as you and Giyu made your way through the dimly lit path. You had just finished a grueling mission, the weight of your victory heavy on your shoulders. A mixture of exhilaration and exhaustion coursed through your veins, but Giyu’s presence beside you kept your spirits high.

“Are you alright?” you asked, glancing sideways at Giyu. He had been quiet, his expression unreadable as you walked, and a hint of concern flickered in your chest.

“Just tired,” he replied, his voice soft but steady. The way he looked at the ground, the lines of tension etched on his face, made you worry that he was carrying more than just physical fatigue.

Suddenly, a rustle in the bushes broke the serene atmosphere. Before you could react, a demon sprang from the shadows, its fangs bared and eyes glowing with malevolence. Giyu’s instincts kicked in instantly; he pushed you aside just as the demon lunged at you, redirecting its attack.

“No!” you shouted, watching in horror as Giyu engaged the demon.. Your heart raced as you felt the rush of adrenaline, the fear of losing him overwhelming your senses.

Giyu fought fiercely, using every inch of power he possessed even though he was exhausted. His movements were smooth and fluid, his body moving with an elegance tinged by desperation as he threw himself into battle, determined to kill the demon.

But as he struck the demon, it managed to swipe its claw across his side, leaving a deep gash. You couldn't just stand there and watch as Giyu fell, his body hitting the ground harshly. You ran to his side ans finished off the demon as quickly as possible before rushing back towards Giyu, dropping to your knees beside him.

“Giyuu!” you screamed, panic flooding your voice as you knelt beside him. His hand pressed against the wound, blood seeping through his fingers.

“I’m fine,” he insisted, though his voice was strained.

“You’re bleeding!” you exclaimed, your hands trembling as you reached for him, panic and concern intertwining in your chest. “We need to treat your wounds.”

Giyu’s eyes softened as you inspected the injury, the moonlight illuminating the pain etched on his features. “You should focus on yourself,” he murmured, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze that made your heart ache.

“I won’t leave you like this,” you replied firmly as you helped him sit up and rest his back against a tree. Giyu watched you carefully, taking deep breaths and attempting to hide his wince.

As soon as you pulled the hem of his haori up, you saw the long cut running down his side. Blood stained the fabric red, staining your fingers too. "damn it" you cried out.

"giyu..try to use your breathing to stop it from bleeding" you said began to clean the wound, your fingers brushing against his skin, sending warmth through both of you. Giyu winced at first, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he watched you with an intensity that made the air between you thick with unspoken emotions.

“Why did you have to put yourself in danger for me?” you asked, your voice trembling slightly as you finished wrapping his side with a bandage.

Giyu’s expression grew serious, a hint of sorrow dancing in his eyes. “Because I can’t lose you too,” he replied, the weight of his words hanging in the air. You knew what he meant..sabito and his sister.

After a moment, he added, “You mean too much to me.."

Your heart raced, a flush creeping to your cheeks as you held his gaze, the world around you fading away. “You mean a lot to me too, Giyu.”

For a moment, the silence was filled only with the soft rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of crickets. Your fingers lingered on his side, and Giyu’s hand reached up to brush against yours, his touch gentle yet firm. The contact sent a jolt of warmth through you, and you felt a magnetic pull towards him.

Giyu shifted closer, his eyes searching yours for something unspoken. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, full of sincerity and something deeper.

Giyu reached out, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “I—” he began, but the words hung in the air, leaving both of you breathless.

In the past few days he noticed himself smiling around you. He didn’t think he would ever smile so freely around anyone again. Especially after sabito's death but here he was, finally letting go of his control, letting the smile spread slowly on his lips until all you could see was his mouth, his beautiful blue eyes twinkling in the sunlight. Whenever you smiled at him or got closer to him, his heart raced uncontrollably in his chest. He had indeed fallen for you after the day when you asked him to be friends. You felt the same too.

