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jasmines-library · 4 months

Note

Hello sugar <3! (im very sorry if theres any spelling errors, english isnt my first language <3)

I would love to request some angst/comfort with the batfam? Maybe with the reader (tw: sa, rape) struggling with some sexual assault/rape issues, something they haven't told the family yet? The reader acting different for weeks, months even, and the whole family being suspicious and noticing their sudden fear of being cornered, touches and certain smells maybe?

its totally fair if you don't feel like it, I just really really love your way of writing the characters, and your writing over all. I swear, i swallowed your whole page in the matter of a few hours, I loved every second!

Kristy, Are You Doing Okay?

Note: My gosh im so sorry this literally took me over a month to get to, but it's here. I'm so glad you like my page and thank you for requesting! (Title name from song)

Warnings: SA, r*pe (non explicit but this fic deals with the aftermath. Please read with caution.), Panic attack of sorts.

Word count: 2.1K

⛤ BATFAM MASTERLIST ⛤

Please remember, if you are ever struggling you are not alone. It may be difficult at first but there are many places for you to reach out to, many of which are anonymous and do not need the involement of of name, if you are just needing for someone to talk to. There will always be someone out there to help you. As an alternative, my DM’s are always open for a chat! Remember: You are loved and you are so much stronger than you realise.

⛤

You hadn’t meant to drift away. It sort of just…happened. And it wasn’t even something you were conscious of really. The thoughts were just constantly there and you couldn’t shake the feeling of his hands roaming all over his body; the ghostly touch of his fingers lingering flush against your skin, burning an invisible bruise into your flesh. You tried to shy away from it but it was always there, buried into the front of your mind festering away like an old, unforgotten wound oozing with pus and blood that would only create more problems the longer it was left.

The night it happened was cold and bitter. A shallow fog had cast itself over the city as you staggered back to the manor with makeup running carelessly down your face. You shut yourself away, turning the lock on your door and burying yourself under the covers to try and shy away from the situation. But it never left. It just kept growing, weeding its way back through the open cracks like a stubborn plant that refused to leave no matter how many times you doused it with poison. You didn’t sleep that night. And you didn’t leave your room the day after. In fact the only time anyone saw you that day was when you slunk downstairs in the middle of the night to try and revive the growling of your stomach without having to see anyone when you bumped into Tim who was finally dragging himself up to bed. The interaction was odd. At first he thought that you had just been busy all day and that was why no one had seen you: It wasn't uncommon for one of you to disappear into your room for a few days to catch up on school work or to finally get more than 4 hours of sleep. But something about you was off. You were quiet and lacking that charisma that usually shone from you. You were jumpy too, recoiling as soon as Tim rounded the corner unexpectedly.

When you finally managed to bring yourself out of your room, you were still withdrawn. Instead of donning your normal seat next to Jason at the table, you sat at the end alone pushing your food aimlessly around the plate until someone had finished eating and you took that as a cue to leave. You didn’t mean to leave them in the dark. Really, you didn’t but the thoughts crept into your mind every time they got near. Every hand outstretched sent a shiver crawling down the nape of your neck as if someone was running an ice cold digit along your spine. The thoughts were worse. Intruding. Obnoxious. You felt so…dirty. And your mind seemed to like to make sure you remembered that. You couldn’t help but feel like somehow the whole situation was your fault, which of course it wasn’t, but you were stuck with being guilt ridden; trapped within your walls.

Your skittishness didn’t go unnoticed. The boys tried many times to talk to you or to get you alone, but each time one of them hastily trailed after you as you slunk out of a room you would pick up your pace until they got the hint and stopped dejectedly in the halls. You had just skittered off into another part of the manor when Damian decided he had finally had enough.

He pushed his way back into the library rather frustratedly, stomping his feet so hard against the floor that they continued to pound through the room even as he moved from the polished wood to the carpet amongst the centre of the room. His brothers were still lounging around the room, their legs slung carelessly over the arms of the chairs or folded beneath them as they engrossed themselves in their phones or an ever growing pile of books. They barely even acknowledged that Damian had even returned from his pursuit of use, besides lifting their gaze as he huffed his way back into the room.

“Something is wrong with Y/N.” Damian declared, planting his feet into the carpet in the centre of the room and placing his hands on his hips.

Dick felt as though he could laugh. Damian’s statement was so obvious that you may as well have had a huge, yellow sign above your head that screamed ‘i’m not okay.’ It didn't matter how much effort you put into trying to hide the bags that dropped across your skin, or the way that you couldn’t stand to be in the same room with any of them for too long without your skin crawling, they were prominent amongst your saddened features. “Yeah, No shit.”he said, looking up from his phone that he had been mindlessly scrolling on to distract himself from the feeling that gnawed at his gut.

The room fell into a pregnant silence before Damians angry scoff broke the silence.

“That’s it? That’s all you’re going to say?” He spat. “You’re not worried?”

Jason pushed himself up onto his forearms and spoke out defensively. “Of course we’re worried… It’s just…”

“What?”

“She won’t let us help her, Dami.” Tim said. “We’ve tried, but each time she’s run.”

“Well then try harder!” He said. It was unusual for the youngest Wayne to react this way when it came to his siblings. But, then again it was unusual for you to shy away like this and although Damian would never admit it, he had a soft spot for you and seeing you hurting like this killed him a little inside.

“Damian.” Dick reprimanded sternly.

He sighed and swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry. I just can’t see them suffering like this anymore.”

There was a general agreement between the four of them. Tim chewed away at his bottom lip as he thought for a moment. “What do you propose we do?”

The whole room seemed to think together as one for a moment.

“We corner them.” Damian said. It might have seemed cruel, but it was the only thing he could think of that would stop you from slipping away again. “If they keep running there’s no way we’re going to be able to help, so we just have to compromise.”

You knew that Jason was behind you. You could hear his careful footsteps, evenly spaced by his long strides as he tried to catch your attention. He was loitering outside of your room, trying to catch you as you left. It surprised you to see him as you peeled open the door. You had flashed him as much of a grin as you could muster up as he greeted you, trying to draw you into a one sided conversation that you were itching to get away from the moment it started. You tried to remind yourself that it was just Jason. That he wasn’t going to hurt you. But your mind still thought it was funny to play cruel tricks on you and soon you were making up a poor excuse and fleeing down the halls.

You didn’t make it far though before you collided with a tall figure marching down the other end of the corridor, who braced his hands on your shoulders. Yelping at the unexpected contact you spun on your heel to turn back the way you came only for your breath to get stuck in your throat when you were met with the red of Jason’s shirt. When you backed up, you collided with the eldest vigilante again. Spinning around frantically, you searched for a way out. There was none.

You were trapped.

The thought consumed you quickly, dragging you down like a ton of bricks tied to your ankles until you were drowning in the thought of being imprisoned again. It was all you could think of. It screamed throughout your mind, pumped in your blood. It was nauseating. You could see the other two approaching and panic set into your already scrambled mind. You weaved, trying desperately to spot an exit but the two vigilantes were much bigger than you and their hefty frames took up most of the corridor.

“No. No no no.” You rambled as your heart rate skyrocketed and your breathing came in sporadic, panicked gasps.

Tim furrowed his brow. He didn’t think you would react like this. He reached out to grasp your forearms to ease your shaking body, but you nearly screamed, yanking your arms away from him and backing up against the wall.

“Don’t touch me!” You stuttered, barely audible between your spiralling state. Fat, hot tears tracked along your face as you sunk to the ground to bury your face within your knees which you clutched to your chest.

The four boys exchanged an anxious glance.

“Y/N…”

“Please…” You gasped. “Stay away from me. I-I can’t anymore… no more. Please.”

“Y/N? What's wrong?” Dick queried. “Talk to us, please. We want to help.”

“No…” You whimpered.

Damian squatted down beside you resting on the balls of his feet before reaching out slowly towards you, ignoring the warning glance that Jason sent his way, and placing it gently on your shoulder.

Flinching, you squeezed your eyes shut. He could feel the way you trembled like a leaf under his touch but he didn’t let go.

“It’s just me Y/N. It’s Dami.”

You registered his words, but you still felt like you were back in that room. You allowed your body to relax just the smallest amount.

“It’s just us, kid. You’re okay.” Dick cooed.

You sniffled. The four of them were crouched around you now.

“You can trust us.”

Your body tensed as you were hit with reminders of that night. The way he had led you away to commit his act of betrayal that would cut deeper than a thousand knives.

“That’s what he said.” You hiccuped.

“Who?” Tim asked tenderly. “Talk to us Y/N.”

You shook your head, biting down on your lip. You didn’t want to bring up the memory stuck in your mind.

“Kid… we can’t help you if we don’t know what’s happening.”

“He- he… took me away from the crowds… He said to trust him- and I thought I could. B-but then he-” Your voice split into an unholy sob.

“Oh..Y/N/N…” Dick said, suddenly understanding.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. I can still feel him. Hear him. Just make it stop please!.” You begged, sobbing into your hands.”

“It’s okay. You’re safe.” He told you, reaching out gently to place a hand on your forearm, you tensed slightly but didn’t pull away. “We’re not going to let anyone hurt you. Ever.”

“We promise.”

You peeled your head away from your arms to reveal your bloodshot, teary eyes. From close up they could see how clearly the ordeal had taken a toll on you. Not just on your body but your mind too.

It took some convincing and a lot of gentle touches of reassurance to get you off of the floor, but the four of them managed to ease you back into your room. They refused to leave you alone after that. Insisting that at least one of them stay by your side at all times until you decided on your own terms that you were ready to take the next step in your recovery and stay the night alone. It was a slow process, but each small milestone made them extremely proud of you. They were there when you awoke suddenly in the middle of the night, crying and shaking, and they were there when you managed to move forwards too. They were there to remind you that recovery isn’t linear, and that it was okay to move backwards. It’s all part of the process. The four of them showed you a different kind of gentleness that you had never seen before, and they tried their hardest to bring a smile to your face everyday. And it was their kindness that began to wash away those feelings. It was them who made you realise that you were loved, strong and would find your way back from the darkness and into the light.

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jeanbie · 2 months

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IF I LAY HERE (WOULD YOU LIE WITH ME?) ★ masterlist.

pairing: eren x reader

genre: best friends-to-lovers-au, actor au, fluff mostly | warnings: fem!reader | wc: 2.6k

note: hey. i still love u guys and i am still pining over aot. will never stop probably. anyway, this was an older fic i wrote but i'm handing it down to eren! title is taken/inspired from chasing cars by snow patrol (my fav song)

⏤ Eren has had enough - it's been four months since he's last seen you, and he's not going to let his fame status keep him from seeing you any longer. He just hopes that you feel the same way when you see him again.

Eren was taking a pretty big risk, he knew that.

It was risky taking any step out of his apartment at any moment; he’d think he was safe until he made it to the end of the road, earphones snug in his ears, and the flash of a camera behind the bushes in the corner of his eye blinds him back to his front door in a twisted shame.

Granted, he’d expected it to be worse now that he'd booked a plane ticket and made a rather hasty, in-the-moment journey to the airport and on a plane with no layover. Usually when Eren takes a journey overseas, there’s at least one or two fans hiding in the corner of the suites waiting for him, or someone on the plane who’d recognise his face.

For this, he’d suck it up and take a photo. It was better to have good PR and be a little bit pissed off that he’d been discovered, than to have bad PR and to be known as the actor from Attack on Titan who didn’t give a damn about the people who essentially made him and his friends famous.

But Eren thought the risk was worth it this time. The plane touched down in a different country, and from there, it was an hour long train journey to a station he didn’t know anything about to meet a friend of yours he’d only seen in Instagram pictures.

You were at university now, a face he saw on a screen rather than a face he quite literally saw every day months before. It had been four months since Eren had seen his best friend, and fuck anybody who was going to make him wait a second longer before seeing you again.

You were his greatest risk, but it was worth it. You were worth it.

“Fuck, it’s insane to actually be meeting you right now.”

Frank is a good guy, ginger with circle glasses resting on the end of his roundish nose. He led Eren out of the train station, offering to pull his suitcase for him. “I mean, I’m a huge fan.” Followed by a sigh and a quiet, “Who isn’t…?”

Eren smiled at him, squinting in the sun as it hit his eyes in the direction of Frank’s face. “Thanks. I hear a lot about you, too.”

Frank grinned, whipping his head towards Eren. “All sexy and scandalous things, I hope. You know, none of us believed Y/N when she said she knew you. We thought the pictures were Photoshopped, you know how she is.” They both paused by the side of the road waiting to cross, “Shit, she’s gonna freak out when she sees you.”

That was three minutes ago, but Eren's still playing that sentence on a loop in his head. She's gonna freak out when she sees you.

He walks alongside Frank down one of the streets, past a redundant furniture store that quirks his brows. He’s missed it here, and how unbelievably, shockingly awful it all looks when you’re not looking at picturesque photos of it online.

“I thought you’d know that Y/N’s my best friend,” Eren says thoughtfully. He pauses as Frank does as a car zooms past when they’re about to cross. “I mean, people know. The photos got leaked, all of them.”

“Hey, give me a break,” Frank says dramatically. “I only really became a super fan three months ago. I'm more into Levi, you know how it goes. And yeah, I figured it out eventually. Finally, I understood why so many people at this uni wanted photographs with her and to be her best friend…”

Eren frowns. “Is it bad? She doesn’t tell me this stuff on the phone. I mean, they go crazy online when she posts pictures and we interact, but I didn’t…”

Frank shakes his head and grins at Eren as the words die out in his mouth.

“Nah, don’t panic. It’s not that bad. If anything, she might get a kick out of the fame. Trust, there’s always gonna be the girls who hate her because she’s friends with you and that’s like, what, threatening to their fantasy? But she loves you a lot, and a friendship like yours…it’s kinda like family, you know?”

Eren feels his stomach flip, butterflies going haywire. These butterflies are bitter and relentlessly fast, his heart racing that extra bit quicker. He likes the sound of family. He doesn’t like the way Frank implies it, because if Eren is ever going to consider you as family, it won’t be as his sister.

You’ve never been his sister, even when you became part of his family growing up on special occasions, or even just on a daily basis when you came to visit. There were times his family called you their own, but you were never his sister. It was different than that; you both knew it but never dared acknowledge it.

Frank makes small talk until they make it to the student accomodation you currently live at, and because Frank knows basically everybody, a student comes to the gate to let them both in. They’re nice and tall, wearing an Aston Villa shirt that Eren remembers looks a lot like your dad’s back in the day. Might be the same kind, might be a vintage.

He smiles at him, because maybe this guy knows Eren, but then the guy just turns back into the common room and doesn’t come out again. Frank doesn’t live here - he lives in a flat of his own around the corner, but Frank might as well be a resident here. He lets himself in towards the lift and shoots a text to one of your flatmates.

“Apparently she’s in the shower,” Frank says casually. He locks his phone, taps his foot as the lift rises, “Let’s hope she doesn’t stride out completely stark naked as you’re in there.”

He almost blushes, “Ha, yeah.”

He declines to mention the times you two have showered together, the time you went skinny dipping together when you were seventeen. Those were things that might end up getting misunderstood, and those are his memories he’d like to keep a secret. He says nothing, nothing but a thank you when he enters your flat with Frank and takes a different turn to the left whereas Frank goes right, towards the kitchen.

Your room is at the very end, your name on the door in stickers from a set you got from the market, and from inside, he hears the music in the bathroom. The door opens silently and closes with the same volume, and Eren manages to wheel his suitcase to the end of the bed and plonks himself down.

As expected from pixels on the screen, your room looks better in person - white walls and a bed set that’s white and covered with little peonies. Above your desk, Eren recognises all your photos together, new polaroids of you and the friends you’ve made at university who Eren always felt kind of threatened by. He smiles to himself, and rests his head against the wall your bed is attached to. From here, he can see the bathroom door in the mirror on the opposite wall, but he knows you’ll only see his feet when you come out.

Speaking of which; the song playing in the bathroom ends suddenly and the shower water has stopped running. Eren hears the toilet flush and his heart starts to race.

Four months of falling asleep on Facetime and texting when there was no time left in the day, and now, here he is, on your bed, waiting for you to step out and… And, then what?

Maybe you wouldn't even want him here. Maybe you were happier now that Eren was travelling the world with his other friends and film crew while you were still here, in a new city with new friends and a new life. Maybe the memory of Eren was burdensome to you. Worse - maybe he was something you felt you had to remember but didn’t really want to.

Eren's always been scared of the rejection he might receive from you. He might be a dream for fans across the world, but there’s a split second where Eren feels like he might not be good enough for you. He’s the world to other people. But you deserve the whole galaxy, and he’s afraid that’s something that he might not ever be able to give you, even with all the money and the fame.

The bathroom door opens and in two seconds, the light is shut off and he hears you sigh.

“Jesus, Frank, you gotta stop letting yourself in here without telling me,” your voice says. “Good thing I’m semi-decent. Usually I’m not.”

“No fun,” Eren teases, and silence follows. There’s a pause, and Eren cocks his head, his left cheek on his shoulder, waiting for you to click and appear in front of him.

Suddenly, he hears small but quick thuds across the carpet and Eren feels his chest tighten with a nostalgic feeling when you come into view with wide eyes, damp hair and nothing but a bra and those stupid black worn leggings you refuse to throw out.

The grin that reaches Eren's eyes now aches as he laughs at you, at the way you gape at his presence. It takes a moment, a moment of what feels like could be the rejection that Eren absolutely fears, but then you smile so wide that Eren feels it in his stomach.

“Holy shit!” you exclaim loudly, bringing a hand to your mouth as you hurry towards the bed. It dips beneath your knees and Eren rises up to a more comfortable position. “What the fuck!”

He laughs out loud, and when Eren wastes zero time in bringing you into his arms, hugging you tightly.

“Careful, my hair’s all wet,” you squeak.

“Don’t care.”

He really doesn’t. There’s probably going to be a damp spot on his clothes after, but that’s okay. You groan loudly with happiness as you hug him in return as tightly as he is hugging you, your weight on his lap and your arms around his neck.

Eren smiles so wide, sighing with content into your neck. Here, he smells the marshmallow body wash on your skin, the fragrance of your hair that kind of reminds him of Cabbage Patch babies.

“You smell good,” he mutters. You laugh quietly, squirming when his nose sniffs across your neck like one would kiss. “I don’t.”

“You do, you always smell good,” you reply. One sniff, he laughs, “See!”

“Mmm,” he plays along, “the sweet smell of planes and trains and jet lag.”

That makes you laugh, and at the mention of jet lag, Eren realises he could probably fall asleep like this given the chance. He has missed this, missed you, so fucking much. The emotions are overwhelming.

Eren kisses behind your earlobe, and then just underneath your jaw. That’s new. Eren was always a cheek-kiss kind of best friend, but never this.

You’re not complaining. Your head drops to one side, almost giving him more access to the space free, and he occupies it. Those fucking butterflies; Eren feels sick with nerves as he kisses you, under your chin and across your neck, on that spot on your collarbone you found out tickled after Seven Minutes in Heaven in Year 8.

Maybe your fingernails in his hair are a way of you telling him to stop - it’s something he can think about tonight if he can’t fall asleep, something he doesn’t care to think about when he kisses on your actual jawline, to your cheek and the corner of your mouth, your cupid’s bow.

He moves away with a blush that matches your own, but maybe you can’t see his in the colour of your fairy lights. He plays with the dazed confusion on your face as he moves the hair from across your face to around your ears, smiling and raising his eyebrows.

“Your hair is so fucking wet,” he sniggers boyishly.

“I told you,” you shrug. You shrink, relaxed, “Fuck, why are you here? I mean, I’m literally so happy, but… Are you gonna get in trouble for this?”

“I dunno,” he admits. “Maybe, probably. I mean…the guys know I’m here. Jean drove me to the airport with Armin.”

“That’s not what I mean, though.”

Eren sighs loudly. “Yeah, I know. Frank told me all about the girls.”

“Little fucker. Is he here? I’ll punch him for mentioning it to you. It’s honestly fine. It's only a few. Most are really nice!”

“You’re my best friend for life, it’s important to me that you’re not uncomfortable by--”

“I’m not,” you assure him, hands trapped in his hair. You frown and try to change the subject, “Damn, this got long. Didn’t look long over the phone.”

“I've been growing it out,” Eren replies. “Heard you fancied Keanu Reeves, couldn’t handle the competition.”

“Ha!” you retort. “Simp.”

“For you,” frowns Eren dramatically.

Conversation fizzles comfortably, to the point where you both forget that Eren's underneath you and your legs are wrapped like a koala around his middle.

The fact that this is normality for you both is ignored. You’ve done worse things together. Eren even knows that the bra you’re wearing now is one he bought for you, half as a joke, half not. That could be why Eren feels the way that he does, why the confusion wraps around his body and traps him.

Eren knows that the butterflies in his stomach don’t just appear because you’re his best friend he hasn’t seen in a while. He knows what they mean when they flutter when your name pops up when you’re calling him, when an interviewer tries to catch him out by bringing you up in another interview that you don’t need to be mentioned in.

Eren knows that coming here was worth the confusion, and the nerves, and the fact that this will be a headline when it gets out. EREN YEAGER GOES TO VISIT HIS BEST FRIEND…BUT ARE THEY MORE? Or worse, NETIZENS HAVE PROOF THAT A.O.T EREN IS DATING HIS BEST FRIEND Y/N…

He doesn’t want to hurt you. That’s why he feels scared. For you to be scandalised by an article online that caught him out in his feelings, he knew it wasn’t fair. Eren might be too afraid to say he’s in love, and too afraid to find out if you feel it too, if all those years of confused relations and flirtations meant anything, but he’d risk those feelings and the headlines if it meant being able to spend one more day with you.

Eren's got a week and a half with you. Something’s gotta give within this week. He doesn’t want to go back to filming with more regrets than he came here with, and so for now, he’ll just have to swallow those butterflies back down when they pour out of his mouth.

Right now, he can’t afford to be caught out. It has to be said on his own terms, when the timing is perfect. It has to be perfect, because it’s what you deserve. It has to be perfect, because if it isn’t, then Eren doesn’t think it will be worth it.

Losing you to a headline and a butterfly is out of the question. You hop off him and shrug on a jumper from out of your wardrobe. If you noticed his unease, then you didn’t mention it. He almost wants to cry, wants the confusion to go away for the night so he can enjoy being here.

Fuck.

For now, he thinks as he follows you with an arm around your shoulders out of your bedroom and towards the kitchen to meet the others, he’ll just have to fake it 'til he makes it. Just like always. Put on a face, put on a show, until it all feels worth the spillage. He can’t let the butterflies escape yet.

It has to be perfect, and until then, he’ll just have to be patient, even if it breaks his heart more by pretending.

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leighsartworks216 · 6 months

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No Alarms and No Surprises, Please

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

I had this idea and decided to write it "real quick" (it took like two hours). I meant to do just like a really short thing so I could eat lunch and then get back to work, but then my brain was like no we gotta set up context

Titled after the song "No Surprises" by Radiohead. It doesn't exactly fit, but it felt right in my mind

Warnings: mentions of murder, tense moments, injury, burning flesh, bruises, bones breaking, blood mention, nausea mention, angst, literal hurt/comfort, soft Astarion moments

Word Count: 1,863

Main Masterlist

First Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist - Second Baldur's Gate 3 Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

You peeked slowly around the corner, holding your breath. Astarion hovered just behind you, almost touching you as you both surveyed your surroundings.

It was a palace, that much you knew. You also knew the guards were exceptionally strong. You already wasted enough healing spells and potions on the two guarding the door - you were just lucky they didn’t call for reinforcements. You also knew there was an artifact deep within the heart of this place that could provide some insight into removing the tadpoles.

“We’ll have to go around,” you breathe out slowly to the spawn. He gives a slight nod. As much as he loved bloodshed, sneak-killing all of them would be too high a risk. You almost came face to face with him when you look over your shoulder. He gives you a knowing smirk as he backs off. You nod down a side-hall. “That way.”

You gesture to Gale and Shadowheart, making sure they knew the plan. They nodded, waiting. You turn back to the patrolling sentinels. Their movements are constant and predictable, each pace following the same amount of steps. They sync, facing away from your destination, and you wave a hand for a companion to go.

Gale, ever the gentleman, lets Shadowheart go first. She hides behind the wall, out of sight. You wait again and gesture for Gale to go. He bites back complaints about his knees that creak under the duress of sneaking. He arrives just as a guard turns. Astarion could hear your heart thumping wildly in your chest; it pounds so loud in your ears you can’t even hear the guards’ footsteps anymore.

He wraps a hand around your waist, carefully pulling you away from the corner. You stare at him, worried he’s noticed something wrong. He nods toward the hall where your companions wait. “You first,” he whispers.

You want to argue - he can see the wheels turning in your head as you frown at him. As the de facto leader, you always worked to ensure everyone else was safe before you. You rested a little easier knowing you’d be the one in harm's way should something go wrong. But Astarion was a rogue, and used to sneaking around to boot. He would be much better at timing his dash to the hall than you could.

After a moment, you nodded. He pushed you back to his prior spot as he takes your place, poking an eye around the corner and studying them. He thought you’d die of a heart attack if this went on any longer. When the guards turn, he taps your waist. You crouch as quickly as you can to Gale and Shadowheart. They greet you with a tense nod.

You wait in silence for Astarion.

He almost spooks you when he comes silently around the corner. But now, further from the immediate threat, you have a chance to breathe.

The hallway stretches on for what seems like forever. Closed doors and open arch-ways line each side, perfectly mirrored. At the end, there’s a very small statue - but you’re sure it’s life size up close. The prospect of a maze with the ever-looming fear of getting caught doesn’t exactly thrill you, nor any of your companions, but nothing can be done for it.

You sigh and lead them onward.

It’s too risky to peek inside the rooms - if there were patrols inside you’d all be jumped and killed within minutes. At each arch, you glance around the corner, down the other equally as endless corridors. It’s oddly quiet. Not a guard in sight, even on grander doors that seem like they should be protected. It leaves you on edge. Waiting for the boot to drop and leave you in mortal peril. At the very least, you feel safe enough to stand up. It saves you from Gale’s grumbling.

You peer around another corridor and try to imagine the layout of the palace. You’d found a map once, but it was too tattered to make anything useful out. The most information you gleaned from it was where the staircases were. If you could find your way to one of those, you’d be able to go down, deeper into the belly of the beast. You believe, if your slipping memory of the map was correct, you could turn down this way and go all the way to the end, and there would be stairwells on either side of the very-tiny-life-sized-statue.

Resolved to your plan, you step through the ornate marble arch. You feel the pain before you register where it’s coming from. You collapse to the floor, cushioned only by a strong arm and solid body. A hand clamps over your mouth, pressing down tight to keep any sound from slipping through.

Oh. That breathless tightness in your chest is not from the pain. It’s you screaming. Trying to, at least. Your eyes dart frantically around as your body writhes against the person holding you. Gale and Shadowheart appear in front of you, kneeling down and working as fast as they can to help.

One of your legs feels weighed down. You stare at the chunk of metal for too long before it finally registers the trap clamping down on your leg. It looks and acts like a bear trap, but it’s been improved to burn red-hot when activated.

Fear grips you like a vice. You become conscious of the fact the teeth of the trap are almost meeting. It’s bitten through your bone. Or nearly through, anyway. You didn’t process it, too busy being victimized by the sadistic mechanics of the device, but Astarion, Shadowheart and Gale all felt nauseous as the crack continues to echo in their mind.

