you can call me Love and I shall appear. I am an avid reblogger of all things! however with the help of my fave moots I am branching out to maybe writing!
if you want to send in a request I can try and do it justice for you <3, most of my inspiration comes from music
step on in my library, I hope you enjoy your time here.
steve harrington
10-4 s.h x reader
when you need a man s.h x reader
handful s.h x reader
sirius black
nonsense s.b x reader
sweatshirt s.b x reader
james potter
like my father j.p x reader
remus lupin
4+1 r.l x reader
here we go again r.l x reader
messy r.l x reader
If you wanna be moots just send me a message, trust me I need more friends ☺️💕
Tropes: second chance romance, unexpected/secret pregnancy, hurt/comfort
Off Campus Masterlist
NOTE: 2nd part of ⤷ Oh, Baby ˎˊ˗
The roar of the gymnasium, the shrieking whistles, the heavy thud of a stray kickball, the collective hum of dozens of parents, snapped back into focus like a sudden slap to the face.
You couldn’t breathe. As he walked toward you, everything else in the gym seemed to disappear from his view. Every step he took across the polished wood floor felt like a countdown.
Your first instinct was to grab Lily’s hand and run. You could make it to the double doors, throw her into her car seat, and drive until Hastings was nothing but a speck in your rearview mirror.
But Lily was already moving.
"Look, Mommy! He has stickers!" Lily chirped, entirely oblivious to the ground opening up beneath her mother's feet. She pointed a tiny, denim clad arm directly at Garrett as he stepped into the small circle space by the kindergarten teacher’s desk.
"Lily, sweetie, we have to go find your cubby," your voice came out breathless, tight, and completely unconvincing. You forced your feet to move, stepping into the space just as Garrett arrived.
Up close, the reality of him hit you like a wave. He smelled the same, something sharp and clean, mixed with the faint trace of old leather, but the boyish arrogance was completely gone. His eyes, once so bright and teasing, were dark and swimming with shock. He was looking at Lily, then up at you, his jaw tight as he actively fought to keep his composure in a room full of townspeople.
"Hi there," Garrett said. His voice came out rough enough that he had to clear his throat before trying again. He forced a polite, tight smile for the kindergarten teacher, though his eyes never truly left Lily's face. "I'm... I'm Garrett. I run the youth rec leagues here."
The teacher smiled warmly. "Oh, wonderful! Garrett, this is Lily Y/L/N. It's her very first day."
"Lily," Garrett repeated, the name tasting heavy and foreign yet entirely right on his tongue. He slowly lowered himself down to one knee, bringing himself eye level with the little girl. His hands trembled where they rested on his knees. "It's... it's really nice to meet you, Lily."
Lily beamed, entirely captivated by the shiny gold sticker sheet he was holding. She took a step closer to him, her light up sneakers clicking against the floor. "I like your shirt. It looks like a policeman shirt."
Garrett let out a breathless, wet laugh, his chest heaving as he stared into her wide eyes. He reached out, his fingers hovering for a fraction of a second before he gently pressed a star shaped sticker onto the front of her denim jacket. "It is just a volunteer shirt, Lily. But thank you."
He looked up then, his gaze rising from the little girl to lock onto you. The warmth in his eyes vanished. He looked at you instead, searching your face for something, an explanation, a denial, anything that made sense of what he was seeing.
"Do you like sports, Lily?" Garrett asked, his eyes remaining fixed entirely on your face. His voice carried a heavy, double meaning that went completely over the teacher's head but pierced right through you. "Do you like to run fast?"
"I can run super fast," Lily bragged, bouncing on her toes. "Mommy says I have too much energy."
"Is that so?" Garrett murmured, his jaw flexing. He slowly stood to his full height, and suddenly there wasn't nearly enough room between you. He kept his hands tucked into his pockets, a clear effort to keep them from shaking. "Your mommy sounds like she has her hands full."
"We should go, Lily," you managed to say, your voice barely louder than a whisper. The noise around you blurred into something distant. "The teacher needs to take everyone to the classroom now."
The kindergarten teacher clapped her hands together, calling out to the remaining parents and children in the corner. "Alright, penguins! Time to line up by the door! Parents, this is where we say our quick goodbyes so we can start our morning adventure."
Lily did not hesitate. She turned and hugged your knees tightly, giving you a quick, sticky kiss on the cheek before running over to the neat line forming by the exit. She did not look back, completely ready to conquer her first day.
You stood frozen as the line of children filed out into the hallway, leaving the gymnasium suddenly feeling massive and terrifyingly quiet.
You turned on your heel to sprint for the main exit, but Garrett was already moving, his heavy footsteps echoing right behind you.
The hallway blurred around you as you hurried toward the heavy glass doors, your purse strap slipping off your shoulder.
"Wait."
The word was not loud, but it had the authority of a command.
You kept walking, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird. "Garrett, please. I have to get to work."
A hand wrapped gently but firmly around your forearm, stopping your momentum. The warmth of his hand seeped through your sleeve. He did not pull you, but the sheer weight of his presence forced you to turn around.
When you looked up, Garrett looked completely undone. The composed volunteer from the gym was gone. His eyes were red at the rims, confusion twisting his features.
"Five years," Garrett whispered, his grip loosening on your arm until his hand just hovered there, trembling. "You chose Hastings. You came to a town forty minutes away from the city. Why here?"
"Because it was quiet," you said, your voice breaking as the tears you had been holding back finally slipped down your cheeks. "Because nobody knew me here."
Looking at him now, the hallway disappeared.
Suddenly it was June again.
Graduation music drifted through the open doors. His father's voice carried from somewhere down the hall, talking about scouts, training camp, the draft. Garrett had been trying to listen to both conversations at once, and you had known, even before the fight started, that neither of you was going to walk away happy.
It hadn't been one explosive mistake that ended you. It had been months of trying to fit two futures together that no longer matched. The argument had only been the final crack. Raised voices. Tears. A slammed door. Then silence. The kind that settled between two people who still loved each other but no longer knew how to stay.
You hadn't walked away because you stopped loving him.
You had walked away because, for one terrible night, letting go had seemed kinder than asking him to choose.
But Garrett didn't know what happened two weeks later.
"You didn't look for me," Garrett said, his voice dropping to a whisper, his eyes searching yours. "After that night... after everything we said to each other, I thought we were just letting go. I thought we were leaving the wreckage behind. But you knew."
"I found out right after I moved into my apartment here," you confessed, a sob catching in your throat. "Garrett, we had just spent hours shouting about how impossible our lives were going to be. You had the draft. You had scouts watching your every move, and your dad counting down the seconds until you made it to the pros. I was terrified. We had already parted ways, and I didn't want to be the reason you looked back and felt trapped by a life you didn't choose."
"I would have come back," he said instantly. He took another step, closing the distance between you until you could feel the warmth radiating from him. "If I had known, the draft wouldn't have mattered. The fight wouldn't have mattered. I would have turned right around and walked away from everything if you had just given me the choice. You did not give me a choice."
The hallway fell silent. Neither of you moved.
Five years settled between you all at once. Five birthdays. Five years of scraped knees, bedtime stories, and school pictures Garrett had never known existed.
You dropped your gaze to the scuffed linoleum floor, unable to bear the look on his face any longer.
"What happens now?" you whispered.
Garrett didn't answer immediately.
He looked toward the glass doors leading outside, then back down the hallway where Lily's classroom had disappeared only minutes earlier. His chest rose with one slow breath before he looked back at you.
When he spoke, his voice was quieter than you'd ever heard it.
"I'm not going back to the city today." Your eyes lifted to his.
"I'm finishing my shift at the rec table," he continued. "And at three o'clock..."
He swallowed.
"...I'll be sitting on that bench outside."
His eyes never left yours.
"I don't expect you to have everything figured out by then." He paused. "Hell, I don't either."
The corner of his mouth lifted into a tired, almost disbelieving smile.
"But I'd like the chance to meet my daughter."
The words cracked something open inside you. Not because they were angry. Not because they demanded anything.
Because they were so heartbreakingly simple.
He wasn't asking five years back. He was asking for three o'clock.
You closed your eyes for a second before giving a small nod.
"I'll bring her."
Garrett's shoulders sagged with a relief so quiet it almost hurt to look at.
"Thank you."
For a long second, neither of you knew what came after that.
Then Garrett stepped back.
"I'll see you this afternoon."
You watched him disappear through the gym doors, his shoulders a little straighter than before. The exit stood only a few feet away, but you found yourself staring after him instead.
The life you'd built in Hastings wasn't hidden anymore.
And for the first time in five years you weren't sure you wanted it to be.
Three o'clock came far too quickly.
Garrett was already sitting on the weathered wooden bench outside the front entrance when the final bell rang. He'd been there for nearly twenty minutes, elbows resting on his knees, his hands clasped together tightly enough that his knuckles had gone pale.
Every time the doors opened, another wave of children poured outside. Some sprinted toward waiting parents. Others dragged oversized backpacks behind them, already talking a mile a minute about finger painting and recess.
Garrett watched every single one.
He wondered what Lily had been like on her first day of preschool.
Whether she'd cried when you left.
Whether she'd made friends easily.
Whether she'd always talked with her hands the way she had this morning.
Five years.
Five years of little moments that nobody could ever give back.
The doors opened again. This time, you stepped outside first. Your eyes found him immediately. For a second, neither of you moved. Then you walked over slowly, stopping a few feet away.
"She takes forever packing up," you said quietly.
Garrett let out the smallest huff of laughter.
"Yeah?"
You nodded.
"She always wants to make sure every crayon makes it back into the box." A tiny smile tugged at your mouth before disappearing again. "She says they get lonely."
Garrett smiled despite himself.
"That..." He swallowed. "That sounds like you." You looked at him.
"No," you said softly.
"It sounds like you."
The words hit him harder than he expected. You glanced back toward the school doors.
"She also hates peanut butter."
He blinked.
"What?"
"Everyone assumes kids like peanut butter." You shrugged lightly. "She won't touch it. Said, she might meet a friend that gets sick because of it."
Garrett listened carefully. As though each tiny fact was something precious.
"She sleeps with a turtle night light."
Another pause.
"She can't whistle."
His eyes stayed on yours. You weren't just making conversation. You were quietly handing him five years he'd never gotten to live.
"I don't know why I'm telling you all this," you admitted with a shaky laugh.
"I do," Garrett said. Your eyes lifted to his.
"Because you're trying to catch me up."
Neither of you noticed the school doors opening again until a familiar little voice echoed across the sidewalk.
"Mommy!"
Lily came barreling outside with her backpack bouncing wildly behind her. She launched herself toward you before stopping short the moment she spotted Garrett.
"The sticker guy!"
Garrett stood so quickly the bench scraped against the concrete.
"Hi, Lily."
She smiled at him like seeing him twice in one day was the most natural thing in the world.
"I finished my cat."
"You did?"
She nodded enthusiastically before wrestling a slightly crumpled piece of paper out of her backpack.
"I made him orange."
Garrett accepted the drawing with both hands. The cat had one ear bigger than the other. Its whiskers were purple, and its tail somehow curved through its own body.
Across the top, written in uneven kindergarten letters, was:
MR. CAT
Garrett stared at it. Not because of the drawing. Because it was the first thing his daughter had ever given him. His vision blurred.
"It's perfect," he whispered.
"I know," Lily said proudly.
You laughed. It was the first laugh Garrett had heard from you that sounded like the girl he'd fallen in love with. Lily slipped her little hand into his without thinking twice.
"Come on."
Garrett looked down.
"Where are we going?"
"To Mommy's car."
She said it like the answer should have been obvious.
"You didn't see my turtle backpack."
Garrett looked up at you. You held his gaze for a long moment. Then, almost too quietly to hear.
"You can walk us."
Relief washed across his face so quickly it almost hurt to witness. He tightened his fingers around Lily's hand just enough for her to feel it.
"I'd like that."
The three of you started across the parking lot together. Lily filled the silence all by herself, talking about glitter glue, recess, and how Mrs. Simmons let everyone pick their own reading rug.
Garrett listened to every word.
Not because the stories were extraordinary. Because he'd waited five years to hear them. You walked beside them, watching Lily chatter happily between the two of you.
Nothing had changed.
There were still difficult conversations ahead. Years that couldn't be reclaimed. Trust that would have to be rebuilt one day at a time.
But as Garrett laughed at something Lily said and she immediately reached for his hand again, you realized something you hadn't let yourself believe was possible.
Maybe moving forward didn't have to mean leaving the past behind.
Maybe it just meant finally letting someone walk beside you through it.
(NOTE: i do overall fandom master taglists, not separate ones for individual series/fics! Feel free to send me a message if you'd want to be added or removed)
Summary: When Briar University's infamous right wing, John Logan, accidentally texts the wrong number, he expects a quick apology and a dead end. Instead, he finds a witty, sarcastic girl who isn’t afraid to put him in his place.
John Logan x F!Reader
Off Campus Masterlist
[ Incoming Message from Unknown Number ]
Unknown: If you don’t show up to morning skates tomorrow, Coach is going to have us doing suicides until our lungs collapse. Get your ass out of bed.
That text popped up at 6:12 on a Tuesday morning while it was still dark outside. Half awake, you stared at it for a second before answering.
Y/N: Bold of you to assume I have an ass, a desire to skate at dawn, or any idea who you are.
Unknown: Tucker? quit screwing around man
Y/N: Not Tucker. But tell Coach I said hi.
Unknown: Shit. Wrong number. My bad.
Y/N: Clearly. Next time, double-check the digits before you threaten someone with involuntary cardio.
Unknown: Idk, you handled the threat pretty well most people would’ve blocked me.
Y/N: Honestly this is the most interesting thing that’s happened all week.
Somehow, texting him became part of your routine. A stupid comment during class. A complaint while studying. A “you alive?” text at 1 a.m.
Unknown became Hockey Boy, and you became Wrong Number. You didn't exchange names, ages, or swap photos. It was nice talking to someone who didn’t expect anything from you. In the real world, you were suffocating under the weight of a brutal pre-law workload, surrounded by competitive Briar U students you couldn't stand. But texting him felt like a weirdly perfect escape.
When your coursework became too much, you poured it out to him.
Y/N: im actually going to lose my mind. if this man assigns one more 20 page case study im dropping out to become a hand model.
Hockey Boy: hey, breathe. your hands are probably too pretty for manual labor anyway just take it one page at a time. You're too smart to quit.
Y/N: You don't even know if I'm smart.
Hockey Boy: let's be honest. you’re absolutely the kind of person who color-codes notes.
You’d blush, hiding your face in your pillow, and vent back when he needed it most. Because as arrogant as he could be, Hockey Boy carried a lot of weight on his shoulders. He never talked about family, but the sheer pressure of his own future seemed to consume him.
Hockey Boy: Scouting reports are out again. The draft talk is getting loud, and everyone's looking at me to carry the line. It’s just a lot of noise. feels like if i screw up one game, everything i’ve done for the last four years doesn't matter.
Y/N: You’re the one putting blood on the ice, not the scouts. You play for you tomorrow. Block out the noise. You wouldn't be in this position if you weren't incredible.
Hockey Boy: Don't know what I'd do without you, Wrong Number.
Meanwhile, your actual, daily existence was being thoroughly ruined by one very real, very tangible person: John Logan. He sat exactly two rows away from you in your advanced ethics seminar, looking infuriatingly handsome in his Briar hockey jersey, usually spinning a pen between his fingers or whispering jokes to his teammates. You were bitter academic rivals, constantly fighting for the top spot on the grading curve, and you despised his effortless charm.
When the professor called out your name on a rainy afternoon, asking for a counter-argument on a complex case, you stood up and delivered a flawless, razor-sharp critique. As you sat back down, you caught Logan’s eye. He smirked, leaning back in his chair, and mouthed, 'Damn, killer. Chill.' You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly saw your own brain, turning your back to him. God, he was insufferable.
It happened on a Friday afternoon. You were sitting in the campus coffee shop, aggressively typing out a text to your anonymous confidant (pen pal? I don’t know at this point) to complain about your day.
Y/N: I am literally going to murder the hockey golden boy in my ethics class. He just eye-rolled his way through my presentation and then had the audacity to ask for my notes. I hate him.
A few tables over, a distinct, familiar text tone went off. You didn't think much of it until you watched John Logan pull out his phone, his thumbs flying across the screen.
Your phone buzzed in your hand.
Hockey Boy: Let me guess. Arrogant? Thinks his jersey exempts him from reading the syllabus?
Your breath hitched. You looked up from your screen, your eyes locking onto Logan. He was still staring at his phone, a soft, genuine smile on his face—the kind of look he never used in class. You slowly typed a reply, watching him like a hawk.
Y/N: Yeah. His name is Logan. He’s a menace.
Across the room, Logan froze. He didn't just look at the message—he stared at it, his thumb hovering over his screen. Then, his head slowly tilted back, eyes narrowing as he started scrolling up. Fast. Past the rants about the 20-page case study. Past the complaints about the rainy afternoon presentation.
Logan’s head snapped up. His blue eyes scanned the coffee shop until they landed directly on you. You were frozen, holding your phone like it was a live grenade. He just stared at you, the cocky look dropped his face as the dots finally connected.
Because the worst part was realizing he knew that look on your face.
He’d spent months texting the person who complained about him nightly.
You stuffed your phone into your bag, bolted out of the coffee shop, and ignored his texts for the next twenty-four hours.
The next Monday, you walked into the ethics seminar with your guard fully up, fully expecting Logan to mock you, or worse, use your texts against you. Instead, when you got to your usual seat, you found a large iced caramel macchiato sitting on your desk. Sticky-noted to the side was a hand-written message: 'For the future hand model. Don't drop out just yet.'
You looked up. Logan wasn't sitting two rows away anymore. He was sitting in the empty desk right next to yours, and he didn't have his usual cocky smirk.
He looked nervous, which was somehow worse.
"Logan," you hissed, keeping your voice low as the professor started setting up. "What is this?"
"A peace offering," he murmured, his brown eyes searching yours with an intensity that made your stomach completely drop. "And an apology. For being an idiot in person."
"You lied to me," you whispered.
"About what though? I didn't know it was you! We never talked about US like that" Logan defended softly, leaning in closer. "But now that I do... God, Y/N, it makes so much sense. You're just as terrifyingly brilliant over text as you are when you're destroying me on the grading curve."
"I don't do cocky hockey players, Logan."
Logan smiled, but it was soft, vulnerable—the exact tone of the boy you had grown to depend on. He reached out, his fingers hovering just an inch away from yours on the desk.
"Then forget the hockey part for a second."
He glanced down at your coffee. “I’m still the person you text at 2 a.m.”
You stared at him, your heart hammering against your ribs. The arrogance you usually hated was entirely gone, replaced by the boy who had stayed up until 2 AM comforting you through your midterms. Slowly, you reached out and pulled the coffee toward you.
"You're still an idiot," you muttered, though a tiny, involuntary smile tugged at the corner of your lips.
Logan’s entire face lit up, a triumphant, breathtaking grin breaking across his face. He leaned back in his chair, pulling out his phone under the desk.
A second later, your phone buzzed.
Hockey Boy: I know. But I'm your idiot. Let me take you to dinner tonight? No hockey talk. Just us.
You looked over at him, and he gave you a slow, hopeful wink. Biting your lip, you slid your phone out to type back.
(NOTE: i do overall fandom master taglists, not separate ones for individual series/fics! Feel free to send me a message if you'd want to be added or removed)
summary: five times you ragebaited logan, and the one time he got you back.
request: yes/no
warnings: swearing, allusions to sex (but nothing explicit)
word count: 3.11k
authors note: I have no comments, beyond that this made me laugh. oh and realistically, these events were happening over the span of weeks or months, they did not all happen back to back.
You started dating Logan in April right before the summer break started.
And if there was one thing that he learnt, it was that you were chaos.
Not in the loud kind of way that left you with a reputation.
It was this way that knew how to keep Logan on his feet 24/7 with you.
𝟏 “𝐦𝐲 𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝,”
You were in your dorm with Allie and Hannah doing fit checks as Logan sat on your couch watching.
He promised to take the three of you to your girls night booking as he liked making sure that you were safe.
Hannah stood in the frame of your phone as she looked at what she was wearing “so this is actually all from their closests.” She laughed as she did a little twirl.
You laughed as you shook your head “your shoes are yours!” You corrected as Hannah nodded “yeah these are all mine.”
The brunette pointed to her sneakers before she pulled you into the frame “the skirt I stole from Allie and the shirt is from brandy.” A smirk spread across your face as Hannah motioned to Logan to join you in your shot.
Logan wrapped his hand around your waist “I’ve dressed my current boyfriend today in fact.” His arm tensed around your waist.
He turned to you with a confused expression “your current boyfriend?” He reiterated your words as you nodded with a smile.
Hannah and Allie giggled from beside your phone “are you planning on getting another one in the future?” Logan scoffed as you caught your lower lip between your teeth trying to swallow your own laughter.
You ran your fingers down his shirt “hey as they say the night is still young,” you teased as you pulled your attention back to the camera.
You did everything to not laugh “wow never in my life have I been so offended.” That broke the girls as they were now losing it on the other side of the camera.
That made Logan clock what was going on “I hate you.” He grumbled as he shook his head making you laugh as well.
You grinned as you cupped his jaw “you love me.” You mumbled as he stuck his tongue out before he kissed you.
Allie crossed her arms “you better not try to keep her tonight.” Her warning made Logan shake his head.
He laughed as he let his hand settle on your waist “oh no this one is your problem tonight.” He announced as he patted your hip.
𝟐 “𝐬𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐬 𝐮𝐧𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰𝐧 𝐧𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫?”
You were sat on Logan’s bed as he came out of the bathroom “baby can you call my phone f’me? I can’t find it.” He had a towel wrapped around his waist.
You nodded as you threw your phone to the bottom of his bed as you looked up from your laptop. He used your password to unlock it before he typed in his number.
Then he frowned
“Wait.”
You barely looked up “what?” You cocked your head as he sat down on the foot of his bed.
He turned your phone to face you “why am I saved as John Logan in your phone?” He furrowed his eyebrows as it got your attention.
You placed your laptop next to you as you leaned up to sit closer to him “because that’s your name silly.” You rested your chin against his shoulder.
Logan laughed as the sensation made his squirm “yeah but that’s so formal.” He whined as his lips formed a pout.
You actually laughed at the sight “you want me to save you as Prince Charming or something?” You proposed as he thought about it seriously for a second.
And then he nodded.
“Maybe I should just save you as an unknown number?”
There was a pause before he shook his head “you’re just mean.” You laughed as you stood up.
You shrugged, “it’s more mysterious.” As you wriggled your eyebrows, Logan pulled you onto his lap.
“You’re one update away from me blocking you.”
His warning made you laugh as you stuck your tongue out at him.
You smiled, leaned in, and kissed his cheek before you grabbed your phone from his hand.
You were quick to type something before you showed it to him “happy?”
‘𝙹𝚘𝚑𝚗 𝙻𝚘𝚐𝚊𝚗’ 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎𝚍 𝚊𝚜 ‘𝙼𝚢 𝙼𝚊𝚗 💙’
“Very.”
𝟑 “𝐈’𝐦 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐚𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠,”
You were at practice, sitting in the bleachers in his hoodie, legs swinging as you watched the guys skate drills.
He came out of the locker room as he had his bag slung over his shoulder.
His breath was heavy, hair messy, looking annoyingly good in that effortless way that always made you forget your point for a second.
But not this time.
You pointed vaguely pointed to the group of lower-class men behind Logan “the guy with the dark hair,” you said casually “he’s kind of my type.”
John didn’t even turn around “you mean Carter.” His face turned into a sharp scowl as he heard the younger boys making a joke behind him.
You nodded as you slotted your phone into the pocket of your hoodie “yep.” You had to admit that if you were a freshman and single, you genuinely would have thought that the dude was hot.
He looked like a younger version of Logan which is why you found this so funny “you don’t even know him.” Logan deeply inhaled through his nostrils as he grumbled.
You shrugged as you licked your lips “I am just saying,”that’s when he slowly turned his head toward you.
Logan sucked at his teeth “you’re joking right?” He was practically weighing up the cost of what his bail money would be if he hit Carter.
You shrugged, “am I?” There was a beat of silence.
Then he stopped walking “that’s it.” He announced as he shook his head
“What?”
Logan sharpened his gaze back to the younger teammates “we’re leaving. I’m transferring teams. Maybe we’re moving countries.”You laughed as he hoisted you over his shoulder making you squeal.
He started walking the two of you out of the rink “you are a nightmare god.” He was genuinely considering relocating his entire life out of spite.
Or possibly throttling Carter into fear to avoid you for the rest of his life.
Carter never found out he was nearly responsible for a national hockey scandal.
𝟒 “𝐬𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭’𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐝𝐢𝐝𝐧’𝐭 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐦𝐞,”
After Dean swore that you and Logan were the worst when it came to PDA.
And as you had a thing for proving the blonde boy wrong, you set yourself up on a challenge.
You wanted to see just how long it would take Logan to realise if you swiped his kisses.
Dean believed that Logan wouldn’t make it past 5 pm but you decided to back your boyfriend more than that “but you can’t avoid him all day then!” Dean pointed out as he watched Logan walk into the cafeteria.
You smiled as you got up “luckily for me I have a class in ten minutes.” You shot back as you stuck your tongue out at the blonde.
Logan dropped his bag into the seat where you were just sitting “hey pretty girl.” Logan smiled as he leaned down to kiss your lips.
You swerved letting his lips grazed your cheek “hey babe I gotta go!” You patted his cheek before you ran off.
It left Logan a little confused as he watched you run off “that was a little weird right?” Logan motioned to you as your body disappeared into the crowd.
Dean shook his head as he ate a carrot stick “not a clue what you’re talking about.” The second rule that you two came up with was that, neither one of you could hint that there was a bet going on.
By the time 2 pm came around Logan was waiting outside of your building after class “hey there princess.” Logan walked towards you with a smile as he reached for your hand.
You matched his facial expression as you leaned up to kiss him before you remembered what was going on “hi handsome.” You awkwardly shifted into giving him a hug.
As Logan patted your back, he almost wondered if he was just dreaming “the guys are waiting back at the house.” His announcement came as he mentally went through the previous events of the day as he was concerned he pissed you off.
You pulled away with a smile “perfect,” you squeezed his hand “shall we go?” You asked as you cocked your head.
Dean watched how you dodged Logan throughout the next few hours.
If you were any decent with a pair of skates, Dean would have proposed that he got you on the team. With the way you had been side stepping Logan, it was almost impressive.
Logan however, lacked the sentiment as you excused yourself to go to the bathroom “is it just me or is she being weird?” Logan spoke up as Dean celebrated.
But his cheering fell short when he realised that it was in fact 5:01 pm, what made your boyfriend even more confused was that you were running down the stairs cheering. While Dean sat with his head in his hands.
The brunette motioned between the two of you “okay what is going on between the two of you?” Logan asked as you marched over to him.
Your hands cupped his cheeks “god I love you.” You pulled him into a kiss that was so strong the two of you actually fell onto the couch.
Logan wasn’t going to complain as his hands steadied himself on your waist “god I hate it when she’s right.” Dean’s grumble was enough to make Logan pull away from you.
He cocked his head, making you sigh, “we had a bet that if I didn’t kiss you, you couldn’t last until five PM before you brought it up.” Your announcement made him laugh.
Logan stood up as he pulled you up with him “so that’s why you didn’t kiss me,” he spoke as he cocked his head.
You nodded now feeling somewhat bad until Logan wrapped his arms around your waist “if you boys will excuse us, we have some making out to catch up on.” His eyes flickered with mischief as the boys groaned.
Garrett shook his head “turn that up so we drown them out.” He grumbled, tapping Tucker’s shoulder as he pointed to the tv while Logan led you upstairs.
𝟓 “𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞?”
You were sat in the kitchen as Tucker cooked dinner for the group.
Logan was propped up on the counter as Garrett sat next to you “oh my god babe you wanna know what I saw?” You asked as Logan nodded.
He snatched a freshly cut carrot from Tucker’s chopping board, making the younger boy swat his hand away “Dean is on hinge!” Your announcement made all three boys freeze.
