#i'd faint if i was in the same room as her

[forge7menot]

In The Air (Tonight)

Pairings: Patrick x Reader, Tashi x Reader, Tashi x Art

Word count: 2.7k

Content warnings: alcohol use, suggestive content

Notes: Hi everyone! This is my first time writing a ff but I love Challengers with all my heart so I thought I'd give it a try. English is not my first language so if there are any mistakes don't pay too much attention to them!! Also, I despise the use of “Y/N”, that's why I tried to make it as neutral as I could.

Summer 2006, New York: 10:45 PM

Your room was a mess. Not only were there piles of dresses, colorful crop tops and jeans scattered across the floor like confetti, but you still couldn’t decide what to wear. And it was getting pretty late —at least, too late for your liking一 as the faint sound of “SOS” by Rihanna drifting from nearby bars hinted at the start of another sleepless Saturday night.

“Where’s the mascara?”

“Right in there,” you said, pointing at your makeup bag while your head was still buried deep in your closet. This bra isn't even mine, you thought, picking it up before tossing it on the ground. Tashi was too busy curling her eyelashes to hear the cellphone that had been buzzing for the past five minutes.

"Tash, could you please get it?" you grabbed a pair of low-rise, medium-wash bootcut jeans and looked at them with a satisfied grin before sneaking your legs in them as Tashi’s manicured nail pressed the green button to accept the call.

"We're still not ready," you heard her say and Art groaned on the other end.

"Are you serious? You said that an hour ago!"

"I am, unfortunately. I'll text you when we're finished.” Tashi ended the call before he could say a word.

She's been your closest friend since middle school. It was around that time that she started to invite you to watch her tennis matches on Sunday afternoons, just to hang out later. You've been incredibly supportive of her love for tennis ever since.

She even tried to teach you how to play, which led to you spraining your ankle once—after that, she didn't push you to try again.

However, you were always there at her matches: front rows, holding a big sign with her name on it, rooting for her.

That's also how you met Patrick and Art, Fire and Ice: the two of them were also tennis players, which is why they already knew Tashi very well. The four of you quickly became close after your first encounter at a party, which ended with smoking cigarettes by the beach and engaging in random conversations.

It was quite obvious that Art, the blond one, had a thing for her from the first night you all spent together. You still remember how he was staring at her in awe as she explained to Patrick, the brunet one, how “you can actually build something out of ice while fire just tends to burn shit down”—it was obviously an innuendo to his technique. Art could hardly hide his grin as she tore into it, watching her like he’d just discovered something rare. You wondered if she noticed—or if she was just used to his attention by now.

As for you, you weren’t really looking for a relationship and you’d come to peace with the fact that being single was probably the chillest you’d ever been. At the same time, you couldn’t deny that Patrick was a really cool guy—not just for his confidence and personality, but because he was fucking hot. Sure, he was flirtier with you than with most people and maybe that got under your skin a little. But you often asked yourself if it was real interest or just his way of being; you hadn’t quite decided yet.

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The clock on the dresser blinked 11:10 PM, the glowing digits reminding you both that Art and Patrick were probably rolling their eyes somewhere across town. They’d waited this long, but you knew they’d wait a little longer.

Tashi was finally dressed, wearing a dark blue one-shoulder mini dress and a wide black belt with a large buckle that you’d gladly lent her. She was already pretty tall, but that didn’t stop her from slipping on the black peep-toe heels you two had bought together just a few hours ago. “One thing I like about my height is that ugly short boys can’t even try with me. I can’t hear them at all!” she’d joked in the shoe aisle.

As she carefully helped you curl your hair, you slipped on a white vest-style top with a V-neck. “Do you think I should add a necklace or something?” you asked, gesturing to the empty space just above your collarbones.

“How about that black beaded necklace with the heart pendant your grandma got you for your birthday?” she suggested, turning off the curling iron. “It contrasts perfectly with white.”

“You’re a genius!”

You fastened the necklace, running a finger over the heart pendant, feeling a hint of comfort.

There was just one last thing left to do before leaving the house: post a photo of Tashi and you on MySpace - where, of course, she was placed first in your TOP 8 and you were placed first in hers.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷

The two boys had been leaning against the stone ledge outside the club for a solid twenty minutes, watching people trickle in. Art had insisted on getting there early—“in case there’s a line.”

Patrick had rolled his eyes at the time, knowing you and Tashi weren’t even close to ready yet. They’d both checked their phones multiple times, refreshing messages and waiting for a sign. Then, Patrick’s phone buzzed.

He glanced down and let out a low laugh, nudging Art with his elbow. “Look at this,” he said, tilting the screen toward him: a freshly uploaded photo on Tashi’s MySpace page, clearly taken in your room. The two of you were posing in front of a mirror flashing playful peace signs with the caption “NYC nightlife, here we come!”

Art squinted at the screen, his smile widening. “Well, at least we know they’re coming,” he said with a chuckle. “Though judging by that post, they’re not exactly in a rush.”

Patrick shook his head, amused. He put his phone back in his pocket, feigning indifference but sneaking glances at the entrance.

Another ten minutes passed, during which Art fiddled with his phone, checking Tashi’s page and refreshing it as if a new post might appear any second.

Patrick caught him doing it and snickered. “Dude, you’re practically stalking her page. Can you look any more desperate?”

Art shrugged, unfazed. “It’s called keeping informed, man.”

Just then, his phone buzzed again—a new notification. But this time, it was a message from Tashi: “Almost there. Keep your shirts on, boys. ;-)”

Finally, Art spotted you and Tashi across the street, walking toward the club entrance, laughing and leaning on each other as you navigated the crowded sidewalk.

He elbowed Patrick, who looked up just in time to see you both smiling, looking effortlessly glamorous under the city lights.

“There they are,” Art said, relief mixed with excitement in his voice.

Patrick’s exasperation faded, replaced by a grin. “About time,” he muttered, though there was no real annoyance in his tone.

As the both of you got closer to them Tashi smirked, flipping her long brown hair over one shoulder with a dramatic flair.

“Sorry to keep you waiting, boys,” she said with mock sincerity. “Had to make sure the MySpace crowd knew we were out tonight.”

Patrick raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Oh, trust me, we saw. Next time, maybe just send us a smoke signal instead.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” you shot back with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying the whole situation.

Tashi turned to Art, who was still smiling as he took her in. “You think we look worth the wait?”

Art nodded, a bit too enthusiastically. “Absolutely. I mean, you posted a teaser and everything—how could we not stick around?”

As the two of them were already flirting, you turned your face towards Patrick.

“Hello, sweetness,” he greeted, slipping an arm around your shoulders with a familiarity that felt both bold and strangely comforting. He always called you that—sweetness—ever since you’d mentioned your obsession with the song “Bigmouth Strikes Again” by The Smiths. You weren’t sure if he was teasing you or if he actually liked the nickname, but you didn’t mind it, even if you’d never admit that out loud.

“I hope you still would not like to smash every tooth in my head,” he continued, his grin widening as he quoted the song. His gaze lingered on you, mischievous and a little too pleased with himself.

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips betrayed you. “I’m not that violent, you know. I’m more of a pacifist.”

Patrick chuckled, giving your shoulder a little squeeze as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Oh yeah? I don’t know. I think you’ve got a bit of a fire in you. A little spark.”

You raised an eyebrow, playing along. “A spark, huh? Guess I’m playing for your team then,” you hinted at the nickname people would always give to him on the tennis court.

“That’s the best decision you could ever make,” he shot back, flashing you a grin that was just this side of cocky. His hand lingered on your shoulder for a moment longer before he finally let it drop, but not before brushing his fingers lightly down your arm. It was a subtle touch, but enough to send a small, pleasant shiver down your spine.

As the four of you finally stepped into the club, you were hit by a wall of sound, the bass vibrating through the floor and up into your bones. The music was loud—really loud—the kind of beat that left no room for conversation, only dancing and shouted exchanges.

Strobe lights and neon beams cut through the darkness, casting fleeting shades of blue, purple and red across the crowd, turning everyone into silhouettes and glimmers. The air was thick with the scent of spilled cocktails (that’s what almost made you gag), mingling with a faint haze of cigarette smoke and the sharp tang of cologne and perfume. People were laughing, shouting, swaying in sync, some raising their arms in time with the music.

On one side there was a raised platform where a few braver dancers were showing off their moves, illuminated by a set of blinding white lights that flickered on and off. On the opposite end, a long bar stretched out under soft, glowing light, bartenders moving swiftly as they mixed colorful cocktails, sliding them to customers.

You felt Patrick’s hand on your back, guiding you gently through the crowd as Tashi and Art led the way, squeezing past groups of people until you found a good spot by the bar.

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You didn’t even know what time it was as you sipped on your Cosmopolitan, comfortably nestled into the soft cushions of the booth, when suddenly you felt Tashi’s hand on your shoulder.

“Everything alright?” she asked, sliding in next to you, nearly out of breath as she tried to recover from the last half hour of nonstop dancing: her cheeks were flushed and you could tell she was enjoying the break just as much as you were.

“Yeah, absolutely. This drink is bomb,” you said, pointing at your glass before downing the last sip. “So, what did I miss while I was out here living my best life?” you asked, giving her a playful look.

“Patrick and Art are still out there trying to one-up each other’s dance moves. It’s… something else. You’re missing quite the show.”

As the two of you were talking, a girl dressed in a bold, sparkly top and a low ponytail approached your booth, her arms loaded with a tangle of neon bracelets. She flashed a wide grin as she held them out.

"Hey, ladies! Care for a little light?" she offered, her voice barely cutting through the music.

Tashi’s face lit up as she leaned forward, picking out a few.

“Oh, these are perfect! Thank you!” She slipped a neon pink one onto her wrist, watching it glow under the lights. You took a couple yourself—a bright blue and green.

“Y’all look amazing, by the way!” the girl shouted with a wink before slipping back into the crowd, leaving you both with your new accessories.

Tashi tilted her wrist, admiring the soft glow. “Okay, this is exactly what I needed to get back out there.” She shot you a playful look, her neon-pink bracelet gleaming as she offered you a hand. “Coming with me?”

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The thump of the bass vibrated through the soles of your heels as you and Tashi weaved your way through the crowd.

You found the two boys near the center of the floor, bouncing with the beat of the music.

The brunet spotted you and Tashi first, his eyes lighting up when he saw the bracelets glowing on your wrists. He flashed you a knowing grin and moved fluidly through the crowd towards you. Art followed his lead and came over too.

“Didn’t think you’d make it out here,” Patrick said with a sly grin, his voice cutting through the bass of the song.

Tashi turned to Art and gave him a wink.

“We couldn’t resist, could we?” she laughed as Art pulled her into the rhythm of the music, his hands gently guiding her into the groove.

