#his left eye is damaged yes

[jeiyuuen]

17 Doffy sketches !! my son now ( + close ups ww) I saw his shades + goggles combo and was bewitched

[loonylupinblack3]

Cold

Pairing: Logan Howlett x reader

Warnings: slightly suggestive content

Summary: it's cold and you decide to go exploring for a heated blanket. you find logan instead.

Word Count: 1.5k

It was cold.

You were fucking freezing, shivering even under your piles of blankets. It was this stupid house, giant though it was, with shit heating. So when one of the kids fucked up and damaged the already extremely fragile heating, it broke. In the middle of winter.

You groaned, curling even further in on yourself, trying to keep any heat you’d formulated from escaping. Stupid house. Stupid cold. Stupid useless blankets. You wracked your brain for anything else you could get to find you some more warmth because you could not go on like this. You were jealous of all the mutants in the house with fire or heat mutations, or those with partners to sleep with, comfortable in each other's warmth.

You sat up when you remembered it. The electric blanket Storm had gotten as a gift a few years back lay discarded in one of the shelves in the kitchen, hidden in a box unopened. If you could get that, connect it to the outlet next to your bed, well…. You’d actually be able to sleep tonight.

It took you a while to actually build up the courage to leave your bed and your warmth, however slim it may be. When you did you were assaulted with the cold, more than twice as bad without your blankets. Not to say you weren’t already layered, with your winter pyjamas and hoodie, but still. It was cold.

You travelled down the long hallways and through the massive house, trying to get to the kitchen as quickly as possible. The torch in your hand shook slightly from your shivers, but you promised yourself it would all be worth it when you went back to your room with the toasty heated blanket.

You’d told yourself you’d be in and out, with the electric blanket in your room in no time, yet you stopped short when you saw the light on in the kitchen, and Logan leaning against the counter with a beer in his hand.

Your heart gave a lurch, which immediately gave you away, Logan’s eyes darting to you. You gave a nervous smile, sort of just… standing there. You’d had a minor crush on Logan for a while now, very low key. No one even knew about it; it was so minor. Just…. The playful banter you two had, and his looks, they appealed to you. Still, it was minor, and usually you were much more composed around him, but you were tired and cold and your defences were down.

“Logan,” you said, stepping forwards. “What are you doing here?”

Logan watched you intently, eyes roving your body as he sipped his beer. “Couldn’t sleep. What about you Darl?”

You tried not to smile at the nickname, rubbing your arms in an attempt to create more warmth. “I was cold.”

Logan raised his eyebrows. “So you came looking for company?”

Heat rushed to your face at the suggestion, as did Logan’s intent gaze as if he was eager to fill the role. You cleared your throat. “No, um, there’s a heated blanket in one of the cupboards.”

Again Logan raised his eyebrows with an amused expression. “Is there now?”

You felt a smile stretch on your face, even though you fought it. You rolled your eyes at him. “Yes, there is.”

He placed his beer on the counter and moved forwards. “Well now you’ve got to show me this blanket, because otherwise I’ll be believing you came here for me.”

The flirty tone in his voice made you flush even more, but you kept your cool, observing him with a calm expression, only a hint of a smile on your face now. “Alright then.”

You walked to the cupboard on the left, rummaging through it. Your memory was a little fuzzy but you were sure Storm had put it in here. Logan watched you with a smirk, beer forgotten as he leant against the counter.

You shot him a glare. “Aren’t you cold?”

In nothing but a t-shirt and jeans, you’d be shivering uncontrollably at that point, barely able to form a coherent thought let alone a sentence. Logan seemed fine though, not a single goosebump on his skin. More than fine actually, if his entertained smirk was anything to go by.

“Helpful side of the regeneration,” Logan said, “keeps my body temp normal no matter what.”

He stepped forward till he was standing over you, watching you intently. “Now, where’s that blanket bub?”

You cleared your throat, standing up. “Must be in one of the other cupboards.”

He made an ‘ah’ sound as you quickly moved onto a different cupboard, all the while feeling yourself get colder and colder. Yet as you continued to search, you came up empty handed, the blanket having disappeared all together.

You were relentless though, because the thought of Logan thinking you came down there for him… well, you weren’t sure you’d be able to look him in the eye again if that happened. So you continued looking fruitlessly, all the while feeling the cold wrap its icy claws around you.

“Alright, you’re getting cold, admit defeat yeah?” Logan asked after watching you nearly drop an item because of how bad your hands were shaking.

You shook your head. “I’m fine.”

He let out a scoff. “You’re certainly not fine. Come on now.”

His hand gently grabbed your shoulder, pulling you back from the cupboards. You turned around to stare at him, slightly panicked. “I didn’t come down here to take you to bed. I promise.”

Logan let out a laugh, his arms draped loosely around your waist. “I know that bub, I was just playing.”

You looked up at him, slightly embarrassed, though the cold ensured you didn’t focus on it too much. “Well…. As long as you know.”

Logan gave a rueful nod. “I know, but I’d have liked it if you did take me there.”

You nearly let out a baffled gasp, looking up at him with wide eyes. You two had your fun, but you’d never been this forward with each other before. “What?”

“Well, you’re cold,” he said, “and there’s no heated blanket. I’d hate for you to go back to your room just to be cold again.”

You couldn’t help but smile slightly. “Oh so you're doing me a favour are you?”

Logan shrugged, a smirk on his face. “You could say that. Or you could say I’ve wanted you for a long fucking time and I’m finally doing something about it.”

“Oh?”

Logan’s arms around your waist tightened, pulling you to his chest. You revelled in the warmth of having a human’s body against yours, the heat radiating from him a welcome comfort.

“Yes, oh,” Logan replied, grinning at you like he knew how much you enjoyed being in his arms. “So what do ya say bub?”

You couldn’t think too much about it, the cold making it hard for any rational thought to make it through, but you knew you wanted this. Him.

“Hmm… I say we better hurry up and get to my room because I’m freezing.”

Logan smirked. “One thing first.”

He leant down and kissed you, one hand staying on your waist while the other came up to your face, gripping your chin slightly and tilting it forwards to give him better access to your mouth. His lips were feverish against yours, like a starved man, dragging against your mouth like it was all he’d been able to think about for who knew how long. 

You kissed him back, something he obviously revelled in if his audible groan was anything to go by. Both his hands were now on your face cupping it as he kissed you harder, devouring your mouth.

He pulled back when he noticed your shaking though, shaking his head at you with an amused smile. “Now let’s get you in bed yeah?”

You nodded your head, almost salivating at the thought of some warmth, and let Logan lead you to your room, a hand placed firmly on your waist. When you saw your bed, looking so inviting, you left Logan’s side to crawl into it, letting out a sigh of content when you covered yourself under the piles of blankets.

Logan smirked at you before tugging his shirt up and taking it off. Your eyes widened as you stared at his chest, his abs flexing as he raised his arms, the small trail of hair going from his belly button to hidden behind the waistband of his sweatpants, hanging low in his hips and giving you the perfect view of his V-line. 

“What are you doing?” you managed to ask, even though you still hadn’t torn your gaze away from his body.

Logan’s smirk, noticing your stare, turned smug. “The less layers the better body heat bub.”

You swallowed, feeling your cheeks heat. “Well I’m too cold to take any of my clothes off.”

Logan moved forward, gently nudging you aside so he could get under the covers, immediately wrapping his arms around you and pulling your back to his chest. You shivered delightfully. He was right; the less layers the better body heat.

He moved forward to whisper in your ear, “that’s alright bub. We’ll leave that for another night.”

You smiled again, feeling flustered, and Logan chuckled against your head, giving you a chaste kiss on your hair. 

“Goodnight,” you whispered to Logan, snuggling closer to him.

Logan’s hands tightened around your waist, pressing his head into the crook of your neck and peppering some kisses there. “Goodnight bub.”

[thebestandworstdayofjune]

desperate people find faith

summary: your first mission ends with you in Jean's lab and a very worried Logan who's had trouble leaving your side wc: 2.0k a/n: thank you thank you so much for all of your very positive feedback on the previous fics with these two!!! I am really looking forward to writing more for them, so please feel free to send any requests for them my way, or Logan requests in general! And yes, the title is from a Taylor Swift song again. Lots of hurt/comfort in this one, talks of mushy gushy feelings, very worried Logan find the previous part here! all empath!reader fics here!

You took the cold table underneath you as a sign that something had gone wrong. You peaked one eye open before quickly squeezing it closed, the bright florescent lights too much to handle. You took a beat, trying to make sense of your surroundings. 

You remembered the jet landing in what seemed like the middle of nowhere, you and Jean searching an abandoned building looking for the young mutant that Charles had promised would be there and coming up empty. The two of you had made your way back to the jet and.. shit. The kid had freaked, and you distinctly remember taking enough damage to warrant a swift retreat back to the school. You must be downstairs, in Jean’s lab. It’s probably a bad sign that the first thing you worry about how much shit Logan is going to give you for this. 

You reached out with your power, too cautious of the lights (and the judgment of the rest of the team) to look with your eyes. A few people were mildly worried just across the room, but it was hard not to be distracted by the huge amounts of anger and exhaustion on your left. You debated facing him head on, being a grown up about it and fessing up to the fact that you were wrong. Thankfully, you could be immature when the situation called for it. You attempted to even out your breathing and smooth out the crease between your eyebrows, anything that could give you away. 

“Sweetheart?” Logan’s voice is so much softer than you were expecting, based on the waves of pure fury currently radiating off of him. 

You shush him, blinking one eye open. “I’m sleeping.” You whisper, letting your eye fall shut again. 

You felt his hand gently brush over the top of your head. His voice is closer, air tickling your ear as he leans down beside you. “Been sleeping for three days, bub. Need you to wake up now.” 

You turn your head to the side and are treated to Logan dropping a small kiss on your forehead. You can’t help but smile at the affection, eyes half open against the bright lights. After a few moments, they dim. Jean takes her place on the other side of the table, lab coat on and stethoscope in hand. You expected her to shoo Logan away in the name of a more thorough analysis but she doesn’t even attempt it. 

Logan’s hand finds your own, gripping tight enough to be just short of uncomfortable. Jean makes quick work of taking your diagnostics, and gently informs you that besides feeling fatigued, you are just fine. 

That can’t be right. 

You know that you caught the brunt of the impact, it was beginning to come back to you. The young mutant had lashed out, and before you’d had the chance to get close, he’d sent a car flying towards you and Jean. She’d managed to counteract it with her own mutation, firmly shoving you out of the way. But she hadn’t been fast enough to catch the small metal spikes he’d also thrown. There was no way you should be ‘just fine’ by now. 

Either Jean was in your head or the confusion was showing clearly on your face. She gave you a tight smile, eyes darting between you and the door. She took a few steps back, clearly intent of making her exit. “Jean, wait, there’s no way-”

She gave you her please stop talking smile. “I think it’s best if this comes from him,” she nodded at Logan, placing her stethoscope and clipboard on the side table. “I’ll be back in a bit to do one final check before we clear you.” She gives you another smile that didn’t meet her eyes, and then she was gone. 

You began to sit up slowly, still in shock that there was little to no pain, only stiffness from being immobile for too long. “What is she talking about?” Logan huffed, supporting you with a hand on your back. “What’s going on?” 

One hand made long, slow strokes up and down your spine, while the other had not loosened it’s grip on your own since you’d woken up. His eyebrows were scrunched together, the tell tale sign of his thinking face. You tried your best not to rush him, but everything about the situation was so confusing and your mind was racing. You were far too healed, and he was being far too calm for the anger that was rolling off go him, still. 

“Didn’t expect me to just sit around when you came back one foot in the grave, did ya?” 

“I’m sorry if me coming back banged up gave you extra work, I just don’t understand why you’re so upset with me.” 

His eyes went wide, the hand on your back stilling. “I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.” The tremble in his voice almost had you convinced. 

“Don’t lie to me about it,” you help up your hand, still firmly entwined with his. “I can tell.” 

“I’m notmad at you, bub.” He brought the back of your hand to his lips, peppering it with kisses. “I’m mad at the little fuck who did this to you, I’m mad that they let this happen, and I’m furious with myself that I wasn’t there.” 

“He’s just a kid, Logan.” 

His shoulders shook with silent laughter, a stark white dancing at the edge of his emotions now. Shock. “You almost died, and your first instinct is to defend the little asshole responsible.” 

You leaned forward, bumping your shoulder against his chest in warning. “I feel fine.” He nodded, taking a deep breath in through his nose while his hand not currently locked with yours resumed it’s path up and down your back. You let it go on for a few moments, appreciating the silence and the grounding effect of his touch. “Do you… wanna fill me in on why exactly that is?” 

He sucked in a breath, shoulders visibly tense. “We were lucky that Hank was stopping by for a visit.” He played with your fingers, distracting himself. You tilted your head to the side, wondering why that information was important at a time like this. “When they brought you in, god there was so much blood. Jean managed to take care of a lot of it, but she didn’t know when, or uh, if you were going to wake up.” He blew out a breath, steadying himself. “You know that Hank has been asking for a long time-”

Both of your hands gripped his tightly. “Tell me you didn’t.” 

Hank had been asking for ages to use some of Logan’s blood to synthesize a more advanced healing serum for the X-Men. It was rare they came back with more than bumps and bruises, but he was a worrier and felt that Logan was the key to making something truly effective. The only problem? Logan hated needles. You’d only gotten bits and pieces from him about why, but you had a hunch that when you were alive for as long as he had been, people were willing to poke and prod for some answers. He’d never admit it, but you had felt how terrified he was the last time he’d been down hard after a mission, and Jean had tried to give him an IV of fluids to speed up the regeneration. It hadn’t ended well, to say the least. 

“I should’ve done it sooner. Seeing you like this, knowing I could have done something about it.” He shook his head, clearing his thoughts. 

Cautiously, you fit yourself against him, arms tight around his neck and your chest flush with his own. You half expected him to reprimand you, to remind you that you should be careful, not to move too much. Instead, he held you tightly, the side of his face pressed against the top of your head. The two of you stayed like that for a good long while, reveling in the comfort of the other. 

“I know you think that you only did it because,” you paused, steeling yourself. “Because it was me.” You can feel him trying to pull away, but you mold yourself to him even more tightly, knowing that if he really wanted to he could break away from you like it was nothing. “You’re wrong. You would have done this for anyone.” 

“Except for-”

“Even for Scott.” You were quick to cut him off, unwilling to hear him being so harsh on himself.

You pulled back, just enough so that you were able to meet his eyes. You needed him to know that you are being earnest. “You are a good man, Logan. And before you even try to deny it or say I’m lying I know you can hear my heart beat. And I know you can tell when people are lying. And besides, I’ve never ever lied to you, have I?” He shakes his head slowly, one tear falling, and a few more after that. You reached up, brushing them away. He grabbed your hand, gently placing a kiss on your wrist, and then your palm. 

“Y’scared me, sweetheart.” He murmured, voice muffled by your palm still against his lips. “Don’t ever do that again.” 

You slide your hand to cup the side of his face, prompting him to meet your gaze. “You know I can’t guarantee that.” His eyes closed for a moment, and you knew he was doing his best not to shout. “I will always be careful, but I can’t stay back and leave the work to everyone else. If I can help, I’m gonna help.” 

His eyes narrowed, the tiniest hint of a smirk playing at his lips. “Fine. But we’re getting you trained up and you aren’t going out there without me again for a good long while.” 

You rolled your eyes, the both of you well aware there was no ill will behind it. “If you insist.” 

“I absolutely do.” He pulled you back into his chest, keeping you there until Jean peaked her head in through the door. 

“If you two are done being mushy, there are a few people who have been dying to see you.” 

Ororo rushed into the room, playfully shoving Logan away to scoop you into her arms. She gently checked you over, ignoring the fact that you’d already had several medical professionals on the case. Scott clasped you on the shoulder, reassuring you that for a first mission, this was a success. You laughed before shooting Logan a look that begged him to let it pass. He huffed, but nodded all the same. 

“Shocked we didn't have to keep him from trying to tear the kid apart, but he refused to leave the lab.” Scott nodded his head at Logan, who was continuing to shuffle closer to the table where you sat. 

Well, you would be dutifully ignoring the latter half of Scott's quip, instead choosing to focus on the young mutant. “You mean he's?” 

Scott smiled, nodding. “He’s settling in upstairs.” 

You grinned, glad to know that it hadn’t all been for nothing. You fixed your gaze on Logan, narrowing your eyes at him. “Don’t even think about failing him out of history as some kind of weird revenge, I’ll know and I will find a way to get back at you for it.” 

Your friends laughed around you, let you know that Charles has ordered in your favorite take out for dinner and started to filter out of the room. Eventually, you and Logan are left alone again, sitting side by side on the metal table. 

“You still owe me an important conversation, ya know.” You bump your shoulder against his. You stay there, pressed against his side with your head leaning on his shoulders. His hand rests on your shoulder, holding you close. 

“Maybe wait until you aren’t in a hospital gown, sweetheart.” You rolled your eyes, clearly aware that he was deflecting, but still content to take in his warmth and quiet support. You were safe, and you were home. Not just at school, but with him.

[starkeysprincess]

after lecture punishment

pairing: professor!rafe x reader warnings: sir kink, spanking, fingering, edging, praising, 18+ mdni

word count: 1.6k request: Hiiii! Can you write something with Professor!Rafe? Like where reader can't focus in class because of how sexy he is/ starts failing so he keeps her after class or something like that lol <3333

main m.list ⟡ rafe cameron m.list ⟡ taglist

“Fuck” you muttered to yourself, staring at your test result, the bright red ink that marked the paper with a ‘D-’. 

When you first started the second semester of your junior year, you never thought in a million years that you would score anything lower than a ‘B’. You passed your previous classes with flying colors, but it looks like this class alone would be the one to damage your track record. If you were being honest, it’s not that you didn’t study or try hard enough, it was your lack of attention span. Your attention was focused on something else during lectures, or should you say someone. 

That someone is none other than the man teaching your class, Professor Cameron. You couldn’t help it, you’ve always had a thing for older men and it didn’t help that he was the sexiest man you’ve ever seen. You were so engrossed with him, that you even noticed he wasn’t married, there wasn’t a ring adorning his left ring finger. 

You were disrupted from your thoughts when you heard rustling around you, looking to see your classmates packing their belongings into their bags. You shove your test into your binder, standing up as you gather your items. Your feet carried you towards the door, passing Professor Cameron’s desk before you felt a hand brush against your arm as he called out your name, following with “Could you walk with me to my office? I have a few things to discuss with you”. You watched as your classmates dispersed out of the room before turning your head, looking at him, and nodding.

You walked behind him, following him like a lost puppy as he led the way to his office. His name plaque mounted near his office door, glinting from the lighting, catches your eye. He twists the doorknob, opens the door, and steps aside to let you in, his eyes shamelessly glued to how your hips swayed as you walked in. He follows behind you, shutting the door, and gesturing for you to sit at the chair in front of his desk. 

“I couldn’t help but look at your transcript and noticed you’re an honor student, is that right?”, Professor Cameron leans back against his desk, standing in front of you, crossing his arms over his chest, his biceps bulging against the sleeves of his white button-up. “Uh, yes, sir” you mutter, feeling yourself fidget with your skirt. His eyes fixate on your skirt before he clears his throat, “Your grades for the past few semesters are impressive but coming into this class, I have yet to see the honor student in you”.

“You do understand that your grade in this class is on the verge of failing, correct?” he questions, to which you sheepishly nod, “Is there something going on outside of class affecting your learning?”. You nervously bounce your leg up and down, “No, sir. I’ve just been distracted, that’s all”. Professor Cameron’s face turns into a look of amusement, “Distracted? What’s makin’ a smart girl like you distracted?”.

Your face flushes with embarrassment, “It’s nothing”, you mumble, watching as Professor Cameron rolls his sleeves up, his hands moving behind him, settling on his desk, “Nothin’? If it was nothin’, you wouldn’t be on the verge of failing my class. I’ve been watching you during my lectures, you’re a good girl. You wouldn’t lie, would you?”. 

“N-no”, you lied, stuttering as he observed your face, taking in your reaction, as if he was trying to detect if you were lying. He lets out a ‘tsk’, standing up and pinching your elbow between his fingers, pulling you out of the chair and into his chest. “Thought a smart girl like you would know better about lying” he shakes his head, “I can’t help you with your grade unless you tell me what’s been distracting you. That, or I’ll have to get it out of you, it’s your choice, sweetheart”. 

