#the brokenness is persisting across everything i have attempted since

[strictly-confectional]

has this site recovered from that point in time when it was like. if u tried to delete a sideblog t**blr would just Delete Your Whole Account. like is it still doing that. i want to delete the sideblog i just broke the coding on cus i have no idea how to unbreak it but im like......... SOO SCARED of deleting my whole account on accident if that ~fucky wucky~ never got fixed

[hiatuswhore]

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝑀𝑜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝓎 𝒪𝓃𝑒 𝐼𝒱 — 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒹𝑔𝑒𝓇𝓉𝑜𝓃

♕ A/N: I am so sorry for just disappearing on this fic. I love this fic but I’ve been struggling with writers block BADLY. My think tank is broken or something. So since I disappeared for so long the word count is double the usual. Thanks for your patience. Feedback please!

♕ SUMMARY: Oh, the most scandalous season of the year has come to pass. After quite the successful year for the Bridgerton’s the eldest son plans to throw his hat in the ring. Concurrently the Sharma sisters do just the same. One a spinster, the other hopeful romantic, and the middle daughter? What can be said about such a force that is not said when she enters the room. Good luck to all who pursue her.

♕ WORD COUNT: 17.6K

♕ WARNINGS: None

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THE NIGHT SKY SITS HIGH UP WITH A COOL BREEZE THROUGH THE WINDOW. Sitting alone in front of a vanity worth more than most of your things combined, you sit in the mirror, brushing your hair, toying with the idea of a marriage to William. It’s ideal—more than ideal, it comes with everything you want in life. An out from society, the means to do as you please, but still, it burdens you with a new level of expectations and responsibilities. No matter how much the choice glitters, it’s not gold. You cannot bring yourself to give him an answer.

Opening your room door slowly, you poke your head out quietly, scanning the corridor. At the sight of no one and the low hum of everyone to their own devices, you move cautiously through the hall. The stairs proved to be their own obstacle, with every creak threatening to reveal your scheming. Your end goal? The back porch, certain a moment beneath the stars.

“—you cannot be serious!” Stopping short, the back door sits in view a mere few steps away, but William’s voice halts your movement. The closed-door staring back at you, the persistent padding of the floor matching the faint shadow beneath hastily moving back and forth.

“Spare me, William! You speak on speculation alone!” Anthony seethes, his attempts to whisper clashing with his own frustration. A scandal? You want to listen, to cling to any information the private conversation offers, but the foyer lacks any semblance of coverage. It would only take one person opening the door to reveal your highly inappropriate snooping. As a guest of the Bridgertons, no good would come from this kind of trouble. You cast the moment to the back of your mind, acknowledging that you have more complicated matters than two Englishmen in a row.

Rising early the following day. Typically the beaming sun through the curtains and the loud chirping of birds result in dramatic whines and huffs. Not today. Before your mother or even Lady Danbury can rise to object, you ask Lady Violet to use the driver to see some of the countryside. Her nescience to your troublesome nature granting you jovial approval.

In the carriage, you rest your arms on the open window, the cool air blowing across your skin. The sun warms your face as you melt into the calm that comes with endless farmland.

“Excuse me, sir. Can you pull over, please?” You call out. The vibrant green shines with a sea of endless flowers, assuring John, the driver, that you will soon return while entering the open field. Walking through the grass, you march without a destination. Occasionally swatting away a fly or bug, your smile remains.

“Appa, look at this,” You whisper, eyes shining at the flowers around you. John’s no longer in sight. You are not positive about how far you have journeyed when you turn around. Without a worry, you continue back straight from the direction you came. After a long while, the lack of the familiar carriage comes with a wave of ambivalence. The silence continues on as a frown settles on your face, the terrain on a continuous loop.

Scolding your inability to follow any directions ever given to you. You drag your feet huffing at the uncomfortable rub of your boots. The concept of time now an illusion. Your mind says it’s been hours as your feet cry days. You thank the heavens above at the sound of a horse until you see who rides toward you with a pointed look.

“Must you always be so erratic? William and I have been searching for you for hours! Do tell, how does one get lost with no turns?” Anthony exclaims, stopping expertly at your side. You wipe the discomfort from your face as you cross your arms in front of your chest.

“First, I’ll have you know that I am not lost. Secondly, no one asked you to come searching for me!” Anthony points out the ways off you are from where the carriage let you out. Falling silent, you roll your eyes before holding out your hand to join Anthony on the horse.

“You can’t be seen riding on the back of my horse. It would be improper,” He says, keeping your hand out; you narrow your eyes at his words, “So, to be clear, you journeyed out here with no alternative of getting me to the estate? Have you come only to chastise me, Mother?”

“If you put it like that, then, of course, it sounds foolish,” Anthony grumbles, your right eye twitching as you fight the urge to push him off the horse, “Because it is foolish! Now spare me your silly formalities and help me up!”

His nose scrunches as a sigh leaves him. Taking your hand and pulling you up, he utilizes the opportunity to lecture you on every worst-case scenario. You secure your arms around his lower back and lean your head on his shoulder. He drones about the dangers of the particular area and how fortunate nothing occurred. While he continues listing every action of yours he deems a nuisance, you soak in the release of the tensions on your legs and feet. Before you know it, his words and the smooth trot of the horse lull you away.

“—are you even listening? Of course, you are not. Why would (Y/n) Sharma listen to anyone else other than herself?” Anthony says, glancing on his shoulder to find your eyes closed.

“Don’t be such a boorish oaf. It’s been a phenomenal day,” Yawning, you find yourself nuzzling further into the back of his shoulder as if nothing else matters. Anthony lets out a dry chuckle, keeping his focus ahead as his mind pushes William’s confession to the back of his thoughts.

Before you know it, Aubrey Hall stands in view like your saving grace. Daphne steps through the doors as Anthony helps you down from the horse. Her eyebrows furrow as she carefully eyes the two of you, “No matter how painfully dull I find you, I must say thank you for coming to get me. Repeat that to anyone and I’ll deny it to my dying breath.”

“I expect nothing less from you, Miss Sharma,” Anthony nods his head at your thank you as Daphne lingers by the steps. Her eyebrows furrow at the two of you as her mind generates connections she previously presumed to be false.

“(Y/n) Sharma! Have you gone mad? I was worried sick, my child,” Your mother rushes down the stairs pulling you into a tight hug. While relief fills her, it subsides as she pulls back from the hug with a pointed stare. “What have you done?”

“If I may, Lady Mary? It appears our driver just made haste. Miss Sharma was only a little ways off of the path. Indeed partaking in a breathtaking but safe area of the countryside,” You turn to Anthony as he speaks with a charming smile. His easygoing nature saves you from a long lecture you would have inevitably received from your mother.

“Well, then, my apologies, dearest. Lord Bridgerton, please accept my utmost gratitude for ensuring my daughters' safe return,” Lady Mary says as she takes your arms. She excuses the two of you with a polite smile before dragging you toward the house. You look back at Anthony with narrowed eyes, but he only offers a sardonic smile with a mocking wave. You are certain his help does not come without cost.

“Though Lord Bridgerton vouches for the safety of your insolence, you know better (Y/n)!” Your mother sighs with her back on the door.

“Mama, I did not wish to upset anyone. I just wanted to explore the countryside. You should have seen it. It was beautiful!” You sit on the edge of the bed as your mind fills with the flowers splintering in your memory. The reds, blues, and purples blending in your mind, the ache of your feet long gone.

“My darling, can we please just focus on ensuring tonight’s dinner goes without shenanigans?” Mary sighs, holding her composure she stares at you with patient eyes. “I need your word that while we are here as guests, you will do everything possible to ensure this visit goes smoothly. For Edwina’s sake.”

“Mama, it was only—“ You huff, but as she shakes her head, asking only for your word. “Of course, Mama. I want to make clear I would never do anything to jeopardize our family or Edwina’s happiness. I need to know you know that?”

Mary’s shoulders fall as she takes in your glassy-eyed gaze. She joins you on the edge of the bed, taking both your cheeks in her hand. “(Y/n) I know you believe that, but you fail to remember your actions have consequences. When it is just us, I am more than okay with your adventurousness. But here, my wildflower child is a different world than you know. One wrong move, and it can ruin us all.”

The heaviness of her words does not come without consequence. Even long after your mother leaves you, her words do not. The arrival of dinner does not allow you to dwell on the implications of your mothers' words. You sit between Colin and Benedict, with Kate and Eloise across from you.

“This room is exceptionally well-lit. Have you noticed, Col? How bout you, Lady (Y/n)? The twinkles of the candles, it’s as if—we sit among the stars,” Benedict speaks in awe that exceeds the contents of his words—amusement dances across your face as Colin's eyes continuously bounce to his mother and back to Benedict.

“What is wrong with you?” Eloise questions, mirroring your expression as she eyes her elder brother.

“I was just telling Benedict how brilliant the stars were in Greece,” Colin says as if his mind formulates his sentence as it leaves him.

“No, you weren—“ You raise an eyebrow as Colin lightly kicks your shin. The rest of the table watches the pause between the two of you. Colin offers you a pleading smile as you shake your head, shielding your lips with your glass. “You should know that I weaponize my silence. The cost is simple. Why is Benedict acting odd?”

“I gave him a powder that I acquired from my travels. He took far too much of it,” Colin says, earning a loud laugh that draws the attention of the rest of the table. You quickly recover by bringing your glass to your lips again; meeting William’s gaze, he raises an eyebrow. Shrugging your shoulders, you tilt your head toward Benedict until William’s eyes move to the left of you. The longer you stare at the Bridgerton, the more apparent his altered state appears.

“Are you enjoying your time here, Miss Edwina?” Daphne asks, diverting the attention to the opposite end of the table. Edwina sits with Colin to her right and Anthony to her left. Daphne sits across from her with Anthony to her left and William to her right.

“I am, very much. The buzz of the city is thrilling indeed, but I quite enjoy the peace of the country,” Edwina smiles brightly as most of the table watches her. Your attention more on Benedict, who continues quietly in your ear about the room's beauty. Lady Danbury watches you quietly with Kate at her left and Lady Violet at her right. You silently thank whoever made the seating arrangements as your mother sits beside Benedict, unable to eye you the entire night.

“As do I. Though I dare say. It is not quite so peaceful with my entire family in residence,” Anthony points out. Rolling your eyes, you find William chuckling softly, his eyes on you.

“Certainly, I cannot compare my family to your seven brothers and sisters, but you have all become familiar with my wonderfully chaotic sister (Y/n). Kate and I were known to be a handful growing up, but Mama always had her hands full with (Y/n),” Edwina says, leaning forward to catch her gaze; you offer a playful wink. Kate does not miss the opportunity to share when you decided you no longer desired the hair on your head.

“Not this again,” You whine, shaking your head as Kate details how you excitedly carried your hair in your hand.

“I had never seen Mama become so flustered so rapidly. She was endlessly chasing (Y/n) throughout our home,” Edwina details as a chorus of laughter fills the table. Daphne's giggles cease as William huffs to the right of her. She follows his gaze to her left. A smile ghosts on Anthony’s lips as he watches how you laugh sheepishly. Anthony’s eyes focus on you, a nostalgic glint in his eyes,

“(Y/n) was such a fast child I could rarely catch her when she was determined to not be caught,” Your mother smiles, her eyes glazing over as if she leaves the dinner table to relive that memory. The story lacks the part where your father caught you. Despite your upset mother, he only laughed. Not a simple laugh, one without end—he laughed so hard the rest of you could not help but follow suit.

“In seriousness, both Kate and (Y/n) bear heavy responsibilities for our family. (Y/n) has never allowed any moment, no matter how hard in our lives to go without some silver lining. If anyone can help you through a tough time, it’s her. We’d have never survived the tough days without her,” Edwina continues as you look to find her gaze, only to find Anthony’s. It lasts seconds as you roll your eyes at him before looking at your sister. A chuckle leaves his lips as he fails to hear Edwina talk about Kate. Daphne watches warily as William silently watches his oblivious best friend.

“That sounds remarkably similar to you, Anthony,” Daphne says, watching as her brother snaps back into the conversation, “Much familial responsibility to bear, indeed.”

Kate catches Daphne's knowing gaze, and the two watch each other silently for several seconds. You sit watching Colin fail to keep Benedict in check, knocking over his glass and covering his face. When he removes his hand, it reveals a child-like grin, sheer contentment.

“Benedict dear, you alarm our guests,” Lady Violet says with the grace of a seasoned noble. A perfect blend of warmth and patronization. You know that tone all too well.

“Not at all,” Kate says as you offer a giant smile to Lady Violet. The sound of Lady Danbury’s fork against her glass commands the room's attention.

“It is time for a toast,” Lady Danbury says. A smooth distraction, chuckling, you glance at Benedict.

“A good idea. To cheer our guests,” Lady Violet says as your mother beams happily at the idea. It’s clear what they hope to achieve at this dinner, and you find it rather nauseating how they puppeteer it all.

“Or to tend to other pressing matters,” Lady Danbury's words are everything short of subtle. The attention turns to Anthony and Edwina quickly. Kate makes eye contact with Daphne, then with you. While you look unfazed by the inevitable purpose of this invitation, it’s clear Kate seeks a haste exit.

“My—I believe my sisters and I have grown weary,” Kate says. A sharp kick to your shin blocks your attempts to deny her words as you hiss quietly.

“Whatever you gave Benedict, you might need to give it to Kate,” You whisper to Colin, who turns to your sister. She holds her wine close to her lips as her fingers drum against the glass. Her posture’s stiff as she looks at Anthony as if her eyes can strike him dead.

“A toast. Yes,” Anthony rises from the head of the table as you all raise your glasses. “My sincere gratitude to the Sharmas for joining us. It has been splendid having you here to witness what is now my second annual loss at Pall-Mall. Not to be repeated, I assure you. And my special gratitude to Miss Edwina. It has certainly been a privilege to truly make your acquaintance these past few days. In fact, I believe there is a question I would like to ask you.”

You watch as most of the table sits at the very edge of their seats as Anthony pauses. Your eyes cut to Daphne, your eyebrows furrowing at the sight. Daphne steals glances at William, whose lips press tight as he stares at Anthony with—confusion? Kate shares Daphne’s weary expression, and you furrow your eyebrows as something does not quite click. Anthony now stands with his hands clasped behind his back, scanning the room. His eyes find your own, furthering your confusion as he pauses for a second. Anthony moves his gaze to William, and the two appear to speak to one another without saying a single word.

“I should like to uh—I should like to ask you please refrain from telling anyone back in London about yesterday's loss. I fear the harm to my reputation would simply be too great,” Awkward chuckles chorus through the room, but you glare daggers at the Viscount. You may not know classic literature well or Latin, but you know your sisters. The fall of Edwina’s face appears subtle, but the sting of Anthony’s words are unmistakable. Daphne and Kate let out sighs of relief as William stares at you. You cannot decipher what he contemplates, but you are sure it has something to do with Kate, Daphne, and Anthony. Dinner continues, and the end cannot come fast enough.

Finally, just your sisters and yourself. Kate rubs Edwina’s head as you sit without words. Deep frown lines crease Edwina’s forehead, her eyes misty, and you are confident that her self-scrutiny eats away at her insides.

“You must know you did nothing wrong,” Kate dares to say, but Edwina’s words are sharp as she speaks almost instantly, “I must have done something. The rest of the ton are now set to join us in the country. Surely, if the Viscount were to propose, he’d have done it by now. Yes?”

“Edwina, you are putting far too much pressure on yourself. You are wonderful, and they know it,” You take her hand in both your own, bringing it up to your lips.

“That is easy for you to say. People always love you, no matter where you go. You were proposed to by a man in line for the throne of England, Lady Violet dotes on you, and you charmed the Queen. You don’t even try and have done far better than I am. What if I missed my chance? Perhaps I should’ve found out more about the Bridgertons. I should’ve known more about their interests. I should’ve been better,” Edwina does not allow either of you to get a word in as a tear escapes her eyes. You place a chaste kiss on the back of her hand as your chest aches at her words.

“Edwina, do not fool yourself. How am I doing better, and yet you are the diamond of the season? You are amazing and do not need to study a man's family to prove your worthiness. If a proposal is what you want, I will beat it out of the Viscount myself if you so wish it,” Earning a chuckle from Edwina and Kate, the tension eases as a small smile plays on Edwina’s lips. It does not reach her eyes, but you do not expect to expel her fears so quickly.

A soft cry leaves her lips in one shaky breath, “I have bungled this entire affair, and now I feel like a fool.”

“Never say such a thing, Bon. I knew he would only end up hurting you. Come here,” Kate says, wrapping Edwina in her arms. You join the other side closing your youngest sister in. Your heads touch as you focus on the sound of Edwina's quiet sobs. “I hate seeing you like this.”

“I thought he liked me,” Edwina cries, her hand squeezing you both a little tighter. You meet Kate's gaze, nudging your head, telling her it was now her turn to give a pep talk.

“(Y/n) is right, Bon. You are the diamond of the season. There is nary a gentleman back in London who does not wish for your hand. You have choices, Bon. I assure you that all will be well despite this disappointment with the Viscount. Plus, do you truly wish to marry someone our sister might murder?” A loud laugh leaves Edwina’s lips as you nod in agreement with Kate. Despite the heaviness of the conversation, a warmth lingers in the air.

The following day you wake to Kate rushing into your room, sitting up; you grumble as she mutters apologies. She moves to your things, removing the cream you have used on many cuts over the years.

“Are you alright?” You ask as she applies it near her collarbone. She assures you everything’s fine. “What happened to your chest?”

“I got a bee sting while near the gardens—“ You frown as she trails off, her eyebrows furrowing as your presence seems no longer relevant. “While I am not fond of the Viscount, you could help him.”

“Why am I helping him?” You ask. Initially, you do not believe her tale of being stung in the gardens and the Viscounts' familiar reaction.

“I do not know his history, Bon. What I do know is there is something with him and bees. I think he shares your ailment. It appeared like he could not breathe. He looked so afraid—his hands were shaking. Bon, I fear I will never understand your ailment, but for the first time, there is someone who can. Please talk to him, not for him—for you.” Kate crouches at your bedside, brushing your hair with her fingers much like she would after one of your episodes. You do not say a word during the entirety of her explanation. Rarely do any of you talk about your ailment. Kate caught it during the announcement of the season’s diamond, but beyond that, it had been relatively dormant.

“I will not seek him out, but if we happen to cross each other paths, I will inquire if he is indeed alright,” You say. Kate smiles, kissing your forehead before leaving your room. It only takes you mere minutes to get ready, not bothered by doing your hair in some precious way. Your mother, Lady Violet, Lady Danbury, and Daphne appear busy planning the lunch. The Bridgerton siblings scatter amongst the large estate to their own devices, and your sister appears nowhere in sight.

While you said you would not seek him out, you find yourself in the gardens. The flowers bloom beautifully with a significant number of hyacinths in view. You marvel at the simplicity.

“Miss Sharma,” Anthony joins your side, but his gaze stays on the flowers. You watch him carefully as he eyes them not in awe but with a cloudy disposition.

“Lord Bridgerton,” You say, turning to the flowers. Anthony's expression does not change, leaving you wondering if he even heard you. Uncertainty plagues you as you are sure what you want to say but not when to say it. “I will not dawdle any longer. I fear I am familiar with where you are now in this ailment. After the horrifying feeling as if all the air will leave your body at once comes that strange calm, where you feel as though you cannot feel anything.”

Anthony’s head whips in your direction, but you do not move your eyes from the flowers. The look on his face tells you that you are on the right track, but it does not confirm your assumptions, “Kate told me what occurred earlier. Correct me if I am wrong, but typically it comes randomly, right? Often in the most inopportune times but typically from certain settings.”

“I—you are mistaken, Miss Sharma. I, the Viscount, suffer no ailment, just temporary lapses,” He does not offer you much as he turns his attention back to the flowers, and you both share similar frowns.

“There is no shame in it, Lord Bridgerton. My father used to say we all have something, if not an ailment—an insecurity. A lot of my insecurities trigger my ailment, if I am quite honest. I have a lot to live up to with two great sisters. I am a lousy shot and not as cognizant as Kate. I lack resilience. I just bury my troubles with humor. Then there’s Edwina, whom you would be a fool to not marry. She checks every box of those silly questions of yours—excelling in modern and classical literature. Which are without a doubt boring,” Anthony chuckles as he listens intently. You let out a huff as you look up and meet his gaze. He appears in awe almost.

“Miss Sharma, I think you are undoubtedly your own harshest critic. You need not be like Kate because you find and elevate the room's most exciting part. Who cares if you are a lousy shot? My younger brothers excelled in shooting before I. You have voiced your distaste for classic literature, and it does edify the mind, but one has to enjoy it to sharpen their wit,” He clasps his hands in front of him, offering a sheepish smile as you look at him. A small smile threatens to break the frown on your lips. While you look off at nothing in particular, you miss how he looks at you. At ease, he appears unusually calm, not stressing the ball or his search for a wife.

“I—I must admit that I was wrong about you, Lord Bridgerton,” You say. A chuckle left his lips while correcting you.

“Anthony,” He says. You nod your head as a smirk tugs at your lips before mocking him.

“You suddenly think we are friends?” He looks incredulously at your sardonic tone, “Oh, do not look at me as if you are unfamiliar with who I am? You can call me by my name if you like. Last I checked, I lack a title and am not a man.”

He scrunched his nose before chuckling as your personality shined through. “With much regret (Y/n), I do agree with you to a point. You lack a title, but I am a gentleman.”

“Spare me your self-righteousness, Lord Bridgerton. I guess I should congratulate you. You have finally acquired the favor of one Sharma sister, now only one more to go, and you can wed Edwina,” Anthony’s face falls at your words. Looking past the garden, William walks toward you both. He ignores your playful smile as his eyes focus on Anthony to your right.

“Miss Sharma, we require a moment alone,” William says, glaring daggers in Anthony’s direction. He does not spare you a single glance as he waits for your departure.

“Miss Sharma?” You scoff at the formality, waiting for him to look at you. After a few seconds, William’s pointed gaze turns toward you.

“Your presence is likely needed elsewhere, and if I am not mistaken, it is highly inappropriate to be with Viscount Bridgerton unchaperoned,” He sounds like your mother, and you do nothing to cover your scowl.

���I know not of your issue, and I do not like whoever this is before me. When you find the time to pull your head out of your arse, then and only then will I happily enjoy your presence. Good day Lord Beauregard,” Your mocking curtsy’s evident before you stomp from the gardens into Aubrey Hall. The rest of the day continues in a blur of your mother preparing you and Edwina for lunch. In the middle of your mother doing your hair, a tap on the door becomes the room's focal point. Mary calls out enter, to which a maid reveals a letter for you from the Duke.

Lady (Y/n),

My apologies for my demeanor earlier. I am cross with my very best friend, and I fear I took it out on you. I will not be in attendance for lunch, for I fear tensions run far too high between Anthony and I. I will be in attendance at the ball. Until then.

Lord Beauregard

“Why is the Duke cross with the Viscount? They are dear friends,” Your mother says, reading over your shoulder, shrugging lazily at the neat cursive you toss it aside.

“Lord Beauregard is upset with Lord Bridgerton? Maybe that is why he did not propose?” Edwina says. You say nothing as Kate observes you as Edwina and your mother continue theorizing. Newton nuzzles at your feet as you hold your tongue. Your mother excuses herself, leaving the three of you alone. Kate still urges Edwina to recognize that she has no shortage of options in terms of suitors. This reality matters little, Edwina speaks passionately, and you cannot discredit her logic. Anthony can indeed provide her with the life she wants—deserves. Kate sighs, looking toward you. Shrugging your shoulders, you scratch the top of Newton’s head. Edwina keeps her gaze low as she speaks cautiously, “Sisters, I’ve been thinking.”

“Clearly,” You mutter under your breath, earning a pointed stare from Kate. Edwina’s shoulders fall as she glances between the two of you. “Apologies, bon, continue.”

Edwina straightens her posture lifting her chin. Raising your eyebrow, you cannot help the faint quirk of your lips. The anticipation of Edwina’s following words nearly comical, far too dramatic for your liking, “I am now quite certain I know why he has not yet made his declaration.”

Kate stiffens, glancing at you briefly before looking back at Edwina. The action terse, earning a furrow in your eyebrows at her. Edwina looks between the two of you with this confidence that you are certain has the strength of wet tissue paper. Her features too frail, and her voice far too delicate, “It's because of the two of you. (Y/n) you push too harshly at him and Kate; you hate one another.”

Edwina crosses the room crossing her arms, contemplating the situation. You eye Kate, her posture loosens, and a long breath leaves her. She looks back at you, and the pause lasts far longer than it should. Kate shakes her gently while turning to Edwina, “Uh, hate is probably too strong a word.”

“And quite frankly, I have been going rather easy on the Viscount,” You say, leaning back in your seat, taking note to later ask Kate what’s going on. Edwina's eyes widen, a glint flashing across her irises. “Oh no, whatever it is you’re thinking, I already hate it.”

“It is clear from your exchanges with the Viscount that he shares the feelings you each have for him. (Y/n) the two of you often banter, but the line between friendship and disdain is far too blurry. Kate, the two of you simply bicker, the line is very clear, and you are on the wrong side of it. All of this time, I thought I needed help getting him to fall in love with me. But I now realize I neeapparentting him to fall in love with both of you,” Edwina speaks softly, joining you on the couch. You can feel Kate’s gaze searing into your skin as she frowns at Edwina.

“Well, I don’t know about love, but the Viscount and I have recently found some common ground. I actually gave him my blessing earlier today,” You speak casually, watching Edwina squeal excitedly. She quickly pecks your cheek before turning to Kate with a soft smile. Kate’s sharp stare does not leave you even as Edwina urges Kate to try harder.

“I have not given up, I will not give up,” Edwina says with a dreamy look in her eyes. She rests her head on your shoulder, failing to see the tense stare between the two of you. Kate wastes no time in asking Edwina to go retrieve your mother.

At the closing of the door, the room still, you both stare each other waiting for the other to speak. Newton whines softly from the floor, the tension all-consuming in the sunlit room. You scoff, crossing your arms, “If you have something to say, just say it. The shared looks with Daphne and William and looks of scrutiny are becoming rather irritating.”

Kate huffs as her shoulders fall. She glances around the room before her eyes come back to you. The second she speaks, you do nothing to hide the grimace that takes your features, her tones gentle. Too gentle, you know it all too well, “Have you lost your mind? Why would you give Anthony your blessing? This will only further complicate things.”

“Do not patronize me, Kate. What are you even on about? We do not have to like him, Kate, but we cannot deny that he can give Edwina the life she wants. A large family, simple affections, dutiful husband,” You stand up with an incredulous glint in your eyes.

“A life where her husband and sister have feelings for each other?” Kate’s words rip through you. The weight of her allegation thinning the air around you. You blink several times as though if you do it enough, it will reset time, virtually ending this conversation.

“I would never hurt Edwina like that. That is a vile accusation,” You seethe, stepping closer to Kate, the breeze from the window cooling the fury that burns your skin. Kate places her hands cautiously on your shoulders. She knows how to anger you just as easily as soothe you.

“I know, bon, but we cannot ignore the truth of the matter,” Kate says, biting the inside of your cheek; you shake her hand off your shoulder. At the window, you peer out at nothing, in particular, swallowing thickly.

“He is courting Edwina, that is all,” You do not look at her as you speak, busying yourself with the many who prepare the backyard of Aubrey Hall with tables and umbrellas.

“I confronted him during Pall Mall about this subject matter. He, too, dismissed me. Neither of you even deny your feelings, only emphasize the inappropriate nature to which your relationship treks dangerously close,” Kate says, being greeted with your silence as you focus as though the workers perform for you. A long sigh fills the silence, “I do not wish to upset you, sister. We swim in precarious waters. If not careful, we’ll drown.”

You turn to Kate, your eyes glassy. Neither of you move, and Edwina’s jubilant voice sounds in the corridor. Before the door opens, you speak barely above a whisper, “We’re friends, that is all.”

Edwina rushes into the room ahead of your mother. She runs to the clothing, insistent on picking her best dress. Your mother glances between you and Kate. It seems she catches all that Edwina misses, and still, no one speaks a word of it.

Though not customary, you wear a sleeveless apricot dress that your mother forces you to pair with a sheer shawl. You walk without a destination with Kate through the backyard, the sea of faces, unfamiliar--the people, uninteresting.

“Sisters!” You can recognize Edwina’s light tone anywhere, her voice lacking the faint bass of your tone. Edwina sits with Anthony. Kate glances your way as Anthony meets your gaze. The pause brief. You glance at Kate before both of you look back to Edwina, her smile beaming. If she notices the hesitancy, she does not show it. “Come sit with us!”

Anthony rises as you both approach. As you approach the seat across from Anthony, Kate stands by the chair across from Edwina. Your eyebrows pinch as you look at Anthony, now questioning every little detail about his demeanor—every little detail about your own.

“Miss Sharma,” Anthony stands with his hands behind his back, dutifully nodding at both of you. You fight every urge to call him Serg.

“Lord Bridgerton,” Kate says. You nod your head fighting your better nature. The boundary between yourself and your potential brother-in-law now hazy. You like his disdain, maybe even prefer it. Contempt can be understood, but anything else resembles putting together a puzzle with missing pieces. You always did like to hide away parts of the puzzles to avoid finishing them.

The three of you sit down, sharing awkward glances as Edwina smiles, sticking out amongst the polite smiles. Anthony clears his throat, momentarily filling the silence. You fidget with a string hanging from your dress as Edwina looks at Kate.

“Did you tell the Viscount about your bee sting?” Your eyes cut to Kate, then Anthony as the question seemingly stills the table further. Kate chuckles softly. She looks at Anthony, speaking plainly. He offers a mock ah that earns an eye roll as you fiddle with your dress string. Edwina’s gaze turns to you, “Sister, you are quiet. Are you alright?”

“Tired perhaps,” Shrugging, Edwina huffs softly but maintains her chipper smile. The table conversation relies focally on Edwina bouncing between the three of you. Edwina suggests that Anthony give you and Kate a tour before you can decline; both Anthony and Kate speak over each other.

“I’ll be shooting with the other gentlemen. The party is to leave quite soon, I’m afraid,” Anthony offers a charming smile toward Edwina. Your younger sister perks up, not missing the opportunity to announce your adept skills in tracking and Kate’s excellent shot. Kate scoffs as Anthony laughs, seemingly dismissing the revelation.

“Do you not think it true?” Kate says. Benedict approaches, reminding Anthony it’s almost time to go. You cannot fight the grin off your lips at the sight of Kate. She has that look on her face. The one where she gets crazy competitive and enables your shenanigans.

Anthony chuckles, glancing at you just as you roll your eyes and laugh, “Perhaps your sister excels in fields with straight aim and level ground, but surely they would have some trouble managing—“

“Well, that certainly wasn’t condescending at all,” You murmur very clearly, raising an eyebrow as you look at him. Kate follows with her own question as Anthony steps further into it. Benedict smiles largely as his oldest brother crashes and burns rather quickly.

“I only mean to say—“ Anthony's slow drawl fuels your amusement. He meets your gaze, narrowing his eyes ever so slightly.

“Because we are women?” Kate says.

“No. I did not say that.” Anthony's gaze swiftly turns to Kate. At this point, he fumbles to clarify his point, merely shoving his foot farther into his mouth.

“But you implied it,” You point out, glancing at Benedict, whose grin falls as Anthony looks at him. Anthony then chuckles, speaking with a newfound diction, “Ladies, do not hunt.”

Kate quickly distinguishes between what ladies are and are not allowed to do. You bite your bottom lip, mirroring Benedict’s grin as Edwina redirects the conversation. Before you know it, you chuckle while changing in your room as Kate grumbles about Anthony, her irritation of the smug Bridgerton allowing you reprieve from her hefty assumptions. You push her accusation and William's proposal to the back of your mind. The fresh country air pulls a large smile to your lips. The glances from the other men barely reach you as Kate glares at them. Your and Kate's chaperone struggling like a fool on her horse behind the two of you. You sit on the back of Kate’s horse, your eyes taking in all the greenery, specifically the dirt that sits just faintly visible beneath it. The untrained eye would miss the faint but present signs of life in the area. One of the gentlemen up ahead calls the hunting party to the right.

“To the right?” You mutter, your eyebrows pinching as you glance over Kate’s shoulder. Several men steer their horses right as your eyes lock on Anthony’s back, the mocking tone leaving you with ease, “Viscount Bridgerton, do we intend to merely gaze at nature this day?”

“I do like your riddles, Miss Sharma, but I would love it if you spoke plainly,” Anthony says, his overly saccharine smile matching his mocking tone. Kate supplants Benedict spot riding next to Anthony, putting the two of you in clear view of the other.

“My sister's, right. Look, tracks are going off to the left. You can see the cloven shape in the moss,” Kate says. You spot her find, nodding your head as you gesture to the closest tree to the tracks, “The markings of the tree, deer like to rub their antlers against them.”

“Let’s stay with the group. If we find nothing, I shall offer myself up for both your target practice,” Anthony says, rolling your eyes as you scoff.

“You shall most likely come out unscathed as my target but rest assured, Kate won’t miss,” You taunt, tilting your head mockingly. Anthony narrows his eyes at you, a smile ghosting upon his lips. Kate glances between the two of you, sighing as she clears her throat, ending the moment as swiftly as it arrives. Silence blankets the three of you. You rest your head on the back of Kate’s shoulder, huffing quietly. The silence lives for only a few seconds as you perk up, “Lord Bridgerton, do you know why Lord Beauregard departed so abruptly?”

“He likely made haste once he realized you are more vexing than you are charming,” Anthony says with a matter-of-fact tone as you roll your eyes.

“I knew you thought me charming. The rest of your family certainly finds me to be so,” You fire back instantly, a smirk on your lips as you hold your chin up high. Anthony mimics your eye roll while looking ahead, your moment short-lived as William’s proposal lingers in your mind. You continue with half-hearted amusement while drumming against the saddle, “It’s unlikely William runs from me given his desire to make me his bride.”

Your eyes fog over as you presently leave the moment, Anthony’s locked stare failing to garner your attention. His voice lacks the condescension it has carried throughout the entirety of the day. He ignores Kate’s stare as he looks at you, asking, “You are engaged?”

The drop of your stomach at his question makes you sit straight as a pencil, a distant ringing in your ear faint and nagging. If Kate notices, she does not show or voice it. It seems that minutes—no perhaps hours pass since the question leaves Anthony’s lips, and yet his brother calls after him mere seconds after. Yet the question still lingers. You find yourself considering the possibilities. Will you marry him? You should have an answer. At least that’s what you believe.

Uncertain. Unbecoming. Unworthy.

A foolish—Kate’s voice pulls you back to the present. The horse comes to a stop as the masses dismount and scatters amongst the woods, “Sister, are you alright?”

“Always,” You say, climbing down with a grin. Kate eyes you carefully, and you wonder if she can see how you bury the anxiety, smothering its fire and leaving mere smoke in its wake.

Marching through the woods, you put your focus on your surroundings. You ignore how Kate challenges the others on how to go about the hunt. Kate and Anthony, too consumed bickering to notice how you veer off further and further from each of them. The lean, long-legged ruminant mammal greets your gaze with glowing reddish-brown fur with a cream-colored underbelly. A quiet chuckle leaves your lips, placing your gun down. You watch it in awe.

“Good find, bon!” Kate whispers. She joins your side, meeting your amazed expression with a proud smile. Anthony joins the two of you quite loudly, both of you shushing him as he thankfully did not manage to rouse the deer.

“Are you two quite serious? You cannot just go off like that,” Anthony scolds. Rolling your eyes, you scoff.

“If I wished to just see the trees and shrubbery, I would’ve gladly stayed and followed your very skilled guide,” Your sardonic tone earns a mocking smile, the two of you appearing like squabbling children.

“Lord Bridgerton, would you please be quiet. Bon, it’s your find. You should take the shot,” Kate says. All eyes fall on you, a chuckle leaving your parted lips as you stammer before the words escape you. Your sentences do not form or leave you as you glance at your gun.

Anthony purses his lips as Kate holds her gun out to you. You stare at the gun for several seconds, swallowing thickly. Just as you go to refuse, your blood boils as Anthony’s words reach your ears, “Miss Sharma, cowardice looks good on no one.”

“Takes a craven to know one,” You grumble. Taking the gun from Kate’s hand, you crouch down on the fallen tree. The barrel, at a comfortable place below your shoulder against your armpit, you inhale deeply, controlling the subtle tremble of your hands. Your palms glide against the gun faintly, coating it in a light sheen of sweat. You squeeze the trigger, closing your eyes, the sound scurrying away, telling you the verdict of your shot. Standing up, the sound of the hunting party rushing overfills your ears. Biting the inside of your cheek, your mind scrambles to prepare quick comebacks at the inevitable teasing that heads your way from the Viscount Bridgerton.

Just as the first few faces arrive, Anthony’s voice fills the silence, “It headed that way. It appears I am a bit rusty, but both Miss Kate and Miss (Y/n) are to be credited for finding the deer.“

Kate meets your gaze with a knowing look, but it does not matter as neither of you says a word to the other. The bout of confusion silencing, Kate does not push the subject any further than earlier, and you are grateful.

As the sky bleeds orange, it soon blackens, leaving you to lie awake with the pattering of rain outside your window to keep you company. Like most nights, you slip out of your room to your favorite part of Aubrey Hall, the steps. Sheltered by the house without being in the place. You rest your legs on your elbows on your knees, your chin against your palms like a patient child. The rain falls in heavy droplets, and light splashes mist up, just barely reaching you. It’s constant and unwavering. Approaching steps lull as soft as the pouring rain. You glance at the cup placed at your side.