You stood next to Patrick, feeling his energy just as strongly as he could feel yours and for a moment the connection was undeniable. The way his body moved with the music was drawing you in: he extended a hand towards you, his fingers brushing against your wrist as he gestured for you to join him.

“Don’t be shy,” he said, a teasing smile curling at the corners of his mouth. Without hesitation you placed your hand in his, allowing him to pull you deeper into the rhythm of the dance.

Patrick was a master of subtlety—his touch, his movements, everything about him felt so deliberate. The music wrapped around you and, for a moment, there was no one else in the room but the two of you.

As you spun into the next move, Patrick’s hand landed on your lower back, the contact warm and possessive as he gently guided you.

In response, you placed your palms on his clothed shoulders. The alcohol in your system gradually made you bolder than usual.

The proximity was intoxicating.

His gaze never wavered from you, his lips curving into that playful, knowing smile. When he leaned in closer the tension was thick and almost overwhelming.

“You’re a natural,” he whispered, his hand now resting at your side, fingertips grazing the skin of your hip. You couldn’t help but shiver at the contact.

“Probably because I’ve got such a good teacher,” you teased him.

Whatever was happening felt more than just a casual connection: the closeness, the unspoken tension, the way you moved together—it all felt too real to ignore.

The air between you felt charged, each beat of the music syncing your heartbeats closer together.

As the song transitioned into something slower, the change in tempo didn’t break the tension—it only amplified it. His breath was warm against your cheek and his lips hovered just near your ear. Your heartbeat was so loud, you thought it might drown out his voice.

“You feel that?” Patrick’s breath was warm against your ear, the words almost like a challenge. You swallowed hard. The music still pounded, but it felt like it was coming from miles away.

“Feel what?” you asked, trying to hold onto control but knowing you were losing it.

For a moment, neither of you moved, your gazes locked. You wanted to say something, anything to break the tension, but the words caught in your throat.

Patrick’s lips were so close to yours at that moment.

Your breath hitched as both his hands found the softness and warmth of your cheeks, holding the flesh.

You tilted your head, just enough to close the gap and in a move that felt almost inevitable. His lips brushed yours—soft at first, like a question. You feel that?

When you didn’t pull away, he deepened the kiss, one of his hands moving to your neck.

In that moment, everything else ceased to exist: the world outside of the dancefloor—the crowd, the flashing lights, the music—faded away.

The kiss was heady, slow, a direct answer to the question that had been hanging in the air between you two.

When you finally broke away, breathless, your forehead rested against his, both of you struggling to regain some semblance of control.

Needless to say, that night you didn’t fall asleep alone. And you certainly didn’t fall asleep in your bed.

[innergoateesong]

The Only Exception ~ Vivianne Miedema

hey 👋, this is my first fanfic and i’m not too sure on it. i’ve been reading the ones on tumblr for about a year so hopefully i’ve gained some knowledge.

This is my work, kinda just made it up as i went. Hope it all makes sense and you enjoy it if you choose to read it. I’m open to feedback and any suggestions on how to improve or any fic recommendations. Thank you.

This is a song fic based off the song The Only Exception by Paramore. Mainly a fluffy fic with a tiny bit of angst dusted in the cracks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I was younger, I saw my daddy cry And curse at the wind

I’ve always been an angry person, i don’t allow myself to feel anything but anger. The tears that have ever slipped my whole life have not been from pain, only anger.

He broke his own heart and I watched As he tried to reassemble it

Childhood was tough, but isn’t everybody’s? I’ve always had the view of the world that doesn’t include me. Almost as if i feel i don’t deserve to have emotions and i’m just going through life on autopilot.

And my momma swore That she would never let herself forget

I didn’t grow up with family role models, i barely saw my parents and i never knew either of there families, my life was myself, in my room with chunky headphones in or on the pitch running to get my brain quiet. Nothing quietened my brain more than the pitch.

And that was the day that I promised I'd never sing of love if it does not exist

Even after moving to london to join one of the top clubs in the top english league i hid myself away. I walked into training with tunnel vision, headphones on, no eye contact, no verbal communication. and i walked out the exact same way.

For three years.

But darling, you are the only exception You are the only exception

It probably didn’t seem like it to my teammates but i really liked it at arsenal. My dream club. The 2018 season was when i first made some human contact. Viv started bringing my water from the cafeteria to the pitch for me. She smiled, gently. “Here, you forgot it.” “Oh cheers.” Let’s just say that wasn’t the only time i ‘forgot’ my bottle.

You are the only exception You are the only exception

I knew love wasn’t for me. I got a wee cockapoo and that was the only connection i needed. Until Viv sat next to me for breakfast one Wednesday morning. A soft grin resting on both our faces but a comfortable silence the way she must’ve known i liked it. A warm whisper appearing, “What are you listening to this morning?” “Just some silly love song.” “They’re my favourite.”

Maybe I know somewhere deep in my soul That love never lasts

Now instead of an empty table with myself another seat was occupied. Breakfast was filled with faint smirks and slow songs ringing through the headphones we eventually shared, learning the tunes the other would hum along to and skipping the ones that would make them both scrunch up their noses. Before heading to the pitch where not another look is exchanged.

And we've got to find other ways to make it alone Or keep a straight face

“Oi, Viv. You and y/n have been getting close, what are they all about?” “y/n’s sweet.” Viv would glance at you in training and whenever else she got the chance but your hard facade was always held too strong for her to get to know you. Once when you got home and comfortable on the couch with Daniel, your cockapoo, there was a picture on instagram of breakfast earlier that day. Fans comments around you and Viv being an unexpected duo took over. You don’t like attention.

And I've always lived like this Keeping a comfortable distance

The next day viv was left alone. You wandered in right before training started, only having time to quickly change. A worried glance from viv was not unnoticed but definitely ignored. You had been letting her in. She was making you feel emotions you swore you never would. That training session didn’t go well. Everyone had seen you taking the game seriously but this was another level, Jonas even sent you in early with Steph to hopefully calm you down. After a rant to Steph about hating the frustration you felt you went to the gym to run. Running gets the anger out.

And up until now I had sworn to myself That I'm content with loneliness

This routine continued. Unfortunately leading to being taken out of the starting eleven and even sometimes getting taken out of the match day squad altogether. You weren’t an international player yet, the coach still wanted the older, more experienced players on their team. The international break closest to christmas brought viv the courage to chat to you. She had an injury so the netherlands had to play without her, leaving her with the few players left. Including y/n.

Because none of it was ever worth the risk

She spoke. You listened. It sounded like she actually cared, she wanted into your mind, she wanted you to open up. You did. Punching walls, tears streaming, voice raising. You went all out. Then she took you home, home to your safety where you automatically resumed your place under a blanket left on the couch from the day before. Viv took her place, lifting your feet onto her lap and giving them a slight massage over the blanket. Daniel raced to sit on your stomach happy to snooze off right there.

But you are the only exception You are the only exception

“Nobody’s ever been in this house apart from me and daniel. I’m glad it’s you who is here.” Although the dramatics of the morning were still clawing at the back of y/n’s mind, she was so glad it ended up in viv being introduced to her safe space. “Would you like to chat?” “I might fall asleep but i’m willing to listen to you?” And that’s how they dozed off together to Viv’s light mumbling about all she could think of.

You are the only exception You are the only exception

Listening to the sad songs through shared headphones was a magical experience but when Viv started playing them on the drive to and from work everyday on the car speakers you felt as though you were in dreamland. In the car Viv would sing along to some choruses and y/n would even let out a few hums here and there. The silent bond they had created meant the world to both of them and they both knew it but it was never said out loud. Things started to change when they carpooled together every single day.

I've got a tight grip on reality But I can't let go of what's in front of me here

We were in it together. Whenever y/n started to pull away viv’s grip on them would tighten, when viv’s injury set her back slightly y/n brought her up to breathe in some type of distraction. They started spending meals together, more than just breakfast. They’d go out for dinner or have a nice lunch at one of their homes. They’d usually end up together on a couch to see through the night, making it easier to carpool was their excuse to stay. When Viv got better and was allowed on the plane home to the netherlands on christmas eve it was a hard moment.

I know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up Leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream

Waking up to viv leaving was hard. I stayed still in bed as she got changed and put her suitcase to the door. A quick, dainty pair of lips were placed to my forehead as i flickered awake. “Please don’t go it’s cold out there.” y/n whined as a weak chuckle left Viv’s mouth. “My flight is at 6, i’ll message you when i land. Merry christmas princess.” with one last hug and a pat on the head to daniel viv swiftly grabbed the rough handle of her suitcase and made it out the door.

You are the only exception You are the only exception

Waking up to snow made you almost the happiest you had been for a while. A tinge pulling on your heart at the fact someone was no longer resting on the other side of the bed. You always yearned for a white christmas but this was daniels first time even seeing snow and you knew viv would not be happy if you didn’t at least film it for her to see. So as you got wrapped up in a big cozy jumper and viv’s huge coat that she had left behind you got your phone out and started to ring her. “Hoi lieverd.” “Good morning Vivvy,” y/n said as she turned the camera to face Daniel jumping at the door. “It’s his first snow encounter, we wanted you to witness it.” The door swings open and the wee cockapoo goes running. That call lasted over two hours. They were ready to fight the toughness that came with distance.

You are the only exception You are the only exception

When did y/n finally admit feelings for Viv? As soon as they picked Viv up from the airport. It was a silent look and a quick peck that sealed the deal. No words other than an, “i missed you” were spoken, just the way they like it.

You are the only exception You are the only exception

Being with Viv almost full time for months showed y/n that Viv is quite the yapper. She can chat about football, recipes, her family, travelling, and even y/n herself for hours and hours on end. Breakfasts at training did not include headphones anymore unless it was a particularly hard day, instead the two were often caught chattering among eachother by teammates. They even started to invite a couple teammates to sit with them every now and then. Unfortunately they had to make the decision that Daniel was getting too big to sleep in their bed with them anymore so they bought him his own to put on the floor next to the shoe rack and he would be allowed in for ten minute cuddles every morning.

You are the only exception You are the only exception

Viv came into my life when i needed a lot of fixing. I am incredibly grateful for the way our connection turned me around. That christmas alone was tough but now with Vivvy i know i shouldn’t have to have another like that. I feel exceptionally lucky for her to accept me and how she makes me feel happy to fully give myself to her.

And I'm on my way to believing

Oh, and I'm on my way to believing.