When you don’t give him an answer, he pushes you against his desk, forcing you to bend over. He grabs your hands, pinning them onto the top of his desk with one hand. His voice is gruff, “Alright, you made your choice, guess I’ll have to get it out of you”. His rough, large hand pushes your skirt up your hips, revealing your thong and your heart is pounding in your chest, anticipating his next move. 

His hand runs along the curve of your ass, kneading at the flesh before he pulls his hand back and delivers a sharp smack. You yelp at the contact, squirming to get your wrists out of his hold, and it only makes him bring his hand down again, the sound echoing in his office. His signet ring catches against your skin with each smack he’s given. “Remember, you made your choice. You could be a good girl and tell me what’s been distracting that pretty little head of yours and I’ll stop…or, you don’t and I’ll have to keep punishing you” he warns, reminding you with another smack to your reddening ass. 

He releases his grip on your wrists, “Keep them on the desk” his voice was stern, giving you no room for argument. Rafe’s hands cup the globe of your ass, spreading your cheeks apart, “Then again…I think you’re enjoying this” he chuckles to himself, his eyes locked on your arousal staining a wet patch onto your thong. He hooks his finger into your thong, tugging it to the side, your glistening cunt on display for him.

A gasp can be heard from you the second you feel his spit running along your folds before he spreads it across your lips, his signet ring-clad finger prodding at your hole. “As long as you tell me, I’m more than willing to help you with anything you need”, his words indicating he wasn’t talking about your grades.

His thick digit pushes into you, your warm, wet walls sucking him in and he can’t help but groan at how tight you feel around his finger. “So fuckin’ tight, gonna have to stretch you out” his words ringing in your ears as he adds another finger, slowly pumping them in and out. You scoot yourself back, trying to stand up but he’s quick to press his palm on your lower back, holding you there as his fingers move faster. You moan at the delicious sensation of the coolness his signet ring creates as it bumps at your clit with each thrust of his fingers.

Your slick coats his fingers, practically soaking them, filling his office with the wet, squelching sounds of his fingers brutally thrusting into you. “Can’t have you gettin’ too loud on me, sweetheart”, his hand reaches around, and clamps down on your mouth, muffling your moans of pleasure when he curls his fingers, hitting at your g-spot. He removes his hand from your mouth, snaking it between your legs to rub at your clit. He can sense you’re close, your inner walls contracting, and gripping his fingers. 

You whine out in frustration when you feel his fingers slowing down. Rafe pushes himself forward until his chest is flush against your back, his weight pressing you further onto his desk, “Wanna know what I think?” his warm breath tickles your ear. “I think your pretty little head is distracted and full of filthy thoughts”, his thumb slowly circled at your clit, “Filthy thoughts of me”. 

You shake your head, not trusting your voice, “No? So you don’t press your thighs together, trying to relieve the throbbing need for me when you see me? You don’t think about being bent over my desk like you are right now?”. He doesn’t miss the way you clench around his fingers at his words, “S’okay to admit it”, he coos, his fingers picking back their speed while his thumb circling on your clit faster. 

“P-Please, sir”, you stutter, your hand moving to hold onto his arm between your legs as you’re on the brink of an orgasm, the same orgasm that he ripped away from you. “Please what?”, he taunts, “Please let me cum”, you plead, tears welling in your eyes. His fingers slowed their movement, edging you once again, “No can do. You’re a smart girl, you know what I want to hear”.

“C’mon, sweetheart, just tell me what’s been distracting you in my class and I’ll let you cum, yeah?” He mutters, already knowing the source of your distraction but wanting to hear you admit it. “Be a good girl and I’ll have you makin’ a mess on my fingers in seconds, I promise” He adds. 

“You’ve been distracting me” You hiccup as you admit what he’s been wanting to know. “Yeah? How?” He taunts, his fingers relentlessly pumping in and out of your cunt with ease, curving his fingers, repeatedly thumping at your g-spot, “Been distracting you so much that little head of yours can’t think of anything except the thought of me bending you over, stuffing you full of my cock?”. 

“Yes” you lazily nod, your head feeling dizzy and your response is good enough for him, “Go on, cream all over my fingers”. Your cunt flutters around his fingers, legs trembling, almost giving out as you come undone all over his fingers. “Good girl, see, that wasn’t so hard” He praises, slowly moving his fingers, helping you come down from your high. He withdraws his fingers from you, pulling them into his mouth, sucking them clean, “Fuck…been wanting to know what that sweet cunt tasted like”

You shakily stand up, smoothing out your skirt to fix your appearance when Rafe pinches your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head up to look at him, “From now on, I want you to be under my mentorship, alright?” he mumbles, his thumb brushing at your bottom lip, the corner of his lip twitching upwards at your response, “Yes sir”.

tagging: @oceandriveab @babygorewhore @xxbimbobunnyxx @rafesthroatbaby @annoyingassleo @drudyslut @sturnioloshacker @redhead1180 @shawtycoreee @starkeyisthelastname @hallecarey1 @heartsforvin @eddieslut69 @bimbotrashcan @bunnyrafe @kisses4angel @hyperfixationgirl @emilysuperswag @flvredcas @usergeta @rafeinterlude @rafecameroninterlude @starkeysheart @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @fae-of-prey @amandabbbbb @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @spid6y @chimindity @spacexdrago @honeybunniesoobin @juniebugg @wearemadeofstardust0 @blckbrrybasket @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @chrislapdog @dark1paradise @nemesyaaa @rafescurtainbangz @zyafics @ijustwanttoreadlols

[yesimwriting]

Midway

a/n a small-ish fic of someone comforting aegon bc i feel bad for him 😭

Summary: You did not choose to be Aegon's wife, and yet you seem to be the only one choosing to be there for him during his recovery.

Warnings/info: forced marriage turned to awkward, subtle pining masquerading as uneasy friendship, vague descriptions of life threatening injuries, canon compliant incest (reader is rhaenyra's daughter)

read part 2 here: A Matter of Timing

----

Hushed whispers, as stale and sterile as the fresh gauze being stretched and pulled taut against his skin. The rasp of his breathing scrapes at the air that manages to pull itself into your own lungs.

"It is..." Alicent stalls, her gaze never leaving her eldest son, "A lot, I know." Her eyes are wide, glossier than you've ever seen them. An odd sort of empathy presses itself against your chest, making a full breath feel like even more of a fantasy.

Your sympathies and courteously vague expressions of understanding and mutual hurt are things Alicent has no use for. She's tolerated you like an inherited dress that doesn't quite fit, only begrudgingly acknowledging you when surrounded by family.

These days, her barely there tolerance for you has grown even weaker, considering the reports your handmaid had delivered to you of Alicent's attempts to convince the council to lock you away after your mother's retaliation to Aegon's coronation. An imprisonment only prevented by Aegon's command.

She lets out a breath, her attention briefly dropping to the ground before settling on you. "But you are his wife."

A fact she's only come to accept because of your blood. As Rhaenyra's daughter, your marriage had been a compromise, a final attempt at merging a divided family before your grandsire's passing. If your mother had known how quickly Aegon's supporters would have pushed him towards the throne...

You nod your head slowly, dismissing thoughts of yourself. For the first time since your union, the context of your arrangement does not cloud all else. "Yes."

There had been no attempts made to gloss over the extent of Aegon's injuries. For once, the heart of the Red Keep prioritized reality over projecting strength and invulnerability. The maesters had warned you, had detailed the damages left behind by the flames and the fall. An attack strong enough to kill a dragon.

"I um...I tried to visit him earlier, when he first returned." The surprise of your own honesty is an afterthought, a barely there thing attempting to occupy the little space left in your mind. "They said he was not yet stable."

Alicent is silent, some distant quality hollowing her stare as she watches the maester. His movements are succinct, precise as he quietly instructs a maid to bring him a salve left on the table. How many times in these last few days has he gone through this process? How many more times will a maester need to dress Aegon's wounds and rebandage him?

"Stable seems relative." Alicent blinks, her attention returning to what's directly in front of her. She turns to face you. "I trust that you'll sit with him, keep him company after the maester is finished."

Aegon's thoughts on your company have shifted several times throughout the short time you've been married. He often goes through periods of indifference followed by fleeting displays of interest that feel eerily close to companionship. Not quite a friendship or a romance, but something warm and comfortable. Mutual glances shared over supper, peaceful moments in the hall, occasionally crawling into the other's beds at night like children that cannot find sleep on their own.

Some skeptical part of you wonders if Alicent's sudden interest in your wifely responsibilities has more to do with punishing you than caring for Aegon. You doubt she considers you some great source of comfort in her son's life. At least you don't mind the thought of staying here, away from prying eyes and whispers that your privileges within the Red Keep should be restricted until the realm is no longer so divided. "Of course."

She nods once. "There--there is much to be decided upon in Aegon's absence." Alicent lets out a rigid breath. Perhaps Alicent really does want to know that someone's with Aegon. "I should go."

"I will keep him company, your grace."

With that, Alicent spares Aegon a final glance before turning to leave. You remain near the entrance of Aegon's bedchambers, far enough away to not impact the maester and his work.

You watch the process openly. Aegon's burns and other injuries are meticulously cleaned, white cloth stained dark as it is dragged against his skin. Salves and balms are lathered onto his wounds, concoctions meant to promote healing and ward off infection. The final step of the process involves the freshly cleaned wound being rebandaged.

The maester works at an expert pace, treating Aegon's body in sections. Before you know it, he's stepping back to assess the results of his efforts. The maester then looks over at you.

You've never been in a position to be responsible over someone so injured. Are you meant to...dismiss him? Approve his work? Ask something? "Is he..." Well seems like a terrible overstatement. You force yourself to take a few steps forward. "How is he?"

He briefly presses his lips together. "Much more stable than he was previously, your grace. I am afraid that I cannot yet predict much about his recovery. As of now, the priority is preventing infection."

You allow your gaze to fall onto Aegon. There's something about the way he's lying there, immobile and broken and smaller than he should be. "Right. Well, thank you."

The maester nods, "It is my honor, your grace."

He begins to gather his supplies before leaving. At the maester's absence, the maid that had been assisting him turns towards you. "Is there anything you need, your grace?"

You briefly consider sending her out for water or asking her to bring you a book you left in your own apartments. A menial task would ensure her return, which would mean you'd have a temporary reprieve from being alone with Aegon like this. "No, I'm alright. You are free to go."

She nods at the dismissal, "Thank you, my queen."

Queen. The title that belongs to your mother in her own right, not as a position inherited towards marriage.

The girl leaves, her quiet footsteps nearly drowned out by Aegon's unsteady breathing. You watch her until she's disappeared through the doorway, and then for awhile longer. When you can no longer justify your silence, you step forward.

Standing so close to the foot of Aegon's bed tugs at something deep inside of you. He is so still, so without defense. Like this, he does not seem like a man desperate to cement his position, or the person you never wished to be bonded to in this way, or even the only one who you allowed to enter your apartments after news of your brother's death arrived at the Red Keep. Now, he only seems like a boy trapped midway between where he lies and death.

Though bandaged and burned, the entirety of Aegon's features have not been destroyed. The shape of his nose, the part of his lips still familiar. His hair had not been a priority, and while the maester did brush it back to work on him, the disheveled strands have fallen forward again.

You move away from his bed's edge with careful steps. Before you can overthink the act, your hand moves to his forehead. As gently as you can will yourself to, you unplaster the hair stuck to the oily salves on his forehead. Your fingers catch themselves on silvery knots. You begin to pick apart the largest tangles as best as you can without a comb.

It's not an easy task, sweat and product cementing the knots into place. "I'd hate it if no one brushed my hair." The words come out on instinct, the desire to justify your proximity the way you would if he was awake. In all honesty, you're not sure if he can hear you.

The process is slow and clumsy, nails separating strands for you to comb through. Up close like this, you can almost pretend that this is restful for him. He still doesn't look well, but from here you can focus on his shut eyes and parted lips. Your hand drifts away from his hairline, fingertips fluttering over bandages and brushing against unmarred skin.

Something awfully sentimental attempts to claw its way up your throat. "I'll go get a comb." You pull your arm away from him. "I'll--I'll be back, I promise."

You take a single step back before turning your back to him. The maester deemed him stable, which means that he will not spontaneously pass if left alone for a moment. You'll only leave to fetch a comb and maybe a book so that you have something to read aloud. He's never loved your novels, but it's the only way you can think to keep him com--

A soft sound, so gentle and brief you could almost convince yourself you imagined it if it wasn't for the distinctness of the word. Your name.

You stall. Perhaps you misheard something else, maybe a stuttering of his breathing or the room settling. You turn.

He remains unchanged--body in the same position it's been in this entire time and eyes still shut. The supposed whisper should be dismissible.

You step forward, voice fragile as you ask, "Aegon?"

For a moment, pressed between the audible strain between his breaths, a faint optimism pulses through you. Weeks of being a bride, a queen of the realm hated by all those around her, and your only form of protection has, ironically, been the man that's bound you to this place.

The hope fluttering in your stomach quickly morphs into something closer to dread. He is not awake. He is not well enough to call for you or any--a shift, a turn of his outstretched hand so small and inconsequential you likely would not have noticed if it was any less needed.

Ignoring the blurring edges of your vision, you move towards his bedside in quick strides. Without thinking, your hand finds his. "I know that this union is not one you entered willingly. I am also aware of the fact that you know I did not ask for this either." You've not often held Aegon's hand, but now you're glad for his tangibility. "But you--you have not been cruel. You've actually been surprisingly patient, even when I have given you reason not to be."

His palm is warm against yours, the familiarity of it strangely assuring. The few times you've laid together for the sake of duty, the heat of Aegon's skin had been one of the few aspects of the process that you were reluctantly drawn to.

"At times, you have been kind..." You blink in an attempt to dismiss the stinging behind your eyes. "Friendly, even." Your hold on him tightens. "And I miss that. I--I miss our friendship."

The grief in your chest is a hybrid thing, made up just as much out of your empathy and fear as it is by your hurt. It's a sensation so dizzying, you nearly pour your panic out to him. You have to bite your tongue to avoid asking him to not leave you alone here.

Tears are beginning to prick the corner of your eyes when you feel his fingers bend around yours. Aegon squeezes your hand with a barely recognizable force.

He's--he's awake. "Aegon?"

His hold on you does not falter as a faint sigh escapes his lips, a midway of his own.

- - - -

a/n not to offer a part 2 to everything i write but i have an idea for a second fic that’s connected to this so if ur interested lmk :)))

[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: New Management

It starts off small, in controlled, barely noticeable areas of Gotham.

Over days, the litter and trash vanish, the sidewalks are washed and cleaned, and even building yards long since abandoned are trimmed. No one notices at first because Gotham is so used to ignoring how dirty everything is until Poison Ivy makes a public announcement thanking the person who cleaned up Gotham's parks.

You know, while she was tearing up that one street with her vine monster.

After the Bats had her locked away pending a trial, they stopped to look around and realized, yes, someone had been cleaning house. No one really knows who, but things have started to change. Streetlights are replaced, graffiti is painted over, and cracked windows are fixed. It's a nice thought, but all this had the gangs up in arms, especially when their tagging disappeared.

To control the goodie-two-shoes, a few gangs burn down a few local parks- mostly the ones near or around Crime Alley- and they also loot the smaller businesses. It's a warning that the mystery housekeeper should be reminded of their station, but- well, it's all for nothing because, like magic, the following night, the damage is repaired and somehow better than before.

What's crazy is the water change. Everyone notices that right away.

Gotham's water system was just as corrupted and descriptive as its class system. If you were one of the elites- your water was clean and crisp- if you were one of the poor- your water was practically tar with how contaminated it was. Anyone in between got a fifty-fifty chance of drinkable water, depending on what side of the city they lived on.

It became an identifier, really. Depending on how often you were seen at stores buying bottled water, people could tell how well off your family was.

That's why, on a random Wednesday, Gotham lost their collective mind that the entire water system was fixed. Regardless of class, every household had clear, scent-free water from the tabs.

The few who wandered outside trying to figure out what in the world was happening were left stunned at the sight of Gotham's surrounding bodies of water.

They were clean.

All the rivers, the harbors, the silly little fountains found around Old Gotham- everything. It was safe to swim in them now. That was just wrong.

"What's happening?" Jason growls, crouching at one of Wayne Manor's main windows. His eyes are barely visible over the edge, allowing him to peek out into the yard, but he must not be fully visible, lest he become a target.

"I don't know," Tim hisses, taking a similar position on the second floor. He grips the communicator with a white-knuckle grip, trying his best to ground himself. "I just don't know. There are no witnesses, no evidence, no clues whatsoever on who's doing this to the city!"

"I don't like this!"

"No one does, Jason," Bruce intervenes; the accompanying sound of keys typing is familiar background noise. He's still in the cave, attempting to run through all reports of horrified Gothamites on social media, trying to find a pattern. "Babs? Do you have any new updates?"

"No!" She hisses, her typing sounding far more aggressive. "I can't find anything on those responsible. Nothing on the internet, nothing on public camera feeds, and nothing on rumors through dark web chats. It's like I'm trying to track a ghost!"

"This isn't natural, B," Steph cuts in. She's hiding in her bedroom closet, voice low in case her mom hears. After they realize some new lunatic is running loose in Gotham, her mom calls her back home to barricade them. If they had a bomb shelter, they would have been in it long ago.

"It's worse than we think," Duke huffs. He's somewhere near the top floor, having chosen a higher vantage point, hoping his meta powers would spot someone coming towards the manor. "I think I see glimpses of blue in the sky. If this continues at this rate, we'll have a clear blue sky in about two hours."

Multiple gasps of horror are heard throughout the communication lines. Bruce starts to type faster, barking orders for everyone to remain where they are and not go gather information. They had no idea what they were dealing with.

Damian stands with a confused Cass, Dick, and Alfred. The only bats not originated from Gotham, so while they can claim to have years in the city, none of them truly know. "I do not understand. Is this not beneficial to Gotham?"

"It may be too much at once, Master Damian." The Bulter tells him carefully. He only speaks that slowly when Alfred thinks of every word before saying it. "Whoever is behind this must not be from Gotham. If they were, they know that people would lose their collective minds upon the improvements."

"But who could be responsible?" Cass asks, watching Jason duck and army crawl to a new window once some sunlight manages to break through the clouds where he was originally hiding.

"I wish I knew Miss Cass."

Meanwhile, Danny Fenton leans back in his computer chair in a dimension of hope and a skip away. He laces his fingers together, bending them until satisfying cracks are heard. It was a productive hour of work, but he thinks now that his virtual city had cleaner water, his NPCs should start healing and developing better.

He was suspicious of Madam Gotham—a new ghost that appeared within his territory of the Ghost Zone—but after a quick conversation, he decided to befriend her. Danny is glad he did, seeing as she was in danger of fading away. Her core had suffered severe damage due to denying her obsession for so long.

Danny could do nothing for her. Madam Gotham needed professional help that only certain Yetis could offer. Although the Yetis usually turned away anyone not of their kind, with Danny backing her up, they had been willing to take in Madam Gotham.

She had been stubborn, though, refusing to get help because she was too busy playing her silly little game. The computer she played it on was unique to her realm and could not withstand the cold temeture of the Far Frozen. Danny was literally watching her melt—a horrific reminder of Dani and her siblings' disabling—before he could take it anymore.

Only after agreeing to watch her video game did she decide to be moved to the Far Frozen to receive medical treatment. Now, Danny never really liked those farming simulator games, but this was different in the sense that the city was already there.

His job was to further develop the city into a utopia. It was interesting to learn what modern issues the city had and how he could make decisions based on point costs on what to fix.

He gained points from making his citizens happier, supporting the Bats—the city's defenders—or choosing to develop options that significantly raised the value of his city.

It was rather addicting, really. He could see how Madam Gotham got so sucked in, even though it didn't really have much action for him to make. Mostly, he would let his citizens react to his new choices and use his points to delete trash and gunk.

There were some side quests he liked to work on, too, like helping certain citizens with drug addiction, depression, anxiety, or anger issues. Danny has no idea why Madam Gotham allowed so many to develop so badly, so every day, he would give them all one good luck point to brighten their days.