Giyu starts to lean in, his expression torn between restraint and longing, his fingers tightening slightly as he cups your face. You eyes fluttered shut as your heartbeat increased with each passing second. You could feel his warm breath on you lips.

Just then, a gust of wind rustled the trees, breaking the spell between you. You pulled back slightly, cheeks flushed, and Giyu’s hand dropped back to his side, a hint of vulnerability creeping back into his expression.

“Let’s get back,” Giyu said, his voice steady but his eyes lingering on you for just a moment longer. “We can talk more when we’re safe.”

You nodded, feeling a pang of disappointment in your chest but Giyu was right, after all, it wouldn’t be wise to stay here too long.

Part 3 here

#demon slayer giyuu #kimetsu giyuu #giyuu x reader #kimetsu no yaiba #kny giyuu #kny hashira #kny x reader #kny #giyuu tomioka #kny tomioka #water hashira #fluff #anime #manga #honeyscara works

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atimeofyourlife · 5 months ago

Text

I tried to hold back, but you drew me in

wc: 1787| rated: t| tw: referenced domestic violence, mentioned vomiting| read on AO3

Buck starts at the 118 before Tommy leaves. Tommy tries to keep his distance from Buck, but they eventually become friends and something more. Set pre- s1e1 First in a series of one shots of different times Buck and Tommy could have met.

Tommy wasn't surprised that they were getting a new probie, after all they'd been running a man down since Sal had been transferred out. He told himself he wouldn't get attached, they would only be working with each other for a few months, just until everything for Tommy's transfer to airops was finalized. He knew he wouldn't still be at the 118 to see the end of the probationary year.

But then he met the kid. Evan Buckley. 25 years old. Legs that went on forever, an ass that didn't quit, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that lit up the room like sunshine on a rainy day. And that adorable birthmark that Tommy just wanted to kiss.

And sure, there was the cocky facade that so many young men had when they'd made it through the academy. Evan Buckley was hot, and he knew it, showing off and flirting with anything that moved. But under that facade was a heart of gold, a kid who would try to see the best in everyone, who would try to connect with everyone. Tommy was falling, and falling hard.

Tommy tried to push it away, to forget about it, but with every shift, Evan made that harder and harder. With how hot he was when harnessed up to do a rope rescue, or in his turnouts all covered in soot after a fire. With how gentle he was with kids, a unique ability to keep them calm no matter the scene ("I think it's because they know he's one of them." Hen had joked after a call to an injury at a playground, where Evan had efficiently distracted all the other kids from their injured friend.) How he would listen to the little old ladies that became frequent fliers due to falls or issues with their medications. His ability to comfort people, no matter how bad the scene had been.

But he was still determined to keep Evan at arms length. He wasn't being hostile, just cautious. Tommy did everything he had to as Evan's training partner, answering any and all questions he had about the job, wanting to set him up to be a good heavy rescue asset. During downtime at the station, he'd make friendly small talk, and talk to Evan as part of the group, but he kept it superficial. Never opening up for anything deeper.

The call that made him reach out more, extend an olive branch more, was a difficult one for anyone. A DV call where the wife was beaten so badly, she was barely recognizable. Evan managed to hold it together just long enough for the woman to be loaded into the back of the ambulance before he was turning to throw up in the bushes at the edge of the property. He really felt for the kid, because he'd had a similar reaction on his first DV call. Evan was quiet all the way back to the station, and disappeared off alone the moment the engine pulled in. Tommy left him, knowing that sometimes after a hard call being alone was needed.

But then he didn't reappear. He would come out when there was a call, but kept to himself on the way there and at the scene. Only speaking when necessary. Then keeping himself away from everyone else when they were back. When it was nearing the end of the shift, Tommy decided to do something about it. He extracted himself from where he was watching Howie and Hen trying to beat each other at whatever videogame they'd started playing, and went looking for Evan. It didn't take him long, finding him in the locker room, his back to the glass. Tommy pushed the door open quietly, not wanting to startle him.