While Tucker and Garrett looked at each other, a little confused why you were on that app. Logan seemed far more curious to know what kind of prompts Dean had picked “wait show.” Logan motioned to you to hand him your phone.
When you smiled both other boys laughed finally catching onto what you were doing “nah I didn’t take a picture of it because I was so shocked, I just had to press close on his profile.” You swore your boyfriend must not have heard you properly.
But Logan shook his head “you can’t tell me that you found his profile and then not show me!” The boy whined as he walked over to you.
His hands wrapped around your shoulders as he rested his head against yours “c’mon babe.” He dragged out the last letter of the last word making you grin.
Logan pressed a kiss into your hair “this is just cruel and unusu-” he cut himself off as he stood up straight.
Garrett stood up as he reached for his phone seeing that he was meant to meet Hannah for dinner “bingo.” He patted Logan’s shoulder before he left.
Logan cocked his head as he looked at you “why are you on hinge?” He turned your body towards him.
You bit the inside of your cheek to hold back a laugh “I just like to see who is single.” You nodded to yourself, earning a laugh from Garrett before he left the room.
Your boyfriend cocked his head as he furrowed his eyebrows, “so is your profile like just you or?” He trailed off making you scoff “John Logan do you seriously think that I’m on a dating app to find us a throuple?”
Your words made Tucker cough as he packed up, laughing “I mean you’ve always said you wanted to try something.” Logan shrugged as he kissed your cheek.
You scoffed as you gasped, “yeah like positions in your bed, not who is gonna watch.” Tucker had opted to slowly slip out of the room as he was no longer interested in listening to this conversation.
Logan tucked your hair behind your ear “who said anything about them watching?” His smirk strengthened as your cheeks reddened.
It wasn’t often that you were speechless but in this moment you actually didn’t know what to say “should I be concerned that you actually seemed turned on by this?” You cocked your head as you pursed your lips together.
Your boyfriend laughed as he shook his head “you’re the one finding my friends on hinge.” Logan taunted as he pinched your side.
You rolled your eyes “I don’t have a damn hinge account!” You groaned making him smile.
Logan wrapped his arms around you as you stood “good,” he mumbled as he pecked your lips “for the record I like having you all to myself.”
+ 𝟏 “𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐨 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝,”
The group was all in the living room as the boys played the NHL video game in the tv while Logan and you were on a beanbag “thanks.” He sent you a smile as he pulled you on top of him as you handed him a water bottle.
He pressed a kiss against your cheek making you grin “you two make me sick.” Garrett gagged seeing the two of you from the corner of his eye.
It made you laugh as you stuck your tongue out at him “oh babe?” Logan spoke up as he scrolled on his phone.
You turned back to face him “my ex texted me today.” He spoke casually, still not looking at you.
You blinked slowly as your throat constricted “your what?” Your face turned as if you had just eaten a lemon.
You hadn’t noticed that the boys paused the tv to focus on you both as you were too concerned, and kept scrolling on his phone.
“Ex.”
You stared at him like he had grown three heads “for what?” You didn’t want to jump to conclusions but in that moment, you were teetering on the edge.
Logan shrugged “she was checking in.”You felt your face go flat as there was little left in your reserve to bite your tongue.
Part of you wondered if when you went to the kitchen to get water, if you were dropped in some alternate universe “oh, that’s sweet,” you said slowly, your body tensed as you prepared your next question “did you reply?” It felt like a penny could have dropped in that moment and it would have echoed through the house.
He shrugged as he bounced his foot “yeah,” there was silence as you sat up a little.
Tucker swore he watched you crack your knuckles a little “you replied.” You couldn’t miss the scowl on your face as you rolled your eyes.
“Mhm.”
Now he looked at you, like he was trying not to smile “and what did you say?” You struggled to understand what rock Logan had hit his head with to assume that you’d be totally fine with him chatting all to his ex like it was nothing.
He leaned back running his fingers through his hair “I just said hi,” he shrugged as you finally scoffed because that was it.
Something in you snapped instantly “oh, perfect,” you said, standing up “that’s great. I love that. So glad we’re doing this.”
“Doing what?”
You grabbed your bag as you stopped to look at him“whatever this is. Whatever situation I’ve apparently been invited into.” Part of you didn’t know if you were about to commit murder or just burst into tears.
Now he was definitely smiling “you’re jealous.” He pointed out as he stood up crossing his arms in the process.
Your lips formed a sharp line “I’m not jealous.” You grumbled as it made you stop what you were doing.
Logan looked at your bag “you’re literally packing up your things.” Half the stuff that you had thrown into it was stuff that you used to just leave at the house.
Dean had to admit he didn’t think that you had so many chargers at theirs “I’m going home.” You corrected Logan as you rolled your eyes.
“With my hoodie.”
A wicked laugh escaped your lips “oh you won’t need it where you’re going,” you snapped and that finally broke him.
He laughed like actually laughed and it was enough to make you clench your teeth.
And still he laughed again “babe,” he said, still grinning, “I don’t have an ex.”
You froze as your hands landed on your hips as your bag fell to the floor “huh?” You cocked your head as you were trying to keep the words that came out of your mouth appropriate.
“I made it up.”
You stared at him for a full five seconds and the boys swore that Logan must have gone too far “you are so dead,” you went to hit his chest but instead he pulled you into his arms.
He kissed your knuckles, still laughing “karma is a bitch huh?” Logan teased you as he ran his thumb over your cheek.
Dean rolled his eyes as he rubbed his knee “you two make me sick.” He fake gagged as he shook his head.
When Logan grabbed a pillow off of the couch and threw it at the blonde.
As you laughed, you knew that you couldn’t even stay mad for long.
Because John Logan looked way too happy watching you lose your mind over him.
And you hated that you liked that part the most.
But what made it okay was that when the shoe was on the other foot, Logan loved the fact that you knew how to push his buttons.
summary ⠀♱ you never imagined your junior year of college would turn you into a mother—but alas, here you are.
pairing ⠀♱ garrett graham x fem!dilaurentis!reader
warnings ⠀♱ smut, unprotected p in v, mentions of birth control, pregnancy, mentions of abortion, angst, garrett is lowk a dick, garrett is scared of being like his father, reader is dean’s twin sister, john tucker being a cutie, reader ends up living in the hawks house, overprotective dean, overprotective garrett, mentions of phil (yikes), garrett and reader have a…complicated relationship to say the least, mentions of violence (dean punches garrett, garrett punches dean, they fight), reader’s nickname is DiDi (pronounced deedee, come from the di in di laurentis), reader is a child development major, mentions of nausea and throwing up—SKIP IF EMETOPHOBIC
a/n ⠀♱ belmont cameli has genuinely taken over my life. THIS WORK WAS WRITTEN BY ME, NOT AI. DO NOT PLUG MY WORKS INTO AI. not proofread, ignore any errors.
-1 MONTHS
“Oh my God, Garrett!” Your lips part in a pornographic moan, the veins in your neck popping out as your head thumps against the bed frame. Currently, you were in the Hawks House, Garrett thrusting into you slow and deep as your head hangs over the bed—Hang Loose was always his favorite position. Your tits bounce lightly with each of his thrusts, his chain grazing over your skin as he lets out a soft grunt.
“So fucking good for me,” He murmurs, his hot mouth moving over your smooth skin until his lips wrap around your nipple. Your hips jerk up from the contact, nails digging into his back. “Oh, you liked that, didn’t you?” He teases, flicking his tongue over the bud. You get louder, hands frantically moving from his back to his dark curls, tugging.
“Oh my God, I’m gonna cum—I’m gonna cum, ohhh, yes!” You whine, letting out a sob as you clench around Garrett’s dick. He chokes out a groan, his hips stuttering as he fucks you through it. “Where do you want—”
“Inside,”
“But you’re not—”
“I don’t care, just cum inside of me—oh my God, I’m cumming!” Garrett swears your moans echo across the entirety of Briar University’s campus—and he has to admit, it makes him even cockier than he was before. With a soft moan, he lets go, filling up your tight pussy with ropes of cum.
He pulls you up so you’re fully on the bed before collapsing on top of you, both of you panting, and you smile, letting out a soft laugh as you rake your manicured fingers through his hair. “That was fucking amazing,” He murmurs, pressing kisses to your sweat-soaked skin. You nod, humming, still a bit hazy from your orgasm.
You tap Garrett’s shoulder, and reluctantly, he gets up with a sigh, grabbing your silk leopard print robe from his desk chair and handing it to you. Most of the time, you were at Hawks House more than you were at your dorm with Hannah and Allie, and you had accumulated a small collection of clothes which Garrett kept in his top drawer.
You sit up and tie the robe around your naked body, going on your tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek as he puts on a pair of boxers. You’re about to open the door to go downstairs to the kitchen, but Garrett stops you, his large forearm wrapping around your waist and pulling you back into him. “Your legs aren’t shaking,” He murmurs into your ear, making you shiver, “do we need to go again?”
You laugh, twisting yourself out of his grip, “Maybe later. I’m plenty satisfied, baby. Mama needs some water.”
Garrett pouts, his eyes practically as soft as a puppy’s fur, “Oh yeah, mama needs some water? We can get you water,” He teases, throwing you over his shoulder. You yelp, hands flying to his lower back for stability, “Garrett, put me down!” You shriek, but Garrett shakes his head as he exits his bedroom and thunks downstairs.
“No can do, gotta get water for m’lady,” He laughs, “hey, boys,” He greets his roommates—who all look disgusted. Dean rises up from the couch as Garrett finally puts you down, grinning as he smacks your ass and jiggles the fat with his palm. Your brother gags at the sight, “Next time you guys want to fuck, can you please, for the love of all things holy, fuck a little quieter?” He pleads, pinching his fingers together.
“I’ve had to hear you having sex since we were fifteen,” You deadpan, crossing your arms over your chest, thanking Garrett when he hands you a glass of water and smoothes your hair with his palms.
“Yeah, but like—that’s different,” Dean grumbles, “I never had sex with your best friend.”
“You’re literally dating one of my best friends, Deanie.”
“That’s different!” He repeats, whining theatrically as he stomps back over to the couch, before throwing himself over the back of it and doing a backwards somersault, kicking over a bowl of popcorn in the process.
“Oh come on bro, that was perfectly buttered!” Tucker groans, putting his game controller to the side as he begins to pick up the buttered kernels. Dean does too, popping some in his mouth, which makes everyone in the room—including you and Garrett, who had been watching this scene together from the kitchen, unfold—recoil with disgust.
MONTH ONE
About three weeks later, you’re in a lecture hall for your major—Child Development. You wanted to be an elementary teacher, so you chose Child Development as a way to jumpstart your career.
Suddenly, a wave of nausea overcomes you—you quickly gather all of your things and exit the lecture hall as fast as you can, dropping to your knees in the closest toilet stall before heaving your guts out.
“Oh my gosh, are you okay?” A concerned voice says from behind you. You can’t turn your head, but are able to see strawberry blonde hair in your peripheral as the girl kneels next to you, pulling your hair back.
Kendall, one of Garrett’s ex-hookups.
Great.
You nod slowly, wiping your mouth with a piece of toilet paper that she hands to you. “Yeah, thanks—probably just stress from my classes,” You say softly, giving her a genuine smile.
You felt bad for the girl—she had been hooking up with Garrett before you, and as soon as you and Garrett had sex for the first time, he kicked her to the curb. He always told you the split was a mutual decision, but you could see in her eyes, now, that she was still pained by his words from that night.
“Of course,” She murmurs, “hey—you’re Dean’s sister, right? The one who’s dating Garrett?”
You nod at the first part of her sentence but quickly shake your head at the last part of her sentence, which you regret as soon as it brings on another wave of nausea as you retch into the toilet.
Kendall grimaces, handing you another piece of toilet paper, and you thank her, wiping your mouth before responding to her. “I’m Dean’s twin, yeah. Unfortunately,” You snort, “but I’m not dating Garrett—we’re just friends who like, fuck around, you know?”
You stand up from the tiled bathroom floor, dusting off your pants, and finally start to feel a bit better. “Oh, I just thought—you know, with all of the stuff posted on Fifth Line…” Kendall says shyly, scratching at her forearm.
“Jules just loves to stir shit,” You giggle softly, squeezing Kendall’s shoulder. “They’ve been like that since I met them. It was nice talking to you, Kendall, but I should probably get back to class—thanks for taking care of me!”
“Yeah, of course,” She smiles, waving goodbye as you exit the bathroom.
After a day of classes, you immediately flop down onto Allie’s bed with an exasperated huff. “Oh honeybun, what’s wrong?” She asks, setting aside her gel polishes from where she was doing her toenails.
“I spent half of today in the lecture hall bathrooms,” You mumble, lifting your head from her duvet. She frowns sympathetically, rubbing your back as you continue talking, “and my boobs are sore, but my period’s late, and all I want is Garrett, but he’s at practice.”
“Oh, shit.” Allie says abruptly, and you look at her confused. “What’s wrong?”
“When was the last time you and Garrett had sex?”
“Three weeks ag—oh, fucking shit.”
Two hours later, Hannah and Allie both have their hands on your arm, squeezing you from time to time. Hannah rubs your back as you whine nervously, watching the timer count down on your phone. When it beeps, you go to reach for it, hand shaking, but Allie stops you for a second.
“Hey, DiDi,” She says softly, “whatever it says, we’ll be right here. And I know it’s bad timing—but really, whatever it says, whatever you want to do, we’ll be here. No matter what.”
You nod, sucking in a breath, and go to look at it.
Your heart drops to your ass. You blink, twice, making sure that your eyes don’t deceive you.
Pregnant, 2-3 weeks.
You stifle a sob as your hands come up to your mouth, and your legs give out like jelly, both Hannah and Allie hugging you tightly as you wail on the bathroom floor.
MONTH TWO
You still haven’t told Garrett.
You’re eight weeks pregnant, still haven’t told your—whatever he is—and are trying to hide it at a party. Where there’s drinks.
You always drink at parties.
Dean can notice something is wrong—and so can Garrett, whose brows furrow as you reject his offer to go get you a Smirnoff Ice for the third time. “Baby, are you sure you’re okay? You’ve been off for a few weeks.”
You smile as you twirl a toothpick between your fingers, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired, I guess. Professor Nolan’s lectures are always a bore,”
He kisses your temple, dark brows furrowed as he stares directly into your eyes, “Do you wanna leave? Because we can go, baby.” You shake your head. “No, no—go, have fun. Dean has been waiting for you to go do shots with him,” You giggle, pointing over at your twin, who’s already drunk off of his ass and about to jump onto a wooden table.
Garrett sighs and kisses your temple once more before leaving to go take care of Dean, and Hannah walks over to you, nibbling at her lip. “You still haven’t told him?” Your walls immediately crumble, and your bottom lip starts to tremble, chin quivering, “Oh, DiDi,” She tuts, pulling you in for a hug.
“I’m so scared,” You whisper, “what if he hates me? What if he tells me to get rid of it?” Hannah shakes her head, “That’s not gonna happen, DiDi. You know Garrett, he’s a big softie under all of that hockey gear. You just have to be honest, okay? Go with your heart—and he loves you, DiDi. He may deny it whenever anyone asks, or teases him about it, but I see it in his eyes. You’re it for him.”
You sniffle, and Hannah wipes your tears away, before dragging you out to the dance floor. You giggle as she twirls you around, and for a moment, all of your worries are gone.
Until a week later, when you’re sat in front of Garrett, sitting on his bed in one of his t-shirts and baby pink sleep shorts. “We need to talk,” You say abruptly, and he pokes his head out from his closet, turning around to face you in only Calvin Klein boxers and messy curls.
“What’s up?”
You nibble your bottom lip, already nervous, and fiddle with your fingers. “Can you sit down? It’s important,”
Garrett nods, moving from the closet to his bed, sitting down next to you and taking one of your hands between both of his. “Baby, you’re shaking. What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
“I’m pregnant,” You blurt.
Garrett’s brows furrow, and he goes stiff beside you. You hate that you can feel the change in his body from the way that his thumb has stopped rubbing the back of your hand.
“I’m pregnant,” You repeat, quieter now, but Garrett’s ears still pick it up. “Please say something,” You sigh, voice shaking with nervousness.
“Are you sure it’s mine?”
His words hit you like a slap in the face, and you pull your hand away from his grip. “What?”
“I mean, are you sure it’s mine? I’m trying to make sure you’re not baby trapping me—”
You stand up from the bed, angry now, “Baby trap you? Are you fucking serious Garrett?”
He stands up now too, crossing his arms over his chest, “What? It’s a very reasonable question to ask! We’re just fucking around, I didn’t ask to be a father!”
“And you think I asked to be a mother?” You yell, scoffing as you wrap your arms protectively around yourself, “I can’t even believe the words that are coming out of your mouth right now! ‘Just fucking around’? You tell me that you love me, Garrett! You call me baby, you-you cuddle me, you take care of me!”
“You say that too! You do those things too!” He exclaims, eyes widening as he extends his arms towards you as to prove a point.
“We’re not ‘just fucking around’,” You mutter, “we’re practically dating, and you know it.” You go to leave his room, but he grabs your arm, “DiDi, we’re not done with this conversation—”
“Ow—let me go, Garrett, you’re hurting me!”
Those three words feel like a punch to Garrett’s heart. He swallows, letting you go, but his eyes are pained.
You’re hurting me.
As soon as you leave, Garrett flops back down onto his bed. He lifts his arm above his head, tears beginning to sting at his waterline as he stretches and bends his fingers. The fingers that had just gripped your arm, so tense with confusion and irritation and anger that he had squeezed you hard enough to hurt you.
He never wanted to hurt you.
You’re hurting me.
Your words echo in his head. “Fuck,” He chokes out, sniffling as he turns on his side, trying to sleep.
He’s going to be a father.
As he drifts to sleep, on your side of the bed, all he can think about is your words—you’re hurting me—and the fact that he’ll probably be like his father.
Sick. Quick tempered.
MONTH THREE
It’s been a week since you told Garrett.
A week since he accused you of baby trapping. Since he had accidentally squeezed you too hard—the bruise was fading on your forearm—and looked at you after you had said those words—you’re hurting me—like he was a scared little boy.
God, you missed him. Missed his laugh, the way he laughed with his whole body, his smile, the dimples on his cheeks, the scar on his abdomen from where he had donated a kidney when he was in high school.
It’s only been a week, and he had already missed so much. The first ultrasound. The day that you popped, which Allie eagerly took a picture of as she suggested baby names and nursery themes, and the day that you got your first craving: a dill pickle, hollowed out, stuffed with cream creese, Takis, and popcorn.
You had asked Tucker to make the craving on the down low—and when he got suspicious, you spilled your guts to him. You told him about the pregnancy, the argument with Garrett, but left out the part where Garrett had accidentally hurt you—it wasn’t important. You knew he hadn’t meant to do it—he would never hurt you, or anyone he loves.
You had also sworn Tucker to secrecy—no telling Logan, and especially not Dean. If Dean knew, he would flip, and he would flip even more if he knew that Garrett had practically kicked you to the curb.
The doorbell outside of your dorm room rings, and you grin, squealing excitedly—you had been waiting for Tucker to bring you your newest craving, which he had to make in secret and also secretly bring it to your dorm. Coconut popsicles wrapped in Fruit Roll-Ups, dipped in Juicy Drop Pop syrup.
You open the door, and your face falls. Instinctively, you go to cover your stomach, the small curve of it visible underneath your butter yellow tank top.
Phil Graham stands at your door, a hardened expression on his face as he looms over you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket. “So the rumors are true,” He says quietly, glancing down at your stomach, “my son knocked up the Di Laurentis slut.”
“Excuse me?” You scoff, hand gripping the doorknob as you stand somewhat behind it, preparing yourself to shut the door and lock it, if necessary.
Phil says nothing, just looks down at you with disgust, before pulling a hand out from his pocket and shoving a piece of paper into your chest—not hard enough to hurt, but it’s enough to make sure that you’re intimidated by him.
You’re not.
Garrett has told you about him. The things that he did, the things that he said, the bruises he’s left. But it didn’t make you scared, it made you angry. For Garrett. For his mother. For your unborn child.
“Two million dollars,” He sneers, “for you to do one of two things: drop out of college and raise this baby on your own, moving far away from my son. Or get a fucking abortion, and never talk to my son again.”
He walks away before you can speak. As you stare down at the check, you don’t feel anything for it—you only feel anger.
You arrive at Hawks House in a record time—two minutes, considering it takes seven to get there, and stomp up the porch, ripping open the front door. “Where the fuck is Garrett?” You seethe, chest heaving as you glare at Tucker and Logan, who both point upstairs.
You stomp up to Garrett’s room and rip open that door, too, throwing the piece of paper at his sock-clad feet. “You told your dad? Are you fucking kidding me, Garrett?”
A look of confusion crosses Garrett’s dark features. “What are you talking about?” He picks up the piece of paper thrown at him, and his fingers grip it so hard it almost rips a hole through the check.
“He gave this to you?”
“Just now,” You laugh dryly, “you know, I knew you were angry about me being pregnant, but I never knew you would tell your father to pay me off to abort my baby.”
“You’re fucking pregnant?” A voice says from behind you—and it’s definitely not Garrett’s. You freeze as you turn to face your twin brother. Your mouth opens as shock washes over your features. “Deanie—”
Dean charges into Garrett’s room, seething with anger, and it’s like he doesn’t even see you. He goes straight for Garrett, punching him square in the jaw. “Dean!” You yelp, but he can’t hear you as he goes for Garrett’s ribs.
“You got my sister pregnant and then paid her to get an abortion? Are you fucking serious, man?” Dean yells, letting out a grunt as Garrett lands a punch back. Soon enough, the two boys are scrambling, throwing punches at each other until they’re both on the floor.
“A little help in here!” You yell for Tucker and Logan, who quickly hurry up the stairs, both of them letting out a synchronized “oh, shit” as Tucker goes to pull Dean off of Garrett and Logan pulls Garrett out from under Dean.
There’s blood splattered across the wooden floors of Garrett’s room, seeping into the cracks between the panels, and you feel sick. You can’t tell whose it is, but there’s so much of it.
Ten minutes later, the blood has been cleaned up, Garrett and Dean have been separated, and you’re sitting on the bathroom sink, Garrett standing between your legs as you clean the dried blood from his face.
Garrett sighs softly as he continues to stare at you—your lips are parted, tongue poking out slightly as you focus, chest moving up and down as you breathe. “I’m sorry,” He says gruffly, his hands gripping the edge of the sink, “for what I said. About the baby. And for hurting you. I—I never meant to—”
Your breath hitches, and you try to ignore his words by saying, “This is gonna sting,” before you press a cotton ball to his sliced open cheekbone. He hisses, groaning as he white knuckles the counter and drops his head to your chest. You freeze, and so does he, before nuzzling himself deeper into your cleavage.
“Garrett!” You squeal, trying to pull him away, but he whines in protest. “These things are so soft…” He murmurs, “is there milk in them already?”
You flick the back of his neck. “Don’t be weird.”
He just hums, smiling against your skin, before lifting his head so you can keep attending to his wounds. His eyes are half-lidded as he continues to stare at you with a dopey smile. “I’m gonna do good by you,” He says seriously, one of his hands moving from the sink to hold yours, which was resting on top of your growing bump, “and this kid. When I turn twenty-two, I get access to a trust made by my grandparents—it’s got enough for us to live off of, baby. Us and the kid, on a giant piece of land in the outskirts of Boston.”
“Garrett…” You say softly, “you still haven’t asked me to be your girlfriend, you know.”
He stands up straight, puffs out his chest, and then grips your cheeks, squishing them so your mouth is in a pout. You giggle at his serious expression as he says your full name, before adding, “will you be my girlfriend?”
You nod, a grin on your face, and lean in to kiss him. “Yes,” You say simply.
Garrett pumps his fist in the air before returning the kiss, mumbling against your lips, “When’s your due date?”
“January,” You respond, letting him pick you up and take you to his bedroom.
Garrett’s birthday is January 1st.
a/n (again) ⠀♱ splitting this up into two parts because tumblr only allows for 10 pics and my dividers count as pictures…
pairing : garrett graham john logan dean di laurentis john tucker x 𝒇 ! reader
𝗢𝗥 𓈒 𓈒 they overhear you singing the lyrics to juno
contains : established relationship fluff & smut unprotected sex cumming inside dirty talk gif credits to @lerabova 𝘄 ｡ 4.2k
GARRETT GRAHAM :
“Wanna try out my fuzzy pink handcuffs?” You quietly sang along to the song playing through your earbuds as you scrolled through your Pinterest feed, saving all the cute pictures in their proper sections. You were lying on your stomach in your boyfriend’s bed, your freshly pedicured feet were absentmindedly swinging to the tempo of the song.
Your boyfriend was sitting at his desk, his hair messy from him constantly running his fingers through it in frustration as he tried to understand what he was studying. His laptop and notebooks had his full attention, or at least you thought it did. When Garrett invited you over after practice, he made it clear that he had to study before he could give you all the attention you deserved. But his attention was stolen by you the moment he heard you singing those provocative lyrics.
He quietly slipped off his headphones and set them on his desk before he got up from his chair. His lips twitched up into a small smirk at how cute you looked in his shirt, wearing nothing else but your fluffy socks and your baby blue panties that were barely peaking out from under the shirt. As soon as the two of you got up to his room, you were undressing and changing into your favorite shirt of his.
“Gare?” You hummed in confusion at the sudden warm touch of his hands on your ankles, softly pushing your elevated legs down on the bed so he could straddle your thighs. You giggled at the feeling of him pressing his chest against your back, holding himself up with one hand while the other pulled out your earbuds for you.
Garrett smiled at the sound of your laughter, leaning down to place soft kisses along your shoulder and neck, all the way up to your ear, where he teasingly nibbled at before whispering huskily, “The answer is yes.”
You felt chills go down your spine at your boyfriend's tone and the feeling of his warm breath tickling your neck. You tilted your head to the side, your breath hitching from how close his face was to yours. You swallowed slowly and sassily responded, “To what question?”
His smile quickly changed into a cocky smirk when he noticed your body's reaction to him. His eyes dropped to your lips before slowly looking back into your eyes, his tone teasing, “I’d love to try out your fuzzy pink handcuffs.”
+
“Fuck, Baby,” He groaned, a wonton moan quickly following after through his parted lips. The fuzzy pink handcuffs he had pulled out of the drawer of his bedside table with a smirk held him taut against the headboard. The soft plush of the handcuffs mocked the raw tension in his restrained muscles. He took pleasure in the feeling of the cuffs digging into his skin.
His gaze that burned into you was filled with desire and amusement as he watched you move up and down on him, your boobs bouncing with your every movement, creating a mouthwatering, hypnotic sight. His jaw clenched as he watched you move so perfectly, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths.
The headboard creaked rhythmically with your movements as Garrett strained against the restraints. A satisfied smirk on his face despite being restricted.
“Fuck—you feel so good,” your voice was strained as you breathed out, your hips rolling in a deliberately slow grind as you felt your thighs trembling from how deep he felt, your fingers digging into his chest. Your voice is a breathless, shaky exhale that caught in your throat with each movement as you went faster, your words barely holding together between the pleasure, “So deep inside me…holy shit, baby—“
“Jesus.” A low, rough moan escaped his lips, his head falling back against the headboard at the feeling of you clenching around him. His gaze never once leaves you as you roll your hips faster, dragging another ragged moan from his throat. Your words, the sight of your boobs bouncing in his face, and the look on your face, crumbling in pure pleasure, had him absolutely wrecked.
“Fuck, baby—I’m gonna cum.” He growled through clenched teeth as he planted his feet on the bed, his hips bucking up to meet your frantic pace. His abs contracted as he tried not to break the restraints. His face was twisted up in an intense pleasure, his eyes locked on where the two of you were connected, watching himself disappear inside you. Your tight heat and lewd pace made it impossible for him to hold back.
The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed lewdly through his room, mixing with their moans and grunts. Your thighs burned and trembled uncontrollably as you rode him with frantic desperation while his core ached from his frantically bucking up into you, both of you chasing your highs. His biceps bulged and ached, the cuffs biting into his skin as he fought the overwhelming urge to break free and grab your hips to fuck you properly.