Love isn’t such a horrible idea anymore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ sorry for the rushed ending but i hope this helps fills a bit of the gap in viv fics (we need moreee)

Thank you so much for reading 💃

[tittiesnhrtz]

ghostface!ellie x reader

minors & men dni , fingering, cunnilingus, knife play, nipple play, overstim

it's a chilly october night, the leaves are still vibrant with autumn hues outside your window. a crisp breeze weaves through the trees outside, sending a gentle rustle through the branches. the faint scent of vanilla, pumpkin spice and cinnamon hangs in the air inside your home, wrapping all the furniture and the trinkets like a shroud. you’re sitting on your sage couch, wrapped in a cozy crocheted sweater, wearing loose shorts and leg warmers to keep your feet warm on the cold tiles beneath you. your parents are away for a few days at your grandma's, with her health getting worse, it's been hard for her to take care of herself.

the glow from the TV feels distant now, the reporter’s voice filling the otherwise silent room. it’s the same grim news cycle: more bodies found, more gruesome and grotesque details of the dead bodies that should make your skin crawl and erupt with goosebumps. but honestly? you’re just tired. tired of the stories and the police coming up empty.

two of your friends from your friend group are dead, and what'd they have in common? you dated them both at some point. this detail shouldn't probably be necessary or even worth dwelling on, but considering how almost everyone who's either flirted with you or gone on a date with you has no doubt ended up dead—killed by the infamous ghostface himself.

yes, a him. that's what mostly everyone believes but you're somehow sure it's not a man. the way ghostface toys with his victims, the blackmail and emotional mind games—it all feels too calculated, too clever to be the work of a man. not that you think men are stupid, but something about this whole situation just feels... off.

the sound of the doorbell jolts you out of your thoughts. ellie, your best friend, is supposed to be here any minute. she's been your rock through the whole ghostface ordeal. and you think you might be catching feelings for her. her stupid puns and that goofy smile plastered on her face whenever she'd talk about space, dinosaurs, comic books or anything that interested her really, got to you at some point.

with a sigh, you push yourself off the cozy couch, and shuffle over to the door. but when you swing it open, what should've been ellie on the other side is just empty air. that’s strange. you step outside, scanning the porch and the yard, half-expecting to see some kids laughing at their ding-dong ditch prank. instead, you’re hit with a chill as a dark figure catches your eye. a ghostface mask. your heart drops. but before you can even process what you just saw, it vanishes into the shadows.

you stumble back inside and lock the door, but then you hear it—a crash from the kitchen. a china dish smashing to the floor. fuck, what if this is it? what if you’re ghostface’s next target? with a tentative breath, you step inside the kitchen, holding a lamp, ready to strike. except, it's not ghostface, it's just ellie, standing there with a sheepish smile on her face.

"fuck- i thought you were-" you start, your voice trailing off as the memory of the figure outside flashes in your mind.

"i'm sorry, jus' thought i'd surprise you and come in through the back." she explains, motioning toward the kitchen door, which was slightly ajar. "you should seriously learn to lock your doors."

her gaze then drops to the shards scattered across the kitchen floor, the delicate china dish now a jumbled mess of white and pastel blooms. "sorry 'bout that." she mutters, rubbing the back of her neck.

you let out a breath, feeling a mix of relief and irritation. lowering the lamp, you speak. "next time, just ring the doorbell?”

ellie grins. "yeah, sorry."

"whatever, just help me clean this mess." you motion to the mess on the white and black kitchen tiles.

"yep."

you can't stay mad at ellie and it's not the first time she's done something stupid like this.

𓍯𓂃

after what felt like an eternity of cleaning up the mess, you and ellie finally collapse onto your bed, grateful for the distraction of a movie. the small TV on the cabinet across the room flickers to life, and the eerie sounds of SAW II fill the space. you can feel ellie’s presence beside you—she’s sitting awfully close, her warmth radiating against your side. you steal a glance at her, and to your surprise, you catch her gulping, almost instinctively, not once, but three times already. though you're not sure if it's because of the proximity or the gore-y scenes displaying on the screen.

“not a fan of gore movies?”

she chuckles nervously, her eyes glued to the screen. “not exactly in love with the idea of people torturing each other.”  a hint of laughter in her voice, but you can sense something else underneath. something you pass off as anxiety.

you turn your attention back to the movie, but it’s hard to concentrate when you can feel the heat radiating from her. the scene on the screen darkens, and the tension builds as the characters navigate their terrifying predicament. you can’t help but steal another glance at ellie, who’s now looking directly at you.

the characters on the screen scream in despair, but you hardly register it. instead, your focus is drawn to the way her tongue glides over her plump pink lips. and god you want to kiss her badly, to taste the sweetness of her lips.

you don't miss the way her eyes dart down to your lips or the way her chest rises and falls with each breath. you take a breath, steeling yourself, and decide to be bold. you lean in slightly, heart pounding as you gauge her reaction. the air is tense, and you can see her breath hitch, taking that as an invitation, you close the gap.

her lips are slightly cracked but surprisingly soft. she makes a noise against your lips, hands gliding up to rest against your hips, but then they slowly start to wander. under your sweater, from your hips to your waist. ellie can’t help how warm her hands feel against your skin, how smooth, there’s not even callouses on them like hers. the kiss is a bit hungry and impatient, her tongue licking the seam of your lips. your hands move from your lap to cup her face as you part your lips.

the unexpected warmth of her tongue against your cheek sends a shiver down your spine, silencing the whirlwind of thoughts that had been racing through your mind. it’s a ticklish sensation, one that catches you off guard. you let out a small gasp which is muffled into her mouth. ellie continues to explore, her tongue tracing the soft contours of your cheek as if she’s savoring every little bump and curve. there’s a clumsiness to it, an awkwardness that feels endearing rather than off-putting.

when you pull away, a delicate string of saliva connects your lips. your cheeks heat up as you notice the drool glistening in her chin, a sight that is enough to make your panties wet. you lean in and lick the drool off of her, and you can feel her tense up, her hands on your waist squeezing gently. the only source of light is from the TV, and it casts shadows over both of your bodies, the screen and the voices of the characters now completely forgotten. you can feel her hands move from your waist and she’s suddenly cupping your breasts over your bra.

“is this okay?” her thumb traces circles over the soft mounds, staring at you for an answer.

you nod in return and help her remove your sweater and your bra, tossing it somewhere in the darkness. her gaze flicks down to your breasts and for awhile, she just stares. and then a quiet curse follows. her hands move to knead your breasts, watching the skin closely. then, she takes a nipple between her fingers and gently pinches it, watching your every reaction. her mouth latches onto your other breast, her tongue darting out to swirl around it and suck the hardened nub as she pleases, the soft symphony of your quiet noises echoing in the night.

you arch your back, pushing your breasts further into her mouth. she alternates between both of them, giving them both equal attention. her mouth goes dry and she has to pull away with a pop, her green eyes searching your own.

“i wanna feel you.”

her breath hitches and before she knows it, your hands are on the waist band of her jeans, fingers looping into her brown belt. her eyes darken with desire as she looks at you.

“yeah, baby?” she exhales.

the nickname makes your cunt tighten around nothing and you're hastily unbuckling her belt and tossing it away. your fingers work to unbutton her jeans and you slip a hand inside. she lets out a gentle groan as your teeth bite into the flesh of her neck. you leave a series of bruising kisses in their wake as your palm comes into contact with her boxers. to your surprise, she's soaking wet. you almost want to tease her but your desire prevails over it and you're slipping your fingers into her boxers, tracing her slick folds. she's making the prettiest noises too, already falling apart under your touch. but little did you know, she's spent years dreaming of this moment. paintings and drawings of you hidden under her bed, along with the candid pictures that she oh so eagerly waits to get off to every night.

"say you want me."

her breathing is unsteady as she opens her mouth to speak. "fuck." she grunts softly and leans her head into your shoulder. "i want you, baby. please."

her pathetic begging and whines are enough for you to give in, her cunt throbbing as your fingers rub her slick along it. it greedily sucks in your digit as you slowly add it. she feels ecstatic because this isn't a dream anymore, it's real. you add another digit, eliciting a pornographic moan from her. it isn't long until your fingers are curling around her g-spot and her walls are squelching around them.

""m close..s-so close."

"i know. just cum for me, yeah?" you coo into her ear before nipping at the skin just below her ear. and she does exactly that, letting out a strangled sob as her body gets the release she's been chasing for. you take your fingers out of her boxers and suck them clean. ellie still has her eyes shut and her head against your shoulder but she can hear the way your mouth wraps around your fingers and sucks her juices off. she's pulling away and looking at you.

and then, she's guiding you down to lay on the bed, lifting your hips up to remove your shorts until you're splayed in just your cotton panties and leg warmers in front of her. she almost moans at the sight.

"you're so-" she starts, but cuts herself off. leaning down to hover over you and planting a kiss on your temple, on your cheek and one on your collarbone. one of her hands starts rubbing the inside of your thigh as she leans in and kisses you, sloppily. her hand comes to rub your clothed cunt and you feel her muffled moan inside your mouth, as you swallow the noise. she pulls back to look down at you.

"look how wet." she smirks and you almost regret not teasing her about her own drenched underwear.

you can only whimper and lift your hips up in return as her hands hook under the waistband of your underwear and pull it off of you.

"god, so gorgeous and so wet....all for me." she murmurs, more to herself than you. her pupils are blown wide, lips parted as she moves your legs up and pushes them apart. your hands find purchase on her ass beneath her flannel as she mouths at the skin of your neck like it's her hobby. as you squeeze her jeans-clothed ass, you swear you feel an outline of something resembling a... knife. in her back pocket. you take the object out and it's indeed a knife. ellie was in a daze to notice or feel what you were doing— to busy enjoying your skin after only having imagined what it must have felt like in her dreams. your voice, however, causes her to look up from your neck. you dangle the knife in front of her.

"..why do you have a knife?"

her eyes widen a fraction before she smirks and takes the knife from you. "protection. why else?" she answers like you were dumb to even ask the question in the first place. “don’t wanna risk getting killed with ghostface on the loose.”

a pause. "but...it could come handy for other things." she glides the knife down your clavicle to your breasts, the hitching of your breath only serving to encourage her. she presses it down against one of your nipples before moving it lower— where you're aching for her the most.

the cold blade presses against your puffy clit and you moan loudly. "ellie..."

"shh." she coos, grinning down at you, almost sinisterly. she pushes it further against the bundle of nerves, making you whimper. "i need-" she cuts you off by lining the knife along your delicate entrance, you let out a cry and your eyes widen in fear and shock. she seems to notice it and pulls the knife away, but not before gliding it up and down your folds.

"i'm not gonna hurt you, baby." the words roll of her tongue like honey and you feel bad for fearing her in the first place. she places the knife beside you on the sheets and moves to place herself in between your legs. a couple of kisses to your clit before she's greedily licking at your pussy. tongue moving at a relentless pace against your clit as her hands come up to grope your tits. moans fall out of your lips like a prayer and she pushes her tongue inside your cunt before pulling back and lapping away at your juices. you're awfully close and she knows it, she can sense it by the way you're arching your back and gripping the sheets, your knuckles almost white.