“I like to have tea on my restless nights. It’s soothing,” Anthony sits at your side, staring out at the rain as he speaks. He takes a cautious sip of his own tea, glancing over at you when silence greets him. You stare at him with a raised brow glancing between him and the cup sitting next to you.

“I prefer—“

“Coffee. Perhaps if you take the time to look at the cup, you will recognize it,” Anthony says casually, taking another sip of his tea. You look at the light brown drink, steam wafting from it to your nose. The sweet smell leaves your mouth salivating in anticipation.

“Is your plot to assassinate me, Viscount Bridgerton? Presenting as a dutiful potential future brother-in-law with a cup of arsenic in hand?” You ask. Taking the handle of your cup, you bring it to your lips while holding Anthony’s gaze, amusement dancing in your eyes.

“Why, of course, my lady. Name a better pass time. I’ll wait,” He says, earning a chuckle as you wipe the remnant of the coffee from your lips. It lacks the nutmeg and cardamom you are used to. The bittersweet taste familiar but all the more different.

“Very funny, Viscount Bridgerton,” You chuckle softly, taking another sip as you peer back out at the rain. The muggy air and warm drinks flush your skin, a faint tint of reddish pink covering you. It’s serene but not perfect with the uncomfortable temperature, poor visibility, and loud silence. Yet it works. Neither you nor he moves to break this solitude. It lasts for seemingly a lifetime in mere minutes.

“William asked you to marry him?” Anthony says. You sigh, placing down your cup of coffee. You can see Anthony’s watching you from the corner of your eye.

“I presumed he would tell his best friend,” You are quick but not fast enough.

“Do you love him?” Anthony asks. You stare out at the rain with an unreadable expression. Your silence does not paint your truth to its full scope.

“I love William, I do. But I’m not in love with William,” You swallow thickly, your fingers fidgeting in your lap, “He wishes for me to be happy. Yet he does not understand what love does.”

“And what is that?” Anthony murmurs. He looks away from you, tracing the rim of his cup.

“It—“ You open your mouth just as your thoughts jumble in your mind. Taking a deep breath, Anthony glances over at you, a curious glint in his eyes. You cannot help but notice how you hold his full attention, “Love is like an anchor. It drags down to the sea. Further and further from reality, the reality is that marriage is an economic proposition. I do not wish to delve into detail, but the fantasy of love and marriage have long been sullied for me. I do not desire it nor require it. I know that may sound harsh, but it is my truth.”

“Not harsh at all. Refreshing perhaps,” Anthony says quietly. You nearly do not hear him. He takes a sip of his tea before clearing his throat, “After, uh, after my father passed, it took such a heavy toll on my mother. They shared a great love which showed all the good, but once you’ve seen the bad, it’s near—near—“

“Irreversible,” You say softly, finishing his sentence and meeting his eyes. The rain rages on, the soothing white noise all-consuming. You flinch as the sky brightens with the strike of purple lightning that flashes across the sky. The loud following booms rumbling the ancestral home.

“Perhaps it is time to retire to our rooms. Allow me to escort you,” Anthony says. You raise an eyebrow at him with a teasing grin. He rolls his eyes taking a taunting tone, “To ensure the arsenic takes, of course.”

Chuckling softly, you reach for your cup, cut off as Anthony takes it before you. You offer a mock surrender raising your hands in defeat earning a chuckle. Anthony walks you to your room door. Pausing before entering, speaking just barely above a whisper, “Tell anyone of this, and I will deny it. You are not as dreadful as you present yourself to be.”

“Great final words, my lady,” Anthony jokes, earning an eye roll as you bid him goodnight before disappearing into your room. Inside you choose not to dwell on the conversation too long, finding sleep at the touch of your face to your pillow.

You stand with Lady Danbury flittering with the uncomfortable corset rather than pay attention to all in attendance. Lady Danbury glances at you, vocalizing the arrival of Lord Beauregard. Your eyes dart across the room, considering blending into the sea of ambitious ladies and their slithering mothers.

“Miss Sharma,” William offers a warm smile while holding out a glass of wine. He apologizes for his absence, suggesting they dance.

“Mhm, do I let you off the hook so easily?” You sip your wine with a tilt of your head, a playful glint dazzling your eyes. William lets out a hearty laugh, his own sparkle shining with mischief.

“Please, oh beautiful Miss Sharma. Please forgive me, for I cannot continue without your forgiveness,” William clutches his chest, throwing his head back dramatically. The laugh that leaves your lips rises from deep in your stomach. Your cheeks grow sore as you ignore the looks of others. It’s almost easy to forget the frivolity of being in William’s company.

“Shut up and dance with me,” You chuckle. Discarding your cup, you take William’s hand, leading him to the dance floor. He bows as you curtsy, the two of you taking your uniform positions. Step back. Chin up high. Lift your hand. Turn. Each step visibly graceful and painfully robotic, controlled.

“I don’t wish to pressure you, but I cannot help but wonder where your thoughts are on my proposition of sorts,” William says. He makes the dance look easy. Each move carried out as though instinctive.

“Mhm, binding myself to the royal family who currently lacks an heir puts me dangerously close to being wed to a man who could be king someday. You offer not a simple proposition but a hefty proposal that cannot be taken lightly,” Your matter-of-fact tone impedes your count. William shifts right, covering your stumble with a light lift as he turns the both of you. When your feet touch the ground, you grumble a thank you continuing the dance, “I am too uncoordinated.”

“Some could say unique,” William counters. Taking your hand, he spins you gently.

“Unfit,” You fire back, continuing your count, step back. Hand on his shoulder, the other in his hand.

As expected of the dance, William steps forward following your step back. His nose brushes your own as his gaze does not falter, “Perfect. Absolutely perfect. Without a doubt.”

Your voice catches in your throat, William looking at you as imagine man did upon discovering fire. While your decision remains unclear, you are certain of one thing. The security and companionship of William’s offer. Your eyes glaze over, thoughts flooding your mind all at once. William chuckles softly, pulling away, continuing a simple sway. “I do not aim to make you uncomfortable or pressure you. Only for you to see you as I do.

“It appears Eloise is enjoying this night just as much as you,” William looks over at Eloise. She dances a few paces to your left. Her eyebrows pinched as her eyes narrowed at Lord…you cannot put a name to his face. In seconds the gentleman walks away as Lady Bridgerton follows Eloise to the stairs. Her exchange with her mother does not reach you, but the looks are all too familiar. Lady Violet's unable to understand her daughter but proceeds with gentle patience, Eloise’s frustration. Neither understands the other. You find yourself glancing across the room at your own mother.

She smiles encouragingly, blissfully unaware of your plight. Unable to see the world through your eyes.

“You should go after her,” William says, pulling away from the simple box step you’ve both resigned to. Your eyebrows furrow as William bows, with a fond smile as he speaks, “Eloise Bridgerton. A comely lady of the ton going against the norms of the system set upon them. Sound familiar?”

You cannot stop the smile that spreads across your face. William nudges his head toward the direction Eloise disappeared. Nodding your head, you follow the stairs, passing Penelope on your way. She quickly calls out where to find Eloise. It does not take you long to find her door. You offer two light knocks, turning your head to listen in.

“I wish to be alone!”

“Might I join you? I certainly wish for a reprieve from the farce that occurs in your family home,” Chuckling, you lean on the door frame. Shuffling behind the door greeting you with the distant music of the ball continuing on down the hall. After a few seconds, you are sure she will ignore you, but the opening of the door welcomes you. Eloise sits on the floor a few feet from the door. She pulls at the string of her dress, watching as a piece of hem gently unravels. You take a seat next to her, drumming your fingers against your thighs, “do you wish to talk about it?”

“Being my mothers' disappointment? Not particularly,” Eloise says with a matter-of-fact tone.

“I get it. The feeling is rather draining. Focus on it too much, and you’ll find yourself scrutinizing every detail about yourself,” You say, resting your head back against the wall. The laxness of your tone contrasts her furrowed eyebrows.

“You feel like your mothers' disappointment?” Her incredulous tone earns a chuckle as you nod with a gentle smile. “Not a chance. You’re pretty and charismatic, every mother's dream.”

“Many find me argumentative and blunt. Kate is more reserved. She has mastered proper etiquette. Edwina is the comely charismatic one. Most days, I can’t tell if Mother fears what I might do or what I might say,” Your words leave you quickly, shrugging as you near ramble. Wetting your lips, you chuckle as Eloise continues your rambling, “And even when you say something outside of the norm as they’re expecting, they act as though it surprises them. As if they don’t know our natures.”

“Ah, so my Mom isn’t special. It just comes with the having a mother package, I see,” You jest, chuckling softly as Eloise does as well. Only little shards of the prior remains. A reminder in the music that plays from downstairs as the ball continues. The fancy dresses you both wear that itch at the neckline and constrict your midsection. Reminders in your stations amongst society, “Eloise, we are the second daughters. The middle children, like shadows not clearly seen but fairly visible. Existing behind the first and last born daughters. It may sound like a sad reality, but there’s something rather amazing about us.”

“Being ignored and forced to conform?” Eloise’s eyebrows pinch as she stares at your chuffed stupor.

After a few seconds of staring off with the grin of a fool, you speak. Your voice much like velvet, appearing as though nothing in the world could hurt you, “We get to be whomever we wish, not what our mothers molded us to be for society.”

“Are you certain you don’t want to marry any of my brothers?” Eloise smiles, sliding closer. She rests her head on your shoulder. You kiss the crown of her head before resting your own head on hers. Eloise yawns as her words leave her, resembling a sleepy child as she says, “I do not wish for you to leave. My sisters don’t get me.”

“It’s okay. Sisters aren’t supposed to. It keeps things interesting that way,” You joke, earning a weak chuckle. Eloise does not say a word. She continues resting her head on your shoulder. A few minutes pass before Benedict pokes his head in, and you do your best to help get Eloise to bed. You both walk back to the main room together, where the party continues.

“Eloise seems to really like you,” Benedict says with a big grin. You furrow your eyebrows, looking at him.

“And just what exactly are you implying, Lord Bridgerton?” Your playful and straightened posture earns a laugh.

“Just that whether we become in-laws through our siblings or not, you, Miss Sharma, are always welcome back here. Especially for Pall-Mall,” Benedict says. His smile spreads across his face, even his eyes smiling.

“I will remember this invitation and hold you to it,” You tease, grinning as Benedict assures you his word is his bond. As you both walk, he cuts right at the dance floor. You cut left, following the outskirts of the dance floor. Edwina’s smile shines on the opposite side, the light of a young girl in her eyes. Reaching Edwina’s side, she clings to your arm with a giddy smile.

“Oh, sister! Lord Bridgerton and I have danced twice tonight. Twice!” Edwina exclaims, her smile shining up at you as she interlaces her fingers in yours. She gestures to the dance floor where Kate and Anthony dance. Your eyes stay on them as Edwina speaks, her words not fully registering as Anthony’s eyebrow furrow at something Kate says. Edwina gives your hand a light squeeze, “Oh, Didi, I’m certain he’d not have asked me for two if he did not have intentions for the evening. Kate should be giving her blessing as we speak. Oh, isn’t it all so exciting, sister? We shall both be wed before the season's end!”

“Yeah,” Chuckling softly, your eyes stay on Kate and Anthony. Anthony’s eyes widen before scanning around the room. His search halts as he captures your gaze. Edwina still speaks, oblivious to your lack of attention or how Kate looks between you and your staring partner. Anthony glances at the door and back at you; arching your brow, you turn to Edwina. Your pensive stare eludes her as she rambles with a large smile, painting the vision she sees of your future. Anthony politely bows to Kate before leaving the room as Kate joins you and Edwina. If she notices how your eyes follow Anthony out of the room, she does not give any inkling of it as she nods along to Edwina’s excitement. Your ears ring as the various colored gowns of the room muddle, and your vision splinters. You swallow dryly, the ringing in your ears growing louder. Pulling at the edge of your short-sleeved dress brings a faint cool to your flushed skin.

“Sister, are you alright?” Edwina’s voice snaps you back into the present, looking at her with a weak smile.

“Just a bit warm. I think I shall take a moment to get some air,” The words leave you quickly, almost incoherently. You do not look at Kate, her gaze burning a hole into the side of your head. The corridor outside of the ball greets you with low light and a cool breeze from the open back door. Anthony stands on the porch pacing back and forth. You look at him and then glance back at the doors that lead into the ball. You should go back inside, of this you are sure. Despite this, you take a few steps forward, your light efforts capturing his attention. You tilt your head toward the library doors before entering without a word. The room is far more lit than the hall, with many candles and closed windows drying your mouth. You eye the pitcher and cup on the desk, undoubtedly some form of alcohol—hopefully far stronger than wine.

Anthony slams the door behind him, his fists clenching as he paces. You roll your eyes, crossing your arms, your mocking tone filling the silence, “Please just share what I have done this time. The suspense is killing me.”

“When will you leave? Huh?” He asks, furrowing your eyebrows; he gives you no time to speak. A mirthless chuckle leaves his lips, “Oh, Miss Sharma, now you are one for silence?”

“What are you going on about?” You scoff, narrowing your eyes at his condescension.

“Your sister speaks of your plans to depart back to India, so when shall you leave?” Anthony grits his teeth, hissing his words as he steps closer to you. Your eyebrows quirk up, staring into his eyes, quickly identifying what lies across his face—utter betrayal. Anthony shakes his head, scoffing, “Of course, you grow silent when one desires you to speak. You live to get under my skin. I’m almost certain god has sent you to punish me.”

“Lord Bridgerton, I fear we have found ourselves in a conundrum that if it ever came to light, I fear my family would never forgive me. We mustn’t confuse our understanding and friendly nature for something entirely different. Yes, I can be infuriating and insolent, but it's a part of my charm, I think. We are just confused. A line is blurring between us,” A weak chuckle leaves your lips. How can one want to punch and kiss someone all at once? You shake your head as though to rid yourself of the thought and feeling. Internally scolding yourself for ignoring Kate’s warnings, you clear your throat, “You seek a wife of perfection, which my sister can provide. That is simply where we must stand.”

“I am a man of honor and of certainty. I have been certain of what I seek of what I want from start to finish in all things. Especially matters of my family, and yet—“ He pauses, inhaling sharply as he looks at you. The look in his eyes that was not there before that you have not seen before.

“Here, in your quick wit and inability to listen to reason, you challenge all I stand on—all my certainty. Your sister and I share understanding, but there is no shroud for what we share,” Anthony stands before you with a look of utter desperation, of devotion. His eyes reflect all you feel. The confusion, the frustration, the desire.

“Lord Bridgerton—” Straightening your posture, you clear your throat. It falls on deaf ears as Anthony steps closer, his hand ghosting over your cheek. The heat of his palm spreads across your face like wildfire that never quite touches. He speaks quietly as though coveting his words “(Y/n). Tell me you feel nothing. Tell me, your mind does not feel the temptation of this dalliance? Do you have no comprehension of how you plague me?”

Your voice sits in your throat. Every muscle in your body tense as though you await something cataclysmic. Neither of you takes your eyes off the other. His hand still cradles the air centimeters from your cheek. The crackling of the fireplace fills the silence.

It all implodes with the faintest tilt of your head into his palm. You both pull forward sharply. His hands cradle your face as your foreheads touch. You place a hand on his shoulder. The proximity dizzying. The feel of him all-consuming. You squeeze your eyes shut, the consequences be damned.

“This is wrong,” You whisper, gripping his shoulder and taking long deep breaths through your nose. His breath tickles your lips as the space between you further closes.

“Oh!” You flinch back, Daphne’s eyes looking from you to her brother. Her eyes are wide as Anthony steps toward her. She looks back at you, speaking softly as your glassy eyes stare back at her like a fearful child, “I’m sorry.”

Daphne leaves the room hastily, with Anthony chasing behind her. You walk to the desk, pouring a quick glass of the drink. The drink makes you grimace as you swallow it down in one go. You do not look up as the door opens again, crying out desperately, “I require something stronger, please!”

“Oh, Bon,” Kate says softly. You rest your hands flat on the desk letting your head hang as your tears fall beneath you. She pulls you into a tight hug, letting you sob into her shoulder. You refuse to share the source of your despair, your thoughts haunting you. Kate was right. Even William was aware, “Oh (Y/n).”

“Didi, it’s all wrong. It’s all wrong! ” You cry out, looking up at her. She cradles your face. All red and puffy.

“Bon, we will get through this, I promise you. Wipe your tears and show me the fearsome (Y/n) I know.” Kate says, kissing your forehead. She takes you up to bed, tucking you in, even brushing her fingers through your hair as you quietly cry with your back toward her. When Edwina stops in, she offers well wishes before bed. It only fuels the fire of your despair.

The following day, you rise early, bathing before hastily packing your things. You thank the heavens that Kate makes no mention of the night prior, nor does Daphne. Your goodbyes? Almost robotic as you anxiously await packing away into the carriage and leaving Aubrey Hall behind. Kate holds your hand, offering occasional light squeezes as the three of you stand by the carriage. Edwina glances at your interlaced hands and says nothing as she takes your free hand in her own, kissing the top of your hand.

The slight chill of the morning breeze does nothing to cool the warmth that holds you captive. Your palms are sweaty as your stomach wrestles itself. You look at Edwina on the brink of tears, her eyebrows furrowing at the sight.

“Sister, are you alright?” Edwina’s head tilts as she gently squeezes your hand. Your throat drying just before you can find your words.

“Um, I need to—“ You speak quietly, the calling of wait making you tense as you all turn toward the front door of Aubrey Hall. Anthony marches down the stairs with unwavering confidence, squeezing Kate’s hand tight; you swallow dryly.

“May I speak with you?” He says. You fail to notice how Edwina slips her hand out of yours as well as how Anthony's eyes do not meet your own. Your ears ring so loud you do not hear the words that leave Anthony’s lips, only registering the knee he takes as he holds a ring out to Edwina. Kate whispers in your ear, coaching you to keep it together as your nails dig into her palms. Edwina’s eyes are large and shining. She looks at you and Kate. The smokescreen of pending nuptials blinds her to the mournful look that holds your face. Your mother focuses too intently on Edwina and Anthony to notice but Lady Danbury? Lady Danbury eyes you with a knowing look, but still, she says nothing. As the seconds pass like hours, your expression sharpens as though the despair never existed. You look at Kate, offering a curt nod.

“I do wonder about the trim. Is it too much?” Edwina asks, standing up on the podium as your mother beams up at her. You are certain the last you saw her so happy was when your father was still alive. Sitting by the window, you lazily peer out at nothing in particular. No one comments on your icy demeanor, but you know they have noticed it.

“Nothing is too much now that the Queen is hosting,” Your mother smiles, looking from Edwina to the Modiste. As your mother continues to look over different fabrics, Edwina may like the room grows silent in her absence. Kate steals glances at you as Edwina takes in the view of her gown.

“Did I mention we will be married by the archbishop himself?” Edwina says gleefully. Kate's smile does not reach her eyes as she nods and watches you. The bride-to-be glances over at you with a frown, “Sister, did something happen between you and the Duke? You’ve been unwell since the last night before we left Aubrey Hall.”

“We are fine,” Your flat tone barely audible as you continue eyeing the bustling road outside.

“Sister, you should accept his proposal. Then we would both have royal weddings, and you would be a royal! The Queen already adores you, and I’ve seen the way Lord Beauregard looks at you,” Edwina says, her smile large and tone encouraging. You purse your lips looking over at Kate. She holds your gaze before you turn back to the window. Edwina frowns, observing the brief moment, but she says nothing. Instead, she maintains her smile, “We must get you both dresses as well. Special ones. This wedding is as much both for your triumphs as it is for mine. Both of you clearly said something that swayed him to declare himself.”

“We cannot claim credit, Bon,” Kate says, chuckling slowly while shaking her head, but Edwina insists. You chew on your bottom lip, ignoring the burn of your throat, blinking continuously. Kate reminds Edwina that you both plan to leave after the wedding if you have not accepted William’s proposal.

Back at Lady Danbury’s, you hide away in your shared room, sitting by the window lazily drumming your fingers against your leg. You let out a frustrated huff, your sulking growing utterly dull. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glance at your room door, perhaps a venture outside. You stick your head out of the door, looking down both sides of the corridor before stepping lightly out. Where your mother is currently is not to your knowledge, but you know she will prevent wandering if she catches wind of it. You move carefully past the tearoom, freezing in your tracks.

“—nothing appropriate about what you’re doing proceeding with your engagement,” Kate seethes. Frowning, you press your ear to the door.

“On the contrary, I believe it is the most proper outcome for all,” Anthony says, rolling your eyes as you glare at the door as though he stands before you.

“Oh, and what of everything that has happened between you and my sister at Aubrey Hall?” Kate says. The silence tenses every muscle in your body as you await his answer.

“Nothing passed between Miss (Y/n) and I,” Anthony says cooly, a blatant lie. You bawl your fists. How dare he! Opening your eyes to something you could have easily continued oblivious to, only to shut you out completely. You march off to the stairs, stopping at the sight of your mother and sister at the bottom of them.

“Is that so? If I recall correctly, you appeared angrier than hornets at the prospect of her departure,” Kate says, “I can recall the way your eyes find her in every room. The way you look at her, far more than a prospective brother-in-law. If she accepts Lord Beauregard’s proposal, you will be bound to each other in a tortuous way forever. ”

“Would Miss (Y/n) and I being the ones to marry after all my public courting of Miss Edwina, be the outcome you desire?” Anthony asks. You greet them with a large smile stalling as you scratch the back of your neck.

“No, but I’m certain it’s yours,” Kate says. You make certain to enter the room first, giving Lord Bridgerton and Kate a moment to step away from each other. Anthony greets your sister and mother with a polite smile. It falters as he meets your gaze. You roll your eyes quickly, averting your gaze to your mother.

“I will return in seconds. You lot can begin without me,” You sputter, leaving the room before your mother can protest. She calls out to you, but you are already out of the door and halfway down the stairs. A pair of hands steadying you at your waist as you crash into a chest.

“Easy there. Are you always so spritely?” William chuckles, offering a warm grin as you recollect yourself. He frowns, taking a good look at you, “(Y/n) are you—?”

“If we were to wed, would you consider coming to India?” You ask. It’s selfish and wrong, complicating your situation even further if possible.

“I uh—well, I could, but once my grandfather leaves us, I will have to return. His responsibilities shall fall to me,” William says, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks at you, “(Y/n) I only want you to consider this if you truly see it in your future.”

“Let’s not fret over it now. Mother will wish to see you. Come,” You take his arm, pulling him along with you to the tearoom. Your mother and Edwina smile happily at William’s presence in the room. Anthony stares at the two of you, his eyes locked on your intertwined arms.

“Well, now that you are all here. I have news. Lord and Lady Sheffield sent word they are in London,” Lady Danbury says. You do not hide your grimace, looking up at Lady Danbury in pure disgust. Kate looks at your mother as Edwina smiles.

“Our grandparents?” Edwina says, looking at you. You look down at the door, counting each line you can see in the wood.

“Indeed. It seems they read the engagement announcement and wish to make your acquaintance and, uh, that of your future husband, of course,” Lady Danbury ignores the lack of reaction from all of you except Edwina. You scoff quietly, muttering to yourself, “Of course they do.”

“They are already in town?” Kate asks. William glances between you and your family, and so does Anthony. The best friends look at each other before Anthony addresses the elephant in the room. You glance at your mother, the way she controls her shallow breathing—looking around as though seeking an escape. Her mannerisms are familiar, too familiar.

Anthony escorts Edwina to the promenade as William escorts you. Your disposition even lower than before somehow. William stops in his tracks, crossing his arms. You stop not looking up, just waiting for him to rejoin you. When he does not, you look up with a frown.

“I’ve never seen you so, so gloomy. There must be some form of an insult or jest just charging up in there,” William smiles gently, watching as you shake your head, lowering your gaze. “Do you wish to talk about it?”

You sigh as the two of you walk again, nodding your head slowly, “My grandparents are just awful. Overcritical and impossible to please. I’m in no mood for them presently.”

“Well then, before the impending doom that comes from your grandparents' presence, perhaps you shall humor me?” William asks, standing on the ports and gesturing to the secured rowboat. “If I become insufferable, I will happily allow you to throw me overboard.”

“Promise?” You say quietly, fighting the grin that takes your lips as William smirks.

“You have my word,” He says, offering his hand out to her. She takes it, allowing him to help her into the board. He then gets in himself, untying the rope and pushing off the port. “In the colder season, this freezes over. It’s rather fun to step on the top of the ice and glide around. I tend to fall a lot doing it, but it’s all in good fun, I swear it.”

“Really?” The laugh that leaves your lips appears foreign, replacing your petulant stares. You look over the side of the water, picturing William struggling to stay atop the frozen terrain.

“Careful, you’re tilting the boat,” William says, raising an eyebrow. You smirk. Your eyes shine with a glint of mischief.

“What, like this?” You say, shifting your weight from one side to the other William gives grips the edge of the boat, giving you a hard stare. After a few seconds, it melts into a grin as he dips his hand in the water, splashing it up at you. You squeal, shielding your face as you splash water up at him. The two of you laugh like giddy children, gaining the attention of the many who walk around the promenade.

Kate chaperones Edwina and Anthony. They watch the two of you. Anthony’s gaze does not leave your form. Edwina’s words fall on deaf ears as he locks onto your laughter. Your younger sister gasping, pulls Anthony back into the present as the boat overturns, sending both you and William into the water. Both you and William resurface, laughing infectiously, not caring how everyone watches the two of you.

“You tipped the boat over, not me!” You exclaim, helping William push the boat toward the port.

“Says the one who insisted on rocking the boat,” William playfully scoffs as the two of you near the port flipping the boat right side up. You look up, grinning as Kate shakes her head at you, and Edwina happily points out your better mood.

“It seems you always know how to lift her spirits, Lord Beauregard,” Edwina says with a smile. William smiles at your sister, giving her a polite nod, his smile lessening as his gaze moves to Anthony.

“Miss Sharma, please allow me,” Anthony says, offering his hand out to you as he bends down. You stare at it, set on ignoring it, but Kate gives you a look as she gestures to the wandering eyes around you all. Accepting his hand begrudgingly, you quickly pull away from him, standing next to Kate. Your dress clings to you, dripping water down your entire body. William climbs onto the pier turning to fasten the boat back to the log, but Anthony’s already tying it tight.

“Fret not, friend. You always did struggle with tying knots,” The dig’s not lost on you nor Kate. You glare at Anthony, chewing on the inside of your cheek. Anthony and William stare at each other, the tension high as you look around, noticing the other onlookers growing. You narrow your eyes, stepping forward and pushing your palm against Anthony’s side. He stumbles forward into William, the two crashing into the lake.

Your jaw drops as they hurdle into the water, Edwina exclaiming your name as you fail to fight back your laughter. The water splashing up at the three of you, only fueling your amusement. Kate's eyes widen as her gaze bounces between you and the two lords in the water.

Anthony plants his hands flat on the pier glaring up at you as he lifts himself up first. His soaking-wet shirt now sheer, leaving nothing to the imagination. Kate nudges your side, reminding both you and Edwina of the inappropriate nature of staring. Even as the words leave her lips, the three of you shamelessly watch him. The show not ending as William pulls himself up. It’s wrong, oh so wrong, but every passing thought in your mind bubbles, leaving a warmth at your core.

“That was fun,” Smiling, you look between your sisters, who both shake their heads at you. Kate suggests it’s time to head back in worry of you getting sick. Your dress still drips water as you casually bounce on the balls of your feet. In the carriage, you sit next to Kate, resting your head on her shoulder while gently kicking Edwina’s feet.

“Bon, your hair is still wet,” Kate sighs, failing to shrug you off. Edwina giggles softly, moving her feet as you follow hers.

“Quite observant, Miss Sharma,” You chuckle, rubbing your hair against her side, earning a groan as she pushes you away. Edwina covers her soft chuckles with her hand as she watches the two of you. The carriage ride’s mostly quiet beyond a few snickers and Kate’s annoyance with your persistence.

Back at Lady Danbury’s, you openly gape at the sight of an indisputable fact—you are indeed your mothers' child. For hours your mother rushes around like a mad woman. She rushes about the house between making sure you all wear the perfect dress to the intricate styles of your hair and the jewelry you accessorize with. Not a single thing out of place, snarkily reminding you that today’s not the day for nonsense, as she calls it.

Kate offers you a weak smile as you roll your eyes grumbling beneath your breath. If either your mother or Kate dislikes the Sheffields more than you, they hide it well. The last time you can recall seeing them at the ripe age of five, you glared at them for the entirety of your visit. Their interest only stemming from the gossip about your exciting personality, to later deem you unruly. You never did understand why your mother even sent you there. The damage—irreversible.

“It’s just one dinner,” Kate says, fiddling gently with your hair smoothing out every little menial imperfection.

“Yes, one dinner of those people we have to call family scrutinizing every little detail about us. About mother. About you,” You take a deep breath, your expression hardening as you swallow dryly. Edwina enters the room doing a light twirl, her smile large. There’s a clear difference between who can remember meeting the Sheffields and who does not. Edwina’s smile falters at the sight of your pensive stare. She walks, placing her hands on your shoulders with an encouraging smile.

“There is still time to take a small nap if you need didi. I can distract Mama,” Edwina says, chuckling softly as you shake your head, leaning your head onto her hand.

“I appreciate it, bon, but I know a nap will do nothing but agitate me further,” You glance at the door watching your mother jet past. A chuckle leaves your lips, “And quite frankly, Mama as well.”

“Edwina dear, I need to speak with your sister alone,” Your mother enters the room, taking a deep breath as she softly pants. Edwina smiles, nodding her head and leaving the room without a further word. Lady Mary looks at you with her lips pursed.

“I know, Mother. I do not require further instructions for dinner tonight. Be punctual, proper, and pleasant,” You huff, crossing your arms. Lady Mary sighs, walking over. She takes your hands.

“Oh, my wildflower child, you are all those things. I’ve come not to lecture you but to check on you. I know you carry strong feelings about my parents, and if at any point this dinner is too much, you do not have to stay for the entirety of it,” She says softly. You know her words are untrue. To leave dinner so abruptly would only further their thoughts of you.

“Right, so they can nod their heads and look down on me as the defective one of their bloodline. I will not,” Your words are sharp and tense. You stand with perfect posture. Lady Mary shakes her head, but her protests mean nothing, do nothing. You stand, appearing the complete antithesis of the girl everyone knows. “If I could get through two weeks of your parents as a child, then I can get through one dinner. I no longer wish to continue discussing this topic, Mother.”

She takes a half step back from you, keeping your hands in hers. The glint in her eyes as familiar as the one all those years ago when you returned home, guilt. She does not say another word. Nodding her head, she kisses the tops of your hands softly before leaving the room. You fan yourself with your hands, the room uncomfortably hot. The faint tremble of your hands clear as you clasp them in front of you, taking a long deep breath.

After a few minutes, you leave the room in search of your sisters. Lady Danbury smiles, walking with her cane as she calls out to you. She compliments your appearance, the rich red gown complimenting your skin tone. Lady Danbury wears her knowing smirk with a present glint in her eyes, seemingly always present. The two of you enter the room together, clearly interrupting your sisters. Lady Danbury smiles as you appear ready to walk the plank.

“Our guests have arrived,” Lady Danbury announces with a large smile. Her eyes solely on Edwina, who giggles with a giddy smile, leaving the room hastily. Before either of you can follow, Lady Danbury's hand shoots out, halting you as she sidesteps Kate. Her smile falls as eyes look between the two of you.

“You may spare us the instruction, Lady Danbury. We know we are to be on our best behavior,” Kate says with a polite smile. You bite the inside of your cheek, staring off with a blank expression.

“You think me an unfeeling harridan,” She says to Kate before turning to look at you, “and you hide from me as though I see right through you. Well, ladies, I am hosting this dinner for both your sakes.”

“You know nothing of my relationship with those people,” You scoff, glaring up at her.

“And yet I do,” Lady Danbury says, her gaze softening just a tad. Mother told her. You look away from her crossing your arms as you shift on the balls of your feet. “Going forward, Edwina’s betrothal may be the end of certain hopes you’ve harbored regarding the Viscount but access to the Sheffield fortune.”

“I want nothing to do with those people or the Viscount. I will take a lifetime of struggle before I am under the Sheffields' control or ruin this for Edwina. You speak so far out of place,” You narrow your eyes at her, but she merely chuckles.

“Oh dear, you can do better than that. Dear, the life of independence you seek is close, Kate. And you (Y/n)? You have been presented with an opportunity of a lifetime. A marriage to a royal. Security for the rest of your life and full independence from your grandparents. I implore you both to think of the reward of the coming events. Think of your futures. Deny the feelings and passions as you please, but once it cools. You dear have an abundant future ahead of you, where you and your sisters are happy,” Lady Danbury stands in front of both of you. Nostalgia dances in her eyes as she smiles with a bittersweetness to her expression. You blink away the heat in your eyes, taking a deep breath to will away the bundle of nerves that dance in your stomach. When neither of you says a word, Lady Danbury smiles once more, “Come along, girls, it’s time for dinner.”

In the hallway, Edwina follows closely behind Lady Danbury. Her light pink dress sparkling in the warm candlelight. You walk with your arm folded into Kate’s, your jewel-tone gowns matching just as much as your forced polite smiles.

“Ah, Lord and Lady Sheffield, it has been too long,” Lady Danbury’s jubilant demeanor easing the suffocating tension. Not long enough, in any other circumstance, these words leave your lips, but now? Now you keep your head high and posture statue-like, “May I present Miss Sharma, Miss (Y/n), and Miss Edwina Sharma.”

You and Edwina stand before your grandparents with differing expressions as Lady and Lord Sheffield take you both in.

“Oh, my dears, look at the two of you. Aren’t they lovely?” Lady Sheffield gushes, looking between the two of you. You meet Lord Sheffield's gaze, both of you eyeing the other with similar scrutiny. Edwina voices pleasantries for the both of you. Their questions and invitations flowed quickly, evidently aimed at Edwina. They remember you just as vividly as you remember them. Still, you keep your head high, posture perfect, and expression neutral.

“Mother. Father,” Your mother greets them, leaving a chilling silence in her wake.

“I do enjoy the opera. My sister Kate is the one who introduced me to it,” Edwina says, maintaining her high spirits as she smiles over at Kate. Your jaw clenches at the forced smile Lady Sheffield sends Kate’s way, her disapproval coated in honey. Another painstakingly loud silence follows before Lady Danbury recommends they all head to the dinner table. Her diversion from the simmering tension was swift, temporarily successful.

You meet Anthony’s gaze, offering a mocking smile before following behind the others. His eyes follow you into the room, a soft sigh leaving his lips as you join Kate’s side. Edwina walks hand in hand with Lady Sheffield, who dotes upon her.

At the table, Kate sits to your right, with Lady Sheffield to your left. To your further misfortune, Anthony sits in front of you. You ignore the hole he stares into your head at the start of dinner.

“And, of course, you must be our guests at the Sheffield Manor. It is nothing compared to the estates at Aubrey Hall, to be sure, but I think it a most pretty part of Hertfordshire,” You stare at the place setting as though it’s the most incredible thing you have ever seen. Analyzing every minuscule detail of the fall colors as a better alternative to the active conversation. If you notice the glances from Kate and Anthony, you do not show it.

“Do you shoot? We a have a fine stock of birds, and you're always welcome,” Lord Sheffield says, his voice booming through the dining room. Anthony’s gaze flicks from you to your grandfather. He thanks Lord Sheffield for the invitation, expressing his enjoyment in shooting.

“Kate and (Y/n) do as well. (Y/n) is an excellent tracker, and Kate, a great shot. A most efficient duo. All three of them nearly bagged a stag on our trip to the country,” Edwina looks at you, smiling. You mirror her smile before lowering your gaze once more. The cold food and untouched table setting sit staring back at you. Lady Sheffield's mirthless chuckle fills your ears as she looks over at you. Her faux saccharine smile and words pointed, “How unusual. Do they teach young ladies to hunt and shoot in India?”

“Only the fortunate ones,” Kate mutters, snickering; you bite the inside of your cheek. It’s the first real smile on your lips all night. You catch your mothers' smirk at Kate, her gaze shifting to you. She wears a soft smile.

“Uh, Lord and Lady Sheffield, how long do you plan to stay in town?” Kate asks politely. You reach for your cup of wine, taking a long sip. Say in the morning, preferably in the hour.

“Oh, we shall stay for the wedding. And of course, for (Y/n)’s when she weds the Queen’s nephew,” Lady Sheffield speaks definitely with merriment to her tone. She speaks as though she’s boasting of something she’s accomplished as if she knows you—any of you truly.

“I have yet to decide if I will accept his proposal,” Your neutral facade wavers, your jaw clenching once more. The grip on your glass so tight that the brown of your knuckles shines white.

“Oh nonsense dear, you shall not let such a generous offer pass you,” Lady Sheffield chuckles as though she shares a beautiful joke. Only Lord Sheffield laughs. You take a deep breath covering your grimace with another long sip of wine. The bounce of your leg beneath the tablecloth gently rattles the glass atop the table. To your disdain, Lady Sheffield continues, “Imagine. The Queen herself overseeing my granddaughter's nuptials and welcoming my other granddaughter into her own family, with all things considered. Her majesty is kind to be so forgiving after everything that has happened.”

“Now, now. We are all family here,” Lord Sheffield says. You finish your wine, letting out a long shaky sigh. To your surprise, your grandfather tries and fails to deter his wife.

“An earl, no less than twelve thousand acres. Any other young lady would’ve fallen to her knees in gratitude that her parents were showing such care,” Lady Sheffield says. You glance at your mother, your patience thinning by the second. She shakes her head slightly. Lady Violet's attempts to switch the topic falls on ears, your deep breaths growing louder. Even Lady Danbury tries to engage Lady Sheffield in pleasant conversation, but it’s clear the elephant in the room will not be ignored. “And all for what? A mere clerk, was he? And with a child from a previous marriage to God-knows-who.”