A choked-out cry of pleasure tore from your throat as your orgasm slammed into you and rippled through your body. Your walls clench viciously around him like a vice, triggering his own undying. Garrett threw his head back against the headboard, a loud moan ripping from his chest as his hips jerked sloppily off the mattress, as he buried himself to the hilt, as he emptied himself deep inside you.
Your tired body immediately leaned forward in exhaustion as you came down from your shared highs. Your boobs were heavy and soft against his broad, hard chest, sweaty bodies melting against each other. Your breath was hot against the sweaty skin of his neck, pants leaving your parted lips. Your eyes fluttered closed, your eyelashes creating shadows across your cheeks.
Garrett grinned cockily at the sight of you so completely fucked out on top of him, how you nuzzled your face into his neck, scrunching your nose at the ticklish feeling of his slightly damp curls from sweat, brushing against your forehead. His chest vibrated against yours as he chuckled breathlessly, the handcuffs rattled against the headboard as he shook his hands, whispering teasingly, “You gonna let me out of these?”
JOHN LOGAN :
Logan caught on fast. He knew what you were doing before you even played that damn song; the ‘subtle’ hints you were dropping weren’t so subtle. For days, you had been sending him cute videos of babies throughout the day, during class, during his practices…all the parents looked to be close to your guy’s age. He noticed the change in you ever since the two of you babysat your baby nephew; you wanted a baby…with him.
“One of me is cute, but two though?” You sang along to the song of your choosing, that way playing through the speakers of your boyfriend's truck. Your fingers fiddled with the bracelet you wore—a gift from Logan—as you looked out the window so Logan wouldn’t see the mischievous smile on your lips.
The corners of Logan’s lips twitched up into a knowing smirk as he listened to you sing, glancing at you before focusing back on the road. He shook his head as he let out a small chuckle, his right hand moving to rest on your thigh, softly gripping into your plush skin. He spoke smoothly over the music, “You know, all you had to do was ask.”
“Hmm?” You did your best to hum in faux confusion, as you turned to look at him, your breath hitching at the sight of your boyfriend’s toothy grin. Your eyes traveled slowly across his features, his brown eyes that you fell in love with, the perfect slope of his nose, his dark scruff, his brown curls brushing against his nape, and down to his Adam's apple, you loved to nip at.
Your eyes dropped even lower, down his neck, you wanted to kiss, to the gold chain you loved to tug on, to a little of his chest hair that was peaking out from his loose flannel, the first few buttons being unbuttoned. Something he had done on purpose because he knew it drove you crazy, especially when you were sitting across the table at Malone’s, just counting the minutes until the two of you left your friends and you could finally pounce on him.
His hand on your thigh moved up, squeezing harder. Your eyes went back to his lips, watching as he slowly licked them before they twitched up into a cocky smile as he repeated his words so smoothly, “All you had to do was use your words and ask me to put a baby in you.”
Logan chuckled as he felt you squeeze your thighs together, his words clearly affecting you. He slipped his fingers under your skirt, so close to where you wanted him the most. His cocky smile turned into a smirk as he continued in a seductive whisper, “But you have to be a good girl and say please.”
+
The cold night air that slipped through the slightly opened window did nothing to cool their heated passion in the steamy truck. The truck rocked back and forth as Logan thrust deeply into you. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the truck along with their mixed moans and heavy breaths. The sound of a Bon Jovi song playing faintly on the radio.
“Look at you, angel—so pretty for me.” Logan cooed with a breathy moan, his breath hot on your chest as he mouthed at your tits and collarbone. Your dress collar was pulled down, giving him the perfect sight of your sweaty, bouncing tits.
“Logan, please—don't stop!” You cried out, that hand tangled in his hair softly tugged on his strands while the other held onto his waist, pulling him in deeper if that was even possible. A loud groan left his lips at the pleasurable sting of your tug on his hair. He used the momentum of his hand resting on your head on the seat—his other hand was cradling the top of your head, protecting it from hitting against the door from his heavy thrusts—to quicken his pace.
“Yeah?—want me to make you a mommy?” Logan grunted in your neck with a low moan, his eyes nearly closing in pleasure at the thought of you, round with his baby. You nodded fast, mind too clouded with pleasure to find the words. He moved his hand from the bench of the truck to grip your chin, turning your face back towards him. His face is so close to yours that when he speaks, his lips brush against yours.”Tell me.”
“Please—please, I want your babies…fill me, John.” You sobbed desperately, your voice broken and whiny. The heat, the feeling of his sweaty body pressed against you, the pleasure—it was all too much and just what you wanted. Your hand on his waist moved lower, your nails digging crescents into the plush skin of his ass.
”That’s all you want, baby?—to be filled?” He rasped, his voice thick with lust and want. His breaths were getting faster against your neck as he felt your walls clamp around him, milking them both closer to their release. Logan's eyes nearly rolled back at the sound of your babbling begs, leaning in to capture your lips in a messy, passionate kiss. One of his hands travels downwards, grasping the curve of your ass and pulling your hips up to meet his frantic thrusts.
“Take it.” He manages through clenched teeth, his voice strained as he breaks from the kiss, a string of saliva still connecting him. His forehead dropped to your shoulder as he let out guttural moans, his balls slapping hard against your ass as he spilled deep inside of you. You felt everything, every pulse, every twitch, and hot jets of cum filling you up.
Your vision went white as intense waves of ecstasy went through your body, your hands pawing at him and your eyes rolling back. You cried out his name, a shaking, sobbing mess of pleasure as you reached your peak, incoherent babbles leaving your lips as your mind went blank. Logan didn’t stop, fucking you through your orgasm and into a blissful high with lazy thrusts until the two of you were whimpering and trembling messes.
DEAN DI LAURENTIS :
Dean bit his bottom lip as he quietly stopped in his tracks in the doorway of the kitchen, trying to blink the sleep from his eyes as fast as he could as his eyes zeroed in on you, his jaw nearly going slack. He had woken up alone in his bed from a nap—he was exhausted after practice and convinced you to get back in bed with him—to the sound of you singing and dishes clinking.
You stood at the counter, whisking something in one of those fancy bowls Tucker had bought them as a housewarming gift. From where he was standing, you seemed to only be wearing one of his shirts, his eyes lingering on the way your hips swayed to the beat of the song that was playing from the Bluetooth radio on the counter.
Dean was quiet as he walked up behind you, smiling at the cute gasp of surprise you let out when you felt his arms wrap around your waist. You paused on whisking the cookie dough when you felt your boyfriend's strong arms wrap around you. Dean groaned dramatically as he dropped his forehead to your shoulder. “You are driving me fucking crazy.”
“What did I do now?” You couldn’t help but giggle at your boyfriend's dramatic grumpiness in his tone. Dean moved his arms from around your waist to rest his big, warm hands on your hips, pulling you back flush against his chest, letting out a small groan at the feeling of you pressed against his hot skin.
He pouted and rubbed his nose against your neck needily before muttering with an accusatory tone, “You singing those lyrics! God, I can’t concentrate on anything.”
You bite your lip to stop yourself from smirking triumphantly. Instead, you put on a faux innocent smile before licking the cookie dough off your finger, shrugging, “Oh!…oops.”
“Oh, that’s all you have to say, princess, hmm?” Dean teased you with a playful, dramatic huff as he slipped one of his hands under your shirt to softly caress your stomach. He admired your side profile, how pretty you looked as you smiled, clearly enjoying his dramatics.
His eyes dropped to your hands, watching how you put perfectly sized circles of cookie dough on the cookie pan. There was just something so domestic about seeing you wear his shirt, hair messy from their shared nap, baking in their kitchen, and singing those naughty lyrics about wanting a baby. He wanted nothing more than to have a family with you. He rested his palm on your stomach, just imagining.
Dean let out a loud groan as his imagination started to run completely wild with more thoughts about you. His hold on your hips tightened as he closed his eyes and whined needily, “Fuck now, all I can think about is putting a baby in you.”
You smirked at how whiny your boyfriend sounded. You tilted your head to the side so he could hear you better as you slowly whispered flirtatiously, “If you let me finish these, maybe you can.”
+
You pulled away from the messy kiss with a small gasp, your eyes fluttering open at the sound of silverware hitting the floor, echoing through the kitchen along with the lewd sound of skin slapping on skin. Dean didn't seem to care about the interruption; his thrusts didn’t falter as he now started kissing and sucking down your neck. Your words barely forming with all the moans slipping through your parted lips, “Dean—fuck! Be careful.”
“You feel like fucking heaven.” Dean purred in your ear with a cocky grin, teasingly nipping at the sensitive skin on your neck, making you whine and purposely clench around him. The rhythm of his thrusts faltered as he let out a choked-out whimper that he would never admit to making. The cocky look on your face was gone as soon as it appeared. One of his hands that gripped your hips slid up to grip the back of your neck, tilting your head back.
“You’re taking me so well, such a good little slut for me.” Dean moaned breathlessly against your lips, moving his hand from your neck to grip your jaw, forcing your mouth open. You let out a needy whine at the feeling of him thrusting into you deeper. He leans in closer, not breaking eye contact as he spits in your mouth, a slow grin spreading across his face at the sight of you eagerly swallowing it with a loud moan.
“That’s it.” He praises you, his thumb pressing down on your tongue to keep your mouth open, the sounds of your gag going straight to his cock. He thrusted into you faster, using his grip on your jaw to hold you in place, not breaking eye contact, watching as you galled apart on his cock. The wet, lewd sounds of their passion filled the kitchen.
He gave your jaw a gentle squeeze before he moved his hand back down to your hip, sliding his hands down to dig his fingers into the plush of your ass, pulling you closer to meet his thrusts as he changed his angle to fuck into you deeper. He could feel your thighs trembling around him, the way your walls were clamping around him, how your moans got louder.
“Cum on my cock, baby, feel me filling you up.” His voice was husky with want, holding himself from cumming deep inside of you; he wanted to feel you fall apart on his cock first. His demands and frantic pace push you hard over the edge. Your back arches, eyes rolling back as your orgasm crashes into you, everything about it was loud and intense.
“Dean, don't stop!” You cried out, a small hiss of pleasure leaving your boyfriend's lips at the feeling of your nails digging into his skin. Your pussy clamps around him, speaking his cock as you completely fall apart around him. Your head lolled back against the cabinet, tits bouncing with his hard thrusts, the sound of deans grunts and loud moans mixed with your whines and high pitched moans.
“God, you’re milking me, princess—fuck!” Dean lets out a loud guttural moan at the feeling of your walls holding onto him for dear life. It pushes him deep into your sweet spot, flooding your walls with his hot cum as he continues to fuck you through both of your orgasms’ aftershocks. Not stopping until it was too much for your sensitive bodies.
Dean placed wet, lazy kisses across your shoulder and neck, his hands softly rubbing your trembling hips and sides, your body still clinging to him. He slowly pulled away from your sweaty skin to grin teasingly at you, softly bumping his nose against yours “Think those cookies are ready? We’ve worked up quite the appetite.”
JOHN TUCKER :
Tucker watched you with a small smirk as he leaned against the doorframe of your bathroom, watching as you leaned over the bathroom sink to look closer into the mirror as you did your eyelashes. He pushed himself off the doorway and moved to stand behind you. You were so used to his touch that you didn’t flinch when he rested his hands on your hips. He softly caressed your sides with a smile as he asked: “Who’s Juno?”
You pulled the mascara wand away from your eyes and set it down on the counter as you pulled back from the mirror, gaping at your boyfriend in disbelief. "You're kidding—you've never seen Juno?”
You watched as he shrugged carelessly, shaking his head no with that cute smile you loved. You roll your eyes playfully with a dramatic sigh of false disappointment as you stand up straight. You keep your eyes locked with his eyes through the mirror as a teasing smile decorates your face. “Remind me why I'm dating you?”
Tucker chuckled and moved one of his arms up from your waist, flexing his muscles at you in the mirror with a wink. He wore that slutty muscle tank that he knew drove you crazy, showing off his stretch marks you loved to kiss. He smirked as he answered you with a flirty tone, “Oh, my muscles definitely.”
You giggled at his flirting as you turned around to face him, leaning back against the counter as you tilted your chin to look up at him. Tucker rested his hands on the counter as he leaned in closer to you, successfully trapping you. He licked his lips, clearly enjoying how you looked up at him through your eyelashes.
He leaned even closer, his accent thicker as he whispered: “So are we?”
You rest one of your hands on his hip, fidgeting with the waistband of his sweatpants, before you lean forward to place soft kisses on the little sliver of skin not covered on his shoulder. You raised your eyebrow and let out a small hum of confusion, “Hmm?”
Tucker let out a small groan with a mixture of a moan at the feeling of your lips on his now warm skin, along with the feeling of your fingers teasingly slipping under the band of his sweatpants. All thoughts of joining your friends at Malone's were long gone in their minds. He moved one of his hands from the counter to cup your jaw, whispering with a faux innocent smile, “Gonna try out some freaky positions?”
+
Your body felt beautifully spent with an ache that settled into your limbs from the intense, flexible position he coaxed you out of. Your body practically melted into the sheets as he carefully rolled you onto your stomach. The sudden shift made your body protest, but the weight of his sweaty body pressing against your back as he placed a wet kiss on your shoulder made the soreness completely worth it.
Your chest was smushed against the sheets of your dorm bed, makeup no doubt dirtying your soft sheets. Your boyfriend let out a desperate moan at the sight of your wet pussy. Your ass was perfectly hiked up in the air. Tucker's rough hands gripped your hips with a bruising force as he fucked into you with one heavy thrust.
“Tuck!” Your loud cry of pleasure was muffled by the sheets, the sound vibrating through the sheets. The thrust stole the air right out of your lungs as you let out a choked-out whine, your fingers scrambling desperately to grip onto the messy sheets. The feeling of him thrusting deep into you was too much; everything felt so sensitive, you were so close to your high before Tucker changed the position.
”That’s it, baby, you can take it.” Tucker whispered in your ear; his voice was low, and you could hear his smirk. How could he not feel cocky at the sight of you, a mess on his cock. Your face smushed against the mattress, your mouth parted as filthy moans left your lips. A thin string of drool escaped the corner of your mouth, and your eyes glazed over in lust.
”Tuck…oh god, John!—so good!” You moaned loudly, mixing with the sound of his pelvis slapping against the plush of your ass, echoing through your room. Neither of you cared about being quiet. You reached back, your trembling fingers gripping onto his wrist and pulling him forward with a desperate whine.
You didn't need to say anything else; he knew what you wanted.
He slipped his arm under your neck, guiding you into a hot and sweaty headlock that had your head spinning and your body melting into his. He wasted no time as he began to thrust into you with an intense hunger, that coil in his stomach getting tighter.
“Fill me up—please, John!” You begged him, your words slurred and broken as you continued to babble on about how bad you needed it. You were nothing but a trembling, drooling mess beneath him, completely lost in the pleasure from his cock and praise. Your nails dug into his arm, nearly sobbing as you tried to grind back against him, you couldn’t even finish your thought, so cock drunk, “Please! John, can I—ahh!”
“Since you asked so nicely—my greedy girl,” he rasped in your ear, his voice thick with lust as he let out a guttural moan. He felt your walls clenching around him, desperately milking him and pulling him over the edge. Tucker moaned into your ear, his hips going still with a choked-out whine as you felt thick ropes of his cum fill you up in heavy spurts.
The feeling of him filling you up, along with his sloppy thrusts, brings you to your peak. You were completely gone, your body trembling and brain completely going blank as your orgasm ripped through your body. Leaving you a moaning and whining mess.
Tucker chuckled breathlessly at the small whimpers and pants leaving your lips as the two of you tried to catch your breath, minds still foggy in pleasured haze. He placed a wet and long kiss on your shoulder, smiling as he mumbled: “Wanna watch that movie now?”
┊࿐ ❛❛ continue on to my…. 𝙢𝙖𝙞𝙣 𝙢𝙖𝙨𝙩𝙚𝙧𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 ❜❜
Ი𐑼 actually obsessed with the layout for this one , I wanted to post this sooner but I was just oh so busy to finish it !! I really hope you guys like it , writing smut is always so hard for me 💔 please tell me your thoughts , feedback is always appreciated and so are comments and reblogs , luv you bbys 🐇
also I am a proud lover of them em dash <3
᧔᧓ if this seems familiar it’s because I’ve taken it from my old blog and rewrote and added to it !
have you seen the tiktok trend of the girlfriends telling their boyfriend they found their bestie on hinge/tinder. think of that with garrett graham, his reaction would be hilarious
OBSESSED WITH THIS!!!!!!
trouble
summary - you’re going to send garrett to an early grave with some of these tiktok pranks
pairing - garrett graham x girlfriend!reader
word count - 948
You slumped down on the sofa next to Dean.
Garrett was on the other side of the sofa, doing whatever guys did on their phones.
You had set up this prank with Dean, to play on your boyfriend, after having seen it on your TikTok a couple of times.
“Dude, you have to see this.” You said to Dean, sitting shoulder to shoulder with him as you pretended to show him the fake Allie profile you’d set up on Hinge. Yes you’d really gone to lengths trying to perfect this prank.
“What?” Dean asked, looking up from his own phone at yours.
“Allie’s on Hinge.”
“Huh?”
“Allie. I found her on Hinge.”
“Like the dating app?” Dean pretended to look confused as he put down his phone to look at yours.
You subtly looked at Garrett from across the room, who you could tell was actively listening but still paying close attention to his phone.
“Yeah, look.” You fully handed Dean your phone.
“The fuck?” Dean spluttered. “I literally took this photo of her.”
“That’s seriously what you’re focusing on right now?” You gaped.
“But look…”
“Yes, I’ve seen, Dean.”
“What are you two freaking out about?” Garrett piped up.
He was peering over his phone at you two like he was absolutely done with whatever nonsense was ensuing. He had told you multiple times about the day he regretted introducing you to Dean.
“My girlfriend has Hinge, G!”
“Oh.” His brows furrowed and you wondered whether he had already sussed out the situation. “Let’s see.”
You tried to hold back a laugh as your boyfriend walked over to your side of the sofa, sandwiching you between him and Dean as he sat next to you.
Garrett looked over your shoulder to your phone in Dean’s hand.
Dean gave you the side eye as Garrett intensely looked at the fake Allie profile. Both of you wanted to laugh so bad, but you were in too deep to stop the prank now.
“God.” Garrett tutted. “Why would she do that?”
“Fuck if I know.” Dean answered.
He scrolled down Allie’s profile, past the pictures and prompts. It was made to look like she’d really taken building a profile seriously.
Then Garrett pulled away from you really fast.
You pursed your lips to keep you from laughing as Dean looked at his best friend with teasing eyes.
“Hold the fuck up a minute.”
“What?” Dean played.
“Who’s Hinge are we looking at this on?” Garrett asked.
Hook, line and sinker.
The crux of the prank.
“I dunno. Y/N passed me her phone.” Dean shrugged.
Your chin was cupped by Garrett’s hand. He twisted your face so you were looking at him, his eyes wild and eyebrows raised.
“Yes?” You teased.
Garrett just raised his eyebrows further.
“Why do you have Hinge?” He looked at you, assessing every micro-movement.
Dean returned your phone to your lap and scooted an inch away from you, clearly very disturbed by whatever was happening between you and Garrett.
“I don’t know.” You shrugged.
“You don’t know?” Garrett challenged, dropping his hand from your chin now that he knew he had your attention.
“She doesn’t know.” Dean chimed in, causing Garrett to momentarily shoot dagger eyes at him.
“Shut up Dean.”
Garrett didn’t look angry or upset.
He just genuinely looked confused at what was going on - like he was missing a central piece of information.
“You download it by accident?” He asked.
“Maybe.” You shrugged again.
You chanced a look at Dean, who was way too focused on his lap to be acting normal. He clearly felt your gaze on him because the next minute he was trying to hold back a grin, causing you to bite the inside of your cheek to do the same.
“You know what I think?” Garrett asked, and you turned back to look at him.
“Hm?”
“I think you’re both idiots.”
You broke by letting out a burst of laughter, whilst Dean already began to protest.
“Uh - What? So you don’t think your girlfriend’s cheating?”
Garrett looked at Dean like he’d just said the most ridiculous thing ever.
“No.” He said matter of factly. No hesitation.
The simple word made your laughter dry up.
You saw the sparkle come back to life in his eyes when he looked at you. He was clearly beginning to understand the lack of seriousness in this situation.
Your hand moved to link through his and you squeezed tight for reassurance.
“But seriously, why do you have Hinge?”
“It was a TikTok prank, I’m sorry.” You said.
“So the joke was that I had to notice you had Hinge, not that Allie was cheating on Dean?”
“Woah - no-one’s cheating on anyone, buddy. It’s a fake profile. My girlfriend is very much obsessed with me.”
“You two are exhausting.”
“You love us really.” Dean said.
Your boyfriend sighed and fell back flat on the sofa, covering his eyes with his hands.
You decided to lay down with him - or, on top of him - before he could escape. His hand automatically moved down to cup against your back, despite the complaint he’d made moments before.
“See?” Dean tried.
“Don’t start.”
“But that’s love. Right there.”
“Dean.”
“I’m just saying…”
“Dean!”
“How am I the one in trouble? Your girlfriend’s the one with a fake Hinge profile.”
“And she will be in trouble later.” You buried yourself into the crux of Garrett’s neck as he spoke, trying to hide the rising blush.
“Okay, at some point there’s too much love, G…” Dean gagged. Deciding there was only so much affection he could witness in one day, Dean got up and left, leaving you and Garrett alone.
summary - the off campus house is having a party but you're not feeling it. luckily your boyfriend lives there and so you retreat to his bedroom (your safe space)
pairing - garrett graham x reader
word count - 3.7k
You let out a snicker as Garrett kissed your neck.
Both of you were cuddled up on the sofa of the off campus house - Garrett’s all-but suffocating yours.
“You know, it deflates a man’s ego if you laugh when he’s trying to be romantic.” His face was buried against your neck, making you giggle even more as his breath tickled your skin.
You knew he was only messing with you, but for the sake of his ‘man’s ego’ you tried your best to compose yourself.
“Sorry.” You smiled.
You reached your hands to cup his jaw, bringing his face up to meet yours. His gaze darkened as he looked at your lips.
“No you’re not.”
Garrett’s body sunk into yours as he kissed your already fucked-looking lips.
His body was hard against yours, your clothed chest pressing against his in a way that made you wish you weren’t wearing anything. Yet, it was best to be clothed in a house full of guys because you never know when they might walk—
“Hello lovers!” Dean announced as he entered the front door, Allie in tow.
Garrett groaned with annoyance as he stopped kissing you and resorted to burrowing his way back into the crook of your neck.
“Hi Dean.” You answered for both you and Garrett.
“Looking very cosy.” Dean said, hopping over the couch and landing his ass on top of Garrett’s - causing you both to wince at the added pressure.
“Dean!” Allie tutted.
“Fucking prick.” Garrett mumbled, holding you tighter to protect you from his wild best friend.
The comfort of Garrett’s arms around you was second to none. You loved feeling coddled and safe, like the world was not as scary when you were wrapped up in him.
“Dean you’re too heavy. Get off.” You whined.
“I literally weight less than Garrett.”
“And yet I have you both on top of me.”
“Well tell Garrett to get off instead.”
“No fucking way.” Garrett’s head revealed itself from your neck, showing Dean the annoyance he was feeling. “Get off.” He swatted Dean.
“Boys will be boys.” Allie laughed, sitting on the other side of the couch.
Dean shortly left you two alone and over to his girlfriend.
You and Garrett remained laid down, even though you were aware you took up an entire length of the L-shaped sofa. Your boyfriend was too happy cuddled up against you and you didn’t really have any reason to move.
Garrett’s head remained on your chest this time, giving up on trying to kiss you or bury himself deep into your neck - his safe space.
One of your hands run through his curls - something you knew he loved the feeling of. He couldn’t help the fact he was a man whose love language was physical touch.
“Did you use my shampoo this morning?” You asked quietly, as Dean was preoccupied bickering with Allie.
“Mm.”
“I can smell it.”
“At least it smells good.” He gave a slight chuckle.
“It does.”
“Reminds me of you.”
You kissed the top of his head, inhaling the smell of almond butter and something fruity.
The front door opened again and Hannah, Logan, Grace and Tucker came in. Everyone greeted each other, and fortunately no one was rude enough to jump on top of you this time.
“So what time is everyone getting ready?” Tucker asked, sitting down on the edge of the couch next to Allie with a bowl of crisps.
“Ready for what?” Grace asked, curled up besides Logan.
“Party tonight. Here.” Dean answered for her.
“Another one?” Allie threw her head back with a sigh.
“It’s fun, Allie Cat.”
“Bite me.”
You could feel the sexual tension dripping off them both from a mile away, let alone sat just across the room from them.
Instead of giving Dean the opportunity to make some gross joke, Logan chimed in. “I’m only going to take a quick shower. So… In, like, an hour Tuck?”
“Quick shower that turns into an hour long makeout session with your girlfriend.” Dean rolled his eyes and laughed when Logan threw a pillow at him.
“He does have a point.” Garrett’s voice vibrated against your chest as he spoke.
“Says you, G.” Logan scoffed.
You chuckled through a blush, noting Garrett’s own smug smirk.
“Well us girls are getting ready together. You guys are on your own.” Allie announced, making Logan pout and Dean dramatically cry out.
Garrett protests by tightening his hold on you, keeping you in his strong hold beneath him.
“Coming, Y/N?” Hannah asked.
She held her hand out to you, ready to help you escape your boyfriend.
You gripped her hand and she tugged with as much force as she could, but it barely made you move an inch. No thanks to your - as established by Dean - boyfriends heavy weight.
“Save me!” You joked.
“Noooo.” Garrett grumbled.
“I’ll get him, you get Y/N.” Dean walked along the sofa and hovered over Garrett’s body, ready to physically remove him from you.
The rest of the room were either laughing-on or filming. Allie came to stand beside Hannah, holding out her other hand for you to take.
“Ready?” Hannah laughed, “3, 2, 1…”
“Heave!” Dean shouted.
Your body moved from underneath Garrett’s more easily as Dean lifted him up. Garrett was trying to bite back a smile, but ultimately he was pissed that you were being dragged away from him - literally.
Your body slid over the side of the sofa. Your top half was on the floor, whilst your top half was still on the sofa.
“Piss off.” Garrett said, trying to struggle against Dean.
“Boys?”
Dean called the other guys over and the helped raise Garrett off you completely.
After you were cleared of Garrett - feeling surprisingly cold without him near - you hugged your girls hello. It had been a long week and you were happy to get to hang with them now. Even if your boyfriend hated the distance.
Garrett (8:08PM): I miss you.
Garrett (8:08PM): Like a lot.
“God, you two are so disgusting.” Hannah laughed as she read the notifications on your phone. She was helping you with your makeup as the messages from Garrett came through.
“Hey… rude.”
“I mean, you’re also stupidly cute together.” She shrugged her shoulders, applying more highlighter to your cheekbones.
“How are things going with Justin?” You asked her, leaving Garrett on delivered (so needy).
“Okay, yeah. We’re taking it slow.” She smiled.
“Slow’s okay.”
“Yeah. I’m not sure he agrees though.”
“Well that’s shitty of him. You deserve happiness on your own timeline.”
Hannah smiled at you with her kind eyes. She gave you a hug at that comment and you squeezed her tight.
“Love you.” She said.
“Love you too.”
Allie and Grace walked into Garrett’s room then, which you had all taken over to get ready together. Garrett had been allowed to grab some clothes and cologne, but after that he had been banished.
They walked in with two drinks each.
“What are we cuddling for?” Allie asked, placing one drink on Garrett’s desk for you - Grace doing the same for Hannah.
“Love.” Hannah smiled.
“Oh I can get in on that.” Grace laughed, pulling herself around you and Hannah. Allie joined next.
“Ugh okay. Let’s get drunk!” Hannah escaped the hug, forcing you all to disperse.
“Hell yeah!”
“Aye!”
