La Didi

Aquí están todas mis historias que también puedes encontrar en Wattpad :D

[profeyandere]

ＭＡＳＴＥＲＬＩＳＴ

This section will help you to find my stories that I will be adding piecemeal about the different fandoms I am in.

It will be being edited from time to time so that you can find everything you want on my page.

ᴀᴄᴛᴏʀꜱ │ •➤ ᴄʜʀɪꜱ ᴇᴠᴀɴꜱ │ •➤ ᴅᴀɴɪᴇʟ ʙʀᴜʜʟ │ •➤ ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ꜱᴘᴀᴅᴇʀ │ •➤ ᴊᴏᴀǫᴜɪɴ ᴘʜᴏᴇɴɪx │ •➤ ᴊᴏᴇ ᴋᴇᴇʀʏ │ •➤ ᴊᴏɴᴀᴛʜᴀɴ ʙᴀɪʟᴇʏ ╰─────────────

ꜰɪʟᴍꜱ │ •➤ ʜᴀʀʀʏ ᴘᴏᴛᴛᴇʀ │ •➤ ᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟ │ •➤ ᴘɪʀᴀᴛᴇꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴀʀɪʙʙᴇᴀɴ │ •➤ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴊᴜᴅɪᴄᴇ ╰─────────────

ᴛᴠ ꜱʜᴏᴡꜱ │ •➤ ʙʀɪᴅɢᴇʀᴛᴏɴ │ •➤ ɢᴏᴏᴅ ᴏᴍᴇɴꜱ │ •➤ ᴛʜᴇ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋʟɪꜱᴛ │ •➤ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜰꜰɪᴄᴇ │ •➤ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ╰─────────────

ᴠɪᴅᴇᴏɢᴀᴍᴇꜱ │ •➤ ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱɪɴ'ꜱ ᴄʀᴇᴇᴅ │ •➤ ʟɪꜰᴇ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ╰─────────────

[profeyandere]

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇.  ─── ☾ 𝐈𝐍 𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘, 𝐈𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴇ ᴋᴇᴇʀʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.1ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱʜɪꜰᴛɪɴɢ, ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ 𝟦 ꜱᴘᴏɪʟᴇʀꜱ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

ㅤㅤSteve should have been aware that your way of acting was sometimes not right; he should have assumed that something strange was happening around you from the moment he met you during the penultimate year of high school. And it wasn't so much your behaviour that triggered his alarms, or that sixth mother's sense Dustin so often mocked when he or the other kids told him to be careful at certain times of day when they were out in a group. It wasn't the choices you made that were inherently wrong, enough to make him notice those changes, nor had you done anything unpleasant to others to sufficiently draw his attention as was happening now. But it was those sometimes spasmodic movements in your right hand, or that strange neutrality in your speech when you were usually so lively and talkative, that made him wonder at times if something, or someone, resided inside you and was taking your form to spy on them. This meant that in very specific moments, you had the opportunity to resurface, for that liveliness of yours to come back to life and fill the shell you sometimes became.

ㅤㅤAfter everything that happened with Vecna ​​and the Upside Down, after losing Max so tragically to that monster they couldn't kill despite the foolproof plan, Steve was terrified of losing the only person in that world who had been so loyal to him; you were his best friend, his right hand, the woman he had always hoped to share his life with, and with whom he would finally fulfill that wonderful dream he had once stumbled upon with the wrong person.

ㅤㅤThe more he looked at you, the more he observed those changes, the more resolute he became, and the more attention he paid to your surroundings whenever you seemed to "disconnect" from reality.

ㅤㅤYour shoulders stiffened, enough for him to notice and worry that you might be uncomfortable; your pupils, even when he was close, remained constricted, whereas they had always seemed like two black holes when you were around him. That strange tic in your right hand, so erratic, like an automaton, seemed to be resetting itself every time you moved from one physical space to another, whether you entered a different room or got into his car.

ㅤㅤIt was little things that caught his attention, but above all, it was how the way you kissed or hugged him sometimes seemed as empty and cold as kissing or hugging a wall. It wasn't that your body temperature dropped, but rather that he couldn't find your sweetness, and your hands on his face remained there when he wanted to kiss you, until you seemed to come to your senses, regaining that tenderness that was so characteristic of you.

ㅤㅤSteve's suspicion that Vecna ​​might be behind your strange behaviour made sense to him, especially during the days he spent visiting Max in the hospital, where she was in that strange coma from which she didn't seem to have any intention of waking up anytime soon. The possibility that you might end up like her, or in a case of no return where he would feel guilty for the rest of his days, knowing that his life would never have meaning without you, sent chills down his spine and filled him with a fear he had never felt before.

ㅤㅤBut it was a detail, something akin to a mistake you made without checking, that caused the fear to dissipate and confusion to take shape in Harrington's mind.

ㅤㅤA sheet of paper, folded three times, small enough to fit in the pocket of your green jacket without attracting attention due to its rectangular shape, escaped from the aforementioned place where you had hidden it for God knows how long, keeping to yourself a secret you had hoped never to reveal or that you would try to keep hidden from your life. To your surprise, even though you had been careful enough that this detail went unnoticed for the first four years, it was this silly slip that led to Steve finding a script written on both sides of the sheet. There, written in your handwriting, was a series of sections that surprised him because, in a way, it was as if you had written a comprehensive description of yourself. Your name and age at the beginning of the sheet, specifying your date of birth and your age for the previous four years; The family you belonged to, with each member described in detail, both physically and mentally, even mentioning the colorful rubber bands your little sister always wore as bracelets on her right wrist; not to mention all your physical features, including the freckles Steve loved so much about you, as well as your entire personality and how it had changed over the years he'd known you.

ㅤㅤIt was deeply frightening because, if someone had been spying on you, it wouldn't have been difficult to confront them and make them stop harassing you. But since you had described your entire life in Hawkins on a single sheet of paper—a sheet you'd carried with you for far longer than you were willing to admit—I knew the conversation was going to be quite different from what I'd expected.

ㅤㅤYou would never have the courage to lie to him, not to him.

ㅤㅤ"What is this?"

ㅤㅤHis question confused you when, as you were both at his house, intending to enjoy an intimate afternoon, he handed you the sheet of paper you had carried in your jacket pocket. You recognised it instantly because of the pink lines on the page; you didn't need to open it to know what it contained, and perhaps that's why facing the truth was going to be harder than you had ever imagined.

ㅤㅤThat folded sheet of paper, now folded in two and scribbled on, was gently handed to you.

ㅤㅤFor a moment, you considered not looking back at your boyfriend, perhaps expecting some grimace that would betray his frustration that you hadn't trusted him enough to tell him about something as important as this clearly was. But that fear slowly faded when, with a slow, steady gaze, you met Steve's confused and saddened eyes. He wasn't confronting you about something he didn't understand. Steve wasn't the type to seek answers through aggression, not after the shock of reality Nancy had given him during his junior year of high school. But those brown eyes, so dark and bright, the kind that always made your heart leap into your throat, were simply searching for an answer to what had inevitably fallen into their hands.

ㅤㅤ"It's..." you tried to begin, reaching out to retrieve the script that had ended up in that reality. "It's a script," you continued, sighing as you shifted your gaze to the sheet of paper now in your hands, which seemed so heavy it could pull you down right then and there, "...a script for your desired reality."

ㅤㅤSteve's expression didn't lighten, but rather became more confused. He didn't understand this "desired reality" thing; he'd never heard of it. Maybe you were referring to a book, that's what he wanted to tell himself, but maybe he was wrong; he definitely must be wrong because of everything he'd seen firsthand with all the monsters, with Eleven, with Vecna.

ㅤㅤ"I don't understand," he muttered, more to himself than to you, tilting his head like a golden retriever puppy looking to its owner for clarification on a word to perform a trick. "Desired reality? That's... It's a script of your life, excerpts that talk about you."

ㅤㅤYou thought you'd specified it clearly in the script you wrote, but there was always some unspoken clause, and the universe was far too clever to let you roam freely between timelines and dimensions. It knew how to play its cards better than you did, and your comfort and your feeling of self-assurance had led to a small slip-up that allowed Steve to know far more than he should have.

ㅤㅤ"It's much more complicated than it seems at first glance, Steve," you whispered, not even trusting your own voice to explain something like this situation that had escalated so quickly; you didn't even have an excuse to lie to him.

ㅤㅤBut, again, you couldn't lie. Not to Steve, not to the boy who had brought so much happiness into your life, the boy who had so often shown how much he valued your friendship, the boy who loved you so much and had shown it so many times with gifts, actions, and words.

ㅤㅤ“Then explain it to me.”

ㅤㅤHis request completely disarmed you, and for that very reason, you told him everything. You couldn't keep the truth to yourself much longer, especially not when he looked at you with those eyes that could make the whole world tremble.

ㅤㅤSteve came to know your entire world, your true dimension, the one you had always belonged to, through your words, which included descriptions as realistic as his own reality. Steve learned about your real life and what you actually did, about the studies you dedicated yourself to body and soul for years to get your dream job. He also discovered that all of them, those who lived in Hawkins and in that reality, were just the product of the imagination of a pair of siblings who created a story related to a theory that became quite famous in your world.

ㅤㅤIt was hard to explain, but even if he understood that there were two worlds to which each of them belonged and that they weren't intertwined, he didn't fully grasp what had made you travel from yours to his, even though he was immensely grateful because without you, he surely would have been a disaster in his own world. It was complicated, but Steve was certain that without your presence and your existence, he would be a complete fool, even more so than he already was.

ㅤㅤ"It's hard to swallow," you murmured softly as you fiddled with the sheet of paper you still held in your hands, as if it were the only thing you could cling to at that moment for fear that everything in front of you would suddenly vanish.

ㅤㅤ"A little, to be honest," Steve replied, crossing his arms, then uncrossing them to run a hand through his voluminous brown hair. "Knowing that your existence is because a couple of men had an idea is rather strange, frankly."

ㅤㅤYou lowered your head in shame. If you hadn't appeared, that mental paradox wouldn't have existed in Harrington's mind, and his entire existence wouldn't have been reduced to an idea for a television series that ended up being a worldwide success.

ㅤㅤ"If you don't mind me asking, why did you want to come here?"

ㅤㅤYour eyes soon felt heavy and watery, and your vision suddenly blurred. That image—seeing you suddenly so small and affected—broke Steve's heart into a thousand pieces because never before, not even if Max's coma had affected you greatly, had anything seemed to touch you so deeply compared to that moment, more specifically, his question. Your shoulders began to tremble, and tears started to stream uncontrollably down your cheeks.

ㅤㅤ"Because of you."

ㅤㅤThe answer had the same impact as a powerful truck crashing into a building. It was a powerful, forceful answer, one you must have carried on your shoulders for far too long to ignore. Steve's gaze shifted from confusion to sorrow; somehow, you had learned to travel between dimensions or realities just to be with him.

ㅤㅤ"In your world, isn't there anyone who looks like me?" Steve asked gently, taking a small step toward you to close the distance between you.

ㅤㅤYou couldn't help but smile sadly at his question.

ㅤㅤ"Yes, there is someone very special who looks exactly like you," you replied, shrugging as you turned your attention back to the paper in your hands. "Physically, you're identical. Joe is... He's like you, and you're like him." "Thanks to him, your character was redesigned, and your story didn't end so soon," you explained, though seeing his furrowed brow and his once again sly demeanour, you couldn't help but shake your head. "It's a long story, but he's the one who brings your character to life, and you are who you are because of him."

ㅤㅤ"Have you ever spoken to him?"

ㅤㅤHis question prompted you to shake your head again.

ㅤㅤYou had desperately wanted to meet Joe. Conventions in states other than your own, coupled with a lack of income, meant you couldn't attend the ones Keery did; premieres were always the focus of attention for his various films, but you were always so far from the action that it was impossible to even get a picture with him. And the concerts were way out of my budget because of the flights I'd have to take to a different state, the hotel or apartment stays, and the tickets that sold out in minutes during presales and sales.

ㅤㅤ“It's been impossible, but I've tried as much as I could.”

ㅤㅤSteve's brown eyes never left you, his gaze fixed on your figure and your downcast face. In his mind, it was impossible that someone wouldn't love you, that a version of himself in another universe wouldn't have been overjoyed to meet you. Your affection, that kindness, that sweetness that characterised you, definitely deserved to be known by the whole world, and if only that Joe guy had seen beyond the fans, he would have definitely found a diamond in the rough.

ㅤㅤGently, Steve's arm reached out to you, and, taking the script you were still turning in your hands and delicately caressing with your fingertips, he gently set it aside, causing your gaze to slowly rise to meet his; finally, after that moment of tension, your hearts connected again, and without a second thought, he took you in his arms so you would feel completely safe with him.

ㅤㅤRegardless of where you came from or the life you shared in your reality, the fact that you had come solely for him and the fact that you returned every time you managed to perform the ritual correctly spoke volumes about the immense affection you felt for him, and that was more than enough for Steve not to question your decisions.

ㅤㅤ"That Joe guy is an idiot. Although you kept the best version," he remarked in a mocking tone as he slid his large hand down your back, settling it in your lower back to keep you close, while his free hand rested on the back of your neck so you could lean your head against his chest.

ㅤㅤHearing your laughter, a little quieter than usual, made him smile. If he had elicited that sound from you, he would have already felt like a champion.

ㅤㅤ"That Joe guy is an idiot. Although you kept the best version," he added. “I like your hair better, it’s longer, and the brown looks amazing on you,” you replied, mirroring his actions by wrapping your arms around his waist to hold him gently close, rubbing your cheek against the fabric of his shirt. “Although you’re not very good at playing instruments.”

ㅤㅤ“I’m great at playing the French horn,” the taller one countered, pressing his lips to your hairline to give you a quick kiss, though his response made you laugh.

Steve had these little quips just for you, those playful jokes and comments that always brought a smile to your face and made your heart beat faster than usual; no matter the moment, he was always there, and that was all you needed to love him with every fibre of your being.

ㅤㅤYour arms tightened slightly around his waist, and your restless hands gripped the fabric of Steve's t-shirt, as if desperately searching for his body, reassuring yourself that you were still there with him, that he hadn't vanished yet. That thought filled you with sadness, because you knew you wouldn't always be there. There would come a time when you wouldn't return, a time when Steve would have to decide whether to remain by the side of the shell your physical body would become in that dimension when your subconscious returned to your reality, or whether it was better to finally abandon what would become you.

ㅤㅤ"I love you."