"cum on my face, pretty girl." her words vibrate against your clit, causing you to moan out her name.

that elicits a moan from ellie, herself. something stirs in her, hearing you moan her name out like that. and she inserts two fingers into your sopping cunt. curling them graciously against your g-spot, hitting it over and over again as her mouth does the same to your clit.

"ellie..i can't..fuck-" your final cry of pleasure, reverberates through her body. she removes her fingers but keeps lapping at your pussy even after you cum. your weak cries do nothing to pull her away. her grip on your thighs tighten and she pushes them apart from closing. you squirm and squeak due to the overstimulation, nudging her away with all your force, but it's too weak. she doesn't seem too keen on stopping, a hand pushing down on your stomach to stop you from squirming.

"s-stop." it isn't until that word comes out of your mouth that she stops and pulls away to look at your wrecked form. cheeks flush and hair tousled. you don't know how much it affects her. you never do.

"sorry, got too carried away." she murmurs. but she's anything but sorry. after helping you lay your head down on the pillow, she pulls the covers up your body. she can tell she's tired you out by the way your eyes are half lidded and your limbs look sore. she soothes you by wrapping her arms around you, intertwining your hands, and placing a kiss on your forehead. eventually, you drift asleep.

the longer she looks at you, the world outside fades further into obscurity. you, who's sleeping blissfully, completely unaware of the fact that the knife that was pressing against your clit a few minutes ago was the same knife that she used to brutally stab and dismember the body of a classmate who dared flirt with you. you, who's probably having sweet dreams while she has to go and take care of the unconscious body of the guy who rang your doorbell this very night.

this is my first time writing smut or anything close to a fan fic!! so if you see any mistakes js ignore it :3

[orchidniins]

oh i NEED pt 2 of Serendipitous Beginnings🙏

Serendipitous Beginnings Pt. 2 | Arthur Frederick

Summary: Y/N and Arthur finally spend some much time together and go on their first date. Between movie nights and cute museum dates, it's clear they've fallen hard for each other. Pairings: ArthurTV x afab!Reader Warnings: Mature content, Smut, Fluff Word Count: 6k

A/N: Thanks to everyone who showed love on my first post! I wanted to write a part 2 for this with all the cute little ideas in my head. This fic is basically a little collection of events and just a little sprinkle of smut right at the end. I hope you enjoy!

Masterlist ⟡ Part 1

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You awaken on Saturday, later than your usual wake-up time, feeling a faint headache throbbing behind your temples. Despite the headache, your mind is abuzz with the memories of last night's conversations with Arthur. The lingering memories of the night's events are still fresh in your mind.

As you reach for your phone, a smile tugs at the corner of your lips, eager to see if Arthur had messaged you. Sure enough, his name lights up your screen, and you can't help but feel a rush of happiness as you read his message. The two of you had stayed up pretty much all night texting, the conversation flowing effortlessly between you.

Eventually, it was mutually decided to stop texting and finally catch some sleep, but now, even with maybe only two hours of sleep, you're still buzzing with excitement to keep the conversation going. You couldn't help but grin at your phone, fingers tapping out quick replies

Arthur: Hey! Morning! 😊 Arthur: Did you manage to get any sleep in? Y/N: Hey! Good Morning 😊 Y/N: Yeah, I did. Just barely. Did you sleep well? Arthur: Yeah, I managed to get a few hours in too. Couldn't stop thinking about our conversation though. Y/N: Haha, same here! I guess we'll just have to continue it in person, huh? 😉 Arthur: Did you wanna maybe grab some lunch today? Y/N: That sounds great! I'd love to. Where were you thinking? Arthur: How about that place we talked about yesterday? Y/N: Perfect! Can't wait 😊

Eagerly agreeing to meet Arthur for lunch, excitement courses through you at the thought of spending more time with him. However, as you're about to set your phone down, a sinking feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. You had completely forgotten about your plans with Sienna to meet up with a mutual friend who was in town for the weekend.

Y/N: Hey, Arthur! I'm so sorry, but something's come up for today. Can we reschedule for tomorrow? Arthur: Oh, no worries! Tomorrow won't work for me, I've got a shoot scheduled. Y/N: Ah, got it. No problem. Maybe another time then? Arthur: Definitely! Let's figure something out soon. 😊

After a bit more back-and-forth, the conversation trails off, leaving you feeling disappointed that your plans with Arthur didn't pan out. With a sigh, you set your phone aside and get out of bed, heading towards Sienna's bedroom to check in on her.

Entering her room, you find her sprawled out on the bed, half of her body hanging off the edge, her hair messy and makeup smeared. You try to wake her up gently, but she protests, murmuring, "No, not yet, five more minutes."

"Siii," you say, nudging her shoulder, "you know I turned down a date for this lunch today, so you better get up, or I'm gonna have to use violence." Sienna groans in response, still half-asleep, but your mention of a date piques her interest. "A date? What do you mean, a date?" she asks, her eyes fluttering open as she tries to grasp the situation.

You chuckle at her confusion. "I was just kidding, but we better make it to that café on time. You're the one who insisted we go there, even if it's a 50-minute drive from here. Now, get up." Sienna, still groggy, fixates on the idea of a date. "Okay, but what date?" she mumbles, her words slurred with sleep.

With a laugh, you shake your head and say, "Nothing, just get ready," before leaving her room to get ready yourself.

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Over the next few days, despite the promise to meet up, neither you nor Arthur seemed to find the time. It had been over a week since the initial plan was made, and your schedules were keeping you both occupied. Arthur had spent a few days away from London for a shoot, while your own commitments to classes, coursework, and your TA job filled your days from dawn till dusk.

The conversation between you over text seemed to flow effortlessly though. Whether it was during breaks between classes or late at night after a long day of work, hours slipped by unnoticed as you traded stories, shared interests, and laughed at each other's jokes. Even through the screen, you felt like there was undeniable chemistry.

In person, however, it was a different story. Whenever you crossed paths with Arthur in person, whether for the few minutes you had while entering or leaving your apartment, the atmosphere became charged with a hint of awkwardness. Your face-to-face interactions were tinged with an unspoken tension. Probably owing to the fact that neither of you had addressed the hot and steamy kiss shared the other night, leaving many unanswered questions. And neither of you knew how to broach the subject, leaving the issue lingering between you like an elephant in the room.

Today, you're rushing out of your apartment, a whirlwind of activity as you stuff papers into your backpack, your mind preoccupied with the evening class you volunteered to handle for a professor.

You stand outside the elevator, tapping your foot impatiently, waiting for the doors to open. As they slide open, you're about to step in when you're met with Arthur's smiling face.

"Hey," Arthur greets you warmly, his eyes brightening at the sight of you.

"Hey," you reply, mustering a smile as you step into the elevator beside him.

"How're things going?" Arthur asks, his voice laced with genuine interest.

"All good," you respond, offering a brief nod. "Just heading to TA for an evening class."

Arthur nods in understanding. "You've been pretty occupied lately, huh?"

You chuckle softly. "Yeah, well you know… Where are you off to?"

"I'm meeting some friends for a drink.", Arthur responds.

"That sounds fun," you say, though inwardly you can't help but feel a twinge of disappointment that your paths are diverging once again.

The elevator ride continues in silence, the awkward tension lingering between you like a thick fog. You bite your tongue, racking your brain for something to say to break the uneasy atmosphere. Finally, just as the elevator doors slide open, you blurt out, "Are you free tomorrow night?"

Arthur's eyebrows raise in surprise. "Um, I think so," he replies, sounding intrigued.

"I was thinking of having a movie marathon," you explain, feeling a surge of nervous energy. "And I was hoping to have someone along for it."

A hint of a smile plays at the corners of Arthur's lips. "That sounds like a plan," he says, his eyes brightening with interest. "What were you thinking of watching?"

You grin, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. "How about 'The Lord of the Rings'?" you suggest eagerly.

Arthur's eyes light up at the suggestion. "Yes! I love Lord of the Rings. Have you watched the extended versions? If not, we could watch those," he says, genuine excitement in his voice.

Just as excited, you reply, "Yeah! I’d love that."

"Great, sounds like a plan," Arthur confirms with enthusiasm.

Feeling a weight lift off your shoulders, you say, "My place tomorrow? I’ll text you the time."

"Definitely. I'll see you then," Arthur replies.

With that, you bid Arthur goodbye as you step out of the elevator, feeling a sense of excitement building in your chest. Maybe this movie marathon would finally give you the chance to address the elephant in the room and see where things could go with Arthur. But your thoughts are interrupted by the fact that you didn't want to be late to set up for class. You wave him goodbye and head out.

-------⋆✧⋆-------

Before you know it, the day of your movie night arrives. You make sure to stock up on snacks and drinks, preparing for a cozy evening. With Sienna out of the city for work till next week, you have the place all to yourself. You take the time to set up the couch with extra pillows and grab an additional blanket from Sienna's room, ensuring everything is just right for your evening with Arthur.

However, for a fleeting moment, you can't help but overthink why you're going to such lengths. It's not like this was a date, just two friends hanging out. But you quickly brush off the thought when you hear a knock on your door. Taking a deep breath to shake off the nerves, you stride over to the door and swing it open, revealing Arthur standing on the other side.

"Hey!" he greets you with a warm smile, holding up a bag of snacks. "I brought some snacks for movie night. Hope you like popcorn and chocolate!"

You return his smile, feeling relieved at the sight of him. "That's perfect! Come on in," you say, stepping aside to let him enter. "I've set up the living room for our movie marathon. Make yourself at home."

As Arthur steps in, you close the door behind him, trying your best to calm your nerves. Tonight was supposed to be fun, you remind yourself, a simple movie watching experience between friends. Definitely not a date, just two friends hanging out.

You settle onto the couch, gesturing for Arthur to join you. He takes off his jacket and joins you. There's a brief moment of silence as you both get comfortable, but you're determined to keep the atmosphere light.

"So, how's your week been?" you asked, turning to Arthur in an attempt to break the awkward silence.

Arthur leaned back against the cushions, a thoughtful expression crossing his features. "Kind of busy," he replied with a chuckle. "Filming schedules have been hectic lately, but it's been pretty fun filming with my mates. How about you?"

You shrugged, a wry smile playing on your lips. "Same old, same old. Classes, TA gig, grading papers, dealing with undergrads….," You trail off, not wanting to bore him with the details of your day-to-day responsibilities.

But Arthur seems genuinely interested. "I bet you're great at it though," he says, leaning closer, his eyes sparkling with sincerity.

You feel a warmth spread through you at his words, grateful for his encouragement. "Haha, thanks, Arthur," you reply, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, your eyes locked with his.