The next half an hour was spent doing finishing touches on makeup, hair and outfits.
Allie had borrowed clothes from Hannah’s closet. Grace had borrowed Allie’s makeup. You stole some of Hannah’s jewellery.
This was what girlhood was about.
You were wearing your own high waisted, black, pin-stripe trousers along with a ridiculously flattering burgundy corset top from Hannah’s wardrobe. Your shoes were your platform Doc Martens.
After you’d taken a fair amount of pictures with each other, as well as some solo-shots, you decided that you were finally ready to join the party.
Technically the party had started at 7PM and it was now almost 9PM, but no one ever turned up this early.
The girls left Garrett’s room and you told them you’d be there in one moment, because you almost forgot to put back on the necklace that your boyfriend had bought for you. You’d had to take it off whilst getting ready, at risk of it getting damaged.
You were stood by your overnight bag, watching out of Garrett’s window as party-comers arrived, and fiddled with the clasp of your necklace to secure it.
When Garrett’s arms melted around your waist you didn’t panic, because you knew it was him.
His lips kissed your neck, causing you to automatically lean away for him to have better access.
“Stop.” You laughed.
“Stop?”
“Yes, I’m trying to put my necklace back on.”
“But,” He kissed your neck again, “You’re,” Kiss, “So,” Kiss, “Beautiful.” Kiss.
“You’re intolerable.”
“Maybe.” He kissed you one last time, before taking his arms from around your waist and bringing them up to help you clasp your necklace together. “Or maybe I just love you.”
With your necklace secured, you turned around to face him.
His eyes were darkened as he looked down at you - genuinely, probably, undressing you with his eyes.
From this distance you could smell his cologne and it was so delectable. You subtly breathed him in and tried to keep calm over how feral it made you.
He was wearing a forest green sweater, with a white t-shirt peeking from underneath and his classic gold chain on show.
“What?” You smiled, blushing.
Garrett didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to.
His hands came to cup your cheeks and tilt your face to an angle where he could kiss you better.
You melted like butter as he kissed you.
It was only a safe peck, but one that you could get lost in for a moment. You could tell he knew that you’d be mad if he messed up your makeup at this point in the night.
He pulled back an inch, with a smirk, only to lean back in and kiss you again because he really couldn’t get enough of you.
“You taste like cherry liqueur.” He said.
“Allie made us do shots.”
“Sounds about right.”
Garrett’s hands dropped from your cheeks down to the waistband of your trousers, looping his finger into the belt holds.
Your own hands slid up his chest, scrunching the material there.
Both of you stared at each other for a few moments. A silent conversation passing between you both with nothing but sparkling eyes and breathing tempos to go off.
“Ready to go downstairs?” You asked.
“I mean… We could just stay in here..”
“That’s not an option.”
“So there is an alternative to going downstairs?” He raised an eyebrow.
You shook your head, “I promise I’ll be in your bed at the end of the night, Graham. Just not yet.”
You leaned up to kiss him one more time, but before he could get too into it and completely make you ignore what you’d just promised you broke away from him and walked over to his open bedroom door.
“C’mon.” You held out your hand for him.
He made a sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh, before pretending to be reluctant in joining his hand with yours and head downstairs.
There are surprisingly more people downstairs than you thought there would be.
Dean and Allie are already on the makeshift dance floor. Tucker and Logan are doing shots. Hannah and Grace are chatting to some new people.
Garrett holds your hand as he leads you down the stairs, looking back every so often to get a glimpse of you. He's always had a hard time keeping his eyes off you for more than five minutes at a time.
"Want a drink?" He asked.
You both walked into the kitchen area. "Not yet." The drinks you'd had upstairs with the girls kind of felt like your limit already.
"Okay." He kissed your forehead and let you go so he could grab himself a beer from the fridge.
You looked around the room as Garrett took a long drink.
There were some people here that you knew, through friends, hockey or another reason, but there were also so many people that you didn't know. Like the crowd of girls that were sat on the sofa and shamelessly ogling your boyfriend.
“Garrett Graham, holy shit.” You could hear them from over here.
You looked down at yourself then, tugging at the bottom of your top to cover the slither of skin that had started to appear on your waistline.
Garrett's hand slunk around your waist moments later, pulling you close to his side.
Your gaze lifted to his, smiling when you realised he was already smiling down at you.
"G! What's up?" A guy shouted as he entered the kitchen area.
Garrett smiled, his hand leaving the comfort of your body to give the guy a bro-hug. "Hey, man. You know Y/N, right?”
"Yeah of course." The guy nodded at you, before moving onto the next guy to greet.
Garrett's hand came back home to land on the small of your back, watching carefully to make sure no one bumped into you whilst they were greeting one another.
You watched on as Garrett keep greeting new people, but always keeping you close.
He would kindly introduce you to everyone you didn't know, even if most of them never stuck around long enough to actually learn anything about you. There were only a few things guys at parties ever really wanted to talk about; hockey, sex, and girls. Since Garrett no longer participated in conversations about two of those things, people tended to drift away pretty quickly - especially when they realised his girlfriend was standing right beside him.
As Dean came over and started talking about some inside joke, you noticed that Garrett was hanging on to every word his best friend was saying.
This was a good moment for you to let him have his fun with the guys.
“I’m gonna go find the girls for a bit.” You said.
"Okay baby.” He smiled and kissed your forehead.
You walked out of the kitchen area feeling weird.
Like the second you stepped downstairs, the party had stopped feeling like Garrett’s home and started feeling like everyone else’s territory instead.
You smiled politely at someone who walked past you, rubbing your arm subconsciously as you weaved through the growing crowds of people to your girls.
As you spotted the girls jumping up and down, whilst simultaneously grinding on each other, you overheard a couple of girls voices on the sofa in front of you - the same ones that had been ogling Garrett before.
"Wait, that's his girlfriend?"
One girl had her phone open on Garrett's Instagram, looking at a photo from a charity hockey ball of the two of you. She clicked on the photo, bringing up your tag and clicked on it to bring her to your page.
"Y/N." The other girl said, "Doesn't she work at Malone's?"
"Yeah."
"Got Garrett Graham as a boyfriend and yet still has to work a side-job? Yikes."
Your gaze focused back on your friends having a great time with each other, but you couldn't find it in your heart to go and join them now.
You were becoming so aware of yourself in that moment. Your clothes suddenly feeling wrong and you don't know where to stand.
Before you could overthink it, your feet were already carrying you back toward the stairs.
Back to Garrett’s room.
Back to somewhere that felt familiar.
"Ready for another round of shots?" Dean asked, causing a chorus of cheers from the surrounding guys in the kitchen area.
Garrett laughed to himself, sipping on his first and last beer.
He looked towards the makeshift dance floor, looking for you but his eyes could only pick out Allie, Hannah and Grace from the crowd.
Garrett's eyebrows furrowed as he pushed off the counter he was leaning on to get a better view. His hand reached for the phone in his trouser pocket, checking to see if you had messaged but there was nothing.
Perhaps you had gone to the toilet.
“I’ll be back,” he muttered to Dean before moving through the crowd toward the girls.
A hand on his sweater tugged him away from the direction he was going and he turned around instantly, thinking it would be you, but his gaze only darkened when he realised it was a random girl he had hooked up with years ago.
"Hey Garrett."
“Hey,” he answered politely, already trying to step around her.
"Do you want to, maybe..."
"No." Garrett interrupted before she could even finish asking. Garrett sighed, not unkindly, just distracted.
"But..."
"I have a girlfriend."
"What she doesn't know won't hurt her."
Garrett stared at her for a second like she’d said something genuinely confusing. “Yeah, not really how this works.” He walked away from her before she could even reply.
The girls cheered when they spotted him approaching, but Garrett barely reacted.
He felt as though he wasn't completely right without you standing next to him.
His hand felt lost without having a place to hold against you. He shoved his beer-less hand into his trouser pocket for something to replace the feeling of yours.
“Where’s Y/N?” he asked immediately.
"I... don't know." Allie's expression visibly softened when she realised that Garrett was concerned.
"I haven't seen her since she came downstairs." Hannah said. "Why?"
"Doesn't matter. I'll catch you in a bit." He nodded at them in thanks.
As Garrett migrated his way through the house, he tried checking every corner of the room. People were constantly greeting him, but he was only focused on finding you.
After he had done a couple laps of downstairs and outside and still hadn't found you, his eyes drifted towards the stairs.
Garrett handed his half-finished beer to some random person before ascending the stairs.
You were laying on Garrett's bed when he came in.
"There you are."
You watched Garrett's eyes soften when he saw you. He closed his door behind him, locking it too, but not once taking his gaze off you - at risk of you disappearing again.
"Hey." You smiled.
"Hey."
He climbed on his bed, laying down next to you but slightly angling his body towards yours. One of his hands picked up one of yours to hold, his other softly brushing some hair off your forehead.
“Been looking for you.”
To anyone else, having Garrett Graham hovering just above you and focusing on nothing but you might be really intimidating, but to you there was no place you felt safer... or seen.
"Sorry. Just needed a minute."
You can tell your struggling to convince Garrett that you're okay, no thanks to the avoidance of eye contact and the fact you'd started rubbing your thumb against Garrett's hand anxiously. He didn't make any move to stop you though.
There was no way that you could hide how you were feeling for too long.
Garrett knew you too well.
There was no doubt that he could see the tension in your body and the way your smile hadn't fully reached your eyes.
"Talk to me, baby."
Garrett waited patiently beside you, thumb still brushing slowly over your knuckles. You focused on the movement, otherwise you were going to fall apart sooner than you wanted to.
“I don’t know.” You admitted quietly.
“You don’t know?”
“I just…” You huffed softly through your nose, staring somewhere near his shoulder instead of at him. “I suddenly felt weird downstairs. Like everybody else just… fit there better than I did.”
Garrett moved a little, rolling his neck slight, "“Did somebody say something to you?”
“Not really.”
"Baby... Help me understand." You focused on him then, and you could see his heart break when he noticed the pools of tears in your eyes. "Hey..."
"I'm sorry." Your lower lip wobbled. “It’s so stupid.”
"No, no. Don't do that. If you're upset, it's not stupid." He furrowed his eyebrows, desperately trying to understand you.
"I'm sorry I'm ruining your night."
"You're not, baby. At some point Dean is going to do a shot out of Beau's belly button and that will ruin the night."
You laughed at that, your chest raising up and down that let Garrett know it was a real life. He smiled at the sight, relieved to see the sparkle in your eyes come back to light.
“There she is.”
Once you stopped giggling over his Dean comment you felt ready and comfortable to let him in.
"I just didn't feel like I fit in down there. And it’s nothing you did. Or the girls. Or the guys. I don’t know. I sound insane trying to explain it."
Garrett shook his head softly.
"Sounds pretty human to me." He said.
"Garrett..." You scoffed.
"Y/N..." He returned the sentiment.
"I just zoomed out and felt uncomfortable being there. Just wanted to be somewhere else. Somewhere safe."
"And you chose my room?" Garrett made the moment sound so sweet.
"Of course." You nodded and Garrett’s expression softened so completely it almost made your chest ache.
“Baby…” he murmured. He stopped holding your hand, so he could cup your cheek gently, thumb brushing beneath your eye. Your throat tightened immediately. “I don’t want you feeling alone in a room I’m standing in."
"And I don’t… I didn’t feel alone. I think I just got in my head. It's probably that time of the month." You brushed it all off, feeling silly now.
"Not for another 13 days."
You gave Garrett the side eye with a knowing smirk, "13 days huh?"
"Precisely." He smiled, "So whatever you felt tonight was still okay to feel."
Garrett leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead before pulling you against his chest. You melted into him easily this time, the tight feeling in your chest finally beginning to loosen.
Downstairs, the bass still rattled through the floorboards and Dean’s voice echoed loudly through the house - no doubt doing that belly shot.
But up here, wrapped safely in Garrett’s arms, the noise didn’t seem so overwhelming anymore.
The Deal With The Devil | John Logan x Fem! Reader
Summary: Y/n is tired of her friends keep assuming she has a crush on Garrett Graham, her best friend's boyfriend. Her best solution? Make everyone believe she’s dating John Logan.
pairings: John Logan x Fem! Reader
warnings: Sexual themes implied. John Logan and the reader can’t stand each other. Some spoilers ahead. English isn’t my main language so excuse any mistake.
authors note: haven’t seen lots of x reader for off campus so i decided to write a little john logan imagine in honor of off campus eve.
Y/n wished things could be simple. She liked to consider herself a simple girl. But life didn’t want to hand her anything on a silver platter. Her love life couldn’t be a silly love story. She was cursed with the worst love trope known to man kind, unrequited love.
God, did it suck. Twenty guys in the Briar U Hockey team, yet she only had eyes for one. She wished she would’ve fallen for her best friend’s brother, that would have been easier than whatever she was feeling now. But no, here you were with a “crush” on your best friend’s boyfriend, Garrett Graham.
Y/n L/n had known Hannah Wells since freshman year. Both of them got assigned to the same dorm and after that, they instantly became friends after Hannah spotted Y/n’s One Direction posters covering her side of the dorm. Y/n and Hannah were tight so imagine Y/n’s surprise when she dropped the bomb that she didn’t like Justin Kohl anymore and that she was dating Garrett Graham.
At first, Y/n didn’t trust Garrett. He was a player. Word around Briar U got around quick and Hockey players didn’t have the best reputation when it came to relationships. You wanted a one night stand? The hockey boys were your guys. You wanted a serious commitment relationship? maybe check in the history department.
But after Hannah begged Y/n to hang out more with the couple, she started to enjoy his presence. She knew Garrett was attractive, at this point it was a requirement for the hockey team to be jacked, hot and have luscious hair. But Garrett wasn’t her type, at all. Maybe it was how Hannah spoke so highly of him or how she would see them together cuddle up by the common room couch wishing it was her that she picked up on the fact that she had a little crush on Garrett Graham.
She felt so guilty. Hannah was her best friend. Why did she have a crush of her best friend’s boyfriend? Yes, he was attractive but so were his roommates. Why couldn’t she have a crush on Dean, Tucker or even Logan.
She thought she had everything under control. One night after hearing them have their second round of sex, Y/n pulled up her notes app to come up with a plan to shake off her feelings. First, avoid one on one time with Garrett and Hannah. Second, try not to gawk when Garrett is around. Third, don’t daydream about watching a movie with Garrett. Don’t daydream about Garrett in general.
For Y/n, her crush on Garrett wasn’t obvious. But for everyone around her it was as clear as day. When she saw them together she would sprint the other way. Which made Dean comment and on the regular that maybe Y/n should consider joining the track team with how fast she would sprint out of that situation. She would also avoid eye contact with Garrett, rambling random excuses to not speak with him. Everyone knew about her little crush, even Hannah and Garrett, themselves.
So after much discussion with Hannah. She had convinced Allie Hayes to speak to you.
“Y/n, come on. I won’t judge. But the first step to overcoming this is admitting you have a problem.” Allie says sitting on the small twin size bed. Y/n forcefully laugh her eyes still glued on the computer in front of her, her physiology midterm essay glaring back at her.
“Allie, are you reciting an addict intervention script? I don’t need to overcome anything, like I said before, you are insane. Why would I have a crush on Garrett? First, he’s Hannah’s boyfriend. Second, he’s not my type? Third… I can’t think of a third because of how ridiculous this sounds.”
“You can’t think of a third because you are clearly lying and are in denial. Look, I won’t judge you Y/n. Garrett’s an attractive guy. But you need to accept that he’s in love with Hannah, so you can move on this pathetic little crush you have. You can’t avoid spending time with all of us forever.”
“I can since I'm here to get my degree. I’m not here to get shit wasted at a stupid frat party or to get accused about liking some guy by my friend. I’m not going, not because I'm avoiding Garrett and Hannah, I'm actually busy doing things?” Y/n replies shutting her computer. Allie scrunches up her face thinking of ways to deescalate the situation.
“You are starting to sound like Logan”
It was ironic. While Y/n was crushing badly on Garrett. John Logan, Garrett’s best friend, was crushing on Hannah. A full soap opera moment if you will. Y/n picked up on Logan’s crush, not because he told her, but because it was pretty fucking obvious with the way he acted around her. Then Y/n would wonder if she was also that obvious, but she would shake it off.
There were two possible options for Logan and Y/n. They could continue with their sad high school crush and avoidance, it would eventually work on the couple making them break up and date the two. or they could date each other to end each other's suffering. When the thought passes through her head Y/n doesn’t think about it twice. That’s how she found herself in John Logan’s room on a Friday night at 10:30pm.
“You told Allie what! No scratch that. How the hell did Allie believe you? You barely even speak to me.” Logan said looking down at Y/n with a stressed look on his face.
“I’m speaking to you right now, Logan.” Y/n claps back as she reads one of Logan’s notes from an Econ class.
There was a small problem with the little white lie Y/n had told Allie. Y/n L/n and John Logan, don’t get along at all. John Logan got along with loads of people, but Y/n was one of the girls that didn’t stick for him. One time she had insulted his form after a game in front of the guys and that was the start of his dislike towards her. They would constantly bicker and to the blind eye, people would consider that there was pent up sexual tension between the two, even if they both denied it.
“You know what I mean. We barely talk to each other and when we do it’s to fight about something stupid.” John replied back clearly annoyed at your comments.
“So, you admit that the things you usually say are stupid? See we are starting to get along already.” Y/n force a smile as she turns to look at the man pacing in front of her.
“How the hell would you tell her that we are together. She has to know you're lying. You clearly aren’t my type.” Logan sat in the chair in front of you tugging his hair frustrated.
“Gee thanks. Don’t worry I don’t go for condescending assholes. She always says we have this pent up sexual tension and that we should work on it. So my best bet was to say I was dating you for it to make some logic. I was helping you out because Tucker has been calling you out on your crush on Hannah and…”
“I don’t have a crush on Hannah.” Logan cuts you off. Slapping his hand on the table in front of him.
“ and I don’t have a crush on Garrett but if we work together we could put those fake rumors to rest.” Y/n replies in the same tone as him. John Logan stands up and leans toward you.
“Fine, it’s a deal. I’m not going to enjoy this. We are doing this under my rules” Logan’s hand rests between your knees pushing them apart.
“Fine.”
“First rule. If they are going to think we are together they need to hear us hooking up” Y/n feeezes, she starts nervously rambling but he chuckles. “ I don’t mean actual sex. We can fake it. Like I said, you aren’t my type.”
“Oh, really? I thought you fucked everything that has a skirt on.” Y/n replied sarcastically.
“I have my exceptions.”
Logan grabs the bottom of the bed and pushes it against the wall. He pushes it again, doing the same action repeatedly as the headboard hits the wall.
“They aren’t going to believe it if you don’t moan. Come on, I know you’re a screamer” Logan says making Y/n glare at him.
“You are a pig. That’s what you tell all your hook up’s to fake their moans?”
“Actually, I work for it. I have an impressive form when it comes to sex.”
“Just like your impressive form in hockey”
“L/n. I wasn’t the one that lied to our friends. If you want to keep this act up and make our friends believe it. No scratch if you so desperately wanted to be in a fake relationship with me, you need to put in the work. Now let me hear you.” He whispered in her ear, still continuing the moments with the bed. His arm would occasionally bump with your knee.
“Why would I be the only one moaning. You need to moan too!”
“I don’t moan.”
“Bullshit. I’ve heard you and you are pretty vocal. Come one John. Hannah and Garrett are next door. You want them to stop bothering with the crush? you better start moaning.” Logan let out a fake but impressive loud moan.
“Damn. Y/n” He let out a breathy moan. You hold in your laugh trying to take the situation as seriously as possible.
“Do I need to go down on you to hear you moan? Because I like a challenge, L/n.”
one shot based on 'cardigan' (specifically the line "chase two girl, lose the one") and steve is chasing after nancy and yn but loses yn in the process of that :D i love me some angst
omg i love this thank you for requesting, lovie!!! in all honestly i think this is more yearny than angsty, but i hope you enjoy!!
જ⁀➴ lose the one
steve harrington x fem!reader angst/yearn
cw: sexual innuendo’s, reader has a shitty dad that ruined her taste in men 💜, dumbass!steve
you… befriended steve at the start of sophomore year.
you use befriended very lightly because from the very start, nothing about you and steve was friendly.
it started off as him asking you to spend a day with him and his god awful friends at the carnival, to which you flat out refused.
he thought you were joking, because who would refuse to go on a date with king steve?
he became intrigued by you—steven harrington himself, not the hair or the king—and he wanted to figure you out. you were the only girl that didn’t swoon when he walked by, and he was determined to the change that.
gradually, throughout your sophomore year, you and steve grew flirtatious. it wasn’t anything that was guaranteed to grow into something more, but it also wasn’t not a chase.
it was long and quite painful if steve was actually serious about you. you were convinced he gravitated to your personality and wasn’t actually interested in pursuing you.
seeing him chase another girl did something to you. here’s the thing about steve harrington—his chases are special. he puts thought and care into each step towards you. he’s deliberate with his next move, and he pays attention.
at the start of your ‘friendship’ you took him up on that carnival offer, but under the condition that none of his friends were there.
you didn’t realize how much your condition sounded like a date. not until he kissed you under the streetlight outside your home.
you kissed him back, because how could you not?
“we’re friends, steve.” you pulled away, redrawing the lines of his chase.
“i’m gonna get you.” he said surely.
“you sound like a kidnapper.”
his hand rested on your hips, right on the band of your jeans.
you brought your hand up and smoothed his hair out of his face. “my friend can’t kidnap me, okay?”
at the time, you said it as if to continue the whole kidnapping joke you had going on. as you recall, you begin to wonder if it really was the joke you were referencing.
you begin to wonder if all those months ago you knew steve harrington should not, under no circumstances, catch you by the end of his chase.
should not, would not? potato potato.
his hand was now under your sweatshirt and rested on your bare waist, thumb brushing your ribs. he occasionally brushed over the lace detailing of your bra. the fabric—soft, yet prickly—stung him like rose thorns; it brought him back to life, but it reminded him about what he had been daydreaming about.
that’s why months later—as the same thumb grazed over nancy wheelers lace bra as she lay naked on his bed—he was surprised to come to the realization that he might have lost the real chase. the chase that truly mattered.
but, then, as he stood outside your house with his bare hand fanning over torso, he foolishly believed he was going to catch you.
he knew the chase would come to end, but he had no idea it would end with a completely different bunny tucked under his arm.
steve harrington was smart with his chase, you’d have to give him that. he chased you by being absolutely everywhere.
he was running behind you, beside you, and looking back at you. he was woven into your path like moss growing on gavel. you were almost fairly certain the chase would end with you in his arms. you were beginning to accept that.
throughout the chase, you and him took many breaks. you both got tired and wanted something real.
he would tell you all about his parents never being home and the unreal expectations they had. you would tell him about your asshole father and how you managed to manifest him in every single one of your boyfriends.
he’d wipe your tears away, “i’ll never be like your father. i won’t leave and i won’t be mean.”
he gave you false hope and that’s what you hated the most of all.
one day, a third addition joined your chase. a bunny much cuter and put together than you. a bunny with higher market value.
you couldn’t blame steve for being greedy.
he thought he would be able to manage you both. while nancy was the stable bunny, you were the bunny with the outline carved into steve’s heart.
steve attempted to fill what’s carved with nancy. he thought it was working, until it didn’t.
until he felt the familiar lace fabric on nancy and your name was on the tip of his tongue. he put nancy in a place she did not belong; his heart.
she felt his reluctance and stopped him from going any further.
don’t capture what doesn’t fit.
nancy fit, just not in the way steve needed. nancy was objective, he needed emotional. he needed something real. something that knew what she wanted. something not in the outline of nancy wheeler.
that night, the first name to be uttered was yours. she gave him a knowing look accompanied by, “what did you do?”
he hadn’t even felt you drift away; he didn’t fail to capture you, he failed to keep up with you.
you took turns to confuse him and he was too distracted to follow.
he was suddenly not woven into your path like you once assumed he was.
“i think you know what you need to do.”
he sprung into action, flying off his bed and putting on the first shirt he could find.
he was pulling out of the driveway before nancy could even fully redress.
he had been so foolish to believe he was able to chase both of what he wanted, he lost the one thing he needed.
he drove to your house and saw the absence of your car in the driveway.
his head fell on the wheel with a thud, accidentally hitting the horn as well.
your little brothers figure emerged from the second floor window, that familiar head of curls swaying in the wind. “the lake.” he called out to steve, voice drawled out in an impressed tone.
a tone that would’ve carried murderous undertones had he not be underaged and still covered in baby fat.
steve got to lovers lake in record time, determined to fix what he had broken.
you were perched on the hood of your car, feet dangling freely. because you were free. you were no longer being chased. promises of being caught were long forgotten.
the crunching of leaves made you tense up and look back. seeing him made you tense up even more which was definitely not the reaction he’d been hoping for. not when there once existed a version of you that found solitude in him.
“hey.” his throat bobbed, eyes widened in that way that made him look like a hurt puppy.
you turned back around, not offering him anything to latch on to. you weren’t going to allow him to resume the chase just because he had found you again. not when you so stupidly pranced around in front of him hoping to regain his attention and get chased.
“listen, i know i messed up-”
“messed up?” you repeated, voice scratchy. it was only then he saw the cigarette pinched between your two fingers.
cigarettes and lovers lake, two things steve harrington had claimed long ago.
you were finding solitude in him without actually going back to him, and he’d be lying if he said it didn’t tear his heart into two.
“no, you lost me,” his name was on the tip of your tongue, but you didn’t have it in you. your mouth couldn’t take the shape of his name, your lips can’t taste how it feels, and your tongue wasn’t allowed to guide it out. not when you spent so long forcing every inch of your being to forget him.
forgetting steve was not easy. it was the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.
forgetting steve was endless; you’d cry, forget, remember why you were crying, start crying, and forget. it was a cycle so vicious you couldn’t bring yourself to step out of because it made you feel something.
even if something was essentially in the form of nothing. when your heart would go numb from the crying and the convincing that forgetting him really was the best option, you were reminded as to why it hurt so bad.
you had heaven in between your fingertips and it withdrew itself oh so suddenly. you thought you were finally worthy of tasting heaven after living through hell.
“i’m here now.” he said firmly, walking to stand in front of you.
“barely.” you scoffed, venom dripping from your tongue. you grabbed his chin, forcing yourself to ignore the familiar tingle that came from touching him. you tilted his head and saw his neck littered in purple bruises.
the alternative phrasing love bites circled in your mind. he was loved and bitten. claimed.
not yours was painted on his skin in different shades of purple.
“bunny-”
“you don’t get to do that.” you cut him off. “you don’t get to call me that. not after-” the words got stuck in your throat, that huge lump forming refrained them from fully leaving.
even your body was against it. your body that was conditioned to his touch. your body that learned an entirely new language just to dance with his in wordless communication.
it felt the betrayal too. his betrayal pumped through your heart and flowed through your veins. your body was protecting you from what you didn’t think you needed protection from.
in a way, it’s similar to when you get a vaccine and they inject the virus in you.
“i trusted you.” you managed to make out, voice thick with a swarm of emotions. “i know it was all a game to you, but to just leave after saying you wouldn’t?”
“it wasn’t a game.” he said quickly. “it was never a game.”
your hands that was previously clenched into a fist on your lap now lay flat against his cheek after the sound of skin cracking ripped through the air.
“don’t lie to me.”
he placed a hand on his cheek where yours once was. even if it was for a fleeting moment, the feeling of your hand right where it belonged—on him—made his heart clench.
he’d get slapped again if it meant you would hold him again.
“i’m not lying.” he said breathlessly. “i swear. i don’t know what i was thinking—going after you and nancy at the same time. it was so easy with nancy. i showed her i was interested and she didn’t take me on a complete thrill of a chase. she folded. i had her, but i didn’t want her. not in the way i want you.”
“then why did you throw it all away? why?” you prodded his chest with your finger.
“i don’t know! jesus- i don’t know.” he ran a stressed hand through his hair.