ㅤㅤThose words that whisper you heard growing fainter made you open your eyes in surprise. You realised that the strong body you had been pressed against in an embrace had suddenly become softer and more pliable, leaving you in the darkness and gloom of your room.

ㅤㅤThe room of your reality.

ㅤㅤAt that moment, confused, you sat up slightly and looked around for Steve. But in your reality, he didn't exist; he didn't belong in your world.

ㅤㅤWith your heart laid bare, wounded by something that could never be real in your universe, your face found your spare pillow, the one you'd been hugging when you woke up, and you let the tears flow as you felt yourself crumbling again, being pulled into that black hole that could only be filled by Steve's presence.

ㅤㅤ"I love you too," you finally murmured.

[profeyandere]

𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐏. ─── ☾ 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐖𝐇𝐈𝐓𝐄

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ʟɪꜰᴇ ɪꜱ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.6ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɴᴀᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄᴏᴛᴛ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ʙᴜʟʟʏɪɴɢ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴍᴀɴɪᴘᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴛʀɪᴄᴛ ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛꜱ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

ㅤㅤNathan Prescott didn't know silence; even the term was foreign to him because he had never experienced it firsthand, unlike the people he had always been involved with.

ㅤㅤThe teenager had watched his life flash before his eyes as if he were a minor character, as if he had never had a say in the choices that should have been his from the start, choices that had profoundly shaped his future, the kind of person he was now, and the kind he would become as the years passed, if he remained in Arcadia Bay by then. While the rest of the world, more specifically his father, paved the way for him to become the best version of what a Prescott could and should be, Nathan only longed to choose what to do with his life, what to dedicate himself to, even what socks he could wear on Thursdays instead of using that absurd rubric his mother had insisted he use to maintain the perfect image his family had to project to the world. The status forged and initiated by his ancestors had meant that the young man's entire trajectory had been written from the moment his gender was revealed when his mother was pregnant with him.

ㅤㅤIf he had been a girl, as had been the case with his sister Kristine, Nathan was sure that everything would have been very different in too many ways.

ㅤㅤPerhaps his father wouldn't have put so much pressure on him from childhood if the Prescott family legacy hadn't been placed on his shoulders from the moment he was born. Perhaps he would have had the opportunity to socialize with other children his age instead of being forced to wear suits and ties to his parents' business meetings; perhaps he would have learned to trust others much earlier if he had had the chance to have a friend without his parents' influence and his family's wealth causing many to approach him for the perceived benefits of having a relationship with him.

ㅤㅤAnd he certainly wouldn't have been the target of ridicule from other students who considered him inferior because of his age, his last name, and his frail appearance.

ㅤㅤAt that moment, when he decided to be a little brave to face the intense day ahead, any feeling of courage vanished the moment he encountered the haughty and overbearing figure of Drew North. He believed that stealth was the best option to avoid being noticed, but the unparalleled gaze and anger of that football player from the Blackwell Academy team caused his plan—which consisted of spending a relatively quiet morning before heading to class—to vanish in a matter of seconds. He was forced to retreat the moment he saw that big man move away from his group of friends and approach him like a raging bull.

ㅤㅤNathan didn't think he'd done anything wrong to provoke the teenager's anger, but he was aware that not all the football players were happy that Sean Prescott's son—the same Sean Prescott who had left a hundred people jobless by closing the renowned fish company in the coastal town—had the opportunity to join the team when he hadn't earned any of the spots.

ㅤㅤ"Will you just stay still for once?"

ㅤㅤThe older teenager's deep, shrill voice made the younger one look over his shoulder to make sure he was in serious danger. A danger determined by a silly stone bordering the fountain in front of the academy's main building, in the middle of the small garden divided by walkways for the students to walk through.

ㅤㅤThat flash, first blue and then red, caused your attention to be quickly drawn to the pair of teenagers whom anyone on campus would recognise from a mile away. The book you were holding, the one you'd almost forgotten you were reading because you'd been distracted by a couple of little birds fighting over crumbs of some sandwich someone had dropped, suddenly became as uninteresting as chemistry class, causing your eyes to shift to the two figures who seemed to be having an altercation that no one wanted to get involved in; not even Chloe Price herself, who had walked right past them, had bothered to stop and pay attention to what was about to inevitably happen.

ㅤㅤ"What's that got there, Twitch?"

ㅤㅤDrew's question was malicious, especially because of the insult directed at the other boy. You weren't even sure what he meant by what had caught his attention until you noticed him bend down to pick up a album lying on the floor, the one Nathan had clutched to his chest as if it were his most precious treasure, something he was trying to protect at all costs.

ㅤㅤ"Don't call me that!"

ㅤㅤNathan's complaint went unnoticed by the dark-haired boy. You, on the other hand, along with a few other students who happened to be passing by, watched the interaction closely.

ㅤㅤ"Wow, wow. This is pretty messed up, Prescott," Drew mocked when he dared to open the younger boy's album, examining the photographs that were neatly arranged on its pages as if it were a collage or a photo exhibit.

ㅤㅤNathan, with remarkable speed, got up from the ground, wiping the slightly scraped palms of his hands from the fall against the fabric of his dark jeans before approaching the bully who had chased him for a long distance to the entrance of the main building.

ㅤㅤ"It's not yours," Nathan said apprehensively, approaching the older man to retrieve his album after making sure he had already looked at its contents. "Give it back!"

ㅤㅤ"I can't stand that you're on the team now," Drew muttered through gritted teeth, as if spitting venom through his words, looking at him with an intensity that could have intimidated anyone. "You're a loser."

ㅤㅤNathan's frown deepened; it was inevitable given the situation. Even though he was ready to reach for his album at a moment when he thought it was possible to retrieve it, a hand smaller than his own appeared in his field of vision. Before he had a chance to react to the bully, that hand grabbed the thug's ear tightly, pulling it down so that he bent slightly under the painful blow, causing a soft yelp to escape his lips and his body to slump to his right side, where you stood calmly observing the scene.

ㅤㅤ"Can I ask what you're doing?!"

ㅤㅤDrew's voice was louder and more pained than ever, which surprised the brunette, as he'd never heard him speak like that. His blue eyes lingered on your figure, which, although absurdly small compared to the football player, seemed to possess far more power and strength than that bully.

ㅤㅤ"I'm scolding you, like I suppose your mother should do from time to time, so you don't act so cocky," you retorted with mild severity, even though you weren't old enough to be taken very seriously. "Can I ask what you're doing, taking a classmate's album?"

ㅤㅤ"Don't mess with me," the older boy muttered, shrinking back to try and lessen the pain of the ear-pull. His dark eyes, almost as black as coal with rage and pain, fixed on the brunette's figure. "Now you have a bodyguard? Don't you know how to defend yourself, Prescott? That a little girl has to come and help you out?"

ㅤㅤAt the thug's question, your grip tightened slightly, and the subsequent pull nearly brought Drew to his knees in pain; his suggestion didn't sit well with you, that much was clear.

ㅤㅤ"You could calm down a bit, honestly. Taking that attitude off wouldn't hurt," you said gently, lowering your head to look at the thug before turning your gaze to Nathan, who took a small step back as if expecting you to reach out and grab his ear, doing the same thing you did to Drew.

ㅤㅤBut then you noticed again the album the soccer player had dropped sometime after you arrived. Afraid Drew would catch it, Nathan ducked quickly enough to pick it up before taking a few steps back to put some distance between himself and the other boy. He wasn't about to get into a fight with a teenager who was a head taller than him, especially one as imposing as he was, with his muscles and broad build.

ㅤㅤ"Are you okay?"

ㅤㅤYour question brought a look of surprise to Prescott's face. Although he could definitely have responded with weariness and annoyance, given his intolerant attitude towards others due to his inflated pride, at that moment, he could only nod his head as he wrapped his hands and arms around the album he had recovered. Inside, the images he hoped to present to his photography teacher were neatly arranged according to the theme by which he had grouped them. The thought of losing them due to a careless move by Drew was a possibility that would have devastated him; he wouldn't have been able to recover them for anything in the world.

ㅤㅤYour smile at his response was what surprised him most.

ㅤㅤHe didn't hear what other words you exchanged with Drew, though he was sure they weren't threats, given how calm and patient you'd been in dealing with such a delicate matter related to his harassment, even if your actions had spoken volumes. He was so engrossed in that perfect memory of your smile that he wondered for a moment if a rosy hue, the same colour as your lips, had suddenly crept into the black and white world he'd lived in his entire life. You hadn't shown fear when confronting someone who could have easily crushed you with a single blow; instead, you'd used that strange ability you seemed to possess—to be invisible—to help him.

ㅤㅤNathan watched as Drew retreated like a dog scolded by its owner, one hand covering his ear, which had turned pink from your grip. He was left completely alone with you, while the rest of the students who had paused to observe the fight and subsequent scolding resumed their conversations and made their way to their respective classes or to meet up with other groups of students to discuss what they had witnessed.

ㅤㅤ"Your album is okay, right?"

ㅤㅤPrescott seemed to snap out of it when he realised you were looking at him with those enormous eyes of yours, staring with such curiosity. He noticed you tilting your head slightly to better hear his reply.

ㅤㅤ“Yes,” he affirmed promptly, shifting his blue eyes to Drew, who had already covered the remaining distance to rejoin his group of friends, trying to look as intimidating as ever.

ㅤㅤAt his action, you couldn't help but turn your head toward where the older boy had fled, a gentle smile spreading across your face. You knew he probably wouldn't bother anyone else for the rest of the day and week. Considering that a teenager almost four years younger than him had stood up to him and treated him like a little kid, you hoped he'd calm down for a while.

ㅤㅤ“He won't bother you. Football players are like that, they always try to be-”

ㅤㅤ“Why did you defend me?”

ㅤㅤNathan's question pulled you from your own monologue, causing you to glance at him and then turn your head toward him. His frown, not as pronounced as it had been when Drew had taken the album, caught your attention. Prescott wasn't angry—when he was, it was truly evident in the vein that popped out on his forehead—but rather confused; he didn't understand why someone would genuinely step forward to defend him, not when he was a Prescott, and everything he got was thanks to the money his father gave to certain people.

ㅤㅤ"Because it's the right thing to do," you replied, shrugging as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, though it still made an even bigger impact on the boy. "Don't look at me like that, it's not a big deal."

ㅤㅤBut, for Nathan, it was.

ㅤㅤIn a world where he had learned to be alone, to do what others asked of him, the fact that someone had acted not to get something from him but to protect him became something historic. Something strange and noteworthy for him, something that certainly didn't exist in his world of fake smiles and under-the-table payments.

ㅤㅤ"Your hands are scraped, aren't they? You must have hurt yourself falling," you continued before taking a couple of steps toward the stairs that led to the main building, stopping to turn and look at him. "I can walk you to the infirmary if you want. Even if it's just a minor scrape, I'm sure the sting is uncomfortable."

ㅤㅤYour offer, like you, surprised him once again.

ㅤㅤEven if he didn't understand why anyone would want to help him, even if the possibility that someone had offered him a helping hand to face the bully who had been tormenting him throughout the school year didn't even cross his mind, the sight of your smile again, so warm and kind, so different from the ones he usually received from the teachers or his father's subordinates, caused his body, for the first time, to choose the path it wanted to take; his father hadn't paid you to defend him, it had been your doing.

ㅤㅤYou had chosen, and for once, so had he, following in your footsteps so you could go together to the infirmary, where perhaps he could once again capture that smile he considered so perfect to be photographed someday.

[profeyandere]

𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑 𝐓.  ─── ☾ 𝐀 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴇ ᴋᴇᴇʀʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.7ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ɢᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴛɪʟʟᴍᴀɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜɪʟᴅ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴇɴᴛ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀɴᴅ ᴇᴍᴏᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴡᴏᴜɴᴅꜱ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴀɴ ᴀʙᴜꜱɪᴠᴇ ꜰᴀᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ, ʜᴜɢꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴋɪꜱꜱᴇꜱ, ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ

I hope you like this short story @jorkingtodjo 🤗 English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

ㅤㅤGator could barely hear, barely see, barely breathe when you found him covered in a thin layer of snow under the porch of your house. He couldn't even remember how he had been able, or where he had found the strength, to walk automatically, his mind clouded by the intense burning and pain in his wounded body, for more than two kilometers, in the snow that was falling that cold November day, from the ranch he had abandoned after the heated argument he had with his father to your small and cozy home, to the tiny corner of light and warmth that stood out in that small town in North Dakota, the place he had also called his own thanks to your presence and all the good you brought into his life; At some point during that argument, amidst the shouting and threats she received after a job poorly done and a retort she'd been unable to control, his mind drifted from the present, finding refuge in the memories she shared with you and how much she longed to be with you ever since his father's hand had struck his face so hard.

ㅤㅤIf she had feigned some kind of flu-like symptom, perhaps she could have slipped away from dinner at his father's house and taken a detour to stay with you that night; little did she know that, regardless of what had happened, she would have ended up in your presence, only his physical and emotional state would have been considerably different.

ㅤㅤ“Does it still hurt?”

ㅤㅤThe warmth in your voice, that question whispered to avoid making his headaches more pronounced, caused him to stir slightly in your arms like a small child seeking greater comfort, not to move away from the source of warmth that was you, but to find the solace that only you, your hugs, and your kisses could provide. Without hesitation, even though you had him wrapped up as best you could with your limbs, which didn't quite cover him as much as you'd liked, you readjusted your position so he was pressed closer to you and could feel the warmth of the sheets and the warmth emanating from your body against his. Perhaps at another time, he would have given you a little nibble on the neck or a playful squeeze on the bottom, as was natural when you were so snuggled up together, but he was so distressed that he didn't even think he had the strength to move on his own unless someone did it for him.

ㅤㅤ“Yes.”

ㅤㅤThe answer was terse, not unlike his usual manner. But his tone was so soft, cracked, and painful compared to his usual commanding and confident demeanour, that it inevitably broke your heart. Gator hadn't just suffered the wrath of his father that night—or rather, the man who held that title by obligation—but the memories of every time he'd been tortured, both physically and mentally, by Roy's harsh hand were weighing more and more heavily on every part of him, until he felt like different, oppressive blocks of cement were engulfing every pore, preventing him from even thinking clearly.

ㅤㅤ"I wish I'd been there," you murmured, running your fingers through the man's short, already dishevelled hair, resting your chin on his head to offer him the sense of protection you knew he needed. Gator responded by tightening his grip on the fabric of your pyjama top. "I would have stopped him." I wouldn't have let him hurt you.

ㅤㅤGator shook his head. He would never have let you interfere in an argument he had with Roy. He would never allow the only good thing in his life to be jeopardised because of his own actions.