“My mother has a name,” Kate maintains an even tone, her shoulders squaring as you now openly glare at your grandmother. The wine warms your skin, shoving you closer to your wit's end.

“We could not show our faces in society for years. Not that she should care. She simply sailed away from all of us with that man,” Lady Sheffields says, your fist hitting the table with a loud bang. Reveling in how she flinches, her eyes widen at your nerve. The room stills, all eyes on you.

“That man is my father, and you do well to speak of him with reverence. You cry about appearance in society when you ignore your beautiful family in favor of acrimonious feelings toward the glue that holds the three of us together. Kate may not share our mother, but she is the very best of us. So you will not sit here and speak ill of her before me,” You practically hiss your words as you stare at your grandmother. There’s so much more that you must say that you want to say, but as always, you are never truly heard.

“Dear, we do not aim to hurt you or your half-sister. It is your mother who sailed away with that man robbing us of our two grandchildren.” Lady Sheffield ignores your comment about your father, omitting him entirely. The tenderness in her words like poison in your ears.

“Three. Your three grandchildren. I have three daughters with whom you have had every opportunity to form a connection. Like a fool, I sent one of them in hopes of you all fostering a connection only for her to return, unlike herself. But at the end of it all, the choice to shun us was yours alone,” Your mother speaks with an impressive blend of being stern and soft-spoken. “And do not think I took it lightly being cast out by the only family I had ever known. I was heartbroken, indeed. But in time, I came to see that, in your cruelty, you did us all a great service.”

“Mother, you require no explanation for these people,” You say, earning a warm smile from your mother as she looks at you.

“I have always admired your warrior spirit, my sweet girl, but this is not your fight,” Lady Mary says. You nod your head swallowing thickly as Lord Sheffield tries to dissuade you all from continuing. Your mother stares at her own, “When you cast me out, you set me free. Free to raise my daughters far from your constant judgment and craven demands that they should chase wealth and titles above all else!”

You smile to yourself. Never had you seen your mother so defiant. Never had you felt so close to her, so like her. Lady Sheffield scoffs, “You are a fine one to talk. You turn your nose up at my parenting but look at your children. The child not of this family is a spinster who muddles the very integrity and reputation of your own daughters. (Y/n) shoots and speaks with volatility unbecoming of a young lady. It’s a miracle she has the prospect of securing English nobility? It is clear Edwina will succeed, and I will always question the very foundation of how with such influences.”

Unbecoming. Unfit. Unworthy.

The words ring loudly in your ears, inhaling sharply, the table squabble no longer reaches you. Your shoulders drop as your stomach turns. Lady Sheffield rehashing the terms of yours and Edwina’s trust fund barely reaching you. You swallow the burn in your throat, struggling to blink away the water that wells in your eyes. Gaze low; the high-pitched ringing in your ears—disorienting.

“That is enough!” Anthony’s voice rips you from your own head. He looks from your grandmother to meet your teary-eyed gaze. His own only softens for a second at the sight of you before turning back to your grandparents, his expression one of frustration, “I can only think you’ve been exiled from good society because of your deficient manners rather than any other sin. Since the moment you arrived, you have failed to show the proper respect for the Sharma family and I will not stand for it.”

“I declare—“ Lord Sheffield says.

“I will not stand for it. Lady Mary has done admirably in raising her daughters. They are intelligent, kind, and loyal women. A credit to both their parents. And since you clearly do not wish to jeopardize your social standing by associating with such company, I suggest you do not. You may leave at once!” Anthony declares, staring at him. Your head spins as it did that night in Aubrey Hall. The weight of your reality harrowing as you glance at Edwina. Anthony rises from his chair. Your grandmother voices her disbelief as he walks away from the table. Standing by the door, he calls out, “Please send for Lord and Lady Sheffield’s carriage. They can wait outside. And do not trouble yourself waiting for an invitation to the wedding, for you shall not receive one.”

Your mother’s the first to apologize, but Anthony sternly announces he and his mother will be departing immediately. The tension in the air far more thick than it began. Your mother and Kate run after Edwina leaving you and Lady Danbury alone. After a few seconds, you exit the room without a further word, ignoring her knowing stare. You do not realize where your feet carry you through the corridors until you see the back of Lady Violet and Anthony.

“Lord Bridgerton, a word,” You call out, narrowing your eyes as he disregards you, “I have spent this night being insulted and humiliated. All I’m asking for is a moment of your time.”

“I owe you nothing,” Anthony huffs, looking back at you. You tilt your head, not needing to say, but you do with actual words. He pauses, sighing before telling his mother he will meet her at their home. You walk him to one of the many side rooms, your words leaving you quickly as you assure him Edwina did not know.

“It is clear she was as much in the dark as I. I am not upset with your sister. Is there something further you wish to discuss?” Anthony speaks sternly, his hands behind his back as he glowers at you.

Your eyebrows furrow, his understanding words not matching his expression. You continue cautiously, “No, uh, I just wanted to thank you for what you did back in there.”

“That is of no import. I take it there’ll be no dowry. Now that the Sheffields have withdrawn their support,” He speaks mechanically, like a cog in the machine of English nobility. You open your mouth, but no words leave you, “I’ll take your silence as confirmation. Clearly, both Miss Edwina and I have been misled, and it is best to call off this doomed engagement.”

“Oh, now you suddenly lack the desire to wed my sister,” You scoff, shaking your head, narrowing your eyes at him, “I am many things, but a fool is not one. Something is happening between us, and you’re using this lapse as an out for the mess you put us in.”

“Says the one who weaponizes her disdain for marriage as a tool against her grandparents,” He counters his accusatory tone and steps forward, doing little to faze you.

“The resentment of my grandparents and my resulting outlook on marriage is of no consequence to our dilemma. You are to wed Edwina, and I am to return to India with Kate,” You watch as his jaw clenches at the mention of India. Rolling your eyes, you huff, “Why do you insist upon casting Edwina aside?”

“You are the very source of all my strenuous relationships. I jeopardize my longest and dearest friendship due to your very presence. Your sister, Kathani, battles me daily not against my union with Miss Edwina but how I look upon you. Now you wish me to bind myself to you for all eternity, doomed to never have you in the light to which I desire. I am a gentleman. My father raised me to act with honor, but that honor thins and weakens with every interaction we share. Vanquishing you from my mind proves to be futile, as you plague my being without endless.” You move away from pacing faintly as you shake your head. His eyes stay on you, longing—pleading for a response.

“No, Lord Bridgerton. I cannot—I will not take part in this dalliance any longer. You confuse your feelings. Edwina is who you seek,” You speak barely above a whisper, your voice catching in your throat as he steps closer again. His hand on your cheek.

“Yet you are who I found. You challenge my feelings, yet you make no objection to my close proximity. You told your sister you intend to bend my nerves till they break. Miss Sharma, they have broken. Give me your love, hate, disgust. I want it all as long as it comes from you, only from you. You are infectious and come without a cure,” He whispers, his lips ghosting over your own. Shamelessly allowing him to drink you in, and as fast as the moment comes, it goes. He pulls away, walking hastily to the door, his words low, “I must take my leave.”

You let out a breath you had not been aware of holding. Your hand comes to cover your lips as your tears flow. The door opens once more, but you do not look up, uncaring of who has found you.

“Oh, Bon,” Kate says at your side. She pulls you into her arms. She knows the looks, the pauses, the warnings—Kate’s known all along.

“Didi, I fear you have been right. The Viscount and I dance around feelings I cannot explain nor reveal to Bon. I have ruined everything. I will ruin everything.” Kate shushes you softly, cradling you in her arms like an injured animal. When she finally coaxes you to walk with her to your shared room, you cannot meet Edwina’s eye inside.

“Oh, Didi,” Edwina gasps, taking your hands as she leans down, attempting to meet your gaze. You squeeze your eyes shut, taking a deep breath in as you build your courage.

“Bon, I fear you will hate me, but you must know I carried no intention to keep this from you so—” Your voice wavers as you still fail to meet her eye. Once the words are out, you cannot hide them. Not from Edwina, not from yourself.

“Didi, I could never hate you. I understand your disdain against marriage now, and once I am married to the Viscount, there will be ample funds to provide for all of us,” Her words strike you quickly. You say her name softly, but she shakes her head, “I want nothing more than to be his wife. His Viscountess. But first, he must forgive us. Do you think he will?”

Kate glances at you, your teary-eyed expression hardening. Before your sister's eyes, you bury it. You bury it so deep that not even looking in the mirror will show you signs of it. You clear your throat nodding your head, “He will. I will make certain of it, Bon.”

You lay with Edwina in her bed, rubbing her scalp as you soothe her to bed. As sleep captures her, you look at Kate. Mouthing your words, ending the previous conversation for good.

“He must marry Edwina.”

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] part 9

Simon was fiddling with his balaclava. The fabric was coarse and suffocating. It stuck to his skin, causing a persistent itch that seemed to spread across his face. He had to resist the urge to yank it off. Matt has seen his face, but with a little bit of luck, he might have knocked that image out of his head when he beat him up, and if he keeps his features hidden, Matt might not remember him by the end of all of this.

Matt was awake. His face was smeared with dried blood, his nose was broken, and his clothes were ripped. He was locked in the cell, which was in the damp basement of the old shed. Simon refused to engage in conversation, leaving Matt to stew in his fear. However, Matt was far from docile. He banged on the bars, threw his body against them, and did everything he could to draw Simon’s attention. He even tried to negotiate his release, foolishly hoping that words could somehow set him free.

“What the hell do you want from me?!” At first, Matt was timid and sat in the dark corner, too terrified to even raise his head. But as Simon continued his ominous silence, it gave him the confidence to speak, which eventually led to him yelling and shouting. He lashed out, and his fear turned into anger. “Is it the money you need? I’m loaded... my family is flush with cash!” At this point, he was practically tearing his hair out. “Just let me out and... and I swear to you, I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Fuck, I’ll even pay you. Just name your price and let me go”

Simon bought this property many years ago. However, it had been just as long since he last set foot in this old, weathered shed. He used this place to control his urges when his impulses would drive him astray. Whenever he found himself in a mess of his own making — a situation that seemed impossible to resolve — this shed allowed him to slow down, pause and think, and figure a way out.

Admittedly, most, if not all, people who found themselves in a similar situation as Matt’s, trapped in a cold cell, did not get out of here alive. But Simon wanted to believe that this time, it would end differently. Killing Matt, no matter how much of a scumbag he was, would upset you, and Simon didn’t want to do anything that could cause you pain.

“Shut up!” Simon eventually roared, unable to endure Matt’s incessant whining for a moment longer. He had been trying to unlock Matt’s phone for the past half hour, but he couldn’t figure out the passcode, and he was sick of having to wait every time his guess was incorrect. “How do I unlock your phone?”

Matt hesitated, his cheeks squished between the bars. His eyes darted to the phone in Simon’s hand. But as Simon rose to his feet, Matt immediately took a step back and blurted out a sequence of numbers and random letters. Simon sat back down and entered the password. The phone unlocked.

Simon started looking through the contents of it. His eyes were drawn to a series of notifications that littered the screen. There were two missed calls and five unread messages. None seemed important, except for a text from someone named Carl, who appeared to be furious because Matt hadn’t shown up at work. In an attempt to maintain the illusion of normality, Simon responded. Pretending to be Matt, he explained he needed to take a few days off because he was feeling unwell after a heavy night out.

Simon realised that it was important to preserve the impression that Matt had not disappeared.

Once that was done, he swiftly navigated to the conversation thread between you and Matt. This was, after all, the primary reason he had this phone. Simon wanted to know what it was Matt says to you, what he tells you to make you fall at his feet. Yet, to his surprise, there were merely a handful of text exchanges. Most of them were from Matt, asking if you were free, if you were at home, and if he could come over.

He then clicked on the gallery. It was filled with many pictures of Matt with a different woman by his side each time. Also, there were two or three shots of his dick, which Simon scoffed at (and which made him grow confident, knowing there was no way he could please you with that tiny thing). As he tried to erase those haunted images from his mind, he stumbled upon something that piqued his interest and ignited a flame of anger within him.

Matt has taken multiple pictures of you. In all of them, you were asleep, completely oblivious that a camera was pointed at you. If it had been Simon who had captured these, he would have paused, perhaps even taken the time to admire them. But knowing that Matt had taken these without your consent infuriated him. Simon’s grasp on the phone became so tight, his fingers pressing into the device with such force that he was on the brink of shattering the screen.

Simon was buried so deep in his thoughts that it took a long time for Matt’s muted voice, as he talked to himself, to reach his ears. Simon didn’t raise his head to look at him, but he paused to listen.

“... if I’d known this night was going to end like this... Fuck, I would never... ever have gone to see that bitch and got drunk... I—”

“Don’t call her like that unless you want me to rip out your tongue and feed it to you,” Simon hissed. He should have kept his lips sealed, but he wasn’t going to let that jerk talk about you like that.

“Who? Y/N? She’s a bi—” Matt was about to repeat the same mistake. But before the word could slip past his lips, Simon sprang to his feet and moved closer to the bars that separated them. Simon’s eyes darkened, and he made no effort to hide the raw anger that was seeping out of him. Matt got the memo and shut his mouth; at the same time, everything seemed to connect in his mind, and clarity hit him. Everything began to make sense. “So she’s the reason I’m there?” He spat and began to pace around the cell, his fingers running through his dirty hair. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re just some bitter ex-boyfriend of hers, aren’t you?

Simon maintained a stony silence. He feared that if he opened his mouth, he might say something he would later regret. There was still a chance that Matt might walk out of here alive, so the less he knew about Simon, who was still just a masked stranger to him, the better it was. He tried very hard not to let Matt’s incessant chatter provoke him, but the idiot wasn’t shutting up.

“I don’t care about her... she’s yours! Honestly, I only reached out to her because I was curious. We dated in high school, but she was always such a prude, and I...”

Matt truly believed that he was doing the right thing by giving up you, allowing Simon to have you all to himself, promising he would disappear from your life. His desperate speech was working. But the problem was that Matt didn’t know when to stop talking.

“I only kept coming over because she kept inviting me. She seemed ecstatic to reunite with me... I was initially apprehensive, but after the first time we slept together, I knew I could exploit her.” Matt paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs with air before continuing. “I knew I could text her whenever I wanted to fuck. She never turned me down, and whenever I came over, the night always ended with me in her bed. I let her believe I liked her, that there was a chance we may be something more in the future... all because she was fantastic in bed and made herself easy.”

Simon had reached his breaking point. He could no longer tolerate Matt’s disrespectful comments about you. You weren’t easy, and you weren’t an object that he could use anytime he wanted to show his dick into someone. Your innocence and naivety led you to believe that Matt genuinely liked you. This belief is what kept you going back to him, time and time again. You were too blind to recognise that Matt was taking advantage of you. And you would probably never see it, but that doesn’t matter. Simon will handle this. He won’t stand by and watch you get hurt, nor will he let Matt break your heart. He will make sure that Matt will never touch you again.

Matt was gripping the cold bars, standing perilously close, his knuckles turning white. Simon’s mind went blank, and he closed the gap between them. His calloused hand wrapped around Matt’s throat.

Matt immediately began his desperate struggle, his every muscle strained as he tried to push Simon away. His fingers dug into Simon’s arms, his nails clawing at his skin in an attempt to break free. But Simon, without a single thought in his head, fuelled by rage, remained still; he was stronger and his hold was firm. He kept squeezing and squeezing, preventing the air from filling Matt’s lungs. His eyes, devoid of mercy, fixated on Matt’s face, watching as he began to run out of oxygen and strain to breathe. A minute passed. Matt’s face turned a disturbing shade of blue, his eyes started to water, and the tears rolled down his pallid cheeks.

Simon was so focused on keeping his grip secure, refusing to let go, that he failed to register Matt’s frantic movements. He didn’t notice when Matt’s fingers curled around the fabric of his balaclava. He was oblivious until the very moment when Matt tugged Simon’s mask off. A sudden realisation dawned on Simon, and his eyes grew wide. Now, Matt knew who he was, he had seen Simon’s face, the one thing that Simon was determined to keep hidden. Without realising it, Matt had thrown away his chance of getting out of this cell alive.

Before, Simon intended to kill him out of jealousy, for the way he spoke about you, for the way he treated you... but now, killing him was a necessity, and Simon only stepped away from the cell bars when Matt’s body went limp in his hands.

[goldenempyrean]

"Bless you!… since when do you sneeze more than once?”   and possibly "Blow your nose, I can’t understand what you’re trying to say.”  with Nat getting miserably sick and cuddly after a mission?

Post-Mission Care

〚 Notes- I have cramp rn and should probably be sleeping it off but I forgot to post this yesterday so here you go :) 〛

〚 Pairing - Natasha x Reader 〛

〚 Summary - When an exhausted Natasha needs some care after a mission you’re more than happy to oblige. 〛

〚 Wordcount - 1400 〛

〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙

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Natasha rubbed sleepily at her eyes as she tried to focus on the pages of the book in front of her. She’d re-read the same page 3 times now and she was still no closer to understanding, to tell the truth nothing was really was really going in at all. 

The mission had taken a toll on her. It had been a gruelling week, filled with intense physical exertion, long hours of surveillance, and constant tension. Natasha had pushed herself to her limits, as she always did, but this time it seemed she had pushed a little too far. 

She had ignored the warning signs - fatigue settling in, her body feeling heavy, a persistent cough that lingered in the back of her throat. She had dismissed them all as mere inconveniences, insignificant compared to the mission's success. But now, those symptoms had amplified, leaving her feeling utterly miserable. 

All she wanted was you. So with an exhausted sigh, the redhead dragged herself from her huddle blanket huddle on the to shuffle over to her landline. She hesitated for a moment before picking it up, her fingers trembling slightly. With a mix of frustration and resignation, she dialled your number, hoping against hope that you would answer. 

“Hey love.” The sound of your soft voice came down the phone bringing thick wave of relief 

washing over Natasha. 

“H-hey,” Nat croaked out, surprising herself with the broken state of her voice, she tried to clear her voice but ultimately ended up setting off into a flurry of coughs before continuing, “Can you come over please? I- I just wanna see you right now.” 

Concern began to bubble up in your gut. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “Of course baby, I’ll be right there. Are you alright though ‘Tasha? You sound awful.” 

Natasha let out a weak chuckle, the sound muffled by another round of coughs. "I think... I caught a cold," she managed to say between coughs. "Just feeling... really rough." 

Her voice was strained and hoarse, and she couldn't help but feel frustrated by her own vulnerability. She was used to being strong and capable, always pushing through any obstacles in her way. But now, she was reduced to a sniffling, coughing mess. 

"I'll be there as soon as I can," you reassured her, the worry evident in your tone. "Is there anything you need? Soup? Medicine?" 

Natasha let out a raspy sigh, her throat aching. "Some soup would be great. And maybe... some tea with honey? And if you could pick up some cold medicine on your way, that would be a lifesaver." The normally composed and stoic Natasha Romanoff sounded small and vulnerable, and it tore at your heart. 

You promised to gather everything she needed and quickly went about doing so and within 20 minutes you we’re waiting at her door with a backpack full of supplies. 

Natasha mustered up the last of her energy to open the door, revealing her disheveled appearance. Her usually sleek hair was now messy and damp with sweat, clinging to her forehead. Her face was pale, accentuating the dark circles under her eyes, and she was wrapped in a thick blanket, shivering despite the warmth of her apartment. 

As you entered, concern etched across your face, Natasha weakly smiled at you, attempting to hide just how awful she felt. "Thanks for coming," she whispered, her voice barely audible before she breath wavered off into a hitch, “Hih! -Hhup’tshiew! HhHh’tshhiu!” 

"Goodness bless you!… since when do you sneeze more than once?” Your voice wasn’t able to mask your shock, it hurt a little to see your girlfriend so utterly miserable. 

“I told you I wasn’t feeling very well.” She sniffled, rubbing at her red nose. 

“Aw, I’m sorry darling. Come on, let’s get you laying back down.” You ushered her back down to the sofa where she sank back down into the comfort of the cushions, “Let’s have a look at my bag of goodies, shall we?” 

A small smile spread across your lips at how Natasha seemed to perk up a little as you set your backpack in the space between the pair of you. 

The first thing you pulled out were some packets of cold medicine - which she took as soon as you’d handed it to her - followed by two fresh boxes of tissues. Then you carefully pulled out a styrofoam container, to which the comforting smell of soup emanated from. Nat accepted it gratefully, taking off the lid to take a slow sip of the steamy chicken broth. 

“This is really good.” She commented happily before taking another sip, “Thank you.” 

You watched as Natasha savoured the warm soup, her expression softening with each spoonful. It seemed to bring her some comfort. All you wanted to do everything you could to make her feel better, but her congested voice made it difficult to understand her when she tried to speak. 

"Here, blow your nose," you gently suggested, trying to hide the concern in your voice as you opened the tissue box for her, "I can't understand what you're trying to say." 

Natasha nodded, setting the half-empty soup container aside and reaching for the box. She blew her nose carefully, the sound muffled by the tissue. When she was finished, she looked at you with watery eyes and attempted to speak again. 

"I said, thanks for taking care of me." she managed to say, her voice still congested but slightly clearer. She coughed weakly before continuing, "I appreciate everything you're doing for me. It means a lot." 

“You don’t need to thank me ‘Tasha.” You smiled, moving the bag out the way to let her lean against you, “I just wanna get you feeling better. Do you wanna save some of that soup for later and I’ll make you some tea? I brought that extra-sweet honey you like.” 

Natasha nodded gratefully, allowing herself to lean against you for support. "That sounds perfect," she replied, her voice still strained but with a hint of warmth. "I could definitely use some tea to soothe my throat. And the honey... you always know how to make it just right." 

You gently placed a hand on her forehead, checking her temperature. "You're still running a bit of a fever but the meds should keep bringing that down,” you observed softly. "Let's get you settled with some tea  then and I'll make sure you're all cosy and comfy.” 

With gentle care, you helped Natasha settle into a more comfortable position on the sofa, propping up pillows behind her back and tucking a soft blanket around her. While you prepared the tea, she watched you with grateful eyes, appreciating every small gesture of care. 

Soon, the aroma of chamomile tea filled the air as you poured the steaming liquid into a mug, carefully stirring in the honey until it dissolved. You brought the cup over to Natasha, the warmth radiating from it, and handed it to her with a gentle smile. 

"Here you go, love," you said softly. "Sip it slowly. It should help soothe your throat and relax you a bit." 

Natasha took the mug with both hands, bringing it close to her lips to inhale the comforting scent. She took a small sip, relishing in the soothing warmth that spread through her body. She couldn't help but feel a wave of gratitude for your presence and care, knowing she was in good hands. 

As she continued to drink her tea, you settled next to her, keeping a watchful eye on her. You lightly ran your fingers through her hair, soothingly massaging her scalp, offering her the comfort and tenderness she desperately needed. 

Natasha leaned into your touch, finding solace in your presence. The combination of the warm tea, your gentle touch, and the love she felt from you slowly began to ease her discomfort. She closed her eyes, taking in the moment, feeling safe and cared for. 

Minutes turned into hours as you stayed by her side, supporting her through it all, making sure she was medicated and hydrated and even watched a few of her favourite movies together to distract her from her symptoms. 

Throughout it all, you held her hand, offering her reassurance and love. Your presence alone made her feel stronger, reminding her that even the toughest of Avengers needed a night of care and rest.  

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[ryanwritesfanfiction]

Covet

Doug Davis X Reader

a/n: this is just doug davis yearning; not rlly a great ending :/

ps: im very sorry i havent written much lately, my work schedule has been hectic and I'm starting school soon so I've been a lil frazzled

wc: 1184

It was a Friday night when Doug laid eyes on you for the first time. He was so unfamiliar with the feeling that he had almost thought that he had come down with some kind of ailment. 

“Hey, who are we starin’ at” said a voice from across the round table he was sitting at and Doug was brought back to reality, back to the dimly lit bar beside his coworkers. The spring semester had just ended and his fellow educators had decided to go out for drinks to celebrate. Doug wasn’t a drinker so he sipped a diet Coke and tried his hardest to contribute to the conversations. He suddenly felt the gaze of the others and the the conversation stopped. 

Doug silently cursed Wade for bringing him suddenly as the center of attention. Doug suddenly found himself desperate to change the subject so he attempted to shift the attention to a different topic.

“Speaking of staring, did you know that 80 percent of the human eye is filled with a jelly-like substance?” The silence persisted and it began to feel more and more awkward every second but it was broken once again this time by a much friendlier voice.  

“Who is that Doug, do you know them?” Lucy said curiously. Doug felt heat rise to his face and was suddenly very grateful for the low lights in the bar. “No, why would you say that?” he responded in an almost scared voice, which filled the group with suspicion. 

“Well, you have been staring at them since they walked in” chimed in Tracy leaving Doug at a loss for words. Thankfully Lucy changed the subject, detecting the nervousness that Doug developed the more that he was pressed on the matter. For the rest of the night, Doug tried his best to make his staring less noticeable, though deep down he knew that he was doing a terrible job. 

As the night continued, more of his coworkers started leaving the bar. They wished each other a good summer but they had paid their tabs and left the bar his friend Lucy tried to encourage him to talk to you to no avail. 

Although Doug didn’t drink and hated crowded areas, he found himself going back to the bar every Friday night, at the same table just to get to see you. Every Friday he saw you do the same routine, you would sit at a booth next to a window, and have one, sometimes two, of the same drink and then leave. 

He didn’t know what compelled him to engage in this weekly tradition. He never attempted to speak to you, he just watched from a distance. Doug studied you, he found you fascinating, captivating even. He wondered about you all the time. What was your favorite color? What were your interests? He wanted to know everything about you.

Anytime Doug had a subject that he found himself engrossed in, he would try his best to learn everything about that subject and become an expert in it. This feeling had manifested in many other topics, but he had never felt this interest in a person like this. He had spent a fair amount of the school year trying to master the art of conversation but he didn't feel he was fully proficient in the manner yet, so he kept his distance. He was too afraid he would creep you out or that you wouldn’t like him. The longer he kept up this weekly pattern, the more he felt like he wouldn’t have a chance with you. He saw that others would approach you every week and you rejected each of them. There was seemingly no pattern in the rejection, no matter what race, gender, or way of approach, you were simply uninterested in everyone who set their eyes on you. 

Weeks passed and so did the summer, and Doug still could not talk to you. On the Friday before school started Doug had once again followed his weekend ritual and went to the bar in hopes of spotting you in your usual spot. All summer you had been so consistent with your schedule week after week and so Doug sat at the same table as always where he could best see you from however this night was different since he had been there for two hours and had still not spotted you. The night continued as a sinking feeling began to crawl its way from the pit of Doug’s stomach until it grew and reached his heart, causing a stinging pain in it. He kept hoping that you would still come until the last call and you weren’t there. 

During his walk home, Doug became filled with the most awful feeling of regret. His mind never drifted off of the topic of you. He thought about all the subtle details that made you who you are. The subtle smile that you would have when you got your drink at the bar. The way you glowed when someone made you laugh. Like so many nights, Doug spent much of it thinking of you tonight, but this time it was different not only because you didn’t come to the bar, but because Doug finally realized that whatever chance, if there even was one, that he could have had to approach you, he had wasted. He used so much timing running scenarios through his head trying to figure out the perfect thing to say to you. He wanted so badly for you to notice him, and there was even a part of him that hoped that you might approach him but he knew deep down that would never happen. Realistically, no one as breathtaking as you could ever love someone as weird and awkward as him, but it's not like he would ever get to find out now. 

The school year had started and Doug’s colleagues began to notice something was wrong. They sort of carried the sentiment that he was “acting weird but not his usual weird” They often found him staring off into the distance rather than his usual attempts to engage in conversation. Instead of chirping in with interesting science facts, Doug had become much more quiet and reserved.

 He had spent so much time thinking about what his life would be like with you that after he had realized that his chance was gone, he grew to resent his current life, as he didn't believe it would ever be worth living if he could not have you in it. He cursed himself for not being brave enough, strong enough, or attractive enough to have you. He knew that it was for the best that he didn't take that risk and pursued you at the bar. Doug had long held hoped that you would come back to the bar but deep down he knew you were likely far gone, as anyone would hope to be in a town like Fort Chicken and for you, he was willing to let go, but he knew that he would regret it for the rest of his life

[dahliarose2]

KINDRED SPIRITS - PART 3

summary: negan shows you around the Sanctuary as things take a turn when you see Daryl for the first time since the line-up

daryl dixon x reader

part 1 part 2

You stared out the car window, watching everything dart passed you as Negan drove fast and carelessly, occasionally laughing as he swerved across the road jokingly. You blocked him out, savoring your last few moments of freedom, watching the trees blur into one as your whole body felt numb. Your spine definitely had a bruise from the the blow you had gotten from the Savior, but you couldn't feel it anymore; you couldn't feel anything anymore. The scenes you had just witnessed at the line-up played over and over again in your head as much as you tried to block it out. Glenn and Abraham, how quickly everything had happened,

You couldn't suppress the overwhelming guilt you felt. In your attempt to save the rest of the group from a fate like Glenn and Abraham, you had gotten Daryl caught up in it too. He was on his way to the Sanctuary because of you. You felt tears well in your eyes, as if you hadn't already cried enough today, as you worried for Daryl, worried what he thought of you. 'He probably hates me. This is my fault,' you scolded yourself mentally, thinking again and again of him being hauled into the back of the van by Dwight. Then suddenly, your sadness subsided as your jaw clenched. You were going to kill him. Maybe not soon, but you were going to kill Dwight for everything he has did to Daryl. You got Daryl into this mess, and you were going to get him out. Somehow,

"Here. we. are!" Negan yelled loudly with a grin plastered on his face, watching you jump as you were pulled from your thoughts. You looked up at the monstrosity that was The Sanctuary, taking in the tall, grey walls, the dozens of armed Saviors and the prisoners working in the yard parallel to the facility. Negan's eyes watched you analyze your surroundings and you could feel his sultry eyes on you, trying to ignore them. "Welcome to your new home, sweetheart," Negan announced as he strolled towards you, his red, bloody bat still swinging by his side as tried to block it from your vision, keeping your gaze fixated on his face,

"Well," he said loudly, elongating the word as he looked at you expectantly, "what do you think?" You looked around again, noticing the tired, blank expressions of the prisoners as they struggled in the heat, noticing now the walkers that were attached by chains to the gates that surrounded the building's perimeter. You turned back to him, your eyes sunken in your head, face pale from the crying and exhaustion you felt. You glared right through him, staying quiet for a few moments as he tilted his head in amusement at your defiance. "Homey," you quip bitterly, your expression unmoving as you glowered at him,

He only watched you, clearly admiring your persistence in keeping a strong front, as broken as he knew you were. After a few moments of silence, he let out a hearty laugh, clearly mocking you as you continued to glare at him. "You've got spunk," he commented, between laughs, pointing at you with his bat, making you flinch as it came towards you, the blood of your friends still coating it, having dried into the wood of the bat now. "I like that," he reveled. He started to walk away before turning back to look at you with that charming smile, clearly wanting, more so expecting, for you to follow him. You reluctantly followed him, two guards walking either side of you as soon as you moved, making you scoff,

"It's not like I'm going anywhere," you muttered, rolling your eyes as your eyes looked at the armed gate, by both guards and walkers. As soon as you reached Negan, he did a dramatic bow, extending his arm in a mock gentlemanly stance, letting you walk in front of him, making you clench your jaw and obediently walk ahead of him, not getting far before you felt his hand on the small of your back, making you whip around to smack his hand away angrily to which he didn't even flinch, quite the opposite, as if on instinct, grabbing your wrist in his firm grip, making you yelp slightly,

He preempted your aggressive maneuver because his goal was to elicit that reaction from you. His jaw clenched for a moment as you attempted to pull your wrist back, to which he only pulled you further towards him, his face now inches from yours, gazing down at you and for the first time, his signature smile wasn't on his face. Your anger had subsided into slight fear as you grew uneasy by his serious, almost venomous, stare. At your action, you now noticed the 4 soldiers surrounding you had their guns locked on you as they awaited Negan's command. In the silence, you stupidly tried to pull away once again, putting more force into it this time. Though this time, it wasn't out of rage, but fear,

His hold on you only tightened as he looked even angrier by your refusal to be subservient or still. After a few seconds of staring at you, he let out a chuckle once again, but this time it had a bit more bite in it, less laid back than his previous amused laughs. He loosened his grip on you momentarily before smiling down at you wickedly. "And for that little outburst, as hot as it was cupcake," he declared loudly, swinging Lucille in his other hand making you hold your firm gaze with him even more, trying not to look fearful, "I'm unfortunately gonna have to take it out on your little boyfriend, Daryl,"

And just like that, at the mention of his name, you knew your mask had fallen; you couldn't even fake it. Daryl used to tease you about it all the time. 'You could never play poker, you know that, right?' he would joke as you hit his arm, knowing your emotions were always hard for you to hide, wearing your heart on your sleeve, especially when it came to your group; your family. And what was once something you could laugh about, you cursed yourself internally for not being able to hide your panic. You were afraid, and Negan knew it too by the way his smirk grew at your response. "No," you yelled, though it came out as more of a plea, not noticing your wrist was still in his hold until he let it go right then and there. You were in no mood to be stubborn anymore, not when it came to him,

Negan threw his head back laughing heartily, and in any other case, you would've been driven to punching his lights out. But after his threat, you wouldn't risk doing anything reckless, especially with 4 guns pointed at your head still. He let out a loud exaggerated sigh as he looked at you, cocking his head to the side. He liked having this sort of control, not just over you, over everyone. He relished in his little power trip, watching you practically squirm. In one motion, he used one of his leather glove-clad hands to wave his soldiers down, making them look confused, but still lower their guns,

He took a bold step forward towards you as your eyes practically begged him. "I'll let you off the hook with a warning for that one darlin'," he asserted, with a touch of mockery in his voice at how quickly your demeanor had shifted. Just as you breathed a slight sigh of relief, releasing the breath you didn't know you were holding, you felt his face move closer towards you, before his expression hardened as it had earlier, making your blood run cold for a moment. "But pull that shit again, defy me again. And I'll make sure our little buddy Daryl looks different than the last time you saw him. Capeesh?" he finished with an evil grin,

You nodded slowly, letting him know you understood. "I'm sorry," he drawled, as he studied you with a confused look, "I'm gonna need some verbal confirmation, sweetheart." He wanted to push you, see how far you could be pushed before you would break and get angry, giving him an excuse to follow through on his promise to hurt Daryl. But while you were tempremental, you weren't stupid. You continued to stare at him. "I understand," you assured with a straight face. He gave you an amused look at your composure, before resuming with his hand lightly on the small of your back, guiding you inside as you did nothing to stop him this time, as much as it aggravated you,

You observed and listened as he led you through the complex, pointing out the different rooms, as if you would even be allowed to freely walk into them, which you knew you wouldn't be. Finally, he landed at a door, standing in front of it for a moment, before leaning against one side of the doorframe. "Go ahead. Open it," he states merrily, motioning his head to the door. You looked at him warily, before reminding yourself that he would have no reason to hurt you or lead you wrongly now. You reached for the knob, turning it to reveal a large bedroom, adorned with luxurious furniture. You waited purposefully for his permission to enter the room, which he seemed to like. "After you," he said with a smirk as he followed you in, waving the 2 guards off as they departed,

You heard him close the door behind the two of you as you glanced around the room, taking in the expensive looking couches, the plush bed and the fancy furniture. "My humble abode," his voice boomed as you looked around. He sauntered passed you, making his way over to a drinks cart situated in the corner, hanging his bat on some sort of hook as he did so. He placed two intricate glasses down as he poured some whiskey in both of them. He grinned widely at your practical dissection of the room as you continued to pace around. "Come sit," he offered benevolently, though you knew there was no offer there; it was a 'sit or I'll make you sit' statement. You stopped your pacing to walk towards the couches, sitting in the one parallel to him, so you were facing him,

He chuckled at your avoidance of sitting next to him, pushing your drink towards you on the table. You watched him take a sip, before picking it up to take a gulp. Again, you knew he'd have no reason to kill you, but you were cautious nonetheless, not letting your guard down. You had seen firsthand only hours ago what happens when you don't preempt his next move, he was unpredictable and you needed to remember that, regardless of what you thought he would do. You were taking no chances. 'You have to be clever about this,' you thought to yourself, watching him lean back in the seat, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table as he threw one leg over the other,

"How did you take this place?" you asked stoically as you picked up your drink to gulp the rest down. Negan's jaw dropped in mock shock as he leaned up slightly. "She speaks?" he laughed as you began to shift uncomfortably, realizing how forward it sounded. "You didn't answer the question," you pointed out, to which he only laughed more. "Well how do you think? We filled our guns up, waltzed in here, guns-a-blazin', shot a few rounds, cleared the place and bam!" he rambled dramatically, "what's with the curiosity anyway?" You placed your glass down, sitting back in the couch, thinking of how to respond. "Just wondered how you achieved all this. Can't have been easy to take it, is all," you shrugged nonchalantly,

He nodded, clearly entertained by your random question seeing as you hadn't said one word to him. "Glad you like the room so much. This is where you'll be stayin'," he proclaimed with a smile, his voice speaking like you had just won a trophy or a medal of some sort. When his announcement fell flat as you looked at him confused, he shook his head lightly, not in an annoyed way, more so like he was playing a part, which is how he seemed to act all the time in the hours you had known him. "My ego's a bit bruised, sweetheart. I mean this is a very special bounty you have won. All my other wives stay in a communal room next door. But you're different, you intrigue me and that doesn't happen often. I thought you' be a bit happier," he stated in mock disappointment, placing a hand on his heart as he sighed,