“we had something good, steve.” that was the first time you’ve said his name in months. he had to press his fingertips on the hood of the car to stop himself from crumbling to the ground.
the physical effect your absence had on each other was desperate. it hurt to see and it hurt even more to feel. it hurt to feel so helpless when you were standing right in front of everything you’ve ever wanted.
“real good.” you added, ignoring the way your tongue tingled after saying his name. “it wasn’t stable, but it was good.”
“i don’t want stable.” he confessed. “i want deep talks and nights where you push me away and i crawl back in. i want nights that leave me restless because i’m so scared of what i would do for you. i want that stupid push-and-pull thing of ours back-”
“i want you to leave me the fuck alone. i told you,” you pointed an accusatory finger at him, hands shaky and voice wobbly. your bottom lip was trembling and tears were accumulating. “i told you everyone always leaves. and you told me you would stay.”
“i know, i swear- i’ll do anything to make it up to you. i was just scared! i was scared.”
you scoff, looking away and blinking tears back down. “of me?”
“of what you do to me.” he corrected. “of how you make me feel. i’m scared of myself and what i would do for you and because of you. not of you. never of you.”
you refused to meet his eye. you knew you would give in. you knew you couldn’t not give in. not when heaven was apologizing for the hell it put you through.
not when heaven is begging you to take him back.
he moved your head back to face him by your chin, hand now resting on the side of your face. his thumb brushed over your cheek and you hated the way you melted into his touch. your face leaned towards his hand in an act of psychological, biological, and neurological betrayal.
you didn’t want it, but every part of your being did.
“i know i messed up, bunny. i know i did. just give me one chance to prove myself to you. if i fuck up again, i’ll leave.”
“one chance?”
“it’s all i need, i swear. i- i saw what life looked like without you and it’s just- it’s not worth it. i won’t mess up again because i can’t. i can’t afford to.”
➤ summary: Rafe agreed to bet on you with his friends in hopes of getting you out of his system. but when he got hooked on you, the last thing that he ever wanted was you finding out the truth in the worst way
➤ w/c: 6.6k
➤ warnings: the whole bet situation, misogynistic men, creepy men, non-descriptive mention of sex, rafe is literally a lover boy and so down bad, lots of crying
➤ a/n: I am back after such a long break with another long fic (per usual). so happy to get back here and write about my favorite emotionally unstable boy again💘
masterlist taglist
The party in Rafe’s house was loud; you could barely squeeze through people with Sarah clinging onto your arm while you tried to find Rafe. You saw his buzzed head over the crowd, as he was seemingly higher above everybody else, and you tried your best to not trip over random drunk kooks while going towards him.
That other part of the house seemed like a breath of fresh air; your eyes locked with Topper’s, who was talking to Rafe, and you managed a friendly smile as you stepped closer to the circle of his friends, ready to say something. That was until you stopped sooner than your brain could actually process the words that reached you, until Topper started talking to Rafe, who was oblivious of your presence, throwing glances at you like he wanted you to hear it.
“...Like, bro, I know the prize is good, but I didn’t think you would actually spend three months with her.” The words washed over you like a bucket of ice-cold water, you froze in place, furrowing for a second and thinking that you were just imagining things. But Sarah’s quiet “what the hell?” snapped you back into reality.
“I told y’all—” Rafe started, irritation bleeding into his voice as he rolled the bottle between his fingers, jaw tight.
“Shit.” Kelce chimed in, laughing. “Poor girl, she’s already hooked. He doesn’t even gotta entertain her anymore. Game’s over.”
“Nah, Cameron just wanted to fuck.” Another voice said. Your ears started ringing, throat suddenly felt tight from the tears forming in your eyes. All of the guys started laughing like there was something funny about it, when all you could feel was the forming hole in your chest.
“Stop fucking saying that.” Rafe grumbled, clearly not happy about it, yet still not denying the whole bet thing.
Topper leaned in, smirk wide, clearly fueled by the chaos. “Aw, come on, man. Don’t act all holy now. We all saw how she was all over you after you hit it. Was the pussy worth the wasted time, at least?”
Rafe’s hand shot out before he even realized it, shoving Topper back so hard he nearly stumbled into the wall. “I said to shut your fucking mouth before I—”
“You can’t be serious, Rafe.” That was the moment Sarah spoke up, disgusted and surprised by the audacity. You felt all of the eyes landing on you instantly, even though you could swear that they started this conversation in the first place just because of you, just to humiliate you and get some kind of satisfaction from it.
Though when Rafe turned around, the bottle in his hand hit the floor, all the color from his face drained instantly, and his eyes were big and petrified. He shook his head no, walking towards you with hands in front of him, as he was ready to start explaining, apologizing—doing whatever it takes to recover from this mess.
But your eyes, still fixated on him, got filled with tears instantly, no matter how hard you tried to even your breathing. Your vision was blurred, and your face and neck started burning from pure humiliation because these people around you were still gawking at the scene like there was something funny. You didn’t even let Rafe open his mouth before your hand slipped from Sarah’s grip, and you ran towards the exit, pushing through people.
“No, please wait!” You heard Rafe’s voice behind you, his hand briefly catching yours before he was separated from you by the random couple who couldn’t move from his way.
You pushed the wooden door outside, the breeze kissed your wet cheeks while you breathed hard, trying to figure out where to go and what to do. But then he was right behind you again, though this time his presence didn’t bring you peace like it did for the past three months; now it suffocated you, it made you feel disgusted with yourself for ever falling into such a stupid and obvious trap.
“Let me explain—” Rafe started, eyes apologetic, while his hand touched your upper arm to bring you closer.
“Don’t touch me!” You almost screamed, yanking your hand back like his touch burned you.
“Please—”
“No! G-get away from me.” You cried, stepping back, hiding from him, and he thought that sight alone—of you scared, ashamed, and in tears—might kill him right then and there. “You—you made a bet on me. You… slept with me and laughed about it with your friends.” Your voice cracked, shaking with rage and humiliation, tears streaming freely now. You couldn’t let him say a word. You didn’t want to hear his excuses, his apologies—nothing.
Rafe froze, his lips opening, but you cut him off, stepping back and shaking your head violently. “I don’t want to hear it, Rafe! Don’t touch me! Don’t—just don’t.” His fists clenched, his jaw tightening, and his whole body seemed like it wanted to storm forward and do anything to make you listen, but you weren’t giving him the chance.
“Come on.” Sarah appeared suddenly, grabbing your elbow gently but with authority and not even sparing her brother a glance. “We’re leaving. Now.” You didn’t argue. You let her pull you away, your sobs muffled against her shoulder.
Rafe’s voice followed you, desperate and angry. “Wait—please—”
But he was left alone, just looking at you going further and further away from him.
He let out a shaky breath as the reality of everything now fully hit him. This was the end. You would never forgive him for the shit that he’d done—for the lie, the humiliation, the laughter of his friends, and for the damn bet itself. Rafe sat on the cold concrete, swearing at himself and replaying the memories that now seemed like the only thing left that he had of you.
He remembered when he first properly talked to you, not in big crowds of mutual friends, but really talked. That little crush that he secretly had on you didn’t help the situation either. Because of the way you smiled at him and let him sit beside you, while he tried to charm you, or the moment you started laughing and looking at him with those eyes, he knew he was fucked. The whole plan to just get to know you just to prove himself wrong about liking you, and the bet itself, seemed like the most useless thing from that moment on.
He remembered taking you on dates, and not the expensive, over-the-top ones, but coffee dates, picnics at the beach, and walks around the island during the night when you both couldn’t stop thinking about each other and just wanted a chance to talk. It was when he knew the prize didn’t matter anymore, that he had lost it in more ways than one, but it was the last thing he cared about when he could finally spend time with you.
He remembered the way you looked at him like no one else ever had—like you were listening, like you were interested, like things that he said and felt mattered to you. And you could pick up on everything that upset him, making the ache in his chest just a little bit easier with a simple touch of your hand against his.
He remembered kissing you for the first time. And second… and all of the others that came after that, because your lips, your body pressed to his, your hands on his face or around his neck, and your smile when you pulled back? Yeah, that was totally fucking up his mind.
He remembered the sight of you under him when one night those kisses turned into more, drowning in his pillows and leaving your scent there long after you were gone. That look in your soft and trusting eyes when you let him take control, when they studied his body above you with that weird twinkle in them. Your skin was so soft and delicate under his hands, so he couldn’t stop himself from touching you every second.
He remembered how his lips trailed along your chest, collarbones, neck, your face, peppering you with kisses against his own will—because you were intoxicating in the best way possible. And the moment he reached your lips, the way a power stronger than him lured him closer to you. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t get enough of your taste and the feeling of your mouth moving against his.
He remembered the way you felt, the way your nails scratched his back and tugged at his hair, the way you whispered his name, and the way your body was melting into him.
And when you two reached the end? His name rolled off your tongue so sweetly and easily, making goosebumps cover his skin. Your hands tugged him down until his weight dropped on top of you—chest to chest, heavy breathing, and sweaty. Rafe couldn’t move, didn’t want to; with his face buried against your neck and hands holding your body, he cursed himself for ever taking part in that stupid bet or even thinking that sleeping with you would take the edge off.
Because now he knew, more than ever, that he was totally hooked onto you, and it wasn’t just physical attraction—it never was.
Even before getting into his room, Rafe knew that he should stop. Should just tell you the truth and pray that you would forgive him for even trying to play with your feelings, because at that moment the realization that he wanted all of it to be real hit him like a ton of bricks. Yet, the other voice in his head just couldn’t let him ruin it, couldn’t bring himself to risk it. Not right now. Not when you were clinging to him and intoxicating him with your presence, when it felt so intimate and real.
He would tell you. He would confess. Just not right now.
That was the memory he couldn’t stop from playing on the loop. Not because it was the best sex in his life, even though it definitely was, but because he ruined it in the worst way possible, making it seem like it was nothing for him, when in fact it was everything.
When Rafe returned back into the main room, he swore everything seemed and felt ten times worse. From the loud music that made his head ache to his annoying friends as they were pulling him closer into their circle. Top’s heavy arm landed around his neck, and Rafe ground his teeth against each other to stop himself from pushing his friend away.
“Damn, Cameron.” Kelce said, clapping him on the shoulder a little too hard. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Topper laughed, wide and careless, swinging him from side to side. “Told you. Three months was generous.”
Some other guys laughed, nodding their heads in approval, praising him like he had done something extraordinary. Rafe didn’t move; he just looked at them with disgust, wondering how he could fall so low.
They took his silence as him being humble, and that was the worst part, because everything inside him was bubbling from the way they treated you like a joke.
Kelce leaned closer and grinned like an idiot, thinking that the way you ran away was a confirmation of the end of your relationship. “Now that she’s really done with, she freaky or just… vanilla?”
Rafe’s nostrils flared at Kelce’s words, hands pushed away both him and Topper, who stumbled back with an amused laugh. He couldn’t even name the things that he felt at that moment, but the need to shut them up was burning him alive—something that he had never experienced before.
“I swear to God, if you say another word about her, I’m gonna break your jaw.”
“Woah, woah, dude!” The laughter stuttered, confused. “We’re just sayin’, you won.”
“I didn’t win shit.”
Kelce scoffed. “Bro, we saw her reaction like ten minutes ago. We know you hit it, so the money is yours.”
Rafe’s hands curled into fists before he pressed them against his eyes, angry all over again with the way they were estimating you. With the way they talked about you, like you were just a body, just something he used for fun.
Were they really that ignorant and just… fucking stupid? He could still see your face, clear as day, the moment he realized you were behind him—the initial shock, disbelief, and then acceptance, all while tears were glimmering in your eyes and the look in them made his blood run cold.
They hurt you. He hurt you. Even if he didn’t mean to and long ago decided to quit this damn bet, he still was dumb enough to participate in it to begin with. Looking back now, Rafe was disgusted with himself more than ever for being just another frat guy and for proving everyone’s point and all the rumors about him.
Disgusted that you told him that you saw a better side of him, yet he humiliated you in the worst way possible.
Topper sighed, annoyed now. “Look, man. No one forced you. You said yes. You played the game.”
“I know that it’s my fault. But who fucking asked you to run your mouth in front of her? You knew she was right behind me.” He snapped again, grabbing a random cup from the table nearby and drowning the strong-smelling liquid.
Kelce rolled his eyes. “Don’t pin that on us. You should’ve told her sooner if you were feeling all guilty about it.”
“I know what I should’ve done, I wanted to do it tonight.” Rafe yelled back, tossing the cup on the floor. “I fucking told you that I was done, that you won, and I don’t need your shit. You—you fucking knew she was standing behind me. You knew! That she could hear you. And you did that on purpose, huh?” He was getting angrier, louder, his usual fiery temper being fueled by the memory of your face plastered in his head and by the way all of his friends seemed like they couldn’t care less about everything.
“Chill out, man. It was supposed to be fun, just a joke.” One of the other guys chuckled nonchalantly, fully oblivious that all of them were just minutes away from Rafe lashing out.
“You actin’ like you’re in love or some shit.” Topper said half-joking, but it made Rafe freeze instantly. His face became deadly still, contrasting with the way his heart started bumping against his ribs like crazy. He licked his lips nervously—a gesture that none of the guys noticed, or, at least, couldn’t interpret in the right way—and then his eyes narrowed like a sudden realization hit him.
“Get out.” He said plainly.
“What?” A few voices asked back.
“I said—get out.” He stepped back, keeping his eyes locked on the group in front of him, then reaching to turn the annoying and blasting music off. All of the other heads turned to him in question, as it was way too early for Cameron's famous party to be over. “Everyone. Get the fuck out of my house. Now.” He screamed louder, making sure that everyone could hear him.
People looked at each other confused, but seeing how dead-serious Rafe was, they started slowly leaving the mansion, whispering to each other and throwing confused glances at him.
“Dude, you can’t be serious, we—“ Topper started, but Rafe didn’t let him finish.
“Am I not fucking clear?”
And just like that, it took a few more minutes for Rafe to finally be left alone. He slammed the front door, turning around and then sliding down on the floor right then and there.
The house was empty now, except for the countless bottles, cups, random confetti, and just a mess left by people he would rather not even see. Now he was alone. Alone with his thoughts, sitting with his head in his hands, he cursed himself again and again.
It felt like you and whatever trust you had in him were his opportunity to do something special—something just for him and not for the crowd and snobs he had been surrounded with his whole life. If he played it right, if he just approached you like a normal human being the moment you caught his eyes, before the whole bet, it could’ve been different now. It could’ve been different if he at least had enough courage to tell you the truth before his friends ran their mouths, if he explained everything to you—that he did bet on you, that he was sorry, that he knew you deserved better, that he still wanted you more than anything.
But he didn’t. And now he was paying for it.
•••
Before you opened the door, you knew who was standing behind it, yet seeing Rafe for the first time since that party felt really weird. By the way his eyes went wide, you figured he expected to be ignored again, the way he was all the other times he came and knocked, desperately wishing he could just talk to you and explain everything. For some reason, this time your inner voice told you to finally face him, because the gnawing feeling and thoughts about everything started to become more than you could handle.
After that night you went through all the spectrum of emotions—from shock to sadness to anger to constant self-picking. You couldn’t believe, and didn’t want to, that all of it was fake. That all the rumors and all the warnings you heard about Rafe were true. Because how could he possibly play it that well, to the point that you truly and wholeheartedly thought that you saw the real him—soft and caring, sweet in the moments when other people weren’t around?
So when the truth came to the surface, when Topper started talking about it in front of Rafe and all of their friends, you felt like you were betrayed. Because, apparently, all of these things were just a play. You were just a bet and an opportunity for Rafe to get whatever prize they agreed on. Meaning that you made all that up in your head, and for these past few days you couldn’t help but feel disgusted with yourself.
“I— I wasn’t expecting you to open the door.” Rafe’s hoarse voice pulled you back into reality, and you blinked a few times to focus on the face that you now hated and missed at the same time. Your eyes studied him just for a few moments before falling to the giant bouquet of flowers he held in one of his hands. It was really massive, definitely the biggest and most expensive of all he ever bought for you. “These are for you.”
He held the bouquet out, but you shook your head no. “You’re trying to buy my forgiveness?” Your voice sounded way too raspy and fragile even for your own ears, and you didn’t miss the way Rafe’s lips pursed for a second in what seemed like sadness.
“No. It's the least I could do. But you like flowers, and I thought you deserved something beautiful after I fucked everything up.”
“Oh, you mean after you publicly humiliated me and laughed about it with your friends?” You shot back immediately, noticing the way he took a deep breath, lowering flowers back to his side and nodding to himself like he knew he deserved it.
“I didn't laugh with them. I kicked them out that night and haven’t talked to them ever since, because— Fuck, just let me explain everything? Please.” You hesitated. Every instinct screamed to shut the door in his face, to protect what was left of your pride. But another part of you—the stupid, soft part that still remembered his hands warm on your waist, his forehead pressed to yours when he kissed you so softly it made you melt against him—stepped aside.
“Just because I want the whole story. Five minutes.” You said, opening the door wider. “That’s it.”
He walked into the familiar space of your house, going into the kitchen and feeling slightly dizzy from the scent that was unmistakably just yours—the one that he got used to over such a short time and now craved like crazy. The flowers were placed on the counter carefully, like Rafe was making a point that they were just for you and he had no intention of leaving with them.
You stood at a safe distance in front of him, your hands crossed over your chest, and eyes waiting for him to start speaking.
“There was a bet.” He finally started, standing almost awkwardly in front of you—something that you had never seen before and that was so unusual for him. “That I can sleep with you. And I accepted it because I was already crushing on you and thought that it would just get you out of my system.”
“Wow.” Hearing it being said by him hurt ten times more than you expected. “So… The main goal was to get me into your bed?” You whispered, your voice much calmer than you felt inside.
He hesitated. “That’s what we agreed on, yes… But when it happened between us, I did it not because I wanted to win anything, but because it was you and…it was just real to me.”
“That’s still fucked up.”
“I know! I know how stupid that was, that I agreed to playing with someone’s feelings just because I was scared of my own.” He groaned, rubbing his buzzed head in a way he always did when everything became too much. You hated that you picked up on those signs.
“Well, you sure as hell didn’t care about my feelings when you hid the truth from me. Now I don’t even know what was true and what you were just acting.” You stopped when a lump in your throat made your voice sound weak. “I feel like everything was just a game, that it means nothing, and that I’m just an idiot who fell for the charm.”
“I was lying to myself, and I was lying to them, but not to you. Never to you.” Rafe’s eyes started shining when he stepped just a bit closer, as if out of habit trying to reach out to you. “Since the moment we started talking, everything that I said and done, every time I held your hand or kissed you, when we were together that night… It was me. These were my real feelings for you.”
“I knew I was done with the bet when we just talked for half an hour that first time and you gave me your number. God— I knew I wouldn’t be able to fake it or to hurt you because the real you was even better than the one I admired from afar. I told them I was done, they knew that I wanted to tell the truth that night at a party. But fucking Topper thought it would be fun to talk about it when you walked into the room.”
Your breath was uneven as you tried to hold back your tears, to not crumble in front of him. You held yourself tighter, unable to speak for a few moments, and hated the fact that despite the heartbreak, despite the pain and tons of self-doubt this situation had brought you, you couldn’t see anything but sincerity in Rafe’s eyes.
“How much did you tell them? Because the things that they said… I felt humiliated, Rafe. They laughed that they knew everything about us, about me, and I swear if you told them—“
“No! Hell no, I didn’t. That wasn’t part of the deal.” He shook his head, and hands flew in the air in defense. “I was supposed to show them proof of us sleeping together, but I didn’t. I swear on fucking everything that they know nothing about us or about you. I didn’t care to tell them a single thing because I was scared they would ruin everything with you. And they proved me right.” You stayed silent, chewing on your lip when relief and another wave of unmistakable sadness washed over you. Rafe’s voice softened when he continued. “I’m so sorry, baby. For lying, for hiding it from you, for the things that you heard from them. You were not just a body, you were the only thing that I was looking forward to every single day. And I know how much it hurt you, so I’m not asking you to forgive me now, but just know that I’ll do anything to win your trust back.”
You started crying again, hating yourself and him for everything that was happening. You tried to wipe the tears as they were rolling down your cheeks, sniffing every few seconds. And Rafe just stood there helpless and heartbroken, because he knew that now he had no right to even touch you.
“You did hurt me. I was blaming myself for it during all these days…”
“I’m so sorry.” He whispered again.
“…And I hear what you’re saying, but it doesn’t fix how I feel right now. I can’t trust you. Not now. I need time away from you.
Rafe’s face fell even though he expected those exact words, even though he knew he deserved it. He nodded, studying you once again and wondering whether it was the last time he had the opportunity to be so close to you.
“I understand.”
•••
When you stood at the fluorescent lights of some creepy-looking gas station far away even from the cut, you didn’t know whether the goosebumps on your skin were from the unusually chilly Outer Banks night or because the atmosphere of the place genuinely petrified you.
You didn’t mean to end up there, but your sudden decision to just go somewhere alone and clear up your mind came to you out of nowhere, and you hit the road when the sun was almost setting. On your way back, everything went well, up until the moment you heard a weird noise under your car and it started swaying weirdly. You managed to make it to the gas station that was nearby, only to find out that you had a flat tire. And you didn’t have a spare.
You looked around you cautiously, seeing nothing except the gas station itself and vast empty space all around you. Not a single soul except for the man that you could faintly see through the front window. Trying to calm yourself down, you tried to think rationally. It was late, you had no spare—and even if you did, you didn’t know how to deal with it—and you quite literally had no idea how to get back to your house safely.
It was probably a bad decision, but with slightly trembling hands and an uneasy feeling, you went inside of the gas station. The middle-aged man behind the counter looked you up and down the moment you walked in, and you knew that it didn’t mean any good. A slight smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, his greasy, overgrown hair constantly falling over his eyes, and he brushed it away with weird, childlike movements.
“Evenin’.” He smiled, slightly leaning over.
“Um— I have a flat tire and was wondering if you know someone who can fix it? Like a mechanic, perhaps?” You mumbled, slowly looking around the dimly lit room with half of the lights blinking like in the worst horror movie.
“Nah, there are no car repairs nearby. Phone’s not workin’. But I can take a look…” His eyes slowly looked down your body again, and it made you feel physically sick, as every part of your brain screamed at you to get away from that place as fast as possible. “For a price, of course.”
You blinked at him, mortified, before taking a step back and clutching a phone harder in your hands. “I think I’m good.”
You rushed out of the building, going back to your car and locking yourself inside. Your heart was pounding harder with every second as you cursed yourself for even leaving the house today. Looking down at your phone, your eyes locked on the dying battery that was currently at twelve percent before quickly opening your contacts and scrolling through them.
He was your first thought. No matter what, it was like an instinct that developed over the few months you were together. You spend another minute looking at the phone numbers of your girlfriends who, honestly, couldn’t help you in any way, and… that was pretty much it.
The notification about low battery lit up on the phone, and before you could think about it longer, the survival instinct hit you and you called Rafe on autopilot. Because he was safe, he could help you, he wouldn’t just hang up on you even after all those days you spent without any contact.
“Hello?” His slightly surprised voice answered on the second ring, and you let out a shaky breath from the slight feeling of relief that it brought you. “Are you okay?” He asked, as if sensing your distress even being miles away.
“I’m—” Your breath shook. “Rafe, I’m stuck. My tire blew. I’m at this gas station, I don’t even know where I am, and there’s this guy, and he’s—he’s weird, and I’m scared.”
“What?” The word came sharp, all softness gone. “Where are you?”
“I don’t know exactly. But it’s the road up north, further away from the cut… Rafe, I don’t know what to do, my phone is dying.” You half whispered, resting your head against the wheel and looking down at your phone. Eight percent.
He stayed silent for a few moments, yet you could hear the rummaging and slamming of the doors on the other end. “Up north… Do you remember that diner we stopped at before our date? Have you seen it on your way?”
You furrowed for a few seconds, remembering that night when Rafe promised you to show you a cool place outside of the town. It was dark, so you didn’t know where you were going, and you didn’t care as long as it was with him, but you stopped at the diner to get some food. That night you took a picture of the sign because it was fluorescent pink—the one that you had never seen before… except today on your way here.”
“I did! I saw it, like, fifteen minutes before ending up here.” You breathed shakily. “I’m at five percent, Rafe.”
“Good. That’s good.” His voice was gruff, the engine of the car softly murmuring in the background. “Lock the doors and don’t open them, okay? I know where you are. I’m gonna be there in fifteen, I promise. You—“
The call ended, and you stared back at your own reflection on the screen. Now it was deadly silent, but at least you hoped that Rafe could find you before anyone else could. You stayed in the same position with your head down for a while, thinking that maybe this way you wouldn’t overthink and see the moving shadows outside, that you could focus on your breathing and not the creepy dude that could probably see your car through the window.
The knock made you jump, your heart rate skyrocketing when the face of the same guy looked at you at a much closer distance than you would prefer. The man from the gas station was standing right by your window now, face lit from below by the ugly fluorescent lights, features sharper and meaner up close. He bent down a little, peering inside your car like you were some kind of display.
“Hey.” He said, knocking again, harder this time. “You sure you don’t want help? It’s cold out here. Ain’t safe for a girl to sit alone at night.”
Your stomach twisted. You shook your head quickly, not trusting your voice, and mouthed no. He frowned, eyes sliding over you in a way that made your skin crawl.
“C’mon.” He pressed, trying the door handle. It didn’t budge, but the sound alone made your breath hitch. “I’m just tryin’ to be nice.”
Your pulse roared in your ears. You grabbed your dead phone instinctively, even though the screen was black now, useless. You felt a lump in your throat and tears burning your eyes because, quite literally, you were trapped—there was nothing you could do or say to make him go away, there was no one who could help you and protect you if he decided to do something.
You grabbed the door handle from the inside as if it could help you to keep it closed while he was pulling at it from the outside, and that was the moment when the headlights blinked at you from another car—the one that made your body sink against your driving seat on instinct.
Rafe’s truck roared near your car, gravel screeching under the weight, as he parked nearby, instantly jumping out. The moment he saw another figure, clearly a man, towering over your car, he saw red. His nostrils flared, jaw tightened, and fists clenched and ready to deal with the guy if he started acting up.
“Get the fuck away from her.” Rafe’s voice boomed in the empty space, and the man stepped back with a fake-innocent smile. He was shorter and seemingly more clumsy, so when Rafe shoved him back and stepped between your car and him, the man shrank himself, not being so confident now.
“Relax, man, I was talkin’ with a pretty woman in need.”
“You will be the one in need if you don’t get the fuck away from my girl’s car.”
The man’s eyes slightly widened at the tone of Rafe’s voice. He stepped back with hands still in the air, not looking at you anymore, and instead keeping his eyes on Rafe, who was looking at him like a predator on his prey. And the moment the guy walked back into the building, slow and cautious, Rafe’s demeanor changed instantly—he still felt the leftover of that sudden anger that enveloped him, but when he turned around and looked down and saw your face, he let out a shaken breath.
You unlocked the door, getting out on trembling legs. Your eyes were hungry, taking Rafe in. All those days after he left your house, you spent thinking about the whole situation, hyperanalyzing every detail and trying to figure out your emotions. Yet, no matter any concerns that your mind raised, the one prominent thought you kept coming back to was that you missed Rafe. It was as simple as that. You missed his presence, his voice, his touch, the way he treated you… And now, being incredibly shaken and scared, there was no second thought before you fell into his arms—the only place that seemed safe enough.
You melted against him, you touched him for the first time in weeks, and it made his head short-circuit. He froze for half a second, like his body needed permission from his brain to believe this was real. Then he wrapped you up. Hard and desperate. One arm around your shoulders, the other pressed flat to your lower back, anchoring you to him like if he let go you’d disappear again. Your face buried itself into his chest, nose pressing against worn cotton and the familiar scent that made your throat tighten instantly. Rafe’s chin dropped to the top of your head, his breath shaky as hell.
“You’re okay.” He murmured, not even sure whether he was saying it to you or himself. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
Your fingers curled into his hoodie on instinct, and you didn’t even realize you were shaking until he did—until his hand started rubbing slow, grounding circles over your back, like he was afraid that he was not allowed to touch you anymore. Not after the way he betrayed your trust.