ㅤㅤ"No," he denied again, emphasising his initial answer by shaking his head from side to side. "He would have hurt you, and I wouldn't have been able to bear it."

ㅤㅤBecause Gator, despite his tough-guy facade—the kind of man who could carry the world on his shoulders without showing the slightest crack in his armour to anyone who knew him—was actually a coward and a pushover. If that situation had arisen, if you had ever tried to defend him from his father's mistreatment, I was more than certain Roy wouldn't have hesitated to slap you, telling you to stay out of his business. And Gator would have kept quiet and accepted the situation like the coward he truly was. Unfortunately for you, and even more so for you, since you had chosen a weak man as your boyfriend, he wouldn't have defended you as he would have liked.

ㅤㅤGator had always lived in his father's shadow, striving for his affection and acceptance through actions that weren't even morally right, or by trying to outshine those he saw as his competitors, those who had previously earned Roy's approval. Of course, in the eyes of that man, whose pride and ego, which stifled any kind of positive feeling, had no place for love, Gator had always been useless, good for nothing more than the simplest and least important dirty work he could find, because he thought he might ruin it just by trying. Gator wasn't clumsy on purpose; he just wanted to do things right, to be enough. And being enough wasn't something that met Roy's minimum standards, and even if it did, Gator never met them in his eyes.

ㅤㅤFaced with those thoughts, the cowardice he was ashamed of, and the lack of love in his life that almost no one had noticed, the chestnut-haired man slightly moved the arm around your waist, trying to pull you closer. His face nestled into the small area between the base of your neck and your shoulder, pressing his forehead against the stretch of skin before a trembling sigh escaped his lips. You felt it like a warm gust of air that sent shivers down your spine.

ㅤㅤHe didn't want to cry, he really didn't, and even less so in front of you. But he felt so insignificant to himself, to his father, to you.

ㅤㅤ"It's okay, you're not alone. You're safe, Gator."

ㅤㅤThose words meant to offer comfort provoked the reaction you had selfishly hoped for. His eyes filled with tears, tears he had surely held back for years, tears he had avoided letting out so as not to appear vulnerable to anyone around him, or even to himself. And, unintentionally, they escaped like two small streams of water over which he had no control. For the first time in his life, Gator was not in control of anything that was happening, and that terrified him. He had come to you, to your precious little house, to your warm arms, seeking the love he had always lacked, and now that he was there with you, he felt utterly insignificant. He had always been told not to show vulnerability, and now he felt as heartbroken as a small child who had just woken from his worst nightmare, which, ironically, was almost exactly what was happening to him.

ㅤㅤHe wept and trembled. Oh, how he trembled.

ㅤㅤGator didn't make a sound; no sobs were heard; instead, he tried to stifle any sound he might make. His lower lip was bitten so hard that he could easily cut himself if he continued to grind his teeth against the sensitive flesh. He felt so heartbroken, so wounded by what had happened just a couple of hours ago and by the emotional weight he carried after years of abuse, that he thought Roy, even if he was miles away sleeping peacefully with the new woman he had married after Nadine, would appear at your doorstep, belt in hand, to teach him how to behave like a real man, just as he had been "taught" as a child.

ㅤㅤ"No, don't do that," you shook your head gently, cupping his face in your hands so you could see him.

ㅤㅤ"No, don't do that." Gator hadn't realised he'd closed his eyes until he noticed he could only see darkness. Forcing himself to open his eyelids despite his need to keep them closed, fearing this moment was a dream orchestrated by his mind after fainting from his father's beating, he saw your beautiful face through the light mist caused by the tears still streaming from his eyes. He could see that you were as real as he needed you to be, perfectly distinguishing every tiny millimetre of you that he adored so much; you were there, with him, and that was all he needed. Your gaze was fixed on his lips, which you were subtly caressing with your thumb, causing his teeth to loosen the lower lip as if to release the tension. He watched as this happened, the trapped lip appearing slightly redder than the upper one, marked with small nicks from the tips of his teeth.

ㅤㅤWith a tenderness that almost brought another torrent of tears to his eyes, you kissed his lower lip, as if trying to heal the new pain that had begun to course through his body.

ㅤㅤIt wasn't a normal kiss. You didn't kiss him with joy and excitement like when you saw each other after days apart because of your respective jobs, you didn't kiss him lazily like when you found each other in bed in the morning, first thing in the morning, you didn't kiss him passionately and with need like when you began your foreplay before going to the bedroom.

ㅤㅤThat kiss was like a bandage on his wounded soul and heart, but it was the first of hundreds you showered upon every inch of his face.

ㅤㅤGator closed his eyes again as he felt your lips kiss his lower lip once more, with the same tenderness and gentleness as the first kiss you had given him, followed, of course, by another that covered his lower lip, slightly cut from the slap he had received from his father. Then, he felt them at the corners of his lips, causing a single tear to inevitably roll from his eye, and he smiled slyly for a few seconds, reflecting on what that action meant to both of you—an action with which you sought to elicit even a laugh from him. And you certainly didn't forget his cheeks, especially those freckles you loved to observe, covering every inch of his body. First, you gently stroked them to wipe away the tears that still stained his slightly injured skin. You even took a few seconds to admire that tiny, almost imperceptible freckle beneath his left eye, which you had discovered one morning while he slept peacefully. His nose also received the attention it deserved, as did his eyes and eyebrows, while you lovingly stroked the bruised jaw that Roy had chosen to injure when he punched Gator the moment he dared to defend himself against his father's aggression.

ㅤㅤYou showered him with love, you gave him what he longed for most, and in return, he only tightened his grip on you, his hands clenching into fists as the fabric of your shirt was caught in his grasp, silently thanking you for every act of love with which you tried to heal him.

ㅤㅤIf he had ever imagined that a woman, an incredible and wonderful woman, would come into his life to give him what he had only ever wanted and longed for since he was a child, he surely would have laughed. He would have mocked himself for how vulnerable he seemed at that thought, but it was the best thing he had ever felt.

ㅤㅤTo be heard, to be seen, to be loved.

ㅤㅤ“Are my kisses so miraculous that you've stopped crying?”

ㅤㅤYour question made him laugh, a short laugh that sounded like a snort, but you knew it meant his mood had improved, that your action had been a complete success and was slowly bringing back the Gator you knew.

ㅤㅤ"Shut up."

ㅤㅤNow it was your turn to laugh, lowering your head to look into his eyes, meeting those hazel orbs, which shone softly from the tears that had fallen earlier, before pressing your forehead against his in an attempt to make him feel more connected to you, helping his body and mind to find themselves in the present instead of getting lost again in the sea of ​​his memories and thoughts.

ㅤㅤ"You didn't seem to be complaining a few seconds ago," you teased with a playful smile, to which he couldn't help but roll his eyes at the comment.

ㅤㅤOf course, he wasn't going to complain; he loved the feeling your kisses and attention gave him. He'd have to be a real fool to refuse something so wonderful.

ㅤㅤAnd without hesitation, he raised his head just enough so that your lips brushed, bringing small smiles to your faces and subtle blushes to your cheeks that had nothing to do with his crying or your concern for his emotional state. He stretched out enough to touch you and exchange the physical affection he so desperately wanted. Gator adored being kissed by you, but exchanging those kisses with you was far better than anyone could have ever imagined; he was certain that, as you had said, your kisses were miraculous.

ㅤㅤAnd, without hesitation, he raised his head just enough so that your lips brushed against each other, bringing small smiles to your faces and subtle blushes to your cheeks that had nothing to do with his crying or your concern for his emotional state. The constant pain in his head, that migraine that had collapsed him on your bed, seemed to have dissipated, and the numbness in his limbs from the cold night he'd had to endure was now nothing more than a sensation his body forgot the moment he felt your arms wrap around his waist and shoulders.

ㅤㅤYou were the miracle he had so longed for in his life.

ㅤㅤ"Are my kisses so miraculous that you've stopped frowning?"

ㅤㅤHis playful question, pressed against your lips, elicited a soft chuckle from you, a sound Gator definitely wanted to hear every day of his life.

ㅤㅤ“You’re a liar, I wasn’t frowning,” you pointed out, pulling your face far enough away from his to cover your mouth with your hand, trying to stifle your laughter, though it was inevitable that you would continue to laugh.

ㅤㅤ“What do you mean, no? I was looking at those little wrinkles because you were worried about me.”

ㅤㅤYou shook your head, and although your eyes remained on his, this time you weren’t looking at the injured man who had ended up on your doorstep, but at one who was gazing with absolute adoration at the woman with whom he felt completely at home.

ㅤㅤThe person who was definitely made for him and with whom he would definitely share the rest of his life.

[profeyandere]

𝐁𝐀𝐑𝐎𝐍 𝐋.  ─── ☾ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀 𝐃𝐀𝐈𝐒𝐘

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴇ ᴋᴇᴇʀʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.7ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ʙᴀʀᴏɴ ʟᴀᴍʀᴀᴍ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

ㅤㅤBaron couldn't understand how something so delicate, such a light and small living being, could weigh as much as a truck still loaded inside. It wasn't as if he'd ever tried to lift one, mainly because his back would probably be completely shattered and his arms would likely never work again from the effort required to do something so extreme; he wasn't Hercules to handle something so wild and intense. But the daisy, the small and precious daisy with white petals and yellow stems that seemed to move toward the sun, seeking its light to continue living, seemed to weigh as much as the aforementioned vehicle because its meaning was so intense and it held so many feelings and secrets, that it seemed to be equated with it, almost in the same way that Egyptian mythology judged the hearts of the deceased with a feather; the comparison was practically embarrassing, but it was the best way he could describe it.

ㅤㅤThe boy's heart pounded so fast that, for just a moment, he thought he was back in his childhood, when he was a little boy playing with his charming and perfect mother as they ran through the fields surrounding their old, warm house. The house that had once been filled with joy, happiness, and laughter, but which was now shrouded in a terrifying silence that often woke the chestnut-haired boy, making him think the worst had happened.

ㅤㅤHis mother, terribly ill, had been forced to remain bedridden for six months to prevent the pain and strain of the illness from causing her even more suffering than she already endured. She had found slight relief only in pills that, as time went on, continued to become more and more expensive until the wages from the post office, through his son's job as a delivery boy, were no longer enough. This forced Baron to take on a series of part-time jobs that weren't even stable, which he had to resort to in order to survive or, at least, help alleviate his mother's pain by buying her medicines and paying the high electricity bills for the oxygen machine she had to use constantly.

ㅤㅤRemembering that as he walked to his only happy place, the only space in the whole world where he didn't feel like a burden and where he could ease the pain that nestled in his saddened and weary heart, caused a frown to cross his face. He always refused to look at you with a grimace of annoyance that would let you know how worried he was about not being able to do enough to keep himself afloat.

ㅤㅤEven if he would never say it out loud, at least not in your presence, because he didn't want you to look at him with pity or sadness, he was ashamed of not being able to do more for the only family he had, the one that had always given him everything. If he couldn't do much more for his mother, how could he truly be worthy of being in your presence and sharing a relationship with you beyond what you already had?

ㅤㅤA heavy sigh escaped his lips, his head slumping forward as if it weighed ten kilos more, and he continued walking among the passersby on the street, their vision obscured by his long hair that hung like a curtain around his face, so that he couldn't see what was around him and what was around him couldn't see him.

ㅤㅤHis brown eyes, on the other hand, were fixed on a stone in the path. It was small, not noticeable to someone who didn't pay much attention to their surroundings, but Baron used it as an anchor to avoid revisiting places in his mind that he preferred not to remember or dwell on as he prepared to be in your presence.

ㅤㅤBecause it was more than clear, his intention that day was to impress you with what he carried with him: The daisy.

"You've come earlier than I expected."

ㅤㅤThe soft, cheerful, and talkative tone of voice, which she would recognize even in a crowd of over a hundred people, caused his body to react almost like a spring.

ㅤㅤHis back, previously hunched from the way his head had been bowed since making the final turn through the village's narrow streets to finally reach the main street and your small shop, his destination, quickly straightened. His lower back seemed to realign with a soft creak, and his shoulders, previously lanky and loose, allowing his arms to swing slowly at his sides, tensed, giving his an almost robotic, military appearance. However, his kind gaze and his slightly longer, unusually disheveled hair made him seem far removed from the restrictive and confident image of a man in an official uniform.

ㅤㅤInevitably, a warm, silly smile spread across his face. A smile that was accompanied by his heart leaping in his chest at the sight before him, as if he had just seen the most beautiful creature in all of Creation, something Baron firmly believed every time he saw you.

ㅤㅤThere was no creature, no person, more beautiful and precious than you in the entire world, of that he was certain.

"What?"

ㅤㅤThe tone in his voice made you laugh; it was inevitable. And it wasn't that you were laughing at him, not at all, but you loved hearing him express himself when he was with you; it was like dealing with a teenager who was completely in love with a magazine cover girl he'd had a crush on for years. And that, to no one's surprise, was exactly what was happening, only Baron wasn't a teenager anymore, and you weren't like those girls who appeared on the covers of the discount magazines at the dollar store just a few meters from your shop.

ㅤㅤ“I said you came earlier than I expected,” you repeated gently, trying to stifle your laughter, as you turned to face the small wooden bench you'd been tending to before the chestnut tree appeared. “You usually come at noon, and considering I didn't hear the church bell, I think you're earlier than usual.”

ㅤㅤBaron couldn't help himself, especially when he heard you. The right side of his mouth lifted slightly, a sly smile playing on his lips as he listened to you notice something as trivial as the time he visited your flower shop every morning, or at least after his workday. But he simply couldn't help it.

ㅤㅤEver since you opened your little shop, which had clearly been successful, judging by the fact that it was still open a few months after you arrived in town, while so many other businesses closed, Baron had been a regular customer, even though he didn't usually buy anything. On days when he wasn't planning on bringing flowers to his mother, he'd wander by and pop in just to say hello, to chat a bit with someone his own age. In a town where young adults were scarce, mainly because there was nothing to do there and many decided to move to a big city with more opportunities, the chestnut-haired boy couldn't help but grow fond of you when he learned you were almost the same age.

ㅤㅤYou grew accustomed to each other, to each other's company, at least for a few minutes a day.

ㅤㅤ"Ah, yes, I see," he said quickly once he came to his senses, maintaining that smile that always touched you so deeply. "I just wanted to see you."

ㅤㅤHis words made you bite your lower lip. Baron saw it; he could see your cheeks flush in the shade cast by the green and white awning that covered part of the sidewalk.