"It's just. It reminded me of you. Can you please call me back or something, I just need to know that you're okay, that you're safe. I love you." Evan's voice was soft, but thick, as if he'd been crying.

"Evan? Are you okay?" Tommy asked softly as he entered, moving to sit next to Evan on the bench.

"I'm fine." Evan straightened up and wiped his face, putting his phone back into his pocket. "If you're here to make comments about what happened-"

"Any first responder that tries to claim that they have never lost their lunch, or at least been close to it, at a scene, or because of a scene, they're either lying or it's just not been their turn yet. I've been doing this job for over a decade, I've seen it happen to almost everyone I've worked with." Tommy replied.

"Ever happened to you?" Evan asked after a moment.

"More than once. First time was because of a scene a lot like the one we were on today." Tommy admitted. "I always find DV scenes difficult. Some people find them harder than others."

"It made me think-" Evan started, but cut himself off. Tommy wondered if it had anything to do with who he had been trying to call.

"DV calls are so hard for me because they remind me too much of my mom." Tommy said quickly, something he'd only told Howie and his therapist. "She was too scared to leave, she never got out. Is. Is there someone it made you think of?"

"My sister, Maddie." Evan said quietly. "I think her husband hurts her. He's always been a controlling asshole, and I think it's got worse. But I don't have proof. I haven't seen her since I was nineteen, she was supposed to leave Pennsylvania with me. I didn't realize it at the time, but I think he stopped her. Did something to her to keep her from leaving. I call her and leave voicemails, and I send postcards to the hospital where she works so she knows where I am and he can't get hold of them. But she stopped responding. I haven't heard from her in over two years. I don't even know if she's-"

Evan cut himself off, but Tommy knew what he was implying. He didn't know if his sister was alive, or if her husband had killed her.

"What about your parents? Surely they would let you know if anything had happened?" Tommy asked.

"I don't really have a relationship with them. I can count on one hand the amount of times I've spoken to them since I left home. And they pretty much abandoned Maddie when she married Doug."

"That's awful, Evan." Tommy said, unsure how else he was supposed to respond. "If you ever want to talk about it, I'm here for you."

"Thanks, Tommy." Evan whispered, managing a small smile.

After that, Tommy found himself actually becoming friends with Evan. It was easy, chatting and joking around on shift, Tommy lookimg forward to when the team would go out for drinks after work. Wanting the opportunity to spend more time with Evan. And he knew he was going to miss Evan endlessly when his transfer came up. He hoped he could stay friends with Evan, and Hen and Howie, but he had seen, and knew from experience how hard it could be to keep in touch. Different shift schedules, and busy personal lives taking up too much time to have anything more than the occasional catch up text.

For his last shift, he was expecting something. Likely something small, but at least a goodbye, maybe drinks after work. He wasn't expecting the house to be taken offline for the last hour of the shift, with Hen and Howie jumping out the back of the ambulance with balloons and streamers, or getting shoved face first into a cake. He didn't expect the cards and little gifts, the kind and friendly words. The tight hug from Evan as he said how much he would miss working with Tommy.

The evening out for drinks that lasted a lot longer than usual. People drifting out as they needed to get home for their responsibilities, wives, girlfriends, kids. Leaving Tommy and Evan alone together at the end of the night. They headed out at the same time, waiting outside the bar together for their Ubers. Evan kept up a stream of chatter as they waited.

"At first I thought you didn't like me much. Like, you did your job and taught me everything you needed to, and answered all of my questions about it, no matter how weird or repetitive they got. But other than that, you wrre almost cold." Evan said, and Tommy hated that he'd made Evan feel like that.

"I was worried about getting too attached, knowing I'd be leaving after a few months. I've had it too many times before when friends have moved on, we've said we'll keep up, still make time for each other, but life gets in the way. And soon, at the most it's texts at birthdays and Christmas. Maybe a check in if we've been on the same scene. I didn't want that to happen again." Tommy replied, baring himself to Evan. "But you're. You draw people in, Evan. You drew me in."