As the movie progressed, you found yourselves immersed in discussing your favorite scenes and characters. The initial awkwardness began to dissipate, replaced by an easy flow of conversation and laughter, and soon the movie became nothing more than background noise.

Before long, you realized that as the conversation flowed, you were sitting much closer to Arthur. Your knees brushed against each other as you faced one another on the couch. His arm draped over the back, his fingers lightly grazing your shoulder, sending delightful shivers down your spine.

Lost in the moment, you couldn't help but wonder why you had ever felt awkward around him in the first place. It felt as though the universe had conspired to bring you together. The desire to kiss him again bubbled up inside you, igniting a warmth that spread through your entire being.

With each passing second, it became increasingly difficult to ignore the palpable tension between you, leaving you hopeful that perhaps Arthur felt the same way.

In the silence that followed, the air between you seemed charged with anticipation. Slowly, almost hesitantly, the two of you leaned in towards each other, the space between you narrowing with each heartbeat.

His gaze met yours, "This feels familiar," Arthur murmured, breaking the silence. You couldn't help but laugh, relieved that at least one of you had acknowledged it.

"Does it now?" you replied, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips. "So, you do remember."

"How could I forget?" Arthur's voice was barely above a whisper, his words sending a shiver down your spine. "It's been on my mind ever since."

As he leaned in closer, a surge of excitement coursed through you. "Well, good then," you replied, your heart pounding in your chest. Without hesitation, his lips meet yours.

You shifted closer, your hands finding their way to his shoulders, his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him. With a gentle but firm grip, he pulled you onto his lap, your bodies fitting together perfectly as if they were meant to be intertwined. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt of electricity through your body.

You melt into each other in a passionate kiss, the world around you seems to fade away, leaving only the two of you in your own private universe. His lips were soft, moving with a rhythm that matched yours. With each brush of his lips, it sends the blood rushing down to your core.

Lost in the heat of the kiss, you pressed yourself closer to him. Tangling your hands in his soft hair, savoring the feeling of his arms around you, the warmth of his body against yours.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, you found yourself lost in his gaze, unable to tear your eyes away from his. And you couldn’t remember the last time someone looked at you with such intensity.

As you both caught your breath, a wave of relief washed over you, the tension that had been building between you finally dissipating. With a gentle smile, he breaks the silence, his voice soft but determined. "Let me take you on a proper date," he says, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Okay," you chuckle softly, feeling excited at his words, a fluttering in your stomach as you look back at him. "I’m free this Friday," you reply, your voice filled with warmth. With a playful smile, you lean in and give him a little peck on the lips.

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You were thrilled when Arthur suggested meeting at the history museum after class, eagerly looking forward to spending time together. You even took the extra effort to dress up a bit for the occasion. However, as you hurriedly made your way there, excitement turned to frustration as you realized you were running late. The class you were assisting in had unexpectedly extended, leaving you racing against time as the museum's closing hour approached. You quickly texted Arthur, apologizing for the delay and assured him that you were on your way, determined to make it there as soon as possible.

Y/N: Hey, sorry I'm running a bit late 😅 Y/N: Class ran over, but I'll be there soon! Arthur: No worries at all. I'm just glad you can make it Arthur: Take your time 😊

With determination, you quicken your pace, determined not to let the opportunity slip away. As you finally arrive at the museum, you spot Arthur waiting patiently outside the entrance. He looks great, dressed in a nice crewneck sweatshirt and black cargos, it makes your heart skip a beat at just how good he looked.

You hurry over to him, eager to make up for lost time. "Hey!" you exclaim, a wide smile spreading across your face as you reach him.

"Hey," Arthur greets you warmly, his eyes lighting up with genuine delight at the sight of you. He opens his arms, inviting you into a warm embrace.

You gladly accept the hug, reveling in his warmth and the comforting scent of his cologne. "Sorry I'm late," you say softly, pulling away slightly to meet his gaze.

Arthur shakes his head, a reassuring smile playing on his lips. "No need to apologize. I'm just happy you're here now," he assures you, his voice filled with warmth.

You feel a surge of relief at his response. "Thanks for waiting," you say gratefully, reaching out to give his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Arthur squeezes your hand back, his touch sending a jolt of electricity through you. "Of course, it's no problem. We can always do something else if the museum's closed," he suggests, ever the considerate gentleman, despite the museum being almost 15 mins past closing.

But you shake your head, determined not to let the evening go to waste. "No, no, just trust me on this," you insist.

Arthur raises an eyebrow, intrigued by your enthusiasm. "Alright… I trust you," he says with a smile, willing to go along with your plan.

With a grin, you take Arthur's hand and lead him towards the side entrance of the museum. As you walk, you quickly glance at your phone to confirm the last-minute plans one final time, the ones you made on the subway over, sending a quick text message. Then, slipping your phone back into your pocket, you look up to flash Arthur a smile, and he returns it with warmth in his eyes.

You head to the side entrance and spot your friend. Waving enthusiastically, you exchange greetings and shake hands, expressing your gratitude once again. "Thank you again, I owe you big time," you say appreciatively.

"Not a problem at all," your friend responds warmly as he lets the two of you in "Anything for a friend. Just make sure to leave before 8 p.m."

You nod in agreement and turn to Arthur, excitement bubbling within you as you lead him inside. His curious gaze prompts you to explain the situation. "That guy was an old graduate advisor of mine," you begin, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips. "He's works here as a curator now."

Arthur's eyes widen with interest as he looks around, taking in the museum's atmosphere. "I have to say… that’s quite impressive," he remarks, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah, his job's pretty cool," you reply, nodding in agreement.

But Arthur interrupts you before you can say anything further. "No, not that… you. You are quite surprising… in a good way," he adds with a playful smirk, his hand still holding yours. You feel a blush creeping up to your cheeks at his compliment.

You chuckle softly, feeling shy at his words, "Just give me more time to impress you further with my wildly interesting mind," you playfully quip, unable to contain the grin that spreads across your face.

Arthur's smile widens in response, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he admires your playful banter.

Turning away to hide your embarrassment, you reply, "Anyways, we have two hours now… best not waste any time," as you pull him towards the main hall.

The museum is bathed in the soft glow of a few lights, casting a gentle ambiance over the now empty hall. Excitement courses through you as you eagerly lead Arthur around, pointing out each exhibit with enthusiasm. Arthur listens intently, his eyes filled with genuine interest as he witnesses how passionate you sound.

With each second passing, he finds himself increasingly impressed by just how intelligent you are, finding himself melting at each of your words.

He often found himself just looking at you, mesmerized by your beauty, and sometimes forgetting to even glance at the displays. It still felt surreal to him that you were here with him right now.

"You know," you share, a hint of nostalgia coloring your voice, "when I was a kid, my dad used to bring me here whenever he had work in the city. He’d always bring me along with him."

"It's always been one of my favorite places in London," you conclude with a smile.

Arthur smiles warmly, his admiration evident as he responds, "I can see why."

As the two of you continue to explore the halls, the world outside the museum fades away, leaving you in your own private sanctuary. Stolen glances, brushes of hands, and a shared electricity fill the air, making this the most enjoyable date you've ever had.

As the evening progresses, you find yourselves completely immersed in each other's company, sharing stories and laughing without a care in the world. Arthur's admiration for you grows with each passing moment, his heart feeling lighter in your presence. Lost in the magic of the moment, you both find yourselves laughing and running around the museum halls, creating memories that will last a lifetime. Arthur captures candid photos of you, the echoes of your laughter filling the empty corridors.

Caught up in the magic of the moment, Arthur can't help but stare at you with admiration, his eyes drinking in your beauty. You stand before a display of jade artifacts, leaning closer to examine the intricate details, while sharing a story about a similar find or an excavation you volunteered on last year. "This is fascinating, isn’t it?" you remark, turning to Arthur with a sparkle in your eyes.

As you await his response, you're met with a lingering gaze, his eyes intense and unwavering. Feeling a warmth spread across your cheeks, you can't help but inquire with a small chuckle, "What?"

"You know," he begins, his voice soft with sincerity, "you're absolutely stunning."

You chuckle at his compliment, feeling a warm blush spread across your cheeks. "Oh, stop it," you tease, playfully nudging him. "You're not so bad yourself."

His gaze remains fixed on you, his expression filled with genuine affection. "I mean it," he insists, his voice barely above a whisper. "You're truly amazing."

You meet his gaze, feeling a flutter of excitement in your chest. "Well, I guess I can't argue with that," you joke, a playful grin tugging at the corners of your lips. "But I must say, you're not so bad at dishing out compliments either." You pause, your tone softening. "Thanks, Arthur."

Arthur smiles warmly, his eyes reflecting the sincerity of his words. "Anytime," he replies, his hand squeezing yours gently. "I just call it like I see it."

With a contented sigh, you fully face him now, reveling in the comfortable silence that envelops you both. The quiet of the museum amplifies the intimacy of the moment, and you find yourself drawn to Arthur, his presence filling you with warmth and affection.

Arthur leans in closer, his heart pounding in his chest as he presses a soft kiss to your lips. As he pulls away slightly, his breath tickling your skin.

You smile back at him, your cheeks flushed as your hand finds the back of his head, gently pulling him closer. As your lips meet his, you eagerly return the kiss, losing yourself in the sensation of his lips against yours. In that moment, nothing else matters, not caring about the passing time or potential interruptions.

As you reluctantly pull away, a soft smile plays on your lips. "It's getting late," you murmur, glancing at your watch. "A lot later than we were supposed to stay."

Arthur rests his forehead against yours, smiling down at you. "Okay, let's head back," he suggests, his voice tinged with a hint of disappointment.

"But hey, how about we grab dinner on the way back?" you suggest, a playful glint lighting up Arthur's eyes as he nods eagerly.

With a smile, you reach for his hand, intertwining your fingers as you make your way out of the museum. As you walk, you take a moment to text your friend, expressing your gratitude for letting the two of you sneak in and apologizing for overstaying your welcome.

-------⋆✧⋆-------

After leaving the museum, the two of you walked a few blocks to a cozy restaurant nearby, to grab some food before you sadly had to end your date. The warm glow of the restaurant's interior welcomed you as you stepped inside, finding a quiet corner to enjoy your meal together.

As you savored each bite and shared lighthearted conversation, it became evident that neither of you were quite ready to end the evening just yet. With a reluctant sigh, you eventually found yourselves back in the lobby of your apartment building, waiting for the elevator to arrive.

The anticipation hung heavy in the air as you stood side by side, nerves buzzing beneath the surface. Unable to resist the urge any longer, you finally turned to Arthur, your voice tinged with nervousness. "Do you want to come back to mine?" you asked, your heart pounding in your chest.

Arthur's gaze met yours, his eyes reflecting a hint of apprehension. Slowly, he nodded his head, his own nerves evident.

