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harlowhockeystick · 3 months

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LOVESTRUCK, WENT STRAIGHT TO MY HEAD ⎯ S. CROSBY

y/n just wants the best for her son, she thinks the program rule of no freshmen players on varsity is stupid. she just did what any mother would do...right?

coach!sidney crosby x teacher!single mom!reader

warnings: angst, smut (fingering, handjob, sex on a table), somewhat of an inappropriate relationship, single parent content, light talk of divorce, lowkey based off of "slut!" by taylor swift

word count: 4,244

a/n: look at that....i do still know how to write

The bitterness of the coffee wasn’t doing it’s job. On her third cup and it’s not even ten in the morning, Y/N waits for the next period of students to walk through her door. Taking in one of the few moments of silence she has, she refreshes the page on the sports page on the school website, itching to see her son’s name.

Carter had tryouts with the hockey team last week, he had been talking about it since the beginning of the month. He was training every day to make varsity; in leagues ever since he was ten years old every single coach and spectator could not brag enough on how much talent he had. Y/N was pressured to send him across the country, even out of the country, to go to the top hockey camps but as a single mother she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t bear to send her baby off to some strangers for a few months, and she couldn't afford to move away from family either.

But her heart dropped as she refreshed the page, pulled up this season's roster, and saw her son’s name and number on the junior varsity roster instead of varsity. She didn’t understand it, she was told by the coaches herself that he was the best kid on the ice that day. Why didn’t he make varsity?

Her questions were interrupted by students flooding into the classroom for the start of the next period. She pulled herself out of her thoughts to then teach this class period. Reluctantly though.

The final bell rang and that meant she was done for the day. Saying goodbye to her students Y/N started to gather papers and put them in the “to grade” folder to take home with her before tidying up some areas of the room. She anticipated her son’s arrival. Ever since moving up to high school he always stopped by her room at the end of the day to talk about school and help her carry things to her car.

“I didn’t make it.” Carter said as a greeting when he walked in the empty room. His face was defeated, his tall slender frame was slumped over in sadness and his eyes welling with tears. Out of all people Y/N knew and saw how hard he worked to make varsity his freshman year. He skated over fifty laps a day, worked on shots in the garage until way past dusk, he also started to lift more weights.

“Oh baby, c’mere,” Y/N pulled her much taller son in for a hug. There he broke and rested into his mother's arms like a little kid again. He softly cried before pulling away.

“I don’t get it mom, they told me i’d make it for sure, why would he tell me-” “Don’t worry about it son, I will talk to the coach first thing in the morning. I promise. But for now you have to play the cards you were dealt,” Y/N consoled her son in the way moms know how. Gathering her bags she gave the heaviest one to Carter to help carry out the building. They continued chatting on the way to her car, talking about school and homework he had for the week. Carter was a special kid, he deeply cared about his grade and education. He remembers promising his mom when he was younger that if he ever got to play hockey in college that he would get his degree and not go to the draft early.

Carter was a momma’s boy through and through. His dad lived an hour away so he spent the weekends there twice a month, but he’s at his mom’s house the rest of the time. Carter is also protective of his mom too. He never told her this, but he’s beat in a couple boys’ faces because they made some lewd comments about her. He’s respectful of her, more than any other man on earth ever has been. Y/N is very proud of how she’s raised her son.

“Okay son, go to practice. Have a positive attitude, don’t do anything stupid okay? I know you’re frustrated but just go into practice and do you, maybe they got you mixed up with someone else. But-” she saw his facial expressions change and get tense, she knew that he was still angry inside, “hey, don’t get mad at them. Wait until I talk and then you and I will figure something out.”

They walked in opposite directions, Carter to the athletic building and Y/N back to the school for one more item in her classroom. Hustling as best she can so she can get home, she runs into the person she didn’t want to speak to until in the morning. Coach Crosby.

She felt her body coil and tense up in anger at just the sight. She was supposed to wait until morning, but her tongue got the best of her.

“Coach! Hey, can I ask you a quick question?” she pulls him to the side, into an empty classroom where the teacher had left for the day.

“What’s up?” Sidney asked, sitting down on one of the wooden desks. He was wearing black joggers, a tight pullover with a school cap on. Y/N couldn’t help but notice how the material of his clothing clung to his toned body. He had been out of the professional league for at least two years, but he still kept up the physical shape of his body, and it was obvious by the way his pants were stretching at the seams on his thighs.

“I really don’t want to be that parent, but can you tell me why Carter didn’t make varsity?” Sidney cocks his head to the side. He’s only been on sight three months and he’s already dealing with this.

“Well, it’s my understanding that freshmen must be on the JV team, no matter how good they are. That rule was put in place before I got here.” He explained while crossing his arms over his chest, his muscles making his pullover look incredibly small on his frame. “He’s a good kid though, he’ll make great improvements this year and I'll look forward to having him on varsity next year.” Sidney said, trying to end the conversation and smooth things over.

“But…you’re the new coach. This is your program now, not someone else’s.” Y/N couldn’t really understand what he was getting at. Did he not see the potential in her son that everyone seemed to say? Did he not see the great player, the great athlete that Carter was? Maybe it was just her being a mother, and so obviously her child is the best compared to other kids. But she swore she didn’t want to be like those parents. She remembers being a kid in youth sports herself and hated parents who thought their kid should be player of the week every week. In her mind, she needed to earn player of the week because of her work ethic, not because her parents were board members.

“Right but I'm not trying to ruffle any feathers my first year. This is barely my program, I need to establish relationships before I change things here,” Y/N takes a step closer to Sidney, her hands folded in front of her.

“But you’re Sidney Crosby, who can say no to you?” God she feels horrible for doing this, she feels like…like some junior league mom whose husband has nothing between his ears. But she thinks, if she can just rile him up for a minute, startle him, then he’ll change his mind and put Carter on varsity. That’s her end goal, get her son feeling better. If that means pretending to be a horny college student again, so be it. “I mean really, they had to give you this job cause they trust you. So obviously you can do what you want, like putting my son on your varsity team.”

He sighs, looking down at his shoes. He knows what she’s doing…and he can’t believe it’s sort of working. He hasn’t had a woman flirt with him in heaven knows how long. He doesn’t even know how to respond to such a thing anymore. His life for the past almost twenty years has been nothing but hockey. Sidney’s family has been asking him for a long time when he is going to settle down with someone, but nobody ever scratched that itch quite like hockey did. But now? That he’s got a woman in front of him, a gorgeous one at that, who’s buttering him up? Maybe he’ll give in…just to see what it feels like.

“Your son is a hell of a player, Y/N. He really could go far,” His words got heavier as she got closer, he could smell her perfume, he could feel her breath, he could see her chest move up and down with every huff she took- “so put him on your team, Coach.” she put her hand on his chest softly and she sighed feeling his stern muscles. “C’mon, what’s it gonna take? Dinner and a show?”

His eyes, dark and blown, looked into hers and if he remembers what the term eye fucking means then that’s exactly what they were doing. His breaths became short but heavy as she left a heavy hand on his chest. She rubbed her thumb over his cheek, trying her best to work her charm that she used to have. She hopes she’s still got it.

He thinks, thinks, and thinks. This is a bad decision.

“My place, six thirty tomorrow evening. Give me your best sales pitch, and we’ll see about the show.”

Sidney stands up and for a brief second his nose bumps hers, an innocent touch but it makes him take a deep breath in to calm himself down. He exits the empty class room and takes long strides to get to practice, glancing at his watch he’s already a few minutes behind.

She’s eternally grateful that Carter is with his dad this weekend. How could she explain to him that she’s not really going on a date…but she’s going to his coach's house with plans to seduce him..but again it’s not a date. Of course, she’d have to leave out the seducing part. She put on her best dress that she had, it was pretty simple but it hugged her figure nicely. She made sure to spritz some extra perfume on as well.

The drive to Sidney’s house is silent, it’s her having fake conversations in her head about what to say or what not to say. Debating on if her seduction speech was still on date or if it’s too cheesy now. She suddenly feels like she lives in the lowest tax bracket possible when entering his neighborhood; she's never seen so many fake lawns before. She’s actually never been on this side of town much, except to look at christmas lights when Carter was younger. Now that he’s older he doesn’t care for that stuff anymore.

“Nice place you’ve got,” she said walking into his entry way. To her surprise Sidney dressed up a little bit, wearing a button up with a nice pair of slacks, the top two buttons undone for visual purposes of course. He takes her coat and her purse, hanging it up by the door. “What’s on the menu?”

“Well, I figured I'd go simple with just spaghetti and toast, with dessert to follow if that’s okay.” Sidney went into his pantry and pulled out a bottle of red wine. “This okay?” He holds the bottle in the air and she nods her head, sitting at his kitchen bar watching him pour a glass. She takes a glance at the label and she’s taken back. On her teacher salary she definitely can’t afford that brand.

Maybe she’s in over her head here- she didn’t think about any of this stuff. Suddenly she’s this woman who doesn’t have much to her name, sitting in a millionaire’s kitchen drinking wine that costs well over two hundred dollars- but damn if it doesn’t taste good.

They make small talk before heading into the dining room where he sets dinner onto the table for her, such a gentleman. Continuing the semi dull conversation she thanks him for making a meal for her, joking that she’s never had a man make dinner for her. Only half true, her dad growing up would make dinners for her family. But when she married Carter’s dad, she was the chef in the family. Not that she was complaining, it was just odd for her to be on the reverse side for the first time in a while.

“I am sorry about that idiotic rule, Y/N. Carter can easily be a varsity player.” Sidney broke the minute silence after finishing off his second glass of wine that night. She huffs, finishing her plate and scooting it away from her on the table. Was she really about to do this?