“Shh,” comes a whisper by your ear. You whimper and gasp and struggle, but the arm around your waist only re-wraps around you to pin your arms down. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

Astarion looks away from your injury, peering down the halls. The sound of the bone snapping was loud enough to attract attention, he just didn’t know how much, or when they’d be coming. Not to mention where they’d come from. For all he knew, their luck had run out, and any second a swarm of golden-armored bastards would be charging down the hall they were in.

“We need to get out of the open,” he hissed to the cleric and wizard.

Gale cast an ice spell, focusing all his energy in freezing the hinge of the device. If he could get it cold enough, it would become brittle, and they could dismantle it and pull it from your leg like cracking open an oyster. Shadowheart focused on healing the burns being inflicted to your skin as they were happening. It smelled uncomfortably like meat roast. Your blood vessels were cauterized. Astarion could hardly take solace in the fact when the usually-delicious scent of your ichor was replaced with the smell of cooking flesh.

“We can’t move them yet,” Shadowheart whispered, barely biting back her panic. She couldn’t keep healing you forever.

Gale grunted, brow furrowing further as he willed the ice to freeze faster, freeze colder around the metal.

Astarion felt useless, watching and unable to help. Holding you while you thrashed in agony was all he could do. He hoped to the gods he wouldn’t reveal a bruise over your mouth when this was finished. “I’m here,” he whispered sweetly in your ear. It was all he could think to do. “You need to keep still, love. It’ll be over soon.”

The words didn’t reach. You knew he was speaking when his breath fanned over your ear, but the speech-centers of your brain were thoroughly turned off. As were any of the logic-centers. Anything that could have told you they were helping, to calm down and stop moving, was replaced instead with klaxons and sirens urging you to struggle and fight back against the pain.

Footsteps. Loud and clanging. Getting closer. Astarion cursed. “We have to hide,” he hissed again, panicked.

There was no time to argue. They all seemed to have the same idea as Astarion pushed himself across the floor with his legs, pulling you with him. Shadowheart and Gale stopped casting in favor of moving your legs, as carefully as they could possibly manage. Hot tears slipped over Astarion’s hand as you thrashed violently with the motion. But now, at least, you were tucked into a corner. Hidden behind a pillar that framed the arch of the hallway. Everyone held their breaths. You didn’t catch the memo, but the spell-casters held your legs down so you wouldn’t make as much noise.

The clanging of armor rose in volume until the echoes through the corridors nearly deafened everyone. You momentarily stopped fighting. Though, Astarion couldn’t tell if it was because the sound had reached past your pain, or if your body was giving out under the duress.

The steps - 3 guards, if Astarion had to guess by ear - slowed from a run to pacing the juncture of the halls. They circled around, stopping occasionally. One set of steps stopped mere feet away. If Astarion leaned forward slightly, he could make out the point of a nose. Shadowheart and Gale slowly pressed themselves back into the shadow of the pillar.

Something touching his hand startled him. He had to fight not to physically jump and draw attention. A hand, your hand, rested weakly over his. He let go of your arm and turned his hand to hold yours. He could feel you whimper in his hold, the shake of your breaths as they hit hot against his hand. You were scared. He was, too.

He squeezed your hand and looked back at the pillar. The steps hadn’t moved. The sentry was still there.

Seconds ticked away at a snail’s pace. They all worried for a moment the guards had chosen to stay there and patrol the intersection. Then the sentinel stepped back from the arch. More footsteps followed. A pause. He could only imagine they were silently saying they did not find anything. And then the cacophony of armor drowned out any last doubt as they retreated back down the hall.

They all let out sighs of relief, even Astarion who had no need for air. He turned his focus back down to you. Your eyes were shut, your breaths were evened out. You’d fallen unconscious. It was a small mercy.

“Hurry up so we can get the Hells out of here,” he huffed. Shadowheart and Gale nodded, equally as eager to get back to safety, and returned to work.

Astarion slowly removed his hand from your mouth. Light bruises where his fingertips had been began rising through the surface of your skin. He sighed, upset at the pain he caused even through necessity, and brushed a tender kiss over the darkest of the bunch. He was too overwhelmed with relief to care if the others saw him. “You’ll be alright,” he whispered again, even though they did not reach you. He was reassuring himself more than anything. It would have been pathetic, if he could think about anything other than your wellbeing. “I’m here, darling.”

---

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485 notes · View notes

astroph1les · 6 months

Text

maroon [h.c]

summary: hazel’s fight with tucker made you realize how much she means to you. caretaking and ass-kicking ensues.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: mature language, violence and blood, reader has a slight panic attack, attentive and kind! reader, making out (for the distraction of course) mutual pining, sweet and fluffy, hurt/comfort (my weakness), women being bad-asses.

word count: 3.5K

a/n: this is both a request and won a poll. that scene still makes me wince to this day. and yes, the title is a taylor swift song. the lyrics, though, have nothing to do with the actual oneshot. i love you all and enjoy <33

You had told Hazel that agreeing to this would be a bad idea. After Tim had approached Hazel with the chance to humiliate PJ and Josie in front of the entire school at the pep rally before the big game, you got a bad vibe from it.

The sound of Tucker’s foot kicking Hazel’s eye echoed ferociously in your head.

It all happened so quickly, you could barely process seeing Hazel’s limp body on the ground. The sight made your stomach turn as you shot up from your seat in the bleachers to check up on Hazel. You glared in the direction of Tim and Jeff and that fucking psychopath Tucker— who you were pretty sure was a thirty year old man.

Everything had already been so tense in the group after PJ had humiliated Hazel in front of everyone. Finding out that PJ and Josie had started the group to get with Isabel and Brittany was an eye-opener to what their true intentions were.

This crossed the fucking line.

You were running over to her still frame, trailing right behind Isabel. You kneeled down next to her ribs, a bit of her blood getting on your jeans but you really couldn't care less.

“Hazel,” you whisper her name, wincing at the sight of her bleeding eye.

No response.

Panic settled in you as Stella and Brittany began to lift her body. Your eyes watered as you covered your mouth at her now blood-stained collared shirt.

“Is that true?” You heard Isabel ask PJ and Josie who had also come down from the bleachers as the staff and the rest of the students dispersed. Her voice cracked at the end of her sentence. “That’s why you started this?”

You whipped your head to the two girls, eyes flaring with anger and hurt for Hazel.

Josie immediately began to protest.

“N-no, not entirely—“

“Not entire—Okay.” PJ cut her off loudly. “Listen guys. It doesn’t matter…the reason that we started this.”

You felt your skin itch with fury as you watched them drag Hazel’s body out of the gymnasium. You couldn't even listen to whatever bullshit excuse PJ had to say anymore. Sylvie began to walk away as did you and Isabel.

All you could focus on was if Hazel was okay.

The next few days, you didn’t leave Hazel’s side. You were at the hospital that same night at one in the morning with Mrs. Callahan in the waiting room and by her bedside when she came out of getting blood tests and prescribed medications. When the group would go over to her house and spend a few hours after school being attentive and showing support, you would stay the night tending to her wounds.

It was night three and the swelling had just begun to deflate, her eye revealing itself just a bit. Mrs. Callahan had been really understanding about you spending the nights as much as you knew you were intruding. She had pulled you aside after the second night to tell you how much she appreciated you and everyone else staying by her side.

Especially you — for a reason she didn’t disclose to.

You were crouched down next to Hazel’s bed, helping her with the eye drops that were prescribed by the doctor. Hazel was wearing one of her grandpa sweaters and a pair of sweatpants. Splotches of red, purple and yellow covered her entire face.

“Hold on, Haze.” You leaned in a little closer to her face to focus on the little opening of her eye.

Hazel had been fidgeting the entire night and you had no idea what had made her this way. She muttered an apology before sucking in a deep breath. You were gently cupping the unswollen side to give you leverage.

You pretended not to notice her untouched eye flicker to your dry lips.

“Are you okay?” Hazel asked as you held the dropper right above the swollen skin.

You merely hummed in response as you were focused on her eye. Hazel waited until you put the instructed amount into the dry eye, making sure they all got in. You couldn’t risk her getting infection.

“Are you sure?” She pressed again.

You set the dropper down onto the tray full of doctor prescribed pills and remedies for her abrasions. Your brows furrowed as you held an expression of disbelief.

“Haze, I— why are you asking me if I’m okay when you got the shit beat out of you?” You emphasized, chuckling in disbelief.

“I know but—“

“Seriously. If it wasn’t for this fucking club, this wouldn’t have happened to you, Haze.” You expressed with more irritation laced in your tone.

You admit that you haven’t been getting the most sleep since the event; maybe three or four hours at best. Your mind was clouded with worry for Hazel’s well being.

What if Tucker gave her a concussion that would damage her brain forever? What if she went into a coma? What if she dies in her sleep?

Okay, and you also tended to overthink.

“Hey,” Hazel’s tone was gentle with a hint of stern attitude.

You hadn't realized that hot tears were leaving your tired eyes. You had been so busy taking care of Hazel that you hadn’t fully processed what had happened to her. Not a single tear had left your face until now.

“He could’ve really hurt you, Haze.” You whisper, raising your hand to wipe away the tears from your hot cheek.

Hazel remained silent as she knew deep down that Tucker could’ve done a lot more damage than she had received. She just didn't think that you cared this much about her; let alone cry for her pain. She noticed your chest rising and falling faster than she’s ever seen in her entire life. Your bottom lip quivered as you attempted to hold back the burning tears that were threatening to leave your eyes.

“I know but I’m doing okay. You’ve helped a lot, okay? More than I could ever ask for.” Hazel reached for your shaking hand, taking it gingerly into her grasp.

You nod, not trusting yourself to talk as your throat ached from how much you were resisting to let yourself cry. Hazel sat up slowly, her back aching and cracking from being inactive all day.

“Hazel, the doctor said to refrain from sitting upright.” You begin to scold her but she waves her hand at you.

“I’m okay. I-I’m fine.” Hazel shut her eyes, letting out a grunt as she adjusted her body so that she was leaning up against her bed frame.

You reach forward to push her falling strands out of her face, frowning at her wincing.

“Has PJ or Josie—“

“No.” You remark, refraining from rolling your eyes. You already knew where that question was going and still had a grudge against the two.

What hurt the most that you knew Hazel was going to forgive them; specifically PJ. You knew that they didn't hurt her directly but none of this would’ve ever happened if the club never existed. Then again, you never would’ve become friends without the club.

You would’ve still been just admiring her from afar as you passed through the halls.

“Why did you stay here?” Hazel hummed.

You suck in a deep breath as you continue the night routine as normal. You grabbed the tube of ointment and began to apply it to the slit on her high cheekbones.

“I didn't like the thought of you being alone during this.” You admit, hoping it didn't sound so smitten. “I am your friend, you know? I care about you.”

Hazel’s eyes followed the natural arch of your eyebrows and slope of your nose as you spoke. You knew you looked tired but it was truly the least of your worries.

“I know. Now, at least.” Hazel replied, her gaze finally locking on your lips.

“You didn't think I cared?” The dip between your brows depended on her confession.

“It’s nothing against you. I never really had good friends before. It’s nice to not have shitty friends for a change.” Hazel shrugs her shoulders, fiddling with a loose string on her pants.

“You deserve good friends, Haze. You deserve so much.” You express, your voice keeps a gentle yet passionate volume.

The thought of Hazel getting mistreated all her life made your chest ache. Her eyes were darting all over your features as you pulled your hand away from her aching face.

“Well, thank you for all of this.” Hazel replied, not knowing how to take all of your kind words.

You breathe out: “Yeah, of course, Haze.”

You almost missed how she began to lean into your body. You cleared your throat as a tension fell over you guys. You stood up from the bed, brushing your messy hair out of your face.

“I’ll head to bed now. Goodnight, Hazel.” You nod, turning your back to her as you couldn't have her see you so bothered by the fact that she had leaned into you.

You didn't want to have high hopes but they were there. Way, way, up there. Fucking cloud nine up there.

But it wasn’t right. Not yet.

The Huntington versus Rockridge game arrived faster than you could comprehend. You were wedged between Annie and Hazel, waiting patiently for the game to start.

Her eye swelling had completely gone down at that point to where she just had deep brushing all over her pale features. You were happy to see her darling blue eyes once again. Mrs. Callahan insisted that you two come to the game. You were reluctant but maybe it could be something better to do other than sulk around and be annoyed at Josie and PJ.

As the announcer began to cheer on the Vikings, you noticed Josie and PJ walking up the bleachers, stopping right in front of Hazel. Your eyes rolled as you waited to see what they were going to say.

“Okay, first off, PJ has something to say to Hazel, so…” Josie starts, panting through her words.

You stare at PJ along with Sylvie, Annie and Hazel. Her jaw drops, not knowing what to say exactly.

“The apology. Do the apology. Do the apology we said.” Josie muttered to her in a rushed tone.

“Okay! I’m sorry that I called your mom a skank.” PJ exclaimed.

When Hazel merely sighed and avoided her gaze, PJ continued. “And I’m sorry for saying that you have no friends really loud in front of all of your friends.”

Hazel looked down, glancing over at you as PJ could tell she still wasn’t satisfied with her apology.

“And I’m sorry for being an asshole a lot of the time.”

You and Annie give her ‘really?’ looks when she says a lot of the time.

“Most of the— All of the time!” She finalizes.

Josie hums in agreement with her best friend.

“And I do think that it's nice you always have notes and then you type them up and email them to everyone…” Hazel rolls her eyes with an attitude because she knows that they’re helpful. You’ve told her this a million times before. “And I really appreciate it.”

Hazel stares at her blankly for a moment, trying to process what she was going to say.

“Do you forgive me?”

Hazel’s smile creeps onto her lips as she nods with a soft ‘yes’. You send PJ a forced grin before paying attention to whatever Josie was talking about. Something about the Huntington players targeting a single player on the Rockridge team and how you all needed some sort of distraction to save the players.

“Oh, now you want a bomb?” Hazel smirks at the opportunity to blow shit up.

You would be lying to yourself if you said your bruised features didn't make her more attractive to you. You had followed Hazel and the group regardless of your feelings towards PJ as honestly, you didn't have anything better to do.

They still were your friends.

You and Hazel were crouched behind the tree across the yard as she had formulated some sort of bomb out of the blue. Where the hell did she even get this shit?

“Is it the red wire?” Hazel said out-loud, uncertainty laced in her voice. “Shit, or is it the yellow?”

You stare at her in shock.

“You don’t know?” You whisper-shouted at her.

“I-I get them mixed up. Fuck.” Hazel replied back in a panic.

Just then, you hear Annie shout from across the field that the game was about to start. Hazel glanced up at you as she hurriedly guessed which wires connected to one another and grabbed your hand in hers. You blushed as she tugged you along, sprinting across the field.

You did not wear the right bra for this.

The two of you jumped into the group's presence, your arm dripping over Hazel’s back as you all ducked from the expected explosion. After a few seconds of silence, you and Hazel looked up to the tree to see it was still intact.

“Hazel, it's not working.” Annie tapped her shoulder.

“Fuck. Fucking…” Hazel grabbed the remote, releasing your grasp to aim it at the explosive.

“Maybe try turning it on and off again?” You suggest as you stare at the metal antena.

Everyone was clamoring over Hazel to see what went wrong. You hear the crowd grow more and more in volume as the football team and cheerleaders begin to hip-thrust.

“Okay, Plan B, we get the cheerleaders to make out.” Annie stated as she got up and jogged over to the squad.

“What?” You ask in disbelief, trailing after her as did the rest of the group.

“Guys! Guys, kiss each other!” You shout over, making crude motions along with PJ, Annie and Sylvie.

Hazel had run up top to the bleachers, shouting at them to makeout from there. It was no use. Isabel and Brittany were still upset with PJ and Josie, ignoring their requests entirely. You groaned as you noticed the Huntington team begin to make their way onto the field.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” you muttered before you feel someone shove your shoulder.

It was PJ.

“Go and make out with Hazel.” She instructed, jerking her head up to the bleachers.

“Wha—“

“Just go! Hurry!” PJ was now full on pushing you now, staring at Hazel who had seemed to give up on the cheerleaders.

You run as fast as your legs can take you, calling her name from the distance. You’ve never made out with someone before and this is how it was going to happen?

Fuck it.

Hazel turned to you, asking: “What do we do?”

You grabbed the side of her head, pulling her into a messy kiss. Her hands gripped onto your biceps through your navy sweater, trying to go along with your jagged movements. You could hear Annie telling everyone to ‘look!’ as the slobbery mess became a sensual kiss.

You inhale as you feel Hazel take the reins, gripping your face to show you how to control your jaw. Her tongue ever so slightly grazed your bottom lip, humming at the feeling.

Was she always this good of a kisser? Who the hell has she been hooking up with?

The makeout turned into soft gentle kisses, your smile growing as you pulled her in closer.

“Oh, wait. I’m gay!” You hear Stella-Rebecca say as you pull away with a sigh from Hazel’s experienced lips.

Hazel tugs you back in with a grip on your face, seeming to completely forget about why you were even making out in the first place. Her cold rings dug into your cheeks making you crave more and more of her.

Me fucking too, Stella.

The announcer calls the attention back to the game that people came for, causing you and Hazel to pull away with a soft smack. Her hand was at your waist now, both of you staring at the field of players. You pull away, letting out a nervous chuckle as you begin to walk back down to the track field surrounding the football one.

Hazel followed behind you, seeming to be out of it as much as you were. You had not been listening to a goddamn word PJ was saying as you thought about Hazel’s hands on your face and her tongue in your mouth.

How can you move on from this?

“They kissed on the mouth,” Sylvie stated cheekily, pointing at your flushed figures. “With tongue.”

“Okay, yeah. It was for the good of the school so if anyone is asking, we’ll do it again.” You quip back, trying not to make it seem like a big deal when all you wanted to do was have her back on you again.

Josie turned to you guys, suddenly realizing what Sylvie had said. “When did this happen?”

“There were no other distractions! The bomb didn't work.” You protested.

“They’re gonna spray the field.” Annie muttered.

You would’ve missed it if she didn’t repeat it in a much panicked and louder tone.

“We’re gonna have to run.”

“Fuck, more?” You complained as you ran beside Hazel, the insides of your thighs burning from how fast you were sprinting.

You had kicked one of the players away from Jeff, a flood of adrenaline running through you. Fuck, that felt good.

Josie had taken Jeff into her grasp, tugging him up and off of the grass. PJ had her hands over the sprinkler, ready for the pineapple juice to spray everywhere. You stare across the field at the group of Huntington players, eyes widening in a panic. Stella, Isabel, and Brittany joined by the group's side, too, staring down the rivals.

Were you really going to beat the fuck out of the rival football team with the girl you’ve been crushing on and just made out with? To save Jeff nonetheless?

The main player in the middle removed his helmet, staring the group down. He began to scream at the group which resulted in the group screaming back. You saw a large man run up to you, swinging his leg to your chest.

You dodge the force and grab his calf, twisting it clockwise to hear a loud crunch before grabbing onto his helmet guard and throwing him off of you. You feel a blow to your back to see another yellow jersey player, his helmet in hand.

“Fucking asshole!” You scream before throwing a kick to his crotch and throwing a punch to the middle of his face, blooding seeping onto your knuckles.

You don’t know exactly how so much blood got on you. It had all been one huge blur up until you saw Hazel getting punched in the stomach.

You ran over with a shout as you swung a hard punch into his cheek to throw him off guard. Hazel ended it with a kick to the ribs and another punch to the jaw before he fell to the ground.

Your entire body was aching and Hazel looked so weirdly attractive covered in blood.

“Are you okay?” Hazel asked as gently as ever as she grabbed onto your wrist, leading you to the rest of the group.

“Yeah,” you pant, feeling a burning sensation run up your spine. Definitely not. “I’m okay.”

You had blood splattered all over your blue jeans, running up the sleeve of your sweater with a few dots here and there on your face. There was a collective silence when everyone realized how much damage they had done.

You slowly turn toward the crowd of peers and adults, eyes wide with shock on what had just happened. The sprinklers suddenly turned on and Tim shouted to turn them off once he realized it was pineapple juice.

He slowly began to clap for you and the rest of the girls as the half-dead, half-unconscious Huntington players lay all around you. You let out an awkward chuckle, grabbing onto Hazel’s blood-lathered arm as you lean into her touch. You waved at everyone, snuggling into her maroon-stained shirt.

“So, that was…” You turn to her, not knowing what the fuck to even say about what had just went down.

“We’ll process it tomorrow.” She shakes her head, blood-stained face and all.

“Right, yeah.” You nod mindlessly, slowly blinking at her.

“Did you like the kiss—“

“Are we together now?”

Your question threw Hazel off guard, letting out a soft chuckle as she nervously scratched the back of her neck.

“I mean, I don’t personally just make-out with anyone.” You push out a gust of air, staring into her radiating blue eyes.

“Me neither.” Hazel rushes out, a shy smile on her lips. “So… yeah?”

You nod, laughing out a ‘yeah.’ You look around at the football field now stained with red from the bodies.

“To think, all it took was fucking up some football players for us to get together.” You grin cheekily.

“Oh, I think some of them are actually dead.” Hazel stated as you threw your arms around her neck, more of the blood spreading onto your sleeves.

“Well, the red makes your eyes pop. It’s kind of hot.” You half-joke which causes her to shake her head with a chuckle.

The forgotten tree then exploded, causing everyone to pause in their tracks. The excitement and cheers from the crowd came to a complete halt. You cover your mouth with one hand as the tree caught on fire. Hazel buries her head into your neck, groaning at her failed bomb attempt.

Hazel was right; you’ll process this tomorrow

taglist: @lovelyy-moonlight @imjustapearl @seethesin @matchamilkislover @beabeebrie @curiousshifter101 @uraesthete @fictionalcharacterspecialist @c4llahansgirl @maggiecc @fruitysnackysmain @crvptidgf <33

#hazel callahan #bottoms movie #hazel callahan x reader #bottoms 2023 #wlw #sapphic #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan fic #all she deserves is love #the bottoms girls are my troops 🫡

749 notes · View notes

dreamcubed · 7 months

Text

lover | mattheo riddle x reader

song; lover [taylor swift] pairing; duke!mattheo riddle x fem!baronet's daughter!reader genre; marriage of convenience, s2l, fluff, angst, hurt comfort word count; 9,1k timeline; bridgerton au (again lol) warnings; abusive parents (verbal, neglect, psychological), implied anxiety, panic attacks, near death experience (illness) summary; born into a loveless family, you had been denied the opportunity to marry for many years. that was, until, a duke noticed your situation and gave your parents an offer that they simply couldn't refuse - but would it be a love match?

suggested by @fictionisjustbetter ! (sorry this took so long)

icl mattheo is just so perfect for period aus

masterlist

"all's well that ends well to end up with you."

———————————————

Sir Vincent Malton was a baronet and nothing more. Of course, while being a low title, it was still a part of the aristocracy, which was much better than the alternative. He took his role very seriously, as his father before him had, and his father before him.

So, when the first Lady Malton of his passed during childbirth having sired not an heir, but a daughter, he had arranged for a new wife to marry ready for his first day of it being considered acceptable to be out of mourning. The second Lady Malton of his was more successful in the heir department: during her first pregnancy, she sired twins, both a boy and a girl. And then after two more girls (of separate pregnancies), she had another boy. Sir Vincent Malton then finally felt safe in the security of his baronetcy lineage.

But he never spoke to any of his six children. He left them up to the second Lady Malton, including his firstborn, who was not her blood. Where other ladies would have accepted their stepchildren as their own, Lady Daria Malton did not. As far she was concerned, Y/N was not her child and thus not her problem. But Sir Vincent was a traditional man who saw the children as the mother's business, so she kept up appearances to continue her life of comfort.

Sir Vincent didn't even bother with the marriage mart, instructing his wife to simply inform him when a suitor (with a title) proposed to any one of his daughters. And Lady Malton had - with her own eldest daughter, Samantha, when a baron asked for her hand. He was twice her age, but Lady Malton (like her husband) cared about title more than anything. Samantha was quickly married off to her new life as a baroness.

One thing Sir Vincent didn't know was that Lady Malton had never officially debuted Y/N. She brought her along to more casual soirées that other non-debutantes attended to keep up appearances, but as far as the one-and-twenty-year-old's actual debut - well, it was significantly overdue. The thing was, Y/N had received callers after such events before, but callers were received by the baronetess and not the baronet, and she quickly sent them away. Thus, the actual stage of proposal was never reached, so Lady Malton was by all technicalities following her husband's instruction.

Y/N knew that it was unfair, that her stepmother's abuse was unjust. She didn't see why she couldn't just allow someone to propose and get her out of the home: Lady Malton clearly didn't like her, so why not be rid of her?

But, she supposed, someone like Lady Malton must quite enjoy having a scapegoat around to target their frustrations at.

***

"Last year was a tremendous success by all means," Lady Malton spoke as her lady's maid attended to her corset, "To have Samantha married off in her first year as a debutante was a splendid result."

Y/N subtly rolled her eyes: Samantha was eighteen and her husband almost forty, it really shouldn't have been a permitted pairing. But, her husband was a baron, and title was all Lord & Lady Malton cared for. They couldn't choose to be fussy as the lowest titleholders of the aristocracy.

"Thus, Y/N, I do not wish you to cause any interference," she explained further, glaring at you through her reflection in the mirror, "I am bringing you along to Lady Bridgerton's birthday soirée out of necessity, as she always includes young ladies of whom have not made their debut."

You knew that: you had attended Lady Bridgerton's birthday event the year prior for the same reason.

"Rumour has it the Duke of Covenshire has returned from his travels to the Americas and will be attending tonight," she proceeded, "And it would simply be marvellous if Grace could secure him as a match in her first year as a debutante."

You glanced over at Grace, sat at the dresser as her lady's maid applied her makeup. She was putting on a remarkably brave face, but you could tell that she was nervous: she was too young to debut. After Samantha's success, Lady Malton had felt confident enough to debut Grace at only seven-and-ten. It wasn't entirely uncommon, but typically Mamas waited until their daughters were at least one year older.

Meanwhile you were one-and-twenty and still yet to have your debut. At this rate you would be a spinster before you had even entered the marriage mart.

You looked to your other side at Tia, your youngest sister at fourteen, who was more than thrilled to be allowed to attend that night. You never saw your brothers, really: Vincent (creatively named after your father) was away at Cambridge, and Henry, the youngest of the lot, was away at Eton.

"Right, is the carriage ready?" Lady Malton snapped at one of the servants, who quickly nodded.

And then with a curt bob of her head, the baronetess proceeded over to the door - a silent instruction for her daughters to follow - and they all headed to the front of Malton House, the London lodgings of the family.

***

"Lady Bridgerton! How good to see you," Lady Malton beamed at the dowager viscountess, "Such a lovely soirée."

"Why thank you, Lady Malton," the kind woman replied, "Pleased to see all your daughters could make it."

"Oh, is Samantha here already?"

"I believe Lady Halterton is over there," Lady Bridgerton vaguely pointed in a direction, "But how are all the Miss Maltons?"

"Grace is excited to make a match this year," the poor girl was pushed forward, "With any luck, she shall follow in her sister's footsteps."

"And what of the oldest Miss Malton?"

You looked up and gave Lady Bridgerton a hesitant smile.

"You know how Y/N is - still doesn't want to debut," Lady Malton sighed, "At this rate she shall be a spinster before even trying for marriage. But, we love her and support her decisions."

You scoffed internally, wanting nothing more than to blaspheme at your stepmother in that moment.

The conversation with Lady Bridgerton wrapped up and the focus then became the considering of various potential suitors. It was the first social event that you had the privilege of attending since the year prior, so you fully planned to savour the moments you were free from the house.