"I hope that doesn't happen to us. You're so easy to be around, Tommy. I feel like I can be myself around you, that I don't have to hide parts of me." Evan admitted.

Tommy saw his chance, the liquid courage pushing him to do something he never would sober. He tucked his fingers under Evan's chin, pulling him into a kiss. He could feel Evan's surprise, and nearly pulled back, hoping that he hadn't ruined their budding friendship. But after a moment, Evan kissed back. It was a little hesitant, but became more sure. Tommy kept his eyes closed for a moment after he pulled back, wanting to savor the moment. When he opened them, he could see the almost dazed look on his face. It was Tommy's first time seeing the other man speechless.

"Like that?" Tommy said softly. "You make me want to not hide this part of myself any more."

"I. Yeah. It works." Evan stumbled over his words.

"So that was okay?"

"Better than okay." Evan's smile widened, and Tommy wanted to see it everyday for the rest of his life.

"What are you doing Saturday?"

"Uh, Saturday?"

"I was thinking we could do something. You free?" Tommy asked as a car pulled up.

"Yes. I. I am free." Evan replied

"If you text me your addresss, I'll pick you up around eight?"

"Yeah. Eight's great."

"Great. I'll see you Saturday." Tommy climbed into the car, looking back at Evan.

"Yeah. Saturday." Evan replied, a soft smile still on his face as Tommy pulled the car door shut behind him.

#bucktommy #bucktommy fic #evan buckley #tommy kinard #911 fic #911 abc #the times we missed each other one shots #atimeofyourwrites

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kaydreamer · 7 months ago

Text

The Flirting Game

Hope and Hancock were only five minutes along the train line when they heard the telltale snarl of feral ghouls.

The fight was over quickly. Hancock was a whirl of deadly red at close quarters, and while Hope preferred to be a hell of a lot further away from her targets, she was swift on her feet and lethal with her pistol. There was an exhilaration to a gunfight at close quarters, one which swept her up in the rush of combat, then left her dizzy and hollow in the aftermath.

This time was no different.

Hope lowered her gun, breathing hard to quell the nausea, looking grimly at the slain ghouls. When she’d fought her first horde of ferals, mere weeks ago, she’d been terrified. They had rushed her like zombies in a horror movie, snarling monsters torn from nightmare. It wasn’t until they were dead, and she’d noticed one of them holding a teddy, his hand fused shut around it, that the tragedy of their lost humanity struck her.

She wondered if it was the same with super mutants.

She wondered what Hancock thought.

She looked over at him. He was checking the area, making sure there were no more ferals lurking in any of the rail cars. He must have felt her eyes on him, because he turned to look at her, frowning when he caught her conflicted expression. He returned, placing an uncharacteristically tentative hand on her shoulder.

“You okay?”

“Does it… upset you?” she asked softly, looking down at the nearest ghoul. “You know… having to shoot them?”

Hancock shook his head. “It’s a mercy. They… ain’t who they were.”

Hope nodded, swallowing hard.

“Yeah. I guess so.”

They both jumped as Dogmeat barked, growling at a rustling sound coming from one of the bushes. Hancock had his shotgun up in an instant, pushing Hope behind him as a mole rat burst out, only for its head to explode with an almighty blast a heartbeat later.

“Would ya look at that?” said Hancock. “Looks like dinner just announced itself.”

“A mole rat?!” said Hope, aghast. She screwed up her face in disgust. “No thanks. I’ll go hungry.”

“You kiddin’? Mole rat is delicious. I’ll prove it.” He turned to her, his expression smug. “Twenty caps says you like it after I’m done cookin’ it.”

“Ugh…” Hope winced. “That means I have to actually eat some.”

“Fifty caps.”

“...Fine.”

Hancock grinned, grabbing the headless mole rat by the tail and hoisting it over his shoulder. “Guess I’m about to be fifty caps richer,” he said, with a confidence Hope had very little faith in. “Let’s take it to Oberland. If they got mutfruit, then I got the perfect recipe in mind.”