He had been to your place before, but tonight felt different, the stakes somehow higher, or perhaps that was just the horny part of his brain taking over. He wanted nothing more than to be glued by your side, yet he also wanted to be respectful of your boundaries, especially after the wonderful time you had today.

A nervous chuckle escaped him as he tried to ease the tension. "I'd love to," he replied with a slight voice crack. You couldn't help but laugh, your laughter bubbling up uncontrollably, joined by his as you both shared in the moment, breaking the tension that had settled between you.

As soon as you and Arthur step into your apartment, the door closes behind you with a soft click, enveloping you both in the intimate glow of the dimly lit space. The air feels somewhat thicker, and though you had spent quite a cute and romantic evening, all you could think about was just how much you wanted him right now.

As if on autopilot, your body moves on its own accord. You close the distance between you in an instant, pressing your lips against his. Your hands instinctively find their way to his firm chest, while his slowly rise to grasp your waist, pulling you closer as you usher him further into the apartment. The kiss is hungry and urgent, reflecting the desire between you two.

You continue to kiss each other, your lips locked in a fervent kiss. Occasionally, you break apart just long enough to catch your breath. As the heat between you grows, your hands roam eagerly.

In the midst of your passionate exchange, you manage to breathe out a whispered "Bedroom," your warm breath grazing his skin, sending shivers down his spine. Without hesitation, you both stumble together towards the bedroom, both of you equally as eager.

Once you're in your bedroom, you guide him to sit on the edge of the bed, your movements fluid and confident. You position yourself between his legs, feeling the heat radiating from his body as his hands find their place on your hips, pulling you closer.

You lean in, capturing his lips again, igniting a fiery passion between you. His hands trail up the back of your shirt, leaving tingles in their wake as you deepen the kiss, your fingers tangling in his soft, fluffy hair.

With newfound boldness, his hands move down to your ass, giving it a teasing squeeze that sends a jolt of electricity through you, before he trails his hands down to the back of your thighs.

Arthur pulls you onto his lap, a low hum escaping his lips as you shuffle over his growing arousal. You bite down on his bottom lip, a gasp escaping you as you feel the hardness beneath his clothes. "God, Arthur," you breathe out, your voice heavy with desire as his hands continue to knead the soft flesh of your thighs.

As your shirts come off in the heat of the moment, your hands eagerly explore his body, tracing every contour and eliciting soft groans from him. His mouth and tongue muffle your shuddering gasp as you grind yourself against his clothed crotch, the friction sending waves of pleasure coursing through both of you. Your kisses grow more passionate, tongues intertwining, exploring each other's mouths desperately.

You pant out his name, your body overtaken by the intense sensation, but Arthur suddenly pulls away from the kiss and grips your hips firmly, halting your movements. Confusion clouds your expression, wondering if this wasn't what he wanted after all.

He notices the flicker of self-doubt in your eyes, his hand instinctively reaching up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his smile as reassuring as ever. "Don't worry, darling," he begins, his voice gentle yet earnest. "I love what we're doing, don’t get me wrong…big fan of sex, and you are incredibly sexy. But I just want to make sure you know that I like you very much, Y/n. I mean, really like you. This is more than just something physical for me. I love spending time with you, and I think you are one of the most beautiful women I have ever had the opportunity to lay my eyes on."

You melt at his heartfelt words, a blush creeping up on your cheeks at his sincerity. Arthur's genuine expression reassures you, his intent clear as day. It's endearing how he takes the time to ensure there's no doubt in your mind about his feelings.

You reach for his face, holding it gently between your hands as you stare deeply into his captivating eyes. "I really like you too, you know," you admit, sincerity echoing in your voice. "I don't just jump into bed with any odd guy." A smile dances on your lips as you share a brief moment of understanding, sealing it with a small kiss on the tip of his nose.

As you pull back, his fingers linger on your waist for a few seconds, sending goosebumps rippling across your skin in a sweet, tingling sensation.

As you resume kissing, your hands begin to trail down to the button of his trousers, starting to undo them. But once again, Arthur stops you, gently pulling away from your embrace. "Wait," he murmurs, his voice low and husky, "Lay down on your back for me."

You comply, as Arthur gently moves you off of him, the anticipation building as you settle onto the bed, watching intently as Arthur moves closer. With ease, he helps you slide off your jeans and panties, his touch sending tingles down your spine, each moment feeling more intimate than the last.

Once you're fully exposed before him, Arthur takes a moment to admire the sight before him, his gaze filled with desire and admiration. He begins to remove his own clothes, his movements deliberate yet filled with an undeniable hunger.

The atmosphere in the room shifted from one of urgency and desperation to something lighter and sweeter. He leaned over you, his touch gentle and reassuring as he positioned himself between your legs. With one hand resting softly on your hip and the other providing support beside you, he lowered his head to spread kisses along your body. Each touch of his lips spreads a heat throughout your body, making you even wetter than you already were.

As his lips found their way to your breast, a soft sigh escaped your lips. Arthur's mouth moved with a practiced rhythm, his movements calculated to elicit the sweetest of moans from you. With each kiss and gentle suckle, he drew out your pleasure, his touch igniting a fire within you that burned hotter with each passing moment.

His lips trailed from your breast to your neck, peppering delicate kisses along the sensitive skin. Finding a spot that made you gasp and arch your back, he lingered there, his ministrations drawing out a deep, primal moan from deep within you. He had surely left a mark, something that you would have to worry about covering up tomorrow.

Arthur shifts slightly, supporting himself as he rises, granting you an enticing view of his hard cock. With a few quick pumps of his hand, he looks at you, both your eyes glazed with undeniable lust. Without a word, he poses the question, "Condom?"

Your body slightly moves to the side and your hand reaches instinctively to the nightstand drawer, quickly retrieving a foil packet. You tear it open, pulling out the condom. As you carefully slide it down his throbbing length, a soft groan escapes him, his body responding eagerly to your gentle touch.

The anticipation hangs heavy in the air as the two of you lock eyes, dark with desire. You search his eyes for any hint of hesitation or doubt, but all you find is pure admiration reflected back at you. And in that moment, there was no need for words, you knew how much you craved each other.

He gently rubs the tip of his cock against you. Your eyes shut tight, a soft moan escaping your lips as you feel the sensation of his cock exploring your wet folds.

Arthur's voice breaks through the haze of desire as he asks, "Ready?" You nod eagerly in response, your body craving the intimate connection that only he can provide. With a gentle thrust, he enters you, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips. Your hands instinctively grip his shoulders for support, while his hands firmly grasp your hips, guiding each rhythmic movement with care.

You pant out his name between breathy moans, the sound reverberating in the air as he continues to thrust into you. "Arthur," you gasp.

He pauses, his movements slowing, and he looks down at you with genuine concern. "Is this okay?" he asks softly, his eyes searching yours for any hint of discomfort. In that moment, the connection between you felt deeper than mere physicality and it all started to feel more intimate and meaningful.

He waits for your response, his breath mingling with yours as he gazes into your eyes. When you nod in affirmation, a wave of relief washes over his face. With a tender smile, he resumes his movements, each stroke of his cock against you more passionate and deliberate than the last.

Arthur murmurs, "Y/N, you feel absolutely amazing, darling," as he grunts with each slow thrust, a subtle force behind each movement now, hitting your sweet spot deliciously.

You grip his shoulders tighter, your voice a low moan. "Fuck, Arthur."

Your moans and grunts intertwine, echoing throughout the empty apartment as the two of you become lost in each other.

Arthur rests his forehead against yours, his movements still steady as he continues to pleasure you. A soft smile graces his lips as he whispers, "You're so beautiful, Y/N," planting a gentle kiss on your forehead.

Your mind swims in a sea of pleasure, every sensation heightened as you surrender to the moment.

Arthur maintains his pace, gradually speeding up as the intensity between you heightens. Each movement feels like a perfect fit, as if your bodies were made to intertwine in this exact moment. As you feel your orgasm approaching, you can't help but release a string of uncontrollable moans, "Shit, Arthur, I'm close."

Arthur slows his pace slightly, his thrusts becoming deeper and more intense with each movement. You can feel him filling you completely, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "Me too," he responds breathlessly, his arousal evident in his voice, matching the urgency in yours.

Moments later, Arthur reaches his peak, his release triggering your own. You cry out into the crook of his neck as waves of ecstasy wash over you, your bodies trembling in the aftermath of shared pleasure.

Both of you are left as absolute panting messes, your bodies still intertwined. His lips move across your face, peppering tender kisses everywhere, trailing down to your neck where he places a kiss at the mark he had previously left.

Gently, he pulls out of you and excuses himself momentarily. He returns with a wet towel from the bathroom, carefully cleaning you up before tossing the towel aside. A gentle peck on your lips follows, his affectionate gesture speaking volumes.

Settling into the spot next to you, he pulls you onto his chest, his arms wrapped protectively around you. "I'm so lucky to have met you," he murmurs softly, his words laced with sincerity. He places a sweet peck on your forehead, feeling the weight of the day finally catch up with you as sleep begins to overtake you.

You snuggle closer, a contented smile gracing your lips. "No you have no idea how lucky I am," you whisper, your voice barely above a breath. With a final sigh of contentment, you drift off into a peaceful slumber in his embrace, the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat lulling you into a deep sleep.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

A/N: Thanks again to everyone who sends in requests. I appreciate all of you so much. I have about 6 works in my drafts right now that I am working on getting out as quickly as possible.

Check out my other fics and oneshots here. Not working on any new requests currently but feel free to drop into my asks for a chat! 😊

[the-offside-rule]

Jake Lockley (Moonknight) - Bandages and Broken Spanish

Requested: someone dmed me and asked how Y/n treats Jake or Steven when they get home so i thought I'd make a Jake one first soooo i guess??

Warnings: mentions of blood

Jake trudged through the dimly lit hallway of their shared apartment, the weight of the night’s events pressing heavily on his shoulders. Blood dripped from his knuckles, his breath uneven, a faint grunt of pain escaping his lips. Another brutal night on the job, another wound that would scar over. He hated that this was routine now. But what made him pause, every single time, was the soft glow of the living room light. Y/n was awake, as always, sitting on the couch with a blanket loosely thrown over her legs. She turned her head at the faint sound of the door opening, eyes scanning him with that familiar worry etched into her features.

“Jake.” She whispered softly, already rising from the couch. Jake closed the door behind him quietly, trying to hide the wince of pain that shot through his body. “Didn’t mean to wake you." He muttered, voice hoarse. It was a lie. He knew she would be awake, waiting like she always did. Y/n crossed the room and caught his wrist, eyes narrowing at the fresh blood staining his hand. “You didn’t. I wasn’t sleeping anyway." She said with a sigh, pulling him gently toward the kitchen. He followed her, letting her lead him like a man who had nowhere else to go. She grabbed the first aid kit from the cabinet, her hands already moving on autopilot. She had gotten used to this by now, too. The bandaging, the soft reassurances, the way she gently tried to pull him out of the dark storm in his head.