“Is there anything I can do, sidney? C’mon my boy’s in shambles, he’s thinking that he’s not as good as everyone makes him out to be,” Y/N reaches her hand out to rest on his softly. “Is there anything I can do?”

Y/N hoped he knew what she was implying and that she didn’t have to say it out loud.

And he did.

He understood every word she said and the words that were left unsaid. He knew what she was implying and he knew what she was getting at. But Sidney hated that he was willing to do what she wanted. Y/N was leaning forward on the table, getting close enough to Sidney where he could smell her perfume and her lotion mixed together, he could see a couple small freckles up close as he couldn’t see them from a bit further away.

There were no words exchanged between them, his eyes kept drifting from her tinted lips to her lustful eyes, back and forth a couple times before resting his hand on her cheek and pressing his lips against hers gently. Immediately he felt a rush of arousal- it’s just a kiss, really? He silently asked himself. He hadn’t gotten this aroused in a while, a long while.

Both parties leaned into the kiss, wanting and aching for more. They tasted wine on each other and felt each other’s temperature begin to rise. Sidney got out of his chair, lips still connected to hers, and got closer. She stood up, one hand cupping his chin and the other resting on his chest, and she leaned against the dining table. She hadn’t made out with someone in years, she hopes she’s doing it right.

She gets pushed onto the table just by the force of his body so now she’s sitting on the wooden table, Sidney standing in between her legs with both of his hands cupping her face. He doesn’t care if he seems desperate or if he seems needy, or if this is totally wrong and against almost all of the words he signed in his contract, he can’t seem to get enough of her. Sidney feels her play with the buttons of his shirt and how she begins to pull the shirt up and out of his dress pants. It was easy since he wasn’t wearing a belt.

He didn’t even know that she completely unbuttoned his shirt until he felt her hands roam all over his naked chest, her hands slowly raking up and down his toned muscles. He takes a breath and scans her body. Her skin is hot to the touch, her eyes are completely blown now and her lips are parted. “How do I get this off you?” he asked, taking a fist of the hem of her dress.

“There's a tie in the back,” she huffed out, not able to take her hands off his body. Plus, she wants him to take it off of her.

“You tied this yourself?” he asked in shock, surprised at how she tied such a perfect bow on her back with such thin strings.

“I’ve been tying, zipping, buttoning my dresses myself for the past twelve years now, safe to say I got pretty good at it.” God- has she been alone for the past twelve years? Nobody to love on, kiss on, touch on this wonderful body of hers? Sidney takes in a sharp breath when he pulls the dress off of her and he gives her body a quick scan over. Wearing a strapless bra that she’s almost spilling out of, she has on silk leopard print panties that he can’t help but notice a significant damp spot on.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, hands roaming over her soft skin. “Don’t make fun of me, it’s been a long time since I've hooked up with someone.” because that’s just what this is, a hookup. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I haven’t since I got divorced, so it's the same here.” she hooks her leg around his pulling him closer. He pressed his lips against hers again this time most softly. His hand goes down to play with the hem of her panties, “you sure about this?”

“Very sure, don’t mess with a pissed off mama sidney.” she pulls him down with her as she lays down on the table. He kisses down her body, she arches her back and lets him take her bra off. Tossing it onto the floor Sidney wraps his lips around one of her hardened nipples. She lets out a heavenly sounding moan at the action.

It’s been so long she could cum just from Sidney doing this for a couple minutes longer. One hand slips down over her clothed cunt, rubbing her sensitive and wet area. She arches her body into his, already she’s lost in a great euphoric high that she can’t even mumble words. All that’s coming out is moans and gasps.

He removes his mouth and Sidney stands up, she watches up on her elbows as he takes his pants off and removes his boxers. She bites her lip at the size - the sight - of his hardened dick in his hand. She reaches out for it herself, “you’ll give me what I want, and I promise you won’t regret it.” he thought for a moment too long, she began to doubt herself but he spoke up, “deal.”

She licks her hand before taking a grip on his cock. Slowly she starts stroking up and down, keeping harsh eye contact with sidney. She gives him a nice squeeze and a twist of her hand which makes him throw his head back in pleasure. He can only do so much with his hand, it’s nice to have someone else for a change. Y/N scoots closer to him on the table, with one of his hands he works his hand over one of her breasts softly massaging it. She leans into his touch and continues to work her hands over his hard cock.

He moves his hand from her breast down and slips it into her soaked panties. At first his fingers were a little cold but they quickly warmed up after being immersed in her sex. He circles around her clit a couple times, getting familiar with the female body again. He explores for a minute or two, his middle finger teasing her hole. The more he teases her the harder her grip gets on his cock. He pulls his hand out of her panties, they’ve never broken eye contact this whole time and he sucks everything off of his hand. God that was hot.

Sidney removes her hand from his cock fearing if she kept going he would cum all over her hand and that wasn’t what he wanted to do. He’s panting heavy now, his body forming sweat on his forehead. He pushes her down onto the table with a palm on her chest lining his cock up with her entrance, “wait do I need any-”

She chuckles, “that ship sailed a while ago, just fuck me like you mean it coach.”

With her permission she slides in and she lets out a long, loud, moan as he does it. He wants to hear that on repeat for the rest of his life, he swears. Sidney puts both hands on her hips, keeping her body steady as he rocks in and out of her, his hips meeting her every time.

Sidney allows to feel himself in her warm, wet walls. He throws his head back in pleasure and she shuts her eyes tight. Her hands come up to her breasts to add to the pleasure, fingers pinching both of her nipples as she feels his huge cock pump in and out of her small hole. He feels like he’s three feet deep inside of her, he feels lost in how good she feels. His head grows foggy each time he squeezes her.

Sidney hits the spongy spot in her tight cunt that made her gasp out in pleasure, she sang his name like a chant over and over which made him fuck her harder and harder. She warned him about her orgasm and he did the same, begging her to cum with him. A few more pumps of his cock he spilled his heavy load inside of her and she moaned loudly like a queen when he did. He pulled his cock out of her, watching his load spill out with it.

Maybe it was the post orgasm haze she was in, maybe it was the lovestruck feeling she had the minute they began making out, but minutes later she’s standing between him and the cold shower wall. His forehead pressed against hers. His fingers knuckle deep in her cunt and a hand wrapped around her throat as hot water rained down on either of them, her cunt squeezing his thick fingers while she couldn’t even say anything but his name. That’s exactly what he wanted.

The hot shower water kept her eyes shut but she knew that he was gazing at her. He was in awe of her facial expressions, how she bit her lip through a smile with every jerk he made with his hand, when she furrowed her eyebrows when she was on the edge of cumming, and how she cocked her head to the side while he kissed around her neck silently asking for more.

He took his hand away from her pussy, licking the honey off his fingers. He stayed that close to her though knowing her legs were probably jello and she wasn’t able to stand for at least a minute or two.

She took a deep breath, “got what you wanted?” she asked in a joking tone, moving her hand up and down his chest in the hot steamy shower. He chuckled, his hands never leaving her body. He palmed her breasts, he seemed to have a thing for those she contemplated, heavy lustful eyes staring into hers.

“How many more you got in you?” he asked, spreading her legs with his thigh.

“I can give you as much as you want.” Y/N answered, her hands slowly roaming down lower and lower on his chest and stomach.

“Then no, I didn’t get what I want yet.”

She woke up in Sidney’s bed the next morning with messy hair and sore muscles. Looking over on the nightstand the clock read 8:02 AM. She was glad that it was a Saturday and she was able to sleep in. She saw that Sidney was still asleep, he laid on his stomach with his head facing the other way. Looking over his back, studying the freckles, the faded scars. Y/N wants to stay in this moment for as long as she can.

She hates to admit but she really fell for Sidney. Not because of how skilled he was in bed, or because he could do wicked things with his hands, but she shared a few heartfelt conversations with him before tryouts even began.

He cared for the kids at school, the kids he taught and the kids he coached. He had a heart for the coming generation. He wanted them to have someone in their corner, and some kids don’t have that at home and he wants to be that. She got lovestruck in the past few months, sure she never planned on sleeping with him, she felt young again with how big of a crush she had. It went straight to her head, it all moved so fast.

God if her mother were still here she could just hear the word “slut!” come out of her mouth if her mom found out what happened. But she wouldn’t care. She enjoyed it, and she was sure Sidney enjoyed it too.

But still, she can’t help but think to herself what did I just do?

Sidney turns his head and sees that she’s also awake. Raising up he sees the time, 8:10. He doesn’t even care that he missed his morning workout session an hour late. He puts his arm around her and pulls her closer to him, tucking his head in her neck. With dry lips Sidney placed a tender lingering kiss on her hot skin.

It might be worth it for once, she thinks.

feedback | masterlist | au tag

tagging mutuals to boost, let me know if you don’t want to be tagged! @fallinallincurls @nylwnder @bitchinbarzal @ilyasorokinn @leafsbabe @twinklelilstarkey @raysofcrosby @lcandothisallday

#j's writing #sidney crosby #coach!sidney #sidney crosby x reader #sidney crosby imagine #nhl imagine #nhl x reader #nhl writing #nhl smut #sidney crosby smut #nhl x you #smut #drabble #blurb

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starry-bi-sky · 2 months

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Hello Starry! I just had a thought about your Danyal al Ghul AU, and didn't have anyone else to share it with, so here we go:

If in this universe Bruce is Jewish, and Danny knows this(probably from a google search), he may wear a Star of David necklace to have a piece of his father with him at all times, since he knows he will never get to meet him. Or maybe the necklace sits in a box under a floorboard, because he can't stand the constant reminder of the father he'll never get to have. Maybe he observes Sam and her family celebrate Jewish holidays, or he learns how to by himself, but uses the time to mourn, instead of celebrate.