ㅤㅤ"Are you...?" he tried to ask, his smile fading as concern suddenly gripped him. He took a couple of steps closer to close the distance and get a better look at your skin tone, wanting to make sure he hadn't misinterpreted it. "Are you sick? You're flushed. Do you have a fever?"

ㅤㅤThe sudden questions elicited a new laugh from you as you shook your head. Because no, you didn't have a fever, but perhaps the way your heart was pounding could be interpreted as a sign of illness, for it seemed that vital organ was skipping rope the same way you had when you were just a child.

ㅤㅤ"Oh, no, don't worry," you replied as quickly as you could, placing the watering can on the bench where the three precious potted plants you had been tending to before he arrived sat, wanting to offer him your genuine attention, the kind he always received when he was around. "It's because of the heat and the sun. Summer is approaching, and I have a bad habit of thinking that summer here is as mild as in San Francisco."

ㅤㅤBaron could only nod quickly, as if he genuinely understood what you meant, though the doubt etched on his smile only made you feel closer to the man before you; without meaning to, he was always able to appear sweet and innocent even when he was confused.

ㅤㅤ"It's hot in here, really hot," the chestnut-haired man stated, nodding as if that made him more right. "A lot, actually. I don't know the highest temperature we've had, but it's always been very hot. I even burned my face once; it was red and peeling, like an onion. I even got a couple of blisters on my forehead."

ㅤㅤThe more the man spoke, the more he seemed to be digging his own grave. His short and sad experience with women, limited to those he'd met in high school a little over ten years ago, had taught him what to say and what not to say to a woman, what might interest her and what would definitely repel her. Although he was mentally aware that describing his burns wasn't the best way to impress you, the problem was that he seemed to have suffered a mental breakdown and, therefore, couldn't stop himself as he recounted the events. And, contrary to what he expected to be an imminent rejection from you, it turned into an acceptance that filled his heart with joy; in any case, you would never have had the heart to tell him to shut up, even if he was rambling on.

ㅤㅤ"An interesting tidbit, to say the least," you replied, placing your hand on his right bicep, giving it a gentle squeeze before glancing at the entrance of your charming establishment. "Why don't we go inside? It'll surely be more comfortable and less hot than being out here."

ㅤㅤYour proposal was what Baron had been looking forward to most because, the moment he first let you in, he remembered the little gift he had for you. So, like an innocent child wanting to surprise the girl he liked most in the whole school, he put his hands behind his back as he entered your flower shop, observing the different types of plants that seemed to coexist so harmoniously. It was a paradise of scents and colors that truly reflected your essence; every time he entered your shop, it was as if he were enveloped by your presence, your warmth, and your love.

ㅤㅤBaron knew you had started talking to him. He was aware that he should pay as much attention to you as possible so he could remember you when he decided to go back home to take care of his mother or resume his usual routine on a day like this when he didn't have to work. But he was so engrossed in his own feelings and the slight sway of your figure as you walked down the aisle of the store toward the counter that he was speechless when you glanced over your shoulder, giving him a tender smile that made his heart practically burst.

ㅤㅤYou, on the other hand, were simply talking, oblivious to the effect you were having on the poor man behind you.

ㅤㅤThe moment you stopped at your counter, proudly arranging your little ledger, you felt a comfortable, comforting warmth suddenly envelop you, so different from the dry, uncomfortable heat of the summer that had arrived in the small town. So, with almost masterful slowness, you turned around to find Baron standing just inches away, as stiff as an iceberg, as straight as a wooden plank, and with a grimace so disconcerting it worried you. But as you lowered your gaze from his brown eyes, you noticed a small white daisy resting nervously in his trembling right hand, the one he had carried with him from home until he found you.

ㅤㅤ"And this?" you asked curiously, raising your head again to look at him. Even with the short distance between you, you couldn't bring yourself to take a step back. Your heart and your legs were urging you to take a step toward him.

"For you."

ㅤㅤThat statement brought a wide smile to your face.

ㅤㅤSeeing that delicate little flower as a gift from the man you liked so much was the sweetest thing you could ever imagine receiving from anyone. Of course, many had bought enormous bouquets from your shop, overflowing with the most striking and even expensive flowers, for their girlfriends or wives, but the fact that you were the one receiving them, for once, was the most charming gesture anyone could have ever made. And so, even as you watched the small daisy dance gently in the soft breezes inside the tent, your body moved on its own to wrap your arms around Baron's waist, pulling him warmly close as your face buried itself in his chest, feeling the rough, old fabric of his dark t-shirt.

ㅤㅤPoor Baron. The man, who already felt rather clumsy trying to string two coherent words together in your presence, suddenly thought he was dreaming.

ㅤㅤYour smaller body was pressed against his. You were embracing him; of all the people in the village, you were embracing him.

ㅤㅤAlthough he didn't know how to react at first, he had to blink a few times before his slightly more timid arms slowly moved to encircle you, settling around your waist and shoulders, allowing him to gently pull you close, letting you feel each other's warmth and allowing your hearts to race with the reunion of two souls that perhaps had been bound together for a very long time.

ㅤㅤAnd all because of that daisy, which became your favourite flower and which you would try to keep for a lifetime just to remember the man who made your heart beat faster.

[profeyandere]

𝐊𝐔𝐑𝐓 𝐊. ─── ☾ 𝐀 𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴇ ᴋᴇᴇʀʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 3.7ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴋᴜʀᴛ ᴋᴜɴᴋʟᴇ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴋɪꜱꜱ, ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴜʀʙᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

ㅤㅤYour face was a blur. Every part of your expression exuded astonishment, as evidenced by the way your eyebrows were raised to their highest point, and also a touch of embarrassment, which was noticeable from the redness that had suddenly flooded your cheeks without you being able to control it. And it was no wonder, after Kurt's question, which he'd thrown out as if asking about the weather for the week. Even your lips had parted slightly, trying to complete the picture of surprise that every part of your face had framed, while your head shook slightly from side to side as you tried to make sense of the jumble of thoughts that had suddenly overwhelmed you.

ㅤㅤYou didn't quite know how to answer his question, especially as he gazed at you so intently with those large, dark eyes that so closely resembled those of a beaten puppy seeking the slightest sign of affection from its owner. Somehow, he was looking at you as if you were his dream come true, or perhaps as if you held all the answers in the world after having lived for two and a half decades, practically the same amount of time as him, as if you could resolve even the smallest doubts surrounding human existence. But deep down, although Kurt was embarrassed to admit something as innocent as never having shared a kiss in his entire life, the reason he confessed this to you stemmed from the comments he'd recently received on his YouTube videos and live streams.

ㅤㅤKurt wasn't stupid; he knew what a kiss was. His parents had kissed when they were together; he'd seen thousands of couples in high school do it, even groping each other at the back of the classroom before someone told him to stop watching, and of course, he'd seen it in the movies and streaming series he inevitably watched to keep up with what was being said online.

ㅤㅤBut to experience it? Oh, no. Kurt had never given or received a kiss from anyone.

ㅤㅤ"I don't know what to tell you, honestly," you replied in a slightly neutral tone, looking away from his seated figure, which occupied part of the edge of his own bed. "Do you expect me to say something specific or...? I just don't know what to tell you, I'm sorry."

ㅤㅤThe nervousness with which you had begun to speak was unusual for you, and it wasn't as if you were the most direct person when interacting with others, but the matter had been so unexpected that something inside you crumbled when you observed the shyness and the small sparkle in his eyes; you were convinced that it wasn't just a feeling of astonishment that coursed through your body, but also a deep sadness that your best friend hadn't experienced something as simple and genuine as a kiss, a brush of lips that even elementary school children had shared simply out of curiosity about something their parents were used to.

ㅤㅤ"I just want to know what you felt with your first kiss. Or with any kiss you've given, how you experienced it," he replied curiously, not wanting to invade your privacy, but wanting to find out how something so genuine and tender must feel. "If it's not too much trouble."

ㅤㅤYour sigh wasn't a bad sign, just a sign that your mind was racing and you couldn't find a simple answer. It was hard to explain. When you were much younger, you used to laugh at what people close to you said about those first kisses with your crush, but once you experienced firsthand what it was like to be kissed, even awkwardly, by the one who gave you butterflies, the one you thought about every single day, you could say without a doubt that it was like floating on a cloud.

ㅤㅤNow, although that sounded romantic and very fanciful, perhaps that wasn't what the brunette was hoping for. So you leaned back in his gaming chair to think, bringing one hand to your lips to caress them, feeling their softness on your fingertips before your mind drifted back to those memories from your teenage years. You thought about that classmate you had a crush on for a while during junior year, the one who kissed you at the Valentine's Day party the school had organized; you remembered that guy who asked you to the prom and thought it appropriate to kiss you to make up for accidentally spilling his punch on you in the middle of the night; and you definitely had to think about that jerk from the bar you hadn't gone back to after he, half-drunk, decided you were the "lucky" girl of the night.

ㅤㅤIf you really thought about it, the few kisses you'd shared hadn't really been a big deal, even though your mind had embellished them quite a bit. And although you'd shared a few with guys you'd liked at some point, and even in moments much more intimate than you were willing to admit out loud in front of Kurt, there had always been something that made you feel an immediate aversion to those displays of affection. Maybe the butterflies had been there, maybe you'd floated on a cloud for a few seconds, but it hadn't been much compared to the exaggerations you'd been led to believe as a child and what you'd fantasised about ever since.

ㅤㅤ"Actually, you're not missing much," you confessed unconsciously, taking your hand away from your mouth to answer him, shrugging. "People sometimes exaggerate when they say kisses are amazing or something, but I think in the end it all boils down to who you share them with."

ㅤㅤAt that moment, you thought you saw a lightbulb go off in Kurt's head. His eyebrows lifted, and his back, slightly hunched forward, suddenly straightened, revealing the idea that was slowly beginning to take shape in his mind.

ㅤㅤ"What's wrong?"

ㅤㅤ"What's wrong?" Your question didn't interrupt his moment of inspiration, and instead of leaping off his mattress like he did when he had a new idea for his internet videos, you watched as his cheeks flushed the same rosy hue that had once adorned yours, and his eyes seemed to hold two glowing stars within them. You were surprised, you had to admit, that for once he kept his usual enthusiasm in check when discussing something so personal.

ㅤㅤ"Could you give me a kiss?"

ㅤㅤHis question left you speechless, and instead of showing surprise, you looked at him with pity. Sadly, you looked at him with pity. And not because he usually caused that feeling in you when he spoke of the few visitors he received, but because his voice sounded so soft, like a plea, that it reminded you of the boy he was when he was sixteen, that helpless young man that nobody wanted to be with because he was strange, but who, for some reason, made your heart jump a little every time your eyes met in the hallways.

ㅤㅤ“You don’t have to give your first kiss right now, Kurt,” you replied, stretching your legs so your bare feet touched the floor and you could drag the chair across the floor until you were standing in front of him. “You shouldn’t stress about things like that.”

ㅤㅤBut the moment you felt his large hands around your ankles, his thumb gently sliding around the bone as he rested his chin on your right knee, something inside you broke even more. It wasn’t just a kiss he was asking for; it was something much deeper, something the world had kept him from having. Kurt was asking for love, love he’d never received.

ㅤㅤ“Please.”

ㅤㅤThat request was enough for you to make a decision.

ㅤㅤGetting up from the chair you'd occupied for part of the afternoon and returning it to its place in front of the desk, you settled in to Kurt's right, sitting on the edge of the mattress just like him. As you made your arrangements to tidy the room, Kurt's dark eyes watched you, a sudden warmth starting in the pit of your stomach and spreading to every part of your body, causing your neck to flush a reddish colour that caught your attention, but you didn't make fun of it at all, unlike Bobby, who surely would have. Although you didn't say it aloud, you inwardly thought he couldn't be more charming than he was at that moment, blushing and nervous as he patiently waited for you to feel ready to kiss him.

ㅤㅤ"Where do I put my hands?"

ㅤㅤHis innocent and tender question brought a small smile to your face. You'd never been asked for directions on something so instinctive. Your hands always travelled on their own, guided by personal preference.

ㅤㅤ"You can put them on my waist, if you want," you suggested, placing your own hands in the aforementioned area as you turned slightly to face him properly, making the moment more comfortable. "Oh, right, I almost forgot!"

ㅤㅤYour exclamation piqued his curiosity. Seeing you pat your front pockets, Kurt noticed you pulling a small, round bottle you usually carried from one of them. It wasn't that your lips were dry—definitely not, because they felt incredibly moist after the countless times you must have unconsciously licked them while imagining what it would feel like to have his lips against yours in those few seconds when you decided to do him this favor—but you thought the strawberry flavor might make the experience more enjoyable for the brunette, especially knowing it was one of his favorite vape flavors.

ㅤㅤ"You don't need to use it..."

ㅤㅤ"Oh, of course you do," you affirmed as you unscrewed the cap, using your pinky finger to spread it and then rub it against your lips. "You're going to like it, you'll see."

ㅤㅤAnd Kurt didn't have to doubt it, not after how much you cared for him and how much he liked you; you could have smeared yourself with sour jam, and he would still find it wonderful on you, even if he hated the taste.

ㅤㅤKurt's thoughts stopped the moment he felt the softness of your fingertips against his cheeks as you gently cupped his face in your hands, cradling it tenderly as you brought your lips to his.

ㅤㅤIt wasn't direct contact, as Kurt had seen in movies, nor was it an intense encounter. Instead, it was slow and calm. The tip of your nose brushed against his for a few brief seconds, your hands guiding him so you could turn your heads and align yourselves, and finally, the subtle pressure of your lips against his that left him completely disarmed and his mind a mess. He couldn't think; it was as if his capacity for reason had vanished the second you had come close enough to kiss him. Kurt could feel that same heat rising in the pit of his stomach, spreading to his face, creating such an intense heat that he thought he was suffocating in your mere presence. Kurt could feel the adrenaline rushing from his stomach to his hands, sending a tingle through him that almost made him shudder at your persistent touch. Your lips momentarily parted from his, finding a more comfortable position to resume your brief kissing session.

ㅤㅤKurt had asked for a kiss, and you were offering him paradise.

ㅤㅤHis brown eyes, still open, almost closed unconsciously when he noticed yours were completely shut, so lost were you in the moment. This sent a new, slightly different, deeper, more exciting tingle through him.

ㅤㅤYou, of all people in the world, were enjoying kissing him. Otherwise, you wouldn't have closed your eyes, would you? That thought made him gasp, a gasp your lips captured without hesitation, deepening the kiss without a second thought. In that moment, Kurt knew you were right: it was all instinct.