“I was so scared. ” You whispered, the words muffled. “I didn’t know who else to call.”
“I’m so happy that you did, bab—” He cut himself off, wincing when the usual nickname almost rolled off his tongue. “I’m sorry.”
You pulled away slowly, shaking your head, and trying to recollect yourself despite the growing pit of your stomach—now not from fear, but from the weird situation that you and Rafe ended up in.
The silence stretched; the distance between you felt awkward when you both locked eyes on each other but didn’t know how to deal with everything. You wrapped your arms around yourself, and Rafe finally spoke up. “I know a guy. I’m gonna call him to tow the car and take care of it, ‘kay?” He didn't wait for your reply before walking a few steps away to make a phone call, talking with a guy in a hushed tone, but he kept throwing glances at you as if to make sure that you were still there and okay.
“He’s gonna be here in fifteen. We can—”
“I’ll pay you back.” You cut him off.
“What?” He laughed, genuinely confused.
“It’s late, we’re in the middle of nowhere, and repairing itself... I know it’s expensive, and I’m not gonna ask you to cover that.” Your eyes kept darting everywhere, suddenly exposed in front of him.
“It’s not your problem. You’re not paying anything because I’m taking care of it.”
“But Rafe—”
“No.” He said firmer, not missing the way your lips pouted. “Now, let’s get into the truck.” You barely had time to react before he was already opening the passenger door of his car, the inside glowing warm and safe compared to the sickly fluorescent lights outside. “Please. It’s cold, and I want you where I can see you.”
The second you climbed in, the warmth hit you, and with it your hands started shaking before you could stop them, fingers curling uselessly in your sleeves. When Rafe got into the driver’s seat, his presence and his familiar scent enveloped you. You could feel his eyes locked in on you—soft, steady, and caring—while he waited for the smallest sign from you.
He reached forward slowly; his fingers brushed yours where they rested in your lap, tentative, asking. When you didn’t pull away, his hand closed around yours fully in an anchoring way that made you suck in a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.
“You okay?” Rafe asked softly.
“I don’t know. I was so scared, and my phone was dying, and…” You stopped yourself to think, to check in with yourself that it was actually what you wanted to say. “The only thing that felt right was to call you.”
“I’m glad you did. No matter what happened between us, I’m here. Always.” He leaned a little bit closer to you, head dipping lower to catch your eyes. His hand squeezed yours twice, and you squeezed it back, making a soft smile appear on Rafe’s lips.
The tow truck’s headlights appeared in the distance, cutting through the dark. Rafe glanced at them, then back at you, reluctant to let go, needing a few more moments with your hands in his, with you finally close to him after so many days without any contact.
“This doesn’t fix anything.” You said softly.
“No.” He agreed. “But I will fix it.”
Before you could overthink it, you tilted your head and pressed a slow, gentle kiss to the corner of his lips. Barely there. Soft. But enough for his heart to make a leap. Enough for his breath to hitch and lips to start tingling from the simple touch.
He smiled and for a second didn’t say anything at all. He just looked at you, eyes flicking from your lips back to your eyes, like he was grounding himself there. His thumb brushed over your knuckles once, slow and absentminded, as he clearly wanted to do or say more but stopped himself to not overstep that fragile line.
“I’m gonna take care of everything and will be right back, okay?”
And when you settled in the passenger seat, a little bit sleepier now, you looked at Rafe through the front window, admitting to yourself that he was still the one for you.
Warnings: panic attack. hurt/comfort. dating Steve Harrington. simple as that.
—————————
Steve’s awake instantly.
He sits up, heart pounding, because you’re not just tossing around beside him - you’re shaking. Breath coming too fast and too shallow. A broken sound escaped your throat.
„Hey. Hey …“ His hands are on you gently and careful, not trapping. „It’s me. Steve. You’re okay, sweetheart.“
You can’t hear him yet. The nightmares tight grip shutting down all of your senses. Your eyes are open but not there. Chest rising and falling too fast.
„Oh no, no, no,“ he murmurs, sliding closer, pulling you against him. „Don’t be afraid. I’m right here.“
Your fingers clutch at his shirt like you’re drowning. „I can’t …“ you gasp for air. „Can’t breathe.“
„Yes, you can,“ Steve says softly, rocking you slowly back and forth even though his own heart is racing. „You’re just going too fast. We’re gonna slow it down, okay? I’ve got you.“
He shifts so your back is against his chest, one arm wrapped firm around your middle, the other hand coming up to cradle your jaw gently.
„Look at me,“ he whispers.
Your eyes flicker up to his.
„Good. Stay with me.“
He exaggerates his own breathing. „In for four. One, two, three, four.“ He breathes in. „Hold. And then out for four. One, two, three, four.“
At first you can’t match him. You’re trembling too hard. So he changes tactics.
„Okay,“ he says suddenly, like he just remembered something incredibly significant. „Important question.“
You blink up at him, confused and teary.
„If I had to fight a raccoon the size of Dustin, do you think I’d win?“
You let out the smallest, broken huff. There it is. Steve seizes it immediately.
„Because I’m thinking yes. Obviously yes. But if it had, like … ninja training? That’s where it gets tricky.“
Your breathing stutters - still uneven, but slower now.
„I would absolutely lose if it had nunchucks,“ he continues gravely. „I’d look so uncool. It’d ruin my whole reputation.“
A shaky little sound escapes you. Almost a laugh.
„That’s it,“ Steve murmurs, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. „Stay with me. Raccoon Dustin. Focus, princess.“
You breath in again, not sharp tis time. Steve keeps going.
„Also, for the record, if the nightmare involved me doing something stupid, I’d like to formally apologize. Dream-Steve can be an idiot sometimes.“
That gets him a full on grin from you and made him feel like the luckiest man that ever walked the earth. Your breathing steadies gradually. The panic loosens its grip.
Steve presses his lips to your temple, lingering there. „You’re safe,“ he whispers. „Whatever it was - it’s over. It can’t get you. Not here.“
Your fingers tighten in his shirt again, but this time it’s grounding instead of desperate. „I hate when it feels so real.“
„I know,“ Steve mumbles and his voice is so gentle it almost hurts. „But I’m real too. And I’m right here.“ He adjusts the blankets around you, tucks them in like an armor.
You snuggle into his hug. „I’m sorry that I wake you up because of … this.“
„If you ever wake up scared like that,“ he shushes you, „You wake me up. I don’t care if it’s every night. I’d rather loose sleep than let you fight ghosts by yourself.“
You nod, finally exhausted in a different way. Steve stays awake a little longer, just in case. Thumb tracing lazy patterns on your arm. Counting your breaths until they’re slow and deep.
When he shifts slightly to pull you even closer, you mumble something half asleep.
„That raccoon would kick your ass.“
Steve grins, gives you a kiss on your temple and rests his head against yours. „I know.“
—————————
Thank you so much for reading! 💙 All interactions are highly appreciated
→ It’s common knowledge: when the party need help with girls, they got to Steve Harrington, the guy who invented skull rock. When they need help with the boys they go to you, the one who retired Steve the Hair Harrington from his play boy ways
Mike, Lucas and Dustin sat snug on Steve's sofa, watching the guy pace in front of them, his Nike trainers wearing a path into his parents carpet. He hadn't said anything for five minutes, clearly weighing up options.
"Steve! Say something!" Dustin implored.
"I'm thinking, Henderson," he said, prodding at the non-existent hair on his chin. He was only shy of twenty, not thirty and there was yet anything to there.
The boys had come to Steve desperate for his help and not the sort that required a drive down to the old range and a bat wedged with nails. It was the sort of help where they needed King Steve, the Steve that made Skull rock the place.
They needed his help with girls.
Steve dragged a chair from the kitchen island over, sitting himself down and leaning over to the boys. "Okay, so you like these girls. El and Max?"
Mike and Lucas nodded while Dustin cracked open his can of pringles he'd brought along for the ride.
"You want them to be your girlfriends, well, you've come to the right guy," Steve ran a hand through his hair, Mike and Lucas watching him do it. "I've got a few moves that can help you but you have to do exactly as I say. Got it?"
They nodded.
There was a crunch for Dustin that momentarily threw Steve off his game.
You had been painting your nails when the insistent knocking broke you from your careful task. It was a Saturday, the day where you weren't supposed to be bugged for anything- unless it was Steve but even then your boyfriend always called ahead.
You opened the door to find Max, El and Will.
"Hey?"
"Hi," they all greeted and promptly flooded in.
They took themselves to your family kitchen, sounding like they were making themselves at home. You were just thankful your family worked on weekends. You didn't want to have to explain why teenagers felt they were allowed to let themselves in.
"Do you have any ice cream?" asked Max.
"And any syrups?"
You found the three raiding the cupboards and the freezer, El pulling down bowls and getting spoons. "Why?"
Max pulled out the tubs you had. "Because we need your help."
"My help?" typically every time the kids came for help it wasn't an ice cream situation. It was a kill or be killed kind.
"It's the boys," Said Will.
El looked to you sheepishly but you sighed in relief and helped them find whatever they needed.
Because if the boys went to Steve Harrington, the master of dating then the girls went to you. The very one that retired Steve from his old 'playboy' ways and had him happily settled, besotted even.
"What do you need help with?"
"So you want to ask the girls out, okay, easy enough, right?" Steve asked them, having Mike and Lucas and Dustin in a line like they were army cadets.
"Yeah," said Lucas and Mike.
"No!" Steve snapped. "Wrong, not easy. One wrong move and they'll be laughing at you, friend-zoning you."
"Friend-zone?" Asked Lucas like even the Upside down was a preferable place to be then that dreaded zone.
"Yeah," said Steve, dramatically. "I've been there myself, not a good place to be."
They watched as he settled back on his stool, lost in some sort of memory.
He sighed to himself, shaking his head. "Alright look, I don't tell many people this story so if it gets out, I'll know it was one of you three and I'll make your lives hell, understand?"
They nodded.
Steve rested his hands on the tops of his thighs. "I too have been friend zoned, it's not a good look."
"You?" asked Lucas.
"What did you do? How did you get out of it?" asked Mike.
"Well, I pitied myself for an evening, I had to make these mistakes so you boys won't have to. But yeah. I moped. It hadn't gone how I planned but I knew y/n would be at a party that night-"
"Wait-" interrupted Dustin with a cheeky grin. "Y/N friend zoned you?"
Steve looked at him, not a trace of amusement on his face as he re-countered the faithful night. "Yeah, now do you want my help or not?"
Dustin blushed. "Sorry."
"Listen, I moped, I despaired but then it hit me, it didn't have to be that way. So I got in my car, drove to the party-"
"Who's?" asked Mike.
"Stacey's."
"Stacey M or Stacey V?"
Steve frowned at him. "Does it matter? Anyway- I marched in there, ignoring everyone that said hi, I only had my sights on her."
"Then what did you do?" asked Lucas.
Steve wet his lips as he remembered the night he first kissed you, telling you his earlier confession that you pinned down to just being 'great friends' wasn't what he was going for. He stood up, for effect. "I found her on the stairs, she looked miserable to be there but she clocked eyes on me the same moment I did. So I made my way up, pushing past everyone, wrapped my arm around her waist and I kissed her."
He was still proud himself for that kiss, and the ones that only got better along the way.
"Tongue?" asked Lucas.
Steve was surprised a second at his forwardness. "Yeah, duh. So my advice-" he levelled with them. "Take the lead, girls like it when you're in control. Have you guys tried anything yet? Like, asking them to go watch a film together or something?"
The three shared looks.
Mike spoke up first, swallowing back his nerves. "I asked El to the drive in cinema once, but then I remembered I don't have a car. Or drive."
Steve tried not to let his disappointment show. "Easy mistakes to make."
Lucas held up his hand like he was back in class. "I asked Max once if she was on her period?"
"Oh, Sinclair, tell me you didn't."
Lucas's face dropped, eyes widening in terror. "Is that bad?"
Steve threw his head into his hands. "Oh, Sinclair."
"Steve! Is it bad?!" he fell to his knees in front of him.
"It's bad," said Steve, nodding with a wince for his young friend and the misery he was going to face. "You're in the dog house. Not even the dog house, the kneel, the pound. You're being put down."
"How do I fix this?" asked Lucas, hands clutched up to Steve like begging to god. "Tell me Steve, how!"
"He didn't!" you gasped, dropping your spoon in the ice cream tub that laid between you all on your bed.
"Yeah!" said Max, re-counting the time Lucas had asked the dreaded- 'are you on your period or something?' "Has Steve ever asked you that?"
You chuckled at the very idea. "Oh no, no, no, no, Steve knows better."
"I wish Lucas did," grumbled Max.
"How'd you do it?" asked Will, speaking up.
You looked to him. "Do what?"
Will dropped his voice to a whisper like you were sharing a secret. "Get Steve to fall in love with you?"
You smiled to yourself, thinking about it.
All throughout high school Steve had been a tease but not just to you, to any and every girl in Hawkins High. It was like a test to him, how many could he have by the time he reached senior year. You were someone he could just never crack, you never gave into his ways and it started to catch his eye in the most infuriating ways.
By the time the both of you had been brought into this Upside down business Steve had changed, he cared in ways you hadn't thought possible for him. And when the King Steve persona was dropped you finally started giving into him and your own heart.
"Well it's easy really, to get a guy crazy about you," you said, leaning forward on your elbows, already lying down on your bed. "Give him a look, seem like your interested then look away. Drives guys nuts."
"Make them suffer," said Max.
You lifted your shoulder. "I guess, basically, yeah."
"What was your first kiss like?" asked El, eyes wide in wonder.
You grin broke into your cheeks, re-counting the awful party you'd gone to to make Steve jealous after shaming his pitiful attempt at asking you to be his girlfriend. After years of torture from playboy Harrington you needed him to see it wasn't going to be easy.
But he made it so when he turned up out of breath and hair damp from the rain outside. How his eyes were locked on yours as he pushed everyone out the way until he'd pulled you into a searing first kiss, a pull like magnets drawing you in together. It wasn't slow, it was a desperate plea, a last attempt.
By god, it worked.
"Woah," said El as you reencountered it all.
Will was grinning. "What do you even do after a kiss like that?"
"Oh c'mon," said Max with a playful roll of her eyes. "There's only one thing you can do after a kiss like that-"
"Max!" you lectured. "Don't be crude."
Only when El and Will were distracted over the chocolate ice cream did you catch her eyes and give her an approving nod that had her winking at you, a secret safe with her.
"So you chill out," said Lucas after more of Steve's teaching. "Hang out with the boys and act like you don't care."
Steve groaned, hands coming together in a loud clap. "Sinclair! Have you learnt nothing!"
Lucas gulped.
Steve took a calming breath and started again. "Okay, okay... you're not wrong. One way to drive girls crazy is to act like you don't care but more often then not it gets them angry and then they discard you. Learn from me, you take a chance, you tell them how you feel."
"How we feel?" asked Mike, confused by his own feelings.
"Yeah, you look her in the eyes and tell her how you feel," he said.
Dustin chuckled from where he sat watching, still with his pringles and a pillow in lap, getting himself cosy like he was watching his favourite disaster film. "Or get friendzoned."
Steve looked back to him with a pointed look. "I'll tell everyone about the Farrah Fawcett spray, huh, Henderson?"
Dustin's shoulders sank. "Sorry."
Steve returned his focus on Mike and Lucas. "Listen, El is a superhero but also she's new to this whole... life, thing, right?"
"Right," said Mike.
"So you want to be right with her, don't play mind games with someone who can literally see into your mind," he advised. He turned to Lucas. "And Max... well, Max is terrifying okay, she's had to grow up with Billy. She has to be terrifying, why mess her around. Give her something good."
Lucas clicked his fingers, understanding better. "Love."
"Sure, if you want, love," shrugged Steve. It was tough to remember sometimes these were a couple clueless fourteen year olds coming for his help.
Mike fell back onto the sofa, alerting them all. He didn't seem so sure of himself all of a sudden. "How do you know?" he mumbled.
"Know?"
Mike looked to Steve. "How do you know what Love is?"
Suddenly Steve remembered these were fourteen year olds, but maybe not so clueless. After all, they'd fought monsters, faced losing each other almost every day when they knew there was another dimension below their own. They lived fast when they knew they might not live at all.
"Well it's not always easy, but sometimes it is," said Steve, settling down next to Mike. "I knew I loved y/n when I had to go a day without her."
Mike looked up at him, the kind of way Steve imagined a little brother would look at him if he ever had one.
"She had to go out of town for a day, visiting some family and I genuinely didn't know what to do with myself," Steve laughed at the memory, of you calling him the night before saying you were heading out of town, your nana was sick. "All day I just waited for her to get back and it's not because I didn't have things to do. Heck, I had basketball practise, I had this barbeque my dad wanted me to go to. But I just wanted to tell her about it and I couldn't. That's when I realised I loved her. I'm pretty sure I'd loved her since I first met her, really but not being able to call or see her face, made it pretty obvious."
Mike listened and understood.
Love wasn't exactly pulsing in his house. Sure, he loved his family because he had to they were blood. But he'd never seen his dad offer to cook just because his mom said she was tired, but he could imagine Steve doing so for you without you even having to say the word.
"It's true you don't know what you have until you lose it," Steve added.
Mike knew then, just what love was.
"But Mike liked me in a dress," said El.
"Screw Mike!" said Max from where Will was painstakingly trying to paint her nails and to stop her moving.
"Yeah," he chuckled. "Screw Mike."
You had been looking in your wardrobe and boxes at the bottom that you had meant to take to Goodwill but never got around to. The girls were insistent that they could also ask the boys out, but they wanted to look right, jaw-dropping. "When was this?"
"When I snuck into school," said El simply. "He said I looked pretty good in a dress."
"Pretty good?" you checked.
El nodded and looked down to the jeans she wore, rolled up several times at the ankle and the checked shirt that looked like it once belonged to Jonathan. "And with different hair."
"Okay," you ditched the boxes and carefully guided El to your bed, the two of you sitting on the edge. "El, it doesn't matter what Mike likes you wearing. It matters what you like."
"What I like?" she asked, a small amount of confusion furrowed in her brows.
"Yeah. What you feel comfortable in. What you like. Hey, if that's jeans and a baggy shirt, wear the jeans and baggy shirts."
El fidgeted with her small hands in yours. "But what if, I want Mike to, like me?"
You squeezed her hands. She said everything in such a same tone, so simple as if the world was made to be that way. "Mike'll like you just the way you are. If he doesn't then we get rid of him."
"Get rid of him," nodded El.
You had the sudden idea what that meant to El, remembering just who you were talking to. You shook away that idea. "Okay, how do you like your hair? What do you like to do with it?"
El looked at the bits of her hair she could just about see. The curls expanding down to waves at her shoulder. "I like it... like this."
"Then we leave it like that and I'm sure Mike will like that you like it," you tell her with a smile. "Tell you what, you and Max go look through the boxes, see if there's any clothes you like. Anything you do is yours."
Max and El shared a look of equal excitement. "Serious?"
You nodded.
The two girls jumped up from their places and grabbed armfuls of clothes, running to the bath room in fits of giggles.
It left Will alone with nail polish smudged on his fingers.
You smiled and dropped down next to him. "You know, painting nails doesn't just have to be for girls you know?"
Will nodded, but seemed shy. "I know."
"Have you seen Bowies nails? They're crazy."
You pulled out a magazine from somewhere littered on your bedroom floor, luckily finding one about Bowie and splaying it out on the bed. The two of you flicked through, smiling and pointing out the colours.
"What's your favourite colour?" you asked him, already lining out the polishes you had.
Will didn't hesitate in pointing out his favourite shade. "Blue."
You took the nail polish and grabbed his hand, laying it out but you hesitated before putting brush to canvas. "May I?"
Will took a deep breath, not a nervous one, not one that told you he was being forced into it. He just wanted to ready himself to remember the moment. "Yeah."
The movie theatre glowed with the latest pic.
Two care were pulled up on the side, a familiar BMW and your own. It had all been arranged, Steve calling at yours to hear the girls in the background and set the plan into action.
Steve found you helping the girls and Will out the car and smiled at you though you couldn't see the crease to his eyes that could only happen when one was as in love with someone as he was with you.
He turned around to face the three in the back. "Right, tell me again, what are you going to do? Go- Lucas."
Lucas straightened to attention, the flowers in his lap. "I am going to apologise to Max and say she looks beautiful. Then I'm gonna give her these flowers."
"Good, good, Wheeler?"
Mike cleared his throat. "I am not going to ignore my feelings and be true to myself, and let El know how I really feel."
"Yes!" Steve cheered. "Dustin? Your action?"
"Not to make fun of my friends or hold it against them if the girls laugh in their face," he recited. "I am going to watch the movie and buy snacks with the money you gave me."
"Yes!" Steve looked at all three of his prodigy's happy.
You settled the engine in your own car, looking at Max and El in the back while Will sat up front with you. "Ok, remember, be yourself, don't let the boys treat you like crap, and if they do, tell them."
"Got it!" said Max.
You held up a pointed finger. "But don't-"
"Purposely hurt their feelings, yeah we got it," said Max. "C'mon."
The four of you got out the car and you watched as Lucas and Mike waited outside the doors for them, Lucas holding a bouquet of flowers that you could tell were not from a gas station.
Will followed quietly after the girls, looking down to his painted nails and smiling at them every now and then.
You even noticed Mike seeing them to, saying how he liked them before he focused on El and Wil met Dustin inside.
Arms wrapped around your waist, tugging you into a familiar hard chest.
"Well hey beautiful," Steve mumbled into your ear, rocking you slightly.
You tilted back to see him. "Hey, yourself."
Steve smiled as he leant down and kissed you, slow and sweet, dragging his lips against yours to keep you in place just that little more longer. "Mmh, I missed you today."
You held onto his arms still wrapped around yours as you looked at where Mike held El's hands and Max was taking the flowers Lucas held up to her. "I was busy. It seems you were to?"
"Yeah. I taught them everything I know," he shrugged like it was nothing but you could feel the swell of his chest, telling you how proud he was.
"Well if they went to the Steve Harrington school of treating a girl I'm sure El and Max are in safe hands."
You turned in his arms, wrapping your own around his neck and bringing him down to you. Your bodies were flushed as his lips moved against yours, without daring to sweep his tongue in- not in front of the children at least.
Steve's arms slowly fell lover and lower until his hands gripped your hips bringing you closer. "Hey, so-" he mumbled against your lips, not wanting to part. "We've got a whole hour and thirty to kill before the kids want picking up. I know a spot, dark, secluded, perfect for us."
You hummed against his lips. The both of you were already having a productive day. You could get a lot done in one hour and a half. "Your car or mine?"
A/N: hello everyone! It's been months since I've written something for Benedict, but I feel him coming back to me with his season so close!!! I'm so so so excited for him and Sophie :)) and I've been loving the things I've seen from the season already regarding them! Anyways, this took me a really long time to write, and I started it on a day I was quite sad, but didn't manage to post it then for a self-indulgent comfort fic lol. Here it is now though! <3
CW: nothing, Benedict being a sweetheart, Benedict being stolen away to help Anthony with something (how dare he, Benedict's wife needs him, Anthony smh), fluff, hurt and comfort (but the hurt isn't specified, it's just a bad day), Reader feeling morose for no good reason (we all have those days), no mention of y/n, UNBETAED.
(we'll have new gifs from his season soon!!!)
(2.1k words)
gif by @benedictsbridgerton !! <3
It had proven to be a challenging day. Not for any particular reasons. Days were sometimes challenging without there being a genuine challenge to be surmounted. She’d woken and felt instantly that she would not have an easy go of it this day. What’s more, she’d found, upon waking, that Benedict wasn’t in their bed, which was highly unusual. If ever he woke earlier than her, he remained in bed and busied himself with reading or sketching until she woke so they could start their morning together. However, on most days, he enjoyed to sleep in and she never begrudged him that. To have him away from their bed entirely was an unwelcome notion, especially on a day such as this, where she felt she needed the warmth of his comfort more than usual.
She gave herself a few minutes to remain in bed, staring at the ceiling briefly, then turning with a huff onto her side to stare out the window, and then back onto her other side with another huff to stare at the wall, before ringing the service bell. She knew no good would come of delaying this day and what it might bring.
“Good morning, madam.” Said Poppy, one of the newer members of the help.
It was her first time in London, seeing as she’d been hired from the village near My Cottage. The household had only just recently all arrived and moved into Benedict’s London apartments for the upcoming season, and Poppy, still of an agreeable age, seemed to now walk with a pep in her step from being in such a large city for the first time.
“Good morning, Poppy,” She replied while Poppy busied herself with opening the curtains and opening one window to let fresh air in. “How are you enjoying London?”
“Oh, ma’am, it is most wonderful! So much of it to see, so many people!” Poppy returned, voice full of earnest joy, now helping her into her robe whilst she was putting on her slippers.
“That gladdens me, Poppy. Have you enough time to see more of the city? I find it is most pleasant with the sunset. Though, that may very well be because I have a gentleman whose arm is offered to me once I wish to see the city so.” She smiled weakly, thoughts straying to Benedict as they so often did.
“Oh, do not fuss over me, madam. I… are you quite well? You seem somewhat morose, madam.” Poppy inquired cautiously, standing at her full height, arms in front of her as she watched the lady of the house sit down at her vanity.
Poppy moved to stand behind her chair, reaching for the hair brush her lady preferred.
“It is nothing. It is only that… some days are harder than others. Do you feel similarly sometimes, Poppy?” At Poppy’s nod, she continued. “I suppose that I was hoping to have Benedict’s company today, but he seems to not be here. Is he downstairs, perhaps?”
“No, madam… Mr. Bridgerton left the house about an hour ago. Viscount Bridgerton had called him to Bridgerton House. Or so I heard from Mr. Bridgerton’s valet.”
She nodded tersely, offering a weak smile to Poppy in the mirror.
“I see.”
“I am sorry to be bringing disappointing news, madam. Mr. Bridgerton will certainly be home before nightfall, though. He gave no signs that he would be sleeping at Bridgerton House. He shall be back to you, madam.” Poppy smiled gently, setting the brush down now that its job was done. “The dress for today, madam?” She queried gently, walking over to open the lady’s dresser.
“I believe… that one over there.” The lady pointed, thinking hard on what cravat Benedict had likely selected for the day, and opting to match her dress to it.
“Of course, madam. A wonderful choice.” Poppy smiled knowingly, reaching for the dress and busying herself with preparing it to be worn.
“I believe I will be going outside today.”
“Outside, madam? Where to? Shall a carriage be necessary? I shall call down to one of the footmen, have him prepare one for you at once.”
“Well, I shall break my fast first, but perhaps in an hour, at most, yes. I wish to have a promenade. Perhaps to wash the melancholy away.”
“Certainly, madam. A good idea.”
Once she’d gotten dressed and gone down to the dinner room, the area feeling vastly empty even though only one man was missing from it, she broke her fast with whatever caught her fancy. However, in truth, the true object of her desires was not within the room. An unfortunate happening that she wished to remedy at once.
So, once she’d had some food, she got into the carriage the household had called for her, and she set en-route towards Bridgerton House. Once they’d gotten closer to it, she bid the driver to stop the carriage so that she might walk the rest of the way to the House. The driver was initially uncertain, not wishing to leave her alone, but she insisted, and gestured towards the streets, currently filling themselves with promenading couples, likely on their way to St. James’ Park.
She was helped down, and from there began her solitary promenade. As she’d told the driver, many couples were out on the streets, and many of them recognized her and greeted her politely. Some even asked her if she was alright, asked her why she was without her famed gentleman, and offered to have her join them so that she might not be alone. She denied that last offer whenever it came up, the shake of her head as she did a gentle thing so as to calm them and stop them from pushing further. She did not much feel like talking to anyone at all today. Well, perhaps there was one exception to that rule. And yet he was not there for her to talk to.
Just as the streets were getting emptier the closer she was to Bridgerton House, her walk seemingly ended. She knew that it would be the next turn, to the right. However, as she was walking up the road she’d turn down the right on, a carriage came from the very direction she was going towards. She ignored the carriage, busying herself with thinking about what could have caused her melancholy. She’d had a sleep average in length and quality to her norm, she’d had food upon waking, she’d not quarrelled with Benedict the night before, nor with anyone, really. Truly, there was no good reason for her to be morose! She’d hoped that she would find a sound, logical explanation. She much disliked it being left up to the fates.