Anyways, hope all is well, and thank you for sharing your writing!

AAHHHH??? YOUR BRAIN??? Thank you!! I love sharing my writing, it soothes my need for attention lol. lmao, even. (Also how did you know i was thinking of my danyal al ghul au today -- i have an unfinished draft that i was thinking of delving into after my work meeting) also aahh!!!!!!!! im so happy that you wanted to share your thoughts with me about it <333

But dude BOTH of these ideas are soo?? GOOD and ANGSTY. I love angsty. Danny would for sure know if Bruce was Jewish, lil guy did an obsessive amount of research on his dad the moment he got his hands on a computer and figured out how they worked. Danny has like, a three inch thick folder almost on his father alone. Anything he could get his hands on, he's got it. That thickness is almost exclusively from his first like, six months in Amity Park. He keeps it in a box in his closet, along with his growing-folder on Damian and his achievements as Damian Wayne. He pages through it when he's feeling like mourning.

First off: him wearing a Star of David necklace to feel connected to Bruce. That is SO sad and I love it so much. He bought it with an allowance he'd been given when he first started living with the Fentons, he keeps it tucked under his shirt so nobody even knows he has it. Sam and Tucker don't until it slips out while he's hanging out with them and when they ask him about it, Danny very reluctantly tells them that his father is Jewish. When he's distracted, nervous, or sad, he fidgets with it. How this looks is that he looks like he's kinda rubbing his chest, like ungrasping and grasping something.

Second Off: him keeping it in a box under the floorboards. That is also so, so good. He's got it in the box along with a few other things that remind him of his father and Damian and his mother. He takes it out when he's feeling particularly lonely and homesick, it's a feeling that never really goes away even after five years of living in Amity Park. It's like a longing for something you'll never see again, but isn't that just how grief works? i can just imagine him sitting against the bed, late at night and back from patrol. He's still in his ghost form, his katana laid on the ground next to him, and his almost bird-like cape pooling down beside him as he cups the necklace in his hand like he's cradling an egg. Maybe he's bleeding from somewhere, and he's telling the necklace about patrol, murmured soft in Arabic.

When he finds out Sam is Jewish he probably, after much consideration, asks if he can observe their holidays -- after all, researching Jewish holidays only does so much. Sam agrees when he explains why, much to her parents chagrin, and he sometimes tags along. But once he gets an understanding of how they go, he starts doing it on his own. Somewhat. He celebrates with Sam for most of it, and then has some time to himself where he celebrates it on his own. So it's a little bit of both.

^^^ which brings me to thinking about my danyal snippet here where Sam is at a Wayne gala and tears into her parents over Danny in front of Bruce. And it's making me think of, with this idea in mind, Sam in a moment of emotional impulsivity, saying "I know that he wears a Star of David because his father is Jewish and he wants to be closer to him, because he loves him so very fucking much." And while saying that, briefly makes direct eye contact with Bruce as a way to tell him "I know you're his fucking dad. Look at the son you have left behind."

If only for the emotional gut punch that can leave Bruce with. 🥰

Thank you for the ask! I had a lot of fun responding to it, have a fantastic evening/day/night.

#dp x dc #dpxdc #danny fenton is not the ghost king #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #danyal al ghul #danyal al ghul au #older brother danny #also courtesy of my good friend the-navistar-carol danyal is very 'paul revere' by noah kahan coded. you should def give it a listen if you #have the time. the lyrics go HARD look: 'but I'm in my car and I see the yard. the patch of grass where we buried the dog and the world-#makes sense behind a chainlink fence. if i could leave i would've already left.' AND 'and when they ask me who i am. i'll say i'm not from #around here.' like absolutely go take a listen if you have the time.#if anyone were to see him while he's talking to the necklace they might see him crying once or twice. but that's not possible.#al ghuls do not cry.

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orphicdreamers-wp · 4 months

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I Know The End — Nico Hischier

Summary; In which a rumor started turns into you staring the end of your lifelong dream in the eye

Content Warnings: Blackmail, false accusations of assault, mentions of cancer, mentions of blood, mentions of suicidal thoughts, mentions of death during childbirth, angst, Jack & Luke Hughes acting out of character, pick me fem oc(Julia), Nico being caught in the crossfire, inaccuracies of being banned from the NHL, female NHL player

Pairing: Nico Hischier & Fem Reader

You had always loved hockey, your father held the highest pride in his only daughter enjoying his favorite sport. He’d played hockey briefly for a professional team in Germany when you were really young. So it didn’t come as a surprise to him when you decided you wanted to play hockey as well. He was reserved to let you play, your mother had died a few years earlier. She died during childbirth with your younger brother, Vincent and your dad didn’t want to lose you too. But reluctantly he agreed to let you play, because he saw how much you loved it.

So you played hockey from your seventh year in school and you eventually made it onto the Professional Women’s League’s Boston team for about a year and a half. But that wasn’t where you heart was. Your father had encouraged you to go for the NHL, but he didn’t make it to your draft. He had been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer and had stopped responding to treatment just weeks before the draft was scheduled. He had passed away the night before you were drafted by the New Jersey Devils.

You knew before you were drafted that playing on a team with a bunch of guys wouldn’t be easy. You knew that you would find yourself the brunt of the jokes and facing a lot of hazing from the men. But you didn’t mind it, as long as you got to do what you loved you didn’t mind if the men who were on your team hated you and the idea of you being there. As time progressed only one of the players really seemed to be okay with your presence, Nico seemed to enjoy being around you. Whenever the team won and would go out to celebrate Nico always kindly extended the invitation to you, knowing the other guys weren’t.

You rarely accepted but whenever you did you found yourself enjoying the time spent with Nico and occasionally the other players when they were in decent enough moods to tolerate you. So it wasn’t a surprise when you and Nico wound up intertwined in each other and eventually became a couple. But that never would have worked out, not in a million years. So you and him broke up and within a month he was already seeing someone new. Her name was Julia, and you liked her enough. She was smart and kind. But if you knew then that she would be the reason your in the position you are you would have never spoken to her.

You were leaned against the boards untaping your stick after practice when your head coach Lindy Ruff approached you, “I need to see you in my office now.” You were taken aback by the urgency in his tone as you could feel eyes on you. You frowned slightly as you made your way to his office. You raised an eyebrow as you walked into a room full of men, you were used to it so you sat down and waited as an uncertain feeling loomed over your head.

Coach Ruff spoke ever so gently, as if he was scared of your reaction to the news he had, “I’m sure you know Comissioner Gary Bettman, Director of Officiating Stephen Walkom, Security Officer Miles Anderson and this is attorney Leslie Ryans.” You furrowed an eyebrow further growing confused, “What’s going on coach?” Coach Ruff blew out a deep breath, “Over the past 2 days a lot of rumors have been circulating regarding you and some unacceptable behavior.” You frowned, “I haven’t seen anything, what are you referring to?”

Coach Ruff slid a folder across the desk and you stared at the papers inside. It was printed out screenshots from a Twitter account. The tweet was from Nico’s current girlfriend, Julia. It went in depth of an alleged assault she experienced because at your hands because you were jealous of her and her relationship with Nico. You frowned as you shut the folder and dropped it on the desk, “Coach you don’t seriously believe I could do that, do you?”

Coach Ruff shook his head, “This was not the decision made by just me Y/N. This was all the coaching staff here’s decision. Along with Director Walkom. But most importantly this was Commissioner Bettman’s decision. It looks bad for the organization. I’m sorry but the only choice I have is to remove you from my roster and tell you that you are barred from the team and the NHL as a whole for the foreseeable future.”

You shook your head as you stood up, feeling your voice raise, “This is unfair to me. You all just sat behind a closed door and unanimously decided that my career and my reputation were worthless while you believed baseless claims about me that have nothing to back them up?” You ran a hand over your damp cheeks, “How the hell is this fair to me?”

Coach Ruff shook his head, “It’s out of my hands. Pack your stuff.” You shook your head, “How can you do this to me? To reach deep inside of me and pull out everything I have ever worked for and throw it on the ground so carelessly? I resent it.”

A sob wracked through your chest as you took a deep breath, “This is bullshit. I shouldn’t have left Germany, I can’t believe your taking the last piece of my dad away from me. I resent that and I resent you all for that.” You opened the door to the office and were met with Nico, Jack and Luke sporting solemn expressions. Your eyes were bloodshot and stained with tears.

You walked past them and began to empty the contents of your locker. Nico spoke quietly, “Are you okay?” You glared at him as you dropped some of you items into the box, “Like you care.” You dropped the last items in your box as you began to untape the photos of you and your dad and your friends in various places. You picked up your box, the past 4 years of your life amounting to a single box. You sighed as you walked past Nico, “Keep your lying ass bitch away from me. Or god help me it won’t be a rumor anymore.”

Nico frowned at your words, “What the hell is she talking about?” Luke let out a defeated sigh, “This.” He handed Nico his phone as Nico slowly digested the information he was reading. He handed Luke his phone as he found himself driving to Julia’s house. The door opened and Julia smiled widely at the sight of her boyfriend, “Hi baby!” Nico’s tense demeanor didn’t shift, “Why would you post that? I know that’s a lie, why?” Julia’s face paled, “Why do you care? It’s not about you!”