ㅤㅤHis hands moved with slight hesitation to your waist, the way you had described and shown him before, to hold you firmly, but not roughly, to feel you against him. The feeling that you were still there with him, that you were truly kissing him, and that this wasn't just another one of those dreams where he woke up with an erection that left him completely overwhelmed until he went to the shower to let the cold water soothe his need for you, stirred something new within him, something he wanted to feel every day, something he definitely wanted to share with you from that moment on. That arousal wasn't new—God forgive him for the countless times he might have masturbated thinking of you—but it was different because this time it stemmed from something you had done directly to him.

ㅤㅤYour figure, your lips, your hands.

ㅤㅤ"You're red," you murmured innocently as your lips parted by mere centimetres from his, as if you hadn't mentally given him five heart attacks.

ㅤㅤKurt didn't respond, only nodded gently in agreement; he didn't trust his own voice to speak at that moment, much less with his heart racing so fast it was almost alarming. And your smile completely melted him; it was so beautiful he could feel his thoughts vanish in microseconds every time he saw it grace your face. Those lips, slightly reddened and swollen from the kiss, and those precious eyes of yours that always looked at him with affection and a beautiful shine, were the cause of his mind simply flying away and having moved to a completely different planet.

ㅤㅤBut you didn't hesitate for a second longer before bringing your face close to his again, allowing him to take the final step towards you, closing the gap between you and meeting in another kiss that wasn't very different from the previous one. Kurt's kissing was awkward, normal for someone who had never kissed before, but he was searching for that satisfaction and that fire he had found during your first encounter, only this time, something seemed to change in your plans, which you could tell by the way your body leaned a little more towards him, and he had settled closer to yours. Your hand, at least your right one for the moment, moved away from his face to guide it towards the lower part of his body; While it was true that at first he had considered the possibility that you might cling to his jacket or even embrace him to give the kiss the same depth he'd seen in TV shows or movies, he hadn't expected your palm to ultimately rest on the erection that that first encounter of lips had unintentionally caused.

ㅤㅤA new gasp escaped his lips when he felt that pressure against his member, that small hand of yours, so different from his own, simply slowly rubbing the bulge he hadn't noticed when you'd separated to catch your breath.

ㅤㅤ"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." Kurt murmured softly against your lips as he felt the warmth of your palm against the fabric that enveloped his member.

ㅤㅤA slight forward jerk, toward your palm, made you smile. Kurt was seeking the friction that only your hand seemed to offer, and you, being the good friend you were, were definitely going to help him a little to relieve the tension that now coursed through his body.

ㅤㅤKeeping your hand on the bulging fabric, feeling the warm flesh rub lightly against the cloth, seeking your touch, you didn't hesitate to offer him what he needed.

ㅤㅤWith a little more firmness, wrapping your hand around the bulge that at times became a little harder and not as malleable as it had initially seemed, you began to rub your right hand against it in slightly circular and vertical movements to relieve him; his gasps against your lips were proof that something definitely large and in need was lying beneath those grey pants. You didn't bother to check the size, although, judging by the thickness and how your fingers couldn't even touch around the circumference, it was definitely the perfect size for a woman who needed to be filled, and who might even feel overwhelmed by the sensation of opening during penetration. And you would undoubtedly be envious knowing that someone other than you had had the opportunity to ride something that, while perhaps not enormous, would be perfect for you.

ㅤㅤ"Don't go so low..."

ㅤㅤKurt's request caught you by surprise, and, momentarily separating your lips from his and feeling his forehead fall against your shoulder as he gripped your waist tightly for support before you could feel him trying to penetrate your hand, you observed what he meant. The bulge had a stain caused by pre-ejaculate covering the tip of his penis, just a small stain that could easily have passed for sweat or water, but the way he moved his hips told you he was seeking friction specifically on the glans.

ㅤㅤKurt wasn't going to mention it, at least not at that moment while he felt your hand against his penis, but it was true that his glans was his most sensitive area, something he'd discovered by chance when he first masturbated thinking about you. The thought of your bare hand touching him there, whether he was clothed or not, caused a sudden shudder that made the area press firmly against your palm, seeking the release and friction he so desperately craved. And the more he pressed, the larger the stain became.

ㅤㅤTherefore, although the usual custom when giving a man a handjob was to wrap your hands around the base and then move them up and down to create the friction and pleasure they craved, in this case, your actions were far from that. Placing your hand where the tip of his member should be pressing against the fabric of his pants, you completely enveloped it with your hand before using your fingers to maintain that constant pressure, causing him momentary relief, while your palm moved in small circles that caused the brunette to gasp as he continued to grip your waist with his hands; not even in his wildest dreams could Kurt have imagined that you would be the first woman to kiss him and do something of that magnitude to him.

ㅤㅤ"Is this better?"

ㅤㅤYour question didn't go unnoticed by Kurt, who responded in a matter of seconds with a quick nod that made you chuckle softly. That sweet sound reached his ears, sending a shiver through him at the prospect of you being there with him.

ㅤㅤThe addition of his hand, already sweaty and slightly trembling with nerves, and the shared moment, on top of yours—the one that was more specifically masturbating him—redirected your attention back to the point of interest. You noticed how he guided your hand over the thick bulge that was beginning to tremble under your combined touch, applying a little pressure that you hadn't dared to use, making your movements even more circular. It was a combination that made him gasp a little louder before his hips moved forward to thrust into your hand. His guidance was gentle, offering a variety of movements that allowed you to feel the girth of his member, noticing how it seemed to move on its own at times, overwhelmed by the pleasure of your hand's constant pressure and the friction of his underwear against the sensitive area.

ㅤㅤThe whole experience was overwhelming and definitely something new for the boy.

ㅤㅤIt was so intense that, unable to resist, he completely covered your hand with his so that you, in turn, could cover the head of his member as he thrust twice, just enough before a muffled moan escaped his lips as he continued to ride the waves of pleasure that washed over him as he reached his climax.

ㅤㅤAlthough you didn't see it, nor did he, thick strands of semen oozed from him, inevitably staining the inside of his underwear, the skin covering his penis all the way to its base, and even his trembling testicles. The thick fluid seeped through the fabric, staining the thicker grey pants, so you could feel the dampness beneath your palm as he held you close, as if he didn't want you to move away from him in the slightest.

ㅤㅤ"Thank you so much..."

ㅤㅤKurt's whisper was barely a muffled sound that stirred a tenderness in you, even though the moment was far from tender. It could have been avoided, but hearing his soft gasps and feeling his warm body against yours made you realise you had done far more than he would ever have asked.

ㅤㅤAnd honestly, you'd do it again for him.

[profeyandere]

Are you a 18+!adult so I may interact ?

Hello!

Yes, I'm over 18, I'm 23. We can chat and interact if you'd like 😊

[profeyandere]

Hii do you write smut for Jim Hopper? If yes can you please write one?

Hi there!

Thank you so much for asking, but the truth is I haven't written smut in many years and I don't feel comfortable writing it now. If you have any suggestion for a Hopper story that doesn't contain smut, I'd love to hear it! ❤️

[profeyandere]

Just want to tell you that your fanfic with bipolar story are so good!!!

Hi!

Thank you so much for your kind words, I'm so glad to know you like my little stories! 😁

[profeyandere]

Click if you want to go to the main Masterlist

ɴᴀᴛʜᴀɴ ᴘʀᴇꜱᴄᴏᴛᴛ │ •➤ ꜱᴏᴍᴇᴛʜɪɴɢ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ɪɴ ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴀɴᴅ ᴡʜɪᴛᴇ │ •➤ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴛʀᴇᴇ 《 ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ 》 ╰─────────────

[profeyandere]

𝐉𝐎𝐇𝐍 𝐖. ─── ☾ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐘 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴍᴀʀᴠᴇʟ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴊᴏʜɴ ᴡᴀʟᴋᴇʀ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇꜱ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ᴇɴᴅɪɴɢ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

ㅤㅤ"Can't you sleep?"

ㅤㅤYour voice, your soft, warm voice, brought John back to the present, to the quiet, dark night where he, too, couldn't rest, as was so often the case. He had recurring nightmares that filled him with fear, a panic about sleeping and reliving those tormenting moments in unimaginable ways, and he didn't want to go through it again and again during the moments that should have been for rest. You had sensed it; you didn't need superpowers to realize that John wasn't well, and although he insisted repeatedly that he was the same as always, you noticed the dark circles under his eyes, how he often unintentionally fell asleep sitting up, and how his bed was always perfectly made when you woke up in the middle of the night for water. And tonight was no exception, although this time it wasn't a nightmare that kept him awake, but an article in a third-rate online newspaper that mentioned him—the kind of media that no one paid attention to except for those who were incredibly bored with their own lives.

ㅤㅤ"I'm not tired," he replied briefly, his voice hoarse from the lack of sleep he'd endured for days.

ㅤㅤYou weren't the type of person who tried to get information at all costs, much less if it was something personal enough that the person didn't consider it appropriate to talk about it, but you were aware of the toll that keeping something troubling silent could take on the human body. It was painful to hold onto the memories. It was awful to stifle the screams that longed to escape. It was infuriating to try to contain all your anxiety. But that was what John was doing, what he had been doing and compensating for by doing horrible jobs for Valentina, just like the rest of the team that made up the Thunderbolts, except for Alexei, who didn't even get a chance to meet Val until the whole team united against her.

ㅤㅤ“We all say that at some point, just to deny the obvious,” you murmured, not noticing how Walker shifted his gaze from his phone, one of the few light sources in the room, which dimly illuminated the enormous open-plan living area of ​​the apartment you all shared. “I can’t sleep either; it’s been a really tough night.”

ㅤㅤJohn slowly turned his head to look at you and watched you walk to the large sofa in the living room, covered by a long, dark blanket, the one you used to wrap yourself in at bed. Your body disappeared into the enormous fabric, but he almost found it funny and charming how domestic you looked compared to how strict and tough you were on the battlefield; it was as if there were two different people inside you, but you always showed the right side at the right time, and for that alone, he was already envious. You could choose how to act. You never acted based on your thoughts and feelings during missions, and you were never distant or strict when dealing with any of your teammates. It was precisely because of this—your ability to choose—that he envied you, as childish as that sounded.

ㅤㅤIf only he had controlled himself, if only he hadn't let himself be swayed by what he believed was right due to the ingrained military training on how to act on missions, his life would have been completely different, and everyone would think of him in a completely different light, free from prejudice based on his past behaviour. He would still be carrying the shield that once belonged to Steve; he would still be married to Olivia and have a beautiful family with her and their young child; he would have been decorated and appreciated by the American community, and, if he was lucky, he might even have been respected worldwide as the worthy successor to Captain America's shield and values; and his best friend, his strongest support in the world, would definitely still be alive and by his side.

ㅤㅤ“You know that’s not true,” you continued, sitting down on the sofa, considerably close to him, receiving a confused look from him. “What the press says about you isn’t true.”

ㅤㅤJohn just shrugged, as if he didn’t care about what you had just said, before turning his attention back to the article that had kept him up all night. That same week, the whole team had been working hard on the latest assignment you’d received from Valentina, and while the mission was completed with resounding success, taking down the criminals who had been trafficking dangerous compounds on the West Coast, the truth was that there were always one or two websites dedicated to debunking your “heroic” deeds and slandering you based on your shared past. At some point, you had killed someone, and those people—the "haters" who had nothing better to do with their lives—dedicated themselves to pointing the finger at you for mistakes you made in the past or actions you regretted in the present and which you were slowly trying to redeem through your new work as protectors of America and the world.

ㅤㅤ"Yes, I know," he affirmed, although his mind told him otherwise, and his actions spoke for themselves. "They're bored people who just want to bother others."

ㅤㅤHis response, to your surprise, wasn't aggressive or sarcastic, but calm and much more pleasant than you expected. Gently, you tilted your head to look at his phone screen and glance at some of the lines Walker had been reading for the past few minutes—perhaps even the past few hours, since the moon was at such a high point that he knew he'd been awake in the living room longer than he'd anticipated.

ㅤㅤ"But it still hurts, doesn't it?"

ㅤㅤJohn didn't say a word, but he felt a strange lump in his throat that was becoming difficult to swallow or untangle. Of course, it hurt. He couldn't understand how people could be so cruel when all he wanted was to make amends for his mistakes, when all he wanted was to go back in time so he wouldn't have acted so recklessly, so he could have the perfect life he'd had and believed he deserved.

ㅤㅤ"But it still hurts, doesn't it?" Of course, he had gone to war, and he had been proudly decorated for the missions he had attended and successfully completed, but his way of acting, his way of thinking, was that of a soldier a country with aspirations of greatness simply wanted to create; anyone in Walker's position, anyone with his same career, would have done the same, and of course, he would never be the Steve Rogers everyone had expected, because the two men were completely different, but he did his best to be the best version of Captain America he could be. But, again, he would never be that kid from Brooklyn who saved the world, and he would never be the Captain America that the universe deserved.

ㅤㅤ"Yes."

ㅤㅤThat statement brought surprise to his own face because he hadn't expected to have admitted something so harsh and cruel.

ㅤㅤIt hurt so much not to be loved, not to be recognised, to have lost everything without the possibility of a second chance, and even if he had one, the suffering was the same because not everyone saw that he was trying, that he was improving. Perhaps he was a stubborn man, and the shell around him, forged by rejection, had made him sarcastic and distant, but he tried on every mission, like when he and the rest of the team stopped The Void, when they managed to control Bob, and when they saved New York. But not many people wanted to see beyond that, given his past, so many dedicated themselves to discrediting everything the team did, and that's why so many people lacked faith in you.

ㅤㅤIn the end, in the eyes of the world, you were just a group of misfits who called themselves the Thunderbolts.

ㅤㅤ“I know it’s easy to say you shouldn’t care what other people think of you, and it’s bullshit when someone tells you that, but it’s realistic,” you said, turning your body so you could look at him more comfortably, placing your arm over the back of the sofa, behind his shoulders, causing the blanket around you to reveal your head and one shoulder completely. “You punish yourself for no reason, and it’s awful,” you continued. “It’s hard to do things wrong, admit those mistakes, try to fix them, and not be forgiven no matter how hard you try, but you’ve been given a second chance to prove you’re not the failure the world thought you were, and you’re doing it. Little by little, but you’re doing it, and part of the world is starting to see it.”

ㅤㅤJohn was listening to your words, even though he wasn’t looking at you. He kept his head down, looking at his phone, observing how he had punished himself. His Google searches about himself were negative; he unconsciously sought out pain to torment himself.