Jake sat down at the kitchen table, watching as Y/n knelt beside him, her hands working to clean his bloody knuckles. He tried to pull his hand away at first, not wanting her to have to see this side of him again, but she held on firmly. “You’re bleeding again.” She said softly, her voice a mix of tenderness and exasperation. “Let me help, Jake. Please.” His jaw tightened, and he gave in, resting his hand in hers. The sting of antiseptic made him hiss under his breath, but he didn’t pull away. Y/n worked in silence for a moment, focused on the task in front of her. To break the tension, she started rambling, her voice light and easy, like a soft breeze trying to lift the weight off his chest. “So, I’ve been making progress with Duolingo-” She began, dabbing at his knuckles gently. “Estoy mejorando en español.” She added with a playful smile, her accent thick and stumbling, but Jake couldn’t help the faint smirk that tugged at his lips. “Is that so?” He grunted, his voice still low, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Yep.” She replied, still carefully wrapping his hand in clean bandages. “I can ask for directions now. Dónde está la biblioteca?” She said, the question coming out clumsy, but determined. Jake couldn’t help the low chuckle that rumbled from his chest. “Good to know you can find the library.” He muttered, glancing down at her as she tightened the bandage. “Might come in handy.” He arched a brow looking up at her focused face. “I’m just getting started. I mean, I’m still struggling with the verbs and all those different tenses. Why do there have to be so many ways to say the same thing?” She shook her head, clearly frustrated but smiling through it. “But I can tell you, yo quiero una cerveza—I want a beer. That’s useful, right?”

Jake chuckled again, the sound almost foreign in his own ears. He hadn’t realized how tightly wound he’d been until now, with her talking nonsense, her soft hands fixing him up like he was a broken doll. “You’re gonna be fluent soon, cariño.” He murmured, voice quieter, softer now. “You’ll be better than me.” She finished bandaging his hand and leaned back on her heels, studying her work with a critical eye. “You think so? You’ll be impressed when I start arguing with you in Spanish, then. Get ready for that.” Jake smirked, shaking his head slightly. “Can’t wait.” His eyes met hers for a moment, and something inside him eased, just a little. The pain in his hand dulled, but more than that, the tightness in his chest seemed to loosen, the storm in his mind calming at the sight of her—here, with him, as always.

“Why do you do this?” He asked quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. It wasn’t the first time he’d asked her, and it probably wouldn’t be the last. “Wait up for me, patch me up, talk to me like everything’s okay.” Y/n’s expression softened, her eyes meeting his with a quiet understanding. She reached up, cupping his cheek gently. “Because, Jake-” She whispered, her thumb brushing against the rough stubble on his jaw. “You need someone to remind you that not everything’s broken. That you’re not alone.” Jake closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into her touch, allowing himself to feel the comfort she offered. He didn’t deserve it, not really, but she gave it to him anyway, every night, without fail.

“You should be sleeping.” He murmured, trying to change the subject, his hand tightening gently around hers.“I’ll sleep when you do.” She said simply, standing up and tugging him to his feet. “Come on. Let’s get some rest.” Jake hesitated for a moment before following her. He knew that sleep wouldn’t come easy, not with the memories of the night still fresh in his mind, but with Y/n beside him, maybe, just maybe, he could find some peace.

And for now, that was enough.

[bellaxgiornata]

Sweet of You

Pairing: Frank Castle x Mom!Reader Word Count: 1.6k [Collection Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: just fluff and a soft dad!Frank

Summary: Waking up in the hospital the morning after giving birth, you find Frank missing from his makeshift bed. But when you learn the reason for his disappearance, you're even more grateful that he's part of your life.

a/n: I've said it before and I'll say it again: I love a soft Frank. Especially a soft dad!Frank. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Collection Tag List: @danzer8705 @glowstick-lesbian @flowher @geminadeckerwritesstuff @shiorimakibawrites @beezusvreeland @ebathory997 @maryyymothhh @4happilyeverafter @sleepysleepymom @kezibear @charmedkim @midnightramble @carolinaxvz @1988-fiend @marcysbear

Sunlight beat against the backs of your eyelids, the brightness of it pulling you straight from sleep. Gradually opening your eyes, you immediately squinted at the warm light shining in through the hospital room’s windows. Blinking hard as you attempted to adjust to the unexpected morning light, you began to wonder exactly when the blinds had been opened; you knew Frank had certainly closed them last night while you’d still been in labor.

The thought of Frank had your eyes shifting away from the windows that overlooked the back of the hospital’s parking lot, your gaze instead lowering to the couch that folded out into a bed. It sat in front of the windows, the blankets a mess from having been tossed to the side. Frank’s pillow was still indented from where he’d been curled up with it last night, but Frank himself was missing from the makeshift bed, no longer buried beneath the blankets. 

A frown settled onto your lips as you carefully pushed yourself upright in the hospital bed, wincing slightly at the soreness in your body as you did. But as you moved, a soft, contented sigh caught your attention, the noise quickly distracting you. 

Your little baby girl was sound asleep in the hospital bassinet next to your bed, her small body bundled neatly in her purple swaddle and matching tiny hat. Her head was turned in your direction, her chest rising and falling with each breath. She looked so peaceful sleeping there–a complete change from the screaming and crying she’d done when she’d first come into the world just a few hours ago.

Staring down at your daughter, who’s mouth you already swore was the same as Frank’s, you found yourself entirely forgetting that he was missing from the hospital room. Instead, you'd become entranced by her tiny little face, watching the faint twitches along her lips as she slept. She was already a perfect mix of you and him.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been lost in thought just staring at the swaddled bundle before you heard the hospital room door open behind you. The noise pulled your attention away from your daughter as you turned around on the bed, expecting to see one of the many nurses coming into your room–because they’d certainly popped in and out of your room plenty of times throughout the night. But instead you spotted Frank carefully closing the door behind himself with his shoulder, a bag in one hand and a drink tray unmistakably holding two coffees in his other. 

“Where'd you go?” you asked.

At the sound of your voice, Frank’s eyes darted up from the drink tray in his hand that he'd been focused on balancing before they landed on you. A small smile pulled at his lips when he saw you sitting there awake before he strode across the room, making his way around your hospital bed as he walked. As you watched him, you saw how his gaze shifted to your sleeping baby girl, noticing how the smile on his face had grown somehow brighter, lighting it up in a way you'd never seen before. Though your stomach growled at the scent of food when he passed by you, and that had your attention switching curiously to the bag in his hand.

“Woke up early. You were still asleep so I thought I'd grab us breakfast,” he told you, placing the coffees and bag onto the little table near your bed. “Figured you deserved somethin’ better than hospital food after what you just went through. And,” he said, pulling one of the massive to-go cups from the drink tray and holding it out to you, “I figured you deserved a large coffee. Know how excited you've been about not needing to watch your caffeine anymore.”

Your eyes lit up at the sight of the coffee cup he held out towards you, your hands already eagerly reaching for it. “You're my hero,” you gushed, accepting the hot cup from his hands. “Forget knights in shining armor or superheroes, all I need is you bringing me coffee.”

He chuckled lightly as he turned and began untying the knot on the bag he'd carried in. As you took a long drink from your cup, relishing the coffee you didn't feel guilty for drinking since you were no longer pregnant, your mind began to race at what might be in the bag.

“Don't know about that, honey,” Frank muttered, undoing the knot. “But I did get you somethin’ else.”

Your eyes narrowed curiously as Frank reached into the bag, pulling out a styrofoam container. He leaned over and set it onto the hospital tray beside your bed before rolling that over closer to you. Setting your coffee onto the tray beside the container, you opened the lid and were hit with the delicious scent of food. 

And then you realized what he'd actually brought you. A vegetable egg benedict that you recognized from the brunch place you both frequented. Your favorite item to order whenever you went there, but something you'd been unable to have despite craving it for nine long months.

Eyes growing wide, your head darted over your shoulder towards Frank. He was grinning proudly back at you.

“You got my favorite from Buttermilk?” you asked in awe.

“Knew how much you've been missing it,” he replied with a shrug. “Figured it'd go perfect with your coffee. You know, now that you don't need to avoid runny yolk, either.”

“Marry me,” you blurted with a straight face.

Frank's grin grew wider. “Thought I was s’posed to be the one asking you that?” he teased. Gesturing a hand at the container of food, he ordered, “Eat. Before it’s cold.”

“Thank you, Frank,” you replied, pushing the button to more comfortably raise your hospital bed upright so you could eat. “This was sweet of you. Now I feel like I owe you.”

“Don't owe me nothin’, sweetheart,” Frank assured you, settling down onto his makeshift bed with his own food. “You and our girl there are all I need. Don't need anything else.”

Pausing with your fork hovering above your food, your gaze returned to him. Frank sat there on the fold out couch staring at your sleeping daughter in the bassinet. The corners of his lips were curled into a warm, gentle smile, one of the rare ones that truly reached his eyes. And his eyes–those soft brown eyes of his that you loved so much–were visibly full of emotion.

Sitting there watching him, your coffee and breakfast both temporarily forgotten, you found yourself growing emotional, too. You damn well knew what that little girl meant to him, long before she'd even taken her first breath in this world. And right now it was written all over his face.

The purple little bundle beside your bed suddenly moved, your little girl gradually beginning to fight against the confines of her swaddle. Her face scrunched up in discontent as she let out a grunt. You reached out to push the hospital tray off to the side, prepared to check her diaper or offer her a bottle, but Frank's soft voice stopped you.

“Don't,” he said. “I got her. Just eat your breakfast.”

Your eyes darted up to Frank, watching as he set his container of breakfast off to the side. He rose to his feet, his eyes on your little newborn as he stepped over to the bassinet. 

“C'mere, baby girl,” he cooed softly, his large hands gently sliding underneath her body. “That's it, I got ya.”

He gradually pulled her up and into his arms, carefully cradling her against his chest. Her tiny eyes slowly blinked open, focusing somewhere near Frank’s chin. The look of discontent she’d had was gone as she continued to quietly stare up at him.

“Had a rough introduction to this world, huh?” he asked her softly, sitting back down on the bed with her. “Don't blame you for crying about it. But let me tell you something. You've got the best mom over there,” he said. Frank glanced up, shooting you a wink that quickly had a warmth spreading through you. “We're both lucky she’s ours.”

Biting back the smile threatening to overtake your face, you focused back down on your container of food. Stabbing your fork into the top of one of the eggs, you watched as the delicious yolk you'd had to avoid for months oozed out over the english muffin beneath it. 

