sam

I'm not a sinner, I just sin a lot.

[sampastthe711]

my friends and i started a rumor that he was lactose intolerant 🤭😭

[soleilssymposium]

𝑻𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉 𝑳𝒐𝒗𝒆, 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒅𝒐𝒍𝒍

𝐼𝑐𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑐𝑘𝑒𝑦 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑒𝑟!𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑥 𝑓𝑒𝑚 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟 (1.8k words)

warnings: vague mentions of Steve being violent on the ice, reader finds Steve attractive, no mention of female anatomy or use of y/n summary: Steve Harrington is no longer King of Hawkins High, but of the Hawkins Gyrfalcons. After the horrors witnessed from the Upside Down, he becomes something he once despised, hardened and cold. But how come after one meeting with you, he doesn't want to keep up his carefully built walls? a/n: heyyy, thank you so much for reading! if you enjoyed feel free to let me know, i'd love to hear some thoughts :)

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑂𝑛𝑒: 𝑆ℎ𝑒𝑑 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑚𝑒, 𝑝𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒

Steve Harrington looked good in an ice hockey jersey.

This fact has been made increasingly clear to you, specifically every time you’re working the food stand at Hawkins Ice Area, sneaking glances through the windows that look into the rink.  A flash of his white teeth. Broad shoulders visible even under the hockey jersey. That dead-eyed stare combined with his winning smile. How his hair falls when he takes off his helmet, sweaty and tangible in a way that’s never seen off the ice. Even from this far away, you feel as if it’s all there in detail.                                                                                  

Unfortunately, this view has distracted you many times from customers. Which has been a constant cause of contention between you and your manager. Like now, for instance, when he calls your name sharply with a piercing glare that send you scrambling to finish heaping fries on some guy’s order.

Once the disgruntled customer has been satisfied and your manager is busy yelling at someone else, you let your eyes wander back to the ice. The Hawkins Gyrfalcons are in their last period against a team from a few towns over, the scores are currently neck and neck. If either team scores just one more goal, then they win. You search the ice for Steve, for the yellow 53 on the back of his blue jersey. When you find him he’s skating across the ice after the puck with a speed that makes you suck in a breath, anticipating him crashing into the boards. But it’s not the boards he crashes into, but an opposing player – probably a deliberate attack. You watch as Steve recovers quickly and shoves the player in the chest, tearing off his helmet to get in his face. Even from up here you can see the harsh set of his brow. How that vein in his neck throbs out at the injustice.

You know the rumours, heard the story. Steve Harrington is pretty well known in Hawkins, used to be seen as a pretty face and not much more. It was only after those strange deaths and weird occurrences from a few years ago died down that he first stepped into the rink. They say he was a natural from the start, something about the violence and aggression of the game spoke to a part of him revealed by the grief Hawkins had experienced. It wasn’t long before he rose up through amateur leagues to being scouted for the town’s official team, and then to captain, heading off to face teams from around the state. He was known as ruthless, always spoiling for a fight to buy time for the team, always the first to shove, to cut dangerously close to another player. Despite his apparent bad attitude, he still carried something of his old ‘King Steve’ self in him. Maybe it was the sharp jawline, or the charm offensive, or even the confidence he held himself with. Whatever it was, it made him magnetic. Both on the ice, and off.

Even now, watching him yell inches away from that player with his finger jabbing into the poor guy’s chest, you can’t bring yourself to look away.

It’s not long before the referee skates up, forcing Steve away from his target, and you turn back to the counter with a sigh as you pick up a cloth to wipe away the grease stains for the sixth time this shift. It’s at that precise moment a group of ten turn up with expectant faces, and you get lost in the frenzy of taking orders and flatly describing the three different ‘snack combo’ options on offer this evening. And then a roar goes up inside the area. This is the one time your manager allows you to slack off, you and your co-workers looking to the window to see the action.

The noise from inside is deafening, even from this distance. Hundreds of hands clapping thunderously, shouts of glee from the Hawkins crowd. They must have won, then.                                                              

And in the middle of it all is Steve Harrington.                                                                                                                                    He’s wearing that winning smile, the one with an edge that’s sharp as ice, clapping his teammates on the back. He turns to the crowd, skates a lap around the rink as he grins at them. His fist banging on the plastic barriers as he speeds past, then he’s holding both arms aloft in victory. Your eyes dip just for a second to the sliver of stomach made visible by this gesture, catching only a flash of coarse hair and toned torso before it’s gone and your cheeks are burning. Most of your co-workers have gone back to the counter now, but you remain trapped as a voyeur. Until Steve’s gaze lifts and suddenly his dead-eyed stare is directed at you.

Which is impossible, because he’s down there and you’re all the way up here, and yet…..he’s staring right back. Fixedly, like you’re an anomaly that intrigues him. You swallow nervously, wanting to look away but you’re frozen to the spot like a small thing being watched by a polar bear in the barren expanse of the Arctic. He tilts his head to the side just slightly. And then he’s gone, skating away to his teammates and you’re left reeling, blinking hard to try and regain a normal heartbeat.

The rest of your shift is uneventful, and you’re left to close. Although as you wipe down the sink and sweep the floor, your mind keeps wandering back to Steve. That briefest of moments where he looked back at you. Well, at least you’re pretty sure that’s what happened. To be honest, it wouldn’t surprise you if it you made it all up, daydreamed a little too far. Except it stays resolutely in your head, those brown eyes boring into you from the rink, pinning you to the spot.

Everytime you blink you see him.

A sharp tap on the counter pulls you from your thoughts, and you look up to tell whoever it is that you’re closed. The words die instantly on your tongue because standing in front of you, is Steve Harrington. His hair is wet from the showers, a little floppier than normal. He looks different dressed in sweats. Frayed at the edges, maybe. A droplet of water drips onto his forehead, and you are left powerless but to track it as it slides down his face. A sudden urge to lean over and brush it away with your fingertips rises in you. It’s only when Steve clears his throat you realize how hard you’d been staring at him.

“Hey. What kind of food do you guys do?” He asks. His voice is low and gravelly, which makes sense. You’ve always imagined him to be a smoker, despite his obvious athleticism.

“….Oh, we don’t anymore.” You blurt out, and then add “As in, we’re closed, sorry.” A frown tugs at his lips as one large hand comes up to card through his damp hair.

“You sure about that?” He rakes his cool gaze over you. And you remember with horror that you’re still wearing your uniform. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. We close at 9:45, and it’s-“ you glance at the clock on the wall over his shoulder “-10 o’clock right now. I’m sorry.” You reply, managing to keep your voice firm even though you can hear your pulse roaring in your ears.

Steve sighs heavily, an exaggerated display of disappointment. His gaze flicks to the menu boards behind you. “What, not even a small loaded nachos?”

You hesitate. Steve notices immediately. He leans a little closer, a smirk curling at his lips. “C’mon. Winning gives you an appetite, you know.” His voice is more intimate this time, almost conspiratorial. As if he’s inviting you to partake in some petty crime with him. Just like watching him on the ice, you find yourself unable to remove your eyes from his face. Unable to refuse.                 

You nod mutely, not trusting yourself to speak, turning to pull a paper tray from under the counter. Your agreement is rewarded with a full smirk from Steve.

He watches you move around the small space in silence, tracking your actions with interest. There’s something unassuming about you that he can’t shake off, a quiet grace you seem to carry even in the face of someone as indomitable as him. He finds it confusing, a puzzle he can’t work out.

You place the now full paper tray on the counter with a timid smile, wiping your hands on the apron tied around your waist to disguise how shaky they are. Steve nods, still smirking, and pulls out a wad of notes from his pocket. He sets them down on the counter and picks up the nachos.

“Thanks for being so understanding.” He tips his head to you, a botched attempt at a gentlemanly gesture that has him internally kicking himself. But it still sets off butterflies in your gut. To distract yourself, you count the notes, eyes widening.

“You’ve given me too much, loaded nachos are only $6.50. There’s $25 here.” When you look back at him he shrugs indifferently.

“I know. Keep the change.”

You shake your head immediately. Making food past closing time is one thing but accepting such a large tip is another entirely. “I appreciate it, but I can’t accept this. It’s too much.”

He grins at you then, seeming as if he knows something you don’t. “Well, that’s just tough love, baby doll. I’m not taking it back.” The nickname takes you by surprise, as does the flicker of heat that rolls through your abdomen at hearing it fall from his cracked lips. Steve’s grin softens the slightest touch.