He had three full tabs of characters, a brief explanation of their lives, and whatever issues Danny could make them go through. He would tackle the number of homeless youth next by fixing up the city's affordable housing and infrastructure.

It was a bit narcissistic of Madam Gotham to name her game town "Gotham City," but it's better than any name Danny could have come up with.

[reyalvr]

RUMORS!

I KNOW YOU HEARD THE RUMORS, YOU MUST GET OVER TO IT RIGHT AWAY!

synopsis ┊ ken sato- a remarkable name in the world of modern baseball- has graced japan with not only his presence, but also his skills as a key player for the yomiuri giants. from press conferences to media endorsements, it’s clear that his stardom has only intensified from his recent move. but what happens when you, his personal assistant, are left to deal with some more… serious rumors?

genre ┊ chaotic fluff, oneshot

pairing ┊ ken sato x gn-PA!reader

warnings ┊ mild cursing, ami is not the reporter depicted!

word count ┊ 2.2k

author’s note ┊ hiya! i recently found time to watch ultraman: rising and this fic was just writing itself in my head hehe… happy reading! (p.s. yes… the title was inspired from the new minions song)

THREE MONTHS. That was how long you had known baseball’s darling, Ken Sato. And in those three months, you had undergone every single PR nightmare you had ever conjured up in your mind prior to pursuing your career. You had worked with celebrities before- doing God knows what ‘til the waking hour on their every beck and call. But Ken, despite presenting himself as a laid back man, was an entirely new… experience. 

From the Kaiju attack at his first game under the Giants, to the continuous streak of losses throughout the first half of the season, it seemed like the Gods were against you as you did your damndest to handle the damage control on his reputation. His ego didn’t aid you either- having to spin and twist multiple incidents to get reporters and media outlets off his back. You weren’t exactly sure what it was that kept you from quitting all in all, but the longer you worked under him, the thinner your thread seemed to snap. 

You huffed an annoyed sigh into the cold air, picking up the pace as you jogged along the designated path by the bay. Your days off were scarce- not because of Ken’s schedule, but because of your own decision to be up to date with his spontaneous actions. Despite the rarity of solitude, you always managed to savor your time off. The music played at a mellow volume in your ears, the morning sun starting to warm your surroundings as you watched its rays splash hues of orange across the sky. 

Your felt your watch beep against your skin, signaling the end of your morning run. Pausing by the railing, you leaned against the old metal bars as you checked your stats. You swiped absent-mindedly on the screen of your smartwatch, scrolling once you were sure that everything was in order. There was one thing that caught your eye, though, as you noticed the red notification bubbles on your message app were continuously going up. It was odd, yes, but not odd enough to be out of the ordinary- at least in your line of work. 

Deciding not to bombard yourself this early in the morning, you opted to give everything a once-over once you made it back to your apartment. Whatever it was could wait- you were on your time and your pace. Besides, it couldn’t be that bad. Could it now?

IT DEFINITELY COULD, AND IT DEFINITELY WAS. You pushed on the gas as hard as you could, your tongue poking into your cheek as you continued to drive to Ken’s house. Of all the days that he decided to make perhaps the stupidest decision in his career, he chose today. Doing your best not to see red, you dialed his phone once more. The ringing played throughout your car as you maneuvered through the roads, and you swore for what felt like the umpteenth time that morning when you heard the tone of his voice message. 

Hey, it’s Ken. Leave a message after the beep, and I’ll be more than happy to ignore it! Said his usual arrogant tone playing before the generic beep. You gripped the steering wheel harder, huffing angrily as you sharply turned a corner. 

“Kenji Sato answer your goddamn phone right now! I’m ten minutes away from your house and when I get there, I better not be greeted with your supposed secret love child!” You yelled, pushing the red button once you finished your message. 

Ah yes. The centerpoint of your current rage: Ken’s “leaked” one-on-one with a reporter about juggling baseball and his homelife. Someone on Ken’s staff had sent the article in your shared work group chat, and nearly all of his personnel had directly messaged you about the issue. It was inevitable for celebrities to get into a scandal once or twice, but one on this level would not be an easy fit to overcome. 

You don’t exactly remember what you were doing prior to receiving the messages- all you knew was that you needed to get to Ken as soon as possible. Of course it just be a misunderstanding, hell it could even be a hoax! But knowing Kenji, anything could be possible. You neared the hill of his private property, driving past the gates as the security recognized your car.

You parked haphazardly at the front of his house, your feet stomping into the gravel as you made your way to his front door. His estate had numerous smart tech installed throughout his home, so you knew that each and every one of your moves were either being recorded or observed. You crouched slightly to be in frame with the doorbell’s camera, your anger slightly toned down.

“Ken.” You paused to narrow your eyes. “Open the door.”

For the next minute and a half you swore you could hear some sort of clash and bang from inside the house. You kept your arms crossed, raising your eyebrow from time to time when the clashing seemed to grow louder. After what felt like an eternity, the front door opened slightly. Not all the way, but just enough for Ken to peek out and smile at you- albeit nervously cocky.

The nerve.

“Hey, [Y/N]! What uh- what are you doing here?” He manages to cough out, roughly combing a hand through his hair. “I thought it was your day o-”

“Save it.” You reply, your gaze sharp enough to slice through whatever excuse he had at the ready. You held up your phone then, the article’s headline prominently bolded:

OUT OF LEFT FIELD: Ken Sato Strikeout? Nope! Love Child Home Run!

Ken’s head bent down to get a good look at what you were showing him, and you watched carefully as his eyes scanned over the article not once, but thrice. You let out an impatient hum, your mouth forming into a slight scowl as the both of you stood in silence. With your head tilted to the side, you dropped your hand back down and crossed your arms. 

“Are you just gonna stand there or are you going to start explaining to me what the hell you’ve been up to these past twenty-four hours?” You question, moving past him as you enter the house. 

Usually you would wait for Ken to let you in, but stalling would only hinder you from coming up with what to do next. The article had already been up for two hours, and you halted any statements from being made before you could get an explanation from Ken himself. He quickly tailed after you, nearly stumbling over himself as you stopped at his kitchen. You gripped the marble countertop, closing your eyes momentarily before you turned to face him once more. 

“[Y/N] I swear, it’s not as bad as you think it is,” Ken says as he tries to add reassurance to his tone, but it doesn't mask the lingering tinge of falsehood.

“Oh, really?” You say, your eyebrows raised in disbelief. “Because in the span of two hours I have had thirty news outlets blowing up my- your management team for a response!”

He opens his mouth to speak, but stops again midway when you continue. “The headline I showed you was local. I want you to tell me exactly how and why you were on the phone with a reporter talking about your private life at God knows what hour. Now.”

You can see him swallow, licking his lips after as he tries to form the right words. He blinks a bit before pinching the bridge of his nose, tilting his head up as he lets out a deep sigh. When he opens his eyes he’s still greeted with your restive stance. Still he remains slightly hesitant, but he does end up recalling the remnants of his conversation with a reporter he had met at one of the parties he attended. Ken goes on to explain that he had only seeked out advice. His schedule, his personal life- he needed an outlet. You can feel yourself slowly untense, though you continued to listen to make sure all your facts were straight.

When he finishes his retelling, he puts his hands up slightly- as if he were trying to put you at ease. “I swear, that’s all I said. I thought,” He pauses, his brows furrowing in a way that made you slightly mad at yourself from blowing up at him. “I just thought I could have a normal conversation for once. ‘Guess I was wrong.”

The warm lights cast a sombre shadow on his features, and from this angle you notice the worn out expression painted on his face. The bags under his eyes are darker than usual, not to mention the fading bruises from his latest altercation with one of players from his opposing team. In front of you was not Ken Sato, this was Kenji; Simply a man who was thrust into a new life without the needed support. 

“Well, no shit.” You say, finally breaking the silence, you fix your posture against the counter as you tone down the anger in your voice. “Jesus Ken, sometimes I wonder how you were able to maintain your career before me.”

At that he lets out a soft laugh, his dull expression slowly fading. “Yeah, I do too.”

You give him a puzzled look before you reply. “Are you mocking me?”

“No! No, I was being serious.” He says, his smile dropping slightly. “I know I haven’t been an easy task, hell you’re here on your day off for Christ’s sake.” 

You hum at his words, narrowing your eyes slightly as you push yourself off the counter with another awkward cough. In all ninety days of working under Ken Sato, never has the man gotten this sentimental with you. You decide not to linger on his words, your attention going back to the problem at hand. 

“Right, well,” You sigh, whipping your phone out in the process. “I need you to give me the name of that reporter. I’ll get the legal team to draft an NDA breach.” 

He furrowed his eyebrows then, looking at you as if you’d said something odd. “I didn’t make him sign an NDA though?”

You only give him a smile, a hint of confidence plastered on your lips. “I know. I have my ways, Sato.”

“You’re a pretty good assistant, then.” He replies, the corners of his lips going up slightly as he keeps his arms crossed. 

“I’m an excellent assistant.” You correct without looking at him, your fingers tapping away at your phone as you prepare the next steps of your plan. 

Ken can only chuckle in agreement, tapping his fingers on his forearm as he awaits your next set of instructions. Within the next twenty minutes you’ve sent out the necessary details to your team, your legs kicking as you sit on one of his bar stools. He’s stood across from you, leaning on the countertop looking at you intently as you explain the response plan. 

“And lastly,” You say, sliding out your hand. “Give me your phone.”

 His head tilts, the same confused expression on his face. “Why?”

“Just do it,” Your hand curls, motioning for him to hand his phone over. “No, I am not installing a monitor.” You add when you see his mouth open to interrogate you. 

He slides his phone over with a defeated huff, and you open a new contact page on his contacts. “If you need to talk, do it with someone who won’t leak your shit.” You say, sliding back his phone when all your details are settled.

“I have your number though, don’t I?” Ken questions, looking over at the number you inputted. 

“You had my work number. Now you have my personal phone.” You point your finger at him before continuing. “Don’t abuse it. I’m still your assistant.” “Wasn’t gonna, sweetheart.” He says, an amused smirk mixing in with his addled look. 

You quirk your eyebrow at the nickname. You shake your head, hopping off the stool as you make your way back to the front door. Ken follows behind you, hands in his pockets as he watches you leave. Before you can open the door though, you look back at him one last time. 

“I mean it, Ken.” You say, making sure it gets through his head. “You have a problem, tell me. You need a solution, you tell me.”

“I know, I know.” He gives you a tight-lipped smile, nodding towards the door. “Go enjoy the rest of your day off before I start thinking you care about me.”

“I do. It’s my job to care about you, Ken.” You reply, giving him a look before you open the door. “Whether you like it or not, I’m your lifeline. At least until you get rid of me, which won’t be happening for a good while.”

“Oh yeah?” He jests, his cocky demeanor slowly coming back. “‘You so sure about that?”

“Extremely sure.” You’re standing outside now, slowly walking backwards. “Twenty minutes ago people thought you had a secret love child and that you were a terrible father. Now you’re back on the face of KFC as baseball’s darling.” 

He’s taken aback. Was he actually booted off of his collaborations? He hastily checked his phone, scrolling through all his platforms. To his surprise, he was greeted with… his usual feeds. No sight of the article, no lingering gossip. His ads had doubled, his partnerships boosted on the products he had endorsed. He looked back up to say something, but you had already started your car. You backed out his estate, giving him a smile through the tinted glass of your windshield. 

He let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. You were right. But who was he kidding?

You always were.

[rottiens]

WHISPERS OF RECONCILIATION ┊S. GOJŌ

✮ word count: 1.8k

✮ summary. your husband is less and less at home due to missions he can't turn down, so every time he comes back, you feel him more distant.

✮ tags. . husband gojō x afab reader, they have a daughter, marital problems, angst to fluff, canon au, the struggle of being a first time mom. divider creds: cafekitsune.

You turn on the faucet, releasing the stream of water as you hear the front door open.

The noise doesn't scare you or stop you from your task since you know it's him. As you cover the sponge with the fun bubbles from the dishwashing gel, you hear his footsteps like a muffled distant noise, in the passage from the main entrance to where you are, his presence looms like lightning warning of a storm. All the lights are off except for the one in the kitchen which makes gojo trace his path directly towards you.

It doesn't take long for his arms to wrap around your waist from behind. You don't flinch, unlike when you did at the beginning of the relationship.

"What?" Gojo laughs at the line of your neck, it's a snort that denotes weariness. He smells of beer, far beneath that are traces of the perfume he had soaked himself in this morning when he left the house. "No reaction now?" Gojo breathes your skin, you smell of sweat and dirty clothes and the kisses he leaves on your neck make your stomach clench.

You do your best to pretend that his touch doesn't set your skin on fire, that his long fingers slipping under your nightgown have no effect on you.

The grip on the innocent plate tightens, a little, then tighter. Gojo keeps breathing into the shell of your ear, just behind the cartilage where he manages to bristle your skin until you can pretend no more and set the plate aside causing a clatter in the puddle of water, your fingers form fists under the warm spray of the faucet.

"Stop." It's not a command but a gentle request, you press your lips together and gojo stops right away.

"Are we still fighting?" Gojo sounds like a puppy you just kicked to the curb and yet he doesn't insist, pulls his hands off your body and takes a step back, you almost instantly regret it.

"Yes," you reply after a while, to a question he forgot he asked.

You hear him sigh heavily, then you feel him grab you by the waist and with your help you allow him to turn around until you are facing him. You refuse to look at him however after a while you give in, his tousled hair falls like snowflakes across his forehead, his eyes are naked, blue and alert staring at you. On top of his uniform he had a denim jacket on, you're sure it didn't cover him much from the winter cold and that probably geto lent it to him when they went out drinking because your gojo always forgot his coats.

You imagine him going reluctantly, just not to say no to his best friend, because your gojo hates the taste of alcohol as much as you do.

Gojo doesn't move, he lets his hand seek yours without detaching from your eyes. His fingers are icy cold and you shiver at the sudden touch, suddenly Gojo is taking your hand into his mouth. His lips rest on the back of your wet hand, droplets of water manage to reach the floor and his shoes and you let him do it because the scene is too commniveddorative to damage the moment.

His mouth murmurs a sorry for each kiss he deposits. Immediately your damp skin releases him from the cold of the street and when he kisses you a fourth time, you can feel them grow warmer. Gojo suddenly stops from the task and looks up at you from his position raising his eyebrows, your hand still close to your mouth, so close that his next words brush your skin. "I don't like it when we fight."

You don't like it either. But you had no choice but to stop talking and frown as you gave him a killing look when he told you he couldn't say no to a mission. What did he mean by that? you wondered. His daughter was three months old and all he did was miss her first babbles, not being home when you needed him, barely changing her diapers and barely feeding her.

Your feet are killing you, your muscles looked like they had been bitten by a giant monster and the circles under your eyes were getting darker with each passing day.

"You're frowning." When gojo speaks again, you notice that his back is straight now.

Slowly you move away from his touch and your arm returns to you, dangling beside your body.

"I don't want to talk about it."

You get ready to turn around to focus on washing the dishes, including his because his dinner got cold in the dining room, next to yours, while you were feeding your little girl, however gojo interrupts you by returning to make prey to your hips with his hands and thus sticking you a second time to his body. 

"Leave it. I'll do it." 

Your lungs fill and soon empty with another exhalation. And before gojo can respond to anything else you were already leaving the room.

You were tired, you could feel it in the way your bare feet dragged the floor beneath them, swollen and full of calluses. Gojo watches you as you turn the corner and lose yourself in the hallway with a dark aura surrounding your whole figure and your shoulders being pulled by the force of the floor.

Gojo returns to the dishes in front of him. Only his, a glass and a pair of forks remained, which he washed without haste.

The silence of the kitchen serves as an executioner that punishes him along with his thoughts for his actions. Gojo thinks about the day, thinks about his girl and thinks about you and how unfair it must be for you to have given up these months of being a sorceress who risked her life every day to be a full-time mother while the drab and boring walls loom over you.

His footsteps are long and silent, Gojo crosses the hallway where he can hear water spurting from part of the guest bathroom. He thinks about stopping at the door and asking you if you need anything else, however he leaves you this moment alone and heads towards the baby's room. Gojo pushes the door causing a rustic scream from the wood, in the background there is an acoustic melody playing and a bluish night light carrying in them figures of stars and moons swaying on the walls of the room. Gojo had bought it especially for her, it was the first gift he bought when you told him you were pregnant. The memory makes him smile, nostalgic.

Gojo restrains himself from stretching his arms and pulling her to his chest. So he just bends his back until his spine complains and deposits a soft kiss on her forehead that his girl never feels, since he activates his technique in time to not touch her and prevent her from waking up.

Just as he came in, he left. He no longer hears you in the hallway, there is no more water dripping from the shower, yet there are wet footsteps going towards the shared room that give away that you were done.

Gojo slips into the bathroom. He closes the door behind him and contemplates himself in the mirror for a moment, still the same as always, with a couple of black spots under his eyes and the occasional irritated red vein in the infinite sea of his blue eyes. He fills his lungs with your scent, the liquid gel of vanilla flowers bounces inside the four walls of the bathroom, he drops his eyelids and buries his fingers in the ceramic of the sink.

Gojo takes off his jacket and lays it on the floor, then discards the rest of his clothes. His fingers curl around the faucet and he lets the hot water wash away the traces of the day from him as he relives over and over again the arguments you’ve had these past months. 

The soap scrubs away the weariness of the day along with his dreary thoughts, these run down the drain along with the dirty suds that the water bathes off his body.

Once he is done, he wraps a towel around his hips. He turns off the rest of the lights and goes to bed.

You are on your side of the mattress with your back to the door, everything is dark except for the moonbeams that manage to enter through the crack that the curtains cannot protect. He closes the door with a soft sound and turns to you, leaving the towel hanging behind the door, gojo climbs into bed with his body and soul naked.

He knows you're not sleeping. It takes him a moment to find his voice, lost in the spots on the ceiling, he searches for the right word he should use instead of "I'm sorry."

"I," he clears his throat, one finger tapping his own rib. "I'm not going to school tomorrow."

At first gojo thinks you are sleeping, you say nothing and your breathing is slow and steady.

"And?" That's all you say, encouraging him to keep talking.

"I will tell Yaga that I need a couple of weeks off, I want to have these days together with my wife and daughter."

You don't answer again, you let your body do the talking. You push further into him, your ass collides with his side and he laughs softly, improving his posture to better embrace you from behind. His arms immediately cling to your waist in a possessive manner, drawing you to his chest where you feel his ragged breathing.

"I'm still upset," you finally say, feeling him smile against your ear as he squeezes your body tighter. "But I guess that's a start."

"You have worked so hard these days and I am sorry to leave you alone, I promise I will make it up to you, there is no justification in having left you alone these weeks." You force your lip between your teeth to keep from giving him the pleasure of making you smile. "I'm going to start with cooking tomorrow."

You laugh instantly, gojo pulls you further into his body, threatening to tickle you and you raise your hands in submission.

"You cooking sounds very tasty, satoru. It's just..."

"Hm?" 

"It's just that you haven't done it in a while." Then you add, "It's been a while since you've been home."

Gojo merely kisses your bare shoulder and plays with the skin on your abdomen.

"I'm sorry," he says, after a while. You nod looking at his hands, looking at how pretty the engagement ring looks on them. "I love you so much, I love our daughter, I love what we have. I don't want to ruin that."

You bring his hands to your mouth, your stomach swelling with tension, your gut roiling as you bring them close enough to kiss his knuckles and then assure a barely audible, "I love you too. Let's talk about it tomorrow, shall we?”

[dyeher]

“She did what?!” Sakusa’s eyes widen minutely, his hands stilling their massaging of your calf. “I- and you- you just- you just let her?!” He sounds incredulous.

“What was I supposed to do Omi! Fight her in the fucking parking lot?” you frown, nudging his hand with your shin until he resumes his massage.

“What do you me- yes! Yes! Knock her ass out, baby, that’s what you should have done!”

You blink at him, astonished at how genuinely upset he seems. “I could’ve ended up in a cell Kiyoomi,” you point out, calmly.

“And I would have happily bailed you out,” he sounds exasperated and that makes his reaction even more concerning.

You’re not sure what to reply to something like that. Mostly because you’ve never seen Kiyoomi so…incensed. You lock eyes for a brief moment, as you carefully bring your spoon to your lips and suck the ice cream off.

Sakusa scowls at you. “This is why I always go shopping with you. Trouble only ever finds you when you’re alone.”