“And I'll tell you somethin’ else, baby girl,” Frank continued on, his voice a soft, soothing rumble as he spoke. “If anyone ever hurts you, I can promise they'll have me to deal with. Especially any future assholes thinkin’ they can take you out.”

Eyes going wide in surprise at what he'd said, your head darted over your shoulder towards him once more. “ Frank !” you scolded, though you couldn't stop the laughter that slipped out of you. 

Frank looked up at you, cocking his head to the side as one of his brows slowly rose up onto his forehead. “What?” he asked. 

You shook your head, trying to stifle your laughter. “She's not even twenty-four hours old,” you pointed out. “Can’t you hold off a little longer before you start threatening her future significant others?”

“Why?” he asked back. 

“Because she's only just a baby and–” you stopped short before shaking your head and focusing back on your breakfast. “You know what? Nevermind,” you said. “But I fear for her future dates because you're probably going to have them pissing their pants.”

“Good,” he stated. “Should be scared. ‘Cause no one's gonna hurt either of my girls. Ever.”

Grinning, you speared a vegetable with your fork before bringing it to your mouth. There wasn't a doubt in your mind that Frank would keep his word, making sure to take damn good care of the both of you for as long as he was a part of your lives.

[tofics]

Nothing Like Some Neighborly Love

Part 1 - Series Masterlist

Pairing: no outbreak!Joel Miller x fem!Reader

Summary: Goodbye New York, hello Austin! - After a split from your ex, you're in dire need of a fresh scenery. Texas seems to provide just that. Your grandmother, fresh out of a hip surgery and in need of assistance, is happy to have you move in with her as a solution for both of your predicaments. Ever the hands-on person that she is, she also seems to want to rectify your fresh singleness, and she knows just the guy...

Word Count: ~4500 words

Warnings: mentions of a manipulating ex, mentions of cheating, mentions of a surgery, age gap (reader is early 30s, Joel is an unspecified amount (~10-15 years) older than her)

Your arrival in Austin, Texas is anything but spectacular. Besides your bags being some of the first to appear at baggage claim absolutely nothing out-of-the-ordinary happens - it's about as normal as a Monday-morning flight can be.

Not for you, though. Today marks the first day of your new life.

No big deal.

Except it's a huge deal. With every inch that you put between yourself and your old life in New York, you feel your shoulders relaxing a bit more and the tight-knit knot in your chest loosening.

Finally, at long last, you're free.

Free of the asshole that, up until a couple of months ago, was your boyfriend, your roommate, your co-worker.

Your lying, manipulating source of self-doubt, tears and misery.

Good fucking riddance.

"Oh honey, c'mere you!" Your grandmother pulls you into a surprisingly tight hug. For a lady who had hip surgery just two days ago, she seems to be at the top of her game.

"Gammy," you smile and return her embrace, even if not as forcefully. Strong arms or not, she did just come out of the hospital. Better to be a little more careful.

"Come in, come in! Let's get you out of that heat." Your grandma shuffles out of the door and down the hallway with the help of her rollator. You step into the house after her, dragging your two suitcases behind you.

Everything looks just like you remember. The beige carpet that flows from the hallway into the open living room and up the stairs, the brown tiles of the kitchen area, the light flowery wallpaper on the walls - as far as you can tell, not a single thing has changed. It even smells the same, like fresh laundry and soap and a faint hint of your grandmother's perfume.

You can't imagine a more comforting scenery after everything you've been through.

"How was your flight, honey? And do you want anythin' to drink?"

If it wasn't for the rollator, it'd be hard to tell that your grandmother just had a major surgery. She's already bustling about in the kitchen when you enter the open living and dining area, moving at the same speed you've always known her to. Watching your grandmother at work is like watching a busy bee, always doing something, fingers always moving. It goes without saying that your grandmother is not a woman known for sitting still or taking a break.

You already know her answer, but you have to ask anyway. "Gammy, shouldn't you be resting?"

"Restin', restin'. I hear that damn word one more time, I'm gon' have a fit!" She drops two ice cubes of frozen iced tea into each cup, then adds a lemon slice. "Doctor's said I'm s'posed to be movin'." The ice cubes clink and crackle when she pours fresh iced tea on top. "You told me to follow them orders!" Your grandma shakes the big spoon your way accusingly and you can't help but grin at the image.

"That's true, I did. I also said I'd move here to help you, grandma."

"Honey, if I can't pour no more damned iced tea, I want you to put me in my grave. Until then, I'll pour my own drinks. Now get on over here n' take those glasses over to the couch, will ya?"

You do as you're told and sit down next to your grandmother on the couch, making sure to use coasters for your drinks. Glass rings on the furniture did not go over well in this house.

"See? I can ask for help just fine." Your grandmother winks at you and then clinks her glass against yours. "Cheers, baby. Now tell me, how was your flight?"

"It was fine. Boring, uneventful. Just how I like my flights to be." A sip of your glass floods your mouth with the taste of your childhood summers, sweet and lemony and filled with your grandmother's love to the brim. There's no other iced tea quite like it.

"Good, good. And how are you doin', baby? Hm?" Her hand squeezes your thigh as her eyes roam over your face. You know the look: it's the look of scrutiny, the same one she uses any time she wants to get the truth out of someone. You've seen it being given to your mother, your father, your grandfather, even neighbors. You yourself have been at the receiving end of it a few times in your life. The result is always the same - the truth. Your grandmother is not a woman that's lied to.

"Honestly? I feel like a massive weight has been lifted off my shoulders." You sigh, both for effect and because it's true. Setting foot onto Texas soil was already liberating, but sitting in your grandmother's living room has you relaxing more and more by the minute. "I'm just so glad to be here. This couldn't have come at a better moment. Not saying I'm happy you had to get hip surgery, you know, but I'm just glad it all worked out with you needing help and me needing a new place to figure out where to go from here."

You squeeze your grandma's hand on your thigh and she puts hers right on top, squeezing you back. "Oh, hush. Y'know you're welcome here anytime, and I'd much rather have you here t' help me out than some stranger comin' into my house every single day."

Despite your circumstances, you can't deny how lucky the timing of it all has been. Your relationship had been crumbling for months and it seemed like no matter what you did, all your efforts were in vein and largely not reciprocated. To make matters worse, your job was suffering under the pressure of your dissolving relationship as well. You and your boyfriend worked at the same elementary school, you being a teacher and him being the principal, and while sharing a workplace and commute had been something out of a dream come true for the first two years together, it quickly posed a problem when your first problems emerged.

The final nail in the coffin came in the form of him being the nail and the coffin being his secretary. It was so cliché that you didn't know whether to laugh or cry when you first found out. In the end, you did neither, just packed your things and left. That part was easy, with a circle of friends who offered up their couches and open ears immediately. The work part? Not so much. By now you'd say that working under your ex while another woman was actually under him was the worst part of your final months in New York.

You needed to get out. You were already out of your joined flat, the job was the next thing to go. Then your grandmother mentioned she'd need to get surgery on her hip and just hated the idea of having a stranger coming to her house every single day to help her with her day-to-day errands.

The plan basically wrote itself.

Your grandma was delighted by the idea of you moving you here. A temporary arrangement until she's all healed up and you have figured out where to go from here. It's basically a two-birds-with-one-stone situation.

After you've finished your iced tea, your grandmother insists on showing you around the house. "Gammy, come on, you really should sit down, at least a little," you try to convince her, but she's not having any of it. "I know it looks like it hasn't changed much, but I've had some things done since you were here last. Now you'll wanna know where everything is if you wanna help, right?"

You don't even bother contradicting her and she pulls herself up by the handles of her rollator with a triumphant look.

The first room you tackle is right by the entrance, opposite of the guest bathroom. It used to be your grandfather's office, but you're surprised to find it all turned around, now with a bed in the middle of it and an assortment of bedroom furniture to go with it.

"This is my new haven, at least for now." Grammy shuffles into the room and carefully plops her behind down on the raised bed. "Got help from a neighbor a street over. Nice young fella, handsome too." She shoots you a meaningful glance that you decide to ignore. "Him and his brother got some of the stuff from upstairs down here. I got this bed on loan just until I can get back into my old chambers upstairs. Doc said the stairs shouldn't be an issue, but I just wanted to make sure." A few approving pats on the mattress.

"I'm impressed, Grammy. I'd have thought you'd force yourself up the stairs every single night, no matter what. I'm glad you're cutting yourself some slack somewhere." You know your grandma appreciates your candor, but you also know how hard this situation is on her mentally. She has always been an active woman and being physically impaired can't be easy for her. You press a soft kiss to her forehead to emphasize your praise.

"Yeah yeah," she grumbles but then still squeezes your arm. "C'mon now. I wanna show you the upstairs."

The changes upstairs are less drastic, but still noticeable.

For one thing, the master bedroom is full of your grandfather's old files, various stacks piled around the room. It's a temporary set-up that you mean to sort through in your upcoming weeks here, a thank you for letting you stay and your way of chipping in, as your grandmother refuses to accept any kind of rent or payment in general for your stay.

Your own bedroom has also received a slight makeover. Previously a guest room that served as storage for when no guests were in town, the room used to be somewhat cramped, yet still cozy. You've always slept in this room and never minded the wild assortment of furniture and various gadgets, but your grandmother went all out in preparation for your visit and had all of the "junk" removed and stored in the garage downstairs. Now, on top of new furniture, the walls sport a fresh paintjob and the closet is completely empty, waiting to be filled with your own clothes and belongings.

"Grandma, you shouldn't have!," you exclaim but can't hide the excitement in your eyes as you take in your new four walls. The twin bed got exchanged for a queen, which, now that everything is stored downstairs, comfortably fits against the back wall under the window. Despite your solo-self, it comes with a nightstand on each side, matching the color of the dresser to the right and the desk tucked into the corner next to the door. Ever the prepared host, your grandma has already put a small bouquet on one of the nightstands and fresh sheets on the bed.

You spin around and bury your grandmother in a tight hug, suddenly overwhelmed by the love that clearly went into the preparation of your arrival. "You're the best," you whisper against her neck as a couple of tears spill from your eyes.

There's no place you'd rather be.

Your spend your first few days in Austin getting reacquainted with the city. As a child, you'd come here for every single summer break, so you know your way around the neighborhood well enough, but a lot has changed since you strolled around the streets in your dungarees and pigtails. Mostly it's just different shops or a new building here and there, but the neighbors have changed too. You're sad to find out that one of your favorite neighbors, an old man named George who grew the sweetest strawberries in his front yard, passed away just a couple of weeks ago. Another couple two houses down, whose daughter you used to play with on your childhood visits, has moved away to the north. The list of changes is long, but besides old George's death, there's nothing too drastic.

Just as expected (and hoped for), you have no time to dwell on your recent split. With