“I’m Steve, by the way.” He says, for once sounding unprepared. Wanting to know your name so badly wasn’t something he anticipated.

“I know.” You respond, then wish you should shove the words back into your mouth from his raised eyebrow. “I mean, I work here, so I’ve seen you playing.” You quickly correct. When this too is met with amused silence, you tell him your name. Steve nods thoughtfully, considering something, deciding.

“We’re having this party. Me and the team, to celebrate the win. You should come.” He states, disguising the want in his tone behind the matter-of-fact presentation. You stare at him, wondering for a long moment whether you’re hallucinating.

“…That’s nice of you, but- “

“-Nope. Just come tonight, okay? It’s at my place.” Although his interruption is harsh you can see the flicker of honesty in his eyes. He really does want you to go.

“I’ll think about it.” You reply hesitantly. Steve grins, satisfied. He picks up the tray and nods to you before sauntering off down the hall. You’d never admit it, but you lean over the counter to watch his silhouette recede until he turns a corner, craning your neck for one last look. And you swear he turns his head to look back at you before disappearing from sight.

[crossyrmind]

[djolemodel]

SLUT ERA INTERLUDE

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

SUMMARY: You get stuck in a constant loop that you think is going to be a short-term type of thing, but what you're missing is real communication.

WORD COUNT: 2.4K

NIA'S NOTES: I've had this idea in my notes app for months, but I just let it get dusty in there for a while 😓 I live up to my username, so of course I had to do Steve x one of my faves. Guys I have never attempted to write smut so this isn't too graphic at all, but it's mentioned. Enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

This has become a weekly thing, ending up in Steve’s bed at least every other day. You’d lay beside him in the middle of the night, breathless, watching as his chest raised up and down frantically, and then he’d bolt, or you would before he could. It started off as something that you thought of as a one-time thing that you’d forget about the next morning, but you were only pulled deeper into the spiral.

The one thing about Steve was that he felt nothing, even when he was on top of you, forehead pressed to yours, whispering how gorgeous you are. To him, those words were nothing but something that he said in the heat of the moment, words that he would carelessly throw around, not realising the impact on you.

It felt real to you, and that’s what pulled you back to him every single time. Your friends knew that you knew better than to let yourself fill Steve’s needs for a while, but every time he tells you that he needs you, you’re already sprinting out of your front door, making a twenty minute walk a ten minute one instead.

You knew what you were to Steve, you were too aware of it. A temporary placeholder for him to clear his head, a craving for physical closeness. The physical closeness was nothing compared to the distance emotionally. Once he rolled to his side of the bed, all the sweet words were taken back, and they suddenly meant nothing.

What lingered in your mind was how aware you were that you were actively being compared to his ex, Nancy. He never said anything about her, but he didn’t have to for you to know. Sometimes he would whisper her name to you, completely unaware, and you’d lay there staring at the ceiling, wishing that it was your name that he was mumbling.

Between the gentle brush of his lips against yours and the quiet grunts, you pushed all the regret to the back of your mind, because the best you could do was pretend. It was all an act, the sweet talk and the quiet ‘I love you’ that would accidentally slip from his lips when he was getting close.

You weren’t sure what hurt more, the whole performance he put on for you, or how you weren’t ever really his, and that wasn’t a thought in his mind, it was always Nancy. To make it worse if that was possible, Nancy is one of the sweetest girls, and you can see exactly why he’s so stuck on her.

The only sound filling the bedroom is your heavy breaths combined, and you glance over at him, watching as he tilts his head back against the pillows, his hands rested on his bare chest. Every time it gets to this part of the night, you can’t help but want more from him so that you don’t have to face the distance and the change in his behaviour, and so that you can feel something somewhat close to love, closeness.

“Pretty good.” He mumbles, the two familiar words that you have gotten used to hearing from him. He’s already slipping his shirt back on, pulling his jeans back up.

You hum, glancing around the room as he gets changed. For some reason, you can’t get yourself to look at him when he’s changing, as if he wasn’t just bare and on top of you moments before.

“Yeah, pretty good.” You repeat quietly, turning to slip your clothes back on, staring at the wall blankly.

The rustling beside you pauses, and it’s followed by his voice after a minute. “You’re quiet tonight.”

A breathless laugh falls from you, not an amused one, mostly to fill the silence. “Just exhausted today, that’s all. Long day.” You lie.

“Work?” He asks.

“Yeah, customers pestering me and whatever. Just the usual.” You whisper, turning your head to face him.

He nods, and silence follows, uncomfortably. To fill the silence, you let words flow from your mouth without putting too much thought into them.

“Is it going to stay this way?” You ask.

“Stay what way?” He asks, completely oblivious.

You sigh. “Me coming here for a while and then leaving straight after.”

“This isn’t anything to me or to you. Don’t get too comfortable.” He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Right, yeah.” You nod.

You slip out of his bed, sliding your jacket on before making your way out of his bedroom. The walk out of his bedroom was always the worst part, because you knew that you would be back to do it all over again. It wasn’t because you had to, and you knew you were putting yourself through it all, but you were just like him, you craved the closeness too.

You’ve barely let the night before process before you’re back in his bed again, underneath him as he pants against your shoulder. Your hands slide up and down his back, trying to memorise every part of him as if it’s not going to hurt you even more doing so.

His voice breaks, softer, like you’ve never heard before. “I love you.”

Hearing those words should make you feel something, and you shouldn’t even have to think that much into them, but you do. He doesn’t mean it, he never does. Those words are carelessly thrown around like he doesn’t really know what love feels like.

“I love you.” You whisper, but it’s genuine, something that he could never be. Your hands slip through his damp hair from the sweat.

His hands grip your hips, keeping you close to himself as he stills inside of you, shuddering. He collapses on top of you, brushing his lips against your neck before he slowly pulls back, rolling to lay beside you, breathless. The regret washes over you immediately, and the emptiness spreads inside of you.

“Steve?” His name comes out sweet.

“Hm?” He raises his eyebrows, resting his head on his hand.

Your eyes flick over his face. “Do you mean it?” You ask.

“Mean what?” He asks, putting on that clueless act again.

“Don’t do this.” You sigh.

“Do what?” He asks.

You huff, pushing yourself to sit up. “You’re doing it again. You know exactly what you’re doing.” You pause before speaking again. “You keep telling me that you love me.”

“Do I? I haven’t noticed that I do.” He shrugs.

“Every single time.” You sigh, shifting to tuck your legs under yourself.

“It doesn’t mean anything. Just some words, y’know.” He says carelessly, grabbing his shirt and slipping it on.

You blink at him, shocked at how careless he is. “Just some words?” You repeat.

“Yeah, words. Heard of them before?” He asks.

A surprised laugh leaves your lips, and you shake your head. “You throw them around like this means something to you.”

“Well, it doesn’t. Stop getting yourself wrapped up in all of this. You’re digging too much into this.” He mutters.

“Why do you do this, Steve? You’re really sweet to me when you’re on top of me, and as soon as we’re done, you’re a completely different person.” You admit, glaring at him as tears prick at your eyes.

He simply shrugs at you, and you stare at him, slowly shaking your head.

“Is she still engraved into your mind? You’re so far gone for her.” You say in disbelief.

He scoffs. “Do not bring her up like this.”

“No, because this is what this is.” You laugh breathlessly.

“It’s not.” He glares.

“Keep telling yourself that, Steve.” You mumble, turning your back to him, slipping your clothes back on and walking out of his bedroom without another word, leaving him alone to think about what you told him.

It was a little relieving finally managing the words out to him, not that he showed much care for it anyway. You got your answer, just not the one you wanted.

No argument could stop you from running back to him, because you were too far gone in the process to let it hold you back. You kept going back to his house, every night, like you were proving a point to him that he couldn’t accept. He continued to whisper sweet words into your ear, but it felt more forced, like he was trying to bring the reaction out of you.

It turned into something that was built up from anger instead of craving closeness, and it only boosted the two of you more. Either the room was filled with tense silence, or you would be arguing straight after, bringing Nancy up even though he claimed that her name was forbidden in his room.

The more that he tried to deny you, the more you were trying to fuel his anger. It had turned into a competition that only you and Steve were aware about.

“Am I doing good for you, Steve?” You ask from underneath him with a sweet smile. “Do I bring you as much relief as she did?”