Nico scoffed, “Because you just got her fired for good. She’s banned from the NHL, not just fined. This was the most important thing to her. Why would you do that?” Julia’s voice lowered, sounding similar to a small child who was in trouble, “Jack asked me to get rid of her.” Nico’s eyes widened, “What?” Julia’s eyes watered, “Jack told me that if I didn’t find a way to get her off the team he would tell you about me and Dawson.” Nico raised an eyebrow, “What about you and Dawson?” Julia sniffled, “We hooked up at that party Jack threw.” Nico scoffed, “I don’t care. We’re over, fix this.”

A good month had passed and you had finally accepted that you were done in the NHL. You were packing up your apartment in New Jersey so you could move home to Germany with your grandparents and finally start school. Your phone rang, you frowned slightly as you read Nico’s name across the screen and answered, “Hey what’s up?” Nico’s soft voice filled your ears, “Check Twitter.” You frowned as you opened the Twitter app on your phone when Nico hung up.

You frowned as your phone began to ring endlessly, teams leaving voicemails telling you that they’d love to have you, Coach Ruff leaving messages apologizing and asking you to return. A message from Nico made you smile briefly. He told you to do what you already knew to do. You smiled as you typed out a quick response ‘I did. Check Twitter’

#hockey player x reader #fanfic #hockey #nhl #nhl fanfiction #nico hischier x y/n #nico hischer x reader #nico hischier x reader #nico hischer #nj devils #jack hughes

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willowworkswithwords · 3 months

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Steve receives love the way he gives it and doesn’t know what to do with himself.

so i was going through my drafts folder because i'm thinking it's time to dip my foot back into the fic writing pool, and I found this collection of snippets and ideas that all stemmed from this post from @rogueddie. I thought about maybe elaborating on some of these, but I also wanted to share because I really enjoyed this idea. I also think I may have posted about this a long while back, but I'm pretty sure it wasn't the whole thing.

-Future -> uses a pen like a sorta-stylus to hit each of his computer keys sometimes. Eddie figures out it’s because the keys don’t have enough physical separation between them (they’re so shallow) and it sometimes messes with his eyes [is this a feasible vision issue he might have??] so Eddie buys him an “old fashioned” keyboard with the big keys, one of the big colorful trendy ones.

-Eddie and Wayne keep the foods he like, foods he’ll always eat no matter what. Eddie notices that he’ll never ask for any special foods when Wayne makes the grocery list (when he moves in with them) so he starts being sneaky and goes on a recon mission a.k.a. asking Robin, Nancy, and the kids what he likes. Since Steve also loves to cook, Eddie looks through his cookbooks and recipe box and finds the ones with notes on them and him and Wayne practice how to make them

“Hey Wayne?”

“Yeah?” Wayne calls from the couch, beer in hand and the game on.

Steve steps out from the kitchen, box of tea in hand.

“Where’d this come from?”

Wayne doesn’t turn around.

“What is it?”

“Uh, the tea?”

“Picked that up for you the other day, since you were saying you like it better than coffee sometimes.”

“Yeah but… you and Eddie don’t like tea?”

He doesn’t know why he says it like a question.

Wayne tilts his head against the back of the couch, craning it to look at Steve in a way that’s so reminiscent of Eddie it makes Steve smile a little.

“You do, though.”

-Right before Steve moves in, when he’s an anxious mess because his parents are coming back but he doesn’t realize he’s anxious for that reason, he starts hiding little bits of his stuff in the trailer, mostly in Eddie’s room and around the kitchen. This puzzles Eddie but Wayne thinks it’s like Steve’s trying to expel his energy in a not-so-productive way, though there are worse ways. So, Wayne starts asking Steve to help more around the house, but especially with repairs bc they found out that Steve knew a lot about repair.

Steve’s been around a lot. Wayne sees his pile of folded bedding tucked behind the couch, and sometimes he sees the Beemer leaving the trailer park as he comes up the road from the plant. During daylight hours, when Steve comes by to help Eddie or brings the kids over or stays for dinner, he shows almost no signs of anything being wrong.

But Wayne is a combat veteran. It’s been a long time for him, but he hasn’t forgotten, and he never will. He knows his nephew went through war, and that Steve was right alongside him. From what Wayne has gathered, Steve had been in that war for a few years, and had been dealing with the ups-and-downs for two years before Eddie ever knew about it.

It hurts Wayne deeply, to see the children (because that’s what they are—as he and all his comrades had been) endure the aftermath. So he sees when Steve flinches, when he clenches his fists, when he holds his breath and makes himself breathe evenly.

Tonight is the least in-control he’s ever seen Steve.

He’s over for dinner again. All three of them are in the living room, a baseball game on, much to Eddie’s long-suffering sighs.

-Steve will make his opinion known about arbitrary stuff like movies and music, but if it’s been a Bad Day or a Bad Time, and he does, and Eddie reacts to it in a way Steve sees as criticism, he will then defer everything to Eddie to a frustrating degree. Eddie finds out that when it comes to their relationship, not any other relationship Steve has, Steve is extremely afraid of screwing it up so he thinks that means he should let Eddie call all the shots.

-Eddie memorizes Steve’s orders at restaurants

-Eddie sews Steve’s clothes without Steve ever realizing

The sun is just peaking through the windows of the trailer on a Thursday morning when Eddie gets to work. Steve, when exhausted, will sleep through just about anything, and the week had been a long one. Eddie had the opposite problem, finding little respite even curled around Steve. So, the early morning found him gathering up Steve’s clothes and taking them out to the front porch of the trailer.

Already out there on the side table was his sewing kit, spools of thread and thimbles neat and ready. Already out there on the couch was Wayne, sipping his morning post-work coffee and looking out over the misty park.

Without a word, Eddie settled onto his end of the couch, knees pulled up, and grabbed one of Steve’s jeans. There was a rip along the inseam, and Eddie took to it with steady persistence. After the jeans were shirts and three sweatshirts. Stitch after stitch after stitch, and soon Steve wasn’t left with a single hole in all his wardrobe.

“He still hasn’t figured it out yet?” Wayne asks, grinning into his coffee.

“Nope. I’ve almost convinced him of the existence of brownies.”

Wayne barks a laugh and Eddie smiles down at the last rip he’s fixing, laughing with his uncle. Steve has been with them for a month and is just now finally easing up, finally letting them both in—for the big and small. Noticing Steve get frustrated with all the holes in his clothes was the least Eddie could do for him, and if it warms him from the inside out when Steve excitedly rustles through his pile of clothes and realizes they’re all perfectly wearable, well. That was just a plus.

-Eddie compliments Steve on his personality and who he is more than what he does, because especially in the first couple years after Vecna, while both of their bodies are still healing, Steve feels a lot of guilt about not being able to do all the things he used to be able to do to the same degree. Even once he’s healed and starts being able to be physical like he used to, Eddie knows Steve equates his value with his service, and tries to help him realize that he is so much more.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #wayne munson #wayne munson is a good uncle #wayne munson cares very much about eddie and about steve #wayne munson is an excellent ally #and excellent uncle #eddie loves steve so much #and he tries so hard to help steve see that #acts of service #speaking in your partner's love language #speaking other people's love languages as the secret sixth love language #willow writes #my fic #willow talks

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aislinrayne · 2 months

Text

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim. Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet. Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

“Evening, sorry to wake you. This is James, calling from The Royal Oak. Is there a, uh-” Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, “-sorry, did you say…? Really, sweetheart? Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”

Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address? She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her. But, uh, she-” James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’? Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that… That does it. He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

“Uh… Yeah, she- she’s ours. Probably talking about our boss, then. I’ll, uh… I’ll go wake him. I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.” He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.

He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door. Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead. There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

“What?!” A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

“Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street? Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.” George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.

Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm. He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

“Can you call me a Night Cab, please? Offer them double fare to prioritise.” He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on. His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

Anthony is properly worried. Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant. They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece. He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later. When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room. None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that. He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way. Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt. With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it. The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

“Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.” He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one. “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate? Fix it.” Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag. It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes. The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle. It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.

He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons. Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up. And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.

She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before. Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances. He isn’t the only one noticing her. There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust. A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs. She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care. Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall. The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be. Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her. The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm. Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack. When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls. Hard. She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

Huh. He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop. Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip. The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain. Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety. At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.

Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table. Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him. He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up. She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages. He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground. Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support. She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help. Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

“Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?” He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise. If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind. Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch. Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings. Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee. He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand. “I take it you must be-”

“‘That selfish wanker’? Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.” He replies, accepting the handshake.

The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction. “James, pleasure to finally meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

Lockwood winces. “Not all bad, hopefully.”

“No, not all bad.” James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh. It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity. “This is all she brought with her. You’ve got a safe way home?”

Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile. “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around. I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.” James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

“And that’s my cue. Pleasure to meet you, James. And, uh-” He glances back at her involuntarily. “Thank you. For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look. “It's what any decent person would do. Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time. She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again. He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.

“Let's get you home, love.” He murmurs, offering his arm again. She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit. Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily. The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all. Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb. It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat. She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in. Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her. She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her. He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space. When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.

She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features. It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing. He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer. The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask; “What’s going on with you?”

She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

“That’s bloody horseshit!” He scoffs, far too tired to hold back. “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.

“Like you care.” She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

“...What?” He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern. “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

She laughs darkly, shaking her head. “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?!” He cries in exasperation.

She whips around to face him. “You knew I was struggling! You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!” Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence. He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind. He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has. If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

“I’m sorry. I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you. And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.” She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on. “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out. I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car. “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back. “...What?”

“The last job? We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t. It-” Her voice shakes, then dies. She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue. “One of them was a Fetch.”

Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say. Is he supposed to say anything at all? If he interrupts now, will she shut him out? If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care? A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.

She hesitantly continues. “It was you.”