At this, you wanted to gag. The fact that he had multiple wives who he flaunted as prizes was enough to make you feel ill, and the fact that he figured you should be honored for staying here, with him, 24/7. As much as you wanted to reply with a witty retort, you bit your tongue, knowing it was the smart thing to do, and that's what you had to be to get out of here; smart. "Well it's an impressive room so no complaints," you responded calmly, surprising him again, but he said nothing, only grinning more. "There's one more place I wanna show you, right this way," he said, opening the door, walking with you down the hallway,

You stayed vigilant, taking note of every turn you took, almost creating a map of this place in your head. You'd need every bit of information you could get if the time came for your escape. 'When, not if,' you corrected yourself in your head before Negan halted, making you stop in your tracks and stop with your daydreaming also. You looked up to see Dwight pushing Daryl towards the two of you. You froze, taking in his already dirty figure, dressed in what looked like a prison uniform, as his head hung low, staring at the floor, jaw tightened in anger. "Well, look who it is, Y/N," Negan remarked noisily, gesturing towards Daryl, whose head now darted up to look at you, taking in your form, looking up and down, practically scanning you for injuries of any sort,

His jaw loosened slightly once he saw that you were fine. You felt tears well in your eyes as you looked at his disheveled state, your heart breaking as you both stared longingly into each other's eyes forgetting Negan and Dwight were even there, it was like time stood still for that moment. Almost like you were back in Alexandria, safe, happy. You were rudely awakened when Negan snaked his arm around your waist making you tense up. "Me and my wife were just taking a stroll around the facility. What a coincidence seeing you here, Daryl," he added, acting shocked. You turned to look at him, how he stared at Daryl with a wicked smile, realizing now that he had orchestrated this meeting to make him lash out,

Daryl in his rage, didn't notice what you had noticed, practically leaping forward towards Negan, as he stepped back swiftly just as Dwight had grabbed a hold of his arms, yanking him back, bringing the crossbow down on his back. "No!" you shouted, all sense going out the window, as you ran forward on instinct, as Negan wrapped his arm further around your waist now, pulling you back until you hit his chest roughly, keeping you encased there. "She's not your wife. She's not your anything. She doesn't belong to you," Daryl fumed, still struggling under Dwight's hold as Dwight only brought the weapon down on his back once again, harder this time,

"Stop. Stop it. You said you wouldn't hurt anyone else," you cried out, attempting to look up at Negan from where you stood against him, craning your neck up at an awkward angle as the few tears you had in your eyes slipped out against your will. He looked down at you but only smirked, tightening his hold on you as you moved around, attempting to get him off you which proved futile. "Get your filthy hands off her, you son of a bitch," Daryl yelled out in a growl from the floor, despite being in pain. Once Negan said nothing, Dwight took this as a sign to keep going. "Shut up," Dwight shouted angrily, violently kicking his foot into Daryl's abdomen several times, all while you yelled out for him to stop,

By now, Daryl was in a wounded heap on the floor, fists still clenched as he huffed furiously. "Now Daryl, there was no need for that, now was there?" Negan consoled mockingly, leaning down to be closer to Daryl, before returning to your side as you stood there, watching Daryl who coughed gruffly, managing to glower up at Negan. "Thought you would have trained your little puppy by now, Y/N," he jeered, as you scowled at him now, your turn to clench your fists this time, keeping your composure as much as possible. "I mean I really don't know what you saw in him. I mean you should be grateful. I've saved you. And I can show you all the things he definitely couldn't do, if you know what I m-"

He only got that far before you watched his head flick to the side. Your breath hitched as you realized from the stinging sensation in your hand that it was because you had slapped him. You gazed from your hand to his face, which let out a breathy scoff, before turning back to you. You tried to remain firm in your standing, straightening your posture. "I did tell you," he whispered eerily, making you step back from him, and again, and again, until you felt the coolness of the wall against your back, "the first was a warning." He didn't shout, only whispered making you even more fearful as you watched him lick his teeth, shaking his head. "What happens now is entirely your fault, angel. Dwight, be a doll and break Daryl in a bit, would ya?" Negan said gleefully,

Your heart stopped as you watched Dwight pull Daryl up from the floor, walking him away with the crossbow aimed at his head as Daryl kept his gaze on you, not looking scared at all. His heart secretly broke a little watching you cry freely now, tears falling one after the other before he was gone from your view. Negan stepped in front of you so you were now looking at his chest as you zoned out. He moved a hand to your cheek as you wanted to flinch away but stopped yourself for fear that Daryl's punishment would be even worse than what he had in store already,

"Aw angel, I'm sorry, truly," he comforted falsely, wiping your tear away with his thumb, though there wasn't an ounce of genuineness in his voice. You felt sick, thoughts running away with themselves on what Daryl was facing right now. You stared up at him now, eyes void of anything. "You're despicable," you whispered, through gritted teeth as he smirked as he threw his head and shoulder back, faking getting a shot to his shoulder making you clench your jaw in rage at his lack of care, as he made a joke out of the situation. His smile left his face swiftly as he gripped your forearm roughly, making you gasp in shock, as he dragged you through the corridors, turning corners before landing in front of his bedroom again,

A guard that stood in the hallway saw Negan coming, with you in tow, and opened the door, Negan waltzing straight through as you pulled with all your might against him as he stormed into the room. He pushed you forward making you stumble, but not fall. By the time you had turned around, you could see his face for a moment, before he slammed the door shut as your eyes widened, running to the door. Just before you turned the knob, you heard a lock click loudly, pulling it anyway but to no avail. "Let me out," you shouted. "No can do. After that little stunt you pulled back there, you can simmer down in there. I'll be back later and you better have a change of attitude or things are going to get a whole lot worse for Daryl," he yelled back before you heard him mutter something to the guard about not letting you out until he got back,

You slammed your fist against the door in rage, before pacing the room, running your hands through your hair. This was your fault. If you hadn't slapped Negan, Daryl wouldn't be getting hurt right now. You forced down a sob that you felt rise in your throat, before taking a deep breath. 'I have to get us out of here,' you thought to yourself. You need to be smart, you told yourself the same thing you did earlier. You had to come up with a plan to end this; to end Negan once and for all

PART 4 POSTED ON MY MASTERLIST (IN BIO) ;) hope you're all enjoying! let me know if you want to be in the taglist, this will be a long series

TAGLIST: @onlyheretoread2

[ateenofthe2000s]

14

His eyes devoured me, he the hungry bear, me the buzzing beehive.  

Two windows to the soul burnt through my skin from across the bar despite my obscure attempts to avoid them, staring aimlessly at an array of snacks like some sort of nut connoisseur. They perched silently collecting dust, sat beside the defining reason for any person's presence; the alcohol on the shelf adjacent. It turns out there are three assorted flavors of peanuts up for purchase, $1.50 a pop, for those seeking diversity from the unsalted kind.  

I’m actually allergic to peanuts, not that anybody in the bar, at that very moment, would’ve believed so. I feel partially allergic to men also, but while peanuts cause my mouth to swell and suffocate me by the second, men inflict abstract side effects, fear, aggression, or at times; a strong case of the heebie jeebies. 

As I delved further into a staring match with foil packaging, pondering how its minuscule contents were perfectly capable of taking me to an early grave, it became increasingly difficult to avoid those same eyes playing hide and seek with my peripheral vision; ocean filled pupils edging towards a shoreline of coral curls, protruding collar bones and sandy freckles.  

This kind of human contact felt like dangerous territory to me, almost unsettling. Like the feeling you get when you’re swimming and suddenly realise you can’t touch the ground anymore, an almost ridiculous kind of panic causing you to forget that you do, in fact, know how to swim. In that moment I was totally out of depth, nobody in sight to save me; but maybe this time I felt more willing to swim past the comfort of shallow waters. 

It had been so long since anybody had looked at me this way, years of feeling untouched, even if only by a pair of eyes. I hadn’t desired to be touched in over a decade, the thought in fact still made me slightly nauseous, but as I double dared myself to look back, I felt the warmth of his sweet smile. An unspoken kindness with a glimmer of potential, the kindness that could mend even the most sickly, sharp and shattered remnants of me.  

I wasn’t always this broken.  

I grew up in a house with a pink bedroom and a rug in the shape of a sunflower. I’d play with my barbie dolls and make them boyfriends and girlfriends, dressing them up and sending them on dates in various areas of the house. Dinner and drinks on the coffee table, A picnic at the park in mum's flower bed. I’d play Avril Lavigne on my portable stereo full blast (also pink) as I sat on my windowsill, hairbrush in one hand, the other twirling my hair in knots. I’ve always wondered if the persistent obsession I had for playing with hair, a comfort I still indulge in daily even as an adult, is the true reason for my unruly curls.  

As a kid I’d always found creative ways to entertain myself. I’d had to, my parents were the busy kind. Busy with work, busy with friends, not so busy with me. I was always the kid picked up last from school, the one at after school care every day of the week, the one who’s nanna came to watch in the school play year to year; while I searched persistently for mum or dad potentially hiding in the crowd. There was still a naïve sense of hope lurking within me then. 

Their reasoning for all this busyness was that they were trying to make enough money for me to have a good life. A positive future. I mean good on them for trying, but they missed that one part where they missed everything. 

Looking back, I suppose that’s one reason that led me to that night; the one that left me in the pieces I am today. I was seeking their attention, screaming to be noticed, but screaming to be noticed as a young teen meant being friends with kids my parents would have never approved of and drowning my cries at parties involving people far beyond my age, with alcohol bought by my friend’s older brother. 

The morning after that night. After too much of all of the things that were too much for a girl too young. The vodka, the cigarettes, the unfamiliar faces.  

I woke in a pit of confusion, an alcohol induced haze, to that nauseating feeling that still overcomes me to this day. A primitive grunt filled my ears, a sweaty heap of lard weighed heavily on my matchstick frame, an unrecognisable face hovered inches away from mine at no request of my own.  He was much older than me, wearing a wiry stubble that itched at my freckles, and creases driving through his forehead the way my dad's would after a bad day. I hadn’t even grown armpit hair; or boobs for that matter. 

Two fingers doused in spit vigorously poked around inside me like I was some sort of roadkill, and he was the man prodding it off the road with a branch; seeing what its insides looked like. I wondered how long I’d been asleep, how long those fingers had been places they shouldn’t, how long his fingernails were, and whether he was the type to bother to wash his hands after he’d hurled piss across the toilet seat. I wondered whether this was how the stuff I'd only seen on the TV was supposed to feel like. 

I remember laying there emotionless, expressionless, as though maybe if I stayed still for long enough, he would believe me dead, or a complete bore, and fuck off. But my reluctance to participate didn’t appear to bother him, and so I waited like one of those sad suitcases at an airport, hoping somebody that cared enough would come and claim me before I got hurled back down into the unknown.  

When he finally heaved himself off me, leaving an unwarranted gift splayed across my party dress, I realised he knew things about me I didn’t even care to know myself yet; before he had even asked for my name. 

He never found out my name, and I would never find out his.  

But back to the bar.  

The grizzly bear like man approached me after a few more minutes of awkward eye contact.  I felt like a deer in headlights, a fish out of water, a fucking grown woman that hadn’t spoken to a man or been remotely attracted to one in years. My initial thoughts were to down my drink and run to the bus stop. I could’ve quite easily done that, I’d had copious amounts of practice over the years. But there was something that felt different; different about him. 

He wore glasses that reminded me of Harry Potter (god I love Harry Potter, or anything out of this world for that matter), and he’d arrived at the bar with a book, a book that resembled the kind that was actually being read; half falling apart with pages worn and folded at the corners.  He’d been polite to the bar lady, even asked how her day had been, carrying an oddly caring tone in his response to, 

 ‘Fucking awful. I can’t wait to get home, this place bores me to tears.’   

And gosh I mean, those eyes, two deep pools of mystery I could so easily get lost in, a maze I didn’t care to escape. And so, to my own astonishment, I stayed put as he perched in the seat adjacent to mine.   

Up close I couldn’t help but notice a delicate forehead afraid of sunlight. My nose knew the feeling, as my peppered freckles grew in numbers with every sweltering Queensland summer. He smelt like tobacco and leather, courtesy of the cigarette pouch in his top pocket and Doc Martens laced around his feet, scuffed and worn alike the tiny crinkles around his eyes. Chestnut locks ruffled messily towards his tail bone, and cute dimples marked either side of slightly chapped lips. I noted to offer him some ChapStick if the opportunity arose, but I wasn’t getting ahead of myself. 

The chapped lipped, nameless man, spoke for the first time,  

‘Hi, I’m Vinnie, I hope this doesn’t sound too weird but I kinda noticed you’ve been struggling to decide on the perfect packet of peanuts for the past 10 minutes and I can’t just leave you here wondering when the decision is completely fucking obvious but before I tell you not to bother with them at all because they’ve been sitting on that shelf for at least 10 years, I'd really love to know your name.’ 

He was out of breath now. He’d spoke with such urgency I’d struggled to keep up. Not a single breath between all those words, so much fluster he’d spilled a full pint down himself, blushing like a cherry tomato the way I did through primary school when the teacher picked me to answer a question. He couldn’t have been more perfect.  

He didn’t know that I was allergic to peanuts, and he wasn’t aware that I had been allergic to the male gender for the past 10 years. But he wanted to know my name; and I wanted to find out his. 

And for the first time, in a long time, I felt like the girl I was before the night I became the girl unworthy of one. 

[voxiiferous]

He doesn’t like the way Astor grimaces, but he can’t say why it bothers him either. Is it because it’s a show of weakness? The idea that he can’t badmouth Valentino? It’s not like it’s… news. The cracks in their relationship have been there since the 1990s and it’s only gotten worse. He’s seen Val at his best, and his worst, and all the moment in between, and it’s hard to consider leaving in a way that doesn’t end with an apology and them getting back together. Fifty years of going around and around had ended with them here.

He laughs, and imagines it. “Vark’s the same. He wasn’t always bigger than me.” And he looks at Astor, considering the narrow set of his shoulders, so like his creator. “I see what you mean about anvil. Just leap,” he says, mimicking with his hand, the great attempt, and as he starts to angle it down to hit the couch cushion. “And then you hit the ground.”

As he moves to set his arm back across his lap, he waves dismissively. “While we disagree on a lot, I can admit his medium has value, and that Alastor often isn’t… entirely wrong, he’s just an asshole.” And insufferable— which is why Vox will never admit to it, and will hold o to modernity with everything he has, because he refuses to let Alastor win. At this point, it’s probably more pride than anything, and yet he persists. “Beside, during the war, I helped dismember radios,” he says, grin sharp and smug. It had been just one more thing he had a sprinkling of experience in, aside from propaganda that kept him in New York.

He nods, and refocuses his attention on the overhead light, picturing the coils of electricity, like spools, pulling them from the kitchen into the lamp on the far side of the living room. “Fair enough— you’re probably the closest thing a sinner could get to a child. Never really alive enough to be a sinner, but too much to be a proper demon. Can you travel to the other rings or, like us, are you confined to Pride?”

He lifts a pixelated brow, “You’re just… a collection of impulses sometimes aren’t you? A creature of fucking whimsy.” Though… he can’t be surprised, Alastor is wild card because no one ever knows what he’ll do, whereas Vox is consistent, predicable, all those little sparks wrapped up under a veneer or control. “It’s reasons like that you know you can’t die.” He says.

The blush deepens, the pink speeding from the confined lines to, thankfully, not quite his whole display, but… seeping to colour the central band of his face. “You-“ he stops, tries to collect his thoughts. And then Astor moves away, and for a split second, his hand in the armrest flinches, as of to reach out, a motion he quickly forced into a tapped wave of his fingers instead.

“You’d be right there then.” And then, to prove a point, he taps the side of his screen gently, the screen flickering, and repping upside down, eyes and mouth swapped, before it goes back to normal. It’s not a great save, but it means not holding onto a soft touch. “It can be rearranged, but not usually from an external cause. It’s a good thing when the screen gets broken in and I still want to see, I just… shuffle my eyes.”

“Most of my employees won’t smoke around me because of it—“ a few do, Em, but considering is casting director is quite literally full of fire, and hasn’t carried around a lot biter since she died, it makes a bit more sense. And even then, she tends to be better at not lighting a new one when talking to him. He spreads his hands, shaking them gently lioe a bad attempt at jazz hands. “Val’s are pink, so yay, I guess my insides are at least closer to an organic colour than slate grey.”

It probably says something about how long he’s been in show business in general, and working alongside the porn industry, that while the idea of his own skin on display feels… improper, it’s not something he’s as bothered by. “It’s typically impolite to undress in polite company.” And then he looks at who he’s talking to and the revelation of Astor’s repeat break ins. “Not that you’re polite, but, I’m pretty sure quite literally taking my skin off might not be an engaging process for you.”

"If you met him, you'd understand why I called him Chungus. He is about the size of a truck tire and he weighs about as much, if not more." Astor defended his choice in name with a grin. "And I didn't either...I was looking for a dog but well, Alastors not exactly a fan of dogs-" He cut himself off quickly and stared at the other as he realized he was giving information. And here was the problem in getting comfortable, he talked too much.

He didn't know if Vox could really do anything against Alastor with that information but it wasn't good to give it to him regardless. "Anyway, no, they don't make good guard animals. He can guard his food dish but that's about it." He chuckled, averting his gaze, deciding that was enough about that topic, in case he started saying anything else.

Laughing at the thought of a half asleep duet, Astor shook his head. "Depends how good of a singer you are, I mean, I'm not opposed to sharing the stage." The grin returned as he spoke. "It's the spotlight you might have to fight me for." He teased as he poked the overlord in the chest.

Ear flicking when he heard the whirring of the fans stop, he glanced to the others chest then up to see the screen go blank. He would have leaned in closer or poked his screen to see what happened but his face returned causing Astors ears to stand up as he chuckled to himself, not quick enough, maybe a glitch? Was Vox prone to glitch?

"Well, it's not like I know how much of you is controlled by you or some kind of computer that was created for your body." He stuck out his tongue at him and wrinkled his nose. "You're not exactly like any other sinner I've seen. Can't exactly rip out their insides to figure out how yours work. Every sinner is different and you're an overlord so, they wouldn't be so easy to get at either."

Stiffening when Voxs hand touched his face, he half expected him to shock him just because he could but he was more surprised when he didn't. He was gentle, it wasn't at all what he was expecting. He could easily blame the twinge of surprise on Alastors warnings, constantly drilled into him to know better and not let his guard down though that didn't stop him from relaxing under his touch and allowing it to happen. His tail flicking as he tried to contain the glow to his cheeks though there was no hiding it this time, Vox had a front row seat to just how bright Astors face could get.

He managed to resist the urge to lean into the others hand and to hide his face because despite how easily the overlord could fluster him, he reminded himself that, even if he did find him as attractive as one could find a charismatic television, Vox was in a relationship and no matter how much loathing he held for the pimp, Astor wasn't trying to win the other over.

The shades eyes scanned over Voxs face before he reached up to touch that screen again. Distracting himself with more questions about how the other worked because the more the overlord talked, the less he could and the less the better at this point.

"..so, you're like a touch screen?" As innocent as the question was, he almost felt rude asking it now that he was dragging a finger down the center of his face though this was more to inspect if it was smooth, like he was expecting there to be something there where his nose and mouth would be but it really was just a screen.

"How do you do anything?"

[munsons-maiden]

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝𝐬 𝐀𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 - 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟓

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏   ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐   ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑   ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

The mutual pining and sexual tension in this chapter are off the charts, lovelies 😂   Have fun! - Love, Kiki 🖤  

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 |  Eddie Munson x female reader

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 |  THEN. You’re the only survivor among the Mind Flayer’s victims, thanks  to your friends - but after the Battle of Starcourt, you find yourself  adrift in a sea of nightmares. Until an encounter in the woods with  Eddie The Freak Munson offers an unexpected life line and turns your  world upside down. NOW. Four months have passed since the winter  night you walked out of Eddie’s trailer and his life for good. But when  the mysterious headaches and nightmares return full-force and something  wicked stirs in sleepy Hawkins, starting a witch hunt against Eddie, you  realize that there are two things in this world that might be more  persistent than you’d thought: Evil…and love. The story is told  in two timelines: the past (after the Battle of Starcourt) and the present (during the events of season 4).

𝐖𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | angst with a happy ending, fluff, smut

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | SMUT (in the later chapters, so you need to be 18+ to read this story!),  angst with a happy ending, attempted assault, bullying, canon-typical violence  

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 10 k (by far the longest chapter; the next ones will be shorter again! - but it’s easy to read this one in parts if you want to split it up)

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | mentions of attempted assault, canon-typical gore & violence, blood (nosebleeds), past trauma, murder (Chrissy & Fred)

𝐅𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭, 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐲 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭.  

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 & 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝, 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 ♡

▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏   ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐   ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟑   ▹𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒

[Friday, March 22nd, 1986. NOW.]

For a heartbeat, Eddie and you just stared at each other, caught up in that daze of shock and emotion, fingers intertwined.

Memories flooded you, bringing you back to that freezing night in November before everything had changed. The way Eddie had looked at you before his lips had met yours, the sensation of his caresses on your skin, his curls tangled around your own fingers as he’d whispered your name – and the way the look in those umber eyes had changed as you spat those cruel words at him.

“Can someone tell me what the fuck’s going on?!”, Steve blurted, his voice having risen a few octaves in distress, ripping you out of the past, “Why are you holding hands?! He wanted to kill me!” Steve’s voice was high-pitched with residual shock.

Eddie and you jumped apart from the touch as if the other had burned you.

“Well, he didn’t,” you said, “Obviously.”

“I wanted to kill you before,” Robin threw in, probably in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

Underneath the wide-eyed stares of Dustin, Max, and Robin, who must’ve burst through the boathouse’s door right after you, Eddie slowly let himself sink to the ground in the farthest corner.

He looked horrible.

His eyes were haunted, tremors racing through his body as he hunched over, knees hugged against his chest as if in an attempt to somehow hold himself together.

Your heart bled for him.

In the shell-shocked, tense silence of the boathouse, broken only by the cheerful gurgle of Lover’s Lake lapping at the wooden posts that held the boathouse above water, your footsteps on the creaking floorboards sounded too loud as you walked across the space to where Eddie was cowering, that helpless feeling in your chest growing with each step.

Raising a hand to gesture for your friends to stay put, you sunk down on your knees in front of Eddie, careful to keep enough distance between the two of you not to startle him.

“Eddie,” you whispered, and at the sound of your voice, he raised his head. Unshed tears were brimming in his dark eyes. “Are you hurt?”

“Of course he’s hurt,�� Robin blurted, anxiety laced in her voice, “You ran him over with your car.” Her gaze travelling from you to Eddie, she added, “Sorry we ran you over. Really. I keep telling her to drive slower.”

“You did run him over?”, Steve gaped, “I thought it was just a little nudge.”

“Can you guys shut up for a moment,” Dustin chided.

Right now, you weren’t sure if Eddie could even hear you.

“Eddie, you need to tell us what happened,” you pleaded softly.

For a moment, Eddie just kept staring into the space at his feet, before he choked out, “You won’t believe me.”

“Try us,” Max said quietly, taking a step forward, around Steve who was trying – and failing – to hold her back.

“Remember the whole break-and-enter-vandalism-arson-monster-hunter thing I told you about?”, you said softly, and Eddie replied with the tiniest nod.

“Wait, you told that dude?!”, Steve gaped, “How the Hell do you even know him?”

“The sex scandal,” Dustin explained casually, tone hushed, and from the corner of your eye, you could see Steve do a double take as he blurted, “The WHAT?!”

“Oh, yeah,” Dustin muttered, giving him a short glance, “Sometimes I forget you were already graduated when it happened.”

“Wha –“

“Oh my god, will you guys shut up,” Max shushed, and silence fell over the place again.

Eddie’s gaze flitted over your assembled friends, before it came to rest on you again, a silent plea within. To believe him – or to somehow make this whole nightmare stop?

“Her body just…lifted into the air. And she…she hung there. In the air.” Eddie swallowed, fighting for every word, “And…her bones just...” The tremor running through him worsened as the tears finally streamed down his cheeks and he raised his hands, trying to capture the horror his words couldn’t as, with his voice breaking, he whispered, “Her bones just…started to snap. And her…her eyes, man. It was as if there was…something…something, like…inside her head. Pulling...”

He shook his head, eyes squeezed shut as if to lock out the images flitting back to him. “I didn’t know what to do. So I – I ran away.” The quiet sob ripping through him as fresh tears started to run down his cheeks was heart-wrenching. “I left her there.”

His voice was filled with shame. So much shame.

There was a moment of utter, crestfallen silence.

“You don’t believe me,” Eddie finally whispered.

Dustin stepped a little closer. “We do –“

“Don’t bullshit me, man,” Eddie called out on another sob, a trembling hand raking through the mess of his curls, “I know how it sounds, okay? I know.” When his eyes found yours again, there was despair shining in his gaze.

“We believe you,” you gently echoed Dustin’s words, and Eddie’s gaze snapped up to meet yours again.

“You know how people are saying Hawkins is cursed?”

Eddie gave you a slow nod, the disbelief and terror in his gaze warring with bewilderment, before you said, “They’re not way off. There’s another world. Hidden beneath Hawkins. And sometimes…it bleeds into ours.”

And you finally told him.

About the Upside Down and its monsters. About Barb and Will and the lights; last summer and its blood-soaked ending in the cinders of Starcourt.

Everything but the tale of how the Mind Flayer had gotten you, one scalding summer’s night two days before July 4th – grateful for the unspoken understanding that compelled your friends to keep that detail a secret for now.

Everything but the things the Mind Flayer had made you do. The things not even your friends knew. The things nobody could ever know. The real reason why you’d walked away in the middle of that cold November night last year and never looked back.

It wasn’t a lie, exactly. It was just the omission of an ugly, rotten truth festering in your soul. Eating you alive, piece by tiny piece.

Because even if Eddie didn’t despise you after that November night…he would start to if he ever learned about this ugly truth.

 [Saturday, September 21st, 1985. THEN.]

This time, when you knocked on the door to Eddie’s trailer, the September sun just having risen over the tree tops tinting the trailer park in its golden light, you knew the elation you felt was definitely Eddie-related.

It was the Saturday after your hike around Lover’s Lake, and you’d never been as thrilled to do midterm projects as you were right now.

Your heart did a tiny leap in your chest when Eddie opened the door.

“You’re an early bird, huh,” he greeted with a half-smile, and you chuckled.

He looked as if he’d just rolled out of bed, a few stray curls sticking up from his head and eyes still bleary with sleep. He was wearing his Hellfire shirt, and you got a glimpse at the swarm of little bats tattooed to his forearm, leaving you wondering what his other tattoos were. And…where.

“The secret is to just not sleep at all,” you deadpanned before your mind could further follow that path.

It was obvious that Eddie didn’t buy the light-heartedness in your tone before he stepped aside to beckon you in.

When you set the stack of books and folders you’d brought down on the kitchen counter, Eddie asked, “Did you have breakfast?”

“I didn’t have time for breakfast.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Eddie snickered, before adding in a mocking nasal voice, “May I serve you something for breakfast?”

You giggled. “That depends entirely on what’s on the menu.”

“Let’s seeeeee,” Eddie let out a playful drawl, letting his gaze roam over the tiny space of the trailer’s kitchen before his eyes lit up and he announced with a nod to a sad looking bowl of fruit, “We got this weird-looking peach.”

“I think that was an apple, once upon a time.”

He snickered. “Figures. Um, we got…gimme a second,” Eddie paused, moving on to the next drawer, “We got mixed pickles.”

“Are you trying to poison me so you won’t have to start with O’Donnell’s project?”, you teased.

“Gimme a break, I just crawled out of bed. I’m brainstorming breakfast here,” Eddie chuckled in response, before he announced, “I saved the best for last, anyway. Dramatic effect and all that.”

With a pleased little grin, he set a carton of cereal down on the counter in front of you.

You tilted your head. “Honey Comb?”

“Not simply Honey Comb,” Eddie proclaimed as he walked over to the fridge, and with the theatrics of an actor in a Shakespeare play, he pulled out two bottles of –

“Yoo-hoo,” you groaned just as Eddie happily exclaimed, “Yoo-hoo!” The grin slipped.

“Wait – you don’t like Yoo-hoo?!”, he gaped, his hand shooting up to his heart like a granny clutching her pearls.

You scrunched your nose, suppressing a giggle at the look on Eddie’s face. “It’s not just a simple dislike. It’s loathing.”

“What?!”

“It’s water. With chocolate,” you exclaimed with a playful tone. “Who puts chocolate flavor into water? That stuff belongs into milk! It’s so wrong!”

“What’s wrong with you-hoo?!” Eddie taunted, and you laughed, before he added mischievously, “Despite, I’m pretty sure we could sue them if we found a single kernel of actual chocolate in there. Plus –“ he paused for dramatic effect, “You first put the chocolate flavor into water and then –“ he waved the Honey Comb carton in the air, “You add these. It’s a specialty. I can’t start the day without it. Since, like, forever.”

“And I here I was thinking you-hoo didn’t have any flaws,” you teased, resting your chin in your hands as Eddie’s smile softened, growing a little timid as he said, “What about the middle ground of a bland ol’ peanut butter sandwich, then?”

Grinning, you replied, “Now, that’s a common ground we can work with.”

 [Friday, March 22nd, 1986. NOW.]

A grave silence settled over the air in the boathouse when Dustin and you finished the tale, all five pairs of eyes trained on Eddie while you waited for his reaction. He was still hunched in his corner, wide-eyed and staring at a rusty nail sticking out of the floorboards at his feet.

Whether he was trying to grasp everything you’d just told him, contemplating the chances of all of you being actually batshit crazy or if he was just fighting back another panic attack, you couldn’t tell.

Possibly all three.

Steve finally broke the silence, tone filled with barely suppressed annoyance as he said, “We need to know if there was white stuff involved, man.”

Eddie’s head snapped up, his expression a mixture of despair and aggravation. “I sell weed, not coke. And I wasn’t high, I told you –“

“Particles,” Dustin quickly interrupted the exchange before things could escalate further, throwing Steve a dude-what-the-fuck glance, “Steve means particles. Floating in the air. Almost like snow. Or…dust.”

“No,” Eddie mumbled, shaking his head, eyes wild as the memories of the past night were returning back to him full force, and once again you had a hard time fighting the overwhelming urge to reach out, to take his hand in yours and soothe him. “No, man. There was nothing you could see, or…or touch. She couldn’t move. I tried to wake her, but she wouldn’t…It…it was almost like she was in a trance or something.”

“A trance,” Dustin echoed, and in the dim half-light of the late afternoon seeping into the little boathouse, you could see the cogwheels already churning in the boy’s mind. “Or…a spell?”

Eddie’s eyes snapped up, flitting from yours to Dustin as all of you inched a little closer, and a spark of understanding flashed in them as something in Dustin’s words clicked.

“A curse,” Eddie breathed.

“Vecna’s curse,” Dustin whispered.

For a heartbeat, there was only crestfallen silence filled with the soft gurgling of Lover’s Lake lapping at the boathouse’s posts, before Robin asked, “Um. Who?”

“Vecna,” Dustin echoed.

Eddie raised his head to look at Robin, curls falling over his shoulders with the movement. “An undead creature of great power. A spellcaster.”

“A dark wizard,” Dustin added.

“Okay, so, technically,” Max said slowly, “To prove Eddie’s innocence and clear his name, all we need to do is find this creature –“

“Vecna,” Dustin interjected.

“ – and kill it.”

“Y/N could run it over with her car,” Robin quipped.

You threw her a dirty glare. “If we find a way to get my car into the Upside Down, sure.”

“Am I the only one remembering that all the gates are closed?”, Steve asked.

“Are they, though?”, Dustin wondered. You could tell he was already shifting into scientist-mode. “Because if Vecna found a way to get to us, there has to be a way –“

“To get to him,” you finished.

“Look, I really feel like collectively, we got this,” Robin announced, jumping back to her feet with newfound fervor glittering in her eyes.

“Am I the only one who didn’t get the memo on how?”, Steve inquired from where he was leaning against the wall beside an assortment of broomsticks that made you wonder whether Reefer Rick was a secret collector of cleaning supplies, throwing incredulous glances into the round, “Even if we found a way to go to the other side, how –“

“We do what we always do,” you said, rising back to your feet. “We do our research, we team up, and we fight.”

“You do remember that we don’t have a superhero on the team anymore, right?”, Steve muttered, arms crossed in front of his chest.

“We don’t need a superhero,” Robin protested with elation, “We got us. We got our spirit, and we go our brains.”

A soft, forlorn groan escaped Eddie as he buried his head in his hands again.

“First of all,” you said, “We need Nancy.”

All five of you nearly jumped out of your skin at the clamor of the assortment of Reefer Rick’s broomsticks clattering to the floorboards as the mention of Nancy’s name threw Steve off-balance, and for a few seconds you watched him awkwardly scramble to collect them from the ground.

“Dude,” Dustin chided, and despite everything, you nearly broke into a laugh as you saw the bewilderment written all over Eddie’s face as he watched Steve, who added casually, “Yeah Nancy’s a good idea.”

“What was that?”, Dustin inquired.

“Nothing,” Steve retorted, voice a few octaves higher. “I’m hungry, okay? Low blood sugar makes me dizzy.”

Robin threw you a meaningful glance.

“You know what?”, Steve said indignantly, “I’m done with chitchatting. We don’t have time –“

The shrill wail of silence filled the late-afternoon air, a whole chorus of them coming from the road that made your heart plummet to the ground as all of you darted to the tiny, dirt-caked window at the side of the boathouse, watching the parade of ambulances and police cars barrel past – followed by another car, one you recognized from earlier this morning, parked at the side of the Munson’s trailer.

“Was that a coroner’s car?”, Dustin muttered into the shaken silence. “Because that means...”

“They found another body,” you said darkly.

“When it rains,” Robin stated, “It pours.”

 [Saturday, March 23rd, 1986. NOW.]

The body, it had turned out when you’d found Nancy in the middle of the newest crime scene on the lonely road cutting through the woods to the trailer park as the sun was dipping below the treetops, was Fred Benson.

The white linen covering him hadn’t sufficed to disguise what Vecna had left of him. You’d seen enough of Chrissy for your imagination to fill in the rest.

When you stepped out of your car now the day after, the sky blushing with the first rays of the rising sun and the melody of birds waking in the surrounding woods filling the cool early-morning air, your heart was racing in your chest.

You hadn’t thought you’d ever see Eddie again. The overpowering flood of emotions of knowing you would see him again now, despite the fact that you were aware nothing had changed about your own situation nor the reason why you’d walked away that November night, combined with the horror of the realization that Evil had once again found its way back to Hawkins, to kill again, with Eddie’s own fate on the line…to say you were overwhelmed was an understatement.

And yet, despite everything, your stupid little heart was ready to burst out of your chest and flutter right into Eddie’s palms.

The plastic bag with the groceries you’d grabbed on the way here softly rustling at your side, you walked to the boathouse.

“It’s me,” you soothed when, stirred awake by the sound of the door’s creaking hinges, Eddie bolted upright from his hiding place beneath the boat’s tarp, the broken beer bottle clutched in his fist like a lifeline and for a split second his eyes were wide with terror like a deer in the headlights, before he recognized you. With a relieved exhale, he relaxed, letting the makeshift-weapon sink to his side.

“Sorry. I didn’t want to scare you.” The words were out before you realized how many times Eddie had used those same words for you, and for a moment, you needed to fight your tears.

Eddie looked miserable.

He’d huddled beneath the tarp in the boat which was suspended from the wooden beams forming the boathouse’s roof, and the deep shadows beneath his eyes testified to the fact that it was his second night on the run. In the blushing pale light of dusk, his messy curls spilling to his shoulders looked as black as the feathers of a raven, and you couldn’t prevent your mind from wandering back to how it had felt to run your fingers through those curls; so much softer to the touch than they looked.

All you’d wanted was to protect him.

From the horrors of the Upside Down.

And from yourself.

Who would have thought the very things you’d aimed to shield him from would bring you back to him?

“Did you manage to get some sleep?”, you asked.

“I mean, it’s not exactly the Ritz,” he replied with a snort, “But it’s better than the woods. What about you?”

There it was on full display, written over his expression, despite his own situation. The old soft concern. For you. Despite everything.

You swallowed. “I slept well.” There was a pause, before you deflated a little. “That was a lie. I didn’t sleep at all. I was spending the first half of the night worrying about everything, and the second part of the night contemplating whether I should drive out here to keep you company or not, but since we agreed that I’d come back in the morning, I figured it wouldn’t exactly help your frayed nerves to barge in here in the middle of the night. By the way, I brought food,” you finished awkwardly, lifting the plastic bag of groceries, and Eddie’s face lit up a little as he climbed out of the boat.

“You could go back to sleep,” you said softly while you sat cross-legged on the floorboards. “I can watch out for you.”

There was the ghost of a smile on Eddie’s lips as he sat down opposite of you.

“You know you don’t have to stay here,” he said cautiously, “With the rest of your friends out and about doing all the important monster-hunting stuff –“

The sizzle of static from the RT in your backpack cut him off before Dustin’s voice chimed up, “Is anyone there?”

You grabbed the device. “I’m with Eddie. Are you in?”

The plan you’d concocted in the Wheeler’s basement yesterday after finding Nancy at the scene of Fred’s murder was a simple one. There were exactly two leads worth following.

The first one was Victor Creel, his horrid story still told around campfires, the name brought up by Eddie’s uncle, who, Nancy had stated, was sure it was Victor who’d murdered Chrissy. You’d spent the remainder of the evening with Nance and Robin to scour the library’s archives for information on the Creel murders.