You frown. “That’s mean Omi.”

“It’s true,” he vetoes. “If I were around it would have never happened.”

“I think it was an accident,” you pout, determined to give the woman the benefit of the doubt.

Sakusa cocks his head at you. “You think this woman accidentally ran into your cart with her car after you beat her to getting the last tub of cookie dough ice cream?”

You open your mouth to respond but he beats you to it.

“Nevermind,” he sighs defeatedly. “It doesn’t matter it’s in the past.”

“Uhm- I- we- we’ll have to cover the damage to her car…” you trail off when Sakusa turns to you slowly, his eyebrows furrowed menacingly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I mean- she- the cart-“

“She ran into you! Fucking Christ,” Sakusa stands, throwing his hands into the air dramatically. “Let me guess, you apologized.”

You look away.

“Oh, come on!”

“I don’t like the way you’re acting right now,” you sniff, sullenly stuffing a spoon of ice cream into your mouth.

“Baby,” he takes a steadying breath. “Sweetheart, light of my fucking life,” he stresses, fists planted on his hips. “You have to see that this was not your fault!”

“But my cart—”

“Was the only thing protecting you from getting hit by a fucking car!”

You blanch, finally understanding why he’s so angry. “Oh.”

“Oh? Oh?”

Sakusa’s left eye twitches.

“I didn’t think of that.”

His eyes slip shut. “Of course not,” he chuckles dryly. “Of course you didn’t think about what would happen if that cart wasn’t there. Of course.”

“Omi—”

“You are never going shopping without me again.”

“Kiyoomi–”

“Don’t argue with me about this. You will not win.”

“But—”

“Never again.”

[ynsbarbbb]

love me harder | m. verstappen

hypothesis - max is on the brink of losing you. however, after a fatal accident…

pairing - max verstappen x fem!driver!reader

[fic is inspired by “love me harder” by ariana grande ft. the weeknd

“baby, in the moment, you’ll know this is, something bigger than us and beyond bliss”

“could you just look at me?” you yelled as max just kept walking a few steps ahead of you.

“can’t. race is about to start.”

stepping into a quicker pace you place yourself in front of max and the garage door, “when was the last time you told me you loved me?”

your eyes searched his face, desperately trying to find a glimpse of the max that you knew, the max you fell in love with, the max you married. the hand you placed on his chest, you could feel the steady rhythmic thump of his heart.

“you really want to do this now?”

“yes! i never see you anymore!”

max scoffed, eyes rolling as he looked back down at his phone, “sorry that i’m busy.”

your hand fell back to your side, “i’m busy too max, yet i still try.”

he nodded his head, eyes not lifting from the rectangular square. you sighed, your hands landing on your hips. is this what you’ve become now?

“is our marriage still worth fighting for, max?”

he looked up. eyes piercing through yours. you cannot believe the words just left your mouth, but it felt relieving to finally utter the words that has been haunting you for weeks.

“i’m not doing this with you right now, y/n,” max steps around you, “good luck with your race.”

~~

it was a millisecond.

you missed the turn by a millisecond and hamilton came crashing into you, sending your right wing and two tires flying. the car skidding across the track and landed upside down.

the force of the impact shoved your head against the steering wheel, hard, bouncing back against the seat.

damage had been done. to you and your car.

to lewis’ as well.

unbeknownst to max, who was in the lead, adrenaline coursing though his veins at the thought of his fourth podium for the season.

he was thriving, the car succumbing to his every command. the engine roaring sending shivers throughout his whole body.

the grin on his face turned devilish. he’s so close.

“max,” christians voice in his ears broke his train of thought, but his eyes never once lost sight of the track in front of him.

“the car’s doing great, no need to worry. podium is secure,” max declared excitingly. he took the turn, groaning at the strain it took on his body.

“though, sainz is on my tail the whole fucking time.”

christian sighed, not at all what max had expected, but he couldn’t be bothered by his team principal’s pms at the moment.

“max, there was a crash.”

another turn, another groan.

sainz could be spotted in max’ peripheral vision. he pushed the car harder, engine roaring, sending max flying away from carlos.

“who crashed?” he asked as he fiddled with the buttons on the wheel, checking if everything is still steady. he has at least seven more laps to go.

“y/n.”

dead silent.

heavy thick as your name registered in his mind. the grin that has been on his face had been wiped down. his lips sticking to his teeth.

“max?” christian asked, waiting a few moments. there was no response from the dutch.

he felt as if his body went numb, limb for limb. his arms felt wonky - not like the grip he had on the wheel mere moments ago. his breathing became shallow, his lungs struggling to capture enough oxygen, his brain malfunctioning.

next thing he knew he was crashing into sandbags.

the impact knocking sense back into him. sand dust flying everywhere.

“max!” christian exclaimed, “are you injured?”

“how’s she? is she alive?” max frantically asked. you didn’t have a choice - you had to be alright. you couldn’t be hurt, max would loose his head if you where. who crashed into you? how hard was the impact?

max got out of the car, “christian, fucking answer me!”

the line was silent for a couple of moments, “she’s stable. unconscious, but stable. no further news yet. she has been rushed to the ER.”

cars blasted past him, deafening noise drumming his ears.

“i need to get to her.”

“max, the race -“

“fuck the race, that’s my fucking wife!”

~

the doors of the ER bursted open, a very sweaty, and breathless max stood there, his eyes frantically looking around for anyone who could assist him.

he still had his suit on, christian hot on his trail.

“y/n, i need to know where y/n verstappen is,” he asked, accent thick as he slapped his hands on the receptionist desk.

she looked up at him, “any relation?”

max scoffed, “my wife.”

her fingers made quick work on the keyboard, “your wife is in surgery.”

max’ shoulders slumped and christian took hold of it, shooting a quick thanks to the nurse and led him in another direction. he swiped his hands though his hair, pulling at it, feeling his frustration grow and bubble at the bottom of his throat.

he could scream.

max paced the hallway, up and down. maybe minutes - maybe hours. he didn’t know. all he did know was that he’s staying.

why didn’t he tell you he loved you. with every fibre of his being he loved you. he craved you, constantly. the thought of you was all that he needed to survive - but knowing that you were his wife, made him whole.

you were the person who stood by him whilst he was working through his troubles with his father. on the nights when fear surrounded him, the comforting hand of you, his wife, brought him peace. on the days when he was on his happiest, it was on the days he spent with you.

you made him. you showed him to be max verstappen.

his wife.

~~

news spread around the paddock, like a wild fire. sky sport tv airing out to fans and viewers to keep you in their prayers and thoughts.

some of your and max’ closest friends took off straight away to the hospital, supporting max even though he didn’t even acknowledge them.

they were still there.

an apology from lewis was sent out world wide, and he even made an appearance to max, but the dutch only glared at him, taking hold of his collar, making his friends jump and take hold of max.

“if she doesn’t make it out of here, you’ll regret ever setting foot on a paddock again. i’ll kill you.”

his voice was icy as he spat the words at lewis, baring his teeth. daniel stepped in between the two and pushed max back by his chest.

max’ eyes never left lewis’ retreating from.

~~

“verstappen, y/n.”

max was in front of the doctor in a second, his eyes pleading his for good news. the doctor smiled at him and gave him what he was searching for.

“she’s asleep, but she’s an extreme fighter. you’ve got no worries, mr verstappen.”

he swore he could cry.

the doctor told him the room you were in and max wasted no time rushing towards it.

he searched the numbers above the doors for room one-o-one. his number. a bit of pride bursting in his chest, fate really had put you two together.

max stepped into the room and his heart broke.

machines connected to your heart, the beeping sound being the only indication that you are in fact alive. various cuts and bruises formed along your face. a neck brace adorned. oxygen mask on your beautiful face.

max stifled a sob as he crashed into a seat near your bed, scooting closer and taking hold of your hand. his thumb drawing patterns on your knuckles.

even in your unconscious mind your body still knew that it was your max, the heart monitor speeding up slightly.

it caused him to chuckle, “mijn schatje, mijn alles, i am so sorry. this should’ve never happened to you.”

he squeezed your palm, pressing a tender kiss to the flesh, “fight, stay strong for me, yeah? so that i can love you right this time.”

~~

a gentle knock at the door roused max from his sleep. his hand was still tucked in yours.

max turned towards the door, lando stood there.

a soft smile on his face with a gym bag in his hand, “mate, i brought you some clothes - the suit can not be comfortable.”

he chuckled and motioned for his muppet friend to come in. lando placed the bag by the door and walked closer to stand next to max. he placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“how’s the missus?”

max looked at you, a lump the size of a bull frog lodged itself in his throat, “she’s good, doc said she’s a real fighter.”

“she is a verstappen, ey?” lando nudged max’ shoulder who just chuckled in response. he felt guilty, ashamed, contrast to who he was. he shouldn’t have had to treat his wife like shit. you just wanted to know he loves you.

“look, mate, don’t beat yourself up about what happend, see this as a new beginning.”

max nodded, “she just wanted me to say that i love her. shit, i should’ve just said it to her. the crash-“

“is not your fault, you couldn’t have possibly predicted an accident to happen.”

he shook his head and looked at the bag by the door, “i’m going to change, would you mind maybe staying here. i don’t want to leave her alone.”

“yeah, of course mate.”

~~

two weeks later

“don’t strain yourself so much, schat,” max’ voice was gentle as he looked at your from his seat on the couch. within mere moments he stood in front of you, large palms pressed to your hips to help you walk the last few remaining steps.

this last couple of weeks changed. your marriage changed. max changed.

he was waiting on you hand and foot, even though you have told him multiple times that certain things you can do on your own, he still insisted.

the one noticeable change for yourself and everyone surrounding you was the fact that max openly, whenever he got the chance told you he loved you.

whether it be when you’re making dinner, doing dishes, walking beside him on the paddock - he’d say he loves you with a kiss pressed to your temple. it was and still is absolute bliss.

your recovery went by fast, splendid as your doctor had put it. with time and patience, he said, you’d be back on the track in no time.

when your socked feet took the last step, max couldn’t help the face splitting grin that adorned his face.

“look at you go, speedy,” he smiled as he took hold of your head and pressed a tender kiss to your forehead. speedy. the nickname max had dubbed you the moment you overtook him when you first met.

speedy. the nickname max had dubbed you the moment you stole his heart.

speedy. the nickname max had used in his vows the moment you took his last name.

max made sure that you didn’t strain yourself too much in the recovery process, he treated you like you were his fine china, bubble wrapping your heart and by God, swearing that he’d never let his actions and words ever hurt you again.

he poured so much love into you. you practically glowed in comparison to when the argument had occurred.

his love.

his wife.

max made sure you knew how much he adored you, loved you, craved you.

“ik hou van je, mijn schat.”

and you knew he did.

fin.

[livinginshambles]

You're unbelievable (derogatory) | James Potter

Pairing: James Potter x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 5.3k

Summary: You're best friends with James, but since his new relationship with Lily, you find yourself standing on the side more often than not.

Your friendship with James breaks when he has to choose between you or Lily, and it's only after the damage is done that he realizes the consequences of his actions.

Note: Lily's kind of a not cool in this fic. Not proofread, mistakes (grammar and maybe continuity because I rewrote the middle from memory) Time lines are wrong, howarts is endless.

_______________________

“James Potter, you’re unbelievable!” You exclaimed, and if not for the widest grin ever plastered on you face, those words could hold an entirely different meaning. You gave James a tight side hug while you clutched your precious gift to your chest.

“Well, you better believe it darling,” Sirius appeared on your left. “Prongs made us stand in line for that signed copy for eight hours. EIGHT HOURS,” he complained and shook James back and forth by his shirt collar.

“And not to mention, he woke us up at 2 o’clock in the morning for that,” Peter happily reminded him, and Sirius wailed at the memory and dramatically dropped to his knees. You stumbled back and James was quick to hold you steadily.

“Oh, quit it with the theatrics,” Remus mused, and he pulled Sirius up from the floor where he had slouched his entire weight against your legs. “It wasn’t that bad.”

Sirius huffed. “For you maybe. Because you secretly wanted to get your book signed too,” he accused Remus. Remus sheepishly shrugged.

James pressed a kiss to your temple, and you melted inside. “Happy birthday, love,” he whispered with a fond smile, and you bashfully looked away.

“Thanks,” you muttered awkwardly. Godric, you despised the attention that birthdays bring along.

“On that note, I’m heading towards the library,” you excused yourself. “But thank you guys so much for getting that book for me, I love you guys so much,” you said and blew them a kiss as you stepped backwards to the door.

“Hold on,” James frowned. “We’re not celebrating?”

“Uh, no I have to work on our Potions assignment.”

“Oh. Well, let me walk you to the library, yeah?” James offered, but you had an inkling feeling that it wasn’t really a question.

You laughed and pulled a face at him. “I can’t stop you anyways, can I? You’re an absolute menace, Potter.”

“I’m just trying to spend the day together.” James wrapped an arm around you and guided you towards the door. 

“You know, the day on which the world has been blessed with your birth. And just as it was always meant to be, might I add, because look at where this led, such a perfectly beautiful day to celebrate.” He winked.

“Today is a wonderful day,” you hummed in agreement. “But you know I was supposed to be born late April, not March. So not really ‘as it was always meant to be’ at all,” you pointed out.

James rolled his eyes. “Uh, yes it was. Otherwise, we would’ve never met at the hospital and become bestest friends.”

“That’s not even correct gramm-”

“Besides, didn’t see you much today,” James unbotherdly continued.

You shook your head in amusement. “Come along then,” you pretended to relent in a joking manner. James was already pulling you along anyway.

You looked back at the rest of the marauders. “You guys also coming?”

You got an unenthusiastic hum from Peter and nothing from Remus, who was too deep in his book to have heard you. You looked at Sirius.

“Darling, I love you, but that’s six flights of stairs,” Sirius laughed, and he settled in on the sofa.

You gasped in fake horror. “So, is that the limit of your love for me?” You sniffed and pretended to wipe away a tear. “I guess-, I guess that’s it then. We’re just not meant to be,” you sighed.

“I know, darling. And I’m sorry. Just know, it’s not you, it’s me,” Sirius solemnly agreed.

You opened your mouth to continue your devastating-sad-ending-love-story when James, who had felt strangely annoyed at Sirius, impatiently grabbed your hand and pulled you out the door.

You enjoyed the feeling of walking hand in hand with James, even though it was short-lived. He let go of your hand as soon as he realized he was still holding it, and you two walked next to each other in a comfortable silence. Again, short-lived.

“I swear, one of these days, Lily might give me a chance. She smiled at me yesterday after supper, you know.” James happily bragged, eyes in a dreamy haze, no doubt imagining Lily.

You peered up at him and quietly admired his blissed look. It may never be directed towards you but seeing him so happy really made you glad and all warm inside.

Not that you’d ever let him know that.

Instead, you snorted at his words, tiptoed, and slung an arm across his broad shoulders. “In your dreams, maybe,” you sassed at him. James wanted to huff at your reply, but at your struggle to reach his other shoulder, he couldn’t help but laugh wholeheartedly, and he wrapped his arms around your shoulder instead.

“You’ve got to stop growing, James,” you protested and ducked out from under his arm.

“Quite the opposite actually, perhaps you should start,” he mocked you and you reached out to shove him but he put a step back out of the way fluently and then smoothly pulled back his shoulder just in time when you tried to shove him again. “So predictable,” he tsked. You opted to stick out your tongue instead.

“So,” James started. You hummed in reply. “Mum’s asking if you’re spending Easter with us again,” he casually mentioned.

“Oh really, Euphemia is asking me huh,” you teased him.

James looked away embarrassedly.

“Hm, not sure,” you shrugged nonchalantly. “Think I’m gonna be sort of preoccupied with my cousins from Ireland,” you looked at him through the corner of your eyes and caught his disappointed expression. A grin grew on your face like that of a Cheshire cat and you nudged him again.

“Oh, come on James, I’m kidding, you know. I’ve literally never not spent Easter with you. Besides, I live right across the street, James. I can literally come over any time, even if my cousins visit.”

“Yeah, but I meant like stay over at my house for the whole holiday,” James pouted. You glanced at him and smiled fondly. “Well, again; I live right across the street. So I guess I can also just go and visit my cousins at my house any time.”

You finally reached the bottom of the staircases and stopped mid-step. “Bloody hell, I forgot my books.”

You shot James a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I just have to go back up real quick, but it won’t be long at all-.”

“I’m right behind you, love.”

“You can’t be serious,” you gaped at him.

James was beaming. Sirius and Remus’ jaws were slacked on the floor and Peter frowned as if he was trying to comprehend James’ statement.

“She agreed to a date!?” Sirius shrieked out. “But-,” Sirius stammered and he let his eyes fall onto you for a split second. It was very quiet for a moment while all of you processed this news.

“Well, I’ll be damned, Prongs,” you grinned up at him. “Not such a far-fetched idea after all.” You smiled encouragingly at him and he shot you a grateful look.

“Congrats,” you nudged him, and that seemed to break the rest of the marauders out of it, all congratulating and offering date ideas.

You zoned out for a moment. A bitter-sweet taste in your mouth. You we’re thrilled for James. You knew how much she meant to him. But that little piece of hope that you had unconsciously clung onto, made the news tough to take.

Regardless, you were just happy to have James in your life. He was your best friend, and you would support him, no matter what. Because you knew he’d do the same for you.

“When’s the date?” you curiously asked.

James scratched his head. “Uh, next week, Friday night.”

“Wait, Friday when you were going to take me to see the blue crescent moon?” you deadpanned.

“I’ll take you to the next one, I promise,” James solemnly swore and he put his hand on his heart.

You huffed in disappointment but quickly turned around to face Remus with a sweet smile. “Remus, my best friend,” you started, and instantly got pulled back by James who wore a pout on his face.

“Wait, it was supposed to be a you and me thing,” he whined while he tugged you back into his side. You stuck your tongue out and ruffled his hair.

“You’re busy, and the next blue moon is going to be a full moon, so we’ll be with Remus,” you pointed out. “And after that, it’ll be another two years until the next.” Then you skipped back over to Remus.

James hummed in thought. He knew you were right. “Fine,” he reluctantly said. “But I’m taking you to watch the passing comet next month,” he bargained.

You stuck out your hand with a laugh. “Deal,” you grinned.

“It’s a promise,” James confirmed.

It became clear to you that you might have overestimated your own importance to James after he and Lily officially started dating.

Your eyes were searching for James, and you decided to confront him when you spotted him.

“James!” You ran to catch up to him. You smiled at Lily with a small wave. “Lily,” you acknowledged her. “Can I borrow him for a moment?” You asked her. She shrugged and waved her hand in a discarding manner, “of course.”

“Hey uh, you didn’t show up yesterday, just checking in?” you asked James in concern when Lily was out of reach.

James mind blanked for a moment. He was racking his brain about ‘yesterday’ and his eyes grew wide when realization hit him. “Bloody hell, I completely forgot!” He exclaimed.

“Yeah,” you laughed, relieved that he was alright and had just forgotten about it.

“Well you didn’t show up in the astronomy tower so I tried looking for you, but I couldn’t find you. I asked Sirius for the map, but can you believe it? He said he’d lost it.”

You chuckled when you recalled his apologetic expression and completely missed the way James shut his eyes and pinched his nose in guilt.

“I’m so sorry,” James said. He pulled you into a hug.

“Eh, don’t worry about it, Sirius joined me to watch the comet pass by. Wasn’t that impressive, but it did look like a falling star so I guess I made a wish, and-”

“Can have him back now?” Lily’s voice came from behind him, and he quickly released you. “Yeah, of course,” you rushed to say, but she had already grabbed him by the arm and led him away.

James looked back at you and mouthed a ‘sorry’ at you. You shook your head dismissively and raised your thumbs up.

It was only during the next missed hangout, two weeks later, that you found out he forgot because he’d been with Lily instead.

Peter had seen you off to find James, and had watched you return three hours later, a sad look on your face.

“Not again,” he’d groaned and slipped up. You couldn’t be angry at James because you realized that he was just putting effort into his new relationship. Peter had hugged you and you two had spent the evening sneaking into the art room to paint each other.

Peter was surprisingly a splendid artist and you had put the painting that he painted of yourself against the wall on the floor next to your bed, and gave Peter the one you painted of him.

“Damn, Peter,” James nodded at the canvas. “You painted that?”