He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him. “It wasn’t.”

She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away. When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye. “Right. It did use your face, though.”

“Whatever it said, it isn’t true.” He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says; “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it. And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by. His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips.

“Kiss me.”

His hand falls from her face. For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it. When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter. There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability. If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it? If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about? On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession. The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him. Maybe she feels the same as he does. Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself. Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

“Ask me in the morning.” He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth. She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down. He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

“What?” She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment.

Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.”

The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

Once they reach 35 Portland Row, Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab. The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance. He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it. She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability. They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her. “Goodnight, Songbird.”

“That’s a stupid nickname.” She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste. When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on. “Goodnight, Anthony. Sweet dreams.”

He disagrees completely, of course. From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard. Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it. He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek. By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought. When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

“I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender. That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.” She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth. Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

Why would he want that? Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind. “Please don’t leave.”

“...What?” Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him. As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language. Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes. She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron. He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life. On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis. His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it. And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips. Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

“Did you mean what you said last night?” He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

“I said a lot of things.” She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously. “Which part?”

He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly. “Yeah, I did. Every word.”

Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up. She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his. He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck. She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips. He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer. She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.

“Kiss me.” She breathes.

He doesn’t need to be told a third time. He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his. The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height. Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story. He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.

As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm. Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path. The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie. Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material. When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.

Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs. As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other. Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

“Please don’t hold back. I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.” He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger. She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly. All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat. She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

The front door slams open, startling them apart. There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

“OI, MATE!” George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other. A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about. He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest. They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his. Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple. She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him. He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

“Hey, look at me.” He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze. “What’s on your mind, darling?”

“I don’t-” She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously. “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips. She softens, melting into his touch.

“Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs. They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing. Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it. She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random. She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

“Good morning!” Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.

“...Morning.” George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss. “How’d it go last night?”

“Um - fine! Yeah, just fine. Perfectly fine. Everything is… fine.” She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.

Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet. “Morning, Georgie!”

Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

George inspects her with narrowed eyes. “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice. “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet. Sorry about that. It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

“Why are you in Lockwood’s room?” His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

She doesn’t miss a beat. “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

Both men fix their eyes on her. Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed. The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it. Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.

She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body. When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, worry laced in every syllable.

“I didn’t even think of that! I could have let you die!” He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.

She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.

“I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.” She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle. When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.

“Call me that again?” He implores, pulling her against him.

With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying. “My love.”

They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down. As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder. For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed. Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips. “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

taglist: @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

#aislin writes #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #x reader #reader insert #x female reader

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fumekara · 2 months

Text

MORE THAN ANYTHING

Kento Nanami x Gn reader

n/a: English is not my first language, besides, this Fic comes from a draft taken some time ago. I hope you enjoy it. It is my first time back to writing in a long time.

Tw: Just pure fluff and soft sfw, I would like to specify that this post does not contain any type of sexual content. The title is inspired by HH's song.

WC: 1.1K

That night you could not fall asleep.

After turning yourself several times on the sheets of the bed, on which you had lain a couple of hours before, you looked at the half-open door through which a dim light filtered from the living room, giving the bedroom a thread of light in the darkness of the night.

You hoped your man would decide to drop the papers and paperwork he often brought home from work and come to bed with you, wrapping you in his arms so you could finally sleep in complete bliss as you usually did.

"I'll be right with you, it won't take long," he had told you when you proposed to sleep with him after you both went through a long day at work.

However, this was one of those evenings when Kento would spend hours on the kitchen table filling out paperwork late into the night. Although he hated office work, he was always diligent and meticulous when it came to completing his tasks.

It was a characteristic that made you feel proud of the man you loved, yet no matter how responsible and careful he was in managing his time and energy, you were sure he was beginning to place less importance on his rest. You wanted so much for him to give up those silly practices and take the rest he deserved.

After staring at the ceiling for an hour, you sat on your side of the bed, shivering from the sudden cold due to the lack of blankets, and looking at the bedside table you saw that 00:50 was written on the screen. And even today he worked late

You got up and, making as little noise as possible, took small steps towards the living room.

Kento was writing something on his laptop, surrounded by a pile of papers divided into folders of various kinds lit by the light of the monitor and the lamp you kept in the corner of the kitchen.

He noticed your presence and gave you a small, tired smile, giving your heart some warmth.

"Are you still awake, love?" He asked as he leaned against the back of the chair.

"I could tell you the same thing," you replied a little sleepily, returning the smile and moving closer to the blond. As sorry as you are that he was exhausted from work, you couldn't help but think about how handsome he was. Even though you'd been together for a few years, the love you felt for this man had always had that effect on you. I've been waiting for you,' you said, heading towards him.

You sit on his lap and he wraps his big arms around you, you notice that the sleeves of his shirt are rolled up and show off his forearms, something he always did when he came home. Leaning his head on your shoulder and inhaling deeply, he loses himself in your scent and warmth. Suddenly all the tiredness he had put aside to work on his papers came over him like a wave of a stormy sea, but the fact that you were there with him gave him a feeling of comfort.

He always felt at home with you.

"I'm sorry Y/N". He rubbed his head in the crook of your neck "I was late again without me noticing" he said, planting a chaste kiss on an exposed spot on your shoulder.

Gently you brushed his hair back with one hand, while with the other you closed the laptop he was working on just now, making it clear that it was time for him to take the rest he so richly deserved.

"Come to sleep, Kento, it's not good for you to stay here late and I miss you," you said as you rested your head on his soft hair on your cheek.

"I know, you're right," he lifted his chin, placing a kiss on your neck, "I don't like leaving you alone either."

Lifting your head slightly, you turned to stare at him, touching his cheek lovingly as you looked intently into his eyes.

Pure love

You couldn't have found any other words to describe the way he looked at you whenever you were in situations like this, alone, with no one else to interrupt you, without Gojo, just the two of you. He made you feel loved, important, and you often thought back to the moment you realized you had fallen in love with him.

As a result, Nanami couldn't understand how he could have you in his life, how lucky he was to have you and how much he regretted making you go through nights like this when he left you alone. He felt selfish and the only thing he wanted at that moment was to go to bed and wrap you in his arms with your head against his chest.

You remained in that position for a long time, a wonderful feeling for both of you. He placed his face on yours and then gave you a kiss on the cheek savoring the aroma.

Without saying anything, you got up from his lap, took his hand without taking your eyes off his and, after switching off the lights, slowly guided him towards your shared bedroom.

"I'm sorry I don't spend much time with you," he said as he shed his work clothes, "I don't want you to stay up because of me, but I appreciate you doing so." After slipping into his sweatpants, he settled next to you in bed as you wrapped him with the quilt.

"You don't have to apologize for working so hard, you have done and are doing a great job. I just want you not to overdo the work, everyone deserves a break and you especially." After turning off the lights you lie down beside him and feel him encircling your waist with his arm "Don't think you are being mean to me Kento, you always do so much for me, you show me that every day and remind me every time you look at me."

In the darkness you could glimpse his small smile that made your heart melt.

"Come here," he told you as he felt butterflies in his stomach, as if he had managed to fall in love with you even more than before.

More than anything.

You felt his grip envelop you even more as you brought faces closer and met lips in a chaste, soft, pure kiss.

When you pulled away, you rested your head on his chest and closed your eyes.

"I love you Y/N."

"I love you too, darling."

You both fell asleep wrapped in bliss.

#jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu nanami #jujutsu kaisen fandom #jujutsu kaisen fanfic #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen #nanami fluff #kento nanami #kento nanami x reader #nanami kento #nanami x reader #kento nanami x you #nanami kento x gender neutral reader #kento x reader #jjk nanami #nanami x you #nanami kento fluff #nanami fanfic

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shokopan · 1 year

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WE DON’T NEED THINGS LIKE MEMORIES . MIYA ATSUMU

PAIRING: atsumu x gn!reader

GENRE: fluff/comfort and the tiniest bit of angst if you really squint

WORD COUNT: 0.7k

CONTENT WARNINGS: cursing

AYA’S NOTES: i was sifting through my old folder of haikyuu fics i wrote last yr && remembered how much i loved this fic when i found it :DDD

“what’s wrong with saying that i'd date you if we'd met in high school?” you inquire, clutching your legs tight to your chest as you rock towards atsumu slightly, deliberately falling into your boyfriend's chest as he swiftly snakes an arm around your waist to steady you.

“nothing babe, i swear,” he instantly replies, untangling your fingers from each other to replace one with his free hand, “you just didn’t know me then! i wasn’t too great of a guy in high school if i’m being honest. you probably would've ended up crushing on samu or aran kun, maybe even kita san. he's always been pretty good looking and had tons of girls admiring him,”

“and remember when we first met in uni?” atsumu continues, eyes lowering down when he senses a newfound warmth as you envelop both of your hands around his.

“when i told you off for picking a fight with sakusa san?” you answer, recalling the boiling outrage you felt towards him years prior, "and proceeded to call you an irritating prick?"

“and i fell madly in love with you? yup,” atsumu grins cheekily before faltering by the slightest, "i was basically like that in high school, but way worse,”

“i mean i’m not as bad now, i hope. but yeah babe, i don’t think you’d date me if you knew how i acted then,” atsumu shrugs with , “and i wouldn’t blame you, y'know? dating an asshole sounds rough,”

“tell me about it, i’m dating one myself,” you giggle, bumping your shoulder with his as atsumu sulks, “kidding kidding! but what changed? you’re so sweet to me now tsumu, i can’t imagine you being any bit worse than that day we met,”

“fallin’ in love with you, that’s what changed me,” atsumu responds earnestly, shifting around and wriggling his hands from yours to cups the softness of your cheeks.