The second lead was Chrissy herself. Max had seen her walk out of the school counselor’s office on the day of her death. And if there was one source to find information about Chrissy, anything at this point that could have made the captain of the cheer team a target for an interdimensional monster, it was Mrs. Kelly’s file on her. Which was why, right at this moment, Steve, Max and Dustin were breaking into the school counselor’s office to take a glance at said file.

“Max is picking the lock as we speak.”

“Of course she is.” In the corner of your vision, you could see Eddie’s eyebrows shooting up before he whispered, “You actually told the truth when you told me about the whole break-and-enter-vandalism-list of crimes.”

Before you could muster a reply, Steve’s annoyed voice chimed up from somewhere in the background, “I can’t believe I’m spending a perfect Saturday morning breaking into the school I’ve spent years dreaming about breaking out of.”

“It must have been a true horror, to be King Steve The Hair Harrington of Hawkins High,” Eddie deadpanned.

“You could have been out of there faster if you’d actually tried to graduate”, Steve retorted, and you quickly cut in, “When you’re in, try and find out if Fred was seeing Mrs. Kelly as well. There might be a connection. It’s worth a shot. Over and out.”

You placed the RT on the floorboards beside you as Eddie said with a soft chuckle, “You know, when you said you were hunting monsters…I kinda though you were secretly into D&D.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you quipped with the ghost of a smile playing on your own lips as you met his gaze again.

“Nah, it’s pretty badass.”

“Most of the time, it’s just running for your life and suppressing panicked screams, to be honest.”

“Ah. Well, those are my special talents,” Eddie replied cynically.

There it was. The old familiarity. The ease Eddie was still able to bring you.

Your voice grew serious again when you said, “It’ll get better. You’ll get used to the monster-stuff.”

For a moment, there was silence falling over the two of you, filled with the gurgling of the lake and chorus of birds seeping in from outside, before you pushed the plastic bag of groceries towards Eddie.

“You should have breakfast.”

There was the flicker of something like surprise written over his face when Eddie pulled out a carton of Honey Comb and a bottle of Yoo-hoo, and his gaze was soft when he looked at you.

“You-hoo remembered,” he said, that slow smile curving his lips, and a soft laugh bubbled up your throat at the old joke.

I remember every single thing, you wanted to tell him. Instead, you reached into the bag to pull out a second bottle, giving him a meaningful glance as you unscrewed the lid.

Eddie’s smile widened as you raised the bottle of Yoo-hoo before you said, “The freak and the slut.”

He chuckled softly, clinking his own bottle against yours. “Cheers.”

In the half-dark, it was difficult to decipher the look which was settling in Eddie’s eyes.

Regret? Hurt? An unspoken question? A tiny sliver of hope?

You knew what he wanted to ask; you’d dreaded the question.

Is this why things happened the way they happened? Why you said what you said before you walked away?

But before Eddie could utter a single word to voice the inevitable question burning in his gaze, before you were forced to give the answer that would break this tiny little sliver of hope the way Vecna had snapped poor Chrissy Cunningham’s bones, the RT unit came to life again.

“We found something.” Dustin’s voice was shrill with excitement. “You were right, Fred was seeing Mrs. Kelly as well. And there are too many similarities between him and Chrissy –“

“Yeah but it’s a school counselor,” Steve remarked, “Like, people wouldn’t see her when they didn’t have issues. That’s the whole point.”

“That’s the connection,” Dustin retorted impatiently. “The world is full of obvious things which nobody by any chance ever observes.” There was a beat of silence, before he added, “Sherlock Holmes? No?”

“Jesus Christ, Henderson. Are we looking for clues on why another interdimensional monster started hunting random teens or are you giving me a lecture?”, Steve huffed.

“That’s the point. It’s not random –“

“Give me that,” Max interrupted, her voice harsh, before there was a soft rustle as she took the RT. Only then did you realize that her voice wasn’t harsh. It was…scared.

“Max,” you said softly, “What –“

“Listen,” she said, “Fred and Chrissy were both…dealing with trauma. Chrissy’s mother was…there are too many pages on that but let’s just say Chrissy suffered. And Fred, he was involved in a car accident last year. The other driver died. And both Chrissy and Fred were having symptoms. The exact. Same. Symptoms.”

Eddie frowned, scooting a little closer towards you and the RT.

“What do you mean?”, you asked.

There was a trembling intake of breath on the other side before Max said, “They both suffered insomnia. And headaches. Severe ones. Like, constant migraines that kept them from sleeping. Fred was even taking prescription painkillers.”

Eddie’s gaze locked on yours as he murmured, “That’s why she was at my place. Chrissy wanted Special K.” Just like you. He didn’t need to add it. And relief flooded you at his words, so horribly misplaced in the current situation yet overpowering, because…it had been a simple drug deal. Nothing more.

Your mind flitted back to the first time you’d been to Eddie’s trailer, for that very purpose.

I need something stronger than weed. I just want something to make the headaches stop and put me to sleep for a few hours.

“Headaches. Okay. What else?” Eddie inquired quietly; his question directed at Max while his eyes stayed on yours.

“Nosebleeds. Nightmares. And…and they were seeing things. Things that weren’t real,” Max added on a whisper, voice trembling so hard that you could imagine the tears brimming in the girl’s eyes, the fear laced in her blue gaze.

Nosebleeds.

Your hands scrubbing stains of dried crimson from your cheerleader uniform.

Blood spilling from your nose, down your lips, as you burst out of the gym and into the peace of the woods.

Headaches.

Skull-splitting, blinding, white-hot pain like a drill hammering against the inside of your head, making stars dance in your vision. Headaches, migraines, keeping you awake when the nightmares didn’t.

Nightmares.

Your own screams making you bolt wide awake, out of dreams filled with freezing black mist and the echo of a whisper guiding your hands.

Of blood coating your fingers and screams in the air of an abandoned steel mill.

The summer-night skies ahead as your eyes flutter open, stars twinkling back at you through the cracked, dirt-caked glass of the ceiling light ahead, moonlight spilling down on you like silver paint as you grapple what happened, why your head is hurting and your wrists and ankles are bound and your back is pressed against the cold, hard ground.

Steel blue eyes, hollow as they watch you.

Stay very still. It’ll be over soon.

It would never be over.

The things you’d done, the things this vile, wicked shadow had made you do.

And the things it hadn’t.

Past trauma.

Flames and screams and blood and pain. The freezing black mist, hacking talons into your mind.

Hallucinations.

Your face staring back at you from mirrors, from window panes, from glass. Eyes burning twin flames of darkness, something ancient and wicked stirring within. Veins, black and writhing and alive, creeping over your body, underneath your skin, spreading like a sickness. Spreading like rot.

The memories were rushing through your mind like images in a broken slide projector until Eddie’s voice snapped you back to reality, his eyes still firmly resting on you with shock written all over his expression, recognition, as he inquired, “How long were they having these symptoms before Vecna struck?”

“Seven days,” Max breathed.

Before you could utter a single one of the thoughts currently racing through your head like paper planes, Max quietly added, “I’m next.”

“What –“

“My symptoms started seven days ago. Like Chrissy’s. Like Fred’s. By the end of the day, I’ll be dead.”

 [Saturday, September 21st, 1985. THEN.]

“I still don’t get why he needs to throw all these parties,” Eddie groaned in frustration, “Like, dude, just tell her you like her.” Eddie was wringing the book in his hands, the metal bracelet around his wrist tinkling softly with the motion.

You’d been working side by side for the past two hours, with Eddie lounging on the floor of his bedroom, papers and books strewn all around him, and you on his bed, cross-legged with your back resting against the wall as you silently scribbled notes into your own issue of The Great Gatsby while laughing at the pitiful sounds and cynical comments Eddie was uttering while reading.

If you’d learned one thing about Eddie Munson in these past two hours, it was that he couldn’t sit still for more than ten minutes.

You snickered. “But the romance. The yearning. The thrill whether Daisy will show up.”

“It’s pointless. She’s his goddamn neighbor. Just borrow some milk like a normal shy dude with a crush. You know what, I’m done with Gatsby for today,” Eddie announced, snapping the book shut with a resounding thud before grabbing the biology folder in front of him, the pages scattered with more of his little doodles. Guitars and bats and chords that made you wonder whether he wrote songs.

You focused back on the pages in front of you, eyes bleary already with tiredness.

Two hours of sleep had been all you’d gotten last night before the nightmares and headaches had made you bolt out of your uneasy slumber, sweat soaking the sheets tangled around your legs and blood gushing from your nose.

You’d switched from Advil to Tylenol a few days ago, but the effect of the Tylenol you’d taken this morning before hitting the road for the Forest Hills trailer park was already subsiding as the throb beneath your temples started to evolve into a pounding sensation along with your pulse.

Thump.

Thump.

Thump.

You blinked, the letters on the page swimming into each other, blurring until they didn’t make sense anymore, all the while the pounding worsened, getting louder and louder in your ears until it started sounding almost like a clock. A clock under water.

Tik. Tok. Deep and resounding, vibrating through your skull with blinding pain.

Tik.

Tok.

Your hands shot up to massage your temples, as if you could magically smooth out the ache in your skull by pressing hard enough.

Tik.

Tok.

Make. It. Stop.

Just when you thought you couldn’t handle that skull-splitting pain a second longer…something strange happened.

Focused on the paper in front of him, Eddie started to hum.

It was an unfamiliar tune, the melody probably from one of his favorite metal songs – but as he softly, slowly hummed it to himself, his dark voice painting the notes with its beautiful timbre, like the brush of an artist transforming the white base of a canvas, it drew you in like a siren’s song.

He probably didn’t even notice he was doing it, focused hard on the text in front of him, his pencil flying over the letters to highlight whatever he deemed important enough to remember, but that soft melody his voice painted into the concentrated silence wrapped around you like a warm blanket on a freezing winter night.

And like sunlight dissolving fog in a field, the smooth timbre of Eddie’s voice as he hummed along the song stuck in his mind started dissipating the throb in you skull. With every note, the flashing, white-hot pain beneath your temples eased, shrinking like a fire finally under control, the flames dying down –

“Sorry, bad habit,” Eddie chuckled, cutting himself off as he caught you staring at him, “It helps me focus. If it distracts you, I’ll stop-“

“No!”

Eddie squinted in confusion.

“No,” you repeated, still too caught up in wonder to be embarrassed, “No, it – it sounds beautiful. Your voice is…your voice is beautiful.”

It was.

Eddie’s expression was caught between amused and flustered at the compliment, your own awe, as you said, “It…can do you that again?”

“Like…hum?”

You nodded. He probably thought you were wigging out completely now – but in the few moments since Eddie had stopped humming, the headache had worsened again. If it had just been a coincidence…

Averting his gaze, Eddie started to hum the tune again, and this time, you recognized the melody. You’d heard that song before, on the radio somewhere, but you couldn’t remember the title or the band or even the lyrics.

There was an unspoken question in Eddie’s eyes as he trailed off again, the melody fading into the air before he asked, “What, um…is going on right now?”

“The headache,” you marveled, “It’s…it’s fading when you hum.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

There was a beat of silence as Eddie watched you, clearly contemplating something before he said, a little timid all of a sudden, “You know, uh. I actually need to practice some new chords and stuff for our next gig and I didn’t get around to do it the past few days so…I could. Put the project stuff away and practice and you could stay and listen. If you’d like to.”

“Yes,” you said, a smile curving your lips to match the bashful one lighting up Eddie’s features as you said it, “I’d love that. If that’s fine by you, I mean. I’m not a big audience, but…”

Eddie snickered as he got up to fetch his guitar, and you suddenly felt a little shy as you watched him sit cross-legged on the floor beside his bed, right in front of you, placing the guitar in his lap with so much gentleness, and something tugged at your chest at the sight, something strange and fleeting like the wisp of a thread tied around your heart.

“Still practicing, by the way,” Eddie added as he briefly glanced up at you. He was definitely a little flustered. It was endearing to witness him like that. You could tell he was excited to play for you, and yet, there was this sliver of bashfulness, as if he were scared you couldn’t like it. As if your opinion mattered to him.

“I always wanted to hear you play,” you admitted.

With a last smile at you, Eddie’s eyes drifted down to his guitar, and the first few notes of the song floated into the quiet air as he started to play the melody he’d hummed, his fingers dancing over the strings, gently coaxing the lilting, haunting melody from the instrument.

And then, he started singing.

“Here we stand, Worlds apart, hearts broken in two, two, two.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Logically, you’d known he could sing. He was the lead singer of his band, that was part of the job description. But…it was much more than that. His voice was dark and lilting and rich, low to match the slowed down melody of the song, his words seeping into the air and over your senses like honey.

“Sleepless nights Losing ground, I'm reaching for you, you, you”

It was slower than the original version, you noted; a ballad rather than a heavy metal song – and you realized that it must have been a conscious decision to tune it down and drag it out like that, because of your headache, and the tug in your chest grew into a fluttering feeling of affection.

“Feeling that it’s gone Can’t change your mind If we can’t go on To survive the tide Love divides.”

You knew you were outright staring at him now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

You didn’t want to miss a single second of the way his dark curls were falling into his face, brushing his forehead, the way his lashes brushed the pale skin over his cheekbones as he glanced down at the sheet with the chords, the slight blush dusting his cheeks as he sang. The way his ringed fingers danced over the guitar’s strings with skill and gentleness, coaxing the notes from the instrument, made heat rise in your own cheeks, and you finally averted your gaze.

And the headache, that tormenting, splitting pain inside your skull, was easing to a dull throb barely there anymore. Hadn’t you been so enraptured by Eddie, you’d have noticed it sooner.

There was only Eddie’s voice wrapping around you like the softest black silk, the tunes of his guitar.

And when the song ended and the last few notes faded into the air, it was like resurfacing from a trance.

“I’m…this was amazing,” you breathed. “Your voice is…amazing.” God, you sounded lame. But there was no word to describe how beautiful it sounded when Eddie sang, played his guitar –

“Is it better?”

It took a few seconds for your brain to catch up with the fact that he meant the headache.

“Oh. Yes. It’s nearly gone. I don’t know how, but…whatever you did, it worked.”

The grin lighting up Eddie’s face was radiant, and that strange new timidness crept back in and he said, “Well, I really need to practice. So if you want to stay, and listen…uh, I’d be happy about the company. Though, I mean it’s Saturday so you probably have better plans.”

You wanted to tell him that there was nothing better you could do than listen to him play, that you’d happily listen to him sing for the rest of eternity, but that would have been exceedingly weird. So you simply settled on, “Do I look like the kind of person to have better plans?”

“Uh, yeah? You’re a cheerleader. Aren’t there parties to attend and all that popular people stuff?”

“I’m not popular anymore, in case you didn’t notice.” To your own surprise, the knowledge felt as lighthearted as the words had sounded. You were fine with not being popular. There had been a time when popularity had been like a shield to protect you, to prevent that people would ever again treat you like you’d been treated in middle school – but the sophomore girl who’d joined the cheerleaders to be safe was long gone. And if the past few weeks had taught you one thing, it was that popularity wasn’t a shield at all. Popularity hadn’t saved you from Jason Carver’s attack – Eddie Munson had done that. Eddie The Freak, who was currently sitting on the floor in front of you, guitar in his lap as he sorted through the mess of chords in front of him to play for you, simply because it was easing your headaches.

Popularity hadn’t saved you from Jason’s lies either, or the bullying that had ensued – on the contrary; it had become the bull’s eye on your back.

“Okay, you need to stop watching me like some bird of prey ready to strike,” Eddie laughed timidly, “I need to focus.”

“I’m sorry!,” you blurted, “I’m sorry. I just – it’s so fascinating to see you play guitar.” Well, you couldn’t exactly tell him how beautiful he looked doing it.

You leaned backwards, lying down on Eddie’s bed before you said, “Can’t see me know. I’m not even here.”

“You’re not exactly someone to easily ignore,” Eddie quipped. His tone held the same innocent little tease as always – but when he said the words, there was something else there. You just couldn’t tell what exactly it was.

The first few notes of the next song filled the space, and you closed your eyes as the sound of Eddie’s voice laced with the melody of the guitar to form a beautiful lullaby, sweeping you away like a warm, gentle tide.

When your eyes fluttered open again, there were several things coming to your attention.

The first one was…the headache was gone – and there hadn’t been a single nightmare. No memories of icy black mist forcing its way into your mind and mind invading your sleep, no images of the things the monster had ordered you to do. It had been the first dreamless, peaceful sleep in three months.

The second thing you realized was that it was dark. The only source of light was a dim orange glow barely enough to keep the night away which had fallen outside the window.

The window that didn’t look like your window.

And the band posters plastering the walls definitely weren’t yours.

Which brought you to realization number three: you were still in Eddie’s room. In Eddie’s bed. Which carried the trace of his already so beautifully familiar smell, of leather and mint and the faintest whiff of cigarettes.

Eyes still bleary with sleep, you sat up, the wool blanket sliding off your shoulders in the process – wait, you were pretty sure you didn’t have a blanket when you’d fallen asleep to Eddie’s music.

He must have covered you with the blanket at some point during your nap; and the gesture, so innocent and sweet and caring, made warmth radiate through your chest.

“Sleeping Beauty hath awakened,” Eddie chimed up. He was still sitting on the carpet beside the bed, in the middle of utter chaos. There was paper strewn all around him, and he’d switched the guitar in his lap for an open textbook.

“What time is it?”, you mumbled, voice still a little hoarse from sleep.

“Um. Nine pm?”

“What?!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know whether to wake you. And since you said you didn’t have any plans, I figured you could use the extra sleep. Do you want pizza? I ordered pizza.”

As if on cue, your stomach let out a loud growl, and Eddie laughed as he pushed himself up from the ground and vanished into the kitchen.

There was the clatter of plates, and you called out, “Wait, if I just spent the day sleeping in your bed, what did you do?”

“Well, I practiced,” Eddie replied, appearing back in the doorway with a plate of pizza slices he held out for you. “At first, I wasn’t sure if I should play the actual metal songs, but you slept through a whole collection of Metallica and Black Sabbath, so…yeah. And then I caught up on some school stuff.” His smile fading as he watched you, he added, a little timid all of a sudden, “What’s wrong? Should I have…woken you up?”

“No!”, you replied quickly, voice marveling, “No, honestly, I’ve…I can’t remember the last time I actually slept so deep and without. You know, without nightmares.”

For a moment, you could see how Eddie was scrambling to come up with a reply, before he simply smiled and said, “Well, it’s Saturday night so if you wanna, I don’t know, see if there’s a good movie on TV – I mean, obviously we don’t need to watch a movie, I’m probably the last one you’d wanna spend your Saturday evening with, but –“

“A movie sounds great,” you interrupted him with a smile.

 [Saturday, March 23rd, 1986. NOW.]

“What the Hell are you doing?”

Eddie’s expression was so bewildered it would have been funny under different circumstances as he watched you climb into the old motorboat, assessing the ropes that kept it suspended from the wooden beams of the roof.

One hour had passed since Max had dropped the bomb, and since then, it had been one long, agonizing wait for Robin and Nance to somehow make their way into Penhurst Asylum’s high-security wing to talk to Victor Creel in the fragile hope that he might be able to give a clue on how to break Vecna’s curse before it would be too late – because if it had been Vecna who’d haunted the Creel family thirty years ago, Victor was the only one who’d made it out alive.

And right now, you wanted to believe this more than anything else.

Because Max’s time was running out, and there was nothing you could do to help her.

“Planning a flight route,” you replied curtly.

“A flight route?”

You threw a meaningful glance at him. He’d been sitting cross-legged on the ground, the carton of Honey Comb in his arms. “If the cops find you, you need a plan how to get away fast.”

“You really know how to soothe my jangled nerves,” he quipped as you started to examine the rusty old motor at the rear.

“Do you think this is working?”

“The noise it’ll cause if we try and it does will alert the entire neighborhood,” Eddie said, “And since Rick’s still in jail, it’s better not to draw attention to his house. That could be a dead giveaway.”

“I’m careful, not dumb.”

There was a soft shuffle as you heard Eddie climb to his feet and step closer to you, before he said, “I know that.” His voice was holding that familiar gentleness. “But you’re obviously distressed. Just…” He cut himself off before the rest of the sentence could leave his lips, though the hurt in his gaze left no doubt his mind was catapulting him back into that freezing November night.

To the last time he’d finished the sentence he’d been about to utter now.

Just talk to me. I’m right here.

And the vile words you’d spat in reply because you’d thought it would keep him safe.

But even now, with Eddie at the center of the newest storm, you couldn’t let him close again. Because if there was one thing you knew, it was that being close to you would be his end. So you needed to keep him away. You needed to lock your heart, your traitorous little heart that was still racing with every gaze from those beautiful dark eyes, ready to burst out of your chest and flutter right into his palm, no matter how bruised and broken it was.

You might be able to protect Eddie from the Upside Down, from Hawkins’ wrath, but you couldn’t protect him from the rot inside of your own soul, the one which might have been there long before the Mind Flayer had gotten you.

If he knew what had happened when the monster had guided your hands, the gentleness and warmth in Eddie’s gaze when he looked at you, even now, even after everything that happened, would fade like the dying flame of a candle.

Maybe you didn’t only want to protect him. Maybe you wanted to protect yourself, too.

“Look,” he began anew, rings glinting as he raked a hand through his messy curls, “I’m still kinda confused by all this stuff, but…insomnia? Nosebleeds? Headaches? Past trauma and nightmares? That was a whole fucking checklist she read out loud.”

“It doesn’t make sense,” you said curtly, turning away from him and the boats rear to carefully climb over the tarp and inspect the front. “Seven days. I had these symptoms for weeks.”

“Until they stopped.”

“Until they stopped,” you agreed. “And believe it or not, I realize that’s a huge coincidence.”

Eddie huffed. “The world is full of –“

“Don’t you quote Dustin quoting Sherlock Holmes on me.” You assessed the snap links holding the boat suspended. They were corroded by rust. “I’ve been going through it over and over again for the past hour, and there was nothing specific that happened. At some point, it just stopped, okay? I wish I could tell you something else, but I can’t. And it’s…it’s driving me insane so…we need to get this boat down to the water.”

“I don’t think –“

“Because if the cops show up here, every second is precious time you can’t lose to get away.”

“I wouldn’t touch these snap links,” Eddie cautioned, but you were too caught up in your own racing thoughts.

“I mean especially if the motor doesn’t work –“

“Please, for Heaven’s sake, don’t touch the snap links. You’ll hurt yourself –“

“You can’t lose precious time trying to put that thing into the water is all I’m saying.”

A sudden jerk of the ground beneath your feet nearly threw you off balance, and you threw a glance over your shoulder at Eddie, who’d climbed into the boat with you.

“What are you doing?”, you inquired.

“What are you doing?”

“I don’t need your help. I can handle this just fine.”

“You’re not handling anything right now, you’re in the middle of a breakdown,” Eddie said softly.

Clasping the rope at the boat’s side with one hand for purchase, you fully whirled around to face him.

“Please come out of the boat before you hurt yourself, okay? I know you’re distressed”, he added, with that gentle voice that made your heart squeeze, “And I know –“

“You don’t know anything!”, you exclaimed. You needed to push him away now, before he got too close again, and you’d been dancing on this tightrope for long enough ever since you’d taken his hand yesterday morning. “You don’t know me, Eddie! You never have!”

There was a beat of crestfallen silence as your words made him flinch, driving the pain deeper into your chest, both of you staring at each other – when a resounding crack echoed through the boathouse, and the floor beneath your feet…vanished. And the boat’s front crashed down towards the lake’s surface.

The little balance you’d managed to restore to keep yourself standing upright was diminished as, with a startled yelp of him and a surprised squeal of your own, Eddie – who’d been standing in the boat’s back – was catapulted forwards, right into you, knocking you off your feet as the damn tarp slipped from under your soles and your back hit the boat’s floor.

A shocked heartbeat passed, in which you realized two things.

The first one was that Eddie had been right and you should’ve let go of the damn rusty snap link because it had just broken in your grip, the sudden lack of weight distribution making its counter-piece break as well, which had led the boat’s front to crash down while the back end was still dangling from the remaining two ropes.

Which led to realization number two which was the fact that Eddie was basically on top of you right now.

He’d managed to catch his fall instead of completely smothering you beneath him. His hands were gripping the boat’s rim above your head to support his weight – and he was close.

His chest nearly pressed flush against yours, Eddie was close enough for the tip of his nose to nearly touch yours, for the dark curls falling around his face like a curtain to tickle your cheeks, his breath to prickle on your lips to speed up your heartrate until you thought it would leap out of your throat.

For a startled second, the two of you stayed like this, Eddie’s eyes wide with surprise, before he finally breathed, “I told you not to play with the rusty snap link.”

“Yeah.”

“I can’t move,” he whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean, you can’t move?”, you breathed.

“The tarp is tangled around my legs.”

“Okay.” It came out as a whisper, as you were having a hard time to keep your eyes trained on Eddie’s instead of letting them roam down to his lips, so close to yours, the chocolate of the Yoo-hoo he’d been drinking laced on his breath as it fanned over your cheeks –

There was a low groan of strained metal somewhere at the back of the boat.

“This is gonna end wet,” you assessed, eyes widening and heat flaring in your cheeks as you quickly clarified, “I mean, in Lover’s Lake.”

“At least it’s spring,” Eddie said, before, the old playfulness entering his tone, he added, “Let me hear it again because you owe me: Who told you not to touch the snap link?”

“…You-hoo,” you replied with a suppressed snicker, and Eddie…laughed. This beautiful, beautiful laugh that had always made liquid sunlight of happiness spread through your own chest, chasing away every wisp of darkness. This laugh you’d loved from the moment you first heard it, which had become your favorite sound in those two months he’d been in your life. The laugh you’d thought you’d never hear again.

Heartache and joy, love and regret and grief flooded you as the last remains of the dam you’d built to keep them locked away finally broke while you gazed up into his umber eyes, twinkling like stars, his face mere inches from yours –

With a final crack, the remaining two snap links broke, and the boat crashed into the water, both you and Eddie letting out a surprised gasp, eyes squeezed shut. But you were spared from the lake’s cold water, because the boat actually floated, in the cover of the little boathouse.

Your eyes blinking open again, you realized that one of Eddie’s hands had found its way to the back of your head to prevent you hitting it against the boat’s floor, the gesture so Eddie in this sweet and genuinely caring way of his that the wave of love you felt for him was overwhelming as he chuckled, and sadness gripped you as he carefully entangled himself from his awkward position of hovering on top of you.

“Good to know that thing doesn’t sink, at least,” he announced, climbing to his feet as he started untangling the tarp around his ankles.

“We even got oars,” you assessed with a glance downwards, but the chuckle died in your throat when you met Eddie’s gaze again as he sat down opposite of you. The playfulness in his eyes had been replaced by concern.

“Whatever you’re still not telling me,” he said quietly, “Please, put my mind at ease and tell me whether the symptoms are truly gone. Because…” He trailed off, eyes locking on the glittering surface of Lover’s Lake behind you as he seemed to grasp for the right words, one hand rubbing his face. “If I’m being totally straight with, I didn’t get a single second of sleep because my mind keeps replaying these fucking five minutes in my trailer. And I’m…I’m ashamed because it’s never Chrissy, hanging on my ceiling while her bones snap and…” He looked as if he were about to throw up. “It’s you. I’m fucking scared and while you’ve been climbing the walls with your panic for the little redhead, all I can think about is that you were having the same goddamn symptoms and the cheerleader being snapped like a twig on my ceiling could have been you and there’s this fucked up part in me that’s still relieved that it wasn’t.” He took a trembling breath, that same shame from yesterday night clouding his gaze alongside the panic.

You swallowed. “I don’t think it ever was Vecna’s curse in the first place, for me.”

“Why?”

Because it started when the Mind Flayer left.

“Seven days. I was dealing with these things for months –“

“But what if it was?”, Eddie insisted, “What if there’s something we just didn’t see before?”

“It’s gone. It started after Starcourt, and it faded out by the end of the year. There’s nothing more to tell.”

Eddie sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he squeezed his eyes shut. “The song remains the same, I guess.”

And his head snapped up.

 [Thursday, September 26th, 1985. THEN.]

Crossing the parking lot – nearly empty now after cheerleader training in the late afternoon, with most people already having headed home hours ago – your eyes locked on something tucked underneath the windscreen wiper of your car, and your heart sunk like a stone to the bottom of a lake at the thought whatever cruelty Jason’s basketball friends had conjured up for you. It was enough that you were still wiping offenses written in bright red lipstick from your locker every day.

After the whole thing with the condoms last week, you’d hoped the creative potential of Jason and his friends might have finally run out.

But when you came to stand beside your car, you saw it was…a package? Not much bigger than the size of your palm, wrapped up in plain brown paper.

There was your name scrawled at the bottom left corner, spidery letters scribbled with black sharpie. Curiosity got the better of you, and you ripped the paper away to reveal…a tape?

On a sticky-note taped to the plastic case was a handwritten note.

That’s the real Special K. Hope it helps you sleep. See ya Saturday.

It was a mixtape. Eddie had made you a mixtape.

 [Saturday, March 23rd, 1986. NOW.]

“The song remains the same,” Eddie repeated with a whisper.

You narrowed your eyes in confusion. “I – fear I can’t follow.”

Eddie opened his mouth to explain, something frantic in his eyes, but the crackle of the RT unit’s static rang through the boathouse to cut him off – followed by a shout.

Dustin’s shout, breaking with panic.

“NANCY! ROBIN! SOMEONE! DO YOU COPY THIS IS A CODE RED DO YOU COPY?”

“Max,” you breathed.

Eddie and you jumped up at the same time, the boat swaying precariously, the rotting wood biting your palms as you dragged yourself up, out of the boat and towards the RT unit on your backpack, Dustin’s shouts growing more desperate.

“HE GOT MAX! HE GOT HER WE NEED A CLUE, ANYTHING! NOW! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE!”

“We’re not even at Penhurst yet!”, Robin’s wail rang out, and Eddie’s hand wrapped around your wrist before you could answer the device.

His eyes were wide, frantic, and he was panting as he pressed, “Do you still have that mixtape?”

“What –“

“The mixtape I made for you,” Eddie urged, eyes wild.

“Eddie, Max –“

“DO YOU STILL LISTEN TO IT TO FALL ASLEEP?”, his panicked shout rose to cut you off.

“I – yes. Why –“

“MUSIC!”, Eddie yelled, letting himself fall to the floor as he grabbed the RT unit. “IT’S MUSIC! DUSTIN DO YOU COPY? IT’S MUSIC!”

“What?!”

“HER FAVORITE SONG!”, Eddie screamed into the speaker, “PLAY HER FAVORITE SONG!”

The connection was ended, and you stared at Eddie, both of you panting and wide-eyed as realization hit you and the seconds ticked by, agonizing and numbing, freezing with the all-consuming terror of knowing that Max was fighting for her life, her fate now dangling from the last remaining thread of Eddie’s clue, in the hands of Dustin and Steve to get her Walkman before it was too late –

There was the sizzle of static again, making your heart drop –

“You did it,” Steve murmured, breathless with his own panic. “You fucking did it. You saved her. You saved Max –“

“Is she okay?”, you pressed, tears streaming down your face; of relief and panic.

“She’s alive,” Steve breathed. “Lucas, he knew her favorite song, he –“

“Lucas?”, you blurted, “When did you find him?”

“He found us.”

For a beautiful moment, there was only relief. Because Max was still there. Because she’d escaped Vecna’s grasp.

And there was realization sinking in as Eddie and you stared at each other.

Chrissy Cunningham hadn’t been Vecna’s first target.

It had been you.

You could see the exact moment realization hit Eddie, but before any of you could utter a single word, there was a swoosh as someone grabbed the RT unit from Steve, before Lucas’ own breathless voice chimed up, trembling and urgent.

“They started hunting for Eddie.”

“They?”, Dustin inquired in the background, “Who’s they? The cops?”

You didn’t need to hear Lucas’s reply.

Your gaze snapped up to meet Eddie’s, wide-eyed and scared, as the two of you simultaneously said in time with Lucas, “Jason.”

“Jason and the basketball team,” Lucas panted, “I tried to divert them but…they want to hurt Eddie.”

Jason had always despised Eddie.

But now, no matter whether Jason actually believed Eddie had killed Chrissy…you didn’t want to finish the thought.

If Jason rallied his mob of High School bullies for a witch hunt against Eddie, they would follow.

And a sickening new wave of horror – raw, unadulterated horror – flooded you at the thought of what would happen if Jason ever got a hold of Eddie.

Eddie, with his weirdness and charm, his infectious smiles and cynicism, his unapologetic ways of being himself. His gentleness and empathy and his heart of gold, who’d stood up to Jason when you hadn’t been able to. Who’d done more for you than he would ever know.

Yes, you were scared of the Upside Down and its creatures, of the Evil which had stirred once again beneath sleepy little Hawkins.

But you were far more scared of the Evil that was human; the Evil that was Jason Carver.

There were unshed tears glittering alongside the terror in Eddie’s dark gaze, his bottom lip trembling when he whispered, “Hunt the freak.”

▹ 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐒𝐢𝐱

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 | I know I’ve been keeping you waiting long enough now to learn what happened that November Night TM and why the reader still tries to push Eddie away, and I promise you’ll learn everything in the next two chapters which will be out this weekend. There will be about 9 chapters, plus an epilogue and a bonus chapter so stay tuned and thank you so much for reading, sweethearts! ♡ (I hope this little story won’t turn into a fix-it-fic after Friday but if it does: I WILL fix it.)

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞  𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠/𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩  𝐦𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭! 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭, 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 ♡

[jungkxook]

—make it right. (m)

⟶ pairing: jungkook x reader 

⟶ genre: punk!jungkook / band au / exes-to-lovers au / angst / smut

⟶ words: 11,528

⟶ rating: 18+ 

⟶ summary: you’re wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn’t be because it’s been almost a year since you broke up with him. worst part of it all is that you know he’s still in love with you too

⟶ warnings: jungkook has a tongue piercing, oral sex because of said tongue piercing (fem!recieving), more tattooed and long haired jungkook to feed my fantasies, angsty pining clingy sex, also just general soft sex, crying sex lol, riding, creampie, slight praise kink themes, unprotected sex

⟶ disclaimer: here’s my one year blog anniversary present inspired by the first ever fic i posted on here! yes this is technically a sequel to melomaniac but not really. sort of like an alternate universe to the alternate universe but you don’t really have to read one or the other to understand the other. so, i hope you enjoy!

⟶ this is part of the melodrama tour series!

You swear you’re over Jungkook.

In fact, you would even go so far as to say you hate him ━ but you know that’s not true. It’s just that it’s much easier to believe that if you tell yourself you hate him enough times, then maybe you’ll find a way to fix your broken heart, and the pain in his absence won’t hurt so bad. 

As it turns out, it hardly works.

Seven months since he had left you to travel the world with his band, basking in promised eternal glory and fame and money, and yet even miles and oceans away from where you stand, he’s all you can think about. There’s a myriad of reasons as to why trying to forget him was an useless endeavour. The hardships of trying to forget a cherished life-long friendship you had grown accustomed to was one of them, and those lingering happy moments you had shared with him as lovers however fleeting they may be was another. But then there was the ever present fact that Jungkook and his band were so quick to rise to fame, their names far exceeding the seemingly cramped and small city you had both reigned from, and suddenly the boy you had known forever, and everything special that makes him, was now being shared to hundreds of millions of adoring fans.

You were certain it was all Jungkook ever wanted, the added attention and the pretty girls fawning over him, because he had always been a casanova in many ways despite always promising you that you were the only one for him even before you had started dating. You had told him it wouldn’t work ━ I trust you as my best friend, you had said in a moment of despair, grasping at straws. I don’t have to worry about you breaking my heart. But I don’t know if I can trust you as my boyfriend ━ far before he and his band had been signed to their record label and paraded around the world, when they were still practicing in rented storage units and friends’ garages and rundown local studios, playing gigs anywhere and everywhere from dingy bars to college campus parties, supporting him every step of the way if only because he was your best friend, and he had been so persistent that it would work, chasing after you even when you tried to push him away. I would treat you right, he had urged so ardently late one drunken night after stumbling back to his apartment. I already practically worship the ground you walk on.

And how could you ━ who had already been so madly in love with him but scared of him breaking your heart, scared of losing him, scared of this happening ━ ever resist him? He made love seem so easy, and maybe that’s because it was when you were with him. But now, he was no longer yours; now, he was the world’s, and you were nothing but a mere hazy fragmented memory in his mind, long forgotten, watching from the side of the stage much like you always had from the very start of it all.

“Hey, isn’t this that band?” Jihyo’s voice bursts through your wandering trail of thoughts.

It takes you a moment to recollect yourself, finding yourself not in the arms of an ex-lover or stuck in a bygone time of months past, but in the cosy and amiable café nearest your campus and frequented by a plethora of your fellow peers. You’re fortunate to find that your other group mates have also become sidetracked, trailing far from the assignment you were all supposed to be working on. Dahyun is perched beside you, chin nestled in the palm of her hand and elbow propped on the table as she scrolls aimlessly through her phone; Jihyo and Taeyong were sat across from you, gossiping fervently about some mutual friend of theirs. You hadn’t known the pair long enough to know much about them or the tragic affair of whoever Mina is for accepting her cheating boyfriend back for the second time, and, likewise, they seem oblivious to your own self-wallowing once you realize what’s caught Jihyo’s sudden attention.

You hear his voice first.