“Huh? Oh,” Peter was getting dressed and pulled his sweater over his head. He looked from the painting to James. “Uh, Y/N did,” he beamed. “It looks good right?”

“You guys painted..?”

“Yeah, cause you didn’t show up again yesterday,” Peter casually mentioned. “You know, she was-“ He didn’t get to finish his sentence, because James had already sprinted out of the room to find you to apologize.

But as usual, James thought it had to be a grand gesture.

Flowers! Lily liked flowers. Girls like flowers, perfect. The idea popped up in his head, and he went to work to cover your entire dorm and bed with flowers.

It seemed like a perfect idea.

Until it evidently wasn’t. 

“Shit, I’m so sorry, it slipped my mind,” James apologized for the thousandth time as he sat by at the side of the hospital bed with the rest of the marauders. They shared a look with each other.

“Well, I bet you’ll never forget about my severe flower allergy ever again now,” you joked in attempt to console him. Your face was swollen and your eyes were bloodshot.

You smiled at James and tried to push back the hurt you felt at the fact that he forgot about something as important as that.

“I’ll make it up to you,” James quickly promised with a grimace.

“Do you get that same sense of déjà vu or is it just me,” Sirius remarked from the other side of the bed.

“No, I get it too,” Peter agreed almost too quickly.

James frowned at his friends for the little jab. They knew he didn’t do it on purpose right? He looked at Remus for support.

“Better be one hell of an idea,” was all he said.

“Oh come on,” you attempted to kick Sirius weakly with your leg but failed because your legs were still half paralyzed.

“Stop giving him such a hard time,” you started. James shot you a relieved look.

“He’s already feeling shit for almost killing me,” you grinned and James groaned and dropped his head on the side of your bed. You moved your arm with some effort and let your fingers stroke through his hair.

“I’ll be the best best-friend there is, starting from right now. I’ve got so many ideas for Easter holiday and it includes your favorite chocolate,” he promised in a muffled voice.

 

Whatever you imagined his ideas for activities during the Easter holiday included, it wasn’t with Lily in the picture. Yet here you were, sitting across of her at the dinner table.

They were both deeply engrossed in each other and you and Fleamont shared a look.

“How’s your year been, sweetheart?” Fleamont asked and he looked at you over his glasses. You smiled at him, relieved.

“It was great so far, I mean, despite being bedridden for two weeks, but the guys have been great,” you jumped to talk about your adventures.

“I went to watch the blue crescent moon with Remus, and the comet with Sirius. And I’ve painted with Peter! I’ve got to say, he’s painted me in a flattering light,” you rambled on passionately.

“Oh, and we’ve started a study group thing together, it’s basically just Remus and I trying to help Sirius and Peter though,” you lightheartedly joked.

“We’ve played some harmless pranks too, like turning every toad into a cat and every cat into a toad, it was utter chaos!” You shared and at his disapproving look and focus on James, you quickly intervened. “Don’t worry, James didn’t do anything, he’s been good,” you joked.

You missed Fleamont’s raised eyebrows.

“I’ve been swimming in the lake with the boys and pranked Remus and Peter with Sirius and pretended to be merpeople, you should’ve heard their screams!”

Your eyes were gleaming at this point as you relived your happiest moments so far. “Well, until Remus cast a spell on Sirius that turned him into a slug of course.”

“So when the four of us went to Hogsmeade…” You continued to ramble on and failed to notice how James’ eyes subconsciously trailed over to you every now and then, listening in on the conversation and realizing his name never fell once.

Lily noticed his divided attention and was unsurprisingly and rather justifiably annoyed at James.

She voiced out her concerns to James that very night during which you had excused yourself and gone home across the street.

You didn’t want to third wheel and Godric forbid should you share a room with Lily.  She hated your guts as it was and you didn’t feel like being smothered in your sleep.

When you had offered to go back home, you had sort of hoped he would say something along the lines of “No, please stay” and instead were met with a “Yeah, that’s probably for the best”.

And now, all he could wish for was chilling on his bed with you next to him while he was being chastised by Lily. His eyes glanced up and he stared at the enchanted bedroom ceiling full of stars, Lily’s voice long gone from his mind.

“Are you even listening to me?” She waved her hand in front of his face and he fought the urge to pull an annoyed face at her.

At his lack of response though, she repeated herself. “I’m your girlfriend. I thought you wanted this?”

James let her words sink in for a moment. She was all he ever wanted. And it was so so different from what he’d imagined it would be like.

Of course, he wasn’t planning on breaking up or anything, he didn’t want to be that douchebag that was only in it for the chase after all. And he hoped somehow that those feelings would return sometime.

She was everything he wanted. He just wished she’d be more interested in his friends, less disapproving of his pranks, or more proud of his achievements at Quidditch.

He would appreciate it if she were just a little bit more patient with him, and shared a little bit of his humour.

He just wanted her to be more open and enthusiastic about their relationship and himself.

He wanted her to be a little more like you-

He reeled back from that revelation. Oh.

Oh no. That would ruin his friendship.

“-and you know what, you can’t have both, James,” Lily continued and he snapped out of his thoughts.

“I can’t be your girlfriend if she’s in the picture. So choose. It’s me or her.”

James stared at her in surprise and then walked out of his room without another word to her.

He looked out the window at the real starry night sky. It seemed to him that he’d lose you regardless. But maybe, he’d be happy with Lily. She was all that matters, he convinced himself.

“Don’t you see how wrong it is that she’s making you choose,” you asked him incredulously, but your eyes looked at him pleadingly. James forced himself to look back at you and shook his head.

“No, she’s-, she’s right,” he mumbled, and you staggered back at that. “I mean, you’re a girl, you know?” You raised your eyebrows in an unimpressed manner. “Astute observation.” You dryly remarked.

“And everyone assumes things about us, so please, you have to understand that this isn’t fun for Lily either,” James tried. “I just can’t be friends with you and be in a relationship with Lily at the same time.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off.

“I can’t,” he urged. “And between you or her, I choose her. She’s my girlfriend,” he reasoned.

“And I’m your best friend since we were born,” you stubbornly retorted.

James looked at you beggingly, hoping that you’ll understand his predicament and that you’d make it easy on him. At the squint of your eyes and the deepening frown on your face, he gulped. “Please. I’m really sorry, but I have to choose her,” he finished weakly, doubling down on his decision.

Realizing that he wasn’t joking, it felt like he might as well have punched you in the gut. Your stubborn look flickered to hurt and then morphed into an ice-cold front of indifference.

You took a deep breath and collected yourself. You stared at him up and down, not recognizing your best friend in him anymore.

“You’re unbelievable,” you shook your head at him, and your voice was devoid of any emotion. With no other words to address the situation, you pushed past him roughly.

Months passed by and the summer vacation started. Then it ended and Hogwarts began again. All without a word from James. He had stopped spending much time with the marauders, mostly busy with walking after Lily.

Sometimes he would glance at you when she wasn’t watching, and he’d feel so lonely.

He waited for you during the vacation, but you never went to yourr house across his. Instead you spent your time with your cousins in Ireland.

When he made his way towards the platform on September 1st,  he felt weird. First of all, he was slightly reluctant to go. He realized that he had thoroughly enjoyed his holiday without Lily.

But secondly, and perhaps most importantly; This was the first time ever that he went to the Hogwarts Express by himself, without you by his side, and an epiphany cleared his mind. Everything was so wrong.

 

You eyed him up and down. With lack of better words, he looked terrible. So terrible, that you might’ve pitied him any other time, because how could you ever be angry at James, when he looked so sad.

When his eyes are glassy and red. When his hair is disheveled as a result of an undoubtedly rough night. When his voice cracked at his sloppy apology. Or when his lips trembled almost unnoticeably when you said no.

But all of that wouldn’t magically clear away your own misery of the past months.

“I was supposed to be your best friend,” you enunciated slowly. “It’s always been you and me. Merlin, we’ve known each other since we were born and they ran out of baby cribs at St. Mungo’s, so they put us together in one!” you exclaimed.

You bitterly scoffed to yourself at the reminder of your literal lifelong friendship.

“But you cut me off for a relationship with Lily? Lily who rejected you for years and when she finally did agree to date you, never even gave you the time of the day?”

You stared at him incredulously and had to remind yourself to tone down your voice a little. You had unconsciously been raising it and didn’t want to attract unwanted attention.

“You followed her around like a lost puppy and cast me aside because she didn’t trust you for being friends with a girl and you were so easy to discard me,” you laughed humorlessly, trying to mask your hurt feelings. “I guess I must’ve really not meant all that much to you.”

To James’ credit, he at least had the decency of looking remorseful. His own words were replaying on a loop in his head. Of course he regretted it all.

“You can’t come back after that and expect me to just open my arms for you,” you firmly stated.

James looked at you helplessly, and you let out another laugh in disbelief. “Oh, Godric, you did,” you stared at him with wide eyes in surprise.

James could feel himself getting flustered and spoke up again. “I just thought that maybe-,”

“No, no, no. Like I said, I’m not doing this again.”

“Please, lov-, Y/N please, if you would just let me prove to you that you do mean so much to me,” His voice was getting increasingly more desperate. “I just want-, I need you to give me a second chanc-”

“A second chance? James, you are way past that. You’ve already had a second chance,” you bitterly told him. “Merlin, I’ve given you a second, third, fourth, fifth, and sixth chance. I would’ve given you a thousand chances, but even that, you threw away.”

You tiredly rubbed your face. “I have nothing left to give you.”

Your words hit him in the face and his chest tightened.

“Oh… No, I-, I definitely understand.” His voice came out quietly.

James wanted to hide away. He felt utterly pathetic and ashamed at his own actions.

“I’ll uh, I’ll leave you alone, then.” He turned around but stopped mid step.

“But Y/N? If you ever change your mind, or if you ever need me, I’ll be there for you this time. Always right behind you.” James let his eyes linger on your face for a moment, taking you in. Merlin, he really missed you.

Your mind struggled to find the words to properly articulate all that you’ve felt these past months.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. For not trying to fight for you more,” you sympathetically offered.

“Oh, what? No, that’s-, it really was all my own fault. I chose her over you, and it was stupid. I was stupid, not you.”

“I don’t know. I feel like I should’ve tried harder to find a solution. I regret it too, you know, that we lost us.”

James frowned at your words.

“You-, I don’t even-,” you sighed. “I thought we would be in it for life, you know,” you eventually confessed, and James eyes widened. He wasn’t sure if he understood that completely, but his heart had made a small jump at your confession. Surely you didn’t actually mean…?

“Maybe not side by side as lovers or anything,” you quickly tried to cover yourself, but instead confirmed James’ thoughts. “But I was so sure we’d be partners nonetheless.” James watched you smile fondly, but sadly at the thought.

“I tried so hard not to be jealous of the fact that I was no longer the first person you’d go to for everything.” You chewed on your lower lip and James forced himself to pry his eyes away from it.

“You could be again,” James whispered to himself. But it was loud enough for you to hear it. You chose to ignore it and the way your heart tugged.

“But it was never an issue of jealousy when you actively forgot me on so many different occasions and then just kicked me out for her.”

“I'm sorry, I don’t know why I… how I even…”

“Look, I have to go,” you settled on, and nodded awkwardly at him. “But thanks for apologizing,” you added before you left.

You’d gone about your life according to the same routine of the past few months and paid James little to no mind. Though he was spending all of his time with the marauders again, you somehow found a way of disappearing right when he would arrive.

Days passed and James watched you laugh at the punchline of the joke that a ghost had told you. So close and yet so far.

James knew that you told him no when he had asked if things could go back to the way they were, but he couldn’t give up on you. It was as if something was physically stopping him from doing so.

He wanted you to see him again, but would never cross your boundaries, which left him in a difficult position.

The first opportunity presented itself when he overheard some guy talk shit about you. Except he only saw red instead of an opportunity. Because how dare they.

“She’ll give in someday. I’ll show her how to have a good time. Godric knows she’s too prudish, wouldn’t even let me-“

James surged forward before he could even think and grabbed the guy by the collar, his wand was pointed at the boy’s throat in a matter of seconds, a piercing glare on his face as he gritted through his teeth.

“Don’t.” It was a warning and the boy heeded it and scrambled away when James released him.

“What are you looking at,” he called out to the students that had stopped to watch what was happening. They too, quickly scrambled away, pretending they hadn’t seen a thing.

But by supper, everyone had heard about it, including you. You looked at him from further down the table and nodded at him with a appreciated smile.

James heart skipped a beat and he dreamed of you that night.

So what else could he do for you that would make you happy, he wondered while he wandered around the castle. The marauders were hanging out with you right now, leaving James to his own devices.

“Books!” He yelled out loud and it startled a cat. “Signed books had been successful, right? But what books, and how to…” He muttered to himself.

You stared at the pile of books that started to form next to you while owls flew in and back out again, only to return with more books. When you opened the one on the pile to your left, you saw that it was signed by one of your favorite authors.

Your eyes grew wide and you quickly inspected the signature from up close. Your hands stroked the beautiful hard back cover of the book. First copy.

People all over the great hall were looking at the spectacle  but you just laughed and blew a kiss at the last owl.

You glanced at James because you knew it was him who orchestrated all of this. Only he would know all your favorite authors and books.

James simply offered you a smile and continued eating his food, but he was absolutely beaming inside at the gleeful look on your face.

You visited him in his dorms that night. “James,” you whispered. You held your finger to your lips as a sign not to wake the others.

“James, thank you for the books, they’re amazing,” you told him. “But James, you’ve got to stop. Don’t fight on my behalf. Don’t spend so much money on me. Please “ you begged him.

James’ smile fell. “I made you uncomfortable,“ he noted. You sighed and sat down on his bed. “I used to give you gifts all the time,” he weakly defended himself.

“I don’t want to forgive you,” you started. James looked down.

“You hurt me. Do you get that? You hurt me and broke our friendship and I don’t know when I’ll want to be friends again, but it’ll never the same when I do. So you have to stop doing all of this. You can’t try to buy it with gifts and heroic deeds.”

“I don’t want it to be the same either,” James sighed out in a defeated tone. “I just need you with me. One way or another. I’m not trying to buy anything, I just want to make you happy.”

You understood his words and the implied confession behind them. After all, you had felt the exact same way months ago.

You sadly smiled and pressed a kiss to his cheek. James closed his eyes at the contact and tried to savor the moment. You really were his greatest regret.

“I don’t want to forgive you,” you stubbornly repeated.

“You don’t have to. I just want to be there.”

“Right behind me, right? No matter what pace?”

“Of course,” he replied.

It took time. Months and months actually, where he respected your boundaries and slowly inserted himself back into your life, with your permission of course.

At first simply joining you with the marauders again. Then thoughtful actions such as giving you his spare quill. Later on even sitting next to you during Transfiguration and building up to study nights and eventually back to star gazing.

However slow it was, everything was worth it, James thought to himself as he opened the door to invite you in for the Easter holiday.

“Hi, thank you for coming over,” he widely smiled.

“Ah you know, I live right across the street, love.”

 

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[igotanidea]

Just right: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

part 4: Stuck

A/N: I am NOT sorry for all the possible spellings and punctuation mistakes there. It's been almost 2 months since "Stuck" and I am FREAKING OUT posting this while crying because it's over. Enjoy and thank you <3

Warnings: end of series, 4082 words (!!)

***

He felt like a fool.

Reverting to his old ways instead of showing all the emotions coursing through his veins.

Turning around and walking away, leaving her alone, when all he wanted was to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

But how would the viscount Bridgerton look, while doing so, observed by all the ton, including the two biggest gossipers in the person of lady Featherington and lady Danburry?

Seemed like whatever he would choose to do, he would end up being a dolt.

“Anthony!”

He didn’t even flinch hearing someone calling him, nor recognize the voice. Too stubborn to stop he only continued his marching pace, hoping for the love of god that whoever dared to try and approach him in this furibund mood would get discouraged.

Not very gentlemanly of him.

“Anthony!”

He quickened his pace.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What?” he almost spat spinning around on his heel, leaving a dent in the ground, taking on his most stern expression. If his obvious ignorance of the caller was not a deterrent perhaps the frown and fiery eyes would.

Supposedly it might have worked on anyone else, but soon enough Anthony transformed from the head of a family and the viscount into a little child, upon noticing that it was his mother, exhorting him to the halt.

“Mother…” he muttered looking at the ground, having only confirmed his previous theory of his role in this entire disarray.

“Let us take a walk.” Violet smiled brightly taking her eldest’s arm and imposing a walking rather than soldierly pace. “What did you Anthony?” the gentle expression never left her face even when she was scoffing her unmanageable child.

“Why would you think it was me that--?” the viscount took the last resort to protect his own pride, but the tightening grip on his forearm betrayed the fact that Violet knew the entire backstory, behind the marital disagreement.

“I raised you. I daresay it gives me enough knowledge to not answer your question. “

“If you let me –"

“Don’t, Anthony. Y/N has been nothing less but charming since the beginning.. "

"That's the way to describe her--" the man muttered

"Strong-willed and persuasive, surely, you wouldn’t take anything but, but charming nonetheless. So do tell me so we could remedy the damage before it arises further.”

“Shall you mistake me for Daphne and ask about my feelings—”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“I am a man, mother. A head of the family.”

“Clearly said head has been missing guidance in the right direction.”

“Mother!”

“Do not raise your voice on me son.”

“Apologies…”

“Good.” Violet beamed serenely “Do you think me so little knowledgeable to ask your emotions? I do not. I’m merely asking for facts, which you clearly have such a strong inclination to.”

Anthony mumbled something once more.

“do you wish you lose your wife, viscount?”

“What?” such possibility never crossed his mind. Y/N’s anger, her hurt, pain and merciless avoidance – yes. Abandonment and lack of her presence nearby? No. She would never… She could never. Lord above, who was she thinking she was? A woman married into a noble family wanting to cause a scandal by resenting her husband?

And once again, while his heart should have been shattered and humble enough to clarify the turmoil, the sudden blood rush turned into clenched fists and ire. All because he could not bare the thought of losing her for good, however hiding behind all the negativity was easier. It was something he was used to for years.

Nevertheless it was impossible to deny the facts further. It was her influence that caused the improbable openness in his soul was the exact same reason of his spirit bleeding.

And he needed her back.

Each minute without her was a minute lost. A minute less in the so very limited time they were given as a miracle on earth.

“What do I do?” he raised gaze at his mother, now truly looking like a lost man. Man in love, who was probably not the most romantic and gentle one with words, but still deeply infatuated with the woman who gave her whole life to him.

“Do not fret my dear. We shall alleviate the situation immediately.”

***

Y/N’s feelings were beyond anything possible to describe with words.

There she was, with her feet rooted to the ground, wishing for – and willing to accept – apologies but met with the harsh reality of the stone wall of Anthony’s behavior.

Accompanied by Eloise, smirking like the know-it-all she was, and Benedict with the compassion written all over his face.

Presumably, shall they not be there, the young lady viscountess Bridgerton would abandon all the pretenses of a woman of her position and begun blubbering in the middle of the promenade. However, the most mischievous of Bridgerton siblings acted with wit and sense, involving their dear sister-in-law in a challenging conversation, capably hauling her away from prying eyes and gossipmongers, preventing any possible rumors about incongruousness.

***

For unmistakable reasons she was not in the mood to see their ludicrous older brother and with the sudden disappearance of Violet, Benedict and Eloise took the privilege to invite Y/N back to the Bridgerton’s family house and extend the invitation for indefinite period of time. After all, Anthony might have been the head of the family as he proudly announced to anyone who was willing to disobey his wished and/or not listen, but Benedict was the oldest bachelor of the house and was more than willing to make a few decisions of his own to finally be seen as something more than merely second son and waiting for his time. 

***

Violet returned home few hours later and accepted the presence of her daughter-in-law with a mysterious smile and not a single word of objection. As amazing and uplifting as such approach might have been, it was also highly surprising. Viscountess Bridgerton was well known for her mitigating skills and tendency to scotch conflicts almost immediately, especially in her own family.

And it raised a lot of questions and secrets that Y/N and Eloise tried to uncover spending the night in the former’s bedchambers, talking for hours, creating conspiracy theories and preparing for whatever may have been coming.

Cause the fact that Violet was going to help her oldest son in winning back his wife’s attention was more than conspicuous.