He rolls his eyes, pressing his lips to yours to quieten you down, your words making him quicken his pace. “Stop talking.”

That only made you grin, knowing that you were getting to him. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“You’re ruining the moment.” He grunts, burying his head into your shoulder.

“Oops.” You grin, quietening down, dragging your nails through his hair, tilting your head back.

Your questions were relentless, and you constantly brought it up, not letting his mind live free for one moment. He was okay with the distance, so you added to it more, creating an even bigger gap between the two of you. You started to leave straight after, not even bothering to make small talk with him like he usually does.

He starts to catch onto the distance, and you notice immediately. Not that he says anything, but you watch as his face drops every time you get up to leave. You started to act like the careless one and the distant one instead, because that was better than feeling everything all at once.

It was freeing not feeling regret every time you walked out of his bedroom, and you started to shut him out instead. The only way to stop it was to stop caring. He started to pull you closer. His hands rested on your lower back like he didn’t want you to leave him alone, like he really did want you. He started to slow his pace, dragging out your time together as much as he could.

One night he had enough, and as soon as you tried to stand up to get back into your clothes, he gently grabbed your wrist, tugging you back towards himself. You blinked at him slowly, trying to process what he’s doing.

“No.” He shakes his head.

“What do you mean?” You ask cluelessly.

He squints at you. “Why are you leaving?” He asks.

An amused laugh leaves your lips. “Such a pathetic question. I leave every time, Steve. That’s what you want, so I’m respecting that.”

“Says who?” He asks.

“You, Steve.” You roll your eyes.

He blinks at you a few times. “What?”

“Don’t worry, I used to be just as shocked as you when you told me to leave.” You laugh breathlessly, trying to shift away, but he doesn’t let go. “Why, do you want me to stay?” You ask.

“I never said that.” He mumbles.

“Oh, so you’re okay if I leave now then?” You ask.

“No.” He says quickly.

You roll your eyes. “You’re too confusing.”

His mood shifts, and he almost has a desperate look in his eyes, something unfamiliar. “Stay.” He whispers.

“Why?” You ask.

“You’re suddenly shoving me away.” He sighs.

“Okay? Why does this matter all of a sudden? I can recall you doing the exact same thing to me.” You hum.

He huffs, brushing his thumb over your wrist. “I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Clearly.” You mumble, earning a roll of his eyes from him.

“I wasn’t looking for this to be anything at that point.” He whispers, slipping his hand onto your side, resting there. “I mean, you were right.”

“About what, exactly?” You say, more just so that he can admit it to you.

“I needed an escape from her.” He says with a guilty look. “But it hasn’t felt like that in a while. A very long time.”

“How do I know that you’re being honest when all you’ve done is throw words around?” Your voice cracks, and you finally let down the act that you’ve been trying to hard to keep up.

His face shifts into something softer. “I know that I was careless with what I would say to you, but I really mean what I say now. I want you to stay instead of leaving. I hate watching you leave this room.”

You shake your head, averting your gaze away from him. “I don’t know.”

“Please.” He whispers, sliding his hand through your hair. “This isn’t all I want from you at all.”

“How am I supposed to know if you’re still stuck on her or not?” You ask.

“I wouldn’t be having this conversation with you if I was stuck on her.” He says, tangling his hands into your hair. “Look, I know I’ve been a dick about this for a while, but I can’t pretend that I love seeing you leaving me every night.”

“Yeah, you have been a dick about this.” You repeat back.

He nods quickly. “I know.”

“What do you suggest we do then?” You ask.

“We can do something that doesn’t consist of you coming into my bedroom. I want to take you out somewhere special. I want to get to know who you really are. Not who you are when you’re in my bed, but who you are outside of this.” He says, sighing and resting his forehead against yours.

You let silence follow for a moment. “Okay.”

“Thank you.” He says, sounding more relieved than he’s ever been. “I’ll make this all up to you. You’re more than just a girl that gets in my bed, you’re so much more than that. You’re a really special girl to me.”

“You’re more than just a boy’s bed that I get into.” You laugh, letting your head drop to his shoulder, and he carefully pulls you down beside himself.

“I’m glad.” He whispers.

Thank you for reading!! 💕 Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕💕 This also goes for the girlies that feel nothing but regret afterwards #ihearyou

[tuckshoney]

Bronco— smutttt

Mechanic! Tucker takes her in the back of his Bronco at a bonfire. (This is NOT sunshine! Reader or at all related to the actual story.)

Warnings: sex (duh), no protection (don’t do that), she begs for it.

The sound of music, drunk laughter and the echo of a bottle being shattered float into the open back window of the Bronco the same way the embers from the bonfire roll up into the night sky— unhurried and fading in the distance. 

Tucker had dragged her away from the fire with a beer in one hand and a crooked grin on his face. He’d watched one too many guys try (and fail) to get her attention all night. His girl, but Tucker? He’s not jealous, he’s amused.

Amused by the way she simply shakes her head and turns her back on them to talk to her friends. By the way her eyes keep catching his own across the dancing flames. By the way he doesn’t even have to question whether or not she’s leaving with him. 

A few hours have passed and by now he’s hauled her into the back of the Bronco, where the seats are still folded down. 

Blankets and a couple of pillows are still scattered from a night of stargazing the week before. He barely gave her time to lay down before he was pulling her sundress up over her hips. 

He’d closed the tailgate behind them, which he was now using as leverage for one of his feet every time he thrusts his cock up into her from behind. 

He has one arm locked around her, keeping her back pressed to his chest. His raspy voice against the back of her neck sends shivers down her spine when he matches his praise to the timing of his hips moving. 

“I’m the luckiest fucking guy alive,” He grunts, his grip on her tightening as he whispers into her ear. “I’ve got the sweetest girl with the tightest little pussy— God, you feel so damn good.”

“Always for you.” She breathes out in agreement, though most of her words are just gasps and moans, barely coherent in the heat of the moment. They come and go with each rock of his hips.

“Always for me… only for me.” He adds, his movements against her are lazy, but intense. 

Her side is pressed firmly into the blanket that’s sprawled out beneath them, her hands scrambling for purchase anywhere they can grab. The wheel well ends up being the closest thing she can find. “God, please don’t stop…” 

The way she practically mewls when he slides inside of her has him grunting against her skin. She’s so slick that he can feel her dripping down his cock, his balls slapping up against her with every stroke. 

“Don’t worry,” He murmurs against the shell of her ear. He slides his arms around her waist, holding her securely against him.

“I’m not going anywhere, pretty girl.”

He pulls her back until she’s sitting on his lap, her back to his chest. The angle makes her sink all the way down to the base of his cock. His thrusts are slower like this, but he reaches a little deeper. 

Her legs are spread across his lap, with a knee on each side of him. She grabs onto his knee, her nails scraping at his thigh, her other hand gripping the closed tailgate just to keep her upright as she bounces on his length. 

“Oh god, Tucker.” She whimpers out, desperate. “Oh fuck, baby. I’m about to cum,” 

“That’s it, just like that— take what you need, baby,” He encouraged her, guiding her movements with his hands on her waist. 

His words turn to grunts when she starts to get too loud, but it’s hard for him to be upset about it when she’s making his eyes roll back in his head. 

“Oh fuuck,” Her own eyes squeeze shut, her chest collapsing against his thighs as she gives in and lets the wave of her orgasm carry her away. She folds in on herself, resting every bit of her weight on him as she rocks mercilessly back and forth.

His breath is hot against the back of her neck as he moans, “I’m not gonna last much longer,” His hands move to grip her hips in a way that’s as solid as it is encouraging. 

He sits up until he’s pushed her onto her knees, his own hands now resting over hers on the tailgate. His hips slam up into hers from behind, his balls slapping against her clit with each drive of his cock into her. 

“That’s it— gonna let me fill you up, aren't you?” He moans.

“Please,” She moaned as he used her to chase his own high. 

She leaned back against him, reaching up behind her to grip on to anything she could reach. His thigh, the crook of his neck— pulling herself closer by the fabric of his shirt. She let herself get lost in the feeling of his teeth on her neck and his cock deep inside her.

“Please,” She repeats, followed by a shameless ramble of begging. “Please— I need it. Wanna feel you come inside of me.”

“Jesus Christ,” He groaned against her neck at the sound of her voice. 

He was already close but the way she was whining and trying to pull him even deeper was too much to take. 