It was just getting dark by the time they reached Oberland Station. A chugging generator lit a row of empty rail cars along the train line, each repurposed as a hotel room of sorts. Hope had learned during her last visit that Oberland Station was a common stop for travellers on their way to Diamond City, so the ‘Railway Hotel’ received a steady stream of guests - as did a second line of rail cars which served as a market. The settlement also boasted a small farm for tatos and mutfruit, along with a fairly well-maintained station house which provided communal living for the permanent settlers.

The leader of the settlement was a dark-skinned woman by the name of Valerie, who greeted Hope enthusiastically, and Hancock even more enthusiastically when she caught sight of the mole rat carcass he was carrying.

“We’ve already made a tato soup and bread rolls for tonight, but we haven’t had fresh game for a few days,” she said. “If you’re fixing to sell that, dinner is on us.”

“Oh, I’ll do ya one better,” said Hancock. “Let me use some mutfruit, and some sugar sap if ya got it, and I’ll cook it for ya. Free of charge.”

“Done,” said Valerie. “There’s a cooler bin further in, you can dump it there.” She turned to Hope. “Sorry, didn’t mean to be rude. It’s great to see you again, General.”

“Just Hope is fine,” said Hope, elbowing Hancock as he saluted her. “I don’t suppose you have a room free?”

“None in the Railway, I’m afraid - we got two caravans of traders stopped here tonight. But Tess and I made one up for ‘specially for the Minutemen while you were gone. Got one bed and a couch in it. Let me show you.”

The room was upstairs in an old white switching tower which, Valerie informed her, was officially the Minutemen tower in the past, and was officially the Minutemen tower again. The downstairs portion had a desk, a radio, and some shelves for storing supplies.

“Speaking of the radio,” said Hope, as they approached the tower after depositing the molerat by the dining shack, “I need to update your network map. Goodneighbor is joining the radio relay, and Oberland is the closest relay partner.”

“Is that how you stole their mayor?” asked Valerie, chuckling.

“I guess my reputation precedes me,” said Hancock.

“Not many ghouls around dressed like they raided a museum,” she shrugged, smirking. “Map’s in the desk drawer. Jed’s in charge of the radio, give him the listening frequency and he’ll keep it tuned.”

“Do you mind if we use it to test the signal tomorrow?” asked Hope. “I’d like to radio forward to Sanctuary along the relay as well.”

“It’s all yours, Gener- Hope,” said Valerie, pausing at the foot of the switching tower. “Dump your things upstairs and come join us for a meal.”

The dining shack was a large wood-and-sheet-metal building filled with long picnic tables. A bar sat in the middle, behind which was a kitchen with a wood-fired stove. It hummed with conversation. As Hope entered, a few shouts of greeting were raised by the permanent settlers.

“Aren’t you little miss popular?” said Hancock, as they approached the kitchen.

“I should hope so,” said a dark-haired woman, waving a ladle. “Those damn raiders haven’t touched us since she took care of the bunch out at Back Street Apparel. It’s good to have the Minutemen back.” She poured an extra large serving of soup into two bowls, along with two thick slices of bread. “I’m Tess, by the way,” she said to Hancock. “Val said you bought in the mole rat. You best make sure you clean my kitchen once you’re done with it.” She waved the ladle close to his nose, but the smile on her face belied the threat.

“You have my solemn vow,” said Hancock, a hand to his heart.

“Good. Now get some food in your bellies, before it goes cold.”

Hope found herself pulled into a number of conversations as she and Hancock enjoyed their meal - mostly by the settlers, who were eager to chat. The caravan traders sat in stark contrast, glowering at her from a separate table. Hope overheard a few dark mutterings from their group, which contained the words ‘ghoul’ and ‘shouldn’t be allowed’. But Hancock seemed determined not to let it get to him, and when Tess overheard one particularly foul remark, which sounded to Hope's ears like 'ghoul-fucker', she smacked the man across the back of the head with the ladle and banished him from the dining shack.