“tsumu! don’t say stuff like that if you don’t-“ you protest, moving your face down to bury it in atsumu’s large palms in embarrassment.

“i’m serious! honest!” atsumu protests, sliding his palms down to your jawline and lifting your face to level with his eyes, “you make me a better man babe, my parents, and even samu have said that. but you make me always want to be better because you deserve the best and i love you,”

warmth creeps up your cheeks as a faint soreness materializes, bringing attention to just how wide you’re grinning now, “i love you too tsumu,”

“you better love me! this conversation is making me fucking sad, thinking about how shitty i was. i better draft some emails or something to my old coaches and team for being such a pain to deal with,” atsumu chuckles, brushing the locks away from your face as he admires you for a brief moment, in awe of just how perfect you are when smiling.

“you’re absolutely perfect now,” you beam, taking your turn to cocoon your hands around atsumu’s jawline, “so so perfect,”

“damn right i am,” atsumu puffs his chest out, his signature childish yet endearing pride returning. his cheeks are dusted rose, the corners of his eyes crinkling happily, “i’m working hard babe, gonna be the absolute best boyfriend for you to make up for shitty high school tsumu,”

“good to know,” you giggle, “but you’re already the best boyfriend tsumu, it doesn’t matter how you were in high school. you’ve grown and matured since then, and there’s no need to make up for the past. it’s like your old school's motto, right? we don’t need things like memories. we don’t need to dwell on the people we were in the past. i love you now, and isn’t that what matters?”

“you’re too good to me babe,” atsumu groans playfully, hugging your waist as he buries his face into your shoulder with mild chagrin, taking in your sincerity as his blush grows fiercer by the moment, “i love you so much,”

“i love you too tsum,” a soft smile replaces the cheesy grin as you dip your head down the place butterfly kisses on the exposed part of atsumu’s jaw, “and i’m glad we met. really glad,”

you feel atsumu smile into your shoulder as he lifts his head up, a dorky grin plastered on his face as he kisses you, pulling away momentarily after as he whispers, “me too, i’m grateful we met that day,”

#aya's fics ଘ(੭˃ᴗ˂)੭ #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader #atsumu scenarios #atsumu x gn!reader #atsumu x gender neutral reader #atsumu imagines #atsumu oneshot #haikyuu x reader #atsumu miya #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x gn!reader #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n

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writtenfangirl · 11 months

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The Light

In which Benedict Bridgerton counts the ways he loves you.

I've had this idea for a while and this draft has been sitting in my draft folders for lord knows how long but I finally decided to publish it! After initially reading the Bridgerton books, I want the world to know that Benedict has always been my favorite Bridgerton brother because I relate to him the most.

Epilogue

I. In the quiet moments

Saturday morning was always quiet in Aubrey Hall, Benedict’s childhood home. With Aubrey Hall in the throes of summer, that meant the Y/L/N’s stayed with them. Her mother’s dearest friend had always been Y/M/N, having debut in society together. They had made it their tradition to visit one another during the summer and where Y/M/N, it usually meant Y/N followed. Y/N, who was Y/M/N’s only child with her husband, Y/F/N. She was two years younger than Benedict but they had always been close.

He was always the first one up, and as the cook and the maids prepare breakfast, he would often sneak away towards Y/N’s room. He knew propriety dictates that such an action was uncouth but he was a child and Y/N was his best friend and so he snuck in anyway.

He knocked first. That secret knock they devised just last summer so the person on the other side knew that it was them.

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

The door swung open, as if already expecting him. Y/N was already awake and dressed, her hair tied up in a ribbon, her dress clean and pressed. Though Y/N only came to visit Aubrey Hall during the summers, the times that she did were some of Benedict’s favorites and they had their routine down to a tee.

“What are we doing today, Benedict?” Y/N asked, as she did every morning.

“We can go visit the lake and see how many animals we can see in the clouds in the sky!”

“Okay!” Y/N said with a childish giggle.

Benedict gripped her hand, leading Y/N out of her room, past the gardens and towards the lake that bordered their estate.

They spent the morning watching the sky, their backs pressed against the grass, giggles emanating from the duo as they argued about whether that cloud looked like a frog or a bunny. Their hands were still tightly held within each other’s grasp and they didn’t let go until they were called to breakfast and Benedict dared Y/N to race him back to the manor.

He knew then that he loved her. She was his best friend and best friends loved each other no matter what.

II. In the loud moments

Benedict’s family was considerably large and though he loved his siblings dearly, he knew that there was never any quiet when it came with them.

They were loud. And boisterous. Unless they had guests, dinners with the Bridgertons usually ended with dinner being flung across the table. Y/N’s mother had arrived sick with a head cold and had requested to have dinner in her room alone, leaving Y/N to have dinner with the Bridgertons all and on her own. And though Y/N was not a Bridgerton, Benedict knew how much the Bridgertons loved her, especially because she was privy to their chaos.

Chaos, most especially seen in Aubrey Hall, where 10 year old Anthony had begun sending their father, Edmund, mischievous looks.

Violet, as if sensing the impending doom, had a warning tone already ready. “Anthony Bridgerton, don’t you dare.”

But Anthony paid his mother no heed. Instead, a mischievous smirk stretched across his face before he jumped on the table and loudly screamed, “FOOD FIGHT!” before proceeding to ham fist the mash potatoes, flinging it towards Colin’s open mouth.

Chaos irrupted from the table as everyone, including Benedict’s parents took their own food, flinging it across the other side. Benedict’s mother was laughing in glee despite her previous protestations and Edmund had declared himself Violet’s knight in shining armor, shielding her from the onslaught of lamb stew that Colin threw their way.

Almost instinctively, Benedict felt Y/N’s hand grip his own, pulling him down towards her before Daphne, who was but two and couldn’t possibly understand what was going on but could understand that fun was being had, could hit him with the mashed peas on her plate.

Then and there, Benedict knew he loved Y/N. It would be difficult not to love her when she would willingly sacrifice her favorite dress to spare Benedict the green stains of mashed peas.

III. In the moments you do not share

He missed Y/N, terribly so. Being away to Eton meant he didn’t see Y/N nearly as much as he wanted to and though they wrote each other letters, it just did not suffice.

She had been a constant in his life and her sudden absence felt like a rock wedged between his ribs where his heart should be.

He enjoyed his time at Eton, he truly did. They were schoolboys and youth was their elixir of joy. It meant living life free of inhibitions, gambling and drinking and finding women to fill their beds. But none of his friends could ever hope to replace Y/N’s presence. With Y/N there was no bravado, no explanation. Just unhurried conversation and fun he could remember tomorrow.

He couldn’t wait to see her and his much needed vacation in a week was enough to give Benedict a spring in his step.

Today also happened to be mail day and though he knew he was going to see his best friend in a week, he still anticipated her weekly letter.

With the letter slipped into his dorm at the end of the day, he quickly sliced through the wax that bore Y/N’s family crest, reading through its content.

My dearest, Benedict,

I suspect that by the time you receive this letter, the time between us seeing each other will have considerably shortened. I miss you terribly. Summers in Aubrey Hall are simply not the same without you. Colin has turned whiny waiting for his two older brothers to come home and spend the summer with him. Daphne is growing taller by the day and Eloise has begun to learn how to read. She and Francesca are joined by the hip everyday. Your mother and father are as splendid as always and I suspect a Bridgerton whose name begins with G will soon join us.

I am quite alright though I am shamed to admit how terribly I’ve missed my greatest friend. My mother and father are also splendid as is the rest of my family. Do come home in one piece. I’m afraid I may go slowly mad with Colin pestering me everyday.

The Light of Your Life, Y/N Y/L/N

Y/N’s words brought him all the comfort he needed. He loved his time in Eton but he could not deny it’s loneliness. His friends couldn’t understand how it is he could possibly miss his family but theirs was a strange existence. His parents valued love above all else and he had grown up alongside his siblings in a home full of love and laughter.

And he knew then that he loved Y/N for her ability to assure him, to lull him into a calm that could keep his mood afloat for days.

IV. In the moments you do share

Oh how he missed her. He missed the way Y/N’s H/C hair whips through the wind, carrying with her heady scent. He missed her twinkling laughter, her teasing smile. He especially missed the feel of her hand grasped around his.

They were growing up and though Benedict knew that their youth would still be with them, there was a certain kind of melancholy that came with the realization that things will not always be as they were. Y/N had informed him that with her debut to society next year, she would not be able to spend the summers with him. He couldn’t imagine Y/N married to anyone, let alone married to anyone unworthy of her and he had been insistent that he spent next year’s summer with her.

“Y/N, light of my life,” he said, his tone serious but his eyes lit with jest. He’d begun calling her that after he heard his father call his mother the light of his life and he knew, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that Y/N was the light of his life. He pulled them to a stop, Aubrey Hall looming in front of them despite being a great distance away.

“Yes, Benedict, light of my life?” She said demurely.

“Do you think you can make me a promise?”

“What promise is that?”

“You won’t marry someone unworthy of you.”

At that, she laughed. “If I have any say about it I shan’t marry at all. But I’ve held it off as long as I can. I’m twenty one now and mother is at her wits end.” But her eyes grew serious and somber, her laughter slipping from her lips. She looked at him as though she knew deeply, truly, what was inside Benedict’s heart. He reached for her, felt the silky lock of hair that fell from her chignon, her breath that feathered across his wrist as he tucked the strand of hair behind her ear. His eyes were fully trained on her face, at the way her lashes swept across her cheeks, the red flush that crept up her neck that Benedict knew would take him weeks to shade match. He wouldn’t deign call her cheeks rosy. She would hate him for comparing her to something so common.