He wraps his arms around her waist again, trying to keep her still for a moment as he buried himself inside of her as far as he could go. He buried his face into her neck, hips stuttering against her. 

“Oh god, I’m— I’m cumming.“ He moaned against her skin. His legs tense around hers, his hips spasming against her ass. His load is deep, hot and heavy between her thighs. 

“Tuuck,” She moans again, his name leaving her lips even though it’s hardly intelligible. 

She clenches around him as she tries to catch her breath, trying to hold onto this moment for as long as possible.

After a moment, she sinks a little further down into the blankets, feeling like she can barely hold herself up. He follows her. He’s a solid, heavy weight on top of her, but she’s grateful for it.

He presses his face against her shoulder, planting soft kisses against any part of her he can reach.

She melts into the blankets, breath still uneven, skin still tingling. His weight is warm and grounding—she can feel the steady thud of his heartbeat against her back. His lazy kisses trail along her shoulder, her neck, the spot behind her ear that always makes her shiver.  

"Mmm," she hums, tilting her head to give him more room. Her fingers idly trace the scarred knuckles of the hand still resting on her hip. "You spoil me."  

Tucker chuckles the sound low, rough, and still a little breathless. He nips at her earlobe. 

"You say that like it’s a bad thing." His thumb brushes circles against her skin, slow and absentminded.  

She laughs, soft and breathy, turning her head just enough to catch his lips in a drowsy kiss. “Not even a little bit.” 

The night air is cool against their overheated skin, the distant hum of the bonfire still carrying on without them. The Bronco smells like leather and engine grease and them. 

"You gonna share that beer now?" she teases, nodding toward the half-forgotten bottle still wedged between the front seats.  

He huffs a laugh, but reaches for it anyway. “Who made you so goddamn bossy?" he mutters, but there’s no heat in it—just that quiet, amused affection she’s come to love.  

She grins, taking the bottle when he hands it to her. "You did… and you love it."  

"Yeah," he admits, easy as anything, pressing another kiss to her temple. "I do.”

“You made a mess of me,” She pants against the mouth of the bottle, laughing at her own disheveled state as she takes a swig and attempts to straighten her dress. 

“And now I have to go back out there like this.” Her underwear is stretched awkwardly to one side, permanently, from how he’d pulled it over. 

Tucker stretches to open the glove compartment, bringing back clean napkins to help wipe his release that’s now dripping down her thighs. 

He takes his time cleaning her up, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips when she makes no attempt to move. 

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, though his tone is anything but apologetic. "Next time I'll aim for something less messy," he teases, before pressing a kiss to her thigh.  

She rolls her eyes, swatting his shoulder while he cleans her up. He's slow and meticulous about it, his fingers lingering on her skin just a little longer than necessary.

“No you won’t.” She scoffs, grabbing his hand as he tugs her off of the tailgate and back onto her shaky legs. 

“No,” He laughs and shakes his head. “I won’t.”

"C’mon," he says, tugging her by the hand toward the bonfire in the distance. His voice is all lazy satisfaction. "Let’s go give ‘em somethin’ to talk about."

A/N— I had to take a long hard look at myself in the mirror after writing this. Let me know what you think. Or don’t. 😅

Tag list:

@saddleagain @anaso12 @slutevainterlude @charliesmustachee @thewineranout @lowkeyinslutera @oldrrcliners @tuckerpillsburyistheloml @blockme0utt @dieformybitch @honeyeyesworld @crossingrmind @cmprmise @jocelynlovesharrystyles @bigpinkbubble @harryslttlefreak @bndnrry @camouflagedinglitter @prettyfortucker @sunsh1n3s

[stonesylove]

Fucking hate everyone who’s truly saying he was just a placeholder, HOLD ME BACK BECAUSE FOR MY MAN I WOULD GO TO WAR

[thewineranout]

i’m coming, quick CATCH

[comehearthemusicplay]

on my knees for eyeliner tucker

[faultqline]

homework

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[bosbas]

Chapter 9: in my defense, I have none

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, we are getting somewhere!!, still a lot of pining ofc

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

December 18, 1812 - Tensions had been... high... in the Bridgerton household as of late, to say the least.

The holidays were looming, and with that loomed also the prospect of Anthony spending an entire week with you in his home in the countryside. So naturally, he'd been distracting himself by practically biting the head off of any family member who dared speak with him. A particular fury, though, was reserved for Daphne when she brought you up.

Such an argument happened to be taking place at this very moment. Anthony had made the grave mistake of revealing his plans to leave for Aubrey Hall a few days before the rest of his family in the hopes that it would provide a brief respite from the chaos.

"You're being ridiculous," yelled Daphne, grabbing a cushion off the couch and squeezing it in frustration. "You simply can't deal with your feelings like an adult and you're running away."

"I'm not running away," roared Anthony. "And I've dealt with my feelings plenty. I just can't be bothered to have this conversation for the hundredth time. You're boring, Daphne!"

"Don't you say that to me," the younger Bridgerton fumed, throwing the pillow in her hands at her brother.

Much to her chagrin, Anthony easily dodged it, and the condescending smile he gave her in response was enough for her to let out a strangled scream.

"I will as long as you keep bringing this up," Anthony snapped, nearing his sister and shaking her by the shoulders. "I've had enough of you meddling in my life once again. Let's not forget how it ended the first time."

"It only ended because you wanted it to end," growled Daphne, shoving her brother's arms off her shoulders. "You can't deny it, Anthony. It might have started as a ploy, but what happened after was entirely out of my hands. Is it really worth running away for?"

"For the last time, I'm not running away!" repeated Anthony, grabbing the pillow Daphne had thrown earlier and launching it in his sister's direction.

Unfortunately having been hit by the cushion, Daphne angrily fixed her hair as she looked at her brother. "Don't lie to yourself, Anthony. You only want to avoid Mama and me, who make you actually face your feelings. It's cowardly, just like you are."

But the venom in Daphne's voice didn't seem to penetrate her eldest brother. He'd made his decision, that much was clear, and hopefully, a couple of days of peace and quiet would help him prepare to see your eyes and hear your laugh once again without wanting to run straight into the Thames.

Ignoring his sister's insults, Anthony huffed and straightened out his coat, turning around to leave the room. "I certainly won't be speaking with her while she's at Kent if that's what you're trying to imply."

Daphne could've screamed out of frustration. She opted for something she knew would cut her brother to the bone. "Don't you think you've punished her enough?"

Anthony stopped in his tracks and blinked repeatedly, almost as if he'd been struck.

But Daphne continued. "She's miserable. She can't eat, she can't sleep, she's ridden with guilt and pales at even the slightest mention of you. I've never seen her like this. I haven't heard her laugh in weeks. Don't you think that's enough?"

Anthony turned around slowly to look at his sister, wanting to confirm what she was saying.

Daphne's eyes were clear, pleading.

"I had no idea."

"Of course you didn't. How could you? You leave the room if anyone even says her name."

"I-" tried Anthony, but no coherent sentence came out of his mouth.

"You've punished her enough," repeated Daphne, sighing deeply. "Not to mention how much you've punished yourself. You're allowed to have feelings for someone, Anthony. You're even allowed to pursue them after that. You'd be happier to realize that before you manage to completely ruin your chances with Y/N."

Once again, no words left Anthony's mouth. He was far too choked up to say anything that could have been deemed appropriate at that moment. So he stood there as Daphne pushed past him, standing in dumbfounded silence as he thought about just how much he wished he could go back to that May night when you first asked him to dance.

Perhaps he could have asked you to dance first. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. He supposed he'd never know.

---

Standing at the entrance to Aubrey Hall, the Bridgertons' country estate, you found yourself wringing your hands. You were anxious, though you'd never admit it aloud. You usually spent the winter at your own family's house, a tradition more rooted in habit than sentiment. But every Christmas, without fail, you took the short carriage ride to Aubrey Hall and stayed there for a week. It was your annual escape from the echoing silence of a holiday spent alone with your father, who, truthfully, preferred his ledgers to any kind of festivity. Holidays only seemed to remind him of your mother, and he coped in the only way he knew how: by pretending they didn't exist.

Daphne had repeatedly insisted that you were welcome this year. That nothing had changed. That you ought to come, just as you always had, and that everyone, including Anthony, would be happy to see you. You weren't entirely convinced, but you'd chosen to believe her. Or, at least, you were trying to.