By his hoot of laughter, Hancock certainly enjoyed that.

“It’s ridiculous, anyway,” said Valerie, afterwards. “We get a lot of ghouls through here, and we deal with a lot of ferals, and not once have I seen one turn into the other. But we kick out a drunk human every other week.”

“I hear ya, sister,” said Hancock. “And thanks. Means a lot to hear.”

Eventually, one of the settlers invited them back to the station House for drinks, where Dogmeat received a bounty of belly scratches from a pair of delighted children, while Hancock lost a few dozen caps on several animated games of poker because - to Hope’s amusement - he had a terrible poker face.

At least, he did where she was concerned.

Poker turned into darts, and when Hancock was drunk enough to decide that darts would be more fun as a game of dodgeball, with himself as the target, she’d finally dragged him away to get some sleep.

By the time they got back to the switching tower, they were both mentally buzzing and physically exhausted. Hancock flopped immediately onto the couch, Dogmeat at his feet, while Hope stood and unclipped her Minutemen chest armour. Hancock whistled softly through his teeth as she removed it, looking her up and down with a crooked grin.

Hope raised a slow brow. “Like what you see?”

“Oh, you bet I do,” said Hancock, his voice a low rumble. “That vault suit hugs all the right curves.”

“Fahrenheit did say you thought I looked hot in it.”

“Did she?” Hancock’s flirtatious expression took on a hint of bewilderment. “Since when does she do shit like that?”

“It was after the thing with Bobbi,” said Hope, shooing him along the couch so she could sit. “I think she was trying to cheer me up.”

“Heh. Did it work?”

“A bit,” said Hope, catching his eye with a smile.

“By the way… about all the comments and shit,” said Hancock, shifting in his seat a little. “I like to flirt, it’s all in good fun. I don’t mean anythin’ by it. But if I ever make you uncomfortable, just tell me to back the fuck off.”

Hope paused at that remark. She felt the weight of it shift something in their dynamic, the unstable ground beneath her suddenly a little more solid. ‘All in good fun.’ Just a game of playful banter.

They were on the same page.

Too bad Hope was competitive.

“Oh?” She straightened up a little, tilting her head, her voice dropping a few notes. “You don’t think I can give as good as I get?”

Hancock grinned as he turned toward her, mirroring her tone. “Is that a challenge, sunshine?”

Hope smirked. “Sure, why not. Let’s see if I can find out whether or not ghouls can blush.”

“Oh, this ghoul can,” said Hancock, leaning toward her. “But you’ll have to work really, really hard for it.”

“What do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“A kiss,” said Hope, as her better judgement got up and walked out of the room.

“Done,” said Hancock quickly, a flash of mischief in his eyes. “No take-backsies. You’ll have to try harder than that, though.”

“Who said I was trying?”

“Heh. I like this game. So, what do I get if I win?”

“What do you want?”

“Oh, so many things.” Hancock ran a finger up her arm, and Hope’s skin beneath the vault suit burned. “But… I’ll settle for a date,” he said, leaning back. “‘Cause I’m a gentlemen.”

“Haven’t we already been on a date?” Hope teased, her face warm and her composure hanging by a thread. “You even bought me dinner.”

Hancock chuckled, soft and warm. “Damn, ya caught me. Alright, I want a second date.”

Hope’s heart did a bellyflop. “Well,” she breathed. “I look forward to losing.”

“Oh, so do I, sunshine,” Hancock purred. “So do I.”

When Hancock opened his backpack and pulled out some Jet, Hope was quick to take him up on the offer. The day had been long, full, and exhausting, and a little mental quiet seemed like an excellent idea. They took their hits together, flopping along opposite sides of the couch, legs tangled over Dogmeat who had curled up in the middle. Hope focused on the visuals this time - not as vivid as Daytripper, but still bright, and so pretty with the sparkling quality everything had. The slowness of the world was pure bliss. She breathed deeply, allowing the momentary serenity to wash over her. As she came back to herself, she felt thoughts began to drift back in. She let them float through, soft and easy.