It’s easy to discern, even after all this time and even amongst the muffled chatter and clanking of porcelain and cutlery of those seated around you. The sweet, velvety lull of Jungkook singing throughout the café from the overhead speakers, pretty upbeat melodies and synths mixed with wistful words making up the song he had written for you before he left, before the fame and fans, as a way of telling you how he truly felt about you. It feels like a dream, and maybe that’s because it is, bringing you instantly to another time, and another world. You still remember him showing you the unfinished song for the very first time, curled up next to him in his living room, listening to him serenade you to sleep, humming in places where he hadn’t formed the words yet, strumming along with his acoustic. It was yours and his until he showed the world almost a year ago on their very first show at the Seoul Olympic Stadium in front of thousands of people, as a final desperate act of proclaiming his love for you after a disastrous attempt at a first date that he had begged from you. Just one, he pleaded. To prove it to you that I can be a good boyfriend. And if things don’t work out, we can pretend it never happened and just go back to being us. That’s a promise.

At the time, you had treasured the song. It was beautiful in every way, his love transcending his words and enveloping your heart in pure warmth.

Now, you hate it.

It’s the third time you’ve heard the song that day. Despite avoiding it as best as you could, it seems to find a way to make itself known in your daily life like the nagging nuisance it is. Because fate seemed to enjoy its sadistic behaviour of having the song be one of the main reasons Jungkook and his band had skyrocketed to fame in such a short span of time and, suddenly, Jungkook disappearing from your life meant little when his voice remained as a constant reminder of what could have been, what couldn’t have been, and what fell apart at the already fragile seams. And what was a proclamation of love to you turned into nothing but a fabled tale of lovers. You wonder if people who hear it ever think about where they’ve gone, or who they’ve turned into, or if their love was made to last. You wonder, above all else, if people ever think about it at all.

“Beyond the Scene, right?” Taeyong asks. He seems just as animated to be discussing the song as Jungkook’s voice fades into Jimin’s.

“God, I love this song. It’s so dreamy,” Jihyo lets out a longing sigh as she slumps against her seat. “Y’know, I’m seeing them this Friday. It’s their first time being back in, like, five months.”

“Dude, I’ve been trying to get tickets to see them for months now!” Taeyong gaps incredulously. “How’d you score them?”

“A friend of a friend knows the guy who plays keys,” Jihyo says. “The cute mysterious one.”

“Yoongi, right?”

“Yeah━”

As the pair dive into a passionate discussion about the boys and their first full-length album released under their recently-signed-to label from Columbia Records, you shift uncomfortably in your seat. Dahyun almost immediately straightens up, eyes flickering from the pair to you and back again. You’re both fortunate she’s there, having known your past with Jungkook, and despise it a little more, wondering what her pitying gaze must mean.

“Hey, Dahyun. Y/N.” Taeyong’s voice grabs your attention now. “What do you think of these guys? Didn’t some of them used to go to this school?”

“Yeah, I had a few classes with their drummer.” Dahyun waves her hand airly, swiftly brushing over the fact that she did far more than have a “few classes” with any of the boys but was also one of their closest friends. “I think they’re great━” She glances sideways at you one more time. “Hey, maybe we should get back to the assignment now━”

“I had a class with their lead guitarist, Jungkook, last year,” Jihyo continues, her excitement getting the best of her as Dahyun’s voice drowns out in the foreground.

“No way!” This dubious exclamation comes from Taeyong.

“I tried talking to him once but he totally blew me off,” Jihyo says. “Which is fine, because he’s still hot. If I had known he was gonna be a famous rockstar, I’d have tried asking him out a second time━”

Suddenly, you feel sick.

It’s odd to hear two strangers discuss Jungkook’s life while you’re seated across from them, as if you’re nothing more than an outsider to whoever Jungkook has become now. But you can’t stand it anymore. You’re certain you look insane to them when you push your seat back abruptly, the metal legs screeching against the floor as you stand.

“Whoa, what’s wrong━?” Taeyong starts to ask but you’re gone before he can finish the question, murmuring a half-hearted excuse about how you forgot you needed to be somewhere.

You’ve rounded on your heel and have fled from the café before anyone can try to stop you, with nothing but Jungkook’s mellifluous voice fading in the distance as he croons aloud for you in a time long since passed.

You don’t care. Besides, you’re sure Dahyun will cover for you.

The worst part of it all? The dreadful realization that sinks into your mind, and into your heart, beckons the question: who’s to say you aren’t a stranger now to Jungkook’s life altogether?

“So, what are you trying to say?”

You remember the moment so clearly despite wanting nothing more than to forget it all, and the pain associated with it. Because even from then you knew you would always be in love with Jungkook, but you couldn’t have him. It’s hard to remember whose fault it is this time that caused the sudden fight, though random little arguments had been a frequent occurrence nearing the end of your one year relationship more often than not. You hate blaming it all on him, because you were certain you were at fault too. Maybe a little bit wary at times, a little selfish, wanting him all to yourself. Even though you knew he has an obligation to the world, it still hurt when he started making promises he couldn’t keep, blowing you off for soundchecks, or spontaneous interviews, or record label meetings. More and more you could feel the both of you drifting apart, maybe without even meaning for it to happen.

It was just that Jungkook was destined for a lifetime of greatness, and you were starting to think that meant without you.

You had stopped him late one night after he had stumbled home from his and the band’s nightly studio sessions as they worked through recording their debut album as a signed band. Lately, it seemed as if that was all that Jungkook cared about, and while you knew the band meant the world to him and you would always support him in his endeavour, you couldn’t help but feel lesser in comparison. That, and you hated seeing the boy overwork himself to the point of near exhaustion every night if only because their label was so adamant about having the album finished before the month ended.

“You want to, what? Break up?” Jungkook asked, this time more incredulously and less dumbfounded as he had initially been. He didn’t believe you just yet, but you couldn’t exactly tell what he was thinking anymore at that point.

“I just figured we could use some time apart,” You had suggested awkwardly. “Just a break.”

He had let out a breathless, disbelieving laugh. “Y/N, this is insane.”

You flinched. You remember having to look away, refusing to meet his suddenly sorrowful look. “Is it, Jungkook? I mean… Look at us. We’re falling apart. It was bound to happen eventually. We tried to make it work but maybe we’re on different paths now.”

“But I love you,” Jungkook gasped, exasperated. “Where is this coming from?”

“And I don’t want to have to tie you down for the rest of your life,” You continued on stubbornly, “or make you think you owe me your whole life just because you said you fell in love with me when you were thirteen━”

This seemed to catch Jungkook’s attention. He grew rigid in front of you, a look of wary agony contorting his face. “Is that what this is then? You don’t love me anymore?”

You didn’t respond immediately, instead the dread of the night seemed to finally catch up with you and you had grimaced. You had loved him even then, but the thought of voicing it aloud when you were supposed to be breaking up with him didn’t feel right. The tears began to swell in your throat and blur your vision. Jungkook must have noticed, because he always seems to spot the small things about you that even you miss. Almost instantly, the sour look on his face softened and his gaze turned helpless, with those big puppy-dog eyes that you’ve always been too fond of. He closed the distance between you at once, warm hands grabbing at your own.

“You do.” It wasn’t a question, but a statement. He knew you were still in love with him ━ or maybe he’d just been hopeful. “I know you do. So then why are you breaking up with me?” 

He let go of one of your hands to reach up to your face, calloused fingers gentle and soft against your cheek as they brushed away a rogue tear you hadn’t realized had fallen from your lashes. For a moment, you had let yourself get carried away. You leaned into the comforting heat and touch of his palm as he cradled your face.

“Don’t━” You choked out after a moment of silence, hating when your voice splintered into a sob. “Don’t touch me. Please, Jungkook. You’re only going to make this harder.”

His hands sprang away from your face almost at once, as if he had just been burnt by scalding fire. He wanted nothing more than to reach out and pull you into his arms but he had refrained the urge somehow, miraculously. So, instead, he grit his teeth and clenched his hands into fists as his arms fell limp at his sides.

“Then don’t do this. Don’t walk away,” Jungkook pleaded desperately. “I don’t understand. If you love me still, why are you making this harder for yourself?”

“Because what if that’s all we have in common anymore?” You asked wretchedly. “We care about each other. We always will. But you’re focused on the band, and this is my last year of school. Maybe we just need time to focus on ourselves.”

Jungkook blinked once. Twice. His stare was suddenly devoid of any emotion as he gawked at you, but you could tell that he was hurting. It was there in the fluttering of nerves in his jaw; there, in the way his lips pulled taut into a thin line; there, in the way even you could see his eyes begin to shimmer with wet tears that he unabashedly displays without trying to wipe away.

“So that’s it?” he asked. “After everything we’ve been through. You’re just gonna end it, like that? Y/N, come on━”

His hands had found purchase on your waist, and you had lingered for a moment too long; then, fumbling, he tried to grab delicately at your face, probing you to look at him. But you couldn’t. The moment you met his wounded gaze, you shook your head furiously. You had slithered out of his grasp, slipping through the seams of his fingers just like that.

“I━” You paused. “This isn’t some spur of the moment decision, Jungkook. How can you not see it? I’ve felt so alone these past few months. It’s like you’re here but not entirely. Your mind is always somewhere else, always thinking about the band and never about us.”

“What am I supposed to do?” he had asked hotly. “The band is my everything.”

“And what am I?” You asked. The question only mildly offended you, a shot right to your heart. Because if the band was his everything, what were you in comparison? “A distraction until you get everything you want? I can’t keep being that.”

“No!” he protested. “You’re not a distraction. You’re━” He stopped himself short, brows furrowing. “You can’t keep pinning this all on me. You just don’t trust me, do you? You never did. Always thinking I’m with some other girl when I’m not with you━”

“That’s not true,” You admonished.

“Isn’t it?” Jungkook retaliated.

“I don’t want to hear it,” You had said at once. Your tone was final, a decisive ending to your argument with him. “My mind’s already been made up, Jungkook. I don’t think we should see each other again until we sort all this out ━ or, until you sort out whatever your priorities are.”

Jungkook’s stare had hardened, a frown deeply etching into his face. He had straightened up then, perplexed and upset with your standoffish demeanour, as if thinking this surely meant nothing to you. But little did he know this would become one of the hardest decisions you would have to make.

“Fine,” he said rigidly. “If that’s how it is, then I’m gone. You’ll never have to see me again.”

You hadn’t known at the time just how terribly you had messed up ━ neither had Jungkook. He had left before you could stop him, or before either of you could change your minds. Because nothing’s worse than a broken heart, blinded by stubborn and defensive rage. Accusatory fingers and blaming him or you wouldn’t heal the wounds that had already formed, and ending things seemed to only make it worse, months of lonely heartache without Jungkook to further prove just that…

The last time you spoke to Jungkook, you told him you never wanted to see him again ━ or, at least, that seems to be how he interpreted it.

Now, you were standing in the midst of his domain, surrounded by everyone in his public sphere of friends and colleagues and acquaintances, and there was certainly no way of escaping him.

You were starting to think you’re losing mind, because you’d truly have to be insane to have worked up the nerve to agree to go with Dahyun to a party being held celebrating the band’s recent tremendous success and headlining their first world tour. Their manager, Jin, had personally reached out to you and Dahyun, calling you as a means of asking you to attend, though you had given him a timid and dismissive response at first. If it hadn’t been for Dahyun purposely and almost quite literally dragging you out under the premise that “even if you don’t want to see Jungkook, you at least owe it to the boys to go,” you don’t think you’d even be here. But while you didn’t know where you stood with Jungkook anymore, that didn’t mean you weren’t still proud of him or the rest of the boys. It just became harder to bask in their success with them when you had gone from knowing every detail of their lives, of Jungkook’s life, to knowing only what you could hear from gossiping fans around you, or plastered in tabloids, or all over any form of social media.

The party is held at some sort of fancy lavish restaurant, the entire back room rented out by the band’s record label and management, and is filled with dozens of people you don’t know. Fortunately, you and Dahyun aren’t left alone for very long, as an elated Jin and Jimin, the appointed lead singer, bustle their way through the crowd to you almost as soon as you arrive, leaving very little time for you to feel so awkward that you consider running away again. Jimin, in all his spritely and extravagant blue haired disposition, wastes no time in engulfing you both in a comforting hug as if months hadn’t passed since you’ve last seen them.

“Glad you guys could make it!” Jin smiles from over Jimin’s shoulder.

“It’s been forever,” Jimin affirms.

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” Dahyun says. “I’m surprised you guys didn’t forget about us, considering you’re big rockstars now.”

“Rockstar is a bit of an overstatement.” An effortlessly charming smirk unfurls on Jimin’s face, which seems to immediately dazzle Dahyun. “Besides, we could never forget you. Hey, come with me to find the guys. I think we could all use some time to catch up━”

He places his hand on the small of Dahyun’s back as he guides her away, leaving you with Jin. A moment of silence passes, in which time you can feel the boy’s eyes lingering on you.

“He knows you’re coming tonight, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Jin says carefully, treading over his words lightly. It’s too painfully obvious who he’s talking about, though you’re fortunate he doesn’t bother mentioning Jungkook’s name anyway. “There’s no point in hiding. I think you should talk to him.”

“I━” You trail off uselessly, your voice croaking. Fearing an imminent breakdown, you shake your head. Then, holding your chin a little higher, Jin’s startled to hear you pretend as if he hadn’t said anything. “It really is good to see you guys again. If you’ll excuse me, I think I need a drink.”

And you’re gone once more before he can say anything else. On your lonesome, you find refuge at the bar, though you only order water because you’re certain you won’t be able to stomach anything stronger. You don’t know how long you spend there, blankly staring at a spot on the wall as your mind wanders everywhere and yet nowhere at all until━

“Y/N?”

There it is again. The familiar sound of his voice, only this time it’s much more attainable, closer to your world and not elsewhere so high in the clouds like a hopeful dream. You brace yourself before turning to face him.

This close, Jungkook looks breathtakingly and painfully beautiful.

As always, he’s adorned in all black, the first few buttons of the silky blouse he’s wearing left undone so that it teases the exposed flesh of his collarbones and the rose tattoo that inks his chest, the thorny stems crawling up the side of his neck just below his ear, accompanied by a pair of leather pants. He’s the same as ever. The same imperfect tattoos that decorate his fingers and arms that you’ve always loved, the same ring-clad fingers painted a chipped black, the same hoop accentuating his button nose. His hair is still his natural dark ebony color (something he’s seemed to stick with much more as of late despite dyeing it wild colours throughout his past), only it’s a little longer than you last remembered, and the sides of his head are shaved in the form of an undercut. You’re foolishly surprised to find he still looks the same, but almost a year away from someone can both change nothing and yet everything all at once.

“Jungkook…” You want to say something more, but your words fall short.

It’s hard to tell if he’s angry or upset at seeing you there, but you don’t think he’s either, and you have an inkling of a thought that he purposely sought you out amongst the many faces. Instead, he looks hesitant, apprehensive, as if dreading how you’ll respond to see him. As if you’ll yell at him, push him away. You do neither, fortunately.

Just when the dense silence starts to become almost unbearable, Jungkook clears his throat. “I━ Wow… You look great.”

You blink once, a flustered blush warming your face that you hope he doesn’t notice. “Oh. Thank you. You do, too.”

His eyes flicker over your presence as he nods absentmindedly. Then, he’s offering you a pretty smile, soft and sweet in nature. No malice, or ill-intent. “Um━ How have you been?”

You hate this. You hate the awkward pauses, the prolonged periods of silence. A year ago, even despite knowingly pining for one another, your moments alone with Jungkook were never so terrible. He always found a way to say something cheekily flirtatious even when you were just friends, if only because he knew it would make you blush and giggle because, no matter how many times you would roll your eyes or nudge his sides, he also knew you secretly loved it. All the inside jokes, the milestones shared together, the ardent fleeting touches ━ where did it all go? And while you were both noticeably trying to maintain the peace and pleasantry between one another, it didn’t feel the same. It felt forced, fake. Distracted.

“I’ve been good,” You lie. “How about you? Actually, don’t answer that━” You let out a breathless chuckle. “You’ve clearly been doing amazing. I mean, your album, and your world tour. And tomorrow you’ve got a big day with the hometown show. I heard it sold out in the first ten minutes.”

“Something like that,” Jungkook says modestly. “It’s been kind of crazy. Namjoon says it’s good, but I miss━ I just miss a lot of how it used to be. The slow pace. I dunno. The quick burn up is quick to burn out, right?”

“Maybe,” You admit. “But I think you’ve all got it in you. You’ve worked so hard for this moment. Enjoy it while you’re in it. You deserve it, Jungkook.”

His stare softens as it meets yours. “Thanks.”

Another beat of silence passes. He looks as if he’s warring with himself, as if he’s fighting the urge to say something more, gnawing at his lower lip, brows knitting together.

“Yo, Jeon!” A foreign voice from amongst the crowd beckons aloud abruptly for the boy.

Jungkook glances over his shoulder swiftly in search of the source, then waves his hand as if to motion he’ll be there later. Then, he turns back to you. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. I won’t keep you,” You say. “I know you’re busy.”

“But━” He stops himself, his jaw clamping shut. Changing his mind, he decides to ask hopefully, “Will you be at the show tomorrow?”

“Of course.” The affirmation seems to relieve him, even though it’s a spontaneous decision made by you on the spot. Before this moment, you hadn’t been so sure you could go.

“Promise?”

You can’t help but shake your head, a chuckle slipping past your lips at the innocent boyish question he asks. “Yes, Jungkook.”

His smile widens a little more, however sheepish it may be. “Then can you promise me one more thing?”

“What?” You quirk a brow, intrigued to say the least.

“Will you drop by the hotel we’re staying at tomorrow morning, so I can take you out for a coffee? Just to catch up. It’s been a while,” he says timidly. Then, feeling a little stupid for being so bold, scrambles to explain himself. “And no pressure if you don’t want to. I just thought━”

You can’t possibly say no. Not when it comes to Jungkook, all your past struggles seemingly vanishing without a trace. “I’d like that a lot, Jungkook.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

Then he’s positively beaming, his self-indulgent grin making your own heart flutter in your chest. When he leaves your side that night, you find yourself looking forward to the future perhaps a little too optimistically. But how terrible could grabbing coffee with your ex be, if you had survived the first wretched encounter?

So, in the morning when you wake, there’s not a stutter in your step or a wavering flicker of your confidence as you make your way to the Four Seasons hotel Jungkook had told you to from the night before. In fact, a selfish part of you almost thinks that maybe things will start to look up. That maybe you and Jungkook can finally make amends. That maybe you never had a reason to fear Jungkook breaking your heart if he made such an effort to heal it.

The hotel itself is one of the most luxurious ones in Seoul, a considerable contrast from when the boys were slumming it on friends’ couches and in their run-down van touring the country. The room Jungkook tells you to meet him at is one of the hotel’s grand suites, located on the higher levels of the building. But as soon as you reach the landing and have begun making your way towards the designated door, it flings open and a pretty girl comes stumbling out. She’s giggling at something that has just happened inside, her hair a dishevelled mess which she ruffles up in an attempt to fix it. She’s adorned in a pretty little dress, the skirt of which is hiked a little higher up and one strap falling down her shoulder, as she clings her shoes and bag to her chest. She smiles at you on the way past, though she’s too far gone in her own little daze that you wonder if she even notices you at all.

But you certainly notice her, and, all at once, your reverie of him and what could be comes crashing to the ground once more.

Maybe you should have stayed, should have waited for Jungkook to let him explain, but you were too afraid to hear an answer you weren’t looking for. You try desperately not to imagine Jungkook loving someone else. You try not to think about him holding her the same way he held you, his lips finding purchase on some other girl. But by trying to avoid the thought, it beckons the unwarranted memories of how it felt to be loved all over by him once upon a time. You wonder how many girls he’s hooked up with in your time apart, and the overwhelming sense of regret washes over you.

You don’t bother to wait. You know fleeing is the easiest option rather than facing your fear, but you’re far too timid of rejection again. Instead, even before you can approach Jungkook’s hotel room and knock on the door, you turn on your heels and run.

You’re long gone by the time Jungkook comes to the door, prying it open in search of you on a whim. When he doesn’t see you, he glances up and down the hallway but to no avail. Namjoon comes slinking past inside then in his own disoriented haze, having just woken up from moments ago when the girl he had taken back to their room the night before left. Even then, Jungkook had warned the rhythm guitarist against bringing the girl back, pointing out the fact that they had much to do today ahead of their concert. Namjoon had promised it wouldn’t be long, that she would be gone in the morning, and Jungkook was fortunate enough that the suite had two separate bedrooms on the opposite ends of one another so that Jungkook didn’t have to hear whatever it was the pair were doing in the other.

“Did Mina leave?” Namjoon asks through a yawn, digging the heels of his palms into his tired eyes. When Jungkook nods, a sliver of a reminiscent smug grin tugs at Namjoon’s lips. “You missed out, Jungkook.”

The cheeky quip is met with a roll of Jungkook’s eyes. “I’m sure I’ll survive. You know I’m not like that.”

Like that━ As in midnight hook-ups and cheap thrills alike. He tried it once, far ago when you had first broken up with him, on a drunken spur of a moment as a way of healing the anguish in his heart. It hadn’t worked then; he assumed it would never work.

Namjoon seems to understand this immediately. He gives Jungkook a look that the boy doesn’t notice. “Well… is Y/N here yet?”

“No. But I’m sure she’ll be here,” Jungkook grimaces. He hopes. “Something probably came up.”

Namjoon clasps a reassuring hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, humming aloud, “Good luck, dude.”

But you never arrive, even though Jungkook waits for most of the morning, nervous eyes flickering to the door at every commotion outside, running to check only to see room service delivering breakfast or concierge showing guests to their rooms. He has no choice but to give up on the thought of you coming when Jin knocks on their door, prompting the boys to get a start on their day. Interviews and soundcheck await, but how could he possibly go on with his life without knowing what happened to you?

Which is why you stay on his mind for the rest of the day, distracting him in every aspect, mixing up his words when he’s in the midst of his interview, tripping up on stage as the boys set up and begin to rehearse. As the hours wane down to just an hour before the show, the thought of performing in front of thousands of fans starts to make him nervous and he doesn’t know why. He’s done this countless times before, almost nightly during the tour, so what stops him now? Of course he knows the answer, had grown all too accustomed to the feeling the first few months in which the break up had been so recent. It would always be about you.

But just before the show starts, Jungkook is making his way backstage from the greenroom, where the band had been waiting, to the stage. Fiddling with his in-ear piece, he almost doesn’t notice you and Dahyun weaving your way through the roadies and sound tech, being guided by Jin to the pit on the side of the stage where only family and friends are allowed. You don’t see him, and there’s a split moment where he thinks he should just let you go, until he doesn’t.

As he makes his way to you, the tour manager for the band intervenes part way, shouting out to the boy. “Where are you going? We’re on in five, Jungkook!”

“Yeah, I’ll be right back━” He waves the manager off as politely as he can, wasting no time to chase after you. He calls out your name, though it drowns out in the sound of the music being blasted through the speakers of the arena and the screaming fans. “Y/N, wait up!”

He’s relieved when he sees you stop in your tracks, turning to face him as Dahyun and Jin become lost in the chaos of the backstage. He comes to stand just before you, smiling breathlessly at you, unaware of the way your shoulders tense at the sight of him.

“You didn’t show up this morning,” he says as a way of greeting, his voice a curious prob. “What happened?”

You try desperately not to get lost in his big beautiful eyes, laced with such hope. Instead, you fold your arms over your chest, looking away. “Something came up.”

It’s then that Jungkook senses something is wrong. You’re upset with him, though he can’t tell why. Aside from the obvious rift in your relationship that had initially split you two up, you had been so pleasant to see him the night before. But he doesn’t give up just yet. “Well… you’re here now.”

You meet his gaze with your own hardened one. “For the boys.”

A shot right to his heart almost makes Jungkook gasp for air. He flinches, and then his stare softens, and you wish he wouldn’t look at you like that, out of fear that you might just relapse into his arms.

“What’s wrong?” He closes the distance between the two of you. He wants nothing more than to reach out and touch you, but refrains with much difficulty. There’s dozens of things that could be wrong, and he braces himself for your retaliation. “You didn’t want to come, did you?”

When you don’t respond, but also don’t stray from his side, Jungkook hurries to speak again if only to fill the tense silence.

“Look, last night… Maybe it was just me, but last night seemed like things were okay,” he says. “Was I wrong to feel that way?”

“Jungkook…”

“Please, just let me know,” he begs. “Because you’re all I can think about these days, it’s driving me crazy. And I don’t know what’s going on, but the reason I wanted to see you this morning was because I hate how things ended between us, and I wanted to tell you…” He swallows nervously as he trails off uncertainly. “I wanted to tell you that I’m still in love with you. And I can’t get you out of my head. These months away from you made me realize that I━”

Suddenly, you’re shaking your head and he knows you don’t believe him. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he regrets saying it, if only because they seem to enliven you. Now, you push yourself away from the boy. “I’m not doing this right now. You’re not doing this right now.”

As if to further your point, the band’s tour manager can be heard calling out frantically for the boy. “Two minutes, Jungkook!”

But Jungkook is hardly paying attention now, instead solely focused on you. “Please, Y/N━”

“No, you don’t get to say that to me,” You admonish hotly. You can’t bite the words back, no matter how hard you try. “You don’t love me. You think you love me, but you don’t.”

His jaw clenches, and his brows furrow into a frustrated stare. “I do.”

“You don’t.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Stop.” The harsh word makes Jungkook clamp his mouth shut. You shake your head furiously, but you know it’s only to distract yourself so that you don’t let the tears fall. “You’re being selfish, Jungkook. You don’t get to take all of me, love all of me, and leave, only to come back months later and pretend you’re still in love with me. And whatever this━” You gesture vaguely between the two of you, “is, or was, doesn’t exist anymore. We both need to stop pretending otherwise.”

Jungkook winces, eyes tinged with pain. “You don’t mean that.”

You don’t respond. Elsewhere, his tour manager starts to grow impatient, scolding the boy aloud, “Jungkook, we’re gonna be late. Hurry up!”

“Yeah, I’ll be there!” Jungkook calls back, irritated. Maybe he is being selfish. He’s wasting precious time by not leaving, all the hard work that the crew put into tonight’s show, and the fans awaiting his and the band’s arrival. He can still hear the crowd, this time their buzzing voices amalgamating into unanimous chanting muffled by the walls that sounds akin to the band’s name.

“You should go,” You say now. “Don’t wanna disappoint them.”

But he’d throw it all away for you if you told him to. He promised you that even before he had left for tour, before the band had been signed. Had you forgotten? Because he surely hadn’t.

“Y/N…”

“Good luck out there.”

Then, you’re gone before Jungkook can even make a move to stop you ━ but even if he did, what could he do to make you stay? The feat seemed impossible, and you always seem to find a way to slip from his grasp no matter what he does. Only this time he has no choice but to let you go, out of fear of being berated further by his tour manager or angering the boys so much to the point where he gets kicked out of the band.

He makes it on stage in time, the band filing out to take their places one at a time, deafening screams blowing out their in-ear pieces that stand no chance as each member joins the stage. The lights fizzle out until complete darkness cloaks the venue, but Jungkook still looks for you. He finds you in the pit on the side of the stage, Jin and Dahyun standing beside you, and finds it hard to keep his eyes off of you even though you attempt to pretend as if he’s not even there.

After their first adrenaline-filled opening song of the night, Jimin takes to the microphone to greet the crowd who scream back an indiscernible shout as, elsewhere, you notice Jungkook pry himself away from the microphone stand on his side of the stage to wave the rest of the boys over to Hoseok’s drum kit. They murmur amongst themselves briefly, though they go unnoticed by Jimin or the crowd as the lead singer entertains them.

“Seoul! It’s good to be back. We’ve missed you all so much━”

Jimin’s words get cut short when Jungkook, having just parted ways with the rest of his members for their impromptu meeting, beckons the lead singer over, out of range of the microphone. They seem to discuss something just as shortly as Jungkook had talked with the rest of the boys, in which time Jimin nods understandingly, then steps away from the microphone. Then, Jungkook takes to the microphone, the rings on his fingers glistening under the spotlight as he grips the stand.

“I know the night’s only getting started,” Jungkook’s voice wavers as he speaks, “but we’re gonna slow things down for a moment. We hope you don’t mind.”

Intrigued murmurs echo around the crowd, suddenly buzzing with excitement as they watch Jungkook with eager eyes. A few encouraging bellows has Jungkook smiling smally. Jin, on the other hand, looks perplexed.

“What is he doing?” Jin asks no one in particular, a quizzical look on his face. “This isn’t part of their set.”

“I think a lot of you might know this next song,” Jungkook continues, “but I don’t think I’ve ever expressed how much it means to me. This next one, I wrote for a special someone, and it sort of helped us achieve all of this. So, I think it’s time that person knows how much they mean to me.”

Jungkook glances nervously over at the boys standing behind him, each in their own respective spots. Then, sweeping his gaze across the crowd, he finally finds you already staring up at him. His own eyes soften into a look of longing, however hardened by past tribulations and sorrow it may be. As if he’s determined not to lose you again; determined to make it up to you.

“This next one is for Y/N,” he says timidly. He has to turn away from you in the next second, afraid he might just break down before the fans and the boys and you. “I’m sorry I messed up.”

As the boys take their place, with Jimin taking an acoustic and fading back from the limelight, you wonder why. But then you hear it, the familiar beginning chords making up the song you had so wholeheartedly claimed you hated. Only this time they’re gentler, made up of acoustic strums of a guitar, Hoseok’s drums, and Yoongi’s keys, all amalgamating into a pretty song almost unrecognizable.

Then, Jungkook starts singing, and what was once a wistful dreamy song of prospective lovers suddenly turns into a melancholic requiem for you. Some lyrics are changed, present tense turning to the past, and Jungkook sings his way throughout the entirety of the song in contrast to the one that plays all over the radio featuring the other member’s voices. The fans sing along, their voices melding with Jungkook’s into some sort of celestial mellifluous choir, and you’re left no longer wondering if the fans would ever know the meaning behind the song that Jungkook had brought to life. Because now, it wasn’t just Jungkook singing to you; it was the whole world. And yet, paradoxically at the same time, it felt all that much more intimate. As if it were just you and him once again, seated on the couch in his small apartment, listening to the beginnings of what would be their number one selling song.

Above all else, you realize that you don’t seem to hate the song as much you claimed to.

That night, you can’t sleep.

You find yourself leaving the venue earlier than everyone else, even when the boys invite you and Dahyun to join them for celebratory drinks, returning to your home in the hopes of forgetting the night altogether. Instead, you stay up tossing and turning, your mind filled with memories consisting of only Jungkook and his haunting voice singing to you, and for you. But at some point during the night nearing one or two in the morning, just when you give up on the idea of sleep, the sound of incessant knocking at your front door rouses you from your trance.

When you finally answer the door, you’re more than surprised to see that Jungkook stands on the other side of the threshold as if coming to you from a dream. But then you register the fact that he’s a complete mess. Dark circles line his weary eyes, now smudged with that faint hint of charcoal liner he had worn for the concert, hair so messily mused beyond repair, and you notice quickly that he’s crying, fresh tears glazing over his pupils and streaking down his face. It’s startling to see him in such shambles, a complete contrast to how effortlessly charming and confident he usually portrays himself. But though you’ve seen him cry before on various occasions, now is all the more unsettling.

“I━I’m sorry.” It’s the first thing he says, screwing his eyes shut tightly as he shakes his head. He fumbles over his words, slurring them together in his rush to get them out. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to see right now, but I needed to see you.”

“Are you drunk?”

“No, no, I swear━” He pries his eyes open to meet your desolate stare, tears unabashedly falling from his lashes. His voice thins with desperation. “You said we need to stop pretending, but I’m not pretending. I never have been. And if you think ━ if you truly believe ━ that there’s nothing here between us anymore… Tell me. Right here, right now. And I’ll leave you alone forever, you’ll never have to see me again. I just━ I’ve missed you every moment and it kills me.”

You’re silent for a long period, pitying gaze sweeping over him, but he doesn’t care if he looks insane. He just needs you to know how he feels.

“Well, how do you think I felt?” You ask the question carefully, but then the memories come flooding back and the semblance of a scowl forms on your face. “You leave and suddenly everywhere I look I see you. Your song is playing everywhere, you and the guys are everywhere, and I’m reminded every day about how we ended. About how you left me.”

Jungkook blinks. He shakes his head stubbornly, the nerves in the corner of his jaw fluttering as he grits his teeth. “You were the one who said we should take a break.”

“A break!” You snap sternly. “Fuck, Jungkook. I didn’t want you out of my life forever. I wanted you to fight for me.”

“No, don’t put this all on me,” Jungkook pleads helplessly. “I have always fought for you. But the minute things got rough, you bailed. You told me you never wanted to see me again. What the hell was I supposed to do?”

“I was scared!” You try to swallow the tears away that start to form as a lump in your throat but to no avail. “I was, and I still am, so fucking scared of losing you. And you━ It felt like you gave me no choice. Like you were over it. I would have wanted to make things work but you left. You just… You left, and suddenly it was like you were never in my life at all. Seven months, and I get no word from you.”

“I fucked up, okay!” He cries out so suddenly, it silences you at once. He bites at his lip, and straightens up half-heartedly, running a hand through his hair. When he meets your stare this time, he’s zealous yet sincere. “I know that I messed up. I know. And it fucking kills me every single day. I don’t know where it went wrong, but it did, and I know it’s all my fault. When you said we should take a break and I agreed, I was only thinking about you. Because I knew I was disappointing you every day, and I was afraid that was all I would ever do, and you don’t deserve that. I thought it would be better this way, if I was just gone from your life for good. But I can’t forget you.”

“How can I trust you?” You ask. When his pained stare gawks at you, you tilt your chin a little higher. “I came by your hotel room yesterday morning, just like you asked, only to see that girl leaving.”

Jungkook’s gawk turns into a dumbfounded expression. He looks weary as he shakes his head, as if struggling to keep up with the way you accuse him now. He tries not to focus on the fact that you actually came to the hotel, then feels inconsolably terrible when he realizes why he never got to see you. “That girl was Namjoon’s fling. We were sharing the suite, and they were in a whole other room. I didn’t even think about her━”

Your stare droops from him, and he knows he’s struggling to keep you on his side.

“Okay, fine. You want trust? I’ll give it to you,” he says. A newfound sense of confidence seems to possess him, though he approaches the topic with extra caution anyway. “After we broke up, I was crushed. I couldn’t move on from you, and the guys thought I should get drunk, find a random girl to bring back to our hotel one night on tour. And I listened, because I wanted to forget you, but it didn’t work. All I could think about was you. Every time she touched me, every time she kissed me, I could only imagine it was you. And when she left that night, I broke down because I felt like such a fucking idiot. I instantly regretted it. Like, even though you and I weren’t together, I still did something to hurt you by sleeping with that girl. And all it did was hurt me too in the process.”

He pushes himself forward, taking a step over the threshold. Even despite him admitting his wrongs to you, you can’t find it in yourself to hate him. Because, at the end of it all, he’s here at your doorstep, pleading for you to forgive him, but he had already won the moment your eyes had landed on him.

“You’re the reason I am who I am today.” His voice is hoarse when he speaks, almost in a whisper. “That I get to do what I love for a living. But all of it means nothing without you. You saw me at my worst, and my best. And you were the best I ever had, and I ruined it, and the worst part of it all is that there’s nothing I can do to make up for it. But I promise I can make it better ━ I can make it right again ━ if you just give me a chance.”

There’s a short pause filled with poignant silence in which Jungkook thinks you’ll push him away or scream at him. He’s fortunate when you do neither; instead, he hears you whisper faintly.

“Kiss me, Jungkook.”

And it’s more than enough for him. His heart thrums in delight as he wastes no time in reaching out for you. His hands are warm as they come to grasp at your face, holding you delicately; then he’s leaning in to you, drawing you closer and closer until his lips are pressed against yours. It’s unadulterated, but not without feverish passion, noses smushing together in both your eager hastiness to close the distance between the two of you. It doesn’t last long either, though that’s partly because Jungkook can taste your tears mingling on your lips, and can feel your faint smile form against his mouth. Kissing him feels both foreign yet familiar at the same time. You know the feel, the taste, and the sense of comfort that comes with it, but months apart from one another has left it feeling different.

Jungkook’s thumb wipes away at the tears on your face. “Why are you crying?”

It’s a useless question, he knows, but he needs something to fill the silence. He’s relieved when he hears you snicker. “Because I miss you, you idiot. And I’m sorry I’ve been acting like such an idiot. I’ve messed everything up.”

His own shoulders quiver with contented mirth. “It’ll be okay.” As he leans in once more for another kiss, you can feel him murmur against your mouth, “I promise I’ll make it up to you.”

“Then make it right,” You say, “right here and now.”

“I’ll do anything for you,” he promises earnestly.

Jungkook understands the underlying yearning in your voice even without having you explain yourself. He knows, if only because he can feel it too. As his hands fall to your waist, fingers digging into your skin, your own arms wrap around his neck and pull him into your apartment. He has you pressed up against the nearest wall within seconds, kissing at your throat, then up to your jawline.

“It’s been so long,” he sighs.

You hum in agreement, though your mind is already spinning, and all you can muster is a weak yet urgent croak of his name. “Jungkook.”

Your fingers thread through his hair, tugging at the roots and he croons with delight. His lips finally meet yours again, only this time he lets his tongue lav at your lower lip. Almost as soon as he does so, you notice something strange. It takes a moment for you to register the small metallic object that grazes your lower lip but when you do, you pull away from the boy.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks in a confused dazed.

“Is that…” You rasp. “Did you get your tongue pierced?”

Suddenly, Jungkook is smirking, one brow shooting up to his hairline in a smug demeanour. He sticks out his tongue for you to see the silver ball poking through and you almost moan at the sight of it as the thought entices you.

“Oh.” Your face warms with a flustered blush. “That’s new.”