Only that Y/N, who was forgiving and accepting at the begging was slowly turning cold at the fact that her husband could not simply apologize but rather resorted to some intricate ways of regaining her favor.

After a year of marriage, should he not know her enough for independent ideas and not seek his mother's avail?

***

First thing happening in the very early morning, was Y/N’s most trusted servant humbly asking for her lady’s time, which was bizarre and – as any other family may have deemed – inadequate and even shaming.

Moreover, any other house would quickly discard the commoner showing at the mighty's doorstep but Bridgertons were prone to discarding rules in private and with those who earned their trust. Be it servants or nobles. And Y/N was no exception to the rule, welcoming her maid with a smile upon seeing the person from her own household.

“My lady.” The girl bowed so low, she almost touched the floor with her nose.

“My dear Laura, please stand up, there is really no need for that-“ Y/N grabbed her hands and forced the girl up. “I assure you that-“

“But Lady Violet and Miss Bridgerton –“

“I assure you that they do not expect you to kiss the ground they walk on.” Y/n almost laughed at Laura’s discombobulation. Poor one was doing everything in her power to not make her lady embarrassed and act like a good and obedient servant, almost expecting Violet or Eloise to be cruel and judgmental.

“Dear Y/N, did you give your helpers the idea that we are some sort of tyrants?” Violet send her daughter-in-law a honest smile, which immediately got Laura’s reaction in the form of blushing.

“Lady Bridgerton I apologies if my appearance is the dishonor on-”

She didn’t even finish the sentence, met with Y/N, Violet’s and Eloise’s laugh and a polite look from more balanced Francesca sitting on the chaise longue.

“Do not fret, my girl, we are more than happy to welcome you in our household.”

“Tha-thank you my lady…”

‘Now I assume you came to talk to your lady, so we shall give you some privacy. Come girls, make haste for the matter to cover is of utmost delicacy.”

“And how shall you know it mamma?” Hyacinth almost twitched her ears, not really understanding much of why Y/N was with them rather than with Antony, but curious as a young girl could be.

“Precisely mamma, how shall you know?” Eloise, immediately picked up her sister’s question, only not so susceptible to extenuations.

“Eloise Bridgerton, I shall expect you to practice the bowing before your incoming debut in front of the queen. Daphne made quite an impression and –“

“Daphne was deemed diamond of the season and such title is below my ambition.”

“Regardless, you do not want to trip or slip do you?”

Eloise (and everyone else) obviously remembered what happened to Featherington’s sisters and the embarrassment so with a heavy, exaggerated sigh and one quick, sharp, bright look at Y/N Eloise left the room, followed by her mother and sisters.

And once the lady and her trusted eyes and ears of the house were alone, who could stop the two of turning a lot more unmindful of societal norms?

“My lady, the lord has been quite annoyed since the quarrel you lordships have had. He even refused to eat his favorite meal.” Laura confessed with blushing cheeks

“Are you to tell me that Prescott prepared the roasted pork for Anthony after he was so unjust towards the lady of the house? I shall have a word about a loyalty with him upon my return.” Y/N satirized wholeheartedly.

“When shall you return my lady? Seeing as that viscount is not the one to have a change of heart and admit his wrongdoing easily?”

“He will Laura. One way or another I am fairly convinced my husband may take a long way to do so and take the aid of his mother whilst deciding. It’s just I am not fully convinced if the apology made with cheating are worth accepting.”

“Oh! You took the lower route here my lady forgive the audacity.”

“Just the route of a woman who expect honesty from her man.”

“Fair enough I suppose. But shall you be agitated my lady I take it you do not wish to accept the viscount bestowment?”

“Bestowment?” Y/N frowned a little in confusion “and what shall that be?”

“I do not know, my lady. I am merely a messenger—”

“I believed you to be on my side Laura.”

“And I am, my lady! But one do not object the command of the lord, that is clearly ready to vent his anger on the first soul that happen to be unfortunate enough to be around.”

“My god, you are a prattler!” Y/N laughed “where is that gift in question? Cause since it is mine either way we might as well get a little curious, shall we? Would be such a shame to put it to waste.”

Laura stood up from her chair and started heading to the corridor, but Hyacynth was first to barge into the room carrying some parcel that was almost bigger than her.

“Y/N! Is this that gift from Anthony!?” clearly she was eavesdropping  “Can we take a look, please? It’s so big I wonder what it is? Come on, open it up! Open it up!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eloise muttered but there was no denying she was equally curious as her sister.

Y/N only rolled  her eyes, inviting all the girls over and opening the box. Fishing out the most beautiful and definitely expensive new dress. The color was perfectly matching Y/N’s complexion and the material delicate yet durable – Anthony knew his wife and her adventurous tendencies.

“It’s so beautiful and elegant” Francesca whispered touching the dress with delight.

“So what, he think he can just buy her the garment and she will forgive him?” Eloise scoffed “Men are so simple minded and belittling of women!”

“Try it on, Y/N!” Hyacinth encouraged, almost jumping from excitement

“Do not try it on! This would be relenting!” Eloise objected.

“He made a gesture!”

“It’s not a gesture! It’s an attempt of buying her forgiveness!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?!”

“Quiet!” Y/N finally managed to break through the noise of two sisters. ““No offence girls, but this is my marriage and my decision. One I have to make by myself. So thank you “ she smiled brightly but with a hint of annoyance “for your positions on things, but I am perfectly capable of weighting the significance of the gift, on my conviction to forgive or not forgive him.”

“Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!” “Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!”

***

Anthony was waiting for her in the garden outside some estate she had no idea existed. After all, Y/N has spent her entire life in London, rarely being invited to the cottage. And in this case it could have been used a leverage, not that he was aiming for measuring forces and cold calculation.

No.

He was walking back and forth, almost trampling a path in the ground in a place where it should never be. Nervous enough to anxiously fiddle with his fingers like a lady before her debut entering the society. Hoping she would come. Wishing for any entity in heaven might want to listen that she would take this dress he send her as an expression of humility rather than boosting like a rooster. Praying that Eloise wasn’t there with her sharp tongue and unrestrained thoughts to discourage his beloved from accepting both the gift and the invitation.

The minutes turned to hours and even his father’s pocket watch refused to work with Anthony in this important moment. Having no regard to the poor flowers any other plants standing no chances against his heavy riding boots, the time seemed to stand still.

For whatever it was worth it, Anthony Bridgerton swore to himself that he would rather turn into a sack of boned waiting in this desolate place than walk away while there was still a glimmer of hope she might appear. He was done and fatigued with missed opportunities, poorly chosen and ill-spoken words.

It was never his intention to said all those atrocious words to her.

Too much.

Dear Lord.

Now that he was thinking about it, his heart was capering in a way that filled him with self-hatred. After all the pain he might have caused her during that little hurtful exchange while she did nothing more than be there for him. Even if he not exactly wished for it. Even if he himself didn’t know that her presence in his life was the best thing that happened since his father’s death. If not since forever.

Anthony wasn’t the one to believe in signs or any spiritual influence on earth, but the more he was dwelling on his own misery, the more deliberative of their first meeting he was becoming.

It was late lord Bridgerton’s death anniversary and as any other year – he separated himself from the rest of the family. To show how adamant his heart and mind was and to underline that this was nothing more than just another day in a line of any other similar ones. But the truth was, he wanted to visit his father’s grave alone without any possible disturbances or havoc that his younger siblings could have caused. None of them really knew Edmund Bridgerton the way Anothony did. The first born son, the heir to the title, deprived of his father’s guidance and presence and forced to take responsibility for the family in way too young age.

He needed to be by himself, cause god forbid anyone seeing him showing any signs of humanity and indulging in grief.

And his family knew and accepted it.

She didn’t.

Just a stranger, strolling by herself in the area, looking like a commoner, having no regards to the sanctity of the moment nor the place she found herself in.

And worse for her – spotting Anthony in the never-seen moment of vulnerability written all over his face.

“Lord Bridgerton” she bowed in a way that showed that the savage, Anthony took her for, actually had manners. And that he knew him, but this was not so unexpected.

He only grunted in response to annoyed by an unfortunate set of circumstances that worked against her. The viscount himself was not going to bow to a girl that was clearly a servant, with messy hair and in a dress that was far from anything a woman, even of lower position should be seen in.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, girl?” he muttered under his nose, throwing daggers with his eyes.

“I’m sorry my lord but-“

“You should be sorry. I am convinced your lady nor your lord will be pleased with the fact that their service wanders alone in an area that does not belong to them!”

“Service?” Y/N smirked looking at him with amusement and twinkling eyes. And Anthony with his youthful energy and virility could not miss the fact that she was actually pretty.

“Yes, service.” He hissed at her “now get out of here girl, before you get yourself in far more trouble from me and end up on the street!”

“I shall-“ she obviously was not going to let anyone maltreat her like that, but her acuity wore up that very moment. She noticed the weariness in viscount’s eyes, noticed the monument nearby, and realized what day of the month it was.

“Forgive me, my lord.” She bowed in respect “I shall be on my way. And I shall not mention this meeting to anyone, hopefully wishing for you to forget my impertinence.”

She was gone as fast as she appeared, and Anthony thought to never see her again.

Until the next rout Daphne was attending, where he actually did.

Immediately realizing the scope of his previous mistake, upon learning that the service girl was in fact Miss Y/L/N, the youngest daughter of Lord Y/L/N. And met with another look of those glistening eyes and amused face expression. Forced to accompany her for the evening, since apparently Lady Bridgerton and Lady Y/L/N has made some arrangements for the future.

He was thinking it was all just a coincidence back then, but now he came to conclusion that it must have been his father who send this girl into his life. Knowing better than him that she would turn his ways around, challenge him, test him patience mercilessly and yet – that she would be the one to love him unconditionally and whom he would love with all his broken and unperfect self.

And the burden of possibility of ruining it all for them was even more overwhelming.

He clasped his hands behind his back, walking shorter and shorter distances, turning back more and more often, stuck in his belief that he would stay here as long as she didn't show up, even if -

“Anthony.”

Viscount spun around so abruptly it almost caused him falling to the ground.

She came.

She truly came.

It was like meeting her all over again, back in time, back next to his father’s grave.

Only she wasn’t looking like a servant girl now.

She was wearing the dress he sent her, looking not only like a viscountess, but like a queen herself. His queen. His wife. His love. His everything.

Her skin was radiant due to the color of the material (just like Violet predicted), cheeks flushed, hair done in perfect curls surrounding her face, bright like a sun.

“Y/N….”

“It was so unwise on your part viscount to call upon me and invite me into a wild place a woman like me should never step foot on.” She said sternly, but the everlasting and never changing glistening of her eyes betrayed her true intention “and perilous, may I say? Far from the city? Lady travelling alone? So many hazards awaiting me on the way.”

“Benedict and Colin were following your post chaise.”

“Oh I knew I heard someone laughing on the way. But my coachman brushed my concerns off!”

“Did you really believed I would send my greatest treasure into the wild without proper security?” Anthony took a few steps forwards, reaching for her hands and placing gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Your brothers?” Y/N let him show the courtesy, but raised eyes in skepticism of the words.

“Believe me my lady, you should never underestimate the man of the Bridgerton house.”

“In what aspect my lord?”

“In every aspect, dear.” He looked deep into her eyes.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” Y/N quickly averted her eyes, because Anthony’s gaze were so full of passion, love and genuine remorse and apology she found herself falling into his charms. And this couldn’t have been so easy for him. “You sister discounselled me on coming here.”

“And yet, you came my lady.” Anthony reached for her chin and slowly, gently and with tenderness turned her face towards him so that their eyes had to meet again.

“Anthony I –“

“My love, I am sorry.”

“this is not—”

“Let me speak” he hushed her, not breaking eye contact. “I asked you here, because this is the very place where my father asked for my mother’s hand. Where he pledged her his undying love, support and loyalty. And you, out of all people in the world, learned how much I cherish my father’s memory and his legacy.

“Anthony-“

“Therefore, here I am. Standing in front of you, expressing my deepest condolences-“

“Oh, dear lord, Tony!” she cried out in frustration “stop using the words you would say to me if Lady Whistledown were nearby! Tell me how you feel!”

How he felt was not with words.

How he felt was expressed by the way he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, capturing her lips in the searing but gentle kiss that conveyed more than any noble and dignified words of a lord could.

I love you.

By his strong arms encompassing her like a shelter from the storm.

I won’t ever let go of you.

By tender caress of her hair and back.

I will always cherish you.

By the way his lips were moving against her, whispering silent words understood only by two souls forevermore yearning for each other.

I am sorry.

She was the first one to pull back for air, reluctantly so.

“My love. My beloved.”

She smiled at him, connecting their foreheads, allowing his arms to tighten around her waist and waiting for what was coming next to assess the truth behind his words.

“Am I too much now?” she whispered

“You are always too much. To much for me to keep. To much for me to even wish and pray for. Too much of a blessing in my life. Too much in the best possible sense and—”

This time It was her who cut him off by a kiss, silencing anything else that might come from his lips. He was honest and sincere. And if he was trying to apologize by saying anything else and backing out on what he said back there she probably would not forgive him sensing manipulation. But this?

“I forgive you.” She whispered against his lips.

“Thank God.”

“Is this cottage inhabited or--?”

“No. It’s not. And I intend on taking advantage of it right this moment.” He grabbed her and carried inside bridal style, ready to not get back to London for at least a couple days.

(spoiler alert below)

I got a request for a fluff pregnancy fic.... <3

@pietrawebster @chrissisheadisinclouds @fuzzym4m4 @gloomysel @urfavnoirette @dd122004dd @milkbummm @bevstofu @taniasethi @syraxnyra @christinabae @pandoraneverland @bevstofu @topguncultleader @jana-jaeynneee @myaa21212121 @ziarah @cat-lockwood @leaf-rose-thorn @elissanatok @lily3450 @nervousmumbling @budugu @frickin-bats @sillyfreakfanparty @amberpanda99 @nycthophiliaa @myaa21212121 @bananaadeleigate @everybodystaycalm @fmhcatt @sankareatheundead @cat-lockwood @1potato2rulethemall @bloommart @lorinevv @taylorswars @jessiegerl @glocuseguardian3rd @angiieguevara @laurasdrey @jholiday @smailaway @some-random-stranger-007 @beckahhope @bookishtheaterlover7 @eclecticcollectioncloud @thingfromlove @dutifullyannoyingfox @kitkat14sblog @dancingandreadingwithv @heyits-zedo @superhighschoollevelnerd-blog1 @ben-has-arrived @kindaslightlyacidic @espressopatronum454 @miluiel1 @powellssaturn @jess4rush @krismdavis @yourgirlypop

[vanteguccir]

── ୨୧ !　𝗟𝗘𝗙𝗧 𝗔𝗟𝗢𝗡𝗘

　　　　　　　　　𝒎𝒂𝒕𝒕 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒐𝒍𝒐 x reader

SUMMARY: Where, after a difficult week, Matt takes out all his stress on Y/N, causing great damage to their relationship.

WARNING: Fighting, yelling, cursing, dark thoughts. ANGST!

REQUESTED?: Yes, by anons and @ivoncheetooo1239

AUTHOR'S NOTE: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

　　　༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

"I don't know where you want to get with that, Matt." Y/N sighed, closing her eyes tightly for a few minutes before opening them again, keeping them fixed on the road in front of the car. She had her head resting on her right hand, and her elbow braced next to the passenger door window.

Matt, as usual, had gone to pick up Y/N from work after her shift, but he was surprised to have to wait for an hour in the car for his girlfriend to finally be released, as her boss had demanded that she had to work overtime.

Despite being wrong, Matt felt furious.

His week was more than hectic with the start of sales of the 6 million clothing collection, as he and his brothers had to spend hours autographing photos of themselves that would go with each order. In addition to - by Nick and Chris's choice -, the three of them were the ones who hand-packed the first ones, which resulted in Matt having to stay awake until late hours, and waking up early everyday to fulfill his other tasks.

With all that, having to sit in his car for an hour, with only his phone and in such an uncomfortable seat seemed to increase his irritation, and he couldn't help but start an argument with his girlfriend, feeling like a pressure cooker about to explode.

"I'm just saying that you don't stop at home anymore. You just work all day, as if it was your number one priority in life. And now you've started this nonsense of working overtime!" Matt accused, gesturing exaggeratedly with his right hand while keeping his left one on the steering wheel.

"It's not like I asked to work overtime, Matt! You and your brothers have worked in a grocery store once, you know how it works-"

"Don't you dare bring up Chris and Nick's name. They have nothing to do with your lack of responsibility within a relationship." The boy took his eyes off the road momentarily, giving her a cold look that sent shivers running up her spine.

"Matt, you're being ridiculous! I understand your week has been tiring-" Matt cut the girl off again, shaking his head nervously.

"No, you don't know nothing, Y/N!" His tone was arrogant, a tone that the girl didn't remember ever hearing from him. "I'm exhausted because of my own work, and I still have to come and pick you up every day! And now you make me stay stuck in this car for an hour, waiting for Miss Perfect here to decide to leave." His voice gradually increased in volume.

Y/N could already feel the sensations of the ugly crying that was about to come, taking a deep breath and counting to 10 in her head.

"Then don't pick me up anymore, Matt! You were willing to come every day after my work just until some days ago, but if it's so hard for you now, don't come anymore." Y/N replied, her tone lower than her boyfriend's but still carrying much stress.

"How can you be so ungrateful?" Matt shouted, slamming his hands against the steering wheel violently.

"Matt, look, I'm sorry- Hey, keep your eyes on the road!" Y/N ignored the pang she felt in her heart at the brunette's words, fear rising through her veins as she saw the car move further away from the main road, as a result of his lack of attention.

Her eyes were wide as she raised her hands, ready to grab the steering wheel if necessary.

"You know what? I'm done." Matt spoke through gritted teeth, turning the car sharply to the right until it stopped on the side of the road.

"What are you doing? Matt?" Y/N asked, her breath coming out shakily as her eyes traveled down the dark, deserted street, to her boyfriend's face, which seemed to be covered in a gray cloud of hate.

"I'm done with this. If you don't want to take responsibility for your own mistakes and don't understand the seriousness of this relationship like I do, then maybe it's not worth the effort." He unlocked the doors, crossing his arms and keeping his eyes fixed on the road ahead, his nostrils flaring as a result of his hard breathing.

"M-Matt, don't do that." The girl tried, swallowing hard.

She reached out her hand towards him with the intention of gently touching his arm, but Matt pulling away roughly, as if she were a plague, made her stop abruptly for a few seconds, her hand slowly lowering.

“I need to think, Y/N.” He shook his head, resting his elbows on the steering wheel and laying his head in his hands, closing his eyes tightly. "Get out." He demanded sharply.

Y/N's eyes widened, her heart stopping momentarily.

"W-what? Are you crazy? Look at the time, Matt. How am I going to-"

"Get out." Matt interrupted her, not once looking up. His tone was flat and cold.

Y/N looked at him for a few more seconds, as if waiting for him to apologize and say it was all a sick joke. But that never happened.

She quickly pulled the car handle, grabbing her purse and getting out of the passenger seat. The cold night air hit her body with force as if needles were piercing her skin, eliciting a strong shiver from her members.

Her hand pushed the door hard, closing it, the sound echoing like a dull thud. Her eyes watched the car restart not even a second later, screeching away.

Y/N remained still for a few seconds - or minutes -, watching Matt's car disappear into the distance, her hope of him turning around slowly disappearing.

"Come back." Her voice sounded so broken, just like her insides. "P-please."

She spun around, taking note of the street completely deserted of cars or humans, the only source of life being the streetlights.

The girl quickly hooked her purse onto her right shoulder, crossing her arms tightly around her torso and beginning the steps of the long walk she would have to take to get home - if she even could call that place her home anymore. The possibility of Matt kicking her out after the events made her legs tremble.

Her throat started to hurt from the crying that she was still holding back. The emotions rising in her chest were like bile in her throat; It burned and hurt like never before. Her heart felt like it was being crushed by a human hand, and it didn't take long for loud sobs to escape her lips, her eyes stinging from the hot tears in contact with the freezing wind.

It was minutes of walking without stopping, her feet ached from the tension in her body, a result of the intense cold and the several times she turned back, checking if she wasn't being followed.

The familiar street soon took over her blurred vision, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. Thick tears were still rolling from her eyes, but her sobs had stopped, being replaced by small sniffles.