To learn that flirting was something Hancock did for fun, and not something he expected anything to come of, was a profound relief. Bittersweet, because she felt an undeniable spark. But every time she’d found herself in a casual fling, which wasn’t uncommon in the peace-and-free-love crowd, it had ended in heartbreak. She always caught feelings. Every. Fucking. Time. The last thing she needed was to ruin a blossoming friendship, not to mention an outright alliance between Goodneighbor and the Minutemen, by making the same mistake she’d made dozens of times before, getting herself and her heart tangled around a man whose swagger and charm both screamed ‘no strings attached’.

A crush and a flirting game, though? That territory was safe enough, and undeniably fun. The sting of unrequited feelings, already flickering to life, was something she could endure. Certain friendships were worth that.

And if they ever were requited? If it became obvious he shared her feelings?

She’d rejoice.

But she’d have to hear it from him. She’d been wrong too many times to trust her own judgement anymore.

Hancock’s jet-clear thoughts orbited around the baffling nugget of knowledge that Fahrenheit had told Hope he thought her vault suit was hot. Fahrenheit did that. Sure, Hope had said the comment was meant to cheer her up, and it’s not like he hadn’t made it blindingly obvious himself, but still - Fahrenheit had never once had anything to say about any of the women he’d taken a fancy to before now. And certainly-the-hell-not to the woman in question. She stayed out of that shit.

Damn girl was far too perceptive.

It was because he hadn’t slept with Hope. He was infamous as a flirt - damn proud of it, in fact - taking pretty ladies, and the occasional handsome fellow, on ‘tours’ of Goodneighbor which always ended upstairs in his private room at the Statehouse, or in his now-former apartment. Not getting Hope into bed when he was obviously attracted to her was weird for him, and suddenly Fahrenheit seemed to have a lot to say about her.

If Fahrenheit had noticed something was off, the devil only knew what Hope herself was thinking - which was why he’d finally bought up the flirting. He had to let her know he wasn’t expecting anything, that she could tell him to buzz off with no hard feelings.

Instead, she’d decided to make a competition of it, and damn if that didn’t make this whole tangled mess even more fun. He was going to lose that game. He was going to lose it more than once, cursed to spend god-knows-how-long ducking away whenever he felt heat rising in his cheeks, so he didn’t put her in the awkward position of making good on her promise.

Much as he longed to kiss her, he knew one taste of her lips would hook him harder than any chem ever had, and he’d probably combust with yearning in the aftermath.

It was sweet torture, wanting what he couldn’t have.

He kinda liked it.

Hope was wandering lazily around the room in her post-jet afterglow, eyes half-shut, enjoying the tingles along her skin and the slight shimmer which still buzzed along the corners of the world. She watched as Hancock stretched his arms out slowly with a long yawn. “I’m beat,” he said. “You wanna get some shuteye?”

“Sounds good,” she said, through a yawn of her own. She glanced at the bed, then back to Hancock. As if in answer, he kicked off his shoes and stretched out along the couch, pulling his hat down over his eyes.

“Bed’s all yours.”

“You really are a gentleman,” Hope teased, deliberately angling the zipper of her vault suit to make it as loud as possible as she slowly pulled it down. Hancock breathed out a huff of amusement, hand twitching toward his hat before he let it fall back to his side. Hope flicked off the light and shimmied into the bed. It wasn’t as soft as the one in Goodneighbor, but it was a damn sight better than pretty much anything else.

“Goodnight, Hancock.”

“Sweet dreams, sunshine.”

First Chapter

Chapter 7

Chapter 9: COMING SOON

#fallout #fallout 4 #hancock fallout #fallout fanfic #hancock fo4 #hancock x sole survivor #fallout ghoul #fallout hancock #john hancock #fallout fandom

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