“Yeah,” he says. “Always wanted to get it done. Guess I was saving it for the right moment.”

“Right moment, huh?” You scoff as if the implications don’t already have your thighs rubbing together. “Care to explain?”

“I think you’ll find out soon enough.”

You dissolve into a fit of giggles, marvelling at the way Jungkook’s familiar flirtatious bantering can soothe your troubled heart at once. It’s almost as if time hasn’t lapsed between the two of you.

“I’ve missed this,” You sigh. “I’ve missed you, Jungkook.”

You spot him smiling before he’s kissing you again, this time his tongue slipping past your parted lips to meet yours midway. The piercing is strange to adjust to, but you get used to it quickly, humming at the feeling of it against the soft flesh of your tongue. It’s easy to get lost in one another’s lips as you pull and tug at Jungkook, guiding him to your bedroom, nearly tripping and stumbling over one another in the process. He knows the path like the back of his hand, the same way he knows every curve and dimple of your body as his greedy hands explore you. He has you sprawled out beneath him on the bed in a matter of seconds, carelessly shedding each other of your clothes until you’re left naked and he’s without a shirt.

As he’s tugging off the hoodie you’re wearing, he realizes two things abruptly. One: you’re not wearing anything beneath it, your bare body dazzling him at once. And, two: a sudden thought jogs his memory that makes him ponder aloud, “Is this my sweater?”

“Yes,” You admit sheepishly.

He smirks. “Was wondering where it went.”

“You forgot to take it back when…” You don’t finish your sentence. Instead, you tug your fingers at the hair at the nape of his neck, as if scared he’ll leave again. He doesn’t. Instead, he nestles his body between your legs, tonguing patterns on your neck. “I wear it sometimes, especially when I’m missing you. I don’t know… It just━ It still smells like you, even after all this time.”

Jungkook’s heart nearly implodes. He wonders briefly if he’d prefer fucking you without or with the hoodie; but then he’s letting himself time to study your naked body and he deduces he needs to gaze at you in your entirety a little longer.

“Keep talking,” he murmurs. He starts kissing down your body now, starting from your throat to your collarbones, between the valley of your breasts, then your navel. “Tell me more. How badly did you miss me?”

“So badly,” You whimper. Your legs instinctively part to make way for him as he shifts downward, kissing just above your core. A shudder runs down your spine when he kisses the inside of your thigh. “Sometimes I’d put your sweater on and touch myself to the thought of you.”

He grunts against you, teeth softly biting at your flesh. His tongue pokes against your thigh, the metallic piercing a dully cold sensation as he licks upward to your core. He laps at your folds, as if to taste the glistening cum that starts to form.

Your breath audibly hitches in your throat, hips jutting forward to meet his mouth. “I missed your hands, and the way they made me feel. Missed your mouth between my legs. Missed cumming on your tongue, or your fingers.”

Now, you’re starting to understand what he meant by waiting for the right moment to use the piercing to its fullest potential. As he lifts his head higher to tongue at your clit, the piercing makes your head spin. The contrast between his soft tongue and the harsh metal works wonders against you, rubbing you just the right way that has you a moaning mess beneath him within a matter of seconds.

“Fuck━” You cry out, hands twisting in his hair. “My hands never feel the same. You always made me feel so good, Jungkook.”

He hums something in response, the sound reverberating up your spine. He busies himself by replacing his tongue with his finger, rubbing small, controlled circles against your clit as he lowers his mouth to your folds. He teases the piercing against the sensitive flesh before lapping at your insides, burrowing further into you.

“Ooh, Jungkook━”

The noise that eclipses your throat is a piqued sob of delight. The piercing that scratches against your walls has your insides throbbing, body twisting and turning beneath him. You grab at your breasts, fingers pinching at the perked buds as you imagine Jungkook’s hands in replace of yours.

His mouth wraps just right around you and he sucks hard, earning a beautiful moan from you. It doesn’t take long for you to draw closer to your high, sputtering and whimpering at every action he does. Soon he’s burrowing his face even closer against your core, nose nudging against your clit in a way that makes you writhe and squirm. Before he can get carried away (and he certainly could), Jungkook decides to come to a stop which seems to thoroughly surprise and upset you. When you feel his missing warmth between your legs and the sticky wet mess accentuated further by the cool air that hits you, you pout like a child.

“That’s not fair,” you whine.

“Sorry, baby. Need to feel you.” He pulls away from you and crawls over your body once more. He kisses your lips, sloppy and heated, and lets you taste your own succulence on your tongue. “God, I need to feel you so bad.”

You’re just as much startled as you were seconds ago to hear the slight whine in his voice, a sound hot enough to almost push you over the edge.

“I’ve missed you too, just so you know,” he moans, burrowing his face in the crook of your neck. Your fingers continue to scratch delicately at his scalp and he simpers delightfully against you. He ruts his hips eagerly against yours, the bulge in his pants rough against your core. “So fucking much.”

“How much?” Now it’s your turn to ask, your curiosity getting the best of you once you find your voice.

“Every day,” he sighs as he continues to grind his hips into yours. “Get so hard at the thought of you. Your pretty mouth moaning my name. Your hands in my hair, just like this━” You pull a little tighter at the roots of his locks, and he has to stifle his contented moan. “And your body━ Fuck, your body. You take my dick so well, baby.”

“Jungkook,” You mewl impatiently. “Wanna feel you in me.”

“Fuck, okay. Okay━”

He hastens to rid himself of his pants and you help, arms momentarily tangling with one another in your rush. Then he’s kneeling before you, one hand planted firmly on your hip, rings digging roughly against your skin, as his other hand wraps a fist around his hard length, slowly pumping himself. He guides the tip of his leaking cock to your core and pushes himself forward carefully. He easily slips past your folds, coaxed by your slick walls, that he has to pause to give you both time to adjust to the feeling. It’s just as he remembered, though somehow better, and he isn’t so sure how long he’ll last. You don’t know either, marvelling in the way he stretches you open.

“Oh, shit,” he grunts.

He watches as your jaw drops open in a silent gap, your eyes fixed only on his. You grab at his hips, fingers scratching delicately over the laurel tattoos inked there, prompting him to move. He does so in one languid movement, burying deeper and deeper into you until you feel so full and he feels so warm. He fucks into you a little sluggish at first, taking his time and enjoying the way your clenching walls feel around his throbbing cock. It’s a pace so maddening that it soon has the both of you panting, heavy moans filling the space around you. Your own fingers dig into his shoulders, his back, his hips ━ anything to keep a hold on reality as you slowly lose yourself to the pleasure. He reaches for one of your hands, eager to feel you in more ways than one, and laces his digits with yours, pressing your clasped palms above your head. You squeeze tightly, his name falling from your lips in a cry.

“Doing so good,” he mumbles through gritted teeth. “Feel so nice, baby.”

Jungkook grasps at your hips and flips the two of you over. He lands on his back on the soft mattress and you fumble to not break the pace. Firmly planting your hands on his chest, you grind against him, sweat coating your forehead. He watches you with a dark fascination, brows screwed together and jaw clenched as your own cum starts leaking down his length. Not wanting to waste another moment without being beside you, he sits up and shifts you in his lap. Then he pulls you close to him, chest pulled flush against chest to the point where he can feel the rapid beat of your heart against his. You whimper aloud, wrapping your arms tightly around his neck as he guides your hips back and forth on him. There’s little to no space between your gyrating bodies, sweaty skin sticking to one another.

At some point, Jungkook notices you’re crying again, steady tears tangling in your lashes and wetting your face. Despite the way you’re driving him to near euphoria, he brushes your hair out of your face and manages to ask, “What’s wrong? Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

“I’m sorry━ fuck,” You gasp. He can tell you’re genuinely sympathetic for whatever’s making you cry but it’s hard for you to convey it properly when you’re still so consumed by him. “I’m so sorry━ I’m okay. I just━ You feel so good, Jungkook.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, rubbing tender circles against your waist that contrasts with the fierce burn between your legs. “You’re okay, baby. Doing so well for me, aren’t you? Cum for me, yeah?”

You won’t tell him why you’re crying ━ not yet, at least. But Jungkook thinks he knows why; he can feel it too. The bitter sense of longing and mingling regret for all the time lost. The overwhelming feeling of love of finally being reunited. You continue to roll your hips against his, and he, breathless, rubs his nose faintly against yours, resting his forehead against yours.

It doesn’t take much longer after that for you to come tumbling to you high. He strokes your hair so lovingly as you ride him recklessly, leisure rolls of your hips driving you to your high. When you cum, the feeling completely washes over you and electricity crackles in your veins, warming your entire body. He holds you close to his chest the entire time as you writhe with pleasure, your walls clenching around his cock.

“Fuck, I’m gonna━” His voice splinters off as you busy yourself by sucking a bruise onto the underside of his jaw.

He reaches his high moments later just as you’re beginning to wince at the feeling of oversensitivity. He grunts and groans, spilling his hot seed into you, and then, with his hips slammed against yours, grinds leisurely to ride out your highs.

Then, the room falls silent.

Neither of you move from your warm embrace, with you still perched on his lap, his cock softening inside you as his cum runs down his length and onto your thighs. Your face is hidden in the crook of his neck, and he waits until you’ve both calmed down from your orgasms. You’re running your fingers through his sweaty hair, but he knows you’re still sad. He kisses you all over in the meantime, a few ticklish kisses that make you smile sleepily and a few loving ones that have your heart swelling. Then, he gingerly shifts your head to look at him.

“Why were you crying?” he asks silently.

It takes you a moment to respond. You cling to him tightly when you do and all he can do is cradle you closer to him. “I don’t want this to be some kind of drunken one night stand thing. Like we both needed one last fuck to get over each other, or something."

“You mean more to me than a one night stand,” Jungkook says and it makes you smile smally, a little timidly. 

“That’s good,” You say, “because I’m not over you or us. I want us to work out. I love you too much to lose you again, and I’m scared this might be the last time I’ll ever see you.”

“I’m not letting that happen,” Jungkook shakes his head furiously. “I’d be an absolute idiot to let that happen. You won’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere this time. You’re my priority, Y/N. You always have been. Not the band and definitely not the record label.”

“I’m sure the boys will love to hear that,” You snort to yourself.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure they’ll understand,” Jungkook grins. But you’re only joking, and you know he sort of is too. That’s not to say the band isn’t still important to him, but you take precedent over it. “Without you, I wouldn’t even have the chance to be where I am now.”

You nuzzle your nose against his own, and he steals one sweet kiss from you. 

“Do you really mean all that?”

“With my whole heart.”

And, when he says it, you know he means it. There’s no reason not to trust him.

You’ll both move eventually from one another’s arms, soft touches from Jungkook peeling you off of him and wrapping you in your covers before falling asleep beside you, and waking up in the morning with you in his arms. But, for now, it’s just you and him, a little broken still yet all the more in love.

While you both know healing a broken heart will take time, you’re both prepared for it because you’re both worth it to one another ━ and that’s all either of you really need in the end to make it right.

⟶ All rights reserved to © jungkxook. I do not allow reposting, translating, or any sort of modifying and reuploading of my work. 

⟶ Feedback is always appreciated!

[roymustangonly]

Valueable Moments

A story in which you are a male Lieutenant working directly under Roy Mustang. 

FULLMETAL ALCHEMIST BROTHERHOOD PART ONE SPOILERS!!

Though it always seemed that the man was stressed, you couldn't stand to see Roy in the state that he was currently in: hair pointed outwards in every which way, deep circles beneath his jet black eyes, and his overall sluggish demeanor.

The broken man took his seat at his desk, groaning as he laid his head in his arms for a moment. He didn't care about his appearance around you at the moment, knowing you'd excuse his current behavior. "Good morning, Sir." You chimed, attempting to forecast a bit of your energy towards him. A slightly less painful groan was left in return, causing the edges of your mouth to twinge in sympathy.

Today was a rather slow day, which would work in Roy's favour. It was a Friday morning, with most work being completed already from the previous four work days. There were a few papers that he needed to sign, however they could technically wait until the following week.

Roy didn't seem to move after he uttered that groan, which could only mean that he had fallen asleep. You couldn't help but smile, quietly placing your pen back in its holding cup. You stood from your seat and pushed in the chair carefully, walking over to the Colonel. The position that he was in didn't seem right for his back, so you decided to try to lift him. The man didn't seem like he weighed too much. With a height of 5'8" and a lean muscular composition, he was bound to be within your carrying capabilities. This was where your theories fell flat.

You placed your arm around his two legs, and another behind his back, ready to lift. However, Roy was much heavier than he seemed. He must be carrying more muscle weight than you anticipated. You huffed and removed your arms, gazing back at the man before you. He was still fast asleep. The poor man must not have slept last night. Who could blame him after losing Maes…

You sighed and placed your hand on his head, gently moving each strand of hair from his eyes. Normally he'd never let you do such a thing, but there was no opposition when he was this exhausted. The corners of his mouth moved upwards in a sleepy smile, eyebrows moving from furrowed to relaxed. You heard a quiet noise escape from him as he moved his head slightly, as if he wanted more.

You felt a small ping of excitement as you brushed your thumb from the bottom of his front hairs to the root. Your hand left his head as you removed your jacket, draping it over his shoulders to act as a blanket. You left a final pat on the top of his head as you quietly stepped away.

As you reached your desk you picked up your phone, scrolling the wheel to dial Armstrong's extension. Of course he’d be able to lift the Colonel. Plus, he seemed like he’d help the man. He proved to be an extremely compassionate individual. You tapped your foot quietly as you waited for him to answer, fingers grazing against the curled telephone line. Your mind drifted to what excuses you could make for Roy in the event that someone called. You bit your bottom lip as you brainstormed, nearly jumping out of your skin as you heard Armstrong pick up.

The thoughts that were once invading the weather of your brain were now scattered, like a few calm clouds in a serene evening sky. “Hello?” Armstrong greeted, seeming a tad confused. “Hello, Major Armstrong, this is Lieutenant L/N. I require your assistance in the office if that is all right.” You explained, keeping your tone quiet. “YOU REQUIRE MY ASSISTANCE? OF COURSE! I WILL BE THERE AS SOON AS POSSIBLE! THE ARMSTR-” You felt bad for hanging up abruptly, however even the voice in the telephone was too loud for the sleeping Roy across the room. He grumbled a grumpy noise and buried his head further into his desk, returning back to his immobile state. You sent a swift grin his way and made your way to the door, not wanting the Major to wake him up.

You exited the office and waited patiently for Major Armstrong, humming quietly to yourself. Meanwhile, Armstrong was running down the halls, elated that someone needed him. As you saw the Major, you put a finger to your lips, causing him to slow down in his tracks. He stopped in front of you and whispered… Rather, spoke in a normal tone for average beings. You weren’t sure if he was capable of legitimately whispering. “What do you need help with, Lieutenant?”

You pressed your pointer finger to your lips once again as you opened the door to the office, letting the Major in. His eyes opened wide as he whispered “Is he dead!?!?” You immediately closed the door and rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “The Colonel is asleep, and I’d appreciate it if you kept this between the two of us, Sir. Would you mind helping me lift him to the sofa? He seems quite exhausted and truly deserves the rest.”

Major Armstrong immediately melted and babbled about how kind of you that was, and how noble it was for you to ensure that he rested. You swore you could see hearts appear, framing his head as he continued to gush. When he was finished, he easily lifted the Colonel. Roy stirred a bit in his sleep but didn’t move much, as he was truly exhausted. The Major grinned ear to ear and giddily brought Roy to the sofa, placing him gently down. He gave the Colonel a light pat to the head and retreated back to you, nearly skipping due to the overall joy he was feeling.

You shook your head and let a crooked smile slip as the Major gushed to you. He swore that the Colonel leaned into him, like a small child. Armstrong was shaking with excitement, thanking you again for choosing him. You insisted that you should be thanking him, but he just seemed too damn happy.

As the Major finally exited the room, you rubbed your eyes and began to walk to your desk, stopping in your tracks as you heard your name. “Y/N…” Roy mumbled, eyes just barely open. You immediately turned around, walking over to your superior. You bent down so you were eye-level with Roy. “Yes, sir?” You asked, making sure to keep your voice down. “Why am I here… I n-” “Colonel, you need rest. I was quite unsure if you were even alive a few moments ago. Please do not argue with me, you deserve this rest. I’ve already taken care of everything else.”

He began to protest again, but his arguments were nearly as weak as his ability to stay conscious. You sighed and stood up, adjusting your uniform. “Rest well, Colonel.” You stated, turning back to face your desk. “Y/N wait-” You turned back around. Roy had a hand extended out, mumbling quietly: “Nap with me?” You immediately shut him down. Flirting? In this state? He is too persistent. You couldn’t even tell if he was being serious, due to his tone of voice, as well as not knowing his sexuality.

Roy gazed at you and sleepily smirked. “What if I told you that was an order?” You knew this had to be a joke, but for some reason the delivery of it felt off. You couldn’t help but catch the bit of yearning behind his fake demanding tone. How were you supposed to say no to that? Especially when there was a chance that he was serious. If anything, you could simply state you were following orders. There was no way you could be outed… right?

The thought of doing so made your head spin. You couldn’t tell his intentions and it was a bit overwhelming. The possibility of being outed, and having Roy disgusted with you, caused a wave of anxiety to hit. You began to sweat beneath your shirt, still looking for any sort of social cue. Roy groaned and placed his left hand over his eyes. “You are no fun…” He grumbled. For some reason he sounded genuinely upset, and that was all you needed to hear. Now, you were sure he was serious. “Okay.” He uncovered his eyes and sat up slightly. “Okay?” “Okay.”

You removed your uniform boots and sighed, awkwardly lying next to Roy. For some reason, knowing he was serious made it even more anxiety inducing. Though he was half asleep, Roy noticed your stiffness and wrapped an arm around you, laying his head on your chest. This caused your cheeks to warm. He smirked and closed his eyes, placing his other hand on your abdomen to rest. You moved your arm to support Roy’s head and placed your hand on his shoulder, fully holding him.

You took a few breaths and attempted to calm yourself, oblivious to the fact that Roy could hear your heartbeat. Deep down Roy was as smug as ever, but he decided to keep that to himself, not wanting to add to your anxiety. “Is this… okay?” You mumbled, unsure of how exactly this was supposed to work. Being in the closet caused you to avoid relationships, fearful that someone would harm you, or worse, your partner.

“Yes, Y/N. This is fine.” He stated reassuringly, holding in a chuckle. You exhaled in relief and lifted your right hand, threading your fingers through his hair. Though it seemed spiky, it was surprisingly soft, which was a pleasant surprise. Roy hummed and let you comb through his hair, feeling a bit generous today. Especially since you did agree to comfort him as he slept. Though, he’d never admit this.

You closed your eyes and continued to card your fingers through each strand, feeling the fatigue begin. After a few minutes you opened one eye, peeping down at Roy. He was fast asleep, right arm hugged tightly around your middle. You grinned ear to ear, feeling grateful that you were allowed to see the Colonel in this vulnerable, precious state. You adored seeing his head move slightly upward with each breath you took, and back down when you exhaled.

Was this what relationships felt like? Was your fear causing you to miss out on these moments? You shook these thoughts away, not wanting to ruin this valuable moment. You closed your eyes and held Roy tight, unsure when you’d ever be able to do this again. Even if you couldn’t, this one moment would satisfy you for a lifetime. 

Sorry if this is considered too similar to the last! I’ve been going through a lot lately, and comforting others is really just... stress relief to me. I usually write depending on my mood and I’m sorry if this gets annoying! Any constructive criticism would be great as long as it isn’t too harsh! Thank you for reading!

PS: All my works are unfortunately unedited. I do not have the patience to reread my longer works. Apologies!

                                                                                           Word Count: 1776

[wishingstarinajar]

Kill or Be Killed (snippet)

A thick droplet of sweat ran along the curved line of his jaw. Bony fingers clutched the front of his tight shirt. His toothy grin twitched at the edges, hidden beyond an eternally grinning mask. Eyelight flickered persistently against the brightness he was staring at.

It was time to go.

The portal awaited like a beast’s maw with jagged teeth, showing nothing but a white void beyond the shredded edges framed by multiple tiny ones and zeros. He came to learn that those numbers were his universe’s coding, still a strange concept to process and one he didn’t fully understand. At this very moment, he didn’t wish to linger on what it all truly meant.

What he did know was that his home was damaged beyond recognition, perhaps beyond saving; there was hardly anything left of it, corruption had permanently erased or altered all and everyone he knew. But the fact he still had some hope to find a solution and stop the corruption festering in this world was the very reason why he stood before the portal. Just a snip with his massive scissor-like weapon and there was a way out; it was as simple as that. Leaving, however, was not.

It was time to go, Sans told himself. He had told himself this far too many times but it lessened when he finally took the first step. He still needed to urge himself. What if he can never come back to this place, his home?

No. No, he thought about this for way too long. Papyrus is with him, that’s all that matters. There was nothing else here that kept him, not anymore...

He clenched his socket shut as he pressed on, through the rift he’d created and away from all he knew. What would it be like on the other side? He had no idea; he never dared to peek his head through during previous testing attempts to create stable portals. A gasp left him when solid ground simply disappeared after he stepped forward, his feet sinking away into a crisping softness before he became aware of the chill. Snow. His socket snapped open to gaze at the knee-high powdery snow he stood in, at first standing like frozen until he dared to wiggle a foot before trying the other. Damn, it felt like forever ago since last he saw and felt snow, including the cold of winter. The corruption had overtaken Snowdin Forest so damn quickly through the many RESETs. He didn’t think he’d miss it until it all was gone. But if he’s standing in snow at this very moment, then—

Sans searchingly patted his chest upon the realization that the journey through the portal was a success, panicked and haphazardly checking if Papyrus was still with him.

Did he make it through??

Calling forth the projection of a heart-shaped anomaly kept hidden in his ribcage, Sans breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar monster soul pinging into existence above his held-out hand. The right side of the orange-hued soul was fragmented and in a permanent state of dusting. Tiny particles moved slowly like dust in a ray of sunlight falling through an attic window, fading in and out in an eternal dance of life and death.

It was his brother’s soul… The one he managed to salvage before dust would take it completely after the poor monster was ruthlessly assaulted by that damn demon child. The soul was damaged beyond healing but oddly enough unaffected by the RESETs that followed Papyrus’ final death; it has been in Sans’ possession ever since. Aside from the red scarf wrapped around Sans’ neck, this was all he had left of his dear younger brother and without it, this whole quest would be for naught.

Speaking of which…

The broken soul was returned to its hiding place after Sans’ worries were stilled, his single eyelight wandering to take in the surroundings. A snowy forest, not a hint of corruption in sight. No glitching, no void spaces. It’s like… before everything went to shit.

Wait, did he go through another RESET? No, no, that can’t be! That’s not how the portal is supposed to work!

He clutched for his face, fingers wrapping around the elastic broad strap he wore around his skull and his pinky hooking behind the mask hiding his grimace, the look of horror simmering down after he nearly succumbed to searing disbelief and rising anger. He hadn’t changed in the slightest, still wearing the same clothes as before he stepped through the rift; this was no RESET, thank fuck, so where exactly did he end up?

Glancing around, the first thing he noticed was the loss of the portal’s bright yellow-hued glow behind him, the binary coding and gaping hole gone. The way back home had closed during his panic session and he wasn’t certain if that was a good or a bad thing. He stretched his arm and extended his hand to summon the ridiculously oversized scissors he had made the portal with, but no magic responded to his calling and no weapon materialized.

Shit.

It seems the cooldown on the scissors he aptly nicknamed ShortCUT was no joke or a miscalculation. How long does it last again, an hour or two? Damn it, he should have tested it more before he decided to leave. Well, no point in getting frustrated and he’s sure as hell not going to sit here for an hour and do nothing.

Hoisting himself out of the snow, the eyepatch-wearing Sans ventured further into the forest with the hope to find anything familiar. The trail he followed was untouched, not a single footprint defiling the fresh snow aside from the ones he left behind. He dared to say the surroundings felt incredibly familiar but the hole he came across was an obvious difference.

Lingering by the edge, Sans peered down into the dug pit that was once tied off by barricade tape, the snapped long strips of white and red fluttering weakly in the breeze. Although a thick blanket of snow covered the bottom of the pit, pointy ends of sharpened sticks pierced through the white, indicating it was once upon a time a very dangerous trap. One careless trip down and you’d be dust.

What madmonster would place a trap like this?

And that wasn’t the only kind of spiky trap he came across after Sans continued on. There were several more along the trail, most out of commission and warned about by the same bright tape or crudely painted and crafted warning signs. Why the energy poured into taping things off or creating signs wasn’t used to remove the traps was beyond Sans but one thing was for sure; this wasn’t home anymore, or at least not a timeline he’s familiar with.

The flashes of red and white tape amidst the monochrome surroundings no longer caught his eye but when more red appeared up ahead and seemed to come closer, Sans’ attention and curiosity were piqued. Someone was approaching.

-To be continued-

=======================================

I figured I'd share the first two pages of a short story I've slowly been working on. It's about Rewind and his very first venture into the multiverse. (He's is called Sans in this short story because he doesn't take on the Rewind alias until later.)

I'm not sure why I felt compelled to share this small preview xD but it's a small glimpse into Rewind's story and I hope that whoever reads it will enjoy it.

[schnedoop]

Servitude (Kaeya x Reader)

SUMMARY: You were just so sweet, so diligent, so noble. Too noble, if Kaeya’s honest. He’s glad that he was the first one to take advantage of it.

WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon

TAGS: cockwarming, PIV penetration, manipulation, abuse of power, asshole Kaeya

WORD COUNT: 2.4k

Kaeya can’t help but think that you would have made an amazing knight.

You were born with all the qualities needed for the job: a quick wit, a reassuring demeanor, a natural respect for the Anemo Archon, and a blinding devotion to serving the people of Mondstadt to top it all off. Inside you seemed to be a fierce combination of Diluc, Jean, Varka—and Kaeya can’t deny that, in your early training days, he sometimes saw himself in your unfailing persistence—and you seemed to carry everyone's best traits only, all weaknesses of character cast to the side.

Yes, the man muses, continuing to write his report. An amazing knight indeed. 

He still remembers how popular you were during your training years. Captains and soldiers alike stepped away from their taverns to spend their free time watching you, someone they all imagined to be the future of the Ordo, the next grandmaster, someone even Jean couldn’t hide her favoritism for.

Kaeya can’t say he blames any of them. He was always among the spectators, of course, watching you train, eavesdropping on your conversations in the mess hall, taking stalker-like measures to decode the enigma that was you.

In the beginning, it was out of wariness.

Kaeya was disinclined to believe that anyone could be so perfect, so pure. He assumed that you were putting up a facade, that the way you always took the long way home to help any citizens who crossed your path was nothing but a vicious scheme to gain Mondstadt’s trust so you could betray it—but soon, he learned that it wasn’t a lie. That you truly were this good a person. That your blinding naivety was natural, and not even a little feigned.

That was around when Kaeya began to watch over you, not as a potential threat, but as a subject of interest.

He found that everything about you was sincere. That you were one of the only knights who wouldn’t lie about their numbers for the bi-annual physical evaluations, who would spend their free time scouting out hillichurl camps and anonymously reporting them, who would wake up early to get extra training in, who would do anything and everything you could think of to better equip you to serve Mondstadt.

Kaeya found it endearing. You were so sweet, so diligent, so noble.

Too noble, if Kaeya’s honest. 

He’s glad that he was the first one to take advantage of it.

It started off with a casual comment during training. Your instructor was on bedrest after getting ambushed by some Electro slimes while swimming in a lake, so Kaeya had been asked to fill in. He paced down the line of your fellow soldiers-in-training slowly, offering loud compliments and gentle corrections to everyone he walked past, only for him to come to a halt at you.

“Come on, I’m sure you can do better than that. Training is no joke, cadet. Please take this seriously.”

You practically froze when he said that to you. 

His words were whispered, hushed low into your ear as if Kaeya didn’t want to embarrass you by chastizing you publicly, as if Kaeya was still the amicable Cavalry Captain everyone knew him to be, as if his criticism of you was genuine and wasn’t a stupid lie to make you question yourself.

It took all of Kaeya’s self-restraint to keep his expression neutral as he moved on. No doubt, it was the first time anyone had ever spoken to you as if you were failing to meet expectations instead of surpassing them—and Kaeya half-expected you to protest, to argue that you were doing a better job than everyone else in the room. 

He was pleasantly surprised when you mumbled an even more determined “Yes sir,” before continuing. 

A perfect soldier indeed. 

After that, you seemed determined to impress Kaeya. He could see the hierarchy in your mind: the fact that, although Jean was higher in authority, her praise meant less to you than Kaeya’s because he was the only one to not be impressed.

After you set your sights on impressing him, it was all over for you.

Crushing your spirit was an easy feat for Kaeya. You were a brilliant soldier, probably the strongest recruit the Ordo has had since Diluc, but you were nothing exceptional when it came to mind games. The occasional “do you need a break, cadet?” and the more often “there’s no shame in admitting weakness, solder” began to wear into you. Whereas before you responded to his every criticism with a fierce determination to do better, Kaeya could sense the change when you began to think your efforts futile, when you began to feel like the Cavalry Captain you so wanted to impress would, seemingly, never find you as exceptional as everyone else did. 

Kaeya still remembers the devastated look on your face when you barged into his office at midnight on the eve of your official recruitment into the Ordo.

“What do I have to do?!” you blurted, hands balled in fists. “What do I have to do to make you think I deserve to be a knight?!”

Kaeya recalls how surprised he’d been at that. He stared at you, that night, with genuine shock at your outburst. 

Before, he assumed that your attempts to impress him had merely been out of a selfish desire to earn the praise of everyone around you. Yet, there you stood, cute little tears building in your eyes as you revealed that the true reason was that you felt bad joining the knights without his approval, as if Kaeya was some benchmark that you needed to pass.

Very well, the knight remembers thinking. With your official graduation from soldier-in-training to soldier, Kaeya had been prepared to release the possessive grip he had around you...but when you presented him with such an obvious opportunity to take what he wanted, who was he to resist?

“It’s not anything you can change, cadet. Some people are meant to be soldiers. Some people aren’t. I already know which kind you are, but it doesn’t matter.” 

Every word Kaeya said had been carefully placed. He phrased his response in a perfect way, all to prompt the inevitable question from your soft, sweet lips:

“A-and which kind am I?”

“Which kind of what?” Kaeya asked, pretending as if he was barely giving this conversation any thought. He brought his eyes down to the map that he was detailing, pretending to continue working on it. 

“Wh-which kind of knight do you think I am?”

Kaeya remembers how hard it had been to stop a vicious smile from spreading across his face.

“You don’t want to know, cadet.”

“I do, Captain! I really do! Y-your opinion matters to me!”

“Oh?” That had been the first time Kaeya placed his quill down. “So if I tell you that I don’t think you’re ready to be a knight, you’ll heed my advice?”

“Well…” 

Your sheepish expression had been almost too much to bear. 

“If you came here to ask for my opinion just to ignore it, I’d advise going elsewhere. Please don't waste my time. The Ordo will spend enough resources trying to turn you into a half-decent knight, so don’t disregard all of that by—”

“Why?” you practically sobbed. You’d come forward and placed your palms flat against the surface of Kaeya’s desk, a pose that would have been wholly intimidating if not for the tears building in your eyes. “Why don’t you think I’ll make a good knight? Why won’t I—” you’d broken off to wipe away the tears that had begun to spill. “Why won’t I be able to help the Knights of Favonius?”

Instantly, Kaeya had risen and walked over you to wrap you in his arms. 

You were confused, no doubt, because the captain had been anything but kind to you in your previous interactions, but you openly sobbed into Kaeya’s chest, gripping the fabric of his jacket weakly. 

“I j-just want to help—I just want to m-m-make Mondstadt safer—I j-just—just want—”

“Of course you can help,” Kaeya whispered gently into your ear, wiping your tears away. “You’d be an invaluable resource to the city. It’s just that serving as a knight would be useless when you could be so much more useful.”

That stole your attention.

Instantly, you looked up at Kaeya with hopeful eyes.

“R-really? You think I can...actually help?”

Kaeya remembers how even he had been unable to stop the cruel smile from spreading across his face when he realized that you genuinely believed his words all this time: thinking yourself lesser, weaker, inferior to your fellow cadets. 

“Of course you can,” Kaeya whispered into your ear, gentle as the setting sun. 

And in this way, he managed to persuade you in a single night to abandon your dreams of becoming a soldier. Easily, he made you understand that such a thing was futile. Soldiers were expendable, and when Kaeya asked you if you thought you were expendable, you shook your head like a good girl and said you wanted to be alive to protect Mondstadt, not a dead body that could do nothing.

Still, you would have made an amazing knight. 

Would have, but not anymore.

You were born with all the qualities you needed for the job—but one by one, Kaeya’s replaced them with smarter, more reasonable goals. Your once-quick wit has been refocused on pleasing Kaeya, on figuring out whether he’d rather hear “yes, sir” or “thank you, sir” based on the question he poses you with. The calm, reassuring demeanor that once drew people into you is now nonexistent, completely replaced with something more obedient. The respect you used to allot the Anemo Archon has been redirected onto Kaeya: because what has Barbatos actually done for you? Kaeya is the one who’s given you a home, a purpose—it’s him that you pray to every day when you get on your knees.

The one thing that has remained constant is the devotion you carry for the people of Mondstadt: but that, too, has shifted.

Where you once wished to serve your people by protecting them on the front lines, you now understand that your purpose is to personally aid the superiors who already know how to do the job, to make Kaeya happier so that he can protect the nation for you. 

It was hard, at first.

But your mind is pliant, now, moldable and malleable as Kaeya wraps a hand around your naked hip to halt your grinding.

“Now, now,” he chides, kissing your shoulder as he continues to write his report. “None of that. I’ll fuck you nice and good after I’m done with this, so don’t distract me.”

“But—but sir,” you whine, wriggling your hips gently on top of Kaeya as if hoping that it’ll convince him to forgo the report and fuck you now. 

Internally, Kaeya appreciates how well you’ve acclimated to your new life. Externally, he clicks his tongue and lays a slap against your bare bottom, ignoring your delighted giggle.

“Be a good girl and let me focus. These are important documents, okay? You being here only helps me work if you’re not trying to distract me. Or do you not want to help Mondstadt out after all?”

That line always works, and you instinctively coil in on yourself, ashamed as you halt your playful teasing and rest your head on Kaeya’s shoulder. 

“I—I want to help Mondstadt…”

“I thought so. So be a good girl and keep my cock warm until I’m done.”

And you do a good job of it. Oh, you do such a good job, your little cunt clenching down on Kaeya the whole time as he proofreads his report once, then twice (and then thrice, though that’s more to torture you than it is to actually check for mistakes)—and when Kaeya finally tucks his report inside an envelope, sealing it with the crest of the Cavalry Captain, he knows you deserve a reward.

“Good girl,” he coos, slipping his gloves off to massage the soft flesh of your ass with his bare hands. “How did that feel? What do you want me to do to you?”

“Felt good,” you whisper, and Kaeya loves the shudder that runs down your spine when he drags a finger to circle at your clit. “P-please, Sir. Want more. I-if you have time. If you're busy with your captain duties...I can w-wait. But if not. Please.”

So cute, Kaeya thinks, loving how even now, months after you’ve been isolated from the world, you still cling to the naive hope that somehow, being Kaeya’s private slut is contributing to the prosperity of Mondstadt. Not that it’s something Kaeya will ever correct. He can keep you here for as long as you believe you want to be here, so he won’t do anything to jeopardize your innocent naivety. 

“Hmm, you’re going to be more specific than that, sweetheart. What do you want more of?”

“You, Sir,” you gasp, rolling your hips down on Kaeya’s cock to enunciate your point. “Wanna get fucked. Pretty please.”

“Oh?” Kaeya chuckles, lifting you up and laying you down on his desk, not caring about the paperwork your body is sprawled over because goddamn, you look hot like this, tits exposed, face flushed, pupils dilated, like the only thing you can think about is Kaeya’s cock and how bad you want it.

“You don’t want anything else?”

Normally, this is the part where you deliver a mumble about Mondstadt and how you want prosperity for the nation. Those comments have been getting more and more halfhearted recently, overshadowed by your larger desire for the overwhelming pleasure that Kaeya, and today—

Today, you forget about your so-called love for Mondstadt altogether.

“No,” you babble, wrapping your legs around Kaeya’s hips, desperately trying to tempt him into fucking into you. “No, Sir, don’t want anything but you so please, please, please—”

A breathy laugh falls from Kaeya’s lips as he leans over to press a quick kiss to your forehead. 

“Of course, sweetheart.” His hands find your hips, slender fingers digging in to grip them with bruising force as he prepares to wreck you from the inside. “I’ll always give you what you want.”

[junova]

↬ 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 | 𝐫. 𝐝𝐫𝐲𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐞

abstract — the one where ransom gets a taste of his own medicine, but you happen to be so much sweeter than he’s ever been. 

pairing — ooc!ransom drysdale x fem!reader 

wc — 4.1k+  im so sorry lmao 

warnings — cheating (if u squint its very vague), angst, fluff, slight self deprecation, ransom is kinda nice idk, i want a soft!ransom drysdale now pls, this is also very messy so read at ur own risk!

[m blabs] — howdy howdy! first time ransom fic. woot woot! still kinda finding my voice w writing so i hope you like it! <333 

His mouth set in a hard line as you continued to curl into his chest, the span of your confidence seemed to be wiped away with a nightmare from the past. Part of him was upset you hadn’t told him anything, the blind leading the blind, as you stepped foot into his family event. Seeing the last person you’d ever thought would be there. 

Surely by now, he thought you would trust him but it was more than evident you still didn’t. You persisted on hiding everything from him, anything you were sure might tick him off. 