And then the room hushed into whispers as the door opened, it being remarkably noticeable how all the ambitious eyes of the Mamas zoned in on one particular man gracing the room with his presence.

"That's him- that's the duke!" Lady Malton whispered, mainly to Grace, but anyone close by could have heard her.

"Gosh, he's handsome," Tia mumbled to your left, "Shame I'm too young."

You kept your eyes glued on to the pale man with curly brown hair gelled somewhat neatly. His eyes were narrowed like that of a cat's, and his very presence commanded authority - yet he was polite to every hopeful Mama who approached him. Dismissive, but polite.

"Ah, Lady Bridgerton," he spoke, near enough to you for you to hear his gruff monotone voice as he bent over to kiss the dowager viscountess's hand, "Thank you for the invitation, and happy birthday."

"It is an honour you attended, your grace."

The man nodded, chatting to her for a few moments longer as the noise and bustle returned to the room, so you couldn't hear the rest of it.

"Now is our chance," your stepmother said as the duke's conversation wrapped up. She quickly sped towards him. "Your grace!"

The duke paused, and half-turned so he was fully facing your brood.

"Lady Malton, Baronetess of Catury," she curtsied, "And this is my daughter, Grace," she gestured towards the girl.

When his eyes flicked to Tia, she hurried to introduce her, but when his eyes flicked to you, she remained silent.

"And you are?" he inquired.

Your eyes widened: you were rarely spoken to, "Y/N- Miss Y/N Malton," you corrected.

"Don't pay her any mind, your grace," your stepmother quickly said, pinching you in the side as subtly as she could which made you flinch - as it always did. You didn't notice the way the duke's beady eyes followed the interaction. "She isn't a debutante."

"She looks old enough to be." He was clearly referencing the fact you obviously had a few years on Grace.

"It is her own choice."

You couldn't help the scowl that itched at your eyebrows, and the duke couldn't help but notice it.

"Would you care for a dance with Grace?"

The duke's eyes flicked over your sister again, "I have no intentions of dancing this evening- if you excuse me."

And with that, he departed, just to be ambushed by yet another Mama.

Your stepmother turned and glared at you, "You ruined Grace's chances."

"I didn't do anything," you said simply.

"You spoke. You know you're not supposed to."

"He asked me a question."

"I respond to the questions about you."

"Mama," Grace interrupted, shooting you a sympathetic look, "Is that the Earl of Kilmartin over there?"

Lady Malton's head snapped in that direction, "So it is! He has returned from India."

You couldn't be more grateful to Grace for the distraction.

***

"Saunders," the duke, Mattheo, called from his work study in Riddle Manor, his London residence. It was merely a couple hours after he had returned from Lady Bridgerton's soirée.

The secretary hurried into the office, "Yes, your grace?"

"What do you know of the Malton family?"

Saunders paused, "Sir Vincent Malton?"

Mattheo nodded.

"He is married to Dame Daria Malton and has six children. He attended Eton and Cambridge, studying history."

"And of his children?"

"Two sons and four daughters, I believe."

"And what of Miss Y/N Malton?"

The secretary immediately recognised the name, "She is the oldest, your grace. She is one-and-twenty and well-known for not having debuted yet."

Mattheo frowned, leaning back in his chair, "Is there a way in which she is different from her siblings?"

"I-" the secretary thought for a moment, "I believe she has a different mother than her younger siblings, if that's what you mean."

"Lady Malton is not her mother?"

"Well, yes and no. The current Lady Malton is not her mother, but the Lady Malton before her was. She passed in childbirth, I believe."

Mattheo hummed, "I see."

"Is that all, your grace?"

"Prepare the carriage to journey to Malton House tomorrow morning, Saunders, and locate my mother's engagement ring."

Saunders' eyes widened, but he quickly nodded, "Of course, your grace."

Nothing made Mattheo angrier than cruel parents.

***

Lady Malton and Grace were up bright and early the next day, as all debutantes and their Mamas were after a social event. They were to dress in some of their nicer but not so fancy attire ready to sit in the upstairs drawing room in await for any callers they may receive in the downstairs drawing room. You, however, stayed tucked nicely into bed until a more reasonable hour, since your stepmother certainly wouldn't want to catch sight of you until lunchtime - if then.

Still, you rose from your slumber at around eleven o'clock and called for your lady's maid, getting dressed in a simple baby blue piece that you had purchased a few years ago. You rarely got new dresses under Lady Malton's reign.

"I'll take my breakfast in here, please, Melinda," you smiled.

***

The Duke of Covenshire had been up at an exceptionally early hour, having taken a ride on his favourite stallion at sunrise, to then return to his city house and retreat to his office for a few hours accompanied by some breakfast.

He was still there at eleven o'clock.

"Your grace," Saunders began after having knocked on the door, "The carriage is ready for you."

"And the ring?" the duke inquired.

"Here," the secretary presented it, "It was still safely in the dowager duchess's bed chamber."

Mattheo had seen no point in keeping it anywhere else since that room had remained unoccupied for quite some time now.

"Excellent," he murmured, "Now, let us make haste."

***

It wasn't a long journey to Malton House, so really it was no time at all by the time that the Covenshire carriage pulled up to the smaller but still grand home. There were two or three other carriages parked outside, likely belonging to other potential suitors.

Mattheo wasn't worried: he was a duke, after all, and the Maltons were merely baronets. They would jump at the opportunity to marry a daughter off to be a duchess.

After knocking on the door, he was greeted by a short balding man with a seemingly permanently curved eyebrow.

"Here for Miss Malton?" he asked.

"Yes," Mattheo replied, although he had a feeling they weren't referring to the same one.

"Name?"

"Mattheo Riddle, Duke of Covenshire."

The butler's eyes widened, "Right this way, your grace."

Mattheo was led through the hallway into the downstairs drawing room, where Lady Malton and Grace were perched on an orange settee. On the other side of Grace sat an older gentleman, meanwhile on the settee sat across from them were two others. One of them was roughly the same age as the first, whereas the other was much younger - closer to Grace's age.

"Your grace," Lady Malton instantly said, shooting up to curtsy.

"Lady Malton," Mattheo nodded, "May I speak with Sir Vincent?"

"Yes, yes, of course," the baronetess said with widened eyes, "I'll go fetch him at once."

Typically she would have sent a servant to complete such a task, but clearly the shock had consumed her to the point she sprung into action. Once she had departed the room, Mattheo turned his eyes to Grace and the other three gentlemen who were all staring at him curiously.

"Who are you gentlemen?" he asked.

"Edward Cann, Viscount of Sancourt," one of the older gentlemen introduced.

"Gareth Warner," the other older one spoke.

Mattheo couldn't help but question the audacity of an older man to pursue the hand of such a young woman when he didn't even possess a title. Still, his eyes turned to the youngest man.

"Sir Charles Robinson, Baronet of Rackney."

"And how old are you?" his eyes were still on Charles.

"Twenty, your grace."

Mattheo hummed, that was more appropriate for Grace. Unusual for a man to seek a wife at such an age, but not unheard of.

"Lord Cann and Mr Warner," he began, and they perked up at his address, "May I ask what the devil men of your age are doing pursuing such a young woman?"

They were clearly taken aback by his blunt honesty, as were the servants littered around the room.

"I certainly will have to rethink my family's business with your estates in light of such news."

And with apologies to Grace and Mattheo, the two older gentlemen quickly vanished from the room, moments before the Lord & Lady of the house made an appearance.

"Your grace," Sir Vincent spoke, holding out his hand, which Mattheo shook, "To what do I owe the honour?"

"May we proceed to a more private location?"

"Of course, right this way."

"Your presence won't be required any longer, Sir Charles," Lady Malton said, clearly confused at the absence of the two other gentlemen.

Mattheo interrupted, "Oh, I'm sure it will, Lady Malton. I wouldn't dismiss the young gentleman."

Before she could ask what he meant, he was being led out the drawing room and to the baronet's office.

"I believe you know what I am here for," Mattheo stated simply, after declining the offer of brandy.

"I shouldn't want to get my hopes up, your grace."

"I would like your daughter's hand in marriage."

Sir Vincent nodded, "Of course, I shall dower her fairly-"

"Unnecessary. I have no use for a dowry, no matter the size."

"Oh- okay," the baronet paused, "Which daughter is this?"

Mattheo almost frowned: was Sir Vincent not aware of his daughter's status in society? Perhaps he left such matters up to his wife.

"Miss Y/N Malton."

"You're the first suitor that we have received for her."

The duke's breath hitched.

"This is such a relief - of course, we will arrange the wedding right away."

"I would like to marry her quickly," Mattheo said, "We will need to procure a special license."

Sir Vincent nodded, "Whatever you wish, your grace. It is an honour to be your father-in-law."

Mattheo turned to leave after saying his thanks, but paused and faced the baronet again, "You should definitely consider Sir Charles Robinson to marry Miss Grace Malton, he is a fine young man."

The baronet was clearly confused at such a statement, but absently nodded nonetheless.

***

You had been shocked when your father called you down to the drawing room: you couldn't remember the last time that he had requested your presence. Not that he requested your sisters' presences either, you were pretty sure your brother Vincent was the only of his children he spoke to.

"Excellent news for our family," he began, with Lady Malton looking thrilled at what she expected him to say, "Excellent news indeed."

You almost rolled your eyes, expecting that you had simply been called down to receive the announcement of Grace's engagement.

"The Duke of Covenshire has proposed."

Lady Malton stood up, "This is fabulous news! Well done, Grace."

"No," Sir Vincent silenced his wife, "Well done, Y/N."

Your head snapped up.

What?

"Whatever do you mean, Father?"

"His grace has asked for your hand in marriage," you had never seen your father so happy, "And naturally I accepted."

Lady Malton stood in absolute horror.

"I was beginning to become worried about your lack of proposals," he continued, unaware of his wife's reaction, "But clearly God was holding out in await for this massive surprise."

"But- what about Grace?" Lady Malton finally spluttered out.

"I am in the process of discussing that matter with Sir Charles Robinson, the duke recommended him himself."

You noticed the way Grace smiled to herself at that and looked abashedly to the ground. Clearly she was happy with such an arrangement - had the duke known that and so used his influence to help her?

"His grace wishes to be married quickly."

And thus, at the end of the week, you were married.

***

You had no idea what a honeymoon night was supposed to entail. Typically, a Mama would give a bride-to-be 'the talk' the night before her wedding, but Lady Malton would never do such a motherly thing for you. Thus, you were left completely clueless.

Plus, apart from the exchange of your vows, you had hardly spoken to the duke before, so you really didn't know where the evening was going to take you as you stepped out of the carriage outside Riddle Manor. You were both to spend the night in his London home before beginning the three day journey to his countryside residence the next day. It was a typical agenda for newly weds.

You were introduced to the various staff, including your new lady's maids - you now had two of them, as opposed to one - before you were both led through to the dining room. Your eyes fell on the long dining table, with the two distanced ends laid and nothing more.

You grimaced.

"Is salmon not to your tastes?" your husband asked you.

"Tis a very formal set up," you explained simply, but said nothing more as you assumed one of the seats.

"I mostly take dinner in my work study, so this will be a rare occurrence."

You ate the entire meal in silence, and then it was time to be shown your bed chambers.

"This is the duchess' chamber," he gestured to the door, "You may redecorate it however you so wish."

You hummed.

"My chamber is next door - we have an adjoining door, of course."

You said nothing.

"Are you going to enter?"

"But what of our consummation?" you asked.

Mattheo paused - he hadn't expected you to be so blunt.

"Lady Malton did not give me a talk like she was supposed to," you explained, somewhat shyly, "I do not know what is meant to happen, but I know that something must."

"Right," he said slowly, "We will consummate."

***

You lay awake in bed next to the duke the next morning, unable to get the memories of the night prior out of your head. Never would you have guessed that that was how babies were made, something that felt so heavenly, so good. But, you were also confused, many women muttered about it in fear, as if their consummation was unenjoyable.

Perhaps it differed with each man. Regardless, with Mattheo, it was completely and entirely soul-consuming, and you wished to experience it a countless number of times over.

A knock sounded on the door, "Your graces, breakfast is ready."

Mattheo was still sound asleep, "We'll take it in here," you replied.

You weren't used to having power in a household.

Also, how did the servant know you weren't in the duchess' bed chamber?

Mattheo woke up once the servants had wheeled in the breakfast selection, and once you were both loosely dressed, you began eating. It was then that he began speaking.

"Now is as good a time as any to set out the details of this marriage," he said, making you look up from your eggs, "I married you because I can't stand when parents mistreat their children."

Your heart warmed at that: he had noticed how Lady Malton treated you?

"I do not intend for love, but obviously at some point there will need to be an heir," he said, "You may have conceived last night, but it is unlikely. In the probable case that you haven't, we can wait a couple years to produce one should you so wish."

You thought over what he was saying - perhaps part of you had hoped that he had fallen in love with you at first sight, but you knew that was childish. This was a marriage of convenience.

"I only have one condition when it comes to children," you said slowly.

"Which is?"

"That you are an involved father," you said, "Like the Bridgertons are known for being."

Memories flashed through Mattheo's mind of his childhood: his father's coldness and distance all throughout the years until he returned from Cambridge a grown man. Only then did the late duke want anything to do with his son.

"I shall be involved," he said.

***

You couldn't look Mattheo in the eyes, you soon realised. He scared you, not in the way that Lady Malton had, but in a way you didn't quite understand. He made you nervous, made you unable to speak more than a few words at a time. Not that you did speak much: the entire journey to Covenshire Hall had been very much one of silence. The only sound to accompany you was the wheels and hooves against the cobbled roads.

The nights were spent in inns, in separate bed chambers.

Covenshire Hall was enormous: far bigger than the Catury estate that you had spent half your childhood on. It made sense, obviously, you were no longer a mere baronet's daughter, but a duchess.

"Your graces," the butler greeted you as you stepped out the carriage, "Welcome."

"Dantle," Mattheo replied, "Gather all the servants in the entrance hall."

"Right away, your grace."

The man disappeared inside, and you soon had entered through the same doors that he had, to be greeted by the largest entry room that you had ever seen. Symmetrical stairs curved around the walls either side of you, carpeted in plush blue velvet. The walls were decorated in a branch-design, but the once deep maroon colour had faded over time: it was evident to you that there hadn't been a lady of the house in quite a few years.

And then, quite quickly, the room filled with lines of house staff - more than you had ever seen for one household before. You were introduced to them all, including the primary housekeeper, Ms Godley. She was an older woman, with mostly grey hair that still held evidence of her brunette days, and a lightly wrinkled face that seemed more to do with the permanent pursing of her lips rather than age. Her eyebrows were ghastly thin, much like the rest of her, which could only be described as bony. She wore a pleated black dress down to her ankles, suggesting that she was in mourning.

You smiled politely at her, but she did not return it.

"I will leave you in her capable hands," your husband said to you, "She will provide a tour of the grounds."

"Where are you going?" you couldn't help but ask.

"My office."

You watched as he left, before turning back to Ms Godley.

"Where shall we begin?" you asked, attempting to be friendly.

***

You didn't like Ms Godley - not one bit. She reminded you of your stepmother, except this time you didn't even have younger siblings to provide a distraction. It was quite evident that she wasn't particularly fond of you either, although you had no idea what you could have done.

"This is the nursery," the woman said tightly, "It has been empty for some years now."

Gazing around the room of faded yellows and purples, you were cast back to when you were in your nursery, though you always got the short end of the stick when it came to beds. Nonetheless, it had been a relatively pleasant time for you, back when your sisters were too young to notice that Lady Malton treated you differently, so you would all play together as children do.

You didn't want any of your children to feel left out.

"Your grace," Ms Godley said curtly, "We don't have all day."

You sighed, exiting the room.

***

Loneliness was a familiar emotion to you, so a week of solitude in Covenshire Hall wasn't all that much of a change from your old life, other than the fact you now had servants waiting on your hand and foot. Although, you were growing quite bored: at least with the Maltons, you were always distracted by gauging your stepmother's mood.

You decided that you needed a distraction, and since the prestigious house was in desperate need of a fresh lick of paint, you landed on redecorating.

"You called for me, your grace?" Ms Godley stood before you in the duchess' office that you had taken to using regularly.

"Yes," you stood up, walking around your desk, "I have a matter to discuss with you."

It took everything in you to act courageous in front of a woman so similar to Lady Malton.

"I wish to redecorate the house," you said simply.

By some miracle, Ms Godley's lips pursed even more.

"Starting with the entrance hall - since that is the first room guests see, then-"

"No."

You paused - was she allowed to say that to you? "No?"

"No. This estate is not a part of your lineage, you have no right to tamper with it."

The amount of bravery that it had taken for you to have this conversation with her, just for her to pull a line that sounded so eerily similar to Lady Malton's.

"I am the lady of the house," you said, but it was obvious you weren't speaking as surely of yourself as moments prior.

"The dowager duchess was never permitted to redecorate either," she said, "And I imagine that the late duke would especially not want somebody as measly as a baronet's daughter interfering with his heritage."

You stood in shock for a few moments, eventually managing to splutter out, "You are excused."

Once she was gone, you finally gave in to the panic consuming you, feeling your breath beginning to dramatically labour and push against your corset. You felt trapped, suffocated, like you had your entire childhood, and you didn't like it. You had to escape.

So, you did.

You weren't running away by any means: you just needed fresh air, and the woods on the Covenshire grounds seemed perfect to hide away for a while. Just a couple days ago, you had taken a walk through them. Of course, that was on one of the paths that navigated between the trees, this time you simply started running straight ahead once you breached the tree line.

But you could only go so far when you had to hitch up your thick heavy skirts to make progress, so it wasn't long before you collapsed against a tree, your lungs pounding against your rib cage which were in turn pounding against your corset.

It was then that floods poured out of your eyes and down your cheeks, leaving a sticky, puffy trail behind.

You should have known better.

Just because you were a duchess didn't mean you suddenly had control over your own life.

You failed to notice the looming grey clouds gathering above, up until the sky thundered, and the familiar trickle of heavy rain commenced.

***

Mattheo was sat in his office, going over estate finances, when a knock sounded on the door.

"Your grace?"

He hated being interrupted during work, but still said a grumbled, "Come in."

"I am so sorry to disturb you, your grace," Dantle said, bowing his head, "But the duchess appears to be missing."

Mattheo's head shot up, "Missing, you say?"

"Ms Godley was the last one to speak to her, approximately two hours ago."

"Where has she gone?" the duke was now standing up.

Dantle appeared uncomfortable, "I do not know, your grace. Apparently she ran down into the woods."

"Ran?" Mattheo felt his blood boil, "Have you gone out to look for her?"

"No, your grace, the storm-"

"The storm?" he saw red, "The bloody storm?" He then let out a sound somewhat adjacent to a growl before pushing past Dantle out his office.

He was going to find his wife.

***

You probably had pneumonia or something at this rate, you thought to yourself. Your body was completely freezing and soaked, and your lack of cloak was becoming apparent as a massive problem in terms of your well-being. You should have gone back inside the second the rain started, but that was when you were still in the depths of your upset. It wasn't until you were too cold to move did you calm down a bit more.

To be honest, you were about ready to accept your fate.

"Y/N!" a faint cry came from nearby, and as much as you wanted to call out and alert them of your location, your voice was weak.

By some miracle, the man - your husband - managed to locate you.

"Y/N, oh, God," he blasphemed, "Are you okay? What are you doing out here?"

You couldn't even reply.

Mattheo scooped you up into his arms and began making haste back towards the mansion that you shared.

"Stay with me," he murmured at irregular intervals, right up until you felt the warmth of a fireplace hit you on the cheeks. You were in your bed chamber, you realised, upon noticing the faded floral pink wall decor.

Your skin was so numb you hardly felt your husband begin to peel off all items of your clothing, including your undergarments. Typically, you would have felt embarrassed, but you were completely spent.

As he picked you up again and carried you through to the bathroom, where a bath had been prepared, you couldn't help but curl into him.

"I ordered it be run before I went to find you," he said softly - the softest you had ever heard him speak.

The warmth of the water felt heavenly.

"What happened, darling?"

You shivered, this time not because of the cold, but because of the nickname.

"Godley," you forced out between your blue lips.

"Ms Godley? What did she do?" he asked as he began to wet your hair.

"I wan- wanted to redecorate the house," your teeth were chattering, "She said I couldn't change anything."

Mattheo said nothing.

"It's- it's the way she said it," you clarified, not wanting him to think you were a brat who had simply been told 'no', "She was so mean."

"How did she say it?" you didn't miss the edge to his voice that hadn't been there before.

"She said it would upset the- the late duke - and that- that he especially wouldn't want a measly baronet's daughter to-" you choked on re-emerging sobs, "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry, my love," you felt him press a kiss to your forehead, "I will handle this."

***

After you had warmed up in the bath and been wrapped up in thick clothing, Mattheo gently escorted you to one of the larger drawing rooms, where, to your horror, every single staff member of the house was gathered. Including Ms Godley.

"It has come to my attention that the duchess is not receiving the respect she deserves in this household," your husband sent an icy glare in the housekeeper's direction, "As the lady of the house, it is her right to decorate our rooms however she so pleases."

Ms Godley's lips pursed.

"The redecoration that her grace desires will commence immediately," Mattheo gave a forced smile, "Follow her every instruction. Any questions?"

"What of the late duke?" Ms Godley asked.

"What of a man of whom is dead?"

"Surely you should respect his wishes."

"How I choose to treat my father's wishes is none of your concern, Ms Godley. You are overstepping."

The old woman opened her mouth to say something, but decidedly shut it before saying, "My apologies, your grace."

"Apologise to my wife as well."

"My apologies," Ms Godley gave a stiff curtsy.

You had been glancing nervously between your husband and the housekeeper throughout the entire exchange, feeling overwhelmingly put on the spot. It was the second after Ms Godley apologised to you that your chest tightened and you erupted in a coughing fit.

"Darling?" Mattheo asked worriedly as you fell forward.

"Can't- breathe-" you choked out.

You felt a hand press to your forehead.

"She's overheating," the duke said loudly, "Help me get her to bed. And call the doctor."

Murmurs of, "Right away, your grace," came in reply.

"You're going to be okay," Mattheo said softly to you as he picked you up for the millionth time that day, "You must be."

***

The doctors concluded that you were pneumonic, which had been what everyone suspected but were too scared to say in front of you. But, you weren't an idiot, and understood what your symptoms meant.

There was a good chance that you would die.

It was dark outside: it often was when you came to from your fever dream episodes, for a few minutes of painful consciousness. You lurched up in bed, quickly producing horrific gurgling coughs and splutters, unable to stop yourself from groaning in pain in between. Tears pricked at your eyes as you placed a hand on your chest, your blurred vision just about making out the duke running in from the door between your bed chambers.

Mattheo grabbed the cloth from your bedside table and dipped it into the pot of water placed for this occasion, hurrying to press it to your burning forehead. You let out a brief sigh of relief, before you began coughing again.

He rubbed your back, "You can get through this."

You weren't sure if you could, in fact, you felt deathly, as it were. But, your husband's words gave you a sense of strength and hope, and it was all you could do but nod after the coughing subsided.

"If- if I make it," you murmured, falling back on to the pillows. Your voice was low and cracked. "Please- may we go to London?"

"Whatever for?"

"I..." you trailed off, "I would like to make friends."

And before Mattheo could question you further, you drifted back into unconsciousness and shallow breathing.

***

It was three days later, on a chilly but sunny morning, when you awoke naturally instead of being forced awake by coughs. Your breathing felt stronger, and you weren't overheating, which was the best feeling you had felt in forever.

You heard voices outside your door.

"Is she doing any better, your grace?" who you assumed to be the doctor asked.

"We were about to check," your husband's familiar voice replied.

The door opened, and you blinked a few times to clear your vision as the two men approached you.

"Mattheo," you said softly, your words still sore to speak.

"You're awake," he said simply, pressing his hand to your forehead. The physical contact comforted you.

"How do you feel?" the doctor asked.

"Better."

He raised his eyebrows, "In what way?"

"Every way."

He performed a more thorough examination, and concluded that while you likely still had a couple more days of illness, you had pushed through the worst of it and were well on your way to recovery. You were relieved to hear that, but even more relieved to finally be able to take a bath and and cleanse yourself.

"You wanted to return to London," Mattheo said simply at dinner that night, as he was taking it in your room with you.

"I said that?" you asked. You knew that it was what you wished to do, you just couldn't recall mentioning it to your husband.

He hummed, "While you were feverish."

He had been taking care of you?

"Well, yes- I wish to finally have a social circle."

"You mentioned that also."

You said nothing.

"Once you are fully returned to health, we shall make the journey," he said simply.

You couldn't help but beam, "Really?"

"Really."

"Thank you- thank you so much."

He shook his head, as if to say 'don't thank me'.

"I'm so glad you're my husband."

Mattheo chuckled, "I'll take care of you no matter what, darling."

***

Two weeks later, and the doctor had determined that you were back to being healthy and thus your convalescence was able to come to an end. It was then arranged for you and Mattheo to return to London for the remainder of the season but three days later, once you would have passed an appropriate honeymoon duration. While you were terribly excited to be able to properly socialise, you were also nervous. For one, your stepmother would be there, and for two, you weren't that experienced with the correct customs for socialising. The only comforting factor was that your husband would be there with you: a man who you held a lot of adoration for, and felt an immense amount of comfort from.

After the pneumonia episode, he hadn't distanced himself quite so much. Granted, you still hadn't engaged in your wedding night type of intimacy again yet, but you ate meals together, and frequently found yourself wandering over to his bed chamber in the night. The first time you had done it, it had been most nerve-wracking.

It had been a few days since you had snapped out of the fever dream episode, and were feeling much more energetic. Unfortunately, you had also been dealing with bouts of insomnia, which you suspected had something to do with your fear of falling asleep and re-entering the fever dream. Like usual, you found yourself up at the early hours of the morning, only the exhaustion was catching up to you and you could feel your chest tighten as hysteric panic began to set in.

Before you completely freaked out, you forced yourself up and over to the adjoining door, aiming to seek comfort from Mattheo even if the prospect of doing so petrified you. He stirred the second that you entered the room, at least it appeared like he did from what you could make out in the shadows. "Y/N?" he murmured.

You let out a sob.

"Come here," he said without hesitation and you gladly obliged, finding that you could finally drift into a slumber once in his arms.

And, thus, you went to him whenever you couldn't sleep.

But, now, you were in the carriage back to London, with your hands folded neatly in your lap and your husband sat across from you. You weren't sure why, but there was an awkward silence present.

***

Mattheo was conflicted.

He didn't know why he cared so deeply for you, why he was so willing to aid you whenever you were in need.

A strangled, screaming part of himself deep inside knew exactly why he felt how he did, but the part of him that he listened to feigned ignorance and told him it was simply expected of him to take care of his wife.

But the thing that confused him the most was the fact he felt the urge to tell you about his childhood, about his father, and about the lack of family and love he had endured. Why would he want to tell you such personal information that didn't even matter any longer, since the cause of it was dead?

Why did you make him feel this way?

"Mattheo?" he looked up at you sat opposite him. Your voice sounded small and timid.

"Yes?"

"Are you mad at me?"

He could have sworn he actually felt the searing pain of his heart breaking at that moment. He wasn't sure he was capable of being mad at you. "Of course not, why ever would you think that?"

You gave a gentle shrug, "You're quieter than normal."

"I'm often quiet." It was true: he was often regarded as a grumpy and brooding individual.

"Yes," you said tightly, "But not like this."

It stunned him how easily you could read him, but, then again, maybe he had never been close enough to anyone for them to know him. Maybe his emotions were obvious to anyone who cared enough to try and figure them out.

"Do you not wish to return to London?"

Mattheo paused for a moment. He hadn't put any thought into whether or not he wanted to go back to the capital, but initially it seemed like an obvious answer since he had always despised the season. Overbearing Mamas and their brood of debutante daughters were his idea of hell, but now he felt different. He realised that he did in fact want to go to London, not just because he was now married and off the Mamas' radar, but because you wanted to go. Mattheo was faced with the overwhelming realisation that he simply wanted to do whatever you wanted to do.

"Oh, dear, you don't, do you? We can turn around," you said quickly, making him snap out of his thoughts.

"No," he rushed to say, "We shall go to London."

"But you don't want to go."

"I do."

"But-"

"We are going, and that's final."

You opened your mouth to say something more, but decided against it, and turned your gaze to out the window.

The rest of the journey was silent.

***

"We need to discuss the rules for our time here," Mattheo said once you had settled into Riddle Manor for some dinner.

"We do?"

He hummed, "I will not be attending every social event we are invited to."

"But- people will think our marriage is rocky if you're not with me. The ton will talk, they always do."

"I said not every social event," he reminded, "I will attend some."

"You have to attend the first one," you said, "That one is the most important."

Mattheo agreed, "Of course, but from then on, it will be events here and there. You are welcome to attend alone."

You deflated a bit, but nodded your head, "Maybe we can host a ball at some point."

His eyebrows raised. Riddle Manor hadn't been the location of a ball in almost thirty years - there had been no lady of the house to host it.

"Perhaps," he replied pensively.

***

The next social event, to Mattheo's great horror, was the infamous Smythe-Smith musicale. Otherwise known as a torturous cacophony of four tone-deaf girls of whom were trusted with instruments that should have undoubtably never been allowed within five feet of them. You had heard what the quartet were like, having never attended yourself, and - honestly - you were rather excited to finally be a part of an inside joke of the ton that you had been left out of. Your husband was not nearly so enthusiastic, having attended exactly twice before, but not for a good many years.

Unfortunately, as selfish a woman as Lady Malton was, she was more than willing to sacrifice her hearing in order to secure impressive marriages for all of her (biological) daughters. So, you weren't surprised to enter the Smythe-Smith ballroom and see her stood with Grace closely by her side.

"Introducing, the Duke and Duchess of Covenshire," the man stood by the door announced, making your half-sister and stepmother quickly turn their attentions in your direction.

You squeezed Mattheo's arm tightly, to which he patted your hand and nodded when your family members approached.

"Your grace," Lady Malton gave a gentle curtsy - to Mattheo, not you, "How fares your marriage?"

It was a question that bordered on the edge of improper for polite society. "Most excellent," the duke replied coolly, making you smile to yourself.

Lady Malton gave the politest smile her sour face could muster.

"What brings you here?" Mattheo asked, trying to gauge why Lady Malton would put herself through the Smythe-Smith musicale with no daughters on the marriage mart.

"Marriage prospects, of course."

"Is Miss Grace Malton not engaged to Sir Charles?" he asked.

"Well- uh- yes."

The duke raised an eyebrow at the woman, and you must say that you were thoroughly enjoying this interaction.

"They shall be married at the end of the week," she said reluctantly, "But until the vows are complete, things can change."

That was when you realised: Lady Malton was praying on securing a last-minute proposal from someone of a higher status than Sir Charles. If it meant marrying into more wealth and more powerful connections, surely your father would agree to it.

"You should come to the wedding," Grace blurted out, "We thought you would still be in the country, so we didn't send an invitation."

You knew the real reason that you hadn't received an invitation was because Lady Malton would have taken control of all the wedding arrangements, and you were most certainly not on her invite list. But, she couldn't revoke the invitation to the duke's face and in a public setting, so she forced herself to smile and agree.

"That would be lovely," you beamed, purposefully showing as much enthusiasm as possible, simply to upset your stepmother, "Now, if you excuse us, I wish to secure front row seats."

Multiple people around you stared at you like you were insane - they just wouldn't understand your motivations.

"Trust me, front row seats are never the ones that need to be fought for here," Mattheo whispered to you as you both moved over to the rows of chairs set up.

You shrugged, "You're sitting with me whether you like it or not."

"Ah, Lady Danbury," he spoke as you came face to face with the renowned old woman sat in the very central front seat.

"Your grace," she raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

"Come to enjoy the musicale?" your husband asked, the sarcastic undertone impossible to miss - at least to you.

"But, of course," Lady Danbury smiled, "I attend every year."

You desperately wanted to enter the conversation, but you didn't know how.

"You're the eldest Miss Malton, aren't you?" she said towards you, making you freeze on the spot.

"Uh, yes - Lady Riddle now, actually."

She hummed, waving her cane around despite being sat, "Yes, Duchess of Covenshire. Quite grand, no?"

You awkwardly smiled.

The dowager countess turned her attentions back to Mattheo, "I must admit, I didn't think you would marry for quite some time, your grace."

"Nor did I," he simply replied, which for some reason, slightly hurt you. You had inconvenienced his life: you were a burden to him as a result of him being a good person.

"I fear that love does tend to have the effect of uprooting our lives," Lady Danbury said wistfully, a gentler emotion than you had ever witnessed on her from afar at the few social gatherings you had been allowed at.

Love.

"I only wish I had been so lucky as to have had it been with my husband."

You looked up in surprise. To be honest, you knew very little of the dowager countess' life: she had been a widow for as long as you had been alive, so it was hard to imagine her having a husband. All you knew was that she was widowed very young, and chose to never remarry. Part of you had assumed that it was because of how much she loved her husband, like the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton. It was clear now that you were wrong, but you knew better than to pry.

"Alas, let us enjoy this musicale," she said with a glint in her eye, "It is meant to be a joyous occasion, after all."

You knew she said it sarcastically, but, for you, this was indeed a joyous occasion. You were more than thrilled to finally be a part of London society - the ton.

Sparing a glass in Mattheo's direction, you were surprised to see that he was already looking at you.

***

The duke did not attend another social event with you for the rest of the week, but almost every night you were out. It was strange, not needing to be chaperoned as a married woman, but you quite enjoyed it.

The first two events alone you spent as a wallflower - albeit a married one - which weren't so enjoyable. But, once people realised that the Duchess of Covenshire was present at the social events, you began attracting a lot of attention from fellow ladies who aspired to be friends with someone of such a powerful status. Soon, you were mingling with the ton as if you had always done so, although your social skills were still inept. Thankfully, most were willing to overlook this due to you being a duchess.

Then, your sister's wedding came around, and it meant that you would have your second outing with your husband accompanying you. That made you more excited than you were willing to admit.

"Blue is most becoming on you," Mattheo spoke from behind you, making you jump. You hadn't heard him enter your bed chamber.

"Thank you," you replied, "I had it tailored on Tuesday."

"How much?"

You blanched - it had been quite expensive. You had felt guilty at the time, but found it difficult to say no to the Madam who had been dressing you.

"Darling, you are free to spend my money, I am simply curious," he reassured you, "My wife deserves only the best, after all."

Butterflies swarmed in your stomach. Was it normal - for you to feel this way towards your husband when it was merely a marriage of convenience? You were snapped out of your thoughts when he moved closer to you and began kissing along your neck.

"Mattheo," you murmured.

He hummed, "Shame you're already dressed," and then he reluctantly pulled back, "But, we must depart now anyway."

That was the first hint you had received that he wanted to repeat the intimacies of your consummation. And it made your skin feel hot and prickly.

***

Your half-sister was a gorgeous bride: her elegant dress matching her eye colour and making her glistening smile seem bright. It was obvious that she was elated to be with Sir Charles, the incredibly young baronet who hung off her every word. One could only describe it as a love match.

"Thank you," you said to Mattheo, who was stood next to you as you applauded the newly weds.

"For what?"

"For recommending Sir Charles - and for marrying me."

He chuckled, "There is no need to thank me, darling. I can hardly complain about having a breath-taking wife, can I?"

Yet again, butterflies, and the overwhelming sense of desire.

Soon, it was time for the first dance of the newly married couple, celebrated back at Sir Charles' London residence. After they danced the first number alone, more couples joined the dance floor for a waltz. You couldn't help but look up at your husband hopefully.

He sighed fondly and held out his hand, "My lady?"

"My lord," you murmured, taking his hand and allowing him to lead you on to the dance floor.

As you moved into position, you found yourself avoiding looking at Mattheo's face, as for some reason it scared you. Maybe it was the proximity, or the emotions you had been consistently feeling for the last few days. Regardless, you felt timid.

"Darling?" your stomach flipped, and you were forced to meet his eyes.

"Yes?"

"I prefer it when you look at me," Mattheo muttered before he could stop the words from tumbling out. Momentarily, he froze, unable to ignore the way his heart burned in his chest.

"Okay," you said breathlessly, now not being able to tear your eyes away from him.

"You're so perfect."

A lump formed in your throat, "No one's perfect."

"Perfect for me," he said so quietly you almost didn't hear, just as the dance came to an end.

You stood in silence for a few moments, unable to process his words.

Eventually, you spoke, "Mattheo, I- I..."

The look in his eyes beckoned you on.

"Heaven knows I know nothing of love nor what it's like to be loved, but- but I think I love you."

His expression was unreadable, and you felt as if you had said the wrong thing, right up until, "I think I love you too."

God, why were tears pricking in your eyes?

No one had ever said that to you before.

And then you shoved yourself into his arms, desperately seeking warmth and affection as if it were your life line. The other people at the wedding and propriety be damned.

Mattheo moved his head to whisper in your ear.

"All's well that ends well to end up with you."

————————————————

masterlist

written; 09/08/2023 —> 04/10/2023 published;05/10/2023 edited; —/—/——

529 notes · View notes

deathbyathousandspiders · 22 days

Note

So imagine a fic based off the song "boy in the bubble" by Alec Benjamin where reader gets in a fight on the way home from school the one time she doesn't walk with Peter. Preferably have her father be Tony Stark and he'd take place of the mother in the story.

first, i wanted to say that i loved writing this and i love song prompts :) i hope you enjoy this !!

second, i want to apologize to the anon who told me i better not disappear for months because oops–

WARNINGS (18+ MDNI) — hurt reader, mentions of blood, mentions of pain/wounding, swearing.

✨masterlist✨.

3.6k.

Typically, stepping into your downtown apartment on a Friday evening would be more exciting for you. It meant that your week of stuck–up students and nerve–wracking tests could be long forgotten. It meant that you had the weekend to live freely from academic cages. At the beginning of that day, you would’ve thought today would be like any other Friday; with Peter accompanying you and your father for dinner like every week.

But Peter didn’t walk back with you.

Your tired limbs ripped from the floor with every step, hobbling out of the elevator with as much grace as you had room to carry. That room was slim, making space for the array of bruises and blood tainting your clothing. You carried the last bit of dignity you could, and tried to replace the sinister words spat at you from your attacker:

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark.”

See, till now, you’d been grateful to be excused from the attention and popularity that accompanied your title. You didn’t care for followers or anything that catered to your birthright. Your father was your best friend, and you were lucky to be a Stark just to have his light in your life. However, there were some who weren’t like your classmates or peers — people who hated the Stark name, and wouldn’t rest until the family name died at their hand.

Tonight, you’d met the first of who knows how many. The thought alone sent a serpent–like shiver down your body.

And Peter wasn’t with you.

The fumes of Tony Stark’s cooking filled your senses as you limped further into your family room. You consciously knew you were late for dinner, but the pain throbbing throughout your body put that knowledge on the back burner. The sunset was just beyond the apartment windows, and it made you wonder whether Peter had beaten you to your own house or not. It was 6:48 after all, he was bound to be there.

You’d nearly forgotten that the subtle ping of the elevator doors announced your arrival. You heard your dad set down his spatula. “You kids are late.” He greeted, hollering from the kitchen. “I hope you two didn’t stop for Delmar’s on your way back!” You processed the undertones as your knees gave out, left hand pressing into the top of the sofa back.

White knuckles gripped onto your couch as you tried to gain your balance, wincing through gritted teeth. Your right arm remained hugging your abdomen, palm pressed onto a sore–spot on your torso. Every fiber in your body ached for some sense of relief. To sit down. You were a bit too stubborn for your own liking, trying to hike up the steps and get to your room without being spotted—

“Jesus Christ!” Your father cried from the archway of the dining room. You heard his hurried steps across the hard–wood flooring, almost too nervous to meet his eyes. He made his way over quickly, and the first thing you noticed through your periphery was the ‘kiss the cook’ apron he kept tied around his waistline. “Kid, what the hell happened?” Your dad crouched down beside you, finally locking eyes with you.

The cold air hitting your eyes made you realize just how quick the tears were welling. You swallowed the lump in your throat, whether it was sobs or embarrassment or dried blood from thrown punches. “I was jumped.” Your bottom lip trembled a bit before you mustered the words out.

Your dad scanned over your body, eying just how tattered your clothes were, and how much blood painted your outfit. His eyes glistened with a parental look— a look shimmering with something mixed of worry and sadness and anguish and apology. “And Peter wasn’t with you?”

That confirmed that your best friend, in fact, had not beaten you to your apartment.

And for some reason, it made things all the more worse. Your jaw clenched a bit, both of concern and frustration. Disappointment nagged at the corners of your lips as you shook your head. “No, he said he’d meet me here later.” Your imagination got the best of you, replaying your evening but if Peter actually had been with you. The thought alone made you shutter. “But it was probably for the best.”

“Did he say what he was doing?” The look in his eyes said something that he wasn’t communicating. They said something unspoken that made you feel like there were things that you weren’t being told.

You ignored it, feeling a surge of pain in your abdomen. A quiet hiss fought its way up your throat. “He didn’t. But it’s fine.” No, it wasn’t. “Peter can’t throw a punch to save his life.”

A laugh actually left your father’s lips. “You’d be surprised.” He muttered, his tone speaking the same tongue that his eyes were. There was definitely something that you didn’t know, but your intuition couldn’t place its finger on what.

It wasn’t your fault that you were oblivious to your best friend’s vigilante status. You were kept in the dark about what web–slinging activities Peter Parker kept behind closed doors. Tony and Peter kept it secret that you were best friends with Spider–Man. They hadn’t let the news slip yet, and Tony wasn’t about to. They both agreed it was in your best interest to keep you safe.

Apparently, their efforts weren’t enough.

Your eyebrow rose, trying to cut through the bullshit. “Are you kidding, Dad?” You asked, maintaining eye contact as your father rose from his crouched position beside you. “It’s Peter Parker we’re talking about here. He wouldn’t even kill a fly.”

Tony’s hands creased his hips, shoulders shrugging gently with his response. “I don’t know, hon. He told me May had him take Karate years back.” He didn’t leave time for a response as his eyes trailed back down to the developing bruises along your arms. Seeing the crusting crimson on his daughter’s body was a sight that made him lose his appetite. “I’ll go grab my medical kit. You’re lucky that Pepper taught me a thing or two before she got promoted.”

The room fell quiet as Tony put pause on dinner and soon rushed back over with a first–aid kit. You didn’t want to stain any furniture, so you managed to sit on a wooden coffee table until you were given further instruction.

It didn’t take long before your mind wandered off to worry about Peter, and what could be keeping him so long. He did tell you before you’d parted ways that he’d join you guys for dinner? Right? You swore that he told you he’d be there by 6:30, and even you were late. Thinking back to the details made you recall some harsh memories. Your wounds throbbed at the recollection of how they came to be, and the blood that was shed, and the words that were spat…

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark—”

“We should call Bruce.” Your dad’s voice of concern and reason brought you back to the moment. All you could do was stare. You hadn’t noticed that he’d started to examine your wounds, or just how defeated and pained for you he was.

The look made your stomach twist at the insults your own self–critic threw back at you.

Before you knew it, you were standing up, choking back a wince, fighting against yourself. “No! No– it’s just a few scratches. It’s fine.” Was it? Even though the pain was searing, and you wobbled as you stepped to the bathroom. Clearly your father was overreacting. He had to be. You weren’t weak.

Tony followed your footsteps, treading close behind in case you were to trip. “Hon, I’m serious! You look like you went through a paper shredder!”

You looked at him with a grimace, disbelief shone in your eyes. Almost as if he were calling you pathetic. “Don’t make it so intense! I’m sure it’s—” You halted. Everything froze. The air sucked right back into your lungs at the sight of your bloodied figure in the mirror. Flicking on the light, you couldn’t breathe.

The color palette that covered your body could’ve painted an entire canvas worth; the shirt you wore was hanging onto your shoulders with two threads and a miracle, not to mention the slashes at the thighs of your jeans. You’d nearly forgotten that your attacker had such a thick knife until you saw it— saw yourself. A shiver snaked down the length of your spine, leaving a splintering chill behind it.

It wasn’t until Tony turned off the bathroom light that you’d realized you were staring at yourself. He carefully grabbed your hand, leading you back into the living room. “We don’t have to call Bruce, but can I at least clean you up a bit?”

You didn’t have the words to respond to him. A nod was all you could muster before he sat you back down at the coffee table. “Should I– uh.. Should I shower first?”

Tony shook his head beside you. “Until I figure out if you need stitching, no.” He went to investigate the damage, but hesitated, trying to navigate an approach. “Sweetheart? You decent enough to take your shirt off? I could grab you a blanket if that would help–”

But before your dad finished his thought, you went to try and peel off your shirt. It was a lot more difficult than you thought. Painful, too. You were cold and hot and sweaty and sticky and pins and needles dug their way into your limbs each time they moved. You were grateful your dad didn’t even pause before assisting you. He grabbed his medical scissors, snipping off the sleeves of your top.

You and your dad were really comfortable with one another, so this didn’t bother you. You were more blinded by the burns and the harshness to each ache and blemish coating your limbs and torso. Daggers upon daggers of pins and needles sunk into your flesh, yet it hurt you the most to know that you had to present yourself so battered and bruised to your dad. It made you feel so…useless. So…pathetic.

A minute of silence passed, filled with nothing but pity and the sear in your eyes, holding back tears. You wanted to be strong. You needed to be strong. Showing weakness would mean that your attacker was right. Your throat burned, swallowing hard and pushing back your damaged narrative. The feeling of how feeble you felt.

The subtle ping from the elevator made your blood run cold. Your head snapped up to look at who entered the apartment, eyes wide and teary when they met the pair of Peter Parker. And the second he jogged out of the elevator, he stopped dead in his tracks. He gasped quietly, staring back at you with the same gaping eyes.

You didn’t see the way Tony glared at Peter from beside you, but you felt the way he’d stopped inspecting you. Peter walked closer, taking cautious steps as he minimized the distance. “What happened?” His voice was gentle, perhaps because he noticed the tears coating your cheeks.

Wiping your eyes, you realized your hands were trembling. Your whole body shook from the endured trauma, and you shivered like you were in the midst of a blizzard. Had you been shaking that whole time? You didn’t have time to overthink it. You felt like you were being whisked away into a whirlwind of panic.

Tony stood up, his expression crossed with some unspoken irritation. “I need to finish dinner.” His words were short. “Kid, could you help patch her up? She mainly just needs disinfectant.” There was no room for response from Peter before your father started walking. You didn’t see him leave, but you felt the gentle kiss he placed on your head before he left one final comment with Peter:

“And you and I are going to have a talk later.”

You weren’t sure what was going on with the two. Quite frankly, you weren’t sure what was going on in general. Shaking like this, being emotional like this, it was far from anything you were used to.

It felt like you were being violated, forced open, naked— and that wasn’t just because you were without a shirt. You felt exposed, and you couldn’t hide anymore. There was nowhere you could go and nothing you could do to shield from the fact that you were vulnerable right now.

Peter sat in front of you, kneeling so that you could see him. So that he could see you. “Hey..” His voice got soft, gentler, and somehow it broke you. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth to try and stop the way it shuttered. Metal lingered on your tongue and your throat felt hollow and thick with the cries you held back. But Peter was your best friend, and he knew you.

He knew how stubborn you were with your own emotions, and how guarded you kept yourself from showing that part to other people. He knew that you couldn’t hide forever, either. And maybe he’d figured that out when his right hand went to cradle your face, and the tears finally washed away the walls you’d been keeping up.

Somehow seeing him safe was your undoing. The downfall of the avalanche you’d been hobbling in attempt to support, but you couldn’t seal the dam anymore. The relief of knowing that Peter was unharmed, the ease to all your worries, it made you forget why you’d been trying to stop your tears in the first place.

Your body broke out into violent shivers the second you let it, and your shoulders shook with every sob. Peter didn’t say anything. He merely took you into his arms and held you to him, careful not to press against any wound. It terrified you to think about what would’ve happened had Peter walked home with you, unbeknownst to you that he probably would’ve protected you from any of this happening in the first place.

It took you a minute or two to cry it out before Peter set you back on the coffee table. It seemed effortless to pick you up, and that made you realize just how strong he was. Your dad was right, Peter did surprise you.

Peter knew exactly how to mend these kinds of wounds, too. Where did he learn? It might always be a mystery. Still, it came in handy now. He draped his zip–up jacket over your shoulders, before dabbing a cloth of rubbing alcohol against every cut on your torso. He was so focused. Tensed jaw and creased eyebrow, not wavering for a second until you gained the courage to ask him a question. You took a shaky breath.

“Peter?” You murmured, immediately grabbing his attention. Peter glanced at you, the cold glisten in his focused stare began to thaw when he did. He took a breath, perhaps needing to be broken from the train of thought he’d started to entertain. With his attention, you took another breath, nervous.

Your fingers gripped the edge of the coffee table with white knuckles. If you’d been any stronger, maybe you’d broken the table, or even your fingers. “Do you.. think I’m–” You had to suck in another chunk of air just to muster out that taunting, despicable word. “Weak?” Even in your efforts to say it straight, your voice broke in an instant.

Without a beat, his eyes met yours again and he stopped everything he was doing. “Weak?” He repeated back. “No.” The word was so instantly rejected, you’d almost felt stupid bringing it up in the first place. “You’re so far from weak, Y/N. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Your hands went to hide your face, too ashamed of how quickly you broke before him. From the solitude behind your fingers, you couldn’t see the way Peter also broke at the words. He wasn’t sobbing as you were, but he couldn’t help the sulking of his shoulders. Peter truly blamed himself for this. Setting down the rag, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “Anyone who thinks you’re weak is blind to who you are. That, or they’re idiotically stupid.” He spoke softly, pulling your hands from your face.

“You’re the most courageous person. The amount of bullshit you put up with, and the reporters you call out– Fuck, I can’t even imagine walking away from a fight like you did tonight..” His words of endearment warmed your heart. “You’ve seen the unthinkable, are still going, and you think you’re weak?” He shook his head. “Impossible.”

You and Peter stared for a beat or two before he stood up, carefully helping you to your feet. “I think you’re all set to shower. Do you want me to walk you upstairs?”

Taking a breath, you took Peter’s words to heart. You got this. “I think I’ll be okay.” Ignoring the shakiness in your voice, you took paces to the stairwell. “If I’m not back in thirty, you have permission to make sure I didn’t pass out.”

Peter cracked a small smile at you, “Noted. Text me if you need anything!” He added the offer, to which he saw you nod to, and he caught a glimpse of your timid smile. He knew you’d be okay, but it still didn’t shake the weight of how to blame he was. The sound of Tony clearing his throat from the kitchen only seemed to remind him. And with a second clearing of his throat, Peter realized that Tony was trying to communicate.

Walking into the kitchen, Peter saw Tony leaned back against the counter, arms crossed with a cold stare. “Mister Stark, I–”

“Where the hell were you tonight?”

The tone changed the entire atmosphere. No amount of savory fragrances from the cuisine could take away from the fact that Peter was in trouble.

Peter’s shoulders squared at the intensity carried with Tony’s aggravation. He took a breath, pausing in the doorway. “Sir, there was an armed–”

Tony’s fist met the marble counter in a startle. “Damn it, Pete!” Kid couldn’t get a word in if he tried. “Damn it, you had one job!” His index finger went up to emphasize his point.

“What was I supposed to do??” Peter felt like he was fighting a losing battle. “I had no idea what was going to happen!” In the midst of his hushed defense, his voice broke a bit from the weight of his guilt. “Mister Stark.. I think it’s time we tell her.”

A scoff was what Peter was met with. A rush of air caught on Tony’s disbelief, throat, and dismissal. “We’d tell Y/N what? That you’re Spider–Man? That we’ve been lying for this long?”

It was a tough call, and Peter knew that. Peter also knew that Tony couldn’t keep this shit up any longer than he could. “She deserves to know!” He planned to plead his case. “Whoever attacked her tonight planned this. It wasn’t by chance, she was targeted–”

“You don’t know that—”

“And you don’t either!” Peter wasn’t about to get cut off again. He let out some of the steam he’d began to bottle. “The way she’s acting.. Something’s off about what happened. And I think she deserves to know why I wasn’t there to defend her tonight.”

As much as the two had raised their voices, or grown to anger, they let the reality of the evening sink into the space between them. The thickened air sat within the walls as they both took a breath and collected themselves. Tony’s expression melted, and he finally reached over to turn off the stove.

Dinner was almost ready.

The back of Tony’s hips met the marble countertop behind him, supporting his weight as he crossed his arms, looking at Peter sympathetically. “Look, kid. I don’t blame you for what happened tonight.”

A weight or two instantly lifted from Peter’s guilty–conscious. “I know.” He lied.

Tony’s lips curled ever so slightly at the hasty quip. “As much as I agree with your conspiracy theories on Y/N’s attacker, I don’t know if coming clean about everything will solve this.”

There was a subtle sinking to Peter’s mending optimism. “Then when do you plan to tell her?”

A pause. Tony sighed, releasing a breath he’d been holding since Peter’s spider bite. “I don’t know..” Genuinity. Tony’s paternal protocol kicked in, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it entirely.

On the one hand, his daughter deserved to know the truth. You deserved to know the truth. His wisdom and knowledge was such a curse when it came to fatherhood, because while being honest was what his role as a father called for, logic came right back to remind him of just how many lies were piled on top of each other. What if there was no coming back from this?

Tony shrugged, appearing more open to the idea of being truthful. “I’ll tell you what.” He started, “You tell me how you’d suggest telling Y/N you’re Spider–Man, and I’ll consider it–”

“Peter’s what?”

Ice. The room turned to ice too quickly, both Tony and Peter snapping their heads to look at you in the doorway. They hadn’t noticed you’d been listening. You’d been standing there for who knows how long, considering that you hadn’t even showered yet.

Both of the men in front of you exchanged glances of sheer panic before Tony cleared his throat to get your attention. He held up the frying pan, looking you dead in the eyes with the most false–confidence you’d ever seen your father carry.

“Dinner’s ready.” His voice cracked.

Yeah, there was absolutely no coming back from this.

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callsign-rogueone · 2 months

Text

like snow on the beach - r.g.

Ridoc Gamlyn x marked!reader a continuation of love at first fight, part of the Ridoc and Sweetheart series 🦋 words: 2.8k 🏷: FOURTH WING SPOILERS. she/her, feminine reader (wears a dress for Reunification Day, referred to as a girl/woman). mentions of canon character death, mentions of dissociation and anxiety. you have a panic attack, but someone helps you through it. titled after the tswift song!

“Don’t look now, but that guy from second squad is staring at you again,” Liam says quietly. “At your four.”

You twist in your seat as if cracking your back, looking over your shoulder. Sure enough, the cute curly-haired boy who had handed you the dagger you’d won from Jack Barlowe the other day is looking right at you.

“Say the word and I’ll handle him,” Imogen offers, picking at her nails with disinterest. She’s been itching for another fight since her last opponent tapped out after ten seconds.

The tall redhead sitting across from him notices you’re looking in their direction, and he kicks his friend under the table. He looks away quickly, starting a conversation with the rest of the group. Not discreet at all.

“Hurting anyone in Sorrengail’s squad wouldn’t go over well with Xaden. And look at him. He’s harmless,” you defend.

“He definitely doesn’t want to kill you,” Liam agrees. “He’s just smitten.”

You glance to your right again. He has his back turned now, still engaged in conversation with his friends, who are all laughing at something he said.

So he’s the class clown type. Interesting.

Imogen scoffs. “He can bark up that tree all he wants, but we all know it’ll never get him anywhere.”

--------------------------------------

And bark he does. You can’t shake the guy and his sunny personality. He’s everywhere you are, always having something to say, some shameless line to drop on you.

“If I make this bullseye, you have to let me take you out for dinner. There’s an amazing pasta place in town, you’ll love it.”

“No,” you say flatly.

“You don’t like pasta?” He asks, and you know that if you say you don’t, he’ll just offer something else.

“I do. But we’re not going out.”

He misses by an inch and a half anyway.

You pick up one of your own blades, weighing it carefully in one hand before pulling it back and letting sail. It lands to the left of his, in the dead center of the target.

He doesn’t look embarrassed in the slightest. “Alright, we’ll stay in and work on my aim. Just you, me, and a whole rack of knives. What do you say?”

“I’d say that putting us in a room with one weapon is a bad idea.”

He grins. “There’s just something undeniably sexy about a woman who wants to kill me.”

“I don’t want to kill you.” It’s true -- you have no ill will toward the guy, you just wish he’d quit while he’s behind.

“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

You falter for a moment, thinking about it. You don’t think you’ve ever been objectively mean to him, just blunt in declining his advances.

“You’re moving your arm too much,” you say instead, yanking your dagger out of the wood panel, but leaving his where it stands, off-center. “Less in the elbow, more in the wrist.”

You don’t stick around to watch him try again.

--------------------------------------

Nothing seems to discourage him, not your dry responses nor being ignored completely. He’s determined to keep chipping away at your shell, but why?

“Is your dragon mated? I was thinking we could go on a double date. Aotrom’s an upstanding guy, she’d like him.”

You can’t even begin to imagine the conversations this guy must have with his dragon. Is he as weary of the boy’s enthusiasm as you are, or is he encouraging this behavior?

“I’d consider it if he wasn’t missing so many teeth,” Rhith muses. “But he’s a bit old for my taste.”

“Their personalities wouldn’t mesh at all,” you answer, as if you’re speaking about Rhith and Aotrom, and not you and Ridoc.

“I think if she gave him a chance, she’d change her mind,” he says slyly.

“I don’t date men under six foot.”

He mimes taking a knife to the chest. “You wound me, sweetheart. But I promise I can make up for it in all the ways that matter.”

“With that dazzling sense of humor?”

“I was going to make a dick joke, actually. But I’m glad you think I’m dazzling.”

You roll your eyes, leaving.

--------------------------------------

You have never considered yourself vain, but you’d spent a full minute admiring your reflection in the bathroom mirror before heading down for the festivities.

The formal dress looks incredible on you. Tight in all the right places, the cut highlights the muscle you’ve gained since starting the term at Basgiath, but it covers enough to still be somewhat professional.

You don’t need jewelry -- your rebellion relic is the perfect accessory, the black swirls forming the illusion of a lace sleeve up one arm, complimenting the black satin draped over your skin.

You’d even fixed up your hair for the occasion, freeing it from its usual sweaty braids and washing and drying it carefully, letting it fall over the exposed curves of your shoulders. Simple. Perfect.

Imogen hadn’t hesitated to hype you up when she saw you, her jaw dropping at the sight. “Holy shit, girl, you look hot. If you’ve ever wanted to fuck anyone in the quadrant, tonight would be the night to do it.”

You laugh. “I’ll be perfectly content to have a calm night. Some boring speeches, some fireworks, and then straight to bed.”

“Suit yourself,” she calls, headed off.

“Someone should tell Amari that she’s missing an angel.”

You don’t need to turn to know who it is, but you look over your shoulder at him anyway.

Ridoc continues to wax poetic, a lazy smile on his face. “You are a goddess among men. The kind of woman bards write songs about and men go to war over.”

“How many drinks have you had?”

“None,” Sawyer answers for his friend, sounding like he could use one himself. “This is just the way he is.”

Ridoc agrees, grinning. “Stone cold sober, gorgeous. I want to remember this sight forever.”

You laugh at his bold absurdity, and the light, clear sound goes straight to his heart.

He beams even brighter. “You laughed. That’s a crack in the armor.”

“You’re a menace to society, Gamlyn.”

“Gods, I love it when you’re mean to me,” he says with a dreamy sigh. “I’m gonna write about this in my diary when I get back to my room.”

“Goodnight,” you say, ending the conversation, or trying to.

“Someday, sweetheart,” he calls, watching you walk away. “I’ll get there someday, I know I will.”

--------------------------------------

You should already be on the flight field, but the fear gripping your heart has your boots stuck to the stone ground of the courtyard. You’ll be no use to your friends in this state, anyway. You need to relax.

You close your eyes for a moment, picturing the meadows of Tyrrendor. A dozen blue butterflies materialize in front of you, the gentle motion of their wings as they float through the night air soothing your nerves.

“Whoa.”

You startle, and the butterflies vanish, your head snapping toward the voice.

Ridoc stands a few yards away, still in his dress uniform, though he’s undone the first two buttons of the shirt, rolled up the sleeves and ditched the jacket entirely. A few dark locks fall across his forehead, loosened from the gel that had been holding them earlier.

He looks good like this. Too good.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he offers. “I’ve just never seen anything like them before. They’re beautiful.”

You compose yourself quickly. “They’re native to Tyrrendor. They don’t live anywhere else on the continent.”

“You’ll have to show me the real ones sometime,” he says, smiling.

You raise an eyebrow at the implication that you’d be bringing him home any time soon.

He continues, not missing a beat. “I may look like a hotshot dragon rider, which I am, but we both know you’d be the one in charge between us. I’d do anything you asked, sweetheart.”

“Anything except leave me alone?” you ask, regretting the sharp words as soon as they enter the air.

He’s silent. Maybe you’ve finally proven your point, proven to both him and yourself that you’re no good for him, that you don’t deserve the starry-eyed reverence he’s afforded you for months.

A whistle echoes across the courtyard, a three-note gliss you’d recognize anywhere; the one your parents had used to call you inside for dinner when you were kids.

You don’t turn toward the sound, still looking at Ridoc. For the first time ever, he isn’t smiling at you, and it feels like the world has stopped turning, that the sun has burnt out and the moons have disappeared from the sky.

You’re sick with guilt, struggling to form complete sentences. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to… that was a really fucked up thing for me to say. I just… I don’t understand why you-”

“Hurry up,” Garrick calls, impatient. “Xaden is pissed.”

“You should go,” Ridoc says softly. “We can talk about this another day.”

Why is he looking at you like that after what you’d said to him? Why does he still care about you? Why did he in the first place?

“Be safe,” he adds quietly, and that’s enough for you to finally move your feet, to run toward your foster brother, to follow him and Xaden to gods-know-where for their final assignment.

Garrick’s words go in one ear and out the other as you race toward the flight field. It doesn’t matter where you’re going or what you have to do, only that you come back, that you see Ridoc again and tell him the truth.

--------------------------------------

The next few days go by in a blur, devoid of color. You’re barely aware of your existence, just going through the motions to keep yourself alive. You sleep, you eat, but your dreams are blank and the food tasteless.

You settle onto the cold stone of the main staircase, leaning your cheek against the banister.

It’s easy enough to conjure a few of the soft blue butterflies, watching them flutter about above your head. You reach forward, extending your hand to one, and it lands on your finger, flapping its wings gently.

“You’re getting really good at that,” Garrick says quietly, sitting down on the step above you.

Five years living as siblings has attuned him to your emotions -- he knows that something is wrong, that something had been wrong even before you were sent on this suicide mission and lost two of your friends. “Do you want to talk about what happened when I came to get you?”

You really don’t, but the words come out anyway. “I fucked up,” you whisper, still watching the butterflies. The sight of them only reminds you Ridoc, of the soft awe that had lingered in his eyes even after they’d disappeared — until you’d snapped at him. Gods, the look on his face…

You push the thought away, and they fade back into air. “I hurt him, because I was scared.”

“Scared of what?” He asks. There’s no judgment in his tone, just gentleness; he genuinely wants to understand.

“That he was being serious, that he actually likes me,” you answer. “I keep pushing him away, but he keeps coming back, he keeps looking at me like… like I mean something to him, and I don’t understand why. He doesn’t know me, he isn’t one of us, he isn’t even in my squad. There’s no reason for him to care about me.”

Garrick lets your words hang in the air for a moment before he speaks. “I thought it was fitting that you developed an illusion signet.”

You look up, waiting for him to elaborate.

“It took me a full year to figure you out when we met, to realize that the person you really are on the inside doesn’t match the person that you show people. I think he saw right through that perpetual stone-faced look, saw the girl that I’m proud to call a sister.”

“You really think so?” You ask quietly.

“I know so.”

You rest your head against his shoulder, a gesture that he knows is equivalent to a tight embrace from anyone else -- you’ve never been a touchy person.

You’ve never been good at feelings, either. “It’s too damn quiet in this house,” you say after a moment, changing the subject.

He laughs. “It really is.”

--------------------------------------

Ridoc is standing in front of you.

You’re relieved at the sight of him, that no terrible fate befell him in the week you’d been away, but you can’t handle the conversation that you need to have, not when you feel like your heart is going to give out.

“I can’t do this right now,” you say, but the words don’t come out as strongly as you’d hoped, not enough air in your lungs to speak properly. “So if you could find somewhere else to be, that would be great.”

In true Ridoc fashion, he isn’t discouraged by your protests, kneeling down next to you. “Can you look at me, sweetheart?”

His seriousness confuses you enough to comply. You raise your chin, stunned at the softness in his eyes -- you’ve never been this close to him before. He’s beautiful.

“I’m gonna check your pulse, okay?”

You nod silently, allowing him to extend a hand toward you. Two fingers press into the side of your neck, feeling for your heartbeat.

He’s never touched you before. His hands are warm.

“Do you know where you are?”

“Basgiath,” you answer easily.

“Good. How long have you been sitting here?”

“I don’t know. Since we got out of formation?”

He realizes exactly what upset you — that must have been your first flight since you got back from War Games with the rest of the marked ones.

“I don’t know what you saw out there, and you don’t need to tell me, but whatever it is, it can’t hurt you right now,” he promises. The genuine sincerity in his voice has the tears falling faster.

Through your blurred vision you see him open his arms, and you lean into them without hesitation. He’s so warm that you can’t help but melt as soon as your skin touches his.

He rubs your back, speaking softly. “You’re okay, pretty girl, you’re safe. Just breathe with me, okay?”

You attempt to match the even pace of his chest rising and falling against yours, deepening your shuddering breaths.

“That’s it,” he soothes. “You’re doing great.”

Grief comes flooding out of you, and you clutch at the fabric of his flight jacket to remain upright. “I miss them so much,” you sob. “They didn’t deserve to die.”

Liam and Soleil, the two marked ones that hadn’t come back with you.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m so sorry.”

He continues to rub your back, murmuring soft reassurances to you until your grip on him has loosened and your breathing has slowed.

You’ve relaxed, your heart no longer pounding as it had been when he found you, but you still don’t want him to go, you couldn’t bear it if he left right now. “Stay?” You ask in a small voice.

“Of course,” he answers, pulling back to sit beside you. “As long as you need.”

Your tears have dried, leaving you with a headache and a hollow feeling in your sinuses. “Why did you help me?” You ask quietly, looking out at the river.

He wraps an arm around your shoulders. “Because it was the right thing to do. And because I can’t stand to see pretty girls cry.”

“Of course you’re back to cracking jokes already.”

“I’ve never been joking with you,” he says, shaking his head. “I meant every word I said to you, sweetheart. You’re beautiful, but you’re so much more than that, too. You’re capable, strong, witty, kind, caring, gentle… everything about you is good, and I wish that people would see past the relic on your arm and realize that.”

You blink at him, stunned.

“It’s true,” he says softly. “When you smiled at me that day at challenges, I knew that there was a soft heart under all that steel.”

A soft heart. A sweet heart.

There’s a moment of quiet while you work up the courage.

“Is that pasta place still there?”

He laughs, perhaps a little too loudly, but you’ve grown to love that sound, and the way it shakes his chest is comforting, like the rumble of a thunderstorm when you’re safe and dry indoors. “I think so.”

“Wanna go there tomorrow? Together?”

He grins from ear to ear. “Are you asking me out right now, sweetheart?”

You look over at him. “Yeah. I am.”

“This is going in the diary too, for the record.”

You can’t help but laugh, leaning back against him. If only for a moment, your anxiety has melted away.

You feel like you could face anything, as long as you have Ridoc to come home to.

#ridoc gamlyn #fourth wing #ridoc gamlyn x reader #fourth wing x reader #mine #Ridoc and Sweetheart

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malarign · 3 months

Text

missing home

IN WHICH? enhypen helps you feel less homesick

INCLUDES! bf!hyungline x gn!reader / fluff / established relationship, homesick reader, mentions of food / 459 words

☆ LEE HEESEUNG

learns some basic expressions in your native language

mans tired of not being able to communicate well with your family basically

plus he doesn’t really like it when you talk to them on the phone and can’t understand a single word

you catch him repeating after you random phrases sometimes and can’t help but smile at his efforts

and let me tell you that’s what makes him want to know more and more

after a while basic expressions turned into some basic conversations and stuff

whether he knows or not it makes you feel so warm and at home

well, he knows and that’s the main reason he decided to buy more textbooks and listen to songs in your native language <33

☆ PARK JONGSEONG

cooks your favourite dishes

man he even contacted your family to get as authentic a recipe as he could

before he even let you try it he had to cook it a few times just to make sure it’s GOOD good

at some point all of the members knew almost whole cuisine and were threatened to not spill a single word

though you kinda knew since the dorms smelled like your family home for a good few weeks

when he finally decided to tell you and let you eat it, it smelled and tasted practically exactly like when you ate it before leaving to Korea

your happy reactions and expressions made him cook only dishes from your country

☆ SIM JAEYUN

watches TV series from your country

watching TV series with him was already your tradition, whenever you finished one series you started a new one

what ignited an idea to watch something from your country was a small cameo of a character from your country in one of them

something switched in his brain and when it was his time to suggest something he chose a title you knew well

insisted on watching it with just subtitles or sometimes without them, even if it meant he didn’t understand a single word

thanks to that he picked up some words and says them in completely random moments making you laugh </3

☆ PARK SUNGHOON

surprises you with plane tickets every chance he gets

well, it really depends on how far your country is from Korea

but every time he gets a couple of days off he just doesn’t waste a second to book your flights

usually tells you in advance since traveling as an active idol is a logistical nightmare

but still possible!

but sometimes he just feels goofy and breaks into your apartment in a rush panting as if some tragedy happened

and just when you want to ask him what’s going on he takes tickets from his pocket and says with stone serious face

“we need to leave the country as fast as we can, don’t ask any questions”

did he just cause you a mini heart attack? well, yes but is your happiness worth it? definitely yes

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be-with-me-so-happily · 9 months

Text

Not Another Time

ONE SHOT

[ or Part 2 of Could We Not ]

<< Request >> "I loved could we not. Can you maybe also write when that guy came running on stage and he maybe pushes reader out of the way or something like that😅" - anon

<< Request >> "Omg PLEASE could you do more parts or ‘could we not’ literally loved it!!!" - @loza--may

Summary: Harry is used to things getting crazy on tour. What he wasn't ready for is how much he misses YN during the Latin American leg of his tour. But at the Rio de Janeiro show, he needs to expect the unexpected.

AN: Highly requested part 2, which I wasn't expecting but am so honored to have written for you all. Sorry it took me FOREVER to write and post this. I hope you like it.

Warnings: Some explicit language, attempted attack by a fan, mild head injury

Not much can shake Harry when it comes to wild moments on tour, throughout his entire career. There once was a fan hiding in a trash bin, dildos thrown at his face, wedding proposals, canceled shows due to illness, and there was even a time when a girl tried to dolphin her way onto the stage, back in the early days. But he still loves it, loves it all. It's titled 'Love On Tour' for a reason.

Now, he's in Latin America. Any and every performance here has such a special place in Harry's heart. He has a 'brasil' tattoo on his thigh, after all. However, the time is a little different.

The horn players have not accompanied the band for these shows. No trombone, no saxophone, and no trumpets. Which means no YN. No sweet but subtle winks onstage, no flirtatious comments backstage, no seeing her bright smile, no hearing her pure laugh, or getting lost in her beautifully deep eyes. No gazing at her lips and wishing so desperately that he could kiss them again.

Unfortunately, their first kiss was their last. Harry hopes that's not forever. But after it happened, he got sick, putting a crimp in his plans to further things with her. When he recovered, their time was taken up by those last few shows in Los Angeles. Then he was off to Mexico. And she wasn't.

Needless to say, her absence is very apparent. To him, at least.

So, like he has done every show since Guadalajara, Harry checks his phone after getting dressed. He wants to make sure he hasn't missed any 'good luck' texts before going on stage, but a disappointed sigh releases as he sees that he has no new messages.

"Alright, H. Ten minutes." The stage assistant announces.

Harry nods, handing his phone over and grabbing his mic pack from the sound tech. The band gathers around for a little pre-show ritual and Harry feels the tug on his heart, wishing there were four more members in their huddle, so there could be one particular member tucked under his arm. But he commits to staying focused on his performance, to put on a good show for the people of Rio de Janeiro.

Despite a few fans fainting in Bogota, things have been relatively smooth so far, and this night should be no different. All he has to do is get out there and get through it.

"Do you know the words to this one Rio?" Harry shouts to the crowd as the band begins to play 'What Makes You Beautiful'.

Despite his efforts, this song always makes him miss YN. The trumpets in the backing track just don't do this song, or any of the songs, as much justice as when she is there, with him, playing live. The other three too, of course, but he has always been able to distinguish her trumpet from the other horns, and he would always dance near her while this song played. Without that, without her, it's just not nearly as exciting.

As he begins the second verse, Harry moves to his left, twisting around to tug on the mic cord that feels as if it's caught on something.

"I don't know why you're being shy…" Harry's eyes shoot up and then around as a security guard strides past him, settling his gaze on a figure charging towards him. "And you turn away when I look into your eyes."

It's like a flash. He is walking, then swiveling around, moving over, and then backing up into another security guard. All within a matter of a few seconds. It takes a moment for him to fully understand what's happening, as multiple crew members grab hold of the man.

Watching him be dragged offstage, Harry moves back to the center mic, still in shock of what happened but still wanting to continue the song.

He glances over to each side of the stage, shaking the disbelief away when he meets the gazes of a few of the band and crew. Each one reciprocates the sentiment, yet seem to keep their caution, as a few of them motion over that way. Harry turns back, just for a quick check, and notices a small group of people gathered in a huddle. He turns back to the crowd. He trusts his team, he knows they are handling whatever it is, and he won't let this one moment take away from the show. It can't stop him. It won't stop him.

As the song ends he takes a quick moment to gather himself and take a breath before turning to the crowd.

"Well that was different…" He states sarcastically, though truthfully. It's probably one of the more accurate ways to describe that moment, especially if he's trying to keep this a 'family show', as he always claims. "Is everybody okay?"

The fans laugh and cheer, seeming to answer his question with the same disbelief he feels.

"I'm shooketh… I'm shooketh!" He exclaims, receiving another laugh from the audience. At least they are recovering and feeling good. Now he can recover and feel good too. He twists around, looking from one side of the stage to another, meeting the gaze of a few security guards and crew as he does so. "Thank you, thank you. You saved me!"

That's when he catches it. The glimpse of a familiar face, of YN's face, off to the side of the stage, among the small group he had noticed earlier. However, her expression is not one he's seen before. Well, only once before. It's pained, again, but this time it looks worse, and Harry feels his stomach drop.

He transitions into a quick acknowledgement of his band members, his mind wanting to focus solely on the one who wasn't even scheduled to be there, but as soon as he's done, he takes advantage of what's next.

He uses the band mic to let everyone know he'll be off to the side while the extended introduction to 'Late Night Talking' plays on the screens, and once the lights dim he swiftly makes his way over.

"YN. What's-... what are you-… umm, hi." He fumbles, his thoughts racing with so many questions. He didn't even know she'd be in Brazil, or at the show, let alone on the side of the stage, and now she's standing there in front of him, with an ice pack on her head.

"Hi." She chuckles minimally, hurting Harry's heart with the lack of usual enthusiasm and joy. "I came… to surprise… everyone."

"Well, you did that!" He exclaims, managing as best of a smile as he can. His gaze travels from her eyes, to her lips, and then up to her head, and his expression immediately drops. "What happened?"

"It's nothing." She attempts to play off, much like the last time he saw her injured. "Don't worry about me."

"That's impossible." He retorts. "What happened?"

"The guy… the fan, just… knocked me down… on his way out with security." She shakes her head, scoffing, though Harry feels as if she's directing it towards herself more than anyone else.

"Okay. Umm… go backstage and get checked out." He states, his ears picking up on the music, knowing he'll have to return to center stage in just a few moments. "I'll… I'll see you after, yeah?"

"Harry, I'm fi-"

"Just do it!" He exclaims, immediately wincing as he watches her eyes widen with surprise. He's never talked to her like that, never even raised his voice even remotely in her direction without it being out of excitement or flirtation. But he cares about her, and now he will only worry more seeing her there in pain. "Please."

She nods, opening her mouth with a reply, but seemingly deciding against it.

Harry gives YN a quick kiss on the cheek and hustles back over to his mic stand, shooting his gaze to the side for one last glance of her as she walks out of sight.

It's not as if he's going to stop worrying, but maybe it'll be a little less than it would if she were still there watching him. He knows she'll be taken care of, and he'll see her when it's over. Right now, he needs to get through the rest of it, preferably without any other issues.

"... on a Summer evening, what is happening? An-... you're the end of… we are going to stop the song."

Technical difficulties. During 'Watermelon Sugar'. Of course. As if Harry's mind wasn't already somewhere else. He knows it's an easy fix, hopefully, but it's just another thing added to the existing thoughts already causing chaos in his mind. He's a professional, sure, but everyone has a limit and he just doesn't want to find out where his is.

Get through it. That's all he has to do, just get through the next song, the show, and the night. Just get through it and then get to YN.

'Love of My Life' is next. Thankfully it's a slow song, so he can calm his mind and body down, even just a little, before the break in the set. And at that point he can finally regroup.

It works, for a moment, until he notices that some fans need help, and despite making his team aware, they are still there struggling. He lifts the mic stand up and turns his head back, motioning with his finger, with some intensity, for someone to help them and get them out of there.

He feels himself spiraling, just a bit, and has never looked forward to the end of a song as much as he is tonight.

As Harry waves to the crowd, with a mouthful of water, he impatiently waits to spit it up in the air, thank the crowd, and get the hell off stage.

The crowd continues to applaud and cheer as he says goodbye, turning around and using the last bit of energy he has to run backstage.

He stops among the hustle of the crew, realizing he isn't sure where to go, or where to even start looking for YN. The most likely place is his dressing room, so he swiftly shuffles his way there, doing his best to acknowledge anyone he passes by that congratulates or compliments him. He feels bad, he usually takes time with each person, always grateful for their work and feedback. But not tonight. He only has one person on his mind. One person he wants and needs to see.

He swings the door open and takes a quick scan of the room, finding no one. Not anyone. Not her. He runs his fingers through his now very sweaty hair, inhaling deeper to catch his breath and figure out where to go next, where to look next.

He takes a seat on the couch, elbows resting in his knees, and glances over to the table in front of him to find a note that wasn't there before. He grabs it immediately, blinking the salty moisture out of his eyes as he looks over the words.

"Hey H.

Went back to the hotel.

Hope you had a great

rest of your show!

- YN"

"Fuck." He mumbles, suddenly remembering how he yelled for her to go backstage. Well, he could argue that he only raised his voice, but in that moment, that hectic moment, it didn't matter. He shouldn't have done it at all. And truth be told, it would've made the entire night better if she had stayed. But he yelled, and sent her away. Now all he wants to do is go to her and make it better, make her feel better.

After the fastest shower and outfit change of his life, Harry found Jeff and discovered that his manager helped YN get there, so he knew which hotel room was hers. At least Harry didn't have to spend countless hours searching all of Rio for her.

He stands in front of her door and takes a deep breath, nerves on edge as he knocks, and fully prepared for her to open the door and ask him to leave. Immediately.

"Harry?" He hears, causing his gaze to lift from his shoes to the woman in front of him. She's dressed in cotton shorts and a t-shirt, looking comfortable and yet more beautiful than he's ever seen her. He just wishes she wasn't also holding another ice pack to her temple.

"YN." He breathes out, unable to form any other words as he looks her over, hopefully more subtle than he fears it might be. "Are y-... how… I mean, umm…"

The sweetest sound grabs his attention and he watches her step aside as she lets out a small giggle.

"Come in."

He nods, and without hesitation steps into the room. The sound of the door closing causes him to swivel on his heel, and his eyes stay fixed on YN as she motions him over to the edge of the bed.

"What's up?" She asks, casually, removing the ice pack and placing it down beside her.

"I, umm, wanted to check on you." He answers, not convinced his volume was even loud enough to be heard. "How are you feeling?"

"Sore." She swiftly responds, and he cringes at the lack of emotion with it. Even though it was only one word, he feels as if he knows her well enough to know that's not her normal tone. "Hit my head when the guy knocked me to the ground."

"I'm so sorry, YN. I didn't know you were there tonight, or I would've…" He pauses, looking down to where his nails pick at each other. "I don't know… I could've done… something…"

"No, Harry, I'm sorry." She states, causing his gaze to shoot back up to find hers filled with, what looks like, embarrassment. And maybe even regret. But definitely with insecurity, which is not something he's used to seeing from her. "I shouldn't have come."

"Oh." His heart drops.

"I feel like I may have been in the way. Well, I was for that fan…" She states, the smallest smile lifting the corners of her mouth, despite the roll of her eyes and shake of her head. "But I definitely didn't want to be in yours."

"No! I'm glad you're here!" He replies, without hesitation, and watches as her eyes widen, now allowing him to see the depths at which they usually take him to.

"You are? Because it seemed like…" YN clears her throat, confirming for Harry that she is in fact nervous. Not confident. And it seems to be his fault. "It seemed like you were upset when you saw me."

"No! Not at all." Harry replies, his frustration with himself appearing in the crease between his brows. "I wasn't upset seeing you there, I was upset seeing you hurt. Really upset. I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm sorry."

"It's fine, H. I'm alright."

"I know. I know that. I just… I was worried for the rest of the show, wondering if you were okay. It was torturing me."

"I didn't mean for that to happen. I'm really sorry." She lets out a sigh, and it almost breaks Harry's heart as she drops her gaze and squeezes her eyes shut.

"No, don't-... that's not-..." Harry lets out a low growl in frustration. He doesn't know how to express what he means, and if he even should. But at this point, he doesn't know if he can hold back. "It was torture because all I wanted to do was fix it for you. Like last time."

"Like last time?"

He hears her breath hitch, and his heart races more, feeling each beat thump against his chest. They had shared a kiss the last time she got hurt. They spent the rest of the night together, hanging out and talking until the sun was almost rising. But then nothing. Was that it? Was it just a one time thing, just a momentary thing after an adrenaline-raising show? No, it wasn't. Not for him. And she needs to know.

"I… like you, YN. A lot. And that night… meant a lot to me." He fully turns his body towards her, gaining a fraction of the confidence for himself that he has always seen in her, and since she is now there in Brazil, he won't waste another minute without sharing his heart. "We didn't really get to talk much afterwards, or see each other even, but I just need you to know that… I want to be with you. If… if that's something you want too."

Harry watches as she pulls her lips inward, hoping that the expression he sees underneath is pleasant. Pleasant for him. But he suddenly realizes that if she doesn't feel the same, he doesn't want to lose her. For the band.

"If it's not, no problem. We can move past it." He swallows the lump caught grasping against the walls of his throat. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, and don't want you to leave the band over it. You're very talented, YN."

"Thank you." She replies, looking over at him with those gorgeous eyes and a tenderness she's never given him before, and despite him offering to move past his feelings, for the sake of his heart, he desperately hopes that she feels the same. He wants her to only look at him like that from now on. "And that night meant a lot to me as well."

"Yeah?" He responds, shifting in his spot at the edge of her bed, with all the giddiness of a lovesick school boy.

"I want to be with you too, H."

His palms fly up to her cheeks, receiving a warmth from them that flows right to his chest. His gaze flickers to her lips, yearning for them, desperate for them.

"Are you going to kiss me or not?" She chuckles, and his heart swells from the self-assurance that she always expresses, that he has fallen for.

He grins, wider than he ever has, but only for a moment. He's not going to wait any longer. He leans closer, and her eyes close, pursing her soft lips to meet his in a gentle kiss.

Her hands run up his arms, applying pressure as they move over his shoulders, and connect behind his neck. She pulls him closer, and his tongue teases her lips before she parts them, each sighing as they deepen the kiss.

His chest tightens, this time out of need for air, so he pulls back, only leaving enough room for a breath, and smiles as he hears her release her own, happy exhale.

"How are you feeling now?" He asks, resting his forehead against hers as one hand strokes over the hair covering her temple.

"Much better. I do need to rest now, though." She whispers. "But, you know, I may have a concussion…"

"That's not funny."

"No, it's not. It's very serious." She pulls away more, hands still behind his head, and his mind fills with worry. Worry and confusion, as he watches her smile reappear through her solemn expression. "I should probably have someone stay with me tonight. To make sure I'm alright, of course."

"Of course." He smirks, feeling his heart burst, following as she scoots up the bed and rests her head on the pillow.

He does the same, laying down to face her, and sees her eyes begin to flutter shut. It's been an exhausting day for the both of them.

"Come here." He whispers, opening his arms for her to settle in, wrapping them around her body, and pulling her to his chest. "You doing okay?"

"More than okay." She utters, drowsiness now coating her words. "Thank you, for fixing things."

"Anytime." He replies, placing a tender kiss on top of her head. "I'll fix things for you anytime."

A silence falls between them, and as he hears her soft breaths leave her even softer lips, Harry hums in contentment, allowing his own body to succumb to the rest it now needs too. He shuts his eyes, and one last thought appears as he feels himself happily drift off to sleep.

Despite all the chaos, this night didn't turn out so bad after all. With YN, it's been the best one yet.

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starlostastronaut · 5 months

Text

DAY 03 | A STATE OF MIND

PAIRING: bang chan x reader

GENRE: angst, hurt/comfort, eventual fluff

WC: 1.76k

CW: (not only) appearance insecuritues (chan), mentions of hate comments, implied panic attack/mental breakdown (chan), there's crying, and lot of kisses, y/n used like once, chan gets called baby

PROMPT: you're beatiful - the rose

well, the angst is here. trust me to take a cute song and turn it into this lol. i promise it gets better as we go, and i don't really go into much detail, but still mind the cw. i still hope you enjoy <3

title from you're beatiful - the rose

general masterlist here

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You knocked on the door to the 3RACHA + Hyunjin dorm. Tapping your foot against the ground, you waited for one of the boys to let you in. “Come on, guys, come on,” you murmured, growing more and more impatient with every second that passed. This truly was the worst time to forget your keys at home. But you were in such a hurry to get here that the thought of bringing anything but the absolute essentials, such as your phone or the keys to your own apartment, hadn't crossed your mind until you were halfway to the dorm.

When Changbin called you twenty minutes ago, begging you to come over, you weren’t thinking straight. As soon as Chan's name was mentioned, you grabbed your stuff and ran out the door. Poor Changbin didn't even get to finish what was so urgent, but that didn't matter. You will find out when you go there. What mattered was the fact that something was going on with Chan, and you were too far away from him. So there you were, in the hallway of the Stray Kids’ apartment complex, standing in front of the door like an idiot. Just as you were starting to entertain the thought of busting the door down, the doorknob moved and revealed Minho in a similarly distressed state as you. His hair was messy, his hoodie rumpled, and there were a few faint damp patches around his chest and shoulders.

“Thank god you're here.” Minho let out a sigh of relief, ushering you to come inside and towards Chan's room, not even pointing out the fact that you didn't take off your shoes. Oh, so this was really serious then. Minho was very particular about these sorts of things, so the fact that he now completely ignored one of his precious house rules spoke volumes on its own. Walking through the apartment, you noticed the rest of the members sitting or standing around, looking similarly uneasy. Hyunjin and Jisung paused their murmured conversation with Changbin to give you a small wave as a greeting, which you returned. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Seungmin comforting a crying Jeongin, but before you could inspect the scene further, you were dragged away by Minho. “Yongbok is with him right now, but he keeps asking for you,” the dancer said, placing a hand on your shoulder blade and gently nudging you towards the closed door.

“Um… Do you mind telling me what exactly happened? I kind of rushed here before Changbin got the chance to explain.” You ran your hand through your hair, suddenly feeling a bit awkward.

Minho didn't make a big deal out of it. “It's been a hard few weeks for him. And you know how he is, he never tells us anything and keeps it bottled up. I don't know what set it off, but with the deadlines closing in three days and the haters getting more active lately, I guess it got too much. He broke down about an hour ago, and we don't know what to do,” he explained with the same sad and worried tone he greeted you with. You nodded, and Minho carefully opened the door.

Felix raised his head to the noise, and his eyes sparked up when he saw you. Though it wasn't the usual spark in his eyes, this time it was much more bittersweet. I'm glad you're here, and I'm sorry I can't help more. “Chris, Y/N is here,” Felix whispered in English, gently running his fingers through Chan's hair to make him acknowledge the information.

Watching the whole scene unfold in front of you, you could feel your heart breaking into a million pieces. The two boys were sitting on the bed, Chan cuddled up to Felix. At least he wasn't crying anymore, so that was already a step in a better direction. He still had his face buried in the younger one's chest, though. One of Felix's arms was steadily wrapped around Chan, while the other was now massaging his scalp. Chan looked so small and vulnerable, curled up into a ball like that. You had to fight every urge to run over there, pry him out of Felix's arms, and never let go again. But you knew you had to approach carefully.

Kneeling down next to the bed, you gently ran your hand around Chan's back, letting him know you're here. "Baby," you whispered. “Baby, it's me. Can you look at me, please?’ you said, getting up on the bed as well. Felix gave you a weak smile, and slowly, with so much care, he disentangled himself from Chan, who immediately latched onto you, grabbing you with a force you didn't think he was capable of right now. You didn't even notice Felix and Minho leaving the room; all your attention was focused on your boyfriend the moment you saw him.

“Want to tell me what happened?” you gently asked, hugging Chan tighter when he shook his head, mumbling something about wanting to just hold you for a while. You nodded with a sad smile. “Of course.” He'll tell you later, if he wants to. For now, you would just hold him, knowing that just your presence helped him. He said many times in the past that just being close to you always made him feel better. But now that saying has reached a completely new, heartbreaking level. You watched Chan get comfortable with a stinging pain in your chest. It hurt to see him like this, clinging to you like he's drowning and you're the only thing keeping him above the water.

For a while, you just stayed, intertwined with one another. For the whole time, your fingers gently brushed through Chan's soft curls because you knew it always helped to ground him. As the minutes passed, you felt how Chan's breathing slowly steadied, and he was coming out of his current state.

Feeling him move, you smiled and helped him into a more sitting position, but you still kept your firm hold on him. Reaching over for the bottles of water Minho brought in some time ago, you handed one to Chan. “Feeling better, baby?”

He took the bottle and opened it, bringing it to his lips. He set it back down and nodded in response to your question. “I'm sorry… Don't know what…” he mumbled. “The deadlines and comments... It was too much.”

“Shh, it's okay.” You began stroking his hair again. “They're wrong. Whatever they said to you, they're wrong.”

Chan looked at you. His eyes, always so sparkly and happy, were now heavy with sadness. “They said that I'm not a good leader. That I don't deserve to be an idol because I'm ugly with no talent,” he whispered.

You felt a burst of anger inside you. “Channie,” you said, more insistent this time. One of your hands came to rest on his jaw, your thumb gently caressing his cheek, while the other interlocked your fingers with his, holding his hand tightly. “They're wrong. You're a great leader. No one loves the boys more than you, and we both know you'll do anything for them. You take care of them, of me, of other artists in your company. You protect them when it's needed, and you help them grow and achieve their own success outside of the group. Are those the qualities of a bad leader?”

Chan shook his head slightly.

“Exactly. You are the best leader they could ever ask for.” You smiled at him, hoping to convey how much you loved and appreciated him with that one smile. And it might have worked. His face lit up a tiny bit. Blink and you would have missed it, but at this point in your relationship, you were so accustomed to Chan that you sometimes felt like you could read his mind.

“And I don't know who said that other thing, but they need their eyes checked,” you continued. “You are beautiful, Chan, inside and out. From your adorable curly hair..." You reached to kiss the top of his head. “Over your eyes, your nose, your entire face, to your lips.” After every feature, you placed a kiss on that spot, and your heart swelled with happiness when you heard soft giggles coming out of Chan at the fact that he was being showered with kisses all over his face. “And even if the haters don't think that, who cares? Their opinion doesn’t matter. Beauty is much more than looks. It's the personality as well. You have thousands of fans ready to tell you the same because it's true, but you need to believe it yourself. Please try, for me?”

You leaned in to press a final kiss on Chan's lips. When you pulled away, you noticed tears beginning to form in the corners of his eyes. “Oh god no,” you murmured. This was the last thing you wanted to happen. Just as you thought he was getting better, you made him cry again.

“Happy tears. It's happy tears,” Chan quickly said, noticing you getting into your head. “It's okay, you didn't do anything,” he assured you, a small smile creeping up on his face.

“I should be the one telling you that,” you chuckled, cupping his face in your hands and wiping the tears away.

“Can't have you steal all the spotlight, can I?"

That did get a full laugh out of you. A joke. That meant Chan was coming back. “I'm glad you're feeling better,” you said, your voice sweet and sincere.

“Thank you. For being here and... and helping. I promise I'll try for you,” Chan said, and you lit up at his words. It was going to be a long and difficult road, for sure, but this was already a huge step in the right direction. Then he yawned and snuggled up closer to you. You stroked his back a few times. It was understandable. He was exhausted, both physically and emotionally. “I'll go tell the boys you're okay, and then I'll come back so we can sleep, okay?”

You got a murmured okay in response. Smiling, you gently laid Chan down on the bed and gave him a last kiss into his hair before walking towards the door. When you looked over your shoulder before exiting the room, he was curled to himself just like before, but this time his breathing was slow and steady, his face calm, as his body was finally ready to let go and relax.

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©starlostastronaut 2023 | do not repost/translate my work without permission

#moony's countdown to christmas #mctc #stray kids x reader #bang chan x reader #bang chan #angst #hurt/comfort #fluff

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shewritesallnight · 1 year

Text

Cell Block Tango [BSD]

YN is sick of listening to Dazai’s and Fyodor’s prison mind games. Locked away underground, she yearns for a distraction and decides that it’s time for a special game of her own. But can she keep control while playing against not one but two demons…

Rating: 18+, NSFW

3.5K words

a/n: Spoiler alert for anime fans but if you are up to date with manga translations then it’s nothing new. For the sake of this fic we are gonna pretend that the prison suits are two pieces rather than the jumpsuit. We are also sticking to the manga version of the prison, not the hamster balls :p

There was a dull throb at the back of her skull and she was pretty sure she was about to have an aneurysm. That or she was finally going insane. It had been bad enough that she was stuck in Meursault; but being trapped in a box between two maniacs made her mind spin.

How she got in this mess, YN wasn’t entirely sure, but she was willing to bet Chuuya’s entire wine collection that it had to do with one of Dazai’s little schemes. She had hoped to never find herself again playing pawn to the former Executive once he disappeared from the Port Mafia.

Apparently, that was just wishful thinking.

The Demon Prodigy of the Port Mafia and the Demon Fyodor faced off in front of her. Sitting in ridiculous plexiglass cells like Hannibal Lector; and she had been graced with the misfortune of being stuck next to both, completing their little block in the shape of a U.

She had tried, when she first arrived, to question the males; an attempt at getting some idea why she had to be thrown in here. To no avail.

At some point, boredom pushed her to start a guessing game between the two of them to see who could recognize songs as she hummed the tune.

Dazai was up to date with the most current pop songs and seemingly a fan of country music. Fyodor was calling out titles before she even got to the second note of anything remotely classical or rap related.

She wasn’t sure if he called out the latter so quickly because he enjoyed the songs or he just didn’t want to hear them.

Once the conversations evolved to apparent mind reading, she left them to their devices. For all she knew they were absolutely bullshitting and toying with her mind as a form of entertainment.

She wouldn’t put it past them.

How long had they been going at it? Was it days? Weeks? It was so hard to tell in this place, though she had no doubt her two prison mates would know.

She craved stimulation, a new book, real music, or a conversation with a normal person. Hell, she was ready to attack a guard for a change of pace. Though they rarely came around save to drop off food and when they did, they remained silent and out of reach.

No doubt a stipulation to prevent any secretive communication to the outside world.

"97,462."

"4,475."

YN groaned, slamming her pillow over her face to drown out the ceaseless stream of numbers. It would put her out of her misery, if she suffocated herself with the pillow. Better yet, would be to suffocate the two of them.

She giggled into the fluff, building the scenario in her mind but frowned when her imagination came to Dazai.

The suicidal maniac would probably enjoy it.

"Uhg," with a huff, she dragged the pillow down from her face and onto her chest.

Her breath stuttered. A delicious jolt shot down her spine at the feel of the pillow brushing over her clothed nipples.

Were the prison uniforms that thin?

She tugged the pillow down another inch and her toes curled at the friction. She chanced a glance towards her cell block mates, still locked in their staring death match and spouting off numbers at a rapid pace.

Maybe they wouldn't notice. Or maybe she wanted them to, her face flushed at the thought.

Maybe she really was going insane.

Either way, it would be a much needed distraction and if it threw those two off their game while working off some frustration, even better.

Decision made, she returned her pillow behind her head and settled against the sheets. As a test she brushed her thumbnail over a nipple and keened.

Fuck, that felt good.

She slipped a hand under her top to cup her breast, gently squeezing, and groaned. Her other hand traveled down to rub over the clothed apex of her thighs.

Once.

Twice.

Three times, just to feel the delicious friction.

She moved to tug on the band of her pants.

"What do we have here?" "What do you think you're doing?"

Her body froze at the overlapping voices. Caught, like a deer facing off with two wolves.

She flicked her eyes first to Dazai then across to Fyodor. The duo had their gaze burning into her. She could only imagine her appearance to them. One hand hidden beneath her shirt with the other poised to slip beneath the fabric of her pants.

"I-i,” she paused.

Honesty was out of the question, there was no way she was going to tell them that she was so bored that she accidentally made herself horny with the idea of them watching her masturbate.

A half-truth then, just enough to placate them.

She cleared her throat before speaking again, “While your little numbers game has been stimulating. I crave a more carnal distraction.”

Not breaking eye contact with the Russian, she slid her hand into her bottoms. YN bit her lip to keep from moaning when her fingertips brushed against her clit.

Was the base of his neck turning red or was that a trick of the prison lights?

"Tell me, Bella," her eyes darted to Dazai, "who brought about these carnal desires?"

Neither of them.

She hadn't been thinking of anything but the sweetness of release.

Lies.

Both men were at the forefront of her mind. It was no secret that the two of them were quite handsome in their own aggravating way. It wouldn’t be the first time she had thought about-

Annoyed, she huffed out a quick, "The both of you seem to be skilled at guessing games, why don’t you figure it out?”

She knew she made a mistake when his eyes darkened.

Holding her gaze, Dazai spoke to his rival. "Shall we find out which one of us makes her pant like a common whore?"

Heat rushed to her face.

"Seems a pointless competition when we already know who it is."

Dazai’s eyes cut to Fyodor and she felt the tension settle around the three of them.

Taking advantage of their distraction, she took the time to take in the two figures. Dazai had a prominent tent in his pants. While Fyodor sported a large bulge; his very real flush had darkened at his neck, she wondered how far down his chest the color spread.

It was intoxicating.

The idea of these two men arguing and turned on because of her. She felt a rush of wetness at her entrance, slipped a finger in, and moaned.

She didn't notice when she became the focus of their attention again or that Dazai had pulled his cock from his pants. Nor did she notice how Fyodor tugged his bottoms down mid-thigh and started rubbing at his own.

She was lost to the brush of her finger against her inner walls until Fyodor cut through the haze with his words.

"Myshka, look at me."

She looked up to Fyodor and sucked in a breath. He leaned back on his bed with one hand, the other working around his cock. From what she could see, the tip was the same pretty red color and smeared in precum.

Dazai had stood, now leaning against the corner of his cell, fully facing her. She had a clearer view of his cock and could see his fingers run across the prominent vein underneath.

He looked delicious and she clenched at the view. She wanted to wrap her lips around the head and swallow him down till she felt him at the back of her throat.

As if reading her mind, Dazai smirked. He picked up the pace of his hand when a small sigh fell from her lips.

"Do you imagine my fingers replacing yours? Reaching places you can only dream of?" She whined, eyes closing to get lost in the scene.

Yes, she wanted it.

"She would prefer my tongue working her open, tasting her until she screams."

"F-fuck," she stuttered at Fyodor's words, curling her finger and imagining his tongue in her.

She couldn't decide which scenario she liked better, riding his face until her body gave out or seeing Fyodor below her, worshiping her cunt from his knees.

Dazai clicked his tongue, “It would take more than your slimy appendage to ready her for me. Don’t you think Bella?”

He tapped his tip against the plexiglass. “Let’s see how well you prepare for me. Add another finger.”

Shimming off her bottoms, she kicked them to the floor of her cell. Following his instructions, she slipped in a second finger. It was tight and she knew it wouldn’t be enough to let him in.

Breathlessly, she began scissoring her fingers, stretching herself.

The feeling was glorious.

She wondered how he would feel, hot and heavy inside her. She’d be lying if she said she never thought of it, of him taking her against the wall at headquarters. It made her whimper, adding in a third finger.

The action wasn’t lost on her audience.

“So desperate for my cock that you can’t even wait for directions. How impatient of you.”

Muffled profanity slipped from Fyodor’s lips as she raised her shirt to her collar, exposing her breasts, to pull at her nipple.

She couldn’t hear their harsh breaths, but she could see them falling apart. Dazai’s forehead fell against the wall, his hips thrusting forward to fuck into his hand.

Fyodor had leaned forward over his legs, one hand still working his cock while the other fondled his balls.

They continued talking, feeding off each other and the display of her body before them. Speaking into existence all the sordid little fantasies she kept tucked away in the back of her mind.

She would have thought they really did have the ability to read minds if they hadn’t spoken of other darker desires. Words that sat heavy in her core and pushed her that much closer to the edge.

She had never seen either man look so disheveled; and she had never wanted anything more than to be in the same cell as them. To hear and feel their words across her skin as they pounded into her.

“N-nhg” Her teeth clamped down on her lip to prevent the syllables from escaping, a name hanging on the tip of her tongue.

She hissed at the pain but was thankful for it.

When did she start to lose control?

There was no way she was going to give into their twisted antics. She would not say either of their names. No matter how badly she wanted to give in.

She struggled to muffle another moan, pleasure building at her center. A thought drifted across her mind, maybe she could tip things back into her favor.

If they wanted her to call out a name, she would.

It would have to be someone they both knew. Someone who would affect both men.

Someone like- oh.

Like him.

She teetered on the edge, palm grinding against her clit-

“Come for me,” they uttered at the same time.

-and she free fell into oblivion.

“Ah-h-Ango!” she cried out, eyes rolling back as her back arched off the mattress.

Her thighs trapped her wrist while her walls fluttered around her fingers; barely registering the sputtered choke and subsequent snarl in the background.

She collapsed to her mattress, liquid and loose, and took several deep calming breaths then turned towards her audience.

Dazai’s cum dripped down from where it splattered against the plexiglass, he looked pained. His hand next to his head in a fist.

A quick glance to Fyodor revealed his hands were covered in his release, a displeased look on his face as he watched her.

Pulling her fingers from her core, she made a dramatic show of slurping and sucking the digits clean, tugged her shirt down, and turned her back on the two.

With a flip of her middle finger towards the demonic duo, she pulled the blanket over her body and settled in to sleep.

BONUS:

There is a saying, that if looks could kill...

Ango had never understood those words more than in that moment.

He felt the crushing glare from the two demons on the monitors as if they were in the same room as him. Suddenly, he was very glad to have them locked away.

All the wall monitors of the intelligence room were focused on the three cells, as they had been, since the moment the prisoners had taken their first steps into Meursault.

Sure, he had expected to witness some private moments but to witness that and for YN to call out his name at the end.

There were alarm bells going off in the back of his mind but it didn’t matter. He never dared to dream that she could- that she would-

His pants felt tight, uncomfortably tight.

Ango could feel the burn of all the eyes in the room, pointedly not looking in his direction.

The triple agent’s face was in flames, a hand covered the bottom half of his face. Trying and failing to maintain a sense of normalcy after the show.

And what a show it was.

The servers would have to be wiped. It could complicate things if he was implicated in whatever Dazai had planned.

Yes, they would have to be wiped.

But Ango wouldn’t put it past his former friend to have a secret message slipped in. Dazai’s heart rate would need to be compared to the video and decoded. Just in case.

Ango would have to take a copy of the video home to thoroughly examine it.

Fun Fact: Ango was the one to arrest YN. Babygirl knew what she was doing when she fed him to the wolves 💅

❥• ➥ I do not give permission to repost or claim any of my work. Reblogs are much appreciated!

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matan4il · 2 months

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Update post:

Today marks 123 days since Hamas launched the war in Gaza with its massacre of Israeli civilians.

There were two terrorist attacks today in Israel, both stopped before anyone was injured. The first entails Palestinians from the West Bank shooting at a home in kibbutz Meirav in the Gilboa mountains (where the Israelite king Shaul and his sons died 3,000 years ago), the house was damaged, but no person was hurt. This kibbutz was attacked several times along 2023. The second was in the city of Shchem (you might know it as Nablus, the Arab mispronunciation of the Greek word 'Neapolis,' because Arabic doesn't have the sound 'p'), I'm attaching the pic of the gun and knife which were found on the terrorist after he was neutralized. I found reports about them on two Israeli websites (Ha'aretz and Now14), but both are in Hebrew. The latter also mentions a rock throwing terror attack earlier today, against the car of a woman named Rachel Yaniv. Her brothers, Halel and Yagel Yaniv, were murdered by Palestinian terrorists almost a year ago.

We got the info today on an Iranian attempt on the lives of Jewish leaders in Stockholm, that was stopped in 2021. These terrorists, believed to be linked to the IRGC, infiltrated Sweden under the guise of Afghan refugees, and were deported (rather than put on trial) in 2022. This is a small reminder that the Islamist axis led by Iran, and which includes the terrorist organizations it funds (including Hamas, Hezbollah and the Houthis), as well as countries that chose to align themselves with Iran against the west, such as Qatar, is not anti-Zionist, it IS antisemitic.

In an Israeli TV interview conducted in Arabic, an Israeli journalist asked the right hand man of Palestinian Authority's president Mahmoud Abbas, whether he's willing to denounce the Oct 7 massacre. He didn't. Instead, he insisted that the occupation is the source of all this violence (even though terrorist attacks against Jews in Israel by Arabs predate both the war in 1967, which used to be defined as the start of "the occupation," and the establishment of the State of Israel in 1948), and that as long as the occupation continues, so will such acts [as the Oct 7 massacre].

As part of the campaign against the antisemitism and bias at the BBC, an employee who called the Jews Nazis, and denied the Holocaust, has finally been fired.

youtube

Israel's most popular sketch comedy show decided to tackle UNRWA with this funny short vid:

In the segment where the UNRWA teacher shows how he teaches biology, history and English using Hitler's Mein Kampf, on the left side of the wall behind the "teacher" you can see the lyrics of a song titled Fedayeen (a term used for Egypt-funded Palestinian terrorists who attacked Israelis in the 1950's), and the pics of two Hamas leaders who are heading the war in Gaza now, Yahya Sinwar and Mohammed Deif ('deif' is a nickname, his real name is Mohammed al-Masri, a last name that literally means "the Egyptian," so guess where his family is originally from).

Jewish singer Montana Tucker proved she's the bravest artist from among countless performers who attended the biggest American entertainment award shows recently, as she wore an enlarged version of the yellow ribbon to bring the Israeli hostages back home to the Grammys. She didn't just speak up for her people, she made sure everyone would hear her. She's been regularly speaking up for Israelis and Jews since Oct 7.

The ceremony also included a nice gesture to the over 400 people in Israel who were either murdered at or kidnapped from the Nova music festival on Oct 7. Taylor Swift broke yet another music industry record, so this is a good time to remind everyone that there are several Hamas leaders who are each individually richer than her. It pays more to kill Jews, than to be one of the most successful musicians ever (her net worth is estimated at about 1 billion dollars).

This is 19 years old Idan Alexander.

His mom Yael recounted how cool he was in every given situation, and how proud his family was of him, when he told them that he intends to leave New Jersey and make Alyiah. Moving to Israel of course meant he'd have to serve in the army, too. On Oct 7, Yael got to talk to him, and hear that he has seen some horrible things already. She knew something was off, because unlike his usual behavior, he sounded stressed. Idan was kidnapped by Hamas, and it took 6 days before the family even learned whether he's alive or dead. He's been in captivity for 4 months now.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack #Youtube

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littlewinter1917 · 2 years

Text

Stay the Night

My blog is 18+ only. Minors DNI. 🔞 Don’t repost my work anywhere.

Words: 7.6k

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: After having a classic horror movie marathon with your friends, you're a bit more scared than you'd like to admit. Naturally, Eddie offers to stay the night and keep you company; A great idea, if only you didn't have the biggest crush on the cute metalhead.

Warnings: Just a lot of fluff and hurt/comfort. Some teasing and swearing. Clueless idiots to lovers aka secret mutual pining. Brief mentions of past drug and alcohol use. Hints of a slight panic attack. Gets suggestive towards the end.

A/N: I couldn't help myself with this one, Eddie just owns at least half of my heart by now. The title is inspired by this song from Benjamin Orr.

Read the story on AO3 here.

“Steve, stop hogging all of the popcorn!” Robin exclaims, exasperated, before poking the guy in question with her foot from the other end of the couch.

“What?” Steve answers, while munching down on the snack, one arm still wrapped securely around the bowl, “You said you didn’t want any.”

“I said I didn’t want any right now, and that was almost an hour ago, so don’t be a dick and share.”

“I am sharing,” he defends himself, gazing down pointedly at a spot next to him near the couch.

“The dog doesn’t count, Steve.” Robin argues, and you can’t help but smile at their usual bickering.

It’s almost always like that, and you and Nancy share an amused glance at their antics before Eddie suddenly steps back into the living room, carrying way too many drinks, all whilst trying to close your kitchen door with his foot.

“A little help here!” He calls out, and you’re up in seconds because, well, you’re simply a rather attentive friend.

You don’t notice the look that the rest of the group is sharing, too focused on getting to Eddie, who lets out a relieved sigh at the sight of you.

“Thank you! At least one of my friends is considerate.” He states deliberately towards the couch, and it’s followed by a collective and incomprehensible mumble of excuses.

Eddie just shakes his head, his dark curls bopping around, and you can’t help but think that he looks utterly adorable, although, to be fair, he usually does.

You’re quick to take the soft drinks out of Eddie’s grasp, while he still carries the alcoholic ones, and the earnest smile he gives you might as well make you melt into the fluffy carpet floor underneath your bare feet.

“You’re a real lifesaver,” he playfully praises as the two of you make your way back towards the large couch, and you feel your cheeks heat up, slightly flustered, trying to look anywhere but at the tall guy next to you.

When you hand one of the drinks over to Nancy, she shoots you a knowing look, but you just huff with a roll of your eyes, before sitting down in your usual spot next to Steve again.

“Alright! Last one!” Eddie proclaims, excitement clear in his voice, as he plants himself next to you, at the edge of the couch.

“You ready, hot stuff?” he asks, remote control securely in one of his hands and his bright brown eyes looking down attentively at you.

“Yeah, sure!” You state, hoping you sound more convinced than you feel, while trying to get comfortable within the little space you now have between Steve and Eddie.

It’s an impossible task, though, because Steve keeps scooting closer to you, and by default you scoot closer to Eddie and-

Realizing what Steve is doing, you give him a tiny death glare, but he tries to play it off, all innocent and shit, giving you a sickly-sweet smile.

“Comfortable, sweetheart?” he teases, and you just scoff, crossing your arms in annoyance in front of your chest and turning your attention back towards the large TV.

“Okay, so, this one is the big horror finale. The great crescendo if you will.” Eddie explains, before starting the film. “If you guys thought the other movies were terrifying, wait till you see this! I actually saw some people throw up in the theatre when I watched it; it was absolutely wild! You’re gonna love this!”

The smile on your lips is pained, but you nod your head in understanding and support regardless.

God, what have you gotten yourself into, exactly? You think. This had been a bad idea right from the start, and somehow it still manages to get even worse. To say that the last two horror movies had already been a struggle would be an absolute understatement, and the prospect of something even more horrifying seems almost impossible to you.

Glancing over at Eddie, you’re once more reminded why you’re doing this. He’s been practically beaming all night at the prospect of sharing these scary movies with his closest friends – you, Steve, Nancy, and Robin.

And it didn’t even need a lot of convincing to get you to join him in that conquest, because to be completely honest, you’d probably do almost anything, if it means you ‘d get to spend more time with Eddie, and see him be as joyful and carefree as he currently is.

When he first told the three of you about his idea of a little horror movie night, Robin had shot you a rather worried glance, knowing just how sensitive you really are when it comes to scary films and your blatant intolerance to all kinds of gory and violent things.

There’s a reason why your video rental record consists mostly of Disney movies and the Muppets.

But you had brushed her off, trying to convince both, yourself, and her that it surely couldn’t be that bad, and you’d be fine.

What’s one movie night with a few horror flicks?

Well, apparently it is quite something, and despite trying to have a good time, you’re not really succeeding.

The only thing that’s keeping you tied to your seat on the couch is Eddie’s delighted and witty commentary, and the excited look on his face certainly helps as well.

But apart from that, you’d rather be watching a fucking informercial right now. Anything has to be better than the screaming and killing that’s currently happening on your TV screen.

It had been Steve’s suggestion to watch those movies at your apartment out of all places. His official justification for it was that you own the biggest TV, and albeit true, you’re starting to get the feeling that his true motives lie somewhere entirely else.

Because as obvious as Eddie might be to your little crush on him, everyone else within your group of friends really isn’t.

They’ve been subtly teasing you for months about it now, nudging you on and trying to convince you to confess your feelings to Eddie, because for some reason they’re sure that it wouldn’t end in a fucking catastrophe.

But you’re not ready to risk the amazing friendship you and Eddie already share. You’d rather have him as one your closest confidant on a solely platonic level than lose him completely because of the silly butterflies that keep dancing around in your stomach at the slightest touch or smile or glance from him.

“Hey,” Eddie's hushed voice calls you back from your thoughts, as he nudges you with a small bowl of M&M’s, “you haven’t really been eating any snacks tonight, have you?”

Staring at the colorful little treats that are being offered to you, you try to think of a reason that would explain your unusual snack celibacy, without mentioning that you already feel sick to your stomach from the gruesome scenes that keep playing out on TV; but all you manage to come up with is a mumbled: “Yeah, I’m actually not that hungry.”

Eddie looks unconvinced. He knows you well enough to be aware of the fact that refraining from snacks during movie nights is rather odd behavior from you, and he’s actually starting to grow a little concerned.

Come to think of it, you’ve been behaving rather odd all evening. Eddie knows that horror movies aren’t quite your scene, but he’s unaware of just how much of a challenge they truly pose for you.

If he did know, he wouldn’t be watching them right now, because the last thing he fucking wants is for you to be uncomfortable.

Too bad that the last thing you want is for him to be disappointed or upset with you.

So, you’ve decided to bite the bullet, even though it’s getting more challenging by the minute as the violent death count on the TV screen increases,

You know nothing about it is real, but it still manages to make you feel uneasy, and you can’t help but squirm in your seat in discomfort.

You try to seem fine and unaffected, you really do, but it’s harder than you’d anticipated, and you’re not sure how much longer you can act like this is all fun and games, and not shaking you up completely.

Realizing that your heart rate is picking up and you start to feel a little dizzy, you try to focus on your breathing, in the quiet hopes that the nauseating tumble of your stomach will pass in a moment or two.

That is, until a slender hand, decorated with way too many rings, gently reaches out, touching yours and pulling you back to reality.

“Are you alright?” Eddie's eyes are earnest and a bit worried, and you have to swallow a lump the size of the earth, before mumbling a quiet, “Uh-huh.”

Not your most convincing performance, you’ll admit, but it’s all you can muster as you watch a guy get chopped into pieces with an-

“You sure? You look a little-“

“Eddie, I’m fine.”

Somehow, you manage to get the words out between clenched teeth without your voice shaking, but Eddie still seems slightly wary.

“You know,” he gently teases, “If you’re scared you can just cuddle up to me. I don’t bite unless you want me to.”

He shoots you a playful wink, but instead of one of your usual lighthearted giggles or smiles, you just nod your head absentmindedly.

“Uh-huh, sounds uh great.”

“Hey,” Eddie’s voice takes on a more serious tone after this, as he tries to get you to look at him, and you do, albeit rather reluctantly.

You watch the light of the TV flicker over his concerned features, and part of you feels bad for not telling the truth, but you also can’t really start now either, can you?

Besides, you’ve made it through two scary movies already, what’s another one in the grant scheme of things?

But god, does it have to be that bloody?

Eddie feels his heart break a little at the sight of you. This is not how he wanted the night to go at all. Not by a long shot.

He had been excited to share these movies with you, and yes, maybe he also liked the idea that you might get slightly scared, and he could be all protective and shit, without any real danger, ‘cause god knows Hawkins has enough of that all on its own already.

And it doesn’t really help that your shared friends have been in his ears for weeks, no months, now, urging him to make a move on you, ever since they’ve become aware of his little crush on you.

Although little crush might be putting it lightly.

He’s head over heels in love with you; and how could he not be?

You’re the funniest person he knows, and Eddie likes to think that he knows a lot of people, so that assessment has to mean something, right? It certainly means something to him.

You’ve turned out to be quite different from what he initially expected after having seen you be friends with Nancy and Steve.

Those two are also the ones who first introduced you to one another, and god does he wish he would have befriended you way earlier than that. Because now he can’t actually imagine not having you around, and the fact that there was a time in his life where he wouldn’t spend his afternoons curled up in his bedroom with you, listening to music and talking well into most nights is almost unimaginable to him now.

You’re kind and gentle, and incredibly smart, but you’re also not afraid to put him in his place if needed. There’s a fierceness within you he wouldn’t have expected whatsoever, and he admires you for both, your softness, and your courage.

You manage to make him laugh like no other, and he might not even be exaggerating when he says you’re the best thing that happened in his life – apart from getting his guitar and starting his D&D club, maybe.

So, yes, he fucking loves you, but he thinks there is no way in hell that you’ll feel the same way. In his mind you’re completely out of his league, and he just doesn’t want to risk losing you as a friend, even if it means he’ll never get to have you as a lover –no matter how much he might long for that.

And he knows it’s going to be painful, at least at some point, because he’ll have to watch you fall in love with someone else.

Actually, he’s been having the growing and uncomfortable feeling that that has already been happening, because he keeps catching Steve, Robin, and sometimes even Nancy make certain subtle hints and jabs towards you, when they think he’s not paying attention, suggesting that there’s someone who’s been catching your interest lately.

He’d be lying if he said that he isn’t a little hurt by the fact that you didn’t confide in him with that kind of information, especially considering that you’ve apparently told the rest of your shared friends, but at the same time he’s also a little bit relieved, because he knows it would absolutely kill him to have to listen to you swoon over some other guy or girl.

Either way he absolutely hates the idea that there might be someone you’re into, and that it isn’t him, because it simply can’t be.

Looking back over at you, he sees you squirming in your seat next to him again, and no matter how often you’re going to state that it’s nothing, he can tell that something is wrong.

“Hey, if the movie’s too much we can-“

“Eddie, I’m fine! I’m absolutely fucking fine!”

You try to be convincing in what you’re saying, and to an outsider you might as well be, but Eddie can see your little signs of aggravation clearer and clearer now.

It's in the way you fiddle with a loose strand of the couch cushion, eyes more fixed on the coffee table in front of you than on the TV, and when your eyes do find their way towards the screen, they’re unfocused and distant, as if you try to look through the TV rather than at it.

You’re still trying hard to keep your discomfort contained, but it’s getting to a point where watching the movie is almost unbearable now, and with an abrupt movement, you’re suddenly up.

“I need a fucking drink!” You state, before hurrying out of the room and taking refuge in your kitchen.

Eddie’s eyes wander to the barely touched coke that’s been silently sitting in front of you on the coffee table, and he furrows his brows in confusion.

What is going on?

Eddie doesn’t even really think before getting up too, quietly following your path into the kitchen.

He finds you with your hands gripping the edge of a kitchen counter tightly, head tilted downwards while taking shaky breath after shaky breath.

“Jesus, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” His voice might be the softest you’ve ever heard it, but it still catches you by surprise and you flinch.

“Hey, hey, shit it’s just me,” Eddie soothes, trying to calm you down and make sure you’re alright.

You look at him, wide-eyed and panicked.

He’s not supposed to see you like this, because there’s no way you’re able to explain this right now.

But you don’t really need to, because Eddie’s number one priority is taking care of you at this very moment.

He takes a careful step forward, trying to assess his next moves based on your reaction. You don’t flinch again; instead, you’re almost frozen in place, still watching Eddie nervously.

God, he’s going to be so disappointed in you, you think. He’s going to think you’re being way too sensitive about this, and you feel like a fool.

Unbeknownst to you, none of that crosses Eddie's mind. To him you just look like a scared deer in the headlights, and all he wants to do right now is make sure you’re alright.

His voice is still nothing but gentle as he keeps making his way towards you.

“You wanna tell me what’s gotten you this upset?”

“’m not upset.” You mumble, counting your gray kitchen tiles rather than looking at the tall guy, who’s come to stop right in front of you.

“Right, sure.” Eddie states, before his hands come up to either side of you on the kitchen counter you’re currently pressed against, practically caging you in between him and your usual cooking workspace.

“You wanna try that again?” Eddie challenges softly, brown eyes still gentle and full of worry.

When you stay quiet for another heartbeat or two, he adds quietly, “It’s the movie, isn’t it?”

All you manage to do is muster a little nod, before turning instantly apologetic.

“Look, Eddie, I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to ruin your horror movie night, I-“

“Hey, what are you even talking about? You didn’t ruin anything my little devil.”

You can’t help the small smile at his usual-unusual nickname.

He had come up with it one night, when you two were getting high behind his trailer, lying in the damp grass beneath the stars; and while you were looking up, pointing out different constellations and talking excitedly about their mythological origins, Eddie was busy admiring you.

“You need like a totally cute nickname,” he had mumbled to himself and you gave him a slightly confused look before he continued:

“You know, one of these cheesy pet names. You need one; something sweet and classic like, uh, like angel, but I obviously can’t call you that because that would be blasphemous, I’m a satanic-oh, oh, that’s it!”

“What?”

“You’re my little devil.”

“What?”

“My little devil.”

“Eddie, you’re high as a kite, what are you talking about?”

“Cute nicknames, did you not listen to me? Okay, wait now I need one too…”

Initially, you thought he was just joking around, but the next day when you woke up curled up next to him, that’s what he would sleepily call you, and he’s been sticking to the name ever since; or most of the time anyways.

“So, you wanna tell me what’s really going on, little devil?” he whispers while wrapping his arms around you, swaying you two gently from side to side.

As usual, his closeness paired with his gentle touch has your heart beating a thousand times per minute.

He’s so close, you’re actually a little scared he might hear your heart, that’s currently absolutely in overdrive, or even feel it, cause it feels so strong.

But little do you know that the same worry is clouding Eddie’s mind while he holds you tightly to himself. Heart pounding in his ribcage with an intensity he didn’t think was humanly possible.

He tries hard not to notice how intoxicatingly good you smell; how your increasingly steady breaths tickle the exposed skin of his neck, or how well you fit into the confines of his arms; how good your body feels pressed against his.

And it’s not the first time he’s being this close to you either.

Eddie is what you would call a rather affectionate friend in general, and he turns into a complete cuddle monster once he’s high or drunk or exceptionally sleepy.

You’ve spent lots of nights at each other’s places and you’ve shared the same bed countless of times before, too.

But it usually happens when neither of you are in a particularly sober state, and while his touches still feel thrilling then, you keep telling yourself that they’re not deliberate. That they don’t really mean anything, or at least to Eddie, they don’t.

So, being this close to him is always both, exciting, yet also a little painful. You focus on the fact that Eddie would probably be this affectionate with any of his friends if they’d stick around as long as you do after getting high.

You’ve convinced yourself that Eddie would snuggle up to Steve just as much as he usually snuggles up to you. That he would carefully kiss Steve’s forehead too, or Nancy’s, or even Robin’s, the way he usually does it with you, before you both drift into a comfortably numb sleep after having shared the devil’s lettuce with one another.

There are some nights were you’re lying next to him, and you can’t help but imagine that this is probably what it would be like, being with Eddie.

Sometimes when he’s already fast asleep in your arms, snoring away softly, you can’t help but think about what it must be like to call him yours. What it must be like if you didn’t have to stifle the urge to kiss his little nose that he usually crunches up in an adorable bunny-esque way during his sleep.

To curl up into him and kiss his neck in a lazy yet playful manner; or when you wake up in his arms and catch him already gazing down at you with a certain softness in his eyes that under different circumstances might be interpreted as something akin to love.

But you’re both still coming down from a high, and you’re not quite in your right state of mind most of the time when you’re around him, so you don’t even dare to think about any of it for the majority of the moments you two spend together.

You’re still curled up in Eddie's gentle embrace, and you stay like this for a while longer before you carefully state, “Please believe me Eddie when I say I really tried to be okay while watching the movies, I really, really did but-“

“Hey, you don’t need to apologize. It’s okay to have your limits and I’m not mad, I just wished you would have told me earlier as soon as your discomfort started.”

“’m sorry I didn’t,” you mumble.

“I just don’t understand why?”

“What?”

“Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

“Well, I-I didn’t want to ruin the movie night. Everyone was having a great time and-and I guess I didn’t want to disappoint you either.”

“Disappoint me?” Eddie asks, slightly bewildered, “Why would I be disappointed? It’s just some movies sweetheart. Sure, those are movies I enjoy, but I don’t enjoy them that much that I would hold grudges against you for not liking them the way that I do. To be honest I don’t even think such movies could exists in the first place.”

“So, you’re not mad?”

“Mad? My little devil what’s this about? I would never be mad at you; certainly not over a goddamn movie.”

There’s a little relieved sigh that leaves your lips and you’re about to curl up more into Eddie’s embrace when Steve suddenly walks in, letting out a startled yelp.

The unexpected noise and visitor has both Eddie, and you detangle in a hurry, trying to get away from each other, as if you’ve just been caught doing something terribly forbidden.

“Geez, warn a guy when you’re making out in the fucking kitchen, would ya.” Steve teases with a knowing look before strolling towards the fridge.

“Don’t mind me, my two love birds I just need some ice cubes.”

“But Steve we didn’t do anything,” you quickly explain, cheeks heated, and gaze turned towards your kitchen tiles again.

“Uh-huh, sure.”

“I was just not feeling well because of the movie-“

“Right.”

“And I was just comforting her- “

“Yeah.”

Steve’s not buying any of it, or maybe he is, but he just enjoys teasing you; after all, it is rather easy to get you two all flustered and shit, especially when you’re around one another.

“Movie’s almost over,” Steve states instead, after flinging the door of the freezer apartment back shut. “But hey I get it; making out in the kitchen probably tops that.”

“But we weren’t-“

Steve just raises his hand in a playful manner, and shakes his head.

“I know what I saw. Two people entangled like that?” He gives the both of you a pointed look, “If you weren’t making out yet, you two were about to, and that’s basically the same thing.”

The shit eating grin on Steve’s face is almost as infuriating as his blatantly false assessment of the situation, but you know that nothing you can say will change his mind.

He’s gone as quickly as he came, and you and Eddie are once more on your own, within the space your rather small kitchen.

There’s a short moment of quiet, as you both silently curse Steve, before Eddie looks back up at you, arms open wide for you to curl back into.

“You know there’s no way in hell I’m letting you watch the rest of that stupid movie, right?” He mumbles while holding you close again, lips barely brushing against your ear.

“Eddie-“

“No, here me out, this night was supposed to be fun and maybe a little bit spooky, but I did not anticipate finding you in the kitchen having a fucking meltdown, and it’s my fault ‘cause I should have known better and-“

“Eddie that’s bullshit.” You interrupt him decisively, “I should have known my limits, and been more mindful of that. None of this is your fault. You didn’t know just how much I struggle with that kind of content.”

“I just don’t understand why you would then agree to such a movie night in the first place, sweetheart.” He quietly mumbles against your skin, and for a short moment you actually consider telling him.

Telling him that there was no way you could have told him no, not when he was looking at you with those big, and beautiful brown eyes of his, smile as bright as the Indiana Sun high up in the sky, and excitement written all over his features.

He had been just so joyous when he’d come up with the idea, and you’d do anything to see him happy, even if it means that you’ll have to subject yourself to something you normally wouldn’t dream of doing.

Guess self-preservation has never been your strongest suit; but you can’t tell him that, because then the secret you’ve been keeping for the past few months would slip out.

The secret, that you’ve been head over heels for him for a while now, and god knows how he would react.

You don’t want to find out.

You really don’t want to find out.

And so, instead, you stay silent, playing it off like you yourself are not quite sure why.

Eddie’s now drawing random patterns on your back, and the room is quiet again, save for the faint sounds coming from the TV speakers, and Robin’s and Nancy’s laughs.

“Do you want me to spend the night?” Eddie suddenly whispers, and when you look at him wide-eyed, he quickly adds, “You know, just to- I mean I don’t have to if you don’t want me to, I just thought you might feel safer after everything, and that way I can make sure you’re alright.”

“Eddie, I can’t possibly ask you to do that.“

“You don’t have to; I’m offering. I want to stay here with you if you’ll let me.”

He looks down at you, eyes earnest and soft; and despite your nervousness of what that could entail, you nod your head because – well, you can’t say no to Eddie, now, can you?

“But I don’t-I don’t have any weed left.”

The mumbled admission falls from your lips quickly and slightly embarrassed.

He’s going to pull out now, you think.

You’d understand if he pulled out now.

He doesn’t.

Eddie just looks at you confused, eyes searching your face for something, but you’re not quite sure what it could be.

“Do you think that that’s what this is about?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m only going to stay if there’s weed involved?”

Eddie almost sounds a little bit hurt, and you shake your head softly.

“No, I just thought-you only ever spend the night after getting high or really drunk or something like that.”

Yeah, no shit, Eddie thinks, because otherwise he doesn’t have any excuse to take residence in your bed.

He can’t just spend the night because he feels like it, and god, does he feel like it each and every fucking time you two spend some time together; but he can’t - because he’s nothing more than a friend, and you aren’t his, even if he really, really, really wants you to be.

There’s some odd shuffling sound from behind the kitchen door, that’s pulling both of your attention away from each other, and then Robin’s head pokes around the corner, smile bright and cheeky.

“There you two are. Steve said-“

“He was lying!!” Both you and Eddie exclaim at the same time, and Robin’s features light up even more.

“Uh-huh, sure. So, the movie is done now, and-“

“And we’re ready to get going.” Nancy finishes, her smile mirroring Robin’s, before stepping into the kitchen, carrying some of the empty bowls and glasses.

“What about you, Eddie?” Robin questions, eyes sparkling mischievously, and you try shaking your head, subtly, telling her to stop whatever she’s doing or wherever she might be going with this.

“Oh, I-“ Eddie scratches the side of his neck, looking a little flushed. “I was thinking of, uhm, staying the night.”

“Ah, not done watching scary movies yet, are we? Or are the two of you planning on watching something a little more romantic?” Steve has now joined the commotion, too, and the smile he shoots your way is nothing but suggestive.

God, you’re going to kill that guy next time you catch him alone.

He just wiggles his eyebrows, laughing softly, and you decidedly step out of the kitchen with a huff, determined to help Nancy with the clean-up and ignore his little jabs.

Once you’re both back in the living room, she turns towards you.

“You know this could be your chance, right?”

“Nance don’t even start. I’m not going to-“

“Oh, come on, don’t say he doesn’t feel the same way, again,” she whispers, turning her head back towards the kitchen, where Steve and Eddie are having a discussion of their own.

“I don’t know what else needs to happen for you to see that he’s head over heels for you. He’s even offering to stay the night because we watched a scary movie, and look at how shy he’s just gotten when he tried to admit that.”

“Yeah,” Robin suddenly chimes in, “And I’ve never seen him get that shy before.”

“He’s not-that’s not what’s happening.” You state, trying to sound convincing.

“He’s just being a good friend.”

“Yes, right, a ‘good friend’” Nancy echoes, ”Do you see me and Steve cuddled up in the kitchen for half an hour? Or him spending the night at my place at least, what, three times a week? Do you see us call each other pet names like that unironically, or exchange longing looks across the table each time we’re with one another?”

You shake your head with a soft sigh.

“No! Of course not,” Nancy finishes, “Because Steve and I are just friends, but what you and Eddie have going on? That’s not even within the framework of friendship anymore. You both try to be nothing but friends, while desperately longing for so much more than that, and it’s actually painful to watch.”

“Nancelot’s right,” Robin quips, “It is painful to watch just how obvious you two can be, and that’s coming from me, so do with that what you will.”

You turn your head back around towards the kitchen with a sigh. Jesus, your friends can be seriously persistent, you think, before watching Eddie step out of the kitchen’s doorway, shaking his head vigorously.

You can’t quite hear what he’s saying, but it doesn’t need FBI-training to be able to tell that his whole body language is saying: No fucking chance.

“What’s that about?” You mumble, but before you can get any closer, Nancy is pulling you back up by your arm.

“They’re probably just discussing music or something.”

“Again?” you state, slightly exasperated, “God, these two never learn to just leave some topics alone.”

“Leaving certain things unsaid seems like a strong suit for you, though.”

Turning around towards Robin, she gives you an innocent smile.

“Just an observation.”

“Okay, fuck off. Go observe someone else maybe.”

“Alright, but I’m not wrong.”

“I didn’t say you were. I just don’t want all my character flaws exposed during a fucking movie night.”

“Fair enough, but you should still tell him-“

“Nope!” You exclaim, hands raised in a defeated gesture, “That is so not happening. And weren’t you two supposed to be on your merry way, anyway?”

“Oh, so someone is eager to spend the night with-“

“I can’t hear you; I think I’ve somehow gotten popcorn stuck in my ear canal. And I’m not going to tell him-“

“Tell who?” Eddie suddenly questions, standing at the entrance to your living room.

Oh, shit. When exactly did he get here?

“No one!” You answer a little too quickly, while pushing past him, dragging Nancy by her hand towards your entrance door.

“The hospitality rating of this place seriously sucks,” she mumbles, and you just give her a glare.

“It was so fun to have you all around, but I’m getting really tired of-“

“Of being tired?” Steve interjects, “Try sleeping - with each other, maybe.” He adds with a quiet mumble, and you stifle the urge to hit or punch his smug face.

Eddie doesn’t seem to have caught it, though, so that’s a relief.

After kicking all of your friends out of your apartment, except for one, really pretty, curly-haired one, you two make your way back into your living room.

“What was that about?” Eddie asks, and you just shake your head, “You don’t really want to know. They’re just being annoying dicks.” You mumble, while picking up the last empty beer bottles.

“Because you like someone.” Eddie’s voice is unusually soft again, and it makes you freeze in your movement.

Oh no.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper, eyes searching your carpet for weird stains and popcorn crumbs.

“So, it’s true then?”

“What?”

“That there’s someone you like.” Eddie’s voice is now barely a hushed whisper, as he closes in on you, before adding carefully, “Do I know them?”

You think that getting knocked over the head with one of the empty beer bottles you’re currently carrying would make your head feel less fuzzy and dizzy than you’re currently feeling.

“I-uh, uhm yeah.” Your voice is so quiet, you’re not actually sure if you said the words out loud.

“Fuck,” Eddie mumbles more to himself than anything, but you still catch it.

The two of you are quiet for a moment, until Eddie suddenly decides that he’s had enough.

“Why wouldn’t you tell me?” There’s something in his voice that almost sounds hurt again, but before you can dwell on it too much he continues, “Because you’ve apparently told all of your friends; All of your friends, but me.”

Oh god, this really can’t be happening, you think.

“Eddie it’s not quite like that, I just-“

Well, shit.

You just what?

You’re just hopelessly in love with one of your best friends. But you can’t tell him that, now, can you?

When you stay quiet again, Eddie sighs defeated.

“I just want to understand why you would tell everyone but me. It’s like you trust them enough but when it comes to me, you-“

“Eddie, stop.”

Your eyes search for his in the dim lights of the living room.

“Can we not have this discussion right now, please?”

But Eddie just huffs, not ready to let that topic go just yet.

“Eddie, I promise you it’s not the way you think it is. Besides, he doesn’t like me like that anyway so-“

“He?” Eddie asks, voice a broken whisper.

So, it’s a guy then.

Somehow that revelation stings more, maybe because that guy could have been him; If he wasn’t quite as out of your league, he thinks.

Shit.

“Yeah, he uhm-he’s a guy, you know. A dude, some dude.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

Almost as smooth as that extra chunky peanut butter Steve keeps buying.

“I see.” Eddie states, trying hard to keep his voice steady.

Fuck why does this hurt so much.

This is like the worst worst-case scenario of what he wanted this night to be. In fact, he thinks, this is everything he didn’t want this night to be.

A bad horror movie marathon that scares the love of his life shitless, only to then be told by said love that she’s into another guy?

Getting pierced through the heart with a rusty dagger would probably hurt less.

“So, uhm that guy, I’m sorry he’s not into you.”

Couldn’t be me, Eddie thinks, though he considers that hardly any comfort for you.

“It’s okay really. I’ll get over it eventually, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier, it’s just-”

It’s just that it’s you, you dumbass.

“Yeah, whatever. I’m not particularly good with all that boys talk anyways.” Eddie brushes off, trying to sound nonchalant while quickly blinking some tears away.

Jesus Christ, this really is turning into a nightmare.

But maybe he should rip the band-aid straight off from the battle wounds you keep leaving on his heart. Yeah, why not.

“So, who is it?”

This is going to be so fucking painful, Eddie thinks, but at least he’ll have some clarity; Knows who to stare daggers at for the rest of his life.

“What?”

“Who is it? The guy you’re obviously crushing on. You said I know him and I-“

“I can’t tell you that.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

“Wow, so you still don’t trust me the same way as the others. Because they know, don’t they?”

“Eddie-“ You start, without really knowing how to finish it, but he just scoffs, looking at you with disbelieve.

“Well, this sure feels great. Knowing you like them all more than me.”

“Oh, that so not true! In fact, this couldn’t be any further from the truth-“

“Oh, really?” Eddie interjects, voice slightly raised.

“Do you know how much it fucking stings to know that you told everyone about that stupid crush of yours but leaving me out completely; and I still don’t understand why, by the way, but I fucking digress.”

“Oh my god, it’s not like that!”

“Yeah, well what’s it like then?”

When you stay silent once more, Eddie runs his fingers through his hair, absolutely defeated, and done.

Fuck, he wants to go home.

Wants to go home and scream into his pillow, get black out drunk and cry his heart and soul out, but instead he’s here.

In hell.

Right in the middle of your living room.

“So, you’re still not going to tell me who it is.”

There’s an edge to his voice now, and at this point you’re getting fed up too.

“I told you I don’t want to talk about it! Why are you so fucking obsessed with this?!” You finally call out exasperated, and something inside Eddie snaps as he suddenly states:

“Because I love you, goddamn it! I love you, and the idea that you like someone else fucking hurts, and-“

“What?!”

Shit. Fuck. Fucking shit. He just actually said that out loud, didn’t he?

Well, there goes his most cherished friendship.

“You love me?”

“I-uhm, the thing is, uh, you see-“

“Eddie,” you drop the beer bottles you’ve been holding all along onto the carpet floor.

Fuck the stains.

“Eddie, did you mean that?” You’re getting closer and closer to him, while all the words he knows keep drifting further and further away.

You’re so close now, so utterly, terribly close, and he’s not sure what’s going to happen next until your hand comes up and gently touches his cheek, guiding his face downwards and giving him no choice but to look at you.

He sees you gazing up at him expectantly, with something hopeful shimmering in your eyes, and his head feels like it’s spinning around itself.

“Did you mean that?”

“Does it matter?”

There’s a soft laugh coming from your lips, and Eddie feels like there might be a joke he’s not in on, but he can’t think of anything that would warrant that assessment.

“Did you?”

Fuck it, just say it.

“Yeah,” he whispers, “Yeah I did.”

And you’re beaming. You’re fucking beaming, brighter than your goddamn car headlights, that he usually waits for in the trailer park while he’s stoned out of his mind.

“Can I kiss you?” You question, and it takes him completely by surprise.

“But w-what about your crush?” He stammers, utterly confused.

“Oh, Eddie.”

He doesn’t get it. He really doesn’t get it, both of you think.

“Eddie, do you want to know more about that guy I’ve been so head over heels over?” You ask, voice soft.

What?!

Eddie feels like his head keeps getting dunked into water, and each time he thinks he’s coming back up for air, there’s another bucket of liquid dropped over his head.

“He’s really a great guy, you know. Been crushing on him for months now. Saw him for the first time in this dungy bar my friends kept dragging me to. He was playing that night on that beautiful guitar of his, and I couldn’t take my eyes of him at all. He looked really good on that stage, tall, dark curly hair, metal shirt, long slender fingers that I kept thinking about all night long. His name’s Eddie, by the way and-“

Wait what?!

You can literally see the penny drop, as Eddie's features light up.

“Me?” He wonders, incredulously.

“Yes, dummy, you!” Both of your hands are cupping Eddie’s face now, and you don’t think you’ve ever seen his eyes look at you quite as brightly as they do now.

“Me? You’ve been crushing on me?”

“Yes!” you state, “Do you understand now why I couldn’t fucking tell you about any of it?!”

“You’re telling me, that all this time that I’ve been head over heels for you, you’ve been head over heels for me, too?!”

“Apparently, yeah.”

“Fuck, we are like, so fucking dumb.”

“Tell me about it. Can’t believe Steve was right all along.”

“Wait, so he’s been pestering you with that as well?”

“Who do you think he’s been teasing me about so much, hm?”

“Oh. My. God!” Eddie exclaims, and you laugh at his cheerful expression.

“Wait, so, uh does the kissing offer still-“

You don’t wait for him to finish that sentence, and just press your lips gently against his.

It’s electrifying.

It’s fucking electrifying to finally feel his lips against yours.

The kiss is soft and slightly hesitant at first; but it quickly grows deeper, more desperate, and urgent, and your hands find themselves tangled into Eddie’s dark curls as you try to pull him closer and closer.

Kissing him is addicting, yet you don’t feel like you could ever get enough.

Not when you’ve been dreaming about this for months now; and you still can’t quite believe that this is real.

When you break away after a while, you’re both panting and breathless, and then you’re all over each other again because fuck, it’s been a long time coming.

You can’t help but nibble on his lip playfully, and Eddie straight up moans; a sound that has your mind spinning in all kinds of directions. God, you want him. You’ve been wanting him for so long, and now you finally have him.

“You wanna take this to the bedroom.” Eddie mumbles in between open-mouthed kisses to your neck, and you barely manage to nod, because you feel like you’re melting right then and there.

But it’s all the confirmation Eddie needs before picking you up, carrying you towards your bedroom, while you hold onto him, legs wrapped around his slender waist and arms thrown around his neck. You're both laughing and giggling, and you keep kissing him because how could you not?

For the first time since living in Hawkins, you’re actually quite glad that your apartment is on the smaller side, and you find your way to the bed rather quickly.

Eddie lays you down on it gently, eyes nothing but soft and full of love as he towers over you.

“Can’t believe this is happening. Can’t believe that you’re finally mine,” he mumbles, while you brush your hands gently through his hair.

“Neither can I,” you admit, “Been wanting this for so fucking long,”

Eddie just hums at that, his lips back on your skin, and the small whimper that escapes yours has Eddie’s lips twitch in a smile.

“I’m still sorry about that horror movie fiasco,” he gently teases in between soft kisses, and this time it’s your turn to playful, as you state:

“Well, lucky you, I have an idea how you can make it up to me again.”

The look on your face tells Eddie everything he needs to know, but he still likes to play clueless.

“Oh, intriguing. Tell me all about it.” He says, voice just as playful and full of adoration.

And without much hesitation you do.

It turns out to be that kind of 'conversation' that lasts all night long, and has your voice all hoarse and shit at the end of it – something that you know your friends won’t let you live you down in the morning;

But who cares about that right now, when you have Eddie fucking Munson between your legs.

You certainly don’t.

___________________

And, that's it! Hope you enjoyed it and thank you so much for reading if you've made it this far!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson fluff

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sassuguru · 3 months

Text

[E] Port Mafia, Armed Detective Agency non-requested! pm execs n ada x reader — children mention ﾉ f!reader, fluff and smut, song. in depth descriptions, use of 'yuu,' p in v, making love, praise, slight nipple play + lactation, missionary: fukuzawa. use of 'rintatoru,' not listening to doctors orders, mention of labor, cunnilingus, breeding kink, lactation, praise: mori. fingering, use of 'tetsuo,' soft sex, p in v, whimpery male, missionary, overstimulation, teasing: kunikida. teasing, doggy, p in v, choking, he says "shut up," creampie: chuuya. teasing, fingering, slight dumbification, spooning: dazai. reader is called a bitch, doggy-ish, over a counter, bondage using his gift, p in v: akutagawa. about the artist! havin' technical difficulties, so formatting and headers r gonna look different for a couple of weeks. gunna post dis rn n do atsushi n hirotsu tmmr

FUKUZAWA, KUNIKIDA, DAZAI, 'N ATSUSHI !

YUKICHI FUKUZAWA never openly accepted the idea of having children, though he never rejected it either. Perhaps seeing you be so motherly and caring towards Ranpo and Yosano had sparked a bit of feeling inside of him. That's exactly how you ended up with two children, scratch that—three children running around your home because Ranpo had joined in. When Fukuzawa walked through the door of his home, he definitely wasn't expecting this. Though the sweet sound of your laughter brought a smile to his face, along with how you carefully tended to your hyper active children. "Oh? Papa's home! Go bother him," you whisper to the twins, one boy, one girl. "You might as well go too, Ranpo." You chuckle and ruffle the boy's hair as a faint blush appears on his cheeks. He listens to you; although, his approach to your husband was a lot calmer than the 6-year-olds attacking his legs. Fukuzawa notices the soft look in your eyes when he pats Ranpo on the head, picking up his little girl who blows a raspberry at his little boy. It's not too long until it's bedtime. The kids must've gotten their rough and hard sleeping from you as they're knocked out 3 minutes after you both tuck them in. Ranpo says goodbye, looking at Fukuzawa strangely before leaving. The second your husband closes the door his hand rests on your waist, "We should have another." Slightly taken aback, you question his words to be met with a kiss. "I know I'm getting old, but let's try for another, yes? I miss your stomach and seeing you play with them...I just- I want to put another inside of you." You chuckle, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Yes, yes, just bring me to bed." 0:34 ─●──────── -4:35 Your whimpers and moans are music to his ears. He feels your delicate hands ghost along the many scars implanted into his skin. Amazement always filled you when you felt and saw no scar on his back, he was a true swordsman in the eyes of many. But he simply loses that title with you the second your nails cast temporary wounds onto his skin. Bumps and redend skin follow the path of your nails with every deep thrust into your cunt. His mouth his pressed to yours, tongues entangled in a dance to (unfortunately) keep those lovely sounds of yours from your children's ears. "Yuu, Yuu!" you sigh his name, chest lifted in the air with each thrust. "Shh, shh, you're doing so well for me, darling. Just a little longer," he coos, lips latching onto your breasts, as if he didn't speak those words rounds ago. "I c-can't! No more," you whine with glossy eyes. Fukuzawa detaches from your nipple, snapping his hips to your. "I promise, it'll be all over. Just one more time. Let me fill you one more time," he whispers soothingly, pressing his lips to the tears that slip. Your heels dig into his lower as he peppers your face in kisses. You've never felt more love than now when he touches you so gently, lips, hips, and fingertips. "Oh, that's it. That's it darling, I can feel you," he whispers into your neck with his calloused hand pressed to your tummy. You nod feverishly, whimpers escaping your parted lips. "Come with me?" Fukuzawa whispers, speeding his hips up a bit, "Cum with me." There's a slight growl in his voice that you notice, one that sends you over the edge, clamping harshly around his cock. "Thatsitthatsitthatsit! Oh, good girl," he whispers, dumping yet another load inside of you. There are chuckles and rough breathing in the air as you both come down. "Lay down, let me clean you up."

DOPPO KUNIKIDA is not bold, he's blunt. It was funny how long it took him to talk to you. It was obvious that he was falling and falling hard for you, hell, you found solace in his idealist ways. You laughed and agreed with most of the things inside his notebook. When Dazai showed you Kunikida's notebook, you couldn't help but chuckle at how...extreme the 58 requirements fit a spouse were, but also at how you fit every single one. Hence, it wasn't a surprise when you started dating, or when he got down on one knee, or when two little boys are chasing their younger sister around. The oldest is 7, the middle being 6, and the baby girl being 5. The door clicks and the children instantly stop. "Daddy!" your little girl shouts, (surprisingly) dodging her brothers like a pro to reach the door. The second it opens three children attack Kunikida's legs making him fall over. A gleeful chuckle leaves your lips at the sight, and it was like music to his ears. He struggles to get up trying to pry the children off of him to no avail. "Boys! Baby girl, come here!" you kneel, outstretching your arms to be met with your children. Kunikida couldn't help but smile at the sight, watching as you easily usher them to the bathroom for the bedtime routine Kunikida carefully crafted. "Welcome home, dear!" he hears you shout. He couldn't help but blush at how well you handled them, organizing the rowdy children. "Your an excellent mother, my love. You could've let me help," he whispers when you close the door to their shared bedroom. "It's alright, dear. You do enough," you press a loving kiss to his lips. "You know... because you're such a good mother, why don't we try for another one?" he hesitantly whispers looking at the wall. A soft chuckle leaves your lips, "I thought that was against the ideals in your notebook." He hears the tease in your voice. He sighs with a smile, "It can change." 0:34 ─●──────── -4:35

"A-Ah! Tet-Tetsuo!" You whine his name, thighs trembling around his forearm. His fingers curl into just the right spot, having your cunt spasm in his fingers, coating it in another layer of cum. "Fuck," you sigh, sniffing in overstimulation. "Shh, darling. Breathe," he coos, with a kiss to your lips. His fingers slip from your heat, tips to his lips before he cleans his hand of your cum. Your eyes travel to the red tip peeking from his black boxers. Pre-cum beads at the head, rolling down to stain the fabric. "Need it," you whisper, lips locked onto yours. "Need it." Kunikida shushes you with another kiss, sliding down his boxers carefully. "I'm giving it to you," he whispers, lining his tip to your entrance. Kunikida near whimpers when he slides in to the hilt. Your pussy gripping him like a vice. You could swear he almost came from it. "Ah, you feel so good, my love." Your fingers grip onto the flesh of his biceps, taking his slow yet deep thrusts like always. An uncharacteristic whine leaves Kunikida's lips when your heels dig into his back, pushing him deeper into you. "Oh, fuck—" you curse, "Come on baby, you have more stamina than that." You feel him shudder above you, fingers tangled in his hair. "Come on baby, come on," you coo, desperation filling your voice the more you speak. "I am, I am," he whisper, letting out a shaky moan. Kunikida's hips speed up, his breaths coming out in sighs and huffs. "Another. Are you alright with another?" Kunikida whimpers. You feverishly nod, "Mhmmhmmhm!" Kunikida hisses as he cums, teeth gritted in pleasure when you yank his hair. Rough pants are heard you both come down from your highs. "Really want that baby huh?" You tease Kunikida. He smiles kissing your cheek. "We'll have to try a couple more times, my love."

OSAMU DAZAI shouldn't have kids. He of all people having kids? Plural? It's a recipe for disaster isn't it? Yet, he's somehow seduced a beautiful woman like you (much to Kunikida's surprise) who accepted him, and even gave birth. Dazai was never one for showing weakness, even the possibilty of it was enough for him to abstain from...activities (without protection at least). You stand in the kitchen, cooking dinner as your three children run around the house. Dazai, and your two boys throwing toy balls and invisible bullets at one another. With a sigh you bang a metal spoon into a pot. "Come on, soilders! Time to eat!" Dazai smiles, clapping. "Go sit down! Mama mad us dinner," he smirks, chasing them to the table. "What's for dinner?" Dazai smiles, sitting down at the table. "Your favorite! Canned beans," you set down the can in front of him, he bites his lip, looking up at you. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding," you set down the day's dinner, smiling at eager the kids are to eat. After dinner, the kids rush to their rooms for their bedtime routine as you clean. You feel Dazai's hands glide along your waist. "Your touchy today, what do you want?" Dazai frowns in fake offense, "Ah~ I'm appalled you think something as simple as touching you means—" You glare at him, making him stop his sentence. "Dazai?" He sighs, rolling his eyes, "Okay fine, your—" Then the kids yell from their room for you to come tuck them in. "We'll talk about it," you whisper. "Sure! Talk..." 0:34 ─●──────── -4:35 Dazai inhales, smelling the scent of the soap you use. "Mm, you smell so good!" he whispers into your neck. Your bare back is to his chest as you lay down in your shared bed. Your leg is lifted as his lithe fingers explore the insides of you, slick coating his hand. A whine in ripped from your lips as his fingers curl inside of you. He chuckles when your hips jolt, "You alright? Can't handle it?" You huff at his teasing, "I want more. You know that, please." Dazai kisses the back of your neck. "Come on, beg. You know how to do it," he whispers. "Baby, please. Please, I need your cock," you plead in a whisper, eyes glossy as his fingers remain filling you. "Please?" You hear him hum, then the sound of a zipper follows. You feel his mushroom tip rub between your folds. "Osamu Dazai, stop playing with me," you curse, only to moan when Dazai's hips buck up against you. "Oh! Fuck—!" Dazai pats your thigh, "Quiet. Don't wanna wake up the kids, do you?" A whimper leaves your lips as Dazai's arms wrap around your waist, hips smacking your ass. You feel your stomach tightening, hips stuttering at Dazai's thrusts. One of his hands moves up to play with your nipples, driving you closer to an orgasm. A light whimper leaves your lips as your thighs quiver, forced open by your lover's hand. "Baby, I—Oh shit," you curse, eyes crossed and lashes fluttering. You cum hard on his cock, rolling over on your stomach. Dazai smiles at the shaking of your body, your eyes unfocused and clouded with lust. He lifts your hips with smack to the sore flesh of your ass. "Come on girl, we're not finished."

ATSUSHI NAKAJIMA

MORI, CHUUYA, AKUTAGAWA, 'N HIROTSU !

OUGAI MORI isn't—wasn't, exactly suited for the role of father. An underground doctor like him with such skills and ideals aren't meant for the eyes and ears of children. Nor is a mafia boss willing to do any and everything. And yet, when he saw you coming to him for help, he couldn't help but think of the future. And when he touched you so delicately, you couldn't help but think of the future. It was a surprise, a good one, but a surprise nonetheless. His hand touched your swollen belly, rubbing it softly as he whispers to your baby. He'd never admit it, though he was extremely excited for the child you call your son to be born. And the day you went into labor was a hectic one, he was hesitant about allowing the knowledge of you to even his trusted subordinates, but he did. You rested in the room hidden behind his office, suffering through labor as an ungodly amount of security was put around the 'Mori Corporation' building. Then there was a cry, and then he smiled. Your son was only 3 weeks now. Handling a newborn was certainly a hassle, but handling your husband was much harder. His eyes never left the pudge you have, nor your breasts when it was time to feed your child. "Six weeks, Rintarou. It's been three and a half," you huff at his fake pout while he soothingly rubs your sides. "Aw, come now, dearest. You're perfectly fine! Just—Just the tip?" he pouts, earning a glare from you. "You look too good!" And then there was an insane amount of skepticism on your part. "I look "too good"? Your baby has made my body...this. I'm in sweatpants, Rintarou," you speak bluntly. The look of disbelief and offense on your husband's face surprised you. "Oh no, that's not going to work. It seems I'll have to convince you to take that thought back. May I? Dearest." 0:34 ─●──────── -4:35 "A-Ah! Rin-Rintar—mmph!" Your fingers are tangled in his jet black hair, nails raking against his scalp, his lips mouthing at your pussy. "We're supposed to wait!" You whine, thighs tightening around his head. Mori is fully aware its typical for women to wait 6 weeks before engaging in intercourse, but unfortunately, he couldn't wait. You look gorgeous, and he hates that you believe otherwise. His lips kiss your tummy, teeth nipping at the skin. His gloved hands knead your plush skin. Mori's tongue dips between your folds, lapping up the slick your cunt can't help but produce, that nose you love so much bumping against your clit. He lifts his head from in between your legs, grinning down at you. His lips press a kiss to your wrist; a satisfied sigh leaves his lips when your fingers carefully tug the hair tie from his hair. "Do me a favor?" His left hand cups your cheek, his thumb ghosting along your lip before your teeth hook onto the glove, tugging it from his skin. "Thank you." Mori's lips roam around your body as if inspecting it for the first time. His right hand trails down to your vulva, teasing the wet folds. Every kiss, every squeeze, every touch, he whispers praise. "So beautiful," he whispers, lining his cock to you; he rolls his hips into you, his cock sliding into you.

Those violet eyes roam your trembling form, locking on your breasts. His hands cup the mounds of flesh, squeezing them gently; the look on his face suggests he's relishing in your reactions. Mori leans down, his lips encasing your hard bud, running his tongue along it carefully. "Ah! Rin, your gonna—!" A whine leaves your throat when he sucks on your nipple, the familiar feeling of milk being pulled from you. The cream colored liquid streams from you into his lips and onto his large hand. He hums at the taste, his eyelashes flutter closed. The way you whine and clench around him almost made him cum right there. Perhaps that altered his brain. Possibly having two mini you's running around isn't so bad. His eyes are clouded with an animalistic lust, hips rutting into you in desperation. "Oh, we have to make another one."

CHUUYA NAKAHARA didn't think he'd even remotely get to the 'settle down' phase. He definitely didn't think there'd be a mini ginger giggling in his arms while he attempts to grab his hat. "If he gets your height, I'm crying," you'd tease, earning a glare from him. A chuckle leaves your lips at his expression, though your voice soon quiets as you watch Chuuya admire his son. Hands carefully touching his cheeks, ghosting over his light eyelashes, and comparing hands. The baby giggles, looking up at his father with wide and curious eyes. "Don't grow up too fast on me, little sheep." His voice is a whisper as he playful puts a fist to the baby's chin, "Or I'll beat you up." With a smile, you walk up and kiss Chuuya's cheek, then your son's forehead. "No fighting boys." Chuuya shrugs, "We're not fighting, mommy. Are we?" he looks down at the laughing baby. "He says no." Chuuya walks after you carrying the 5-month-old in his arms. "Speaking of fighting, momma. I think we should try...I don't know...a little fighting in bed?" You chuckle and turn around, opening the door to the nursery. "Really?" You smirk. Chuuya shrugs, "We haven't done it in a while. Y'know, we could try while the cockblocker is asleep." A hum leaves your lips as you easily slip the baby from Chuuya's grasp, laying him down to get ready for nap. "Mm, if you ask nicely," you whisper, patting the baby's back. Chuuya sighs, "Please." 0:34 ─●──────── -4:35 "Shit—" Chuuya curses, face buried in your neck. His hands are beneath him, rubbing along the sides of your arched back. His hips snap into your ass. A breathy moan leaves your lips, "Tryna fill me up, huh?" Chuuya laughs into your skin. "Gotta make my baby's mama feel good. I'm not the only one who's—fuck!" Chuuya's hips stutter, balls tightening when to clamp around him. "Come on, pm executive. You gotta have more stamina than that," you tease, fingers entangling in his messy and long hair. You hear a 'tch' come from your lover before his hips speed up, thrusts harder and faster as you yelp in surprise. "Oh? That surprised you didn't it?" Chuuya laughs, pressing sloppy kisses to the back and sides of your neck, "Trust me. Your gonna learn what it's like to deal with a Port Mafia executive." You let out a breathy moan, attempting to keep up the teasing, "Yeah we'll see shortly," you chuckle, "Get it? Cuz your a shorty and we're cumming—" You feel a hand wrap around your neck, interrupting your words. "Shut up," he whispers, lifting you up to his chest, enjoying the choked moans leaving your plump lips. He turns your head, lips connecting to yours. He sighs as your eyelids flutter closed, eyebrows furrowed in pleasure. "Chuu—Chuuya," you whisper into his lips, cumming hard when his hand presses down on your lower stomach. As you squeeze around him, trying to milk his cock for all its worth, he cums, thrusts slowing until he lets you fall into the pillows. His softened cock slips from you, though he can feel arousal pooling as he watching his cum ooze from your pussy. He leans down, lips on the shell of your ear. "Ready to take this "shorty" again?"

RYŪNOSUKE AKUTAGAWA hadn't expected for you to get pregnant. Hell, he didn't think he'd have a girlfriend, much less sex. Gin teased him about his shocked reaction when he found out. Nevertheless, he's a nervous father. He didn't even pick up the baby for the first day until you forced him to. He's bold, but somehow he got timid once his little girl was born. Well, when she was first born. Now that she's one, he's gotten a whole lot bolder. "Mama, look!" Your little girl runs around, burning this energy from an unidentifiable source. Neither you, nor Akutagawa have this much energy. Perhaps it was just because she was a child, but it's exhausting nonetheless. "I'm looking!" You shout, 100% not looking, though you feel as if she's about to her herself using your "Mommy Instincts," Akutagawa calls it. "Babe," you call, seconds later you hear his voice groan "Rashomon!" in slight annoyance. When you look over, your daughter has a black strip wrapped around her middle, the little seconds away from running into the TV stand. "Thank you," you whisper, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Akutagawa sighs, setting your daughter down to play. You get up, cleaning the kitchen so not to build up mess when cooking dinner later. Then two arms wrap around your waist the "scary gangster" of a baby daddy you have resting behind you. One of his hands dips under your pant line. "Ryu," you whisper, "The kid." You hear him hum. "Said kid is knocked out on the floor," he whispers back, kissing your neck. "Doesn't mean she can't wake up soon." Akutagawa huffs, "She's a cockblocker, one who's asleep. And who's also, a hard sleeper." You turn, glaring at the man. "Are you serious?" 0:49 ─●──────── -3:50 "Bitch, bend over," he curses, pushes your front down on the counter. "Let me bend over, damn!" You whisper-shout, "And you call me a bitch again, I'm stabbing you with that kitchen knife." Akutagawa grunts, mumbling a 'whatever' and he pulls down your pants, letting them pool at your ankles. You feel his tip push into you and whine. Before you can cover your mouth, Akutagawa goes it for you, rasping "Rashomon," before strips of black wrap around your mouth and hands. Your eyes water from the situation, though you don't ask him to stop or slow down. He buried himself to the the hilt, hisses at how you clench around him. A muffled moan leaves your lips. "What was that about this being a crazy idea?" he whispers with cold lips pressed to the shell of your ear. Akutagawa grunts, eyes trained on the sleeping toddler in your living room. His hips smack against your ass, his length reaching all of the right spots. "Ryu!" You whine although it's muffled. "Ryu!" he almost laughs at the desperation you have in your voice. "Ah~" he whispers, lithe fingers digging into your sides. He begins to curse in your ear, hips speeding up as your toddler shifts on the floor. Your feet flex, knees buckling in pleasure. "Fuck—" he curses, biting into your shoulder as he cums. The bite sends arousal through you, drool pooling out of the corner of your lips, your cum coating his cock. Your little girl sniffs, getting up off of the floor as Rashomon quickly disappears. "Mommy?" She looks at the two of you with confusion. "Just lay down baby, gimme a second."

RYŪRŌ HIROTSU

PREMIUM PACKAGE USERS: none :(

ARTIST MESSEGE: "can u tell i luv fukuzawa? and (mori) ahem atsushi? sum of dem i had 2 cut short n stuff and i wasn't going all out. but fukuzawa is by far da best of da bunch. i luved makin' dis. never felt so gud abt ma ritin'! i also used da real names of da irl counterparts. esp. kuni cuz saying doppo is kinda weird n i don't wana call him by his last name cuz their married, sooo. i think a most bsd men have slender/long cocks instead of thick ones. esp. aku."

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