Y/N shuffled down the sidewalk, passing the houses neighboring hers, before finally stopping in front of her front door. Her hands, practically frozen by the cold, opened her purse in a quick movement, rummaging through the smaller pockets, looking for the key.

She closed her eyes tightly when she couldn't find it, vaguely remembering just throwing it in the glove compartment of Matt's car that morning since she was in such a rush and still eating her breakfast.

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she fished out her phone, cursing under her breath when she noticed that the battery was almost all gone. Just her lucky day.

She quickly unlocked the screen, going into her contact list and clicking on Chris's one. The boy answered on the second ring, surprising Y/N.

"Y/N? Thank God, where are you guys?" Chris's voice sounded relieved. Y/N frowned, her mind creating thousands of horrible scenarios as to why Matt hadn't gotten home yet.

The path she took, which took her almost 30 minutes of walking - or more, since she was walking slowly due to the cold - would not even take 15 minutes by car.

"C-Chris, open the door for me. Please." Her voice was broken, her teeth chattering as her body felt the temperature drop even more now that she stood still.

"Are you out there? Alone?" He asked exasperatedly. The sound of his bed shuffling sounded from behind, probably the result of him getting up.

"Yeah... Just hurry, please." Y/N repeated, her tone completely vulnerable.

The line went dead at the same instant. Her right hand - which was holding the device - moved away from her ear quickly, her eyes only finding the negative battery icon.

She threw her phone into her purse again, her eyes prickling with new tears that wanted to flow. Her mind created terrible thoughts about herself and her day, and all she wanted most was to sleep and perhaps never wake up again.

The sound of keys sounded on the other side of the door seconds before it was abruptly opened. Chris's figure appeared, his wide eyes carrying immense concern as they roamed Y/N's body, seeming to search for any injuries.

"Oh my God, you're freezing." He confirmed when he noticed her shaking, gently pulling her inside, before closing the door again. He rubbed his hands over Y/N's arms, which, even though they were covered by the fluffy jacket, were still extremely cold.

The warm air from the heater inside the house welcomed the girl's body gracefully, surrounding her like a thin blanket. She sighed, closing her eyes momentarily.

"Where the hell is Matt? I thought he was going to pick you up." Chris asked exasperatedly, helping her take her purse off her shoulder, hanging it on the rack next to the door.

Y/N felt her eyes fill with tears again at the mention of her boyfriend's name. An ugly sound of choked sobs escaping her throat caught Chris's attention, who stopped his movements and turned his eyes to her.

"Oh no, what did he do?" His tone was gentle as he approached, pulling her into a tight hug as he watched her shake her head in denial repeatedly, her lips trembling. "Let's go to my room, you need a hot shower and fresh clothes."

Chris slowly stepped away, keeping one of his hands on Y/N's shoulders, guiding her through the kitchen and down the stairs towards his own room.

The door was already open - being left like that when the boy rushed after receiving her call -, the two of them just passing through it before Chris closed it, keeping the hot air trapped between the four walls.

"Go take a shower, I'll get you some new clothes from your closet, okay? There's a clean towel in the cabinet under the sink." The boy indicated, watching his sister-in-law nod weakly, a low "thank you" escaping her lips before she could enter the bathroom, closing the door behind her.

It didn't take long for Y/N to step out again, already dressed in the Fresh Love sweatshirt set that Chris placed on the sink - just by putting his arm between the door and the frame.

Even though she wanted to melt like hot water and go down the drain just like her tears that fell imperceptibly, her feet hurt too much to support her weight for even another minute, begging for a rest.

Chris was sitting on the right side of the bed, his back against the headboard and his legs above the duvet, absentmindedly scrolling through his phone, seeming to be waiting for her.

The sound of the bathroom door closing attracted his attention, and he quickly locked his cell, putting it on the bedside table before tapping the empty space next to him, silently calling Y/N to sit there.

The girl walked to the indicated side, lifting the duvet and sitting on the mattress, staying in the same position as Chris, but with her legs covered.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?" He asked calmly, watching her closely, trying to read her expressions, but seeing only an ocean of pain in every line of her face and eyes.

"Matt left me in the middle of the road." She swallowed hard, shaking her head while closing her eyes tightly. "We had a fight. My boss demanded from me to work overtime and I forgot to tell Matt, so he ended up waiting for me for an hour in his car. He was tired from the day and the week, and I think the stress built up on both our sides, and he just started yelling at me." Y/N shrugged, sniffing momentarily, trying to hold back her tears.

"Wait, he left you in the middle of the road, alone and in the cold? To come home walking?" Chris's eyes widened, a look of disbelief occupying his blue orbs as he tried to process the information.

"Yeah." The girl's voice sounded low and vulnerable, her head lowering and her eyes focusing on her hands above the duvet, feeling embarrassed by her boyfriend's actions. "I tried to intervene at some point, but he was so mad." She took a deep breath, biting her bottom lip hard, the pain almost numb next to the one she felt in her heart. "I don't know what I did wrong, Chris." Her voice broke, a dry sob escaping her throat.

"I'm so sorry for my brother's actions, Y/N." Chris sighed, shaking his head in disbelief. "I promise you did absolutely nothing wrong. Don't let those thoughts get the best of you."

"I just... Maybe I'm not really giving our relationship enough credit. Or maybe I'm not enough to fit into Matt's life patterns and busy days." She douted, playing with her fingers as a nervous act.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep? I imagine how tired you are and it's late. We can talk about this tomorrow, but try to clean your mind for now, okay?" He suggested.

Chris helped her lay down after receiving a nod of agreement, adjusting the duvet over her body. The girl moved her head, laying it on his left thigh, seeking comfort. He quickly put his hand on her hair, stroking the area calmly, lulling her into sleep.

After making sure she was already dreaming, the boy moved her slowly - so as not to wake her -, laying her completely on the mattress before getting up. He sat down in his gaming chair, crossing his legs on the seat.

Chris closed his eyes tightly, massaging his temples, trying to reduce the tension there. His eyes remained on Y/N's figure, caring for her sleep like a worried older brother, longing to have the power to erase the entire event from the girl's memory.

Matt would hear from him when he arrived.

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[amandacanwrite]

I would like to share a few head canons for Gale Dekarios being in love with tav/you. If you liked this one and have a request for another character let me know. These ones have just been percolating for a bit.

In Battle

He tries very hard to stay near you. He doesn’t like it when you go off on your own. He knows he doesn’t quite have the strength of Karlach or the sure footedness of Astarion, but he’s not just going to let you fight everyone on your own.

Sometimes he gets a little hurt that you always put yourself in harms way/take so much of the damage on the battlefield. Don’t you know that losing you would destroy him?

You have never witnessed it, but according to the other party members he goes feral if you’re knocked unconscious.

When you wake up it’s always with your head cradled in his lap as shadowheart works on the worst of the wounds.

He does this thing with his magic where he makes his hands really cold. It feels nice on your feverish skin as he gently smooths your hair away from your face, you don’t know why you feel so nauseous and sweaty after you black out but this little gesture helps you come back smoothly.

He has a hard time sleeping after a rough encounter. He keeps waking up and making sure you’re still breathing. In the end he gives up on sleeping and just reads by the fire, calming his nerves to the sound of your steady, stable breathing.

In Camp

He is hilariously fussy about what you eat.

“No, you ABSOLUTELY CANNOT subsist off of a loaf of bread, three olives and a bottle of wine. We are no longer young scholars barely SCRAPING by—“

Very resourceful when it comes to what you can scrape together out of barrels around camp. You were very skeptical when you watched him putting a variety of different bones into a cauldron as you left him back in camp one day. But you came back to a rich stew full of potatoes, some wild rice and even some cut up apple in the mix.

He likes it when you play with his hair. But he has to very pointedly avoid it if he’s in the middle of reading up on something.

“Darling, are you certain you’re not practiced in the arcane arts? I do think you’ve got some magic in those fingertips of yours, at the very least, with how quickly they can put me to sleep.”

When You’re Alone

It’s simple. He worships you. Perhaps it’s because his last lover was a goddess but it seems to come easy for him; the reverent words, the gentle touches, the utter devotion. Sometimes you catch him just… looking at you. His eyes softly hooded, a relaxed curve to his lips. It’s your favorite to ask what’s on his mind when he looks at you like that.

“Hm? Oh, nothing much. I’ve just been observing. Did you know you purse your lips when you’re reading something that you disagree with? Yes—hah—just like that.”

He loves to read WITH you. Especially loves to show you some of his favorite tomes. He’ll get you all nestled up against him and hold the book down in front of you. He reads much faster than you, so he busies himself kissing behind your ear or playing with your hair until you turn the page.

Gods does he love it when you ask him questions about something to do with magic. He loves watching the glint in your eye when he’s helped you understand something.

You love it when you get him rolling on a topic of theory that you know he doesn’t get to talk about much. Sometimes he loses you when he gets into the minutiae, but he’s so damn cute when he’s ranting about the wonder in the world.

In Intimate Moments

(Potential NSFW below.)

Of course it is not a surprise that he’s a generous lover. What is a surprise is how demanding he can be when he feels like it. He knows you are no stranger to a challenge and he loves to make things more exciting by presenting you with one.

“Of course I’m aware of our companions in camp. But it’s not as if we can afford ourselves more privacy. You’re just going to have to quiet those lovely little sounds you make while I touch you… let’s see… it was here wasn’t it? Ah, ah… shhhh, my love. Those pointy ears of Astarion’s might pick even that tiny sound.”

Gods does he know how to string words together to leave you completely undone.

Sometimes foreplay is mostly talk. He can get you going without even touching you.

“My love, I’ve not been able to stop thinking of the ways I want to touch you all day. Shall I tell you what’s been on my mind?”

His breath tickles against your ear as his hands smooth over your clothed body, telling you how he wants to take you. It’s all the more flustering when you know he always keeps his word.

Love making always starts with a kiss, deep and slow.

You feel him smile into the kiss when he slips his fingers into the front of your trousers and he feels just how aroused he’s made you.

“You are exquisite. A delicacy of the highest quality. Do you know that?”

He’s not one to bang it out for a quickie. He doesn’t like to feel like he’s stealing his time with you, or like he’s a young man again and hastily getting whatever he can before heading back to the dormitories. Every touch, every word, every thrust is slow and deliberate. He wants to relish the feeling of it all. He wants to soak you in.

Somehow, he always smells good. Like cinnamon and tea and… some earthen, herbaceous scent you cant place.

So many cuddles after you’re done.

[delulujuls]

i'd give you the whole world if i only knew its price | ls18

am i a lance's girlie? no. am i becoming a lance's girlie? dont look at me

he seems so sweet idk why people hate on him

summary: lance's love language is giving gifts and when it came to giving something in return he'll accept only one way

warnings: none

pairing: fem!bffreader x lance stroll

The little girl sat on the curb, tears streaming down her rosy, tear-stained cheeks. In her tiny hands, she held her shattered helmet, unfit for further use. The girl wasn't crying because her father had scolded her for accidentally damaging the helmet. Instead, it was because, until she could find a replacement, she wouldn't be able to race with the other kids. That is, if there were any funds available for a new one.

Seeing the seven-year-old in tears, a slightly older boy, aware of the reason behind her distress, approached her with his newly purchased helmet in hand, crouching down in front of her.

"Here, you can have mine."

The girl stopped sobbing as he sat beside her, handing her the helmet, which she hesitantly accepted.

"I can't take it, my dad doesn't have any money left."

"You can take it, I always have two helmets with me."

The boy smiled at her, but uncertainty still lingered on her face. He glanced toward his father, who stood under one of the tents, observing the children a few meters away. Seeing the tearful face of the girl and the joyful expression on his son's face, he also smiled slightly and nodded.

"See?" he said, squeezing her hands that held the helmet. "My dad agreed. You can take it as a gift."

"Really?"

While her face was still wet from tears, her eyes no longer radiated sadness. Looking into the brown eyes of the boy, he nodded and he stood up, extending his hand.

"By the way, I'm Lance. Now, come on, it's about to start!"

"Please, Y/N, don't be like that."

The boy slumped onto the hotel bed, closely watching the girl's face on his phone screen.

"I'm sorry, Lance, but I can't."

She replied, her phone propped up against a coffee mug, engrossed in browsing job listings on her laptop.

"Why can't you just take it as a gift?"

Y/N scoffed and shook her head.

"Every month you give me some gift, Lance. Last month, as a 'gift,' you bought me a Birkin bag, and I don't even want to know how much it cost."

"You said your bag was falling apart, I wanted to make you happy."

She sighed and shifted her gaze to her phone. Lance looked at her attentively with his puppy eyes, visibly concerned. He wasn't seeing any problem here.

"The bag is gorgeous, and you have no idea how much joy you brought me," she said with grattitude in her voice. "But even a simple Target bag would make me happy, you know?"

"Yeah, probably. But this one is okay too, right?"

She laughed and shook her head.

"It's beautiful. Thank you very much."

Hearing her words, Lance breathed a sigh of relief. Seeing her smile, he did the same.

"So, if you want to repay me, let me fly you to Bahrain."

She lowered her gaze, and the smile faded from her face. Barely scraping by on bills and struggling to find a new job, spending her remaining money on plane tickets was the last thing on her mind. Even if, it could cover just one ticket.

"I can't afford to visit you, Lance."

"That's why let me take care of it. We haven't seen each other for so long, and I want to finally see you and start this season together," he said, looking at her worried face. Money meant nothing to him; he could send a private jet to pick her up, just to have her with him. "Please, Y/N."

She sighed and shook her head.

"I feel so embarrassed. I'll never be able to repay you for all of this."

"So, is it a yes? Can I book the tickets?"

He asked, hope in his voice, and a smile slowly crept back onto his face.

"Fine, but no more gifts this month, okay?"

"I'll try to meet that condition."

Lance and Y/N had been friends since the day he noticed her crying next to the carting track, holding her damaged helmet. They remained friends through all the years of go-karting, and their friendship persisted even when Y/N had to give up racing due to financial reasons.

At first, though she shudders at the thought even now, she hated Lance with every fiber of her being. It wasn't him she despised, but the obscene amounts of money his father had, providing him with everything he could dream of. Y/N was aware that Lance had both many fans and critics, so every time she came across unfavorable comments about him online, she felt embarrassed. After all, she used to cry and curse him every night, even though deep down, she didn't hate him; she just disliked the situation he was in, which she was not allowed to have.

Lance himself knew that without money, he would never have entered the serious world of motorsport. Numerous training sessions, expensive lessons, academy tests – Lance knew that money secured his current position, but talent couldn't be bought. He knew he could drive, and even the people who hated him online knew it too, disliking him simply because he succeeded. Being in Formula 1 cost the Canadian a lot, as he constantly felt like he didn't belong there. Even in the paddock, despite rarely facing personal comments, he knew many saw him as the boy with his daddy's big money. Lance often felt lonely, so he deeply appreciated every moment he could spend with Y/N. No one was as important to him as she was.

However, Y/N focused on being an ordinary teenager after giving up her motorsport career. She finished high school, got into college, even found a job and rented an apartment. Although her life didn't unfold exactly as she wanted, she stayed connected to motorsport through Lance, whom she supported as much as she could. Now things were getting complicated again as the season was about to begin, meaning she could only cheer for him from her couch. But for Lance, there were no such limitations. If he could solve a problem with money, he would. Furthermore, Lance found immense joy in showering Y/N with various gifts. Giving her presents was his love language, something that Y/N had no clue about.

"There she is."

Lance smiled at the sight of his friend, who stepped out of the taxi in front of one of the Bahrain hotels. She returned the smile, hugging him.

"I was talking about the bag, but it's nice to see you too," he teased, pointing to the Birkin she was holding, prompting her to playfully nudge him. Lance chuckled and embraced her, taking her suitcase and leading her inside the hotel.

"I hope the flight was okay and you're full of energy because we're going to a team dinner tonight."

"So, basically your dad is inviting us to dinner?"

She asked jokingly, looking at him as they entered the elevator.

"Technically, yes, my dad is inviting us to dinner."

Y/N laughed, "Well, Lawrence Stroll can't be refused."

Shortly afterward, they were on the right floor where both of them had their rooms. Lance handed her the key card and when she entered her room, she noticed a bouquet of roses and a small package on the bed.

"Lance..."

Turning around, she saw him biting his lip, trying to hide his smile.

"Yes, yes, I know, we had a deal. But these roses were practically free and the little gift next to it is, let's say, a shared one."

He explained, putting aside her suitcase. She also placed her bag down and approached the bed, picking up the bouquet of white roses. She smelled one and smiled, feeling their pleasant fragrance. Lance smiled too.

"You're impossible, you know that?"

"Open the gift."

He encouraged her, leaning against the wall.

She smelled the flowers once more and put them aside, taking the small package wrapped in black ribbon. As she untied it and unwrapped the light-colored paper, she discovered the familiar shade of green. It was a long, satin dress with thin straps, in the characteristic color of Aston Martin. She smiled to herself.

"I guess this is for tonight's dinner?"

Lance nodded, "Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful," she ran her fingers over the fabric, "I hope you have a shirt in the same color."

He chuckled.

"Don't worry, I won't disappoint you."

Indeed, at the agreed-upon time, Lance showed up at her door, wearing a shirt in the same color, black jeans, and matching shoes. He smiled at the sight of his friend, who opened the door ready to go.

"You look gorgeous. The color suits you."

Y/N laughed and closed the door behind her.

"That's good because otherwise, I would have to wear the white dress I brought with me, and someone might think I'm supporting Haas."

Lance laughed at her words, pleased to spend these few days with his friend. Honestly, he only stopped feeling lonely when she was around or when they had the chance to talk on FaceTime. Of course, it wasn't the same as having her physically by his side.

The evening passed in a pleasant atmosphere and time flowed effortlessly. Lawrence invited everyone who had arrived with Aston Martin to Bahrain, so instead of reserving a specific number of tables, Lance's father rented the entire restaurant for the evening.

Celebrating the team's excellent work during the winter months, the tables were adorned with champagne and white wine. Y/N had forgotten how weak her head could be, so after two glasses of wine during dinner, a slight buzz started to occupy her mind. Apologizing to Lance under the pretext of going to the bathroom, she stepped outside, sitting on the balcony. Despite being February, Bahrain offered pleasant temperatures, and even after the dark, a warm breeze caressed her exposed arms.

"Here you are."

The girl jumped, hearing his voice.

"You weren't around for half an hour, and I had the waitress check if something happened to you in the bathroom."

"I needed some fresh air."

Y/N replied, smiling at him. She noticed Lance's steps were a bit unsteady and a blush adorned his cheeks. When he sat next to her, she giggled.

"I can't believe we got tipsy."

Lance chuckled and rubbed his face with his hands.

"I won't lie, I'm feeling a bit dizzy."

Still giggling, the girl rested her head on his shoulder. Lance wrapped his arm around her waist and rested his cheek on her head.

"I'm glad you came."

"I'm glad you invited me."

"I'd give you the whole world if I only knew its price."

Hearing his words, Y/N raised her head and looked at his face. His brown, gentle eyes gazed at her affectionately and a faint smile played on the corners of his lips. Lance tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, gently caressing her cheek with his thumb.

"I hate that I can't give you anything in return."

Lance smiled, "Actually, there's something you could give me in return."

The girl raised her eyebrows inquisitively.

"You could be my girlfriend."

Y/N blinked several times, unsure if her slightly intoxicated mind was playing tricks on her or if she understood Lance correctly.

"Do you want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Oh, God, you have no idea how much."

The girl smiled and, without saying a word, cupped his cheeks in her hands and kissed him. Lance hugged her even tighter, returning the kiss, feeling a burst of fireworks in his stomach. He could bring her joy with money, and she could do it in just one way.

"I love you, Lance."

With love.

[seresinhangmanjake]

Come Back Together

Benny Cross x reader 

Summary in bullet points:

Now that Benny is back in your life, he is trying to be a better husband

Benny is insecure about his relationship and a barfight ensues

Reader is pregnant (three months)

Benny does a bit of pining and is emotionally vulnerable

Fluffiness 

Part 2 of Come Back Knockin’

Notes/Warnings: *Spoiler free*, angst and fluff, relationship struggles, physical altercations (fist fight), mention of blood and injury, mention of pregnancy, mention of alcohol, cursing, kissing, happy stuff, typos. I think that’s it. This took me forever to write for some reason and I was weirdly stressed about it. tf is wrong with me, right? Anyway…

Words: alright no one freak out…it’s 4300. Idk why it’s a lot longer than the first part but I always do that. If you’re willing to venture onward, I appreciate it :)

Benny Cross Masterlist

Part 3: Together and More

He stares at you incessantly. Which isn’t out of the ordinary—he used to stare at you all the time—but there’s something else to it now. He stares as if he thinks you’ll disappear the second he takes his eyes off of you. Like you'll slip through his fingers. Ironic, really, since disappearing in the blink of an eye is more his thing. 