The sky above was thick with snow-laden clouds, the air sharp with that particular stillness that came before a storm. It felt fitting, in a way– your thoughts were just as restless, your nerves just as unsettled. This was the first time you'd returned to a Bridgerton home since that night. Since everything. And while part of you thrilled at the familiar sight of Aubrey Hall, a quieter, more wounded part was dreading the possibility of seeing him.

Anthony.

And there it was again: that flutter in your chest you wished you could attribute to the cold.

Just as you were about to knock on the door, Anthony opened the door himself and you let out a startled gasp.

He, in turn, looked like he was seeing a ghost.

"Hello," you said awkwardly, not able to tear your gaze away from Anthony's wide eyes.

"I thought you weren't coming," breathed Anthony, completely ignoring your greeting.

"Excuse me? Daphne said-" you coughed, shocked that he wanted you out of his home that badly.

Anthony blinked, coming back to his senses. "I meant I thought you weren't coming today. The rest of the family decided to wait a couple of days for the storm to pass, I suppose I thought you'd do the same."

"They're not here yet?" you squeaked out, genuine dread filling you from head to toe as you realized you and Anthony would truly be alone in his family's country house.

He shook his head, looking at the sky as if to confirm the incoming storm.

You rushed to explain yourself. "It's such a short carriage ride that I thought the weather wouldn't matter so much. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I can go back, I'll just tell the driver-" you sputtered.

Anthony screwed his eyes shut briefly and then looked straight into yours. "It's alright," he assured you, almost reaching out to put a comforting hand on your shoulder but retracting it before making any contact. "The storm is about to start anyway, it wouldn't be safe."

You nodded, not quite sure how to proceed. This was the longest conversation you'd had with Anthony since he found out about... well, everything.

He cleared his throat. "Please, come in. I wouldn't want you to catch a chill," he said, stepping aside and offering to take your coat while motioning for his butler to help carry your bags inside.

Once again the two of you were stood, alone, trying to look anywhere but at each other. A heavy silence filled with things left unsaid made it almost impossible to hear your own thoughts, and you ached with the desire to reach out to Anthony for reassurance, much like you had done for a greater part of the summer.

"Well, I'd better be on my way," he said, not providing an explanation for why he was going outside when a powerful storm was clearly about to hit. "I'm certain you know your way around by now, but do let me know if you need anything."

His voice sounded detached, far away, and not at all like the warm tone he used to use when you were whispering together at a ball or sharing a funny story during a promenade. You were torn between wanting to continue speaking with Anthony, if only because it reminded you of how much you did love him, or if you wanted to get away from how cold he was being as soon as possible.

In the end, he made the decision easy for you by leaving without waiting for your response.

A painful reminder of just how damaged your relationship was. Perhaps it was beyond fixing now. It certainly seemed like it.

You sighed and made your way to your bedroom, already dreading the rest of your stay at Aubrey Hall. It was like the life had been taken out of you entirely.

Quietly reaching your door, you decided to stay away from Anthony as much as possible before the rest of his family arrived. It was the least you could do. It was already a burden being here alone with him, and you didn't want to make it worse by actually attempting to speak with him.

---

In the end, your plan failed miserably. It was the middle of the night, and you found yourself shivering from the cold in your bedroom, looking out at the snow swirling around outside. It would have been a beautiful sight if you were not chilled to the bone.

With every passing minute, your resolve to avoid Anthony at all costs was waning. You desperately needed another blanket– or three– and there was no one else you could ask at this hour. It was entirely too late to bother any of the staff, and you were far too exhausted to go downstairs anyway.

As much as you tried to hold off, burying yourself in your sheets and curling into a ball, goosebumps covered your entire body and your teeth were chattering loudly.

Finally, as you felt your feet grow numb, you decided you could wait no longer. Standing up and wiggling your toes, you exited your room to try and find somewhere a blanket might be (or Anthony, whichever came first).

You wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, not quite thinking clearly. Eventually, you passed Anthony's study and found the light under the door still shining, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

Knocking gingerly, you opened the door slowly to reveal Anthony writing down some notes on his desk before he looked up to see you.

You felt uncomfortable under his gaze, underdressed in your nightgown. He'd seen you naked before, you reminded yourself, and you almost smiled at the absurdity. But it didn't help your nervousness.

"Is something the matter? It's the middle of the night," he said, looking you up and down without restraint.

You shook your head and remembered where you were. "Oh, yes, sorry."

"I wish you'd stop apologizing," he responded darkly and promptly looked back down at what he had been writing.

Your throat went dry, but you'd come this far, you might as well actually tell him why you were here.

Trying to keep your voice level, you explained, "I was just wondering if you had a spare blanket I could use. It's quite cold in my room."

Anthony paused for a second, looking back up at you and seeing you slightly shaking from the cold still. Finally, he nodded, gesturing toward the couch at the other end of the study which had a very thick blanket laying atop it.

You scurried over, wanting to get out of his study as soon as possible, but Anthony's voice stopped you.

"I'm nearly done, if you'd like to wait for a few minutes, I can walk you back to your room."

You sent him a questioning look, but he just shrugged.

"It's quite late," he repeated, as if that would provide an explanation, and promptly returned to his work.

To be frank, you were too tired to care, and you knew that Anthony would put up a fight if you disagreed with him, so you sat down anyway. Draping the blanket across your shoulders, you sat down on the couch and stared at Anthony. It had been months since you had the opportunity to just look at him, and you had forgotten how much you truly desired him.

Even as your eyes grew heavy and you sank deeper into the cushions, you couldn't help the warm feeling that came over you every time you thought about that night with him on the floor of your library.

The next thing you knew, you were in Anthony's arms as he lowered you gently on your bed.

"I didn't realize I had fallen asleep," you whispered, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

"It's no bother," he whispered back, pulling the covers around you and tucking the blanket up to your chin.

As he turned to leave you grabbed his hand, and though he could have easily kept walking away, he sat down on the side of your bed, looking down at you expectantly.

You were half asleep and fighting to keep your eyes open, but you wanted him to know. "I wish things could be different," you spoke softly.

Anthony smiled sadly at you, saying nothing but leaning down to plant a tender kiss on your forehead before he stood to leave. You fell asleep before he even reached the door. 

—

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[sampastthe711]

y/n i love you but you’re starting to get on my nerves just tell him how he still takes your breath away

[bosbas]

Chapter 8: if I'm dead to you why are you at the wake

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 1.6k

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, the usual pining of courseeee

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

September 24, 1812 - It had been two and a half months since Anthony had found out the truth about your intentions with him, and he considered himself to have largely overcome the summer’s chaotic romance. Fake romance, he reminded himself.

It wasn’t something he thought about excessively. Perhaps he did think about it every day, and it would be safe to assume that he thought about you every passing hour, but he wouldn’t say he thought about you every minute of every day. And that was progress, wasn’t it?

At least he had forgiven Daphne, and the siblings had been able to sort out their differences. Though Anthony truly wanted his sister to find a husband she liked in due time, it certainly didn’t hurt that she had ended the summer just as unattached and hopeless as him.

“I heard Lady Mitchell got engaged last night,” commented Daphne, who happened to be sitting next to Anthony. 

“Did she? To that Roberts fellow?” hummed Violet. “He’s a good man, she’ll certainly be happy she’s got that sorted.”

“A good man who made her wait six weeks until he proposed,” scoffed Daphne, unimpressed by her friend’s lengthy courtship, especially with how smitten she seemed to be. “Practically unheard of to wait that long this late in the season.”

“Have any of your other friends gotten engaged then?” asked Anthony automatically, the words slipping carelessly out of his mouth. 

He cringed slightly, looking up from the morning paper to see his sister shooting him an amused glance. 

“She hasn’t, no” Daphne responded, her voice soft, akin to when she talked to one of their horses after a tough ride. 

Immediately, Anthony felt his shoulders release some tension he didn’t even know was there. 

“Shame,” he said, making sure to keep his voice light in a desperate attempt to convince his family of his nonchalance.

A beat of silence prompted Anthony to look up and catch the tail end of a knowing look between Daphne and Violet. 

“It is!” he insisted, trying to convince himself at the very least. “I hope she’s found someone who cares about her.”

“She had,” cut in his sister. 

Daphne might be Anthony's sister, but was still your best friend, after all. And she was the only one who saw just how miserable both of you were since you had stopped whatever it was you had with Anthony and refused to step foot in the Bridgerton home.