If Benedict were to paint her at this moment, he’d call it Summer’s Embrace. It captured her beauty, the ephemerality of today.

He could feel the heat of her and it was as if that very heat burrowed itself within him, finding a home in his heart. When she spoke again, her words were but a whisper, the spoken promise of planets swearing fealty to their stars. “I swear to you, Benedict. I will not marry someone who is not worthy of me.”

And with her promise, it was as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He could feel the rush of air in his lungs mixed with her heady scent, the scent of childhood and misty early mornings. He felt her hand squeeze his own in earnest and Benedict knew that she would keep her promise forever if she could. He loved her then, for that promise. How could he not love the way she loved herself? Fiercely and with a protectiveness that Benedict knew was reserved for him and only him.

V. In the soft moments

There were no nights as special as rainy nights and none were as special as the ones he got to share with Y/N.

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

The door flung open, revealing Y/N. Her E/C were shiny with excitement, her face positively glowing.

She was wearing her simplest dress, covered only by a black frock that Benedict had leant her once that she refused to return. Her feet was clad in her finest riding boots and Benedict nearly had to clamp his own mouth shut to keep from rejoicing.

“It’s raining,” Benedict noted with a grin.

“I gathered as much,” Y/N said with a grin as equally mischievous as his.

“It would be the responsible thing to stay indoors. You are to leave for London tomorrow and I imagine that such a long journey may end in you getting a head cold.“

“Benedict, light of my life, when have we ever been responsible?” She looked at up at him, grinning like the devil.

And before the both of them lost their nerve, Benedict grabbed Y/N’s hand, sneaking them down the stairs and past the gardens, letting the rain wash over them.

Oh he adored the rain’s ability to wash away everything. And he knew how much Y/N loved the rain too. How she adored letting it fall on her skin as she jumped over puddles and danced on the wet grass.

Her long hair stuck to her forehead, giving her the appearance of a drowned cat but her wide smile more than made up for it. Even in the darkness that smile could light up a thousand lanterns and Benedict never found her more beautiful than she looked now.

A sudden feeling seized him and before cowardice could choke it down, he was already pulling her to him. “Y/N, I must tell you something,” Benedict yelled over the din of the rain, catching her chin between his fingers. Drops of rain were caught between her lashes, her breath coming out in pants between her lips.

Goddess Divine. That’s what he’d call this painting of her.

“What is it, Benedict?”

He swallowed. An invisible force had consumed him, wrenching the words from his lips before he could stop them. “I love you.”

Her eyes widened, her mouth falling open in surprise. “W-what?”

“I love you,” he repeated, courage surging within him, his previous hesitancy evaporating like steam. His hand reached for hers almost instinctively. He felt her warmth, the way the heat of her hand seemed to jolt through his body like static. “Most ardently. In every way a man could love a woman, I love you. You are truly the light of my life and without you, I am pitched in darkness. You are the cracks in my heart but also balm soothes that it. I love you, Y/N. I have spent years of my life loving you in secret and I can bear it no more. I love you.”

He could see it in her eyes, the love she bore for him. It was the same love he felt for her, a garden in full bloom. But the words that followed her were not the words he thought he’d hear. “Benedict, I have been promised to someone else.”

VI. In the hard moments

“What?”

“I have no choice,” Y/N’s voice was cracking as hard as his heart. “My father has promised my hand to another. My debut, it is a farce, meant only to assuage his guilt for selling his only daughter. I am to be married to the Duke of Albany before the season ends and then he will ship me away to the colonies. He sold me to the Duke to pay off his debts. I have no dowry, no money. I thought to spend my last summer with the people who loved me, truly loved me. The Bridgertons have treated me as their own family. You have treated me as your own. Benedict, please I am so sorry.” She was rambling now, that much he could see. She always did that whenever she was close to crying, as if the fast words would somehow catch her tears before they fell.

He should say something, he knew he should but the words stuck to his throat like honey. It was all too much in too little time. Married? Shipped to the colonies? Benedict thought he had more time. More time to charm her parents and offer himself as a candidate for her hand in marriage. He’d already had every intention of marrying her but now his plans had turned to ash in front of his eyes.

“This was a mistake,” Y/N muttered pulling her hand away his. “I never should’ve come. I should’ve left like my father had suggested. He was right. This is all too hard.“

Thunder clashed like rolling drums in the sky. What has once been a pleasant pitter-patter of rain had turned into a torrential downpour, soaking Benedict to the bone. Any warmth he had felt had dissipated, leaving him shivering.

Before Benedict could stop her, Y/N was already racing towards Aubrey Hall, leaving Benedict with the bitter taste of heartbreak in his tongue.

VII. In the moments they shared with others

He was a fool. A right bloody fool who didn’t deserve her.

How could he have let her slipped free so easily? When Benedict had finally come to his senses, Y/N had already fled Aubrey Hall, taking her carriage and lady’s maid with her. Before Benedict could hope to give chase, Anthony had stopped him, citing that the heavy rain had made the roads treacherous.

“All the more reason to chase after her!” Benedict bellowed, his insides twisted in worry. He was still dripping wet from the rain, the roaring fire doing nothing to dry him off. “If something were to happen to her, I could never forgive myself.”

“Dearest, you must calm yourself,” Violet said in a soothing voice. “Y/N is strong. She is more than capable of taking care of herself.”

“You don’t understand, Mama,” Benedict said clearly still agitated. “She is to marry!”

“It is her first season and she hasn’t even debuted yet,” Anthony said with a furrowed brow.

“She is engaged to be married to the Duke of Albany. He means to live in the colonies and take her with him. He’s going to take away my Y/N. Mama, Anthony, please we must make haste and stop them.” He was begging now but he didn’t care. He’d beg on the very streets of London if it meant stopping Y/N’s wedding.

“The Duke of Albany’s 30 years her senior!” Anthony protested. “Her father couldn’t possible mean to marry her off to that odious man!”

“Hush, my darling,” Violet said as she pulled Benedict into hug despite their large height difference and how wet he was. “When the rain abates, I will join you myself in stopping their wedding.”

“Mama, I love her. I cannot. I—“

“I know,” Violet soothed. “It will be alright, Benedict. You shall see.”

But he couldn’t see. If Y/N reaches London, he knew in his heart of hearts that she would marry the Duke and sail off to the colonies without saying good bye. He knew it to be true because it is what Y/N would believe to be the best for them. If she left for the colonies, Benedict would never see her again and this would ease the heartbreak. At least, this is what she was likely telling herself to assuage her guilt.

But Y/N didn’t know how much affection Benedict carried in his heart for her. He could never love another woman so long as she breathed and even if she were to pass before him, she would hold his heart in her bones forever.

“I have to go get her.” Benedict declared, ripping himself away from his mother’s embrace.

Ignoring his brother’s cries, Benedict ran from the sitting room, towards the stables. Grim determination had consumed him, his thoughts focused on Y/N and only Y/N.

He’d go on horseback. It will be faster and he was a decent rider, he could catch up to her. He had to.

“My lord,” the stablehand stammered upon seeing him. The smell of horses permeated his nose though it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be.

“Help me, please. Our fastest horse.” Benedict panted, his breath winded from his short run.

“But, my lord, it is pouring. I can prepare the carriage—“

“No, I’ll be faster on horseback. Please do as I ask.”

The stablehand simply nodded and ran through the notions of preparing their fastest horse.

He heard his brother first before he saw him.

“Benedict, do not be rash.” Anthony was now as wet as he was from the rain.

“I am going and you cannot hope to stop me.” Benedict barely spared his brother a glance. “A little rain never hurt anyone.”

“Then I shall go with you,” Anthony motioned to the stablehand to prepare another horse.

“Follow after me if you’d like but as soon as my horse is finished, I will ride.”

The stablehand moved quickly, cinching belts and hoops in record time and it wasn’t long before Benedict was on the saddle, the stable doors banging open as his horse leapt through them.

The horse felt fast beneath him despite the rain and moved with the same urgency its rider felt. He would not be deterred. If he had to stop the wedding at the altar, then he will do so. He cared not for dowries or money and properties and his family was wealthy enough for both of them. All he cared about was her.

It wasn’t long before he saw carriage lamps up ahead and he knew that it was Y/N. The carriage was moving at a languid pace, no doubt the driver was worried about a potential accident caused by the torrential downpour.

It only served to spur Benedict on.

“Stop!” Benedict yelled at the carriage.

It was as if God Himself was on his side. By some miracle, the driver heard him over the loud din of the rainfall. Benedict kicked at his heels as the carriage slowed, letting his horse ride just a little bit further than the four horses that pulled the carriage.

“Master Bridgerton,” The driver said, his eyes wide in surprise but Benedict paid him no mind. He dismounted from his horse before circling towards the door of the carriage. And then he knocked that secret knock they shared as children.

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

“Go away, Benedict.” Her voice was muffled through the door. The window’s curtain was drawn but he could see her vague silhouette as well as the silhouette of her maid.

“You do not have to say anything. You do not even have to answer me. But I implore you to listen.”

When Y/N didn’t say anything further, he continued.

“I wish to marry you,” Benedict said, his voice strong despite his pounding heart. For once in his life, he spoke to Y/N from his heart, let the words drip from his tongue like honey. He didn’t care that they had an audience, that Anthony was approaching from his own horse, that Y/N’s maid was in the carriage with her and that her driver was looking at him as though he’d grown two heads. Right now, all he saw was her. “Do you understand me, Y/N? I wish to marry you. I care not for your dowry or your money, I care only for you. If you wish to never look at me again, say so at once and I shall depart and I will never share in your presence until the day I pass from this world. I will endure the pain and the heartbreak because I love you and I wish only for your happiness. You need only tell me that you do not feel the same for me.