ㅤㅤ"How am I supposed to be doing anything if the world only sees me as the monster who murdered a civilian?" he asked you, biting his lower lip before turning his head to look at you, his breath catching in his throat at the sight.

ㅤㅤYour face, dimly lit by the light from his phone, seemed almost radiant despite the lack of a proper light source. The smile on your face was warm, and, God help him, it had been months since he'd seen that kind of expression on anyone's face when they looked at him, at least not since Olivia left him.

ㅤㅤFrom the moment he met you, you were his little source of light; the one who kept him company during training when he was acting like a jerk; The person who sat next to him at lunchtime and made sure he ate everything like a little kid, even though he was old enough to deserve that kind of treatment; the person who sat next to him when the team watched a movie; the person who was simply there.

ㅤㅤYou were always there.

ㅤㅤ"Does everyone really see you as a monster, or is it just you imagining it?" you asked, tilting your head with that same smile. "You're only seeing the worst of it. You read shitty websites that barely have a subscription, that publish hoaxes, and whose opinions matter to less than one per cent of the world's population," you continued before moving a little closer to him and swiping your finger across his phone screen.

ㅤㅤJohn should have kept his eyes on the device; he shouldn't have been looking at you. But focusing on you, on the way you were so insistent on proving him wrong, stirred a strange mix of feelings in his stomach, something he hadn't felt in a long time. The last time he'd felt that way was shortly before Olivia left him, and it didn't even come close to the intensity of what he felt now, with you. He still thought it could be compared to what he'd felt for Olivia when he first met her and fell in love with her.

ㅤㅤ"You could smile like that once in a while, you know? It looks great on you."

ㅤㅤAnd he didn't realise he was smiling until you pointed out the obvious. Thinking about you, about the feelings he had for you, brought out the best in him, it made him feel special because when he looked at you, when he noticed how you looked at him, he knew that he wouldn't have to worry much about the future and what the world thought of him because, at least in the worst of situations, he was enough in your eyes.

[profeyandere]

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄 𝐇. ─── ☾ 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐋𝐘

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏᴇ ᴋᴇᴇʀʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ꜱᴛʀᴀɴɢᴇʀ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.7ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴜᴘ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ꜰɪɢʜᴛ, ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀᴛᴛᴀᴄᴋꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ɪɴᴊᴜʀɪᴇꜱ, ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

ㅤㅤYou weren't used to parties; you even dared to say you didn't like them much because of the crowds and the shouting that could be heard on the street furthest from the house where the party was being held. But Halloween was the perfect excuse to leave the house and maybe be far away, to avoid hearing your parents' arguments, in which you were always somehow involved, and to return later than the agreed-upon time under the pretence of going out with a friend and not drinking. Obviously, your aversion to parties extended to everything they entailed, including the alcoholic beverages themselves, but that night, you felt you truly needed to simply let yourself be carried away by whatever the party had to offer. For once, you didn't want to think about the consequences of the next day, not after what had happened the previous year.

ㅤㅤThe previous year had been insane, to say the least, and with the monsters you'd faced alongside Byers and Wheeler, you felt like there was still something more you were missing, like there was still a trace of those huge, slimy things you were overlooking; the enormous mark on your right forearm, a mark that neither your parents nor anyone else besides the aforementioned teenagers had ever seen.

ㅤㅤIt was a reminder of those nights you'd run away just to help the couple who came to your aid because you were the last person to find Will, the youngest of the Byers family, that night everything seemed to change.

ㅤㅤYou shook your head, not realising you'd started scratching the area that had once been a nasty wound and had now become three monstrous scars that perfectly matched the party's theme; It was Halloween, after all, and for one night at least, you could show off something you definitely needed to keep hidden. If someone saw those scars any other day, they might very well think you'd been doing more than just wallowing in self-pity during the nights you heard your parents screaming, and you weren't about to explain to anyone that, in an attempt to protect Nancy Wheeler from a Demogorgon—as you'd colloquially called it—the monster had attacked you so badly you'd nearly bled to death in a parallel world.

ㅤㅤ« When did I get such a brilliant idea? » You asked yourself, shaking your head as you had before.

ㅤㅤA new sigh escaped your lips as you reached the house you had walked towards; overthinking, as much as you disliked it for all that it entailed, had at least made the path to your destination shorter. But the figure of someone taller than you, dressed in a black jacket, surely leather judging by how it seemed to gleam under the lights inside the building, appeared before you and blocked your path as you were about to open the door a little wider to enter the house, making you slowly raise your head until your eyes rested on the chestnut eyes belonging to the king of the school, the boy most loved by the girls and most flattered by the boys his age.

ㅤㅤSteve Harrington was before you, only without his usual air of confidence.

ㅤㅤHis tense shoulders, tight lips, and eyebrows almost meeting in a frown told you that something wasn't quite right. You didn't know him well enough to pinpoint a clear sign of anger or sadness, but you did know the Steve Harrington who was a jerk, the one who thought he was better than everyone else, the one you inevitably seemed to loathe with all your heart. But the boy in front of you was definitely not the one you thought you knew.

ㅤㅤYou weren't friends with the most popular guy in school, not by a long shot, but you considered yourself observant, and, as you'd seen before you, the boy standing before you wasn't the one you'd known throughout your high school years, but a version of himself you didn't even think his closest friends had ever noticed.

ㅤㅤ"Steve..."

ㅤㅤYou murmured his name, not even knowing why, but it was like a question that needed no further explanation. You were worried about him because his behavior wasn't like his usual self, however strange that feeling might have been to you. And he seemed to know it because he only glanced over his shoulder for a few seconds before walking around you and leaving the house where he'd been partying with Nancy.

ㅤㅤOnce he was far enough away from you, at least far enough to lose sight of him behind the leafy trees in the garden in front of the small building, you peeked out of the door to meet Jonathan's gaze. He seemed just as confused as you were by the king's sudden disappearance. He turned his head toward the back of the room where he stood, and you noticed a slightly dishevelled, slightly drunk Nancy leaving the small room. Her light-colored sweater was completely stained with the punch she'd overindulged in that night. The image clicked in your mind, and before you knew it, you were following Steve's trail to find him again, not understanding why you were following him, nor wanting to find an explanation.

ㅤㅤYour steps weren't measured; you didn't even check the strides you were taking just to get to Harrington, and you hadn't even considered where he might be. Maybe he'd gone to the party by car and was already driving home, or maybe he'd run off, perhaps terrified, once he bumped into you and you lost sight of him. You cursed his long, athletic legs because, if he'd been someone like you, who didn't do much exercise beyond what was required in the class, you surely would have caught up with him.

ㅤㅤBut after walking several blocks, you found him again. He was still walking with his head down, seemingly aimlessly, taking strides that, while not excessively long, were still enough to create a distance between you.

ㅤㅤ“Steve!”

ㅤㅤYour voice echoed down the street, and for a moment, you thought you saw him stop. And you were grateful that he did.

ㅤㅤYou trotted calmly toward him, wanting to believe he wouldn't move from that spot, from where he seemed rooted to the spot. When you stopped beside him, you saw his profile as you circled him with hesitant steps, pausing again when you noticed a small trail of tears on his cheeks, slowly pooling on his jaw and chin. Something bad enough had happened between Steve and Nancy for the king of the school to completely forget how fantastic he was and be so broken down, weeping from the pain that festered in his heart. He had no physical injuries, at least none that you could see, so you couldn't help but think it had something to do with what you'd said.

ㅤㅤ“Spit it out, come on,” he said seriously, sniffing and scratching the tip of his nose to avoid looking even worse than he already did in front of you. He didn’t mean to be rude; he really didn’t, but the pain festering in his heart was killing him, and your presence only made him think he looked too pathetic to keep up appearances. “Laugh, point at me, say I look stupid, or all those things you always say out loud when you see me.”

ㅤㅤYou frowned. You didn’t exactly get along with Steve; you considered yourselves different in many ways, but you couldn’t believe he actually thought you would make fun of him when he was feeling so bad, so broken.

ㅤㅤ“I always think you’re stupid, you have that ‘something’ about you that makes it inevitable, but I don’t usually say it out loud, at least not when I know it’s pointless,” you confessed, noticing how he avoided looking at you; he preferred to stare at the bush five meters away rather than at you. “What happened to you, Steve?”

ㅤㅤYour question caught him off guard. Before the previous year, before the monsters, you had barely exchanged a word beyond the occasional sarcastic “good morning” when you passed each other in the hallways, when you were in a good enough mood to tease one another, and he was with his friends. Only after he learned about the Demogorgon and dared to protect you, Nancy, and Jonathan that last night of suffering for the Byers did you begin to stop, whenever he was alone, to ask him how he was doing. They were fleeting moments, but the tension that had once existed between you two, lingering throughout your high school years, seemed to have eased after that fight with the nail-studded bat and the strange, enormous-mouthed monster that had injured you in the Upside Down.

ㅤㅤHis brown eyes, for a moment, rested on you, on your figure, before settling once more on yours, those sharp eyes that always seemed to know what was happening in the world without a single word being spoken. With a slight nod, he led you to one of the nearby benches, not really pausing to notice if it was clean or not, simply sitting down beside him, waiting for an answer you weren't impatient to receive.

ㅤㅤHis posture, slightly hunched forward so that his elbows rested on his knees, told you he was thinking about what to say, as did the way he anxiously bit his lower lip, toying with it or trying to pick at the small piece of dry skin that bothered him. He was searching for the right words, perhaps to avoid giving too many explanations about his state, why he had left the party, and, consequently, his drunk girlfriend.

ㅤㅤBut he simply couldn't.

ㅤㅤHis head fell, defeated, his neatly arranged bangs sagging just as his spirits had faltered. Perhaps he could have explained it to you, but the lump in his throat prevented him; he simply couldn't tell you. It was overwhelming, and you didn't press him. You weren't going to. To make him cry? You wouldn't accomplish anything, and he would only suffer more from the situation that had led him to this point.

ㅤㅤ"How did you do that to yourself?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject, pointing to the three marks on your forearm, which you had lightly made up to make them appear more than just scars—fresh, bleeding wounds that, upon closer inspection, seemed too real to be prosthetic.

ㅤㅤYour eyes flicked from him to the indicated area, unable to suppress a whistling sound, as if centuries had passed since they had been inflicted. “Last year,” you replied, mirroring his posture to be at his eye level, extending your arm slightly so he could see you more clearly in the light of the streetlamps that surrounded you and illuminated the entire street.

ㅤㅤ“Did Tommy do it to you?” he asked, concerned, thinking that perhaps the fight you were involved in caused it. You could only laugh in response, covering your mouth to keep it from being too loud and to avoid the few passersby on the street looking at you as if you were drunk or crazy. “What’s so funny?”

ㅤㅤ“Come on, Steve, how could that kid do anything to me? He doesn’t know how to fight,” you replied, remembering the fight you got into just to try to defend Jonathan from Steve and prevent him from being at a disadvantage if Hagan decided to intervene.

ㅤㅤLast year, while you were finishing up the shopping to confront the Demogorgon and find young Will, Nancy noticed some graffiti on the local movie theatre marquee that wasn't exactly flattering. Instead of letting it go, as you advised, so you could focus on what truly mattered, she confronted Steve herself. When Jonathan intervened to protect her from Harrington's accusations, Harrington quickly attacked Byers, sparking a fight that only the arrival of the police managed to resolve through a series of arrests. Harrington escaped unscathed.

ㅤㅤAt some point during the fight, while Steve was being beaten up by Jonathan, Tommy intervened to pull Byers away from his friend. Given the disparity in numbers and your undeniable desire to punch your classmate for all the harm his words and jokes had caused the other students at Hawkins High, you didn't hesitate for a moment to lunge at the freckled boy. He had to let go of Jonathan to catch you when you leapt at him, knocking him to the ground before you started punching him. You simply saw the opportunity and took it.

ㅤㅤ"Considering it looked like you gave him a ninja kick to knock him down..." Steve murmured, unable to suppress a soft chuckle as he recalled the scene; it was surreal, in his opinion.

ㅤㅤ"I really wanted to slap him, and maybe more than that," you confessed as a small smile appeared on your face. "I'd been wanting to do it for a very long time, and you have no idea how good it felt, even if it made my parents stop talking to me for a week," you continued, sharing his laughter.

ㅤㅤAnyone who saw you and Steve Harrington sharing a few laughs instead of sarcastic, hurtful jabs at each other would have thought something was wrong. You weren't friends, you weren't enemies, but no one was used to seeing you together, so normally, having a conversation that fostered this bond that seemed to have suddenly formed between you, a bond that perhaps had been there for some time.

ㅤㅤBut that silence you shared after your laughter was strangely comfortable; although the problem with Nancy was still there and definitely something he had to deal with as soon as possible, somehow the burden he'd felt no longer seemed so heavy. Sure, maybe he would have preferred to share his problems with those he considered his friends, but at that moment, he was grateful that it was you who had come to him, who had seen his suffering through his eyes, and he was deeply grateful that you were there with him.

ㅤㅤ"Why did you follow me?" He asked suddenly, making you gasp for air and then exhale, as if he were trying to lift a weight off your shoulders.

ㅤㅤYou weren't sure if it was pity you felt for Steve, but you could definitely sense his loneliness. Neither Tommy, nor Carol, nor any of the other idiots who were friends with Steve went after him when he left the house where the party was held; people saw him leave, they could see his hurt face, and yet they chose to continue the party rather than comfort someone who genuinely needed it.

ㅤㅤBut you understood that feeling of loneliness, and you couldn't help but think that, just like it often happened to you, he simply needed someone to let him know that everything would be alright, that deep down he wasn't as alone as he seemed.

ㅤㅤ"Because you were alone and... I don't know, maybe you could be alone, but with me."

ㅤㅤSteve's eyes shone softly at your words, and what had once been tension transformed into understanding and support. The way his knee pressed against yours let you know he appreciated everything. There was no need for words when the body spoke for itself.

ㅤㅤWith you by his side, Steve knew he would never be alone again.

[profeyandere]

𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐁. ─── ☾ 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐀

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴏɴᴀᴛʜᴀɴ ʙᴀɪʟᴇʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.1ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀɴᴛʜᴏɴʏ ʙʀɪᴅɢᴇʀᴛᴏɴ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ʟᴏᴛꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

Fear was a natural human emotion, and unfortunately for him, it was no stranger to Anthony Bridgerton either.