Anthony scoffed, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I can’t have this conversation again.”

“Very well, then,” pressed Daphne. “There’s a remarkably easy solution to that problem.”

This earned an irritated groan from Anthony, who was rather tired of his sister trying to convince him to declare his love to you in some grand and extravagant way like you wouldn’t just laugh in his face. 

“I’ve told you, it’s for the best, Daphne. And that’s the end of the discussion. She’s not what I’m looking for in a wife anyway,” Anthony said through gritted teeth. 

“And why not?” asked Violet, scandalized by her son’s apparent disrespect of someone who was almost a daughter to her. “I know things might have ended on less-than-ideal terms between you but Y/N is still someone to be treated with respect and dignity.”

“It’s not that,” replied Anthony, already feeling a headache coming on. 

It’s because I love her, he thought. But of course, he couldn’t say that out loud. Not without having the rest of his day taken up by a long lecture from his mother on how fulfilling and special true love could be. 

He simply didn’t care. 

Not anymore, at least.

He’d had a taste of being completely head over heels for someone he intended on marrying. He'd had a chance to truly know someone, and consequently be completely in love with them. However, he rather preferred not having a flutter in his stomach– out of excitement or anxiety he didn’t care to find out –every time he thought of his future with you. 

Falling in love once had been enough. Anthony had done it. He’d experienced the love his parents had. And he wasn’t itching to experience it again. He could now just focus on finding someone adequate who fit his list of requirements for a Viscountess, which heavens knew you didn’t. 

“Well, whatever the reason is, you’ll have to get over it before Christmas,” sniffed Daphne, not in the mood to argue with her brooding brother. 

“Why Christmas?”

“Because Y/N is coming to spend Christmas with us in Kent, like she does every year,” responded Daphne in an obvious tone. The Are you thick? was left unsaid. 

Now Anthony felt the headache in full force. Of course, he’d forgotten. Well, at least he had a few months to prepare to face you again. 

---

“Are you quite sure there’s nothing we can do?” you said, exasperated.

Your carriage had broken down on your way home from the shops, and your father had taken the spare carriage for the day with no hints as to when he would return. 

“Afraid not, Miss,” said your driver, looking quite apologetic. “I can try to reach the Bridgertons, who don’t live too far from here.”

A sharp inhale. “That won’t be necessary,” you smiled weakly. You’d rather walk home than risk having to ask Anthony Bridgerton for help. 

Instead, you leaned against the lopsided carriage and put your head in your hands. A few hours alone with your thoughts wouldn’t be the worst thing, would it? Was it really too far to walk? Usually, it wouldn’t have been, but the sun was about to set and the chilly November air gave you pause. 

“Y/N? Is that you?” called the unmistakable voice of the oldest Bridgerton brother from atop his riding horse as he slowed down to get a good look. 

Speak of the devil, you cursed.

“Anthony,” you said, slightly taken aback by how handsome he was. 

You hadn’t seen him outside of the privacy of your imagination in a few months, and his hair was slightly longer than it had been over the summer. It suited him. Well, everything suited him. 

“Is something the matter with your carriage?” he asked, already hopping down and inspecting the vehicle, which lay in disrepair. 

“It’s quite alright,” you started, but your driver was too quick. 

“Just hit a hole in the road and had a bit of a hiccup,” he explained. “I’m afraid there’s not much I can do right now, we just have to wait for another carriage to come retrieve Lady Y/N.”

“Nonsense,” waved Anthony. “I can take her home right now if that’s alright.”

“That won’t be necessary,” you said, only to be spoken over once again.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Bridgerton. Especially since the sun is going down, it’d be best to get Lady Y/N inside.”

It seemed like you had no choice in the matter. Annoyed, you huffed and crossed your arms, but made your way over to Anthony anyway. 

“Can you help her on?” Anthony asked your driver, getting back on the horse and shuffling forward so you had enough space. 

Once you were safely atop the horse, Anthony grabbed your arms and put them around his waist. 

“Just don’t let go,” he warned you. “I know it’s not the most comfortable ride, but it’s the best I can do.”

“I- It’s fine,” you said, speaking softly lest your voice betrayed your true feelings. 

You rode the rest of the way in silence. A special kind of hurt bloomed in your chest as you passed the Bridgerton residence, which you once considered your true home over the house you were born in.

You found comfort in holding Anthony, even if only for a moment, and even if only out of necessity. It was surreal to be so close to him again, and you closed your eyes so you could memorize exactly how it felt to feel his heart beating and the rhythm of his chest rising and falling. 

You’d long convinced yourself not to think about what could have been, but it hadn’t made the feelings go away, and it was lovely to be in Anthony’s presence for a little while longer. 

Once you reached your house, Anthony slipped off his horse and held out his hand to help you off as well. 

As soon as you were stood on solid ground he retracted his hand, and you were left with only the ghost of his touch in your memory. 

The two of you stared at each other, and you saw an unreadable expression on Anthony’s face. There was an unmistakable longing, but also something else entirely you weren’t sure you had seen before. 

“Thank you,” you finally whispered, the words barely above a whisper. “You didn’t have to do that.”

And it was true. Anthony had been a true gentleman, even in circumstances like these. Curse him for remaining the picture of grace after everything you'd done to him.

“Don’t mention it,” he said, his eyes flashing with some unknown emotion. 

“Anthony-” you started, not entirely sure where you were going with this but wanting to try anyway. 

But Anthony interrupted gruffly. “I said don’t mention it.”

You cleared your throat awkwardly, not used to him being so short with you. You took in a breath, readying yourself for another attempt at something. Begging for his forgiveness, confessing you still loved him, anything at all, really. 

But before you could open your mouth he had already turned around, not sparing you a second glance as he mounted his horse and headed back, presumably to the Bridgerton house. 

A choked sob escaped your lips as you saw his figure disappear into the dusk. You supposed this was just how it would be from now on. At least until you moved on and found someone else, which seemed more and more unlikely as the weeks went by. 

—

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[nessa007]

[bosbas]

Chapter 7: I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 1.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, mentions of pregnancy, ANGST!!!!!

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

July 13, 1812 - Waking up the past few days had been absolute torture. But waking up today and seeing the blood on your sheets was worse than any morning you’d ever had. 

A part of you was relieved. You had gotten your courses. You weren’t with child. You didn’t have to trap Anthony in a loveless marriage.

It was good news, right?

That’s what you were desperately repeating to yourself over and over as you sat in your bed sobbing uncontrollably. 

It truly was over then. There was no baby, and there would be no marriage. You’d be lucky if Anthony ever talked to you again, though you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. All because you thought it would be a fun game to dabble with someone’s real feelings.

What's more, your courses actually came a few days early. It was like the universe was completely and categorically rejecting the idea of a happy ending with Anthony. It was what you deserved, you supposed. At least the misery of not knowing was over.

To make matters worse, your crying was so loud that your father popped his head into your room, an extremely unusual occurrence. 

“What is all this ruckus?” he asked. “Is everything alright?”

Not having the time, energy, or desire to fully explain what was happening, and doubting he’d care, you told your father, “My courses came.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly growing very uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

Predictable. He wasn’t one to get involved with women’s issues.

---

You had given yourself a few hours to mope around your home, mourning the loss of what could have been. But it was time to face your fears, and you headed over to the Bridgerton residence.

It was usually only a few minutes' walk, but you were dreading the impending conversation so much that it was almost fifteen minutes before you reached their front door.  

What scared you the most was that you had no idea how Anthony was going to take the news. You knew the responsibility was yours to go to the Bridgerton home and inform him, but you hadn’t seen him or Daphne since the day after your fateful ball.

As you reached their front entrance, before you could even knock, the door burst open and you saw Anthony standing in front of you. 

Not that you were in a position to enjoy it, but he looked exceedingly handsome. He was clearly on his way out to go to town, and you didn’t know whether to curse or thank the universe for putting him in front of you before he left for the day. 

“Oh!” you gasped, startled. “Um, hello, Anthony,” you greeted awkwardly. 

He just stared back, unmoving. He hadn’t been expecting to talk to you for at least a few more days and was entirely unprepared now.

“Daphne’s just inside,” he said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. 

“No, I’m here to speak with you, actually.”

“Oh,” he said simply, not giving away what he was feeling. It hadn't even been a week! Surely there was no news yet? Surely he could still hold out some hope?