The sound of horse hoofs coming to a dramatic stop, as well as a carriage careening to a stop right after dragged her out of her conjecture. She turned her head to where the sound had come from, just in time to see a very familiar man stepping out of the carriage she’d just seen turning onto her street.
Benedict looked equal parts confused and amused. He ran up to her (quite unsafe), crossing the street without care.
“My darling, what in the world are you doing?” He panted, catching his breath that he’d likely lost from surprise and from the unexpected run he’d just taken.
“Good morning, my husband.” She riposted calmly, leaning in for a kiss. He returned it, naturally, his bare hand (he’d pulled off one of his gloves for this) tenderly caressing her cheek before moving to her waist.
“Good morning,” He repeated, now more lightly amused than anything because he’d seen she was well. “I shall ask again, however you should take care to notice that I am doing so calmly and serenely, what are you doing here?”
“I am on a promenade.”
“Yes, I quite well see that, my darling. However, a promenade all on your own? No chaperone, no one to hold a conversation with?”
“I am married now, as I ought to remind you, perhaps. No need for a chaperone.” She looked at him, gauging how he’d respond.
“Yes, well… then, no me?” He asked, dejected and pouting briefly (though that was perhaps only to amuse her).
“You were absent from our household. To have you at my side for a promenade seemed quite impossible, do you not agree?”
He smiled sheepishly.
“Ah, is that what this is about? My absence?” He queried, voice going up in pitch just slightly. “Do you happen to be cross with me now, my love?”
“Cross with your absence. I woke up hoping you would be there.” She confessed, looking away from his eyes. Her eyes landed conveniently onto his cravat, a sense of pride lighting up inside her amidst her sullen temperament. She’d guessed his cravat colour right.
Benedict noticed the difference in her and he frowned gently, pulling her into his chest.
“What has happened, darling?” He murmured, kissing her head.
“I woke up unhappy.”
“Due to what happenings?”
“None, from what I have gathered.”
“Ah, so simply one of those days, then. Much like the days I sometimes have where I cannot even look at my paintings. Tomorrow shall be better, my love.” He kissed her head again, keeping her close so as to keep her warm. He had his long coat on, the one he wore on colder days.
“I know… I only wished you could have told me that as I woke, rather than hours later.”
“That cannot be helped, I’m afraid. You should take this issue to Anthony. I will help you berate him, I promise.” He chuckled. “Not now, however. I have seen enough of his visage for the day. Let us return home, so I might tend to my wife.” He smiled, playful and himself as ever, and offered her his arm so that they might safely cross the street over to the carriage he’d been in.
She was surprised, but shouldn’t have been, at the carriage still waiting for them.
“They love us,” Benedict murmured once he noticed her surprise. “Moreover, they are all good, quite people. The ones that work for us.”
She nodded back, a small smile of gratefulness.
“And, they have no choice.” He finished, giving her one of his sideways grins, the ones so very boyish in nature.
Once they had settled into their carriage and Benedict had instructed the driver, a man around his age by the name of Gwent, to drive them back home, they began their journey home, ending her impromptu walk she’d been so eager to have.
“You know,” Benedict began, whispering even though there was no need, what with the carriage’s sounds drowning out their voices for anyone else. “I do believe Gwent is quite fond of that new lady’s maid of yours. Poppy?”
She smiled softly, spirits already having lifted in his presence.
“She is very excited to be in London for the first time.”
“I see.” Benedict replied conspiratorially, eyes shining. “I shall, subtly, of course, relay this information to Gwent. And give him the rest of the day off. In case he wishes to take an impromptu promenade around London. Alone or otherwise.”
“You are a romantic, my love.” She accused him softly.
“With you at my side, what else could I be, my darling?” He replied, deftly pulling off one of her gloves so as to kiss her knuckles.
“Now, I’ve quite the busy day ahead of me.” He said solemnly, pulling her into his side.
“What? Why?” She asked, frowning already.
“I have a wife to hearten and console. A most challenging task, you see.” He teased, pressing a kiss to her temple in apology, not wishing to invoke her wrath with one of his silly jests.
“You best get to it now, husband, lest I truly become cross with you.” She threatened, her words devoid of malice.
“Mm, indeed. Once we are home, what shall we do? A spot of reading, perhaps? Poetry? Or, some painting? You could sit for me.”
“Or, we might sleep.” She suggested simply.
“Well, naturally, however I assumed that would come later, darling. But, if my wife insists, who am I to deny her? I am but a simple man.” He smiled.
“I rather meant actual sleeping, Ben.” She said knowingly, looking at him with a raised brow.
His mouth opened briefly, and then he closed it again, smiling at her (but it looked more sheepish than charming).
“Of course! That is what I meant too, obviously.”
“Obviously.” She repeated, a smile slipping onto her face before she could stop it.
“But truly,” He leaned in to whisper against her cheek, kissing it. “How do you expect me to react when I see that my wife has somehow matched the colour of her day dress to my cravat without her even having seen what I got dressed in?”
“That, simply means that we are well matched.” She replied softly, the two meeting in a soft kiss.
“And who am I to argue with the fates?” He whispered against her mouth, pressing his forehead gently to hers.
Requested by: anon ‘Can I request a Benedict Bridgerton x reader? Reader is married to Benedict and is pregnant with their first child and its the scene where Eloise comes into the drawing room and is like "How does a lady come to be with child?" and reader is just like 😳 and Benedict and Colin start teasing her and Eloise is just 🤨🤔’
Notes: this is my first time writing for Benedict so be nice plz. Also I’m not rlly happy w how this turned out but I hope u like it
Warnings: period typical attitudes towards sex, references to smut
Gif creds to owner
“So how does a lady come to be with child?”
The melody that Daphne had been playing ended with an abrupt crash of the keys as Violet and Hyacinth’s conversation died down, as well as Colin and Benedict’s.
“Eloise what a question!” Violet said, hurrying over to shush her outspoken daughter.
“I thought a lady needed to be married; apparently it’s not even a requirement,” Eloise said, smirking triumphantly, before Violet cut her off.
“A requirement for what?” You asked cheerily, coming into the room, your hand resting elegantly on the top of your bump.
“Ah, YN, you should know,” Eloise said, hurrying to sit between her brothers. “And you two-”
“Do not look at me,” Benedict said quickly and you frowned, your face heating up quickly.
“Have you ever been to a farm, El?” Colin said, causing you to gasp as Benedict smacked him upside the head.
“I hope you two aren’t encouraging improper topics of conversation,” Violet warned over her shoulder, encouraging Daphne to start playing again.
“Oh, not at all. In fact, Benedict and I were about to get our sticks out,”
“Colin Bridgerton!”
“A round of fencing!”
“You most certainly are not going fencing just yet, Benedict after I climbed those stairs with your child crushing my innards,” you said sternly
Violet sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, before saying something about escaping to the library with Gregory and Hyacinth. When her mother and younger siblings were safely out of earshot, Eloise looked back between her brothers, and again at you (or more accurately, your belly). “So… how does it happen?” Eloise asked in a hushed voice.
“Oh… well… when a man and a woman love each other very much,” you began.
“Although even that isn’t a requirement for some people,” Colin smirked.
“But… you and Ben love each other,” Eloise observed, and you nodded quickly. “So one does not have to be married, nor love one’s partner… so it just… happens?
“No!” You said quickly.
“There is a bit of… method,” Colin said, smirking at his brother and sister-in-law’s awkwardness. “And it’s rather simple really, even Benedict managed to do it to YN,”
“Wait… the man needs to… do something to the woman,” Eloise said, eyes wide.
“Oh yes,” Colin said, eyes bright with wickedness, and you wished you could melt into the chair as Eloise looked at you. “So you must not let a man touch you, unless you want to have a baby,”
“Oh, no!” Eloise said, horrified. “But… what about just before? I sat right by you, squashed in the middle of you two great lumps,”
“Oh, enough!” You said. “Colin’s japing,” you explained. “It’s rather more complicated than that, and it all depends on a lady’s monthly-”
Colin cringed slightly and a light pink blush crept onto Benedict’s cheeks. “Why don’t you go to the nursery, El?” he said suddenly, nodding to you. “And YN will tell you properly,”
“Yes, of course. I suppose that makes the most sense; she is the lady with child after all,”
“Yes, YN is the expert when it comes to it,” Colin piped up. “I’m sure she and Ben really enjoyed-ow!” Even though your back was to them both as you walked out of the room with your elbow linked with Eloise, you knew Benedict had elbowed his brother.
***
“So you don’t… bleed any more?” Eloise asked as she helped you go through the baby clothes kept in the Bridgerton home’s nursery
“No. I won’t until after the baby comes,” you said gently. “Because the baby is using all of the blood as a sort of cushion in my womb. The doctor said it is how he or she will eat and breathe until they are born,” you said, appreciating that Eloise did not squirm at the mentioning of natural bodily functions. “That’s how I knew I was with child; my cycle stopped and I was plagued with nausea for weeks,”
Your sister-in-law nodded slowly. “Is what Colin said true? About touching a man, I mean. Because I should like to avoid falling pregnant until I am absolutely ready, which I’m sure will be never,”
Laughing quietly, you shook your head. “Colin was just teasing you,” you explained. “It is true that one needs both a man and a woman to make a baby, but it is rather more complicated than simply being touched by a man. If that were the case, every woman in the country would be great with child. It takes a rather… special touch,” you murmured, looking away to hide your flustered face as you thought of passionate nights spent with Benedict.
“Special? How special? What happens?” Eloise urged, and you looked over your shoulder, petrified that Violet Bridgerton would be listening at the door, ready to reprimand you for corrupting her unmarried second daughter. “Oh go on, please, YN. Mama is in the other side of the house,” Eloise begged. “I feel so stupid all the time; I’m not allowed to go to university because of my gender. I should be allowed to know exactly how the female body works, as whatever it is that happens will surely happen to my body too. I should like to prepare myself, and not float about all naive like Daphne and the Featherington’s and every other girl in the blasted ton,”
Eloise was truly a force to be reckoned with when she wanted to know something, and she did have a point with knowing her own anatomy. “I… okay,” you said, folding a swaddling cloth up. “In order for a baby to grow inside a woman, the man must first… put his seed inside of her,”
“Like a meal?”
“Er… no. You cannot fall pregnant via your mouth,” you said. After all, Ben had showed you that months ago… “the man and the woman must… join their bodies. A-and they are… well, they are made to fit together,” Eloise nodded slowly. “And men and women join together by their most intimate parts… ah…” you lowered your voice to a whisper. “Between one’s thighs,”
Eloise nodded slowly, staring at your belly. “Thank you for explaining that to me, YN,” she said. “I suppose Penelope and I no longer have to fret about ending up like…” you arched your eyebrows. “Like… somebody’s maid,” she corrected herself as you began walking back to the parlour.
As you entered the room, Benedict and Colin looked up, opening their mouths, surely about to say something smart. “You needn’t bother yourselves,” you warned, and luckily, they knew better than to try and mess with a pregnant lady.
Sighing, you sat next to your husband, resting your head on his shoulder as he rested his hand on your belly, kissing your forehead tenderly. “Are you alright, El?” He asked, spotting his sister staring at you both out of the corner of his eye.
“I just realised… in order for YN to be with child… you had to put your seed in her womb and- oh god- join between her thighs… urgh!”
Tags: @once-upon-an-imagine
Also @pinkandblueblurbs and @epaige0914 bc u commented on my post lol
warnings: regency courting etiquette, gender roles/sexism, use of ‘lady’ and ‘she/her’ and ‘woman’, flirting, benny being absolutely in love with you, improper smooching, few innuendos, a smidge of heavy petting.
word count: 5.6k
blurb: where you care too much about what your mother thinks, much to your siblings dismay, it almost guides all of your decisions. but when you rely on what you want... you find it to be rather rewarding — starting with a simple game of fencing. En Garde.
a/n: i’ve written so many drafts, but i think im really gonna post this one lol. i haven’t written goodies about men in a WHILE so forgive me if it’s bad you guys :((
.
.
“Mama is going to have more than a word with you when she finds out about this, Antoine.”
“Wouldn’t you rather participate in an activity you’re actually good at, than just… Promenading around the yard?” He scoffed, using an overdone posh accent.
The mama you shared was very particular when it came to the season of your debut. You happened to be the first daughter of the Sinclair Household, out of two, to debut into society. Which meant, all eyes were on you – technically. Coming from a well-renowned family, many people held many expectations for you. And, the Ton couldn’t wait to deliberate about someone who slightly strayed from tradition and normalcy. That could easily dampen the reputation your family built through years of networking.
It should also be mentioned that your father is the ultimate source for how the Ton perceives you – he’s a Marquess, anointed by the Queen. So, maybe it wasn’t only high society you had to look out for.
It was the lovely lady who governed, her grace.
Which makes this rendezvous, with your favorite suitor, all the more complicated. Antoine was very adamant about ensuring your happiness. As your brother, that was his job – so he claims. Antoine, is a very generous elder brother – honestly, better than most. Better than his own friends who happened to share the title. The season had only begun a month ago, but he’d noticed that you hadn’t caught the eyes of anyone in particular. Your family was high enough in society to at least attempt a love match – he knew you deserved that much.
So, he examined the pool of eligible men around him. Choosing to ignore their overbearing sexual history, since he himself was questionable in that department. His character was separate from his reputation with women – which wasn’t that thick of a book, by the way. Antoine was a good man who just so happened to love the company of beautiful women. He was simply a product of what society enabled – and there were more like him.
He didn’t want to be biased, so he began with Mr. Lumley. He was an attractive young man whose record was clear. Mr. Lumley had already called for you, offering you flowers and such. But, you weren’t completely sold. You accompanied him to a ball hosted by the Abernathy’s, but no flutters were felt. And, you were determined to feel those flutters.
Next, he jumped to his closest friends – the Bridgerton’s. Whom of which you met on plenty of occasions. Antoine didn’t care to consider the Viscount, being that he was familiar with how he desired his future. His first consideration was Colin. He was kind and harbored that love for adventure that you did. However, he notice a subtle glance he gave to Penelope Featherington and decided not to tread on that territory. Finally, the artist of the family, Benedict. Antoine had noticed the two of you got on nicely – more than nicely. That’s when he began to plant his seeds of love – he calls it.
When your brother found a trashed sketch of your face… He knew his meddling worked.
Antoine is more than positive he’d helped you find your match. So it didn’t matter what your mama thought, or even the Ton. He was a genius.
In a little over forty-eight hours, Lady Bridgerton is planning to host a ball at Aubrey Hall. You were invited as a noble guest, being that you were being courted by her second eldest. And, there you were standing walking down the backyard steps of the manor with your brother – complaining. He had proposed a date to your potential lover. A date that isn’t very ladylike of you to participate in – even if you were fantastic at the art of it. Your mother had come a day later than the two of you, and she’ll be in Kent sometime this day. If she saw you…
“This isn’t an activity for a future wife, Antoine.” You may have been quoting your mother, but her words often rang true. And, even if it wasn’t it’s not like you had the reigns, as a woman, to tempt fate. Spinster age was around the corner.
Fencing. What a lovely sport. If only you could proudly proclaim your love for it.
You were wearing the same beige frock you wore when playing with your siblings. It had long billowing sleeves, but the bodice was still firm to your bust. Stylishly laced at its edges. “Since when did you care what future wives did?” He grumbled, dressed in his white fencing attire, holding both of your swords. “You knew Benedict before your debut-”
“And he wasn’t interested until my debut!”
“That changes nothing, y/n. If he didn’t like you we wouldn’t be here now. And, we most certainly wouldn’t be walking across a field to go fencing behind bush-lining.”
A nervous sigh fell from your lips, as you waddled across the grass. The pair of you were meeting Benedict and his brothers a little ways from the back of Aubrey Hall. “The one thing you can trust is my word, sister. I would never steer you wrong.” He patted your shoulder, sliding his arm along them to pull you closer.
The sun was blinding your eyes as you approached the shaded area, fortunately, shaded. One of your arms slides around the middle of his back, leaning on him to gather your strength. You’ve never been the type to be insecure – maybe this season was messing with you. Not once have you ever been hesitant to show off your skills. The stress of being a debutante, even while officially courting, was changing you. Was this the path to becoming a woman – watering down your passions, or feeling bad if you didn’t?
Smile.
“Lord and Lady Sinclair,” Anthony spoke, bowing his head shallowly, while the pair of you approached. The two other brothers do the same.
“Anthony,” Antoine boyishly grinned.
“Viscount Bridgerton,” You disconnected from your brother to dip coyly. “Mr. Bridgerton… Mr. Bridgerton.” Your eyes flickered from Colin to Benedict – the artist that held your heart between his hands. Antoine joked about with the boys, patting their shoulders playfully.
Benedict leaned down to speak lowly near your ear. “How come you didn’t tell me you knew the art of fencing?” He raised an eyebrow. The sensation of his warm breath on the side of your neck and the shell of your earlobe. A dry giggle left your lips, looking up at the tallest brother. In truth, it was because of your mother’s nagging voice in your head. But, you couldn’t share that. Of course, not.
“It simply never came up – slipped my mind, forgive me.”
“No need to ask for forgiveness…” Benedict leaned closer to your ear once more. “I already knew. You can thank your brother for that.”
In response, exhaled forcefully, glaring at the back of Antoine’s head. Thanks a lot, now I look like a liar. Rolled your eyes, stalking towards him with a bit more ferocity than you walked in with. Anthony nodded his head in your direction, causing him to turn around with an absent mind – looking directly above your head. “Antoine!” You sharply called. He immediately looked down, meeting your height. “Are we fencing or not – we do not have all day.” You pull the fencing sword from his hand, turning on your heels.
“Ah, my bad, sister. We shall begin… Benedict.” Antoine looked at the man standing back behind you, a smirk curling on his lips. He prepared to step forth, but you held your hand out. Your palm hovering over his chest.
“No, not yet. Antoine…” You pointed with your dulled sword. “You first.” Benedict’s eyes never leave your frame, watching as you command his attention. He takes a few steps back, wandering to sit on the bench along with the other Bridgertons.
Antoine inhales, hanging his head briefly with a mischievous smirk. “Ah… There’s the y/n I like to see.”
“En Garde, brother.”
You place your non-dominant hand on your hip, using the other towards your opponent. Your eyes were carefully trained on Antoine, squinting intimidatingly, positioning your feet. He readies, doing just the same. Your brother and you had been in this position plenty of times, and often they ended with him laying in the grass. Rarely ever you. “Antoine, remember, this is your sister – she is a lady. Take it easy on her.” Anthony teasingly called, glancing over towards you.
A scoff fell from your lips as you lunged toward your brother, colliding his sword with yours. “Save the insults for when you’re on the end of my sword, Lord Bridgerton.” Antoine lunged toward you, but you jumped back avoiding the contact of the dull sword. You hummed, cockily swinging your weapon. The sound of the swords clashing filled the space, with little grunts from the both of you. Antoine managed to get two taps against your waist, and you managed to get one on his. However, as per, he ended up kissing the grass.
You laughed in victory, bowing to the small audience. “Who’s next?”
Minutes flew by as you tackled both Anthony and Colin Bridgerton – successfully knocking them to the ground. You actually had to go against the eldest brother thrice before he completely gave up. Which only earned giggles from Benedict as he lounged on the bench.
“Do not laugh yet, brother. Laugh when you prevail that storm of a woman – Lady y/n, I mean. My apologies.”
“Your mistake was purposeful, Lord Bridgerton.”
You responded, as your eyes followed Benedict as he positioned in front of you – sword in hand. A competitive twinkle glimmered in his blue eyes as he straightened his posture. “I do apologize for my brother’s — they’re not known for challenging their opponents.”
“Lies! Lies, you tell!” Colin exclaimed, pointing at the artist.
With a chuckle, you circled that vertically gifted man. “And… You are?” You raised a single eyebrow, hitting his sword with your own. The trace of a smile being left on your lips, batting your eyelashes at him. “A gentleman shall never go back on his word. Are you going to challenge me, Mr. Bridgerton?”
“Only if you wish, my love.”
A beat.
Your eyes widened, lips parting in awe. But, easily your eyebrows deepened in determination. He was playing dirty. Using his sparkling eyes and boyish smirk to dismantle your throne. “Charm — a devilish trick. Don’t let his advances disturb you, y/n.” Antoine supported, leaning on his knees intently.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Benedict lunged, but you dodged. Your eyes were glued to his eyes. Honestly, if your families weren’t near — you’d probably toss the dull weapons to the side and pounce on the man. Benedict didn’t have to speak to charm you. A simple glance was all you needed. “Ouch.” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning pain. “I would hope that my charm disturbs you a little.”
You raise your eyebrows, tapping your swords again. “Disturbs me or flatters me?”
“Perhaps, both.” He pauses, as you lunge toward him. Barely grazing his arm with the thin blade. You curse under your breath, biting the inside of your mouth. “To leave you utterly enamored is, in fact, a goal of mine.”
Hm. You hum, smiling with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. Technically, he’s met that goal on many occasions — he just couldn’t know that for sure. “Is it, now? How’s that working out for you?” He lunges towards you, the sounds of your swords clashing multiple times. Your non-dominant hand gripped the skirts of your dress as you backed up into the treeline.
Benedict shrugs, backing up and gathering his breath. “Fairly well, I believe.”
“You think?”
“I know-“
His voice was cut off by the pinched tone of a stressed mama. You immediately freeze, pivoting and holding the sword behind your back. There she was stomping across the grass, with your younger sister following behind, begrudgingly. “Mama,” You fought a frown with a smile. Benedict had slowly walked behind you, taking the sword from your hands. Thankfully, you sent him a smile.
“Mama, you’ve arrived in Kent! Welcome.” Antoine tried, standing from the bench.
“Marchioness Sinclair, it is truly a pleasure,” Anthony spoke, elbowing his brother to speak. “Truly.” Colin co-signed, bowing his head.
Your mother was fuming, smoke was practically coming from her ears. “What is the meaning of this nonsense, y/n?” She questioned, deliberately. You adjusted how you stood, looking back at Antoine. He shrugs, trying to think of something on his feet that could save the both of you.
Then, he stepped forward — Benedict, not your brother. “I asked her to join my brothers and I for a round…” He glanced down at you. “Or two. I heard she was quite a force to be reckoned with when it came to fencing, and I was only curious.” His eyes gleamed whenever they were set on you, examining your uncomfortable stature.
She eased, sighing. Her scrutinizing eyes softened at the words of the young man. Even so, her presence spoke loudly for her. She was a Marchioness. “Is this true, y/n?”
“Yes! Absolutely!” You may have answered too quickly. “Mr. Bridgerton graciously thought to include me, based on mere hearsay… Very polite of him.” You nodded, sharing a tight-lipped smile with your mother. She crossed her arms over her satin bodice, squinting her eyes — glancing from you to Antoine.
“Hm. Very well.” A beat.
Her eyes landed on each party, suspiciously.
“I’ll be waiting to hear of your victories, y/n.” She turned around, gliding back towards the manor. Your sister hesitantly turns with her. She sent vibrant thumbs up, and a theatrical wink in her wake before then. Once she’d gotten to a legitimate distance, you groaned, stuffing your face in your hands.
Antoine shut his eyes tightly, pinching his nose. “Mama has perfect timing. Absolutely perfect.” You nodded, running your hands down your face.
“Absolutely perfect.” You mutter, allowing your arms to slap by your sides. Hesitantly, you turned towards Benedict, offering an energyless smile. “Thank you for stepping in…”
He nodded, holding his hands behind his back gallantly. “Oh, I would do it a thousand more times if needed. Of course, Lady y/n.” His eyes glanced around the area seeing the damper her mother’s arrival placed on the group. Anthony scratched the back of his head, whispering to Colin. “Why don’t we resume our game later? I can see that your mama’s interruption has compromised the mood.”
You chuckled, pushing a piece of your curls behind your ear. “Didn’t she… Yes, we may resume at a much later time. I might’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, to be honest.”
“Appetite, you say? I’m beyond famished!” Colin began stalking past everyone, heading towards the house. You suppressed a laugh, holding your fingers over your lips. Anthony and Antoine followed after him, nearly forgetting about both you and the artist.
Benedict offered his arm, sharing a charming smile. “How does cucumber sandwiches with classic English tea sound?”
“Splendid, of course!” You marveled, sliding your arm through his. Adoringly holding his gaze, as you approached the large manor behind the boys.
…
Julianne, your sister, sat in the room you shared flipping through the pages of the books Eloise lent her. “Ugh, can’t I have a love like Mr. Bingley and Jane…” She pouted, wiping fake tears from her cheeks. You snickered, taking the remaining pins from your hair, and placing them in the bowl on the vanity.
Turning in the plushy seat, you leaned on the back of the chair. A wistful expression adorning your face. Julianne shuts the book as she couldn’t help but feel the emotions leaking from your pores. “What happens to be on your mind, sister?” She adjusts herself on the bed, where she turns her feet to where the pillows are.
You shake your head, pursing your lips. “I’m not sure…”
“Ah, well, that’s believable.” She remarks, kicking her feet back and forth. “You’re not sure what’s on your mind.”
Abruptly, you stand from the chair, walking to the long window that serves a view of the grand backyard of the manor. “I am realizing, I think, that I am past merely liking Mr. Bridgerton.” You paused, blinking as you were slowly coming to terms with your unruly emotions. Sure, you’ve said before that he held your heart — but, he may really be holding your heart. Delicately, to add. He was a very gentle man. “I may be in love with him, Julianne.”
She gasped, holding her hands intertwined under her chin. “He’s your Mr. Bingley!” Julianne cheered, swinging her legs off the bed.
“Not literally. But, yes — if that makes me the prettiest Bennett sister, Jane.”
“You…” She narrows her eyes, before slightly glancing out the window. Then, her eyes widened tremendously, pointing quickly at the figure wandering in the dark. You were still looking at her harboring a teasing grin, but her attention elsewhere caught your eye. “Oh, Blast! Is that Mr. Bridgerton just there?”
He held a candle as light, but he slowly wandered the field and garden. Palming some of the bush fixtures. You gasp, pushing her to the side of the window, while you stumble to the other side — where you’re out of sight. “You must meet him down there.”
“I mustn’t! If mama catches me-“
“y/n, you are about to be a married woman — who cares what mama thinks, good God.”
You inhale, furrowing your eyebrows. The opinion of your mother has grown since your debut. Feeling as if you had to succumb to this unattainable role. Your sibling had more faith in your betrothal than you did — which was odd considering your situation. You pondered — should you really go down there? What were you going to say? “I will keep watch for you.” Julianne offered, with a spreading smile. “Just don’t do anything too scandalous.”
Smiling, you grabbed the thin blue robe that went over your white nightgown. “No promises,”
That was a jest. Total jest.
Grabbing a candlelight, you scurried down to the back. Managing to be as quiet as a mouse on your mild journey through the manors. Your eyes caught the sight of the back of his disheveled hair, slowly maneuvering around. Hesitantly, you stepped onto the low vibrant grass. Glancing over your shoulder for any prying eyes — praying your mother didn’t catch you in this position. You wanted to be married organically, when he asks your father for your hand.
When you’d gotten closer enough to him, you called his name. “Mr. Bridgerton,” You stated, holding out the candlelight. “It’s quite late, is it not?”
He slowly turned around, as if he was expecting you. A smile grew on his lips. “It is quite late… I just desired fresh air — nightly fresh air.”
“Ah, yes. Nightly fresh air — the best form of air on the market.”
He was wearing loose-fitting clothes, just as you were since it was after hours. His eyes donned your frame, examining the length of your hair and how different it was compared to your daily looks. The effortlessness of your beauty rendered him shocked — enamored. Perhaps, even disturbed. “Turn down your light.” He spoke.
Your eyebrows deepened, confused by his words. “Huh? It’s dark, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Would you want to risk your mama seeing you and me unchaperoned… At night?”