“Can I make you something?” he asks, staring at you from his chair while you pull a carton of eggs from the fridge. “You should be sitting instead of me.”

“You don’t know how to cook, Benny,” you state matter-of-factly, turning your back to him as you switch on the stove and set a pan on the lit burner.

Cooking has always been your responsibility. It was one of the things you brought to this relationship. And you liked being the one to keep Benny fed, never chiming in when the other Vandals’ wives and girlfriends mentioned how exhausting it was to satisfy their man’s grumbling stomach. You liked that Benny appreciated you for it. 

Now you wonder if subconsciously you believed that as long as you fed him, he’d stay by your side, regardless of his wild nature. Kind of like a puppy. But Benny Cross is no puppy.

“I should probably learn,” he says. “You know, for the kid.”

You hum, cracking an egg on the edge of the pan. “Maybe you should stick to learning how not to ditch your family,” you retort, and immediately your features twist in a wince.

You can’t believe you let those words out of your mouth. You’d been doing so well at holding in the little jabs and remarks, no matter how hard they’ve pushed at your sealed lips. Not to say a few of them haven’t slipped through in the last month, they have, but each time they did, you received instant punishment in the form of Benny’s heart crumbling right before your eyes.

He’s never tried to make you feel guilty about your slip-ups, but he can’t seem to hide his expressions around you anymore. Ever since Benny returned, he’s been different. Your husband who was once so stoic has untethered his emotions from the piece inside of him that, for years, refused to let them show. His affection is more outward now, but unfortunately, so is his pain. So you made a rule to stop doing that to him; stop catching him off guard with words of hurt during a time of pending forgiveness. What he did was damaging, yes, but it’s unfair to pick at him when he’s been doing everything he can to show you he has value to this family; things he never would have done before. 

He wakes earlier than you to clean the most-used areas of the house—a poorly done job; you still find dust in spaces dust should have easily been wiped up, but he tries. He found work at a mechanic’s shop not too far from the house, and surprisingly, he has yet to complain about it—a decent job was always something he physically and mentally shunned. He got rid of everything in the spare room and has begun painting the walls from the deep brown left over from the prior owners to a soft, light green that matches the baby blanket he brought you. It’s cute, and significantly better than you would have done without him. You would’ve been too stressed to put together a nice nursery.

Benny awkwardly clears his throat, breaking up your thoughts and bringing you back to the present. The lingering discomfort from your snide tone is palpable, heavy, just short of physically formed, and you can’t escape it. 

“I didn’t mean that,” you tell him as you flip the egg. 

The sizzle in the pan is louder as uncooked egg hits the heat, but you can still hear his deep breath, easily picturing the weak smile on his face when he softly says, “It’s ok. I deserve it.”

You’re about to protest, but he doesn’t give you the chance. 

“I was thinkin’ about goin’ to a meeting tonight,” Benny says. “You wanna come with me?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Oh…” he says, dejected. “It's been a while since you've been to one. I know you stopped goin’ when I was…away, so I thought…”

You set the spatula down and turn to face him, crossing your arms. “I wasn’t going to go without you. And considering everything, everyone just would have pitied me. I'm sure they still do.”

His blue eyes fall to the tiled floor. You know he hates that such a thought would enter your mind, but it’s not as if you’re capable of stopping it. He put you in a pitiful situation, and were the circumstances placed upon another woman, you would have felt those same feelings for her. 

“No one pities you, baby. I promise,” he says. “They miss you.” His head lifts so he can meet your stare. “But if you don’t want to go then I'll stay here with you. We can watch a movie or somethin’.”

Your eyes widen. “No!” you yelp. Benny’s head jerks back at the sudden outburst and you swallow to buy yourself time to sort your thoughts into words, but the best you come up with is: “You’re right, actually. We should go.”

“But you just–” His brow raises in skepticism. “Are you sure?”

If your options are club meeting surrounded by a large group of people or movie-watching with you and Benny alone, then yes, you are absolutely sure. The movie channels have rallied against you lately. Out of the five times you and Benny have watched a film since he came back, all five have been romances. All of them!

You don’t know if he scours the TV Guide without you noticing or if the television channels have simply rallied against you, but sitting beside your husband who you are trying not to give in to is made all the more difficult when watching Audrey Hepburn fall in love with George Peppard or Cary Grant or Greggory Peck for God's sake. You see them and it makes you forget things. You forget that you’re as upset as you are, and with Benny so close, your heart starts to pound and you can’t focus on anything else. You want to crawl right into his arms, let him hold you and kiss you and take you on the couch after what has felt like an eternity apart. But you can’t do that. It’s too soon. So no movies. 

“Positive,” you nod. 

An easy smile slides onto his face. “Well that’s great, baby. It'll be fun.”

“Yea. Sure.”

“Alright,” he says, standing. “I gotta get to the shop.”

He pauses as he passes by you, and you hold his gaze as he squashes the instinct to press his lips to your forehead. 

You weren’t married to Benny for long before he panicked and left—only a handful of months—but it was long enough for the two of you to develop your own set of rituals. And by the consistency and ease with which Benny performed those rituals, anyone would have assumed they’d been in place for decades. 

A kiss on the forehead after breakfast was one ritual. As was the bedtime cuddling with your leg slotted between his. And the way he’d stare at you in the mirror, his arms crossed and body leaning against the doorframe as he watched you brush your teeth with a grin on his face. 

But the one you miss the most is the hug from behind that you'd receive once he’d decided to come home for the night. He’d circle his arms around your waist and place a kiss on your neck, and then he’d chuckle because he was so determined to sneak up on you and give you a little scare but was never successful. You could feel him before he touched you, you could smell his cologne, but you didn’t want to ruin his fun, so you let him have hope that one day he would finally surprise you. 

Benny blows out a long breath through his nose. “I’ll see you tonight,” he mutters with a brief hint of a smile.

As the front door closes behind him, a carbon smell grabs your attention and you look over your shoulder at your breakfast. It’s charred, inedible, and you don’t even care, you just knock the pan off to the side to keep the house from burning down.

—

“Well, thank the lord,” Betty’s voice travels across the bar as she and Kathy approach you and Benny. “We weren’t sure we’d ever see you again, honey.”

Kathy draws you into a tight hug that rips you from Benny’s side. “Things have not been the same with you gone,” she says as she leans back, rubbing her hands up and down your arms. She smiles so sweetly and you breathe a sigh of relief. These women were your friends and you feel guilty for abandoning them just because Benny abandoned you. “Come sit.”

“Benny Cross, we are stealin’ your wife,” Betty declares, “And you don't get to whine about it.” There’s a dash of vitriol in her tone that nibbles at your gut and you hope it’s simply an effect of the alcohol she must’ve had prior to your arrival. 

“Oh,” Benny says. You glance at him, at the disappointed look on his face—subtle, but there. He wanted you by his side tonight, but he’s not going to force you to deny their offer. “Ok.”

Kathy and Betty each take one of your hands and lead you to a small rounded table. It’s the centerpiece of the room, and as one of three surrounding it, so are you, unfortunately. As Betty sticks a cigarette in her mouth and Kathy takes a sip of her beer, your eyes scan the low-lit space. 

Stares from the men lining the walls burn your cheeks. You recognize only half of them—the Vets, as they’re known—and they give you their smiles and nods in a ‘welcome back’ gesture, Johnny, in particular, sporting a rare grin.

The others—the Newcomers; out-of-towners who came specifically to join the club—look at you with something else in their eyes. Amusement? Curiosity? They seem to know exactly who you are and enjoy a little too much putting a face to the name. You, however, don’t know a single one of them. They’d arrived shortly before Benny left, and while some faces, those with distinct features, you can recall from nuggets of your memory, you’ve never spoken to them. You never got their names. 

“Why this table?” you ask your friends.

“Best view of the pool table, obviously,” Betty chuckles after snapping Johnny’s lighter shut. She nudges her head in that direction. “Nothin’ wrong with lookin’, I say.”

Flanking the table are Cal, Wahoo, and Benny; Wahoo watching and chattering from the sidelines as Cal and Benny alternate between shots.

Benny edges from one side of the table to the other, sizing up his options. Then, cue in hand, cigarette dangling from his lips, he bends at the waist and lines up the shot. 

He’s so stupidly beautiful. The lamp hanging above the table illuminates him, defining his muscles by highlighting the hills and casting the valleys into shadow. A haze of smoke coats your view, but his pure essence and magnetism break through it like rays of sun through parted clouds. 

Benny’s eyes flick up to yours and he winks as he shoots, driving two balls directly into their nets. 

Your mouth goes dry. You swallow sandpaper, leaving your throat all raw and scratchy.

“So, how’ve you been, honey?” Betty asks, and you turn your head. “How've you been feelin’? How’s that nausea?”

“Yea,” Kathy adds, leaning in close as if seeking out a secret, “and how’s it been goin’ with him? Any trouble?”

“Um, I'm fine,” you say, tucking a few stray strands of hair behind your ear. “Nausea’s manageable. 

As far as Benny goes, there's no trouble,” you tell them, “It’s just–” You pause. 

What can you say? That you haven’t fully forgiven him even though he’s working so hard to be a good husband? That some of the things he’s doing around the house are swoon-worthy compared to what most men you know would do but you’re too stubborn to express the depth of your appreciation? Any woman would look at you like you’re insane. 

When you think about it like that, maybe you are insane. 

“I don't know,” you say with a shrug and a shake of your head. “It's hard to explain.”

“Well, according to Johnny, Benny’s worried each day in the house will be his last,” Betty says, blowing a stream of smoke off to the side. “That boy’s so afraid he’s gonna mess up and let you down again that I'm surprised he hasn't lost his marbles. I read in Life that bein’ that anxious wreaks havoc on the body and mind.”

Betty’s always reading something in Life, and a good portion of the time you are hesitant to take her seriously. Not necessarily because you don’t trust what the magazine reports, but that Betty tends to exaggerate for kicks. 

You have a feeling she’s not exaggerating this time.

Your face falls. 

“Don’t you feel bad about it for one second,” Kathy scolds, placing her hand on top of yours. “You’re well within your rights to make him earn his place.”

“I know, but I don’t want him to be scared that I'm going to–”

You’re cut off by a male voice slipping through a brief lull in the cacophony of noise.

“If she don’t want Benny no more, she can bring her sweet ass right on over to me,” a Newcomer says in a slurring mess. “I’d sure take better care of her than he did.”

Every soul in the room falls deadly silent—the only remaining sound being the melody of Elvis's Baby Let's Play House from the jukebox—and the world around you freezes.

Cigarettes are held over ashtrays, their ashes yet to be knocked off. Beer bottles are raised to lips without the satisfaction of a sip. The bartender’s rag has only wiped up half of a drunken man’s spill. No one is breathing and everyone’s eyes are glued to either the Newcomer or your husband. Yours are on Newcomer, watching his features shift and tick as he soaks in the weight of what he just said, and what it’s about to cost him. 

Kathy sighs. “Oh, god.” 

The whole bar hears her—impossible not to; you could hear a mouse skitter across the floor—and her words seem to carry with them the wave of a green flag, because a moment later, Benny rushes the guy and tackles him to the ground. 

Chaos erupts. All at once, shouts, curses, and hateful name-calling explode like the impact of a bomb. Nearly every man in the club is taking sides in the war between Newcomers and Vets. Fists fly into faces. Faces are shoved against walls. Walls are cracked from bodies slamming into them. There’s the distinct sound of bone meeting bone. Blood splatters across your table.

“Jesus, fellas!” Kathy snaps as she and Betty hop up, dragging you out of the danger zone. 

In a panic, your head whips in all directions. You can’t find Benny, but you need to find him and you need to find him now. 

You’ve seen him throw punches at races and members’ houses but this is too public a space, and if the cops are called, he can’t be caught fighting again. Nor can he risk having fingers pointed his way for instigating. He already has a record, and though you didn’t know him during his few stints behind bars, you know he has exhausted the sheriff's leniency. If you leave now, Johnny will come up with something to excise Benny’s participation should questions arise. 

You take a step forward but Kathy’s grip is tight. “Where do you think you’re goin’?” she shouts.

“To get my husband.”

Betty gapes. “Are you crazy? You're pregnant!” But you ignore her, shaking Kathy off and heading into the storm. “Johnny! Johnny, grab her!”

You weave through fight after fight, stopping short when a body lands at your feet, but he’s up and out of your way in an instant, and you continue dodging and ducking until you spot a blond head. From what you can see, there’s hardly a scratch on him. The same cannot be said for the drunk guy beneath him. 

Before you can move another inch, an arm circles your waist and jerks you back. 

“Hey!” you snap. “Let go!”

“Not a chance, sweetheart. You stay out of it,” Johnny says, lifting you off the ground and setting you down in a safer area. He puts his hands on your shoulders and dips his head to your eye level, locking on to your gaze. “I’ll get ‘im, ok? I’ll get ‘im. Stay right here.”

You nod in agreement, your brows knitted and teeth chewing on your bottom lip. 

From this location, you have a better view of your husband and the friend who is trying and failing to break up the fight. Johnny yanking on Benny’s dominant arm is not enough to stop the attacks. Neither is the forearm locked around his neck. 

When Cal notices Johnny’s struggle, he pushes his opponent into a table and races over to take hold of Benny’s other bicep. Together they pull him off the man whose face no longer resembles a human’s. It’s a bloody mess. His nose is dented in, eyes swollen shut, lips split and mouth hanging open to reveal an empty space where a tooth used to be. 

Benny’s chest heaves. Murder is in his glare. He jerks against his restraints but struggles to break free with the force of two men weighing him to the ground. 

Then Johnny mutters something in Benny’s ear that immediately halts his thrashing. His breathing slows. The fire fades from his irises, returning them to their soft cerulean, and his eyes tear away from the beaten man to dart around the room in search of you. 

As Benny spots you, Johnny's lips move, seemingly forming the words ‘Get outta here,’ before he pats Benny on the chest and lets him rise to his feet. 

Benny comes to you and without stopping grasps your hand and leads you out of the bar.

— 

“You think you fractured anything?” You ask as you slide the key into the lock and turn.

Benny stretches and flexes his fingers. “No,” he answers, trailing into the house behind you and shutting the front door. “Are you upset with me?” 

He’s been wanting to ask that question since you left the bar. As he'd placed the helmet on your head and clipped the strap under your chin, you'd observed his lips, how they were parting as if to speak but unable to get anything out. And when he'd helped you off the bike in front of the house, his expression was far away, his jaw shifting, teeth clenching—the look of your husband in intense thought. 

At least he finally spit it out. Normally, he would have run his fingers through his hair and sighed, opting not to bother you with the question; a behavior that used to drive you crazy. It took weeks after you met for you to accept that while Benny was willing to share a lot with you—things he didn’t intend to share with anyone; a life, for instance—there were things best not to pester him into revealing. 

So you’re a patient partner. If it needs to be said or asked, it’ll be said or asked. And you're glad he decided this was one question that needed to be asked.

You sigh, hanging your jacket on the rack, and Benny follows, selecting the hook closest to yours. 

“I mean, you nearly killed him,” you say as you make your way to the back of the living room and open the closet that houses the first aid kit. 

On tippy toes, you can barely brush your fingers along the metal tin, and you grumble each time you unintentionally push it a little further back on the shelf.

A muscled arm reaches above your head to grab the kit. Benny places it in your hands before stepping back into the seating area and dropping down onto the footstool, his standard perch when you’re fixing him up. 

Blue eyes are glued to your body as you take a seat on the couch. 

You pull the lid off of the tin and riffle through it for the small bottle of alcohol—you’ll have to buy more soon, it’s getting low—and a clean rag. With the alcohol-soaked fabric at the ready, you slip your fingers under his warm palm, bring his hand close, and get to work dabbing the wounds and wiping off some of the dried blood. He doesn’t so much as hiss at the shot of pain that makes any other human groan and pinch their eyes tight.

“He was out of line,” he tells you.

“I’m not saying he wasn’t out of line, but I really don't need you getting in trouble and being taken away from me, Benny.” You’re focused on his injury, but out of the corner of your eye, he winces in shame. “Besides, he was just mouthing off.”

“Mouthin’ off about my wife.”

With a huff, you drop your joined hands onto your lap and shoot him a look. “I know, but do you honestly believe what he said could ever happen? Do you think I would leave you for some other man?”

You ask with the full expectation of a whip-quick reply—‘of course not, baby’—but Benny adam’s apple bobs, and his teeth clench as his eyes flit to the undoubtedly less interesting carpet.

“Benny…?”

He runs his uninjured hand down his face and looks up at you. “C'mon, baby, it's not that wild of a thought. Not after what I did to you,” he says, his thumb slowly running over your knuckles. “You are so much better than anything I should be allowed to have. But me? You could throw a rock in any direction and you'd hit a man better than me. One that wouldn’t have panicked and left you pregnant and alone for six weeks.”          

You shake your head. “That’s not true.”   

“It is true.”

“It is not, and even if it was, I don't want another man,” you confess. A beat passes as you exhale heavily to stave off the stinging of oncoming tears. “It hurts that you left, but I am working through it, we are working through it, ok? You’re not going to lose me, Benny Cross. Not unless you leave me.”

“I'm never leavin’ you,” he says. 

You place your free hand on his cheek. “Then you’re never losing me.”

Benny swallows hard and scans your face—each and every feature—lingering on your lips before meeting your eyes. As your thumb strokes his cheekbone, he wraps his fingers around your wrist, turns his head, and presses a kiss to your palm. 

“Baby, I miss you so much,” he mutters, his brows pinched in anguish. “I miss touchin’ you. I miss holdin’ you. I miss sleepin’ next to you.” He lightly shakes his head. “I know I don’t deserve you, and I sure as hell don’t deserve our baby, but I fuckin’ miss you.”

The unit that is your heart and body and soul feels as if it’s being cleaved in two. This isn’t what the past month of your lives was meant to be about. It was supposed to be about building trust, not dishing out punishment. And yes, you’ve messed up before, said things that weren’t fair, but keeping him at arm's length is more than that. It’s a deeper pain. Stronger. More potent. Not just for him, but for you as well, and now you can’t quite see the point anymore. Staying away from his touch does not help anything if what you want at the end of the day is to be together. And that is what you want. 

When you touch your lips to his for the first time in almost three months, you whimper. You whimper and you melt and the tears want to come back because it’s so much easier to resist desire when you haven’t entertained it in a while. But now you’ve given in. You’re tasting him like you used to, tasting the remnants of gin and cigarettes and the blueberry pie you made for dessert, and it’s all Benny. Benny, who is so shocked that you’ve kissed him that it takes a handful of seconds before he kisses you back and becomes the Benny you know. And then he’s curling his arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap, and his hands are everywhere. Squeezing your thighs, sliding over your ass, tracing up your spine, holding the back of your neck to guide you closer so he can kiss you harder, and yea, you are never depriving yourself of your husband again.

Benny stands, taking you with him, supporting your weight as he keeps kissing you and you keep kissing him. He blindly turns and settles into the comfort of the couch with your legs on either side of his hips. 

You lean back, breaking the connection of your lips. “Benny.”

He’s staring at you like you’re hypnotic, mesmerizing. Like he’s drunk on kisses. His fingers trace the curvature of your face. A thumb ghosts over the swollen pillows of your mouth. 

“Yea, baby,” he says, voice gravelly, just above a whisper.

“Do you want to be back in our bed?”

Benny stiffens and he blinks away that glazed-over expression. “You mean it?” He asks. You nod. 

“Are you gonna be in the bed too?” he says, sifting his fingers through your hair. “We're not just swappin’, are we?”

You smile. “No, we aren't swapping,” you promise him, your forehead falling against his. “I'm making room.”

---

A/N: I kind of want to do a time jump Part 3 with lots of Dad!Benny stuff. Let me know if you’d be interested in reading that. Thanks :)

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