He stepped outside and closed the door, allowing you two some privacy for the conversation you were about to have.

“I- Well, I just wanted to inform you that my courses came this morning,” you said, your voice wavering. 

“Oh,” he repeated. 

Was that really all he was going to say?

You cleared your throat stiffly. “And evidently no one saw us sneak off to the library the other night, otherwise we’d have heard the rumors by now.” A pause. “I suppose this means you won’t need to propose, then. And we can go our own ways.”

It was like your words ignited something in Anthony, and he finally moved to cross his arms in front of his chest, a prominent scowl on his face. 

“I suppose it does. Congratulations. Your little plan worked perfectly, then. Daphne was able to court a scumbag while you distracted me and remained perfectly detached.”

His angry words cut you deep. Almost out of habit when you needed comfort, you reached out for his broken hand that was still bandaged. He took a step back, almost looking panicked as he eyed your outstretched arm. 

You felt tears welling in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You deserved no sympathy from the man in front of you.

Blinking them away, you sniffed. “Anthony, I know nothing I say will ever make it up to you but I truly am sorry. It was never my intention to let it go on for so long.”

“And yet you did.”

“I did,” you replied, feeling ashamed. “But you must know, the time we did have together-”

But Anthony interrupted before you could continue. “I’ll be moving into bachelor’s lodgings as soon as possible. That way our paths won’t have to cross again unless there’s a big family event. I wish you the best in your future endeavors, and I sincerely hope you find a love match eventually.”

You choked back a sob. “Is this truly the last time we’ll talk?”

“I can hope,” he responded, cruelly echoing back the words you had said to him a few days ago. 

And with that, he pushed past you down the stairs, going toward his waiting carriage, not sparing you a second glance.

You were left crying outside of the Bridgertons’ door, head in your hands as you realized the gravity of Anthony’s statement. 

That was exactly how Violet found you twenty minutes later. 

“Oh no, my Y/N, what happened?” she asked, placing a comforting arm around your shoulders. 

You could only turn and sob into her shoulder, too shaken up to form any coherent words. 

Violet, bless her, rubbed your back soothingly as she led you back into her home, her afternoon of shopping completely forgotten now.

“Why don’t we ring for some tea and you can talk to me and Daphne about what’s bothering you?”

An hour later you had calmed down considerably and Daphne was in the middle of apologizing profusely for telling Anthony while Violet tried to process the information her daughter and her best friend had just divulged. You had scrubbed any mention of your escapade with Anthony from the story you told his mother, of course. But most other details remained accurate.

“It’s not your fault,” you waved away Daphne’s apology. “You only told him the truth. He was going to find out eventually, one way or another.”

“But it was my idea in the first place!” she insisted. “And a stupid one at that, seeing how things ended with Phillip.”

“Which we are not done discussing,” interjected Violet, still horrified that someone like him could treat her daughter that way. 

“Regardless, I would have come up with the idea myself and gone through with it if you hadn't,” you reassured her. “What’s done is done. I’m only sorry he’ll be leaving home.”

Daphne laughed and shook her head. “He’d been wanting to leave for ages. Besides, it’ll be nice to have some more peace and quiet around here.”

Always one to stay on topic, Violet kept up her line of questioning. “Why don’t the two of you get married still? Your feelings for him are clearly real, no matter how you ended up having them.”

Surprisingly, tears welled up in your eyes again After the day you’d had, you didn’t think you had any left in you, but the situation was just too dire not to cry over it. “He told me earlier he wishes to never speak with me again.”

Violet gasped. “That can’t be right, he would never say such a thing!”

You could only nod glumly, remembering his cold, uncaring eyes as he moved past you earlier that day. 

“I just can’t believe I ruined it all,” you cried. “It would have been so wonderful if only I hadn’t acted so carelessly.”

Violet tsked. “You wouldn’t have even looked at him in a romantic light if it weren’t for your silly plan. Who knows if things would have really been different.”

“At least I wouldn’t have a broken heart,” you said softly, wistfully looking out the window. 

“There is simply no world in which he can just forget how he feels about you,” insisted Daphne, trying to stay hopeful. 

“There’s nothing left,” you said, well aware of the situation you were in and rejecting any fantasies that would make you feel better temporarily. “I made the choices I made and I must live with them now.”

---

“Why is Y/N never round for dinner anymore?” asked Hyacinth suddenly one night. 

“Yes, I miss playing chess with her before I go to bed. No one else here seems to want to play,” complained Gregory, in a rare moment of agreement with his youngest sister.

“She does seem to have very suddenly stopped showing up,” said Francesca. She eyed Daphne and Anthony suspiciously, knowing one of the two was bound to be the cause of your absence. 

“Well, I certainly didn’t tell her to stop coming,” said Daphne, glaring at her older brother. 

Anthony laughed coldly. “That’s rich coming from you. You know exactly why she stopped showing up, and it’s not exactly my fault.”

“Anthony!” exclaimed Violet, shocked at the sudden outburst of anger.

“Forget it,” he grumbled, standing up from the dinner table and storming off to his study.

A few moments later, Violet knocked on the door of Anthony’s study, not waiting for a response before she slipped in and closed the door behind her. 

“You’re not truly angry,” she stated, not even posing it as a question.

“Yes, I am,” Anthony insisted. 

“Your anger conceals something deeper, and it might do you some good to let it out.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Anthony responded, but his voice lacked his previous conviction. “I am angry,” he repeated, his voice breaking as he tried to convince himself of his feelings. 

“It’s not a crime to feel things for someone, you know. Even when they don’t work out.”

“What is the point then? If they amount to nothing?” Anthony pressed, struggling to find a greater reason for the complete heartbreak he felt day in and day out. 

It was torture to be away from you, to be sure. But he knew he would never be able to hold it together if he saw you in the flesh. Regardless, that didn’t stop him from missing you. Your rosy perfume. The way you threw your head back when you laughed. How tightly your hands held his hand when you were anxious about something.

And that was what killed him. He’d had real and profound feelings for you. He thought that was it. That you were it. He’d thought he'd found the person he was going to marry. He’d found his present and his future and everything in betweem.

But it had all been a lie. And so the anger kept coming back. And he could do nothing to stop it. 

It was misplaced anger, he knew. At you, at the world, at the fact that your courses had come and you would not have his child, and at the fact that he could never have you in a way that truly mattered. 

“That is exactly what makes you human, Anthony. You can’t go around life expecting to never be hurt. It’s a rare thing to feel that way about someone.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s rare. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Anthony!” Violet gasped, scandalized. “Love is not a curse.”

“It certainly feels like one.”

“You could still be with her, you know. All this misplaced love, it’ll do you no good to keep it bottled up.”

“I can’t,” insisted Anthony, his voice breaking again. “I wanted to marry her still. I even asked her. I thought she’d love me back if I only had some time to convince her. But she didn’t want to marry me,” he confessed, succumbing to his feelings and putting his head in his hands as he cried. 

“Why don’t you try talking to her again?” suggested Violet, rubbing her son’s back comfortingly. 

“I can’t,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “It’s for the better.”

—

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Chapter 7: I wish I could un-recall how we almost had it all

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 1.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, mentions of pregnancy, ANGST!!!!!

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

July 13, 1812 - Waking up the past few days had been absolute torture. But waking up today and seeing the blood on your sheets was worse than any morning you’d ever had. 

A part of you was relieved. You had gotten your courses. You weren’t with child. You didn’t have to trap Anthony in a loveless marriage.

It was good news, right?

That’s what you were desperately repeating to yourself over and over as you sat in your bed sobbing uncontrollably. 

It truly was over then. There was no baby, and there would be no marriage. You’d be lucky if Anthony ever talked to you again, though you wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. All because you thought it would be a fun game to dabble with someone’s real feelings.

What's more, your courses actually came a few days early. It was like the universe was completely and categorically rejecting the idea of a happy ending with Anthony. It was what you deserved, you supposed. At least the misery of not knowing was over.

To make matters worse, your crying was so loud that your father popped his head into your room, an extremely unusual occurrence. 

“What is all this ruckus?” he asked. “Is everything alright?”

Not having the time, energy, or desire to fully explain what was happening, and doubting he’d care, you told your father, “My courses came.”

“Oh,” he said, suddenly growing very uncomfortable. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” 

Predictable. He wasn’t one to get involved with women’s issues.