Before you, for the first time in what seemed like an eternity, you had been reunited with the young man who had once wept in your arms after the horrific death of his father. His lost gaze—the same erratic and trembling look you remembered from long ago—had observed with utter terror the small, striped creature that landed on your shoulder as you conversed about the common concerns you shared during that year's courtship season. For a moment, you felt confused; you hadn’t noticed the little bee swarming around you, so you didn’t understand the reason for his gestures—until you looked at it as it fluttered near your face, understanding then why his expression had contorted so much and changed so drastically.

His brow furrowed, like someone intently threading a needle, and then, unexpectedly, he tried to move you—perhaps a little roughly and aggressively for what you were used to. He tried to pull you close, to protect you, to shield you from harm, to watch over you and prevent anything terrible from happening. Yet you were frightened, unable to understand the reason for his strange behaviour, until, inevitably, due to the sudden movements, the small bee you’d noticed too late stung you at the base of your neck, where it met your shoulder. You watched it fall lifeless at your feet.

At that moment, when the insect finally fell, both of you stopped moving, and your eyes met, leaving a silence that spoke volumes more than any words you could have uttered. Realising the situation you’d found yourselves in, you wanted to say something—but his sudden withdrawal caught you off guard, leaving you completely alone in the garden that beautiful summer morning while he retreated, searching for a quiet place to calm his anxiety and gather the strength to talk to you again about it. Clearly, he needed to talk to you about what had happened.

"I thought I was going to lose you."

Anthony’s words surprised you when he finally dared to speak after the tenth clap of thunder you’d managed to count that night. It wasn’t so much the meaning of his words that surprised you, but the sound of his voice.

Anthony had invited you to his father’s old library that very evening—a not-too-hidden spot in the Bridgerton family’s summer house that was rarely frequented due to the memories it stirred in the older members of the family. The tall bookshelves enclosed the room and, somehow, seemed to shield you both from the rest of the world, like a dome meant to keep you separate from others—to provide you with privacy, and perhaps to protect you from the torrential rain pouring down outside.

Despite the apparent attempt to shield you or offer privacy, Anthony remained silent for a long time, maintaining the same rigid posture as he sat on one of the sofas in the small room while you waited patiently for him to begin. You suspected what he wanted to discuss with you, but you didn’t want to push him if he didn’t want to.

"I’m here, I haven’t gone anywhere," you murmured softly, trying to keep your voice calm and quiet enough to reassure him.

But even that reassurance wasn’t enough for Anthony. The fear had been overwhelming. Suddenly, the same horrific sequence he’d experienced in his youth with his father played out in his mind: holding him in his arms as he slowly choked to death from a bee sting. This, along with the early death of his uncle, had instilled in Anthony a deep-seated terror, a terrible fear of his own death and the deaths of those he loved most. His overprotectiveness of his siblings, even if it had caused him grief and complications at times, stemmed from wanting only the best for them before departing for another plane of existence, before it was too late. And so, the events of that very morning had overwhelmed him.

Before his mind could once again begin to recall the events, your gentle, soft hand rested on his, an attempt to keep him grounded in the present and prevent his vivid imagination from conjuring up another fictional scenario in which you had perished. Perhaps it was a bold move, you could see his eyebrows rise and his forehead furrow slightly as a result, but you couldn’t help yourself, completely disregarding any rational thought related to decorum and etiquette. Being alone together in a room so late at night was already quite indecent and far removed from what a gathering between two young, single people should be.

"The thought that you would suffer the same fate as my father has filled me with great fear, a terrible and profound fear," Anthony emphasised, without moving his hand, simply savouring the light weight of yours upon his as much as he could. "And, at the same time, it has made me realise that I yearn for something I shouldn’t, something I didn’t expect."

Your gaze shifted. It still held its usual sparkle, this time more pronounced thanks to the moonlight, but it showed curiosity, a childlike curiosity to know what Anthony had to say. And he, for his part, slowly turned his head until his dark eyes, shrouded in the shadows of the library, rested upon you, upon your face, observing every small distinction that was yours, that was unique to you, and that he had cherished for far longer than he was willing to admit.

Anthony didn’t want to marry for love; it was a strict rule he’d imposed on himself the moment he became viscount. He would find a suitable woman, intelligent and with leadership qualities, to manage the family after his death, a woman who would bear him children and raise them properly while he distanced himself from them. Love wasn’t part of his plan. He’d tried not to fall head over heels for any of the women he’d met throughout his life, but strangely, he never seemed able to resist when it came to you.

You were always approachable, open to conversation, and observant, helping him with every little thing over time, even offering yourself as a confidante whenever he needed it, as an advisor when he didn’t know what to do or which path to take. And now, with you in front of him, realising the fear he’d had of losing you, he was also aware of how important you were in his life and how much he had always appreciated you.

"I think, or at least I’m fairly certain, that I love you."

His confession made your heart leap because you had never heard those words from Anthony, at least not about you. About a year ago, you had heard him say them when speaking of Sienna, and although your heart had shattered at the thought of losing the only man you had ever loved, you decided to support him in every decision as long as it was right.

Now, hearing those same words directed at you felt like, for a moment, believing you were asleep in a dream.

"How can you be so sure of that?" you asked curiously, calmly, wanting to know the depths of his thoughts and feelings. "That’s too important a statement to just let it go."

Anthony nodded slightly, understanding your words.

"You know better than anyone that I’ve tried to prevent love from coming to me easily. Perhaps with Sienna it was because she wasn’t someone I truly loved, but perhaps it was the adrenaline of a forbidden relationship that truly captured my attention and made me feel more or less the way they describe the feeling of love," he replied, trying to illustrate how he had felt with his former lover, whom he eventually abandoned when he realised nothing would ever be real. "But even though it was exciting, I was never afraid of losing her as such. The thought of losing her didn’t frighten me, but with you, I’ve realised it’s different. I’m terrified, absolutely terrified, of losing you."

Suddenly, you felt his larger hand slowly turn beneath yours, causing your palms to touch and gently press together.

"I care about you much more than I’ve been willing to admit for a long time," he confessed, gently sliding his fingers between yours, intending to intertwine them, "and that terrifies me because it wasn’t part of my plan."

"Honestly, it’s been part of mine since we met," you murmured shyly, trying to hide your smile, though it was impossible because it peeked out when your lips lifted against your will. "I mean, I clearly care about you and appreciate you much more than I’ve tried to show until now."

Your words, which contained a hidden confession, caused him to feel a flutter in his chest, the first he had ever genuinely felt. It wasn’t the thrill of being caught in a forbidden relationship, not the thrill of seeing each other secretly in some random room just so the world wouldn’t know about them, but something more.

There was love.

Gently, with your fingers still intertwined, Anthony softly took your hand and slowly raised it, maintaining eye contact with you, to kiss the back of it gently. It wasn’t an act of courtesy like the countless times before that night, nor a desperate attempt to keep you close in a moment of profound sadness, and certainly not a passionate outburst to make you understand his desire. Rather, it was an action that screamed the feelings that had remained in his heart, tightly bound to prevent them from surfacing and becoming obvious.

Now, without a glove separating your hand from his lips, you felt their dryness, but also their warmth, and that only made you smile a little more, even laugh softly as tears began to well up in your eyes.

"Oh, don’t cry," he murmured quickly, noticing the water in your eyes. He released your hand and cupped your face, placing his hands on your cheeks as he sat a little closer, practically eliminating any distance between you. "Did I say something wrong?"

You shook your head slightly and instead placed your hands over his, keeping him close, maintaining the intimacy you had come to enjoy sharing with him.

"You said exactly what I needed."

Your whisper, for your words had ultimately come out as a mere whisper, brought a smile to the viscount’s face. In turn, he brought his lips to your forehead to kiss you, barely a brush of lips against your skin, but one that instantly connected your hearts in the sweetest and most enchanting way imaginable.

[profeyandere]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Click if you want to go to the main Masterlist

ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ │ •➤ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ │ •➤ ɪɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ╰─────────────

ɴᴀɴᴄʏ ᴡʜᴇᴇʟᴇʀ │ •➤ ᴍᴇʀʀʏ ᴄʜʀɪꜱᴛᴍᴀꜱ 《 ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ 》 ╰─────────────

[profeyandere]

𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Click if you want to go to the main Masterlist

ᴊᴏᴇ ᴋᴇᴇʀʏ │ •➤ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱᴘᴏᴋᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴇ 《 ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ 》 ╰─────────────

ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇ ʜᴀʀʀɪɴɢᴛᴏɴ │ •➤ ʟᴏɴᴇʟʏ │ •➤ ɪɴ ᴇᴠᴇʀʏ ʀᴇᴀʟɪᴛʏ, ɪᴛ'ꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ╰─────────────

ɢᴀᴛᴏʀ ᴛɪʟʟᴍᴀɴ │ •➤ ᴀ ᴘʟᴀᴄᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴄᴀʟʟ ʜᴏᴍᴇ ╰─────────────

ᴋᴜʀᴛ ᴋᴜɴᴋʟᴇ │ •➤ ᴀ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅʟʏ ʜᴀɴᴅ ⁺¹⁸ ╰─────────────

ʙᴀʀᴏɴ ʟᴀᴍʀᴀᴍ │ •➤ ᴛʜᴇ ᴡᴇɪɢʜᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴀ ᴅᴀɪꜱʏ ╰─────────────

ɢᴀʙᴇ │ •➤ ꜱʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇ 《 ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ꜱᴏᴏɴ 》 ╰─────────────

[profeyandere]

𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐅𝐅 𝐌. ─── ☾ 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐊𝐘 𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐊𝐄

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴊᴀᴍᴇꜱ ꜱᴘᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.5ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜱᴛᴇꜰꜰ ᴍᴄᴋᴇᴇ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ↪ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ɴᴏɴᴇ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

"You really call this 'fun'?"

Steff's slightly sarcastic tone only elicited a smile from you —a sly and rather amused one— that you had tried to hide from the laughter you were suppressing deep inside due to the expression on his face, which was even funnier when he took off his usual sunglasses, showing even more cockiness and arrogance. You were extremely grateful that, for once, your posh and charming boyfriend had let you choose what activity you could do together during your date day.

Usually, although you didn't complain about it, Steff suggested dates in which you did things he liked and that you wanted to try, to delve a little into the world he grew up in. Something you had made very clear from the beginning was that you wanted to get to know him, what he liked and what he enjoyed doing alone or with his family. In short, you wanted to get to know the real him, not the narcissistic, downright silly side of him that many people disliked. But, in the same way, he made a small effort to get to know you and, for the first time, had agreed to let you choose what to do on one of your dates.

Usually, these involved going to dinner at some expensive, famous restaurant in the city you'd never been to before, or going to some wine tasting you couldn't fully enjoy because you didn't like drinking alcohol, even if they were wines over a hundred dollars, at some vineyard Steff's family knew. Once, you went to enjoy an afternoon on one of his parents' sailboats, and although the trip was quite pleasant, you felt quite out of your comfort zone because it wasn't something you were used to; or go shopping, which you might enjoy if you did more than that during the afternoon, but there were times when you practically spent more than half an hour in a designer store and you got tired of having to wait for him to decide on the color of the jacket he wanted to buy.

In short, the times Steff had chosen the type of date you two would have, you hadn't enjoyed it as much as you'd hoped, until you finally decided to choose the place you both would go. He actually gave in because you threatened not to go out with him that weekend if he didn't accept. And, of course, he didn't expect the date you had planned for the two of you to be at a bowling alley.

"It's fun," you assured him, shaking your head slightly at his question before taking his hand to lead him inside the establishment. "We have all kinds of games. We can get some tickets and then we can redeem them for a prize on display," you continued, pointing to some of the arcade machines, shrugging in an attempt to make him understand that you both had plenty to choose from and do if you got bored. "And we can also go bowling. I'm sure there's something that catches your eye."

"How could something not catch my attention? Everything here has lights, it's too noisy because of the machines' little songs, and there are too many kids," Steff defended himself, trying to cross his arms, finding it impossible because you were still holding his hand, although he didn't let go. "Whatever you want, you chose this."

"You'll like it, you'll see."

Or at least you hoped so.

You knew what Steff was like; you knew him when he was popular and unpleasant to anyone who moved ahead of him and who wasn't part of his social circle, and you had come to appreciate the little things that were slightly questionable: he was stubborn, conceited, moody when things didn't go his way, a supremacist, and many other things that were almost pointless to bring up. But you had also discovered other little things that somewhat covered up the previous, at least to a certain extent. Steff wasn't what people had told you, and he wasn't what you'd known him as at school. He was calmer than those who shared his lifestyle, which had often led him to come across as a jerk. Steff acted like daddy's rich kid, but in reality, that was a mask covering up all the incredible and wonderful things he could be, all the things he wanted to show.

"Change your shoes. The last thing I need is for you to slip and fall."

Your comment didn't go unnoticed by Steff before he felt your hand release his, so you could head to the bowling alley you'd been assigned, number seven, where you were already searching for a suitable ball that fit your fingers perfectly and was the right weight for throwing.

Although Steff didn't say it out loud —because, as mentioned, he was very stubborn and conceited— the truth was that this date plan was wonderful and really fun, something very different from what he was used to doing with you and what he'd tried to do with his friends. Normally, the dates he invited you on were too expensive, to put it mildly, as previously mentioned, and it wasn't that he minded spending money as long as he could see a smile on your face, but the truth was, he'd noticed that those smiles were only friendly, not happy; he'd been inviting you on outings you didn't enjoy. He couldn't blame you either. He didn't enjoy the outings he suggested either, but he thought you did, so he kept suggesting the same thing over and over again until he could sense that lack of happiness or excitement in your eyes.

He wouldn't say it out loud, he never would, but he was attentive and careful enough not to ignore your feelings, which is why he accepted your proposal. Although he pretended he didn't like bowling at all, the truth was that he loved the idea and found it stimulating and exciting.

"You didn't hit any of them," Steff pointed out with slight mockery when he saw that your first throw had been a disaster, the ball quickly spinning in circles along the entire channel until, just as it was about to reach the pins, it spun to the left, landing in the lane and preventing you from hitting your targets.

You simply looked over your shoulder at your boyfriend and raised an eyebrow questioningly, as if you were silently scolding him for making fun of you. His sly smile and those bright, perceptive eyes made you stick your tongue out at him like a little girl, to which he simply placed one of his hands on his chest in mock surprise. Your dynamic as a couple was charming and fun, so situations like these happened often.

Even though Steff was a cheeky boy most of the time, the truth was that you found it amusing that he was that way. It never occurred to him to insult you or belittle you, just as you didn't do it to him. You mocked each other, laughed at each other, but never with any harmful intentions.

"I still have a second chance, genius," you told him with an innocent smile before returning to the pile of different-colored balls waiting for yours.