“But if you find that you cannot live without me the way I cannot live without you, tell me so. Let us end our own miseries and be happy. You, who deserve happiness more than anyone else in this earth.”

Despite the loud din of the rain, Benedict’s world grew silent, focused. His attention was on the carriage and the carriage alone. He knew that if Y/N told him to leave, he would do so without a moment’s hesitation. He will ride on his horse and turn his back away from her and he will never see her again.

But then, the knob turned slowly then all at once. The carriage door opened so fast, Benedict barely had time to jump out of the way before the door could hit him.

Y/N’s face was illuminated by the carriage’s lamps. She was still wet, wearing the same simple dress snd frock she had been wearing, having left Aubrey Hall in such a rush that a puddle had pooled at her feet, one that her lady’s maid desperately tried to wipe away.

But neither of them cared about that right now. An asteroid could crash from the heavens and obliterate the earth but their dust would stay in an embrace for the rest of eternity if they could.

She made her way out of the carriage, ignoring her maid’s protestations and making her way in front of Benedict. Whatever parts of her body that dried by her time in the carriage was immediately soaked by the rain once again.

She looked up at him, her eyes almost twinkling.

Venus on Earth would be the name of the next painting. Of that, Benedict was certain.

“I love you too,” Y/N whispered before grabbing his lapel and pulling him down to a kiss.

In front of all these witnesses no less!

Y/N’s lady’s maid gasped in surprise while the carriage driver and Anthony averted their eyes but Benedict didn’t care. He leaned into the kiss, relishing the taste of her. She tasted like rain, like misty mornings and the sweetness of youth. And their kiss was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. He’s kissed plenty of girls before but nothing and no one would ever compare to Y/N.

And when they pulled away, Y/N’s grin could only be described as incandescent.

“Now you two truly must marry,” Anthony said but there was no displeasure in his voice, only keen triumph, “lest Y/N’s father wants his daughter’s reputation in tatters. I will write to him tomorrow. Tonight I will write to the Archbishop of Canterbury for a special license and you two can wed before the week is out.”

“Thank you, brother,” Benedict said, finally feeling able to breathe.

He looked at Y/N, saw the triumph in her eyes. Y/N was one of the smartest people Benedict knew and though she knew kissing him would bring scandal nipping her heels, it would also force her father’s hand. The Duke of Albany wouldn’t want to marry Y/N if her reputation had been compromised.

It was no matter. To Benedict she was perfection and he wouldn’t have her any other way, tattered reputation or no.

“You are a bloody idiot, Benedict Bridgerton,” Y/N said but there was no malice in her voice. Just pure sprightly joy. “It took you this long to realize you loved me?”

He grinned, the kind of grin a man has when he knew his place in the world and his was beside her. “In truth, I fell in love with your fire long ago. Cowardice just seized me every time I felt the urge to tell you my feelings. But I do well and truly love you.”

“I love you, too.”

VIII. In their moments alone

Knock. Knock-knock. Knock.

Y/N’s door opened quickly, a strained smile on her face as she ushered Benedict in. Propriety dictated that their actions could only be deemed scandalous but Benedict didn’t care. He was marrying her tomorrow anyway. There was nothing and no one that could stop them.

It had been two days since the carriage incident and Y/N’s father had arrived on horseback to Aubrey Hall as soon as he’d received the missive.

“I have promised you to the Duke of Albany!” Her father had roared as soon as he managed to push his way through the butler, storming towards the sitting room where the Bridgerton family was having tea. Violet had the younger children ushered away from the confrontation, leaving only Y/N, Benedict, Anthony, and Colin.

“Who is older than even you, Father.” Y/N had said, the picture of serenity and calm. She was sitting on the chair closest to the window, the sun’s glow settling against her skin. She looked sublime.

Ethereal Grace would be a befitting title for this painting.

“He is a Duke and 18th in line to inherit the British Crown! He is being sent to the colonies to govern. With his money, you will live a life even better than I could have ever provided for you as a baron!”

“I care not for his money, Father,” her voice had some heat to it now, “You sold me. Like some brood mare whose only purpose is to breed and pay off your debts!”

“I did not!” He sputtered. But shame coated him, his eyes nervously looking at the Bridgertons. While women in society were often betrothed without their consent, notions of selling were generally frowned upon. If word ever got out that Y/N’s father married her off for money, he would be ostracized by society. Even worse, if such word ever reached the King or Queen, he could be stripped of his peerage, becoming even more destitute than before.

“I will be wed tomorrow to Benedict,” Y/N’s voice was hard now, all conviction and fire, “You cannot stop us. Anthony has acquired the special license and the Archbishop of Canterbury himself has agreed to marry us as a favor to Violet. You have come in vain.”

At that, Y/N’s father’s face turned thunderous. He took a menacing step towards her, one that had Benedict standing at attention, turning him into a protective shield. Her father eyed him distastefully and Benedict returned his venom.

“You are making a terrible mistake. She has no dowry,” Her father hissed at him. “She has nothing.”

“She has me,” Benedict replied, his voice calm despite the rage simmering beneath his skin. If Y/N, despite all the pain and heartbreak wrought by this man, could continue to remain calm, then he shall do the same. “That is enough. She is enough.”

This time it was Anthony who spoke, his voice as hard as steel. “You will find, sir, that we care not for Y/N’s dowry, only of her happiness. Perhaps it is time you depart, before you do something you will regret. Colin, get the door.”

Y/N’s father’s fists turned white but just as Benedict thought he would swing, he turned and walked away.

But before he could cross the threshold, Y/N called out to him, “Our wedding will be at noon tomorrow, Father. If you and mother would like to bear witness, it would bring me great joy.”

But Y/N’s father simply continued walking.

It had broken Y/N’s heart, which is why Benedict came to her room that evening.

He pulled her close, letting her sob for the first time since seeing her father. He knew that tomorrow will be the happiest day of their lives but for now, for tonight, Y/N was allowed to grieve.

“I love you. I have never been prouder of you than when you stood up to your father,” Benedict said, tucking her head beneath his chin and pressing a chaste kiss on her head. “Everything will be alright, you’ll see.”

“Do you mind staying with me tonight?” Y/N asked with a sniffle, her voice hopeful.

Any other time, the word yes would have fallen from his lips like the water of a fountain. But if there was ever a time for Benedict to try and make her feel better, it was now. So rather than a simple yes, different words flew from his lips, teasing and accompanied with an affronted gasp b“Ms. Y/L/N, do you mean to compromise me? I am a gentleman! Unhand me, at once, you cur!”

Y/N gave him that look, the same look she always gave him when they were children and she knew Benedict was trying his best to cheer him up but, nevertheless, Y/N’s once somber expression lifted into her own mocking look of surprise as she wiped away her tears. “I will have you know, Mr. Bridgerton, that I am a lady! Your insinuations are greatly unfounded. Leave my room at once before you leave me with a sordid reputation.”

But Benedict did not leave. Instead, he took her hand and pulled her towards the bed, letting her body mould against his like he was a sculptor and she was wet clay.

“My mother and father kept one bedroom, did you know that?” Benedict said as Y/N settled against him. He let his fingers roam, letting it comb through her hair before journeying down her neck, down her arms before resting on her hand.

“Oh?”

It was unusual for members of the aristocracy to like their spouses let alone love them as most marriages were arranged based on factors such as dowries and wealth. Spouses tended to keep separate bedrooms, choosing to spend an evening with the other only if there was a need to but Benedict’s parents were a true love match. They stayed in one bedroom until the day his father died and even then, his mother refused to leave. Better a love lost than a love never found were words Violet often used as an explanation.

“Is that something you’d like for us?” Y/N asked, peering up at him through her lashes. “A single bedroom?”

“I intend to stay with you tonight and every night after we are married. It would be quite a challenge to do so in separate beds.”

“Alright then,” she said with a giggle, “a single bedroom it is.”

“What about you? Any requests for our future home?”

“A sunroom would be quite nice. With many shelves filled with books that I can read. The light would be heavenly and you could paint while I read. It would be beautiful to have tea there rather than have a sitting room.“

“Your wish is my command, Y/N, light of my life.”

“Oh and, several bedrooms. I think I’d like to return the favor and host the Bridgertons every summer. And several more rooms for our future children, whenever we are ready to have them.”

“Of course,” Benedict said with a nod and smile.

“And a garden. Large and beautiful. Full of flowers of all shapes and sizes.”

“We will fill it with all of your favorites.”

She paused and then she frowned. “What if my father was right and we are making a terrible mistake?”

He squeezed her tightly, letting his enveloping his fingers around Y/N’s hands. “Then we will make this mistake together and we shall have no regrets. I cannot see the future, my love, but I greatly remember our past. I know that whatever troubles may find us, we will face it together and so long as we are together, we can face anything.”

He watched her brow smoothened as another smile entered her sweet face.

“Now, what else would you like for our future home, Mrs. Bridgerton?”

And as they planned their future home, their future lives, Benedict couldn’t help but think just how lucky he was in that moment they were alone. Perhaps he was being too idealistic. He had lived a life of splendor most people could only wish for, with no real adversaries besides the problem he’d encountered with his love life. Perhaps saying that they could face anything together only proved to tempt destiny into hurdling them towards trouble. But he did mean every word he said. He could face anything, be anything so long as Y/N was by his side. Y/N, who would always help him look past the darkness and see the light. Because that was what she was. The light of his life. And he wouldn’t have it any other way.

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