---

You had given yourself a few hours to mope around your home, mourning the loss of what could have been. But it was time to face your fears, and you headed over to the Bridgerton residence.

It was usually only a few minutes' walk, but you were dreading the impending conversation so much that it was almost fifteen minutes before you reached their front door.  

What scared you the most was that you had no idea how Anthony was going to take the news. You knew the responsibility was yours to go to the Bridgerton home and inform him, but you hadn’t seen him or Daphne since the day after your fateful ball.

As you reached their front entrance, before you could even knock, the door burst open and you saw Anthony standing in front of you. 

Not that you were in a position to enjoy it, but he looked exceedingly handsome. He was clearly on his way out to go to town, and you didn’t know whether to curse or thank the universe for putting him in front of you before he left for the day. 

“Oh!” you gasped, startled. “Um, hello, Anthony,” you greeted awkwardly. 

He just stared back, unmoving. He hadn’t been expecting to talk to you for at least a few more days and was entirely unprepared now.

“Daphne’s just inside,” he said after a few seconds of uncomfortable silence. 

“No, I’m here to speak with you, actually.”

“Oh,” he said simply, not giving away what he was feeling. It hadn't even been a week! Surely there was no news yet? Surely he could still hold out some hope?

He stepped outside and closed the door, allowing you two some privacy for the conversation you were about to have.

“I- Well, I just wanted to inform you that my courses came this morning,” you said, your voice wavering. 

“Oh,” he repeated. 

Was that really all he was going to say?

You cleared your throat stiffly. “And evidently no one saw us sneak off to the library the other night, otherwise we’d have heard the rumors by now.” A pause. “I suppose this means you won’t need to propose, then. And we can go our own ways.”

It was like your words ignited something in Anthony, and he finally moved to cross his arms in front of his chest, a prominent scowl on his face. 

“I suppose it does. Congratulations. Your little plan worked perfectly, then. Daphne was able to court a scumbag while you distracted me and remained perfectly detached.”

His angry words cut you deep. Almost out of habit when you needed comfort, you reached out for his broken hand that was still bandaged. He took a step back, almost looking panicked as he eyed your outstretched arm. 

You felt tears welling in your eyes, but you didn’t let them fall. You deserved no sympathy from the man in front of you.

Blinking them away, you sniffed. “Anthony, I know nothing I say will ever make it up to you but I truly am sorry. It was never my intention to let it go on for so long.”

“And yet you did.”

“I did,” you replied, feeling ashamed. “But you must know, the time we did have together-”

But Anthony interrupted before you could continue. “I’ll be moving into bachelor’s lodgings as soon as possible. That way our paths won’t have to cross again unless there’s a big family event. I wish you the best in your future endeavors, and I sincerely hope you find a love match eventually.”

You choked back a sob. “Is this truly the last time we’ll talk?”

“I can hope,” he responded, cruelly echoing back the words you had said to him a few days ago. 

And with that, he pushed past you down the stairs, going toward his waiting carriage, not sparing you a second glance.

You were left crying outside of the Bridgertons’ door, head in your hands as you realized the gravity of Anthony’s statement. 

That was exactly how Violet found you twenty minutes later. 

“Oh no, my Y/N, what happened?” she asked, placing a comforting arm around your shoulders. 

You could only turn and sob into her shoulder, too shaken up to form any coherent words. 

Violet, bless her, rubbed your back soothingly as she led you back into her home, her afternoon of shopping completely forgotten now.

“Why don’t we ring for some tea and you can talk to me and Daphne about what’s bothering you?”

An hour later you had calmed down considerably and Daphne was in the middle of apologizing profusely for telling Anthony while Violet tried to process the information her daughter and her best friend had just divulged. You had scrubbed any mention of your escapade with Anthony from the story you told his mother, of course. But most other details remained accurate.

“It’s not your fault,” you waved away Daphne’s apology. “You only told him the truth. He was going to find out eventually, one way or another.”

“But it was my idea in the first place!” she insisted. “And a stupid one at that, seeing how things ended with Phillip.”

“Which we are not done discussing,” interjected Violet, still horrified that someone like him could treat her daughter that way. 

“Regardless, I would have come up with the idea myself and gone through with it if you hadn't,” you reassured her. “What’s done is done. I’m only sorry he’ll be leaving home.”

Daphne laughed and shook her head. “He’d been wanting to leave for ages. Besides, it’ll be nice to have some more peace and quiet around here.”

Always one to stay on topic, Violet kept up her line of questioning. “Why don’t the two of you get married still? Your feelings for him are clearly real, no matter how you ended up having them.”

Surprisingly, tears welled up in your eyes again After the day you’d had, you didn’t think you had any left in you, but the situation was just too dire not to cry over it. “He told me earlier he wishes to never speak with me again.”

Violet gasped. “That can’t be right, he would never say such a thing!”

You could only nod glumly, remembering his cold, uncaring eyes as he moved past you earlier that day. 

“I just can’t believe I ruined it all,” you cried. “It would have been so wonderful if only I hadn’t acted so carelessly.”

Violet tsked. “You wouldn’t have even looked at him in a romantic light if it weren’t for your silly plan. Who knows if things would have really been different.”

“At least I wouldn’t have a broken heart,” you said softly, wistfully looking out the window. 

“There is simply no world in which he can just forget how he feels about you,” insisted Daphne, trying to stay hopeful. 

“There’s nothing left,” you said, well aware of the situation you were in and rejecting any fantasies that would make you feel better temporarily. “I made the choices I made and I must live with them now.”

---

“Why is Y/N never round for dinner anymore?” asked Hyacinth suddenly one night. 

“Yes, I miss playing chess with her before I go to bed. No one else here seems to want to play,” complained Gregory, in a rare moment of agreement with his youngest sister.

“She does seem to have very suddenly stopped showing up,” said Francesca. She eyed Daphne and Anthony suspiciously, knowing one of the two was bound to be the cause of your absence. 

“Well, I certainly didn’t tell her to stop coming,” said Daphne, glaring at her older brother. 

Anthony laughed coldly. “That’s rich coming from you. You know exactly why she stopped showing up, and it’s not exactly my fault.”

“Anthony!” exclaimed Violet, shocked at the sudden outburst of anger.

“Forget it,” he grumbled, standing up from the dinner table and storming off to his study.

A few moments later, Violet knocked on the door of Anthony’s study, not waiting for a response before she slipped in and closed the door behind her. 

“You’re not truly angry,” she stated, not even posing it as a question.

“Yes, I am,” Anthony insisted. 

“Your anger conceals something deeper, and it might do you some good to let it out.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Anthony responded, but his voice lacked his previous conviction. “I am angry,” he repeated, his voice breaking as he tried to convince himself of his feelings. 

“It’s not a crime to feel things for someone, you know. Even when they don’t work out.”

“What is the point then? If they amount to nothing?” Anthony pressed, struggling to find a greater reason for the complete heartbreak he felt day in and day out. 

It was torture to be away from you, to be sure. But he knew he would never be able to hold it together if he saw you in the flesh. Regardless, that didn’t stop him from missing you. Your rosy perfume. The way you threw your head back when you laughed. How tightly your hands held his hand when you were anxious about something.

And that was what killed him. He’d had real and profound feelings for you. He thought that was it. That you were it. He’d thought he'd found the person he was going to marry. He’d found his present and his future and everything in betweem.

But it had all been a lie. And so the anger kept coming back. And he could do nothing to stop it. 

It was misplaced anger, he knew. At you, at the world, at the fact that your courses had come and you would not have his child, and at the fact that he could never have you in a way that truly mattered. 

“That is exactly what makes you human, Anthony. You can’t go around life expecting to never be hurt. It’s a rare thing to feel that way about someone.”

“Good. I’m glad it’s rare. I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy.”

“Anthony!” Violet gasped, scandalized. “Love is not a curse.”

“It certainly feels like one.”

“You could still be with her, you know. All this misplaced love, it’ll do you no good to keep it bottled up.”

“I can’t,” insisted Anthony, his voice breaking again. “I wanted to marry her still. I even asked her. I thought she’d love me back if I only had some time to convince her. But she didn’t want to marry me,” he confessed, succumbing to his feelings and putting his head in his hands as he cried. 

“Why don’t you try talking to her again?” suggested Violet, rubbing her son’s back comfortingly. 

“I can’t,” he replied, rubbing his eyes. “It’s for the better.”

—

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