"Take any other ball. I'm not going to wait ten minutes for the one you used to come back," the blond urged, approaching you with a certain arrogance, looking at the various spheres with different numbers. "Take the ten."

"I can't hold the eight properly, how do you expect me to use the ten?" you asked, turning your head to look at him and watching him catch the ball without any problem, lifting it slightly in the air to try to show how light it was. "I'm not going to use that ball, and we're in no rush to play. The important thing is to have fun."

His dry laugh made you raise an eyebrow.

"You're lazy, use this one," he insisted, holding the ball out for you. "Hold it with your two little baby hands if you're having such a hard time picking it up."

But you didn't move. Instead, you crossed your arms. He quickly grabbed one of your hands to hold the ball, so you had to use your free one to grab it. It wasn't that the aforementioned ball weighed more than a medium-sized dog, far from it, but you definitely weren't used to carrying that weight while bowling. You were aware of your limitations, which were also due to the size of your hands and the strength of your grip, and you knew it would be difficult to maneuver the ball without it falling to the ground with a loud crash.

"I'm not going to be able to throw it, Steff. My fingers don't fit right, and my grip is horrible," you explained, trying to grasp the ball with your right hand, trying to make him understand your point. "Why are you smiling at me like that?"

Steff smiled; he didn't even know why, but he did it anyway.

"If it's so hard for you, I can help you."

His proposal made you smile because, yes, Steff would never openly say he was looking for good times with you, but he would always show interest in you and try to find ways to be physically closer to you. In this case, if he helped you throw the ball, at least he could hold your hand, and your bodies would definitely have to be very close.

"Sounds great."

His smile only grew bigger, victorious, seeing that what he'd suggested had had the desired effect on you. It wasn't long before he was walking beside you, pushing you a little with his body to make you go faster, toward the start of the lane, where you had to throw the ball, which now definitely felt heavier in your hands. You weren't exactly weak, but you definitely weren't used to throwing a ball in this type of game that was much heavier than what you were usually able to grip. When you put your three fingers in the holes, you felt like you might drop it to the ground if it weren't for Steff's hand completely wrapping around yours, covering it and helping you maintain your loose grip, making it a little stronger so you could throw the ball properly.

"You better not fail," Steff said as he gently placed his body behind yours, following your movements as if you were one person or the same mind controlling two different bodies. "Because otherwise, you'll let me down."

"You better shut up, Steff, and pray for a clean sweep, because otherwise, it'll be all your fault," you told him back, looking over your shoulder at him with a small smile that he perfectly understood as playful.

You definitely wouldn't get mad at each other if things went wrong, but you had to admit that you both enjoyed bringing out each other's competitive side. Steff loved winning, and while you kind of didn't care as long as you were having fun, you loved soaking up that spirit the blond had.

With a deep sigh, slowly removing one of your feet to give yourself some momentum as your torso leaned forward, you moved your arm back until the ball reached hip height before letting gravity allow the ball to pick up some speed. Together, you released it to watch it travel, at a relatively slow pace, toward the pins at the other end. You moved apart slightly to see how the throw had been made and how long it would take to reach the other end.

"So slow," Steff murmured, brushing his hair back and letting his blonde locks settle thanks to the hairspray.

Yes, the journey was slow. Too slow, even torturous. But the sparkle in your eyes was intense and wonderful when you saw how your joint throw hit the middle of all the pins, causing them to fall like dominoes, leaving you completely stunned.

"We got them!" you exclaimed excitedly, being the first of the two to react. "Steff, we got it!"

Your happiness was contagious, and in less than a second, before you could realize it, Steff lifted you off the ground so he could celebrate that precise, perfect shot, wrapping your arms around his strong shoulders so you could hold onto him and kiss his lips with the same intensity with which he usually initiated them. That lip lock could have been gentler, perhaps tender, but the emotion of the moment and the excitement made it a little messy and intense, so that your lips didn't even move, but rather stayed stuck together, and very briefly you parted them so you could kiss again; it was a small shower of kisses.

"Wait a minute..." Steff murmured thoughtfully as he momentarily moved his lips from yours to look at you and then at the screen above your heads to see the points you now had thanks to his little help. "You've made a clean sweep, you've taken all the points, cheater."

Surprised, you released your grip, and he released his before walking over to the pile of balls at his disposal, choosing one of a similar weight to the one you'd picked up earlier to look at him. For a moment, you simply stood and watched his tall figure move, thinking he was actually angry, but seeing him turn to smile at you instantly relieved you.

"I helped you; at least I expect a good-luck kiss from my girlfriend."

His words made you laugh, and you went over to him to kiss him sweetly on the lips, the act bringing good luck to both of you for the rest of the afternoon.

[profeyandere]

𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐙𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐃. ─── ☾ 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒

ʟɪɴᴋꜱ ↪ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴘʀɪᴅᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴊᴜᴅɪᴄᴇ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ↪ ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏꜱ ↪ ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.2ᴋ ↪ ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ꜰɪᴛᴢᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ ᴅᴀʀᴄʏ x ꜰᴇᴍ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

English is not my native language, so I apologize for any mistake and if you can help me improve it, I will greatly appreciate it. I hope you enjoy it :D

You couldn't help it: You hated with all your might the lifestyle that your social position, within the enormous chain of power, had afforded you through the surname you were meant to bear with pride, and which you were meant to respect and defend above all else that came your way.

'Hate' was perhaps a word that was a bit out of place with how you felt, not quite the right word to express how uncomfortable being a noble made you. And it wasn't that you were noble either; your family didn't have that exquisite title that only royalty could provide, but your parents were truly wealthy, enough to be considered in every situation you found yourselves in; not so

Wealthy enough to be considered lords or nobles, but not wealthy enough to be considered for your family's presence at every social event, to add your surname to the endless guest lists at every party, or to be required to attend every gathering your mother and father decided to hold. It was that last part you hated the most because, as the sole heir in your family, you were forced to always accompany your parents. It wasn't exactly torture to converse with the guests who attended the aforementioned gatherings, but having to deal with gentlemen whose intentions were anything but friendly was what most discouraged you from talking. Your family's wealth put you in one of the best positions to attract the attention of single men, and you just wanted to show that you weren't just a sum of money.

It was a shame they only saw in you a considerable amount of wealth and not the person you were, but you knew for a fact that in that chain of power, that was all that mattered; gossip and money were what ruled the society you lived in and in which you had had to learn to survive.

Of course, although it seemed very hard to believe, there was a gentleman who seemed to share your mindset, with a slightly different opinion, but one that rested on the same foundation. Mr. Darcy, one of the most desirable men on the market, had at some point, while not dissociating himself, questioned whether single ladies and greedy mothers might have seen anything more in him than a simple surname and the fortune that came with it. Of course, he had a large amount of land that was worked by his tenants and had various businesses that routinely needed his attention so as not to be ruined by some fool, but it was also true that behind all that pile of duties and money was a man like any other; perhaps he didn't actively seek the company of a woman who would make him happy or who would provide him with the children he was obligated to give to the family to continue the legacy, but that didn't mean he kept his intentions a secret from the rest of the women who presented themselves to him.

From a young age, he was instilled with the need to find a lady who met the demands, the requirements, that only a highborn lady could ever possess. Intelligent, haughty, capable of holding a conversation, with knowledge of various subjects that were to be considered mandatory, plus a couple that he had personally added, and who was of his same social status or higher; the latter being the highest of requirements, since it made no sense to marry someone who didn't provide for him and only took advantage of him.

In the end, marriage wasn't exactly a union of love, but a union to provide for each other.

"Mr. Darcy!"

Your mother's shrill voice seemed to alert him. He hadn't been hiding in the least, but he hadn't wanted anyone to find him in that enormous room.

"What are you doing here so far away from the guests?" the same woman questioned again, causing a look of slight embarrassment and discomfort to spread across the guest's face. "You remind me so much of my little girl. You have no idea how elusive that young lady is."

Mr. Darcy could only watch the way the hostess of the party ranted at her daughter, in this case, you. He watched her fling her arms around like a tantrum-ridden little girl who hadn't gotten what she wanted, and even more comical was the way her husband, your father, watched from a distance, across the room while conversing with other guests, his wife's angry attitude. Darcy didn't want to be a nuisance; he didn't want anyone approaching him to bother him, but that didn't seem to have stopped your mother from going blind or ignoring the clear signals the gentleman was sending to everyone. Mr. Darcy wasn't an ungrateful or shy man, but it was true that he didn't warm to people he didn't know at all; he wasn't in his comfort zone, that was all.

"I beg your pardon for my behaviour at your event, Mrs. Pembroke," Mr. Darcy apologised quickly, quickly looking away from the small woman who reminded him of a small, rabid dog; she moved so quickly it was impossible not to remember them. "I'm not good at mingling at events where I don't know the guests."

That excuse, which wasn't a lie, was credible. Anyone would believe Mr. Darcy had a certain fear of crowds because, after all, he always acted the same way wherever he went.

"She reminds me so much of my daughter," your mother murmured, immediately remembering you and, therefore, her main task. "She was the one I was looking for. She's as elusive as you seem, and I find it very strange that you haven't run into her somewhere in the drawing room, given her demeanour," the woman continued, looking around as her hand unsuccessfully grasped Mr. Darcy's jacket sleeve. "She tends to frequent the corners of rooms or the sides, where there are fewer people, which is why I mentioned it."

Mr. Darcy might have smiled a little at your description, but he forced himself to keep his expression serious. He wouldn't be surprised if a young woman seemed slightly distant and reluctant to attend such events; the attention was often not for everyone; most of those present were shy and demure, but they still forced themselves to leave their homes to socialise and prevent rumours from spreading among the guests in the drawing rooms. He forced himself to leave his own home to attend events like this, so it didn't surprise him that someone else might be reluctant.

"Well, never mind, I'll find her," the chatty woman continued. Darcy assumed at that moment that he had stumbled upon a woman who preferred company, and he knew he couldn't possibly get rid of her. "Since you are here alone, and seeing that you have no glass in your hand, I invite you to join me on the terrace, where we can enjoy the cool evening air and a refreshing drink."

Mr. Pembroke, who stood across the room, sighed softly as he watched his wife shamelessly take Mr. Darcy's arm to lead him with her wherever she was going. Inwardly, Mr. Pembroke prayed that the young gentleman would not tire himself too much tonight and that he would be able to return home without a headache.

But those prayers might not have been necessary for Mr. Darcy; he tended to dissociate himself helplessly when a situation became too overwhelming or annoying. It wasn't that Mrs. Pembroke was annoying, which she most likely would be, given the strength she used to drag him through the main hall of the house where all the guests were gathered. They watched in surprise as he was dragged like a small child forced by his mother to greet the newcomers. But he didn't make any fuss or show any displeasure. Mr. Darcy could be many things, including rude when he was most annoyed, but he wasn't cruel to those who had opened the doors of his house to him.

Mr. Darcy only watched his hostess's mouth move rapidly, her body following each movement to emphasise her words. On the other hand, the gentleman's mind wandered to the rest of the guests, to the glasses proudly displayed on some tables or the lights that enveloped the room, even to a small speck of dust he thought he saw on the floor just a few steps away from him, as they were halfway to their final destination.

"You are taller than I had thought from a distance; perspective always plays tricks on me," Mrs. Pembroke commented, to which Mr. Darcy simply remained silent as he tried to keep up with her. Even if he was taller, as the woman had pointed out, and his legs were longer, he was still walking slower than he thought. "If you can find a young lady wearing a white dress, with her hair cropped short, let me know."

Mr. Darcy couldn't help sighing, or rather snorting, at the brief description. All the women at that event were dressed in the same colours, and all of them had their hair cropped short. What exactly was he looking for? Wasn't there something distinctive about her? And besides, why was he bothering to find someone he didn't know? It was abundantly clear that Mrs. Pembroke was referring to her daughter, but he didn't understand why he should be doing the work of a nanny or a lady-in-waiting.

"I beg your pardon for what I am about to say, my lady, but every lady at this party fits that description," Mr. Darcy replied, unaware that he was already on the balcony of the drawing-room floor.

He didn't know at what point the woman's speed had brought them so quickly to the other side of the room so they could enjoy the cool night air, but he was certain of it at the moment when a gentle draft hit his face and slid across his cheekbones and cheekbones, and that his calves had begun to sting slightly from the rapidity with which he had walked to that point in the house. She had travelled a lot of ground in a very short time.

"It's the fashion of the moment, I suppose," Mrs. Pembroke commented, shrugging before looking around, still holding his sleeve. "Where is that girl?"

Somehow, he found the woman's concern endearing. Mr. Darcy wanted to assume it was concern, that she was a protective woman and needed to know where her daughter was, but deep down, he knew her intentions weren't simply to find an elusive or lost daughter; mothers sought to marry their daughters into the best matches, and, given the wealth of the Pembroke family, which he knew perfectly well thanks to the gossip that eventually reached his ears without him being able to avoid it, he was aware that she had dragged him around the great hall of the house not so much to help her, but so that she could introduce them, as all marriageable mothers desired.

"Oh, dear! There you were!"

Mr. Darcy quickly came to, fixing his gaze on Mrs. Pembroke before directing it to the spot where she was staring.

For the first time in a long time, Mr. Darcy could say he'd been breathless.

"Come here right now, young lady!" the woman exclaimed again, looking at her daughter, looking at you. "For heaven's sake, you don't know how much you scared me. I wanted to introduce you to someone."

But Darcy, although he could hear your mother's screams in the background, kept his gaze solely on you. Just as Mrs. Pembroke had put it, you were dressed in white, beautiful and brilliant, like the precious stars on that summer night; you were ravishing. Once again, you had taken his breath away; he couldn't even maintain his serious facade because it seemed all his walls had crumbled at your mere presence.

On the upper floor balcony, perhaps the balcony of your room, you found yourself observing everything below your feet from above, not with arrogance, but with curiosity. The smile on your face showed even more curiosity, like that of a small child who had seen something that had interested him greatly, and your arms crossed over the railing showed that willingness to learn about what had captured your attention. Now it was your mother who had brought you back to your senses, but, just as Mr. Darcy was drawn to your sudden presence, now it was you who was observing him with that genuine curiosity, even attraction, that he had felt.

At a considerable distance from each other, even though there were other people around you, everything felt different. You were surrounded by walls that enclosed you and distanced you from the rest of the world, as if you only had eyes for each other, as if only each other existed.

"Good night, my lord."

The moment he heard your voice, Mr. Darcy knew he would never be able to adore the voice of any woman other than you.