Well, Ransom wasn’t necessarily known for biting his tongue.  Although, in your presence, he was learning what to say and where to say it. 

It really surprised him. Not one woman had been able to tame him, not since he’d be fucking everyone in sight. His desire was endless and not one single individual would be enough for his fill. 

Then, he found you drunk and sobbing on the concrete, right outside of the bar he was exiting. To this day, he still couldn’t tell you why he stopped for you. He never really paid attention to anyone if it wasn’t to his own benefit. Ultimately, meeting you was, even if he wouldn’t realize it then. 

You flinched from his touch when he patted your shoulder, gently asking if you were alright. If anyone asked him, Ransom would surely deny he felt you pull at the strings of his heart in an instant. 

He just knew. 

Maybe it’s why it took him so long to accept it, to believe in what he felt for you. Definitely not because you did nothing but be the most wonderful human he’d ever met. More had to do with him. 

Ransom dropped you off the first night you met in your small apartment downtown, definitely on the rougher side where he thought his Rolex sporting his wrist may get stolen. 

A cute little thing like you living in a neighborhood like this — didn’t make much sense to him. Then again, it certainly checked out with his privilege why he didn’t. 

Truly, Ransom didn’t realize how fortunate he truly was. Of course being a trust fund brat gave him the ignorance to live in an unmatched state of bliss. 

He still remembers the moment. 

Watching as you fumbled with your keys, finding it more than difficult to open your front door. It was cute, with your tongue poking out between your lips in concentration. Now, he wondered how he’d forgotten why he’d gone to get hammered at the bar in the first place. 

“Here, let me help.” New to Ransom, he offered a giving hand. Grabbing the key from your jittering fingertips before unlocking your door. He tried to hand you back your keys, but you pulled him so close, your chest touching his own. Dragging two rapid hearts through your apartment. 

“You smell like him.” A dopey smile on your face lighting every dark sight of Ransom, not that you’d know it did. “I smell like who?” 

“My ex-boyfriend.” Your hands cupping his cheek, but you were too drunk to realize how Ransom flinched from your touch. 

He didn’t push you away either. 

“But he definitely didn’t look this good.” Defying all laws of his own nature, Ransom let you stay in close proximity to him as you felt him up. Your hand resting on his chest, traveling lower stopping at his stomach. “Definitely didn’t feel this good.” 

He watched as you sighed, your puffy eyes were only slightly swollen and the mascara was still staining your skin with the rest of the makeup you wore. If anyone had asked him, you’d looked like a wreck but he still found you alluring. 

Ransom always liked his women looking more than fucked out, usually from gagging around his cock. Not crying over a broken heart. Nope. He definitely did not like dealing with a woman's sorrow. 

“He never let me touch him though. Guess that should have tipped me off.” You let your hands travel back up, wounding themselves around his neck before they applied more pressure — pulling him into you. 

Ransom found you pretty confident for not even knowing anything more than his first name and the car he drove you in. You were definitely craving attention and maybe he’d be more than happy to oblige but the little voice in his head Dr. Shoal told him to listen to was being a pestering, little bitch. 

What did Ransom want? 

Right now he wanted to drown himself in some sweet ass pussy. He knew you would give yourself easily to him, especially in your drunken state. Clinging onto him like he was a vine. 

The smaller part of him, the better part, knew you were drunk out of your mind. Absolutely plastered, but you had to stand there looking like a goddess. 

He didn’t really know why he was letting you touch him, maybe in hopes the deeper, darker side of him would win like it always did. Ransom knew better, even if he tried to hide it from everyone including himself. 

He liked you. From the very first moment, he knew he’d have to get you. Whether it cost your own sanity or his, Ransom didn’t care. 

It’s why he left you drunk and alone, safely tucked into the comfort of your sheets with his number left in your phone. Even taking the liberty of texting himself from it. 

He could never be too careful. Letting you slip through his fingers was simply not an option. 

Thanks to him, you didn’t forget about him. 

The next morning your memory only held vague images of a handsome stranger helping you home, thankfully he seemed to be nothing more than a doting gentlemen. The first for you to ever come across. 

Until later in the afternoon the following day, Ransom introduced himself and checked up on you, worming his presence into your life. 

Then he kept talking to you everyday, surprising even himself in the matter. Truly, he couldn’t help it. Part of him loved how gently you spoke to him on the phone. No one ever talked to him with such a level of care. 

He always warranted yelling, usually he was the one who stirred the pot. He enjoyed it, and thrived in a chaotic environment. It’s what he grew up in. Ransom was more than comfortable with his own family yelling and cursing him out until the sun came up. He did just the same. 

So, whenever you sweetly asked him how he was, it threw him off guard. 

Not a single soul even cared or bothered to ask him anything. Truth be told, Ransom was a sack of shit treating everyone like they were the gum beneath his shoe. It didn’t matter who talked to him — Ransom was simply more superior in every conceivable way. 

He would succumb to not a single soul. Paving his own way through life, with only the money from his trust fund of course. 

Then the two of you fell into each other and he could pinpoint the exact moment he did. 

The weeks and months blended together. He couldn’t really tell you why he was still lingering around, while he got nothing in return. You did get him off once or twice, but he wasn’t fucking you like he really wanted to. 

Maybe it was the innocence in your eyes pulling his soul into the very little good he still had left within him. Or maybe it was the way your thumb dragged over his cheek when you thought he was in slumber, blissfully unaware of your touch. 

More importantly his favorite thing, the way you let him hold you when the two of you cuddled. Your arms wrapped tightly around his waist, bouncy cheeks pressed into whatever knit sweater he decided to wear that day. 

It was all the little things, unknowingly making him fall in deep like he never had before. 

Unwelcoming to him, his mother came barreling in one Sunday afternoon, while you slept in his arms. Even as Linda screamed his name, you never jolted, out like a log. Safe in the peace he kept you in. 

Linda looked annoyed, irritated he even had company in the first place but not surprised. What truly shocked her was they both had clothes on.  Not truly believing Ransom was capable of such a sinless interaction. 

He knew what she wanted; he didn’t even have to move from his position to continue a private conversation. Not that it would get him off the couch, and out of your embrace in the first place. 

“I said no. Don’t know why you bothered coming here.” Linda angrily sighed. “You should at least show up.” 

Ransom didn’t notice, but subconsciously continued to run his fingertips up and down your spine. Linda did. She noticed that he didn’t even care she was judging him, but let you remain unbothered sleeping in her son’s embrace. 

“It’s for Walt. You need to be there.” She stepped closer, hoping the increase in her volume would wake you. “I expect you to grace us with your wonderful presence as does the rest of the family.” 

The sarcasm dripped, attempting to coax him out of the four walls he never seemed to leave. Not recently, anyhow. 

“I already told you, I can’t.” Now Ransom was irritated and he really wished she would calm the fuck down. It was one day, one event. There would always be another, that much wasn’t lost on him. “I have plans. Send him my best.” 

Assuming it was the rumbling of his chest when he spoke, you moved jolting yourself in his arms, before remaining still again. His heartbeat continues to soothe you. 

“You have plans? What else could be more important than your family?” The louder Linda’s voice grew the more you stirred, pissing him off. 

He really needed to change his locks. 

Even if he had no intention of going, he needed his mother to leave. Really for your own sake — trying to save you from Linda giving you a cold shoulder followed with a third degree burn. 

“Fine. I’ll go. Can you just leave?” She accepted Ransom’s submission, before looking at your figure. Sound asleep and clinging to her one and only, sinking your claws into him. 

She really didn’t like the way Ransom was looking at you. Linda was positive he would never be able to care about someone other than himself, but here he was, holding you close to his chest. 

Almost like his life depended on it. 

“Who is she to you?” With a raised eyebrow, eyes narrowing to you before meeting back with Ransom’s cerulean blues. 

“I don’t know yet.” Ransom paused looking down at you, so beautiful. Holding a light so pure, so radiant; he hoped no matter how cruel he could be, he’d never act like that towards you. “Maybe someone I don’t deserve, but want to be better for.” 

His rough, calloused fingers drawing mindless patterns on the exposed skin of your waist. He didn’t know what Linda said next or when she left. 

Time seemed to stand still, his confession hitting his chest fiercely. He let himself sit with it for a moment, before you woke up. Enjoying a moment where he didn’t have to deal with anything, he didn’t have to say a word. 

He could just enjoy the moment without eyes judging him or you questioning why his eyes seemed to shine just a bit brighter whenever you were around. 

It was the first of many. Moments where he felt small pieces of himself chipped away into your care. Planes of existences within him no one had ever scratched the surface of. 

Much like right now as you cried into his chest, begging for mercy. 

Because you were afraid. Terrified you had made the worst mistake, an unforgivable one. You lied about your past and to Ransom it felt like more than a betrayal. More accurately he felt a dagger in his heart placed strategically with your murderous hands. 

He’d never felt such empathy and pain at once. Maybe he’d never been empathetic a day in his life at all. 

Until now. 

To make matters worse, he knew his entire family was watching the whole scene from the window. It wasn’t from worry or concern for either one of you. Mainly all of them enjoying pain being inflicted on Ransom. 

Linda of course wallowing in her ego, he could practically see her bask in her own pride. Another thing she’d been right about checked off the list. 

The rest of the family watched the two of you fight with shiteating grins permanently stamped on their face. They’d never seen Ransom care about anyone but you. To watch the relationship he held so close to his heart blow up so publicly, only fueled the fire to Ransom’s rage. 

Except Harlan. 

Even through his hot, beating anger Ransom was trying his best to comfort you. To calm you down even if you had been the one to be caught red handed. Harlan couldn’t believe it, someone Ransom seemed to care about more than himself. 

More than any of his family. Not that Harlan was offended. Well, maybe a little, but more so he was thrilled his grandson finally found someone he had to grow up for. Someone he had to earn, not buy. 

No bribes. No schemes. No games. 

Just you. 

“Hugh, please talk to me.” How could he? It’s not like he had much to say. Maybe he did, he just wasn’t sure how to get the words out without hurting you or himself. 

“I know I lied and I fucked up, but please — we need to talk about it.” Soft hands reaching for his own, but he brushed them off, his hands snaked higher on your waist. “We should have talked about this the moment you met me.” 

Dead silence is all you were met with as he walked the fine line of pushing you away, leaving you behind and pulling you closer than he ever had. 

“You’re right. I should have told you the truth but can you blame me?” He met you with solemn eyes and his own heart beating rapidly. “Yes I can.” Ransom was trying to act cold and distant but the two windows to his soul told a different story. 

“That’s fair.” Even as he was holding you, Ransom still felt like he was a galaxy away. He was withholding himself from you like a turtle retracting into their own protection. A year ago, before he met you, he knew he would have never even recognized it. 

Now, you made it possible for him to be aware of just how much he had changed. He broke old habits of his own just to please you so when you disappointed him, this unreachable high standard he held you to, it shattered his sense of self. 

“Did you still love him?” Ransom questioned you. “I did. At the time, he’s all I ever really knew. I thought that’s what love felt like. The only image of love I had was the one he gave me. So, I ran with him and it crushed me.” 

Ransom had to pretend the words you were speaking didn’t split him into you two. The image of you falling in love with someone else was enough to make him wanna strangle your ex. 

His friend. 

“Then we just got into one really big blow out. Right in the bar in front of all of his friends I had met for the first time that night.” You reached for a chunk of his sweater, clenching the material in your hand, like you were trying to convince yourself to let the words fall from your mouth. 

“He told me how much I’d been irritating him and I couldn’t help but notice every girl he flirted with and touched right in front of me.” You tested the waters, placing both of your hands over his chest, the beat of his heart calming you down. 

“Then I just cracked. It was only one of the many fights we’d been having over the course of the past few months. Everyone single argument pushed me closer to the edge, until the last one actually did.” You sighed, watching as he frowned. 

“I ended things that night, before getting thoroughly plastered and soon enough crying on the cement. Wasted and lonely out of my mind, until I met you.” You moved your hand from his heart, cupping his clean shaven face. 

“You made me realize I never knew what love really meant or felt like.” This piqued Ransom’s interest. 

You said love. 

Could a tragedy bring out the words Ransom craved to hear more than anything in the world? 

Maybe you cared about him, more than anyone ever showed him. But loved him? How could someone be as hateful as him be worthy of someone like you? 

Even if you had broken his heart, he’d done far worse to more people than he could count. He wasn’t really in a place to judge but it didn’t change the fact it still hurt. A lot. 

“Hugh.” You heard him gulp rather loudly. “Yes?” His tone came out as more of a question than a response. 

The silence he gifted you was unsettling at the very least. “You've barely said a word.” He was surprised he didn’t scurry off in his beamer the second he saw the guilt reach your eyes. 

He was surprised he hadn’t let his anger take over and let the rage he felt inside body take it all out on you. 

He was surprised he somehow couldn’t inflict a single hateful word towards you, even as you sat with his heart in your hands. 

In pure bliss of just how much you owned him. 

“I hate it. This fucking corner you’ve back me into. Not to mention for the prying eyes of my entire family to watch the show.” The sharp tone he uses sensoring you. “You used me just to get back at him.” 

“Like I was some pawn in your game and I really even shouldn’t be mad.” He paused, trying to choose his words as carefully as he can. “I’ve done the same thing to so many different women. Used them and threw them out at my earliest inconvenience.” To your surprise, even Ransom’s, a single tear left his eye showing you how much you really meant to him. 

You hated yourself for letting it get to this point. 

“But you? I could never even think about hurting you. I could never live with myself if I treated you like everyone else because you’re so much more than that to me.” The tears continued to roll. The dame Ransom kept shut his entire life, opened because of you and he just wanted to make it stop. 

He would give anything — even you. 

He just wanted to not feel like a piece of shit for once in his life. For a moment, he thought he might have a chance to be something more than the picture he portrayed in everyone’s mind. You showed him maybe it was more complex than it seemed. 

“I just assumed I was that for you.” You sighed in frustration, softly wiping his tears away. “You are, though. You are more than that.” 

“Then how could you be so okay with lying to me?” The crease between his eyebrows only created more of an indention as he felt the anger trying to escape out of him. 

You let the tension get to you first. 

“Because I-I was scared if I told you the truth, you’d never tell me.” You puzzled him once again. You softly reach up between his furrowed eyebrows, the pad of your thumb smoothing it out. 

“Tell you what?” His mind was clouded with the possibilities of what he could have missed. 

“I can’t spell this one out for you.” You were tired of being the one to do everything first. Even if your intentions weren’t free from fault once you realized who he was, your feelings for him were anything but. 

“I don’t know what you want from me. You only let me fall for you because you knew how much it would hurt him.” He bit back, growing impatient and tired. “Any other time, I would have cared. Probably would have been more than happy to assist. But you made me-” 

Then Ransom cut himself off, jumping out of the swing and away from you. 

“I’m sorry. I can’t do this. I thought I could.” He literally sprinted to his beamer, but you chased him. 

You were hell bent and just as crazy as he was. Maybe it’s why it worked for as long as it did. 

“Hugh! Get back here.” You were running, thankful you’d gone for a more casual outfit today, the sneakers supporting your feet far better than the heels you’d usually wear. 

Maybe if it was someone with a normal childhood upbringing you would have just cut your losses but this was someone who chose to be called Ransom. 

This was someone who chose to run away from love and care because the only affectionate way he knew how to treat someone was to throw money at them. 

This was someone who had the communication of a ten year old because that’s when his own mother didn’t bother to mess with him anymore before sending him off to boarding school. 

This was someone who didn’t know how to love — and to be loved. 

By the time you caught up to him his was digging for his keys, but he couldn’t fucking find them. 

“Hugh Ransom Drysdale.” Your tone was sharp and he knew you meant business. “For once in your life, stop running away.” 

“Why not? What good has it ever done for me to stay?” His back was facing you, his broad shoulders stilled with the rest of his body. Almost like he was ashamed of what he was hiding. 

“I can’t speak for everyone else. I can’t speak for your mother or for Richard. For Harlan or for anyone else you thought might abandon you and really did.” You inched you way closer until you knew he felt how close you were to him.

“I can only speak for me.” Giving yourself, the final piece of you to a man who might run away from it. 

You were so close he felt your breath on his back, and it made him tremble. He was shaking, terrified of it all. You didn’t let him be for long. 

Intertwining your fingers with his, as he kept them at his sides, rubbing your thumb along the palm of his hand. 

“I’m sorry for the way I hurt you. Lied to you. You never deserved it. Never.” You thought it would be easier if he didn’t have to look at you while pouring your heart out to him. A theory proved to be right as he gave your hand a squeeze. 

“You’ve done nothing but treat me like a princess. You’ve done right by me, more than anyone else I’ve ever met in my life. It made me feel inadequate. My dark secret, always looming over us like a dark cloud of my own personal doing.” 

“I’m sorry I haven’t done the proper thing by us and made you feel like I used you. You had every right to feel it because I did.” You took a deep breath, mustering up the courage to face whatever the future held for the two of you. 

“I never expected to fall in love with a trust fund, playboy brat.” You felt him take a deep breath, like a breath he’d be holding all his life could finally be set free. 

“I love you, Hugh.” The next thing you knew he had you pushed up against the car, lips hungrily attacking your own. 

All forgiven because you love him. You actually were in love with him. 

He couldn’t fathom it really because you’d been the first. To accept him just as he was. The first to refuse to call him Ransom because you like the way Hugh rolled off your tongue better. 

You liked how he felt on your tongue, too. 

The first to tell him Fran and Marta should call him Hugh because you wanted to be the only one who got to. The first woman to cook for him, willingly and not attached to the Thrombey payroll. 

The first woman he had ever fallen in love with. 

The first one he’d stick around and not run away for. 

So, he kissed you. Hard. Softly whispering how much he loved you into the kiss, because maybe he wasn’t ready to say it outright. Loud and proud. 

Yet, he felt it with every bone of his body — no longer lost in the blues.

taglist: @tonystankschild @parkastoria @tinylumpiaa @brattycherubwrites

[only-johnny-deppp]

“Whatever I’ve gone through, I’ve gone through. But, ultimately, this particular arena of my life has been so absurd...” 

 Johnny Depp’s NEW INTERVIEW!

Last saturday, August 14, The UK Times, released a new interview with Johnny for the Sunday Times section. It was realized sometime earlier this month, in London, probably on the same day he and Andrew Levitas were recording for the Q&A for the “Minamata” release in UK. This is Johnny’s first interview since the UK trials in London last year, and released three years after Johnny’s major interview for the British GQ Magazine. Here Johnny and Andrew Levitas speaks about “Minamata”, his future as actor and a thing or two about his personal life, although he cannot talk about the court case.

For those who couldn’t read yet, here is the FULL interview:  Enjoy.

***

“I’M BEING BOYCOTTED BY HOLLYWOOD”

Johnny Depp has a new film out this week. In the opening scene his character, the real-life photographer W Eugene Smith, says, “I’m done. I’m tired. My body is older than I am. I’m always in goddam pain. I can’t trust my f***ing dick any more. Constantly in a foul mood. Even the drugs bore me.”

I ask Depp if Smith’s despair resonated with him. Depp stops. Rocks back and forth. “That’s interesting,” he replies with painful hesitation.

“I didn’t approach playing Smith in that way… Although you bring your toolbox to work and use what is available. Having experienced...” He stops again. Depp takes any questions that might refer to his calamitous libel case last year slowly, in a mumbly, croaking drawl. “A surreal five years…”

In the film Smith needs to revive his reputation. In real life Depp’s task is even more daunting. Thanks to the judgment, everyone can call him a “wife-beater”. Now he must convince a Hollywood still convulsed by #MeToo that he’s not toxic — and that any attempt to rebuild his career is a risk worth taking. This is Depp’s first interview since the case.

We are speaking over Zoom, Depp in his London home, in front of a gold-framed painting. The 58-year-old is wearing a lot of clothes. Earrings. Floppy hat. Sunglasses. Bandana. Scarf. Checked shirt over a T-shirt with an indiscernible slogan. If you saw him on the Tube*, you might think he was off to work at the London Dungeon*, to play most of the characters.

PS. For those who are not familiar with British words: * Tube = British slang for London Underground, the subway trains. * London Dungeon = is a walk-through experience that recreates scenes from London's scary history in a mixture of live actors, special effects and rides.

Depp resumes, talking in broken sentences about the new film, Minamata, in which Smith, via Life magazine, exposes the brutal mercury poisoning of Japanese villagers in the early 1970s.

“How do we do this?” he asks rhetorically, meaning how to speak about the elephant in the Zoom. “Well, there’s no way one can’t recognise the absurdity of the mathematics.” He grins. “If you know what I mean?” No. “Absurdity of media mathematics.” He talks in riddles. “Whatever I’ve gone through, I’ve gone through. But, ultimately, this particular arena of my life has been so absurd...”

He trails off again. He is holding a big brown roll-up of some sort. “What the people in Minamata dealt with? People who suffered with Covid? A lot of people lost lives. Children sick...Ill. Ultimately, in answer to your question? Yeah, you use what you’ve got. But what I’ve been through? That’s like getting scratched by a kitten. Comparatively.”

Last July, I went to the High Court in London to watch Depp on another screen — a video from the socially distanced court where the Hollywood star was losing a libel action against The Sun after it called him a “wife-beater”. It was the grottiest showbiz trial of the century. There were photos of the actor passed out in a foetal slump, socks on show. One lengthy exchange involved faeces. Another urination, inside or outside a house, after a violent night with his ex-wife Amber Heard.

This had all been going on for a while. In 2016 Heard applied for a temporary restraining order against him. The couple had long endured a narcotic, booze-filled, childish relationship, but that does not matter — 12 incidents levelled against Depp were proved, said the judge, and abuse is abuse, regardless of how badly they both behaved. Depp wanted to appeal, but the court said no. Next April in the US he has a $50 million defamation case against Heard relating to an opinion piece she wrote about being the victim of domestic abuse. It may be his last roll of the dice.

In the 1990s Depp was a sensitive heart-throb. Cooler than DiCaprio, edgier than Pitt. In this past year he has been stripped of his status and dignity. On day three of the trial Sasha Wass QC, representing The Sun, asked Depp about daubing a penis on a painting. He could not remember. “That would be quite a big thing, painting a penis on a picture?”  Wass asked. “Quite a big thing?” Depp asked.

It was a well-delivered line, but Depp was on show. Performing. Now he is more timid, less lucid. His people say he cannot talk about the court case given the looming US trial, yet it hangs over everything. The director of Minamata, Andrew Levitas, is also on our call — as a pub trivia aside, Levitas is married to the Welsh singer Katherine Jenkins.

The two men clearly get on. “With regards to journalism, it was important for us to put across in the film the power of truth,” Levitas says. Depp nods. “The responsibility of journalists to look after citizens of the world. [Our film] coincided with the moment important publications had to put Raquel Welch on a cover to get enough eyeballs to sell enough ads in order to put something meaningful inside. A result of that is clickbait — it’s destroying the purpose of journalism,” Levitas continues.

“You said it beautifully,” says Depp, one of the world’s most pinned-up men, who built a career on magazine covers. “I couldn’t say it better than that.”

Last month Levitas wrote to MGM, which bought Minamata for the US market but decided not to release it. He accused MGM of being concerned that “the personal issues of an actor in the film could reflect negatively upon them”. Then the letter got really strong. Levitas accused MGM of failing in its “moral obligation” to release the film and said it needed to explain to the victims “why you think an actor’s personal life is more important than their dead children”. He then attached Smith’s photos of ghastly deformities that shocked the world 50 years ago.

“It’s important that the movie gets seen and supported,” Levitas says. “And if I get an inkling it’s not going to be, it’s my responsibility to say so. Where it goes from there? I don’t know. But we have responsibility to these victims . . .”

You can see why he’s passionate. The film is good. MGM bought the film because it is good. Depp is good too. He disappears into the role, far from his more recent pantomime parts. It’s being released worldwide, just not in the actor’s homeland.

Depp, who also produced the film, interrupts. “We looked these people in the eyeballs and promised we would not be exploitative. That the film would be respectful. I believe that we’ve kept our end of the bargain, but those who came in later should also maintain theirs.”

“Some films touch people,” he adds. “And this affects those in Minamata and people who experience similar things. And for anything…” He pauses, as he does. “For Hollywood’s boycott of, erm, me? One man, one actor in an unpleasant and messy situation, over the last number of years?” He trails off. “But, you know, I’m moving towards where I need to go to make all that…” Again, he trails off. “To bring things to light.”

The fact, as I think Depp knows, is that for his career, the court that matters is not one of law, but public opinion. On social media, where a lot of minds are made up, Depp’s good reputation will always outweigh the bad, thanks to his frequently blinkered fans.

Outside the High Court, as Heard arrived, I saw Natasha, 30, yell: “Get hit by a truck, Amber!” She is extreme, but the persistent way his fans demand that others think their idol is a saint shows a career revival will happen. After all, most filmgoers do not follow his private life at all. To them, he is Jack Sparrow, Edward Scissorhands. To them, he is a star — and a star can take an awful lot of heat before it burns out.

“They have always been my employers,” Depp says of his fans. “They are all our employers. They buy tickets, merchandise. They made all of those studios rich, but they forgot that a long time ago. I certainly haven’t. I’m proud of these people, because of what they are trying to say, which is the truth. The truth they’re trying to get out since it doesn’t in more mainstream publications. It’s a long road that sometimes gets clunky. Sometimes just plain stupid. But they stayed on the ride with me and it’s for them I will fight. Always, to the end. Whatever it may be.”

Depp will talk like this for ever — about his “truth”. Minamata is the last film Depp has listed on the industry site IMDb, where actors usually have half a dozen in development. So, yes, fans of the actor can see Depp in a new role now — it is a return, but is it a relaunch? The film was finished in 2019, way before last year’s court case. Is that it? His last film? He thinks and looks off to his bookshelves, at biographies of Betjeman and Olivier.

“Er...no,” he says, eventually. “No. No. Actually, I look forward to the next few films I make to be my first films, in a way. Because once you’ve...Well, look. The way they wrote it in The Wizard of Oz is that when you see behind the curtain, it’s not him. When you see behind the curtain, there’s a whole lot of motherf***ers squished into one spot. All praying that you don’t look at them. And notice them.”

I would ask him to explain, but I am not sure he is an explainer. Watch this space, I guess, but he is already taking a first step back. After we speak, it is announced Depp is getting the coveted Donostia award at the San Sebastian Film Festival next month. Some people are just too famous to fail.

~ Interview by Jonathan Dean, in London, for The Times UK (released on August 14, 2021)

[illneverrecover]

trust my love | pjy

➛pairing: Park Jinyoung x Reader ➛genre: librarian!reader, non idol!AU, Slice of Life!AU, fluff, humor  ➛word count: 2,343 ➛rating: E ➛warnings: I know we are shocked, but since this isn’t smut there isn’t many! Kissing, Making out in a library, Persistent Jinyoung. This is just softsoftcute. ➛summary: Jinyoung frequents the library in hopes of convincing you to go on a date on with him, but you’re not so easy to win over. Luckily, he’s not easily deterred. ➛notes: This is my piece for the Secret Admirer’s Project 2021 for @ksmutclub​! I’m a little nervous to post this because it’s the first time I’ve written about GOT7, however it was an honor to do so for @birbdae​. Thank you for playing along with my asks, Dae! It was fun to get to know you and I hope you like this! 🍒 Also shout out to my sweet sugar bb @taetaesbaebaepsae​ for beta reading and hyping me up, ily. Happy Valentine’s Day, everyone. ➛song: Trust My Love - GOT7 |  Love You Better - GOT7

“He’s here again."

Sighing heavily, you spin around, running your hands through your hair. Not that you cared what it looked like, of course. Why would you?  

“Is he headed this way?”

“No, it looks like he’s headed towards fiction, turning down..” Ara pauses, eyes scanning the room, “the literature aisle - classics, to be specific.” 

“Great.” 

Ara keeps her gaze trained on her mark, angling her body towards you. “What do you think he’ll bring you today?”

“As if I care,” you scoff, moving over to the restock cart and busying yourself by grabbing a stack of books to plop down next to your computer. You had already organized and prepped most of these already, but no one else knows that. “Believe it or not, my work day does not evolve around what’s-his-face showing up unannounced-”

“-his name is Jinyoung, and you know that-”

“-and I have important things to attend to. He’s just another customer, nothing else.”

You can feel her glare boring into your skull, but you refuse to give in to meet it. If you do, you’ll see the disbelief and frustration in her eyes, which will be an open invitation for Ara to give you yet another one of her famous ‘You Need To Live Your Life’ speeches, which you have no patience for today. 

She finally shrugs her shoulders, turning to grab the empty cart. “Whatever you say, dear. I’m off to get the books from the front drop off,” she glides away, the cart squeaking at her increased pace, “have fun with Jinyoung!” 

Closing your eyes, you inhale deeply, wondering how long it’ll be before the man in question comes striding up to your desk, a book tucked under his arm and a disarming smile in tow.

He had been coming into your library now for what felt like years, but in reality was only a few weeks. You aren’t sure what started his interest in you - his first day in your check out line had been a brief and altogether forgettable encounter - but since that day, he has come in three times a week like clock work. He always returns a book, spends anywhere between fifteen and twenty minutes pursuing the stacks, fingers dragging against the spines, seemingly searching for something. And then he finds you, regardless of what floor you are working and what your current task is, and chats you up while you scan his library card, shuffling him out the door as quickly as you can.

Conversation started off innocent at first, usually small talk about whatever read he had just finished and dropped off in the return box. You pride yourself on being polite and professional, even if it was clear he had other intentions. But it was when he began asking more about you, inquiring about your days off  that you felt your hackles raise. The next time he returned a book, he skipped the pleasantries, instead leaving you with a wink and a slip of paper with his phone number inside the pages, right next to the author note. 

‘Go on a date with me?’

Such a simple phrase shouldn’t have caused such havoc in your life, and yet here you were.

Your traitorous co-workers all though it was so sweet, so romantic how he pursued you. Nevermind that he had the face of the type of man who has done this before, who likely has a contact list a mile long of names attached to pretty women that would all fawn over him at a moment’s notice. Or the fact that he clearly came from money; his designer peacoats and dress shirts always crisp, clean, and the complete opposite of anything you owned. 

No, this wasn’t a budding romance - if anything, it was a classic case of a man who liked the chase, even if you refused to run. 

The clearing of a throat pulls you from your thoughts, eyes snapping to address the intruder. “Can I help you with something?” 

“Hi, yes you can. I’d like to check out this book, please.” Jinyoung smiles brightly, eyes dancing with mirth. He’s dressed in a warm khaki color sweater today, the tips of a white collar peeking out of the neckline and tucked into his perfect pressed slacks. He’s handsome, and you both know it. 

Seemingly catching you staring, he raises a brow in question, one that you promptly ignore. Instead, you hold out your hand impatiently, waiting for him to share which novel he’s going to try to use to impress you with today. When you glance down at the title, your eyebrow raises. 

“The Ghost Bride, hmm? Doesn’t really seem like your type,” you mutter, taking the book and flipping it to scan it. His library card awaits beside it, the elegant script of his signature seemingly taunting you. “Are you sure you didn’t mean to pick up something else? I can show you where the picture books are-”

“Nope, this was the right one. I’m just following your recommendations, you know. This was your pick of the week.” 

You scowl, swiping his card under the scanner before grabbing the automatically printed receipt, sliding his items back towards him across the counter. You had forgotten about the ‘See What Our Librarians Recommend!’ board that Mark had put up earlier in the week in an attempt to engage more with the customers. There hadn’t been much thought behind your pick other than it was one you enjoyed; getting immersed into other cultures and their traditions one of the easiest ways to relax your mind. But now you felt self conscious, like he was peering into your head. 

You shake the thought away, turning back to your screen. “Yes, I’m aware of that. Well, have a nice day, I gotta get back to work.” 

“Have you thought about the answer to my question?”

Jinyoung is still waiting at the counter, a small but earnest smirk tugging at his lips, eyes locked on to yours. If you didn’t know any better, you would think his curiosity was genuine with how he stared, how kind he was. 

But you knew better. 

“Yes, and the answer is no. I’m not looking to date right now,” you huff, breaking his gaze once more. There was something intense about how he looked at you, and it made your nerves dance under your skin. 

“May I ask why?”

Sighing, you close your eyes, counting the breath as you pull it into your lungs. What a loaded question. There were thousands of answers, a multitude of reasons why it was a bad idea to accept a date from the handsome stranger that frequents your library. Which would be acceptable to share; that you’ve had your heart broken more times than you care to admit, and don’t want to be hurt again? That you’re too immersed in your work and your goals that you don’t have time for a relationship? Or that you spend your days lost between the pages of books, delving into new worlds and reading about loves so pure and avowed that you know anything you come across in real life will be a disappointment?

Instead of those truths, you give him a tight smile. “Because I don’t know you, and you haven’t earned one yet.” 

There was an unspoken challenge in those words, but you didn’t care. You knew that Jinyoung with his pretty face and captivating charm would give up soon, and when that time came, you’d breathe a sigh of relief and continue about your life just as it was before he came in it. 

“I get it, you don’t trust me,” he looks down at his shoes, inhaling deeply before returning his amber eyes to you. “But I’m serious. I’ll prove it to you.” 

He stands there a beat more, as if he wanted to be sure you understood his promise before turning and walking away, giving a final grin over his shoulder. 

You should’ve known it wouldn’t be that easy.

The harsh refusal of his proposal didn’t deter Jinyoung in the least, if anything, it renewed his commitment. He continued his visits to the library, this time determined to speak with you more, get to know you better. He had befriended Mark shortly into his endeavors and your traitorous coworker had told him everything he knew about you - favorite foods, your favorite color, sweets you indulged on when the mood was right. And Jinyoung had weaponized this information, bringing you Peruvian lilies  in the palest of lilacs, leaving tiny boxes of nougat de montelimar on your cart on top of the books for you to find. 

Each time he came to your check out line, he was prepared with a new book and more questions, always briefly discussing his thoughts on the novel before peppering you with inquiries about anything from mundane preferences to how your parents were doing. 

The most infuriating part was it was working. The once practiced guard you had built around yourself slowly coming undone piece by piece, day by day as Jinyoung gave you patient smiles and cheeky winks. Your heart was softening to his antics, and soon you caught yourself thinking about what a date with him would be like, how being the sole object of his affections somewhere that isn’t covered in a fine line of dust and doesn’t smell like old books would make you feel.

It’s this train of thought you’re lost in when he strides up to your counter, another book in his arms, face lighting up once he sees you. 

“Hi, beautiful. Just this for me today,” he murmurs, placing the book he selected directly into your hands instead of on the counter as usual. 

You didn’t have to look at the cover to know which novel he’d handed you, the story itself being so familiar that you could recognize it by the weight of it in your hands alone. “You’re telling me you haven’t read The Great Gatsby before?”

He chuckles then, head ducking down sheepishly. “Ah, it was one of those we had to read in school ages ago, but I don’t really remember it. I wasn’t as into books back then.” 

You nod, remembering how your peers didn’t seem to be as obsessed with reading as you had been. “That’s fair. This is one of those that the meaning tends to be lost on a bunch of teenagers, anyway.” Scanning the book and his card, you place it back in his open palm, feeling like you were giving him a tiny piece of your heart.

“I decided to give it another shot - since it's your favorite, and all.” 

Warmth spreads in your cheeks and you wonder briefly if he notices the way you fight a smile. It had been a passing comment, something said while he watched you restock the non fiction section one afternoon, but the fact he remembered caused something in your chest to ache. 

“Well, let me know what you think. I mean, if you’re able to follow along, that is.” 

His slow smirk transforms into a beaming smile, his face softening as he tucks the novel under his arm. “I think I’ll manage. I’ve been able to keep up so far,” his gaze drops to drag over your form before meeting your eyes. “And I’ve been loving every minute.”

He wasn’t talking about books, and the thought had you floating on air for the rest of your shift. 

That night, when you’re safely tucked into bed and far away from the library, you grab the wrinkled slip of paper and type Jinyoung’s number into your phone.

The metal of the old bookcase was ice against your bare skin, back arching up as you lick into Jinyoung’s mouth. What started off as a gentle press of lips in the back stacks of the reference section quickly intensified when his tongue sought yours, the kiss hungry and dripping of pent up desire. 

You hadn’t planned on anything happening, only wanting the abandoned aisles so that you could accept his date offering without your coworkers lurking, not wanting to do it over text. However you didn’t account for Jinyoung’s excitement, the way he looked like he won the lottery when you told him before swiftly backing you into the shelves in a heated kiss - not that you’re complaining. 

His body is firm as he presses into you, hands cupping your cheeks in a gentle way that offset his fervent exploration of your mouth. You melt under his touch, body seeking him like a moth to flame, unwilling to leave his warmth.

“Jinyoung,” you breathe, pushing him away from your lips. “We probably shouldn’t do this here.”

He chuckles, a hand snaking around your waist to tug you close once more. “Probably not. But you have no idea how long I’ve been dying to do that.” 

“Do what? Fondle me in a dusty library?”

He shakes his head lightly before leaning in, his mouth inches from your own, the look in his eyes seizing the air in your lungs. “He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God.”

Swallowing thickly, you ignore the painful gallop of your pulse, the way your defenses seem to crumble each time you’re in his presence. You don’t tell him how much it means to you that he didn’t give up, that he did all of these things just to earn your trust. That he put in so much effort to learn everything about you, took time to memorize the lines from your favorite novel just to make you smile.

Instead, you look up at him through heavy lashes, an easy grin on your lips.  “Did you just quote ‘The Great Gatsby’ at me?” Giggling, you swat his arm. “That was a little cheesy.” 

Jinyoung just meets your gaze, says everything with how he peers into your eyes without saying anything at all. “It only gets better from here, trust me.”