Chewing on your bottom lip, you considered his words. That was the last thing you wanted. “Perhaps, not.” You took in a hefty breath, blowing out the candle with an innocent expression. Benedict chuckled, doing the same, then holding out his hand for you. The sound of your heart thumped in your ears, almost making you dizzy. And with a courageous inhale, you placed your hand in his.
He could take you anywhere and you wouldn’t dare complain. But, you couldn’t help but question.
A toothy smile graced your lips, his hand gripping yours bare. For the first time without some sort of glove. “Where are you taking me?” His long legs were no match for yours. Long strides quickly pulling you to wherever the destination may have been.
He looked over his shoulder. “Do we not have a round to finish?” Your lips gaped open, your other hand reaching toward his arm. Halting your steps, you pulled him to a stop. The grin on your lips was impossible to wipe off.
Breathily, you inhaled. “Did you plan this, Mr. Bridgerton?” The candlelight was being held by your pinky, aching from the weight. But, the contact of your hand against his firm arm was so comforting. He was so comforting.
“I did not, My Lady. However, I did wish to see you tonight.”
His wishes came true.
“And, I also wished for you not to be so formal with me. Please, call me Benedict.” His much larger hand, squeezed yours, pulling you closer to his tall frame. Your pointer finger tapped along his bicep, batting the long eyelashes your mother gave you — sincerely.
You grinned, with your bottom lip stuck under your teeth. Trying to resist the size, but it was impossible. His light eyes glistened with something that was unfamiliar to you, but you failed to fully catch it. All you noticed was that his gaze gave you a bodily reaction. Your chest and cheeks grew hot, where his hand met yours, a sensation tingling from the contact. “Only if you call me y/n and nothing else.”
Benedict chuckled, as your chests touched, looking down into your mind-controlling gaze. “And nothing else? So… My love happens to be off the table?” He raises his eyebrow, eyes glancing towards your lips.
“If it isn’t true. But if it is — call me that however many times you please.” Your eyes glanced toward his lips, but you stepped back, glancing in the direction he was taking you. “I believe you were taking me somewhere…”
His lips parted, but he quickly recovered. Nodding, and following through with his original plan — which was warping as time progressed. The pair of you had been attracted to each other since the moment you met. More so, Benedict than you. He just assumed that it would never happen, considering his closest friend was your brother. He didn’t expect Antoine to be so helpful to both of you.
But, now, his attraction to you has skyrocketed. From being around you so much, studying your face, spending long nights thinking about your face… And body. Benedict is nearly spent. While he wasn’t trying to rush, he genuinely wanted you. All he needed was a few minutes alone—
“Did you really set all this up… All for hopes?” You inquired, seeing all the swords poked into a holder and gloves for the sport set beside them.
“All for hopes… All for you. I mean a game is not finished until-“
“It is finished.” You mused, releasing his hand and approaching the weapons. With a giggle, you pulled the glove that was for your dominant hand on. Plucking the dull sword from the holder. “You are a thoughtful sort. I’ll say, you may have met your goal, Benedict.” You walked backward, watching as he gathered his gear. “Consider me utterly enamored.”
You were fluttering. It was the flutter.
He pulled his glove on, taking his sword and taking a few steps back. “As am I, my love. I only hope that doesn’t damper the competition.”
Benedict truly had you swooned. If you were willing to give in completely, the competition would be over. Or, at least you would've wanted it to have been over. You did have, unfortunately, one more man to defeat. “And risk my ultimate victory? Never!” You pointed your sword towards the man, smirking excitedly. Chest rising with anticipation. “En Garde, kind sir.”
He tapped your sword with his twice, before lunging. The game between the pair of you had gone on longer than it had with the others. Sparing longing glances, causing either one of you to stumble. The both of you attempted to dismantle one another with flirtation, but you deemed yourself to be much stronger than expected — the both of you. It surely was torture, though.
Then, all of a sudden, Benedict threw his sword to the ground. His chest heaving up and down — eyes stuck to you, unable to look away for even a second. You dropped your arm, letting it hit your hip still clenching your sword. The competitive sneer dropped from your lips, a look of expectation adorning your face. It seems he has reached his peak of keeping his distance from you.
“You’re an insufferable opponent…” He muttered, but it was already so quiet. Something in particular leaking from his words. You were so stunned that you could only stand there — in utter shock.
A breath flew from your lips. “Why’d you stop? You might’ve stolen my victory.”
“I wouldn’t ever want to steal your victory.” He approached you, resorting you to backing up. Choosing your steps carefully. Your hand rose, the corner of your lips curling weakly. He stopped advancing, holding his hands near his head. “Go on… Take me, y/n.”
Something in your gut told you his words had meant something else. His body language told you his words meant something else. Uncharted territory for you. The tip of your sword prodded at his abdomen. “I win.” You whisper, fluttering in places that have yet to be explored. He pushed the blade away with two fingers, resuming his approach. Remaining in your place, your arm drops, still holding the sword in your hand.
He had entered your space, his hand drifting down your clothed arm. Leading to the gloved hand that held the dull weapon. Your breath hitching in your throat. Benedict pulled the handle from your fingers, keeping his striking gaze on you. He tossed it to the side carelessly, then pulled the leather glove from your hand. “You win.” He whispered, aligning your hand with his.
This touch was different — more intimate than you ever experienced. It set your skin ablaze, it made you… It made you really want him. This feeling of want was different, nothing you’ve ever felt before. His other hand found solace at your waist, pulling you closer to him. You had no choice but to oblige, stumbling forward. “I must apologize,” He began, darting his eyes in an upside-down triangle. “y/n, I simply cannot contain myself anymore.”
Neither can I.
“You have convicted my soul. You have since the moment I laid eyes on you — that evening, only a year ago, where your brother introduced us.” Benedict enunciated, his thumb caressing your ribcage through your thin nightgown. You gasp, gripping the hand that was in yours. It couldn’t be true. Benedict Bridgerton pining after you before your debut. He was an adventurist – a rake, who also did art. You’ve heard whispers about him and his brothers… And your brother. How they wanted to push off marriage until they’ve made themselves useful, some more than others.
Were you being bamboozled? How on God’s green earth were you getting this close to this… Unattainable man. Convicted. You have convicted his soul – sounds like the words of a true poet.
“When Antoine and your father granted me the blessing in pursuing you wholly and completely…” He shook his head sincerely. “I have never felt so honored.” Wow. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes watering – the experience seemed to be too real. And, he continues. “y/n, you have bewitched me. There has not been a day where you’ve been absent from my mind. Not a second.”
“Benedict,” You spoke, your tone in utter surprise. He was sharing more characteristics with Mr. Darcy than with Mr. Bingley. He must’ve been doing this on purpose, he has indulged in the works of Jane Austen nearly as much as you.
His hands caress up your arm, leaving your hand, finding comfort on your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek lovingly. The artist struggles – tempted to just crash his lips against yours, but he couldn’t just yet. You blinked slow, wishing he’d lay himself upon you. It’s not like you could really formulate your words eloquently. You placed your hand on his elbow, leaning into his touch with need. It felt exhilarating to be touched by him – you wanted more. “Ben…” All you could do was repeat his name, dripping with unfathomed desire. You both breathed heavily, the sounds coming together as a union – nearly breathing each other’s air. His nose brushed yours, just before his lips plotted on the tip of it. A whine pulled from your throat in anticipation.
“y/n,” He spoke your name like a prayer, wistful – snagged from his diaphragm.
Slowly, he leaned down to her hovering his lips over yours. As if you’d done this before, your lips parted. The tip of your tongue grazing your bottom lip. You couldn’t help but hold your breath, breasts swelling from your loose bodice.
Pulling you flush to him by your waist, he finally and gently, places his lips upon yours. You release air from your nose, sliding your hand around his neck, your fingertips touching the shorter curls of his hair. Flutter. Flutter. Flutter! He kissed you with no matter of haste, he was savoring your touch. His hand remains in the divot of your waist, barely threatening to leave that spot.
Fireworks were exploding in the skies of your mind. Lips moving along with his, slowly drifting into a mode of passion. His grip intensified on your waist, wishing he could push you closer to him – as if you weren’t already touching. All it took was a hum to release between your lips for him to walk you back into a tree. When your back hit the bark, you yelped in surprise. Your attention is still completely on him, hands running through his dark shiny hair. Being overcome with impulse, you gripped his hair from the root – cousin a groan to erupt from his throat.
Benedict pulled back, the ends of his lips curling. “You… You are something.”
“Come here,” You party whine and demand, tugging him back to your lips.
He wouldn’t dare deny you, meeting your lips feverishly. His hands had grown to be more bold groping at your body. His intimate touch was beginning to make you heat up in nether places. Sounds erupting from your vocals that you have never heard in full. This would be quite the circumstance to be caught in – face-making with the man you are courting. Rather compromising.
But, it felt so good.
This is why it took a lot for you to pull away.
Breathing heavily, placing your hand on his chest – desperately wanting to tear the loose shirt from his body. “This… This is improper.” You heaved, a coy smile stretched on your lips. Benedict breathed just the same, his thumb wiping the corner of your lips adoringly.
“It is… But to hell with decorum.”
You laughed, caressing the back of his neck – wanting nothing more than to be entangled with him for all eternity. “Mind your tongue, Benedict.” You playfully scolded, looking up at him through your thick eyelashes. The softness of his untamed strands comforted you, subsiding – not erasing – your unbearable coil of desire.
“ I am minding my tongue…” He leaned forward, wanting to kiss you once more.
“We should get some sleep. I’m sure we are going to need as much energy as possible to bare my mother.” Your hand feels the strength of his throat, accidentally running over her adam’s apple as you descended. “And without sleep, that is impossible, my heart.” The man paused, both of his hands on either side of your face, lightly squishing your cheeks.
“My heart, is it?” Your face heated up, embarrassment flooding your hazy irises. You tried to flee his hands, but he wouldn’t let you. “I adore it. Just like I adore you… My love.”
His words and gaze make it impossible for you to leave. Your sister had to have been awaiting you or is asleep by now. She reminded you not to be too scandalous – whatever that meant. “I must go, despite how difficult you make it.” Your eyes jested, bashfully. Hands gripping his forearms lightly, urging him off – yet, not desiring his lack of touch. “You make it very difficult, might I add.”
“As do you, but you are right.” He slides his hands from your face, down to your shoulders. “I have to put this equipment away, and get a good night’s rest for-”
“My mother.”
“Yes, your mother – and whatever the day will bring.”
You look down to the grass, chuckling. Taking one of his hands in yours, you draw little hearts with your thumb on the back of his hand. “Then, I will leave you to it. Good night, Benedict.” A part of you was sad as if you weren’t going to see him in the morning for breakfast. The hours were too long – you wished you could stay beside him all night. He leans down, to kiss the back of your hand. Holding his lips against your skin, savoringly.
“Good night, y/n. I wish you heavenly dreams.”
You walk backward, slowly sliding your hand from his grasp. A beat passes, eye contact being the pair of yours’ main source of communication – so it seemed. “I love you, y/n Sinclair.”
Thump, thump, thump. A grin spreads on your lips, broad and silly, yet just as beautiful. “I love you, Benedict Bridgerton… Wholly and completely.”
changed, fundamentally - benedict bridgerton x reader
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader
Word Count: 3.7k
Summary: Your heroics are required to save Daphne when a garden party by the lake goes awry. Benedict aids you afterwards, and sets your mind at ease as to his intentions towards you.
A/N: Honestly, I was craving some protective Benedict but had no idea where this was going until it was suddenly written. Something about the combination of being both protective and in awe of the one you love? Lush. Sending you all love <3
---
Whilst garden parties were often frequented by ladies and gentlemen who wished to talk about the beauty of the gardenias or the latest marriage mart gossip, you had to admit that they provided the best food of any events of the ton you’d been to thus far. Tiny sandwiches, scones and cakes littered the table, arranged in fans or circles which had already been highly scavenged.
Luckily, at this particular garden party, you were both abundant in food and good company, since you had managed to steal Daphne away before she could police Anthony’s connection with Miss Edwina for the afternoon.
“I know you do not live here anymore, Daph, but you must visit more often. I can hardly stand these events without you beside me,” you moaned, patting Daphne’s hand that sat in the crook of your elbow.
“Perhaps if you would stop avoiding a certain someone, then you would have different company for such occasions, hm?” Daphne arched a brow at you and you averted your gaze to the grass beneath your feet.
“I am a passing fancy to him and nothing more,” you said, assertive in a way that did not invite further discussion, “To hope otherwise would be foolish and fortunately, I am no fool.”
Daphne looked as if she wanted to argue that point, but you pulled her closer and asked about her son instead. If there was one subject that could derail her dearest friend’s thoughts, it was her family with the Duke.
While she spoke, your mind began to wander. Imagining a life where Benedict was not simply entertaining you for the fun of it was a far-off dream, but sometimes it was nice to imagine for a little time. The two of you had known each other in passing for years, with your frequent visits to the house to see Daphne and Eloise, but had only truly spoken to one another at a ball last year.
—
You were with Daphne and Benedict was with Anthony, their dutiful confidantes as they navigated the tumultuous season. When the diamond dragged the viscount away to argue in private, the two of you were left awkwardly stood side by side.
“You are Lord Y/L/N’s daughter, no? Forgive me, I’m sure Daphne mentioned your name…”
“But I’m sure you were far too busy to listen to your little sister when she was a child,” you smiled, enjoying the way his eyebrows rose at your jest, “It’s Y/N.”
“And you are debuting this season too? You seem glued at the hip to my dear sister, for one who could be considering her own prospects,” Benedict was making polite conversation, which was to be applauded, because it looked like the effort was paining him. You decided to take pity, seeing as he was floundering so.
“You do not need to humour me, Mr Bridgerton. I will be fine without Daphne for a few moments I’m sure.”
“I’m not…humouring you.” he said, indignance colouring his tone.
“So you care deeply about my prospects? It is my second season out and I have had two proposals thus far, but have not yet deemed it necessary to accept, if you must know. You truly do not pay attention to the ton at all, do you?”
Benedict now looked completely taken aback. Perhaps it was the fact that you didn’t appear angry with him, simply curious.
“I’m afraid I lack a certain…interest in such matters, yes. I apologise if-”
“Ah, do not apologise. It is refreshing, if anything,” you assured him with a bright smile, “I know how sincere Daphne is about finding a suitable match, a love match in fact, and I am more than happy to help her do so despite your brother’s meddling. My prospects can wait a little longer.”
“You are not worried your prospects may dwindle?” Benedict asked, now seeming genuinely curious himself rather than simply making conversation. When he realised how his question sounded however, he was quick to rectify, “Not that I believe they would dwindle! With a beauty such as yours-”
“Mr Bridgerton, please,” you giggled as you held up a hand to stop him. His eyes were still travelling up your figure, and you wondered if he was taking in your appearance for the first time, just now. The thought sent an thrill up your spine, however unwelcome it was, “You can stop worrying about offending me. To answer your impertinent question, I’m sure my prospects will be just fine. I am not concerned with a love match myself, after all.”
“You do not want love or you do not believe in it?”
“I find it unlikely, let’s say,” you said, “What about you? You have been of age for a number of years now.”
“Indeed,” he grimaced, “As my mother likes to remind me regularly. Please do not let her see us having this conversation or she will ask if I have met my future wife.”
You laughed again and this time he joined you. Whether by accident or not, the conversation had turned into a pleasant reminder of how wonderful the Bridgertons were once you got to know them. Anthony was surely an exception, however, if his conduct with Daphne was anything to go by.
—
That felt like so long ago. There had been more conversations since between the two of you, each conjuring up more longing than the last. Benedict, as he insisted he be known to you, had never made polite conversation with you since. He asked about your hobbies and went into painstaking detail about his. Occasionally he realised how long he had been talking about his latest painting, and the blush that painted his entire face was imprinted onto your mind for the next week.
But, as you had explained a number of times to Daphne, Benedict showed no interest in marriage and it would be improper to continue to spend so much time with him at balls and garden parties without there being an end goal. Even if you didn’t care for one, your father had made it abundantly clear that even though he wouldn’t interfere in your search for a husband, he expected you to act with the utmost dignity at all times.
You tuned back into Daphne as you walked along the riverbank, just as she was finishing a story about Augie’s latest escapade.
“You will bring him with you soon, won’t you? And Simon. I should love to see them again,” you said earnestly, hoping that such a response would make up for the fact that you hadn’t been listening for a minute or two.
Daphne nodded her assent just as two gentlemen stepped into your path and the two of you came to a halt. You barely recognised the lords in front of you, but you knew that one was married and the other was not, much like you and Daphne. A pit began to form in the depths of your stomach.
“Your Grace, Miss Y/L/N,” the man on the left greeted you both and you immediately determined he was the bachelor from the way his eyes lingered on you, “Would you look at this view?”
As he spoke he gestured grandly to the lake and gardens, both hands flung out wide. One of these hands narrowly missed Daphne’s head as she flinched out of the way, but she lost her balance doing so. Before you could come to her aid she was toppling into the river with a yelp.
“Daphne!” you shouted, quickly dropping to your knees to help her out once she surfaced. Time seemed to slow down as the seconds ticked by and no Daphne emerged. You glanced up at the two gentlemen but they were clearly going to be no help as they tried to contain chuckles.
The bachelor noticed your horror-struck expression and scowled.
“She will be fine. Surely the Duchess can swim, can she not?”
It had been a number of seconds now and panic was beginning to rise within you. You whipped your head round to find the nearest Bridgerton brother for help, and immediately set eyes on Benedict, but he was too far away. You were acting before you could think better of it.
“Benedict!” you shouted over to him, watching his head snap towards you in an instant. Hoping he would soon come rushing over, you looked back to the still surface of the lake, took a deep breath, and dove forward into the water.
The chill hit you immediately, but as soon as you managed to open your eyes, fear gripped you far more urgently. The river wasn’t deep, but Daphne’s dress had caught on a rock that she was frantically trying to pull free from. With her gown quickly absorbing water, and panic having overridden any sense, she was only becoming more stuck by the moment.
Letting adrenaline guide you, you kicked your legs as hard as you could to get down to her and located the part of her dress that was stuck under a rock. You tried to pull on it but it was no use. Planting your feet on the rock instead, you kicked away from it with another strong effort and it rolled to the side just enough for Daphne to pull free.
You felt splashing behind you and knew that at least one Bridgerton brother had leapt in to help. There were arms around Daphne’s waist pulling her upwards, and soon you felt strong arms around you as well, aiding your journey to the surface. Once you emerged, you gasped for air.
“Daphne, are you well? Are you alright?” Anthony was desperate as he pushed his sister toward the river bank, Daphne unable to answer as she coughed from lack of air. Anthony’s fussing was soon drowned out by somebody behind you, holding you afloat.
“I have you,” said the voice, not quite calm but not yet reaching Anthony’s level of panic, “Here we are, towards the grass, Y/N, that’s it. Just breathe, my love.”
You and Daphne had been hauled up by both Bridgerton brothers and those that had gathered on the bank for the spectacle, and soon the four of you lay panting in the grass. Daphne reached over and squeezed your hand. When you looked at her, she had tears of gratitude shining in her eyes and you simply squeezed her hand in return. She would have done the same for you.
“My sincere apologies, Your Grace! We must all count ourselves lucky you have such a…heroic young woman for a friend.”
The two young ‘gentlemen’, if they could even fit such a title, still stood idle. The married fellow had the decency to look ashamed, but the bachelor still had something smug in his expression, particularly as he glanced down at your dress as it clung to your soaked form. Still panting, you pushed yourself to a stand and tried not to wobble as you reared on him.
“It is lucky that someone was feeling heroic, my lord. Tell me, were you born a coward or did you become one after each of your younger brothers married before you could even secure an engagement?”
The man blanched at your outburst, his face twisting into a far more sinister sneer. Had you not been accompanied by the entire ton, you perhaps would have thought better than to goad him so.
“I beg your pardon? Why, you insolent little-”
“That’s enough,” came Benedict’s voice as he stood beside you and you felt warmth wrap around your shoulders. His jacket. He pulled the lapels tight around you from the side until you held them yourself to protect your modesty, “Unless you wish to see a different side of me, Maycliffe, I suggest you take your leave.”
His words were polite enough, but Benedict’s tone was murderous. He had stepped up since providing his jacket and was now stood half in front of you, leaving no room for the man to continue his argument.
“It was an accident! Goodness, Bridgerton, what are you going to do? Paint me to death?”
You stepped forward to argue Benedict’s case on his behalf, a hand on his arm, but he gently held you behind him with his forearm and a glance in your direction. However much you wished to put this man in his place, you were a woman in need of a suitable match one day. It would not do to be the one to cause a scene.
“I should imagine the Viscount will have a myriad of things to say to you, once he has ensured Daphne’s recovery,” Benedict said calmly, “Would you like to wait here until he deals with you?”
There was a spark of fear in Maycliffe (as you now knew him) at that. Anthony was to be feared far more than the free-thinking, compassionate artist. Just before he left, Maycliffe’s eyes strayed to you once again, and Benedict took another step forward until the two men were nose to nose.
“You don’t get to look at her,” he murmured sharply, only just loud enough for you to hear. He stood still until the married man took the hint and pulled Maycliffe away, who was shaking his head and cursing as he left. You breathed out your relief. As much as you were loathe to admit it, Benedict’s chest heaving with anger and his calm yet fierce tone had made your knees weak.
“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathed, watching as he turned to face you as soon as he heard your voice. His hands twitched at his sides but stayed where they were, “I should go home, get dry. Can I return this to you at a later date?”
You gestured to the jacket and he reached out to rub the lapel between thumb and forefinger. His eyes bore into yours with the same intensity you’d just seen from him, but none of the anger.
“Come to Bridgerton house. Please. It’s closer and the doctor can check on you as he does Daphne. It would set my heart at ease.”
He placed a hand on his heart and it was impossible to refuse. A carriage ride later, you entered the house as Anthony helped Daphne inside.
“I really am fine now, brother. You do not need to prolong such fuss.”
Anthony rolled his eyes and, for the first time in all the years you’d known him, looked at you to share exasperation over Daphne. You allowed him a small smile.
“He’s right, Daph. Let everyone fuss over you a little longer until we are satisfied you’re well,” you said, “At least until you are clean, dry and checked over by the doctor.”
It was Daphne’s turn to roll her eyes, but she acquiesced and followed the maids into a room to bathe and change. Benedict had sequestered a few maids to aid you and sent you off with them with a reassuring smile.
“Please, call on me once she is well,” he said to one of the maids, who nodding knowingly before hurrying after you.
—
Once you were freshly clean and dressed in one of Eloise’s simple day dresses, the maid Benedict had spoken to took you to one side.
“I can call upon Mr Bridgerton if you like, Miss,” she said, then lowered her voice conspiratorially, “Or I can lead you to his room, if you would like a moment alone. I think after the day you’ve had, you’ve both earned it.”
You felt heat travel all the way up your spine and into your face. Biting your lip, you nodded at the maid against your better judgement and allowed her to lead you to Benedict’s room. Despite trying to save your heart from Benedict eventually tiring of you, your brush with the lake had changed your resolve. Perhaps instead, it would be best to enjoy such attention while it was granted, and worry about consequences later.
You hoped this maid was as discreet as maids could be.
She left you at the door with a wink that made your stomach swoop, and before someone could catch you in the corridor, you knocked.
“It’s me. Can I come in?”
A pause.
“Yes, come in.”
You began to push the door open then abruptly stopped.
“Are you decent?”
There was a pause and you could already see the smirk Benedict would be sporting in your mind’s eye.
“Mostly.”
You narrowed your eyes at him through the door, as if squinting might help you discern whether he was decent enough for you to enter. With a quick glance around to check once again you weren’t being watched, you ducked inside.
You leaned back against the shut door and sucked in a breath. He was mostly decent, though his billowing white shirt was barely buttoned and there was more chest on show than you’d ever be allowed to see in decent society.
“I was going to make a joke about how improper it is for you to be here,” Benedict said, as he stood from where he had been sat and crossed the room towards you. You fought the urge to press yourself further against the door as he advanced, “But I find I am just grateful to see you’re alright. No lasting concerns after your impromptu swim?”
“Not a one. I am fortunate that my family home in the country has a lake. We spent summers swimming there when I was young,” you explained, having to look up at him now that he was so close.
“We are all fortunate, then,” he said and once again you saw the telltale twitch of his hands by his side, “I must say, I would never like to see you call out to me and dive into a river ever again.”
You grimaced.
“I apologise-”
“No. Your heroics saved my sister from a worse fate. The doctor has checked her over and she is perfectly fine, thanks to you.”
His eyes were flickering between yours. However desperately you wanted to, you kept yours trained on him rather than his lips.
“I am so very glad to hear that. If I never see that gentleman again it will be too soon,” you said, then regretted mentioning him when a cloud passed over Benedict’s expression.
“He is no gentleman. He is a scoundrel, unworthy of any lady’s time, let alone yours. The way he-”
Benedict stopped himself and the muscle in his jaw ticked as he averted his gaze to the ceiling to calm down.
“It’s alright,” you said, unable to resist from reaching out to grasp his forearm, “He is unworthy of any more thought from either of us.”
“It was the way he looked at you,” Benedict spat, as if he had not heard you speak, “As if he had the right to do so even though you were…”
He trailed off, but you could fill in the blanks. Maycliffe’s gaze had wandered downward multiple times when your dress was soaked through and likely more see-through than was decent. The idea made you feel ill, and then the idea that Benedict had seen you in the same state filled you with a strange thrill.
“Your jacket was most welcome, in that case. As were your words. Sincerely, thank you, Benedict.”
He waved you away with a small shake of his head, a pitiful scoff. When he looked back at you, the intensity that took your breath away had returned.
“You have been avoiding me these past weeks. I have missed your company. Greatly. Seeing you put yourself in danger for the sake of my sister... If I did something to offend you, I can only apologise.”
“No, Benedict,” you insisted, still holding onto his forearm with a grip you didn’t know you possessed, “Not at all. I am the one at fault. The truth is…”
Adrenaline was coursing through your veins now as it had been earlier. There would never be another time where you felt so brave, so indestructible, that you could possibly have this conversation without cracking.
“The truth is that I have enjoyed your company immensely these past months. More than a friend should. But you have made your thoughts on marriage abundantly clear and I didn’t want to burden you with my feelings. I am sure I will be able to return to our easy friendship once my feelings dwindle.”
Only the last sentence was a lie. You weren’t sure it would ever dwindle, particularly as you thought of his eyes, his wit, his chest dusted with hair, his kindness. But Benedict was looking at you as if you had grown a second head.
“What are my thoughts on marriage then?”
“Come now Benedict,” you took your hand from his arm, “You have never shown interest in the marriage mart. You are a free spirit, free from the constraints of society, you say so yourself. Often.”
“But I have never expressed a distaste for marriage,” he said, still full of confusion, “And surely I have never expressed distaste for you."
“No of course-”
“Y/N. If you are saying what I believe you’re saying, and my feelings for you are returned, then you must know that you are not a passing fancy. I think you are wonderful in every conceivable way. Perhaps I should have been clearer-”
“No, I should have! I simply never believed that your mind could be changed simply from getting to know me-”
“How could I not be changed, knowing you? How could you not know that you had changed everything?”
You stopped talking over each other at that. Gazing at Benedict anew, your eyes flicked downwards to his lips at long last, like an apple finally succumbing to the overwhelming force of gravity. And with the same force, as if destined, Benedict leaned in closer, close enough that your breaths mingled in the still air between you.
“You have changed me. Fundamentally. Irreversibly. I am not going to propose to you in this darkened room, as it is not what you deserve, but if you are agreeable then I am going to propose. To you. If you’ll have me.”
You grinned and pressed forwards, just to see what it would taste like to kiss him. The briefest touch of lips and tingles spread across your entire body. Benedict let out a soft groan at the back of his throat.
“It sounds as if I already have you,” you whispered, before Benedict captured your lips with his own and there could be no more words between you for a little while.
---
if you read this far, you are the bane of my existence and the object of all my desires :)) if you have any ideas for bridgerton fluff my ask box is all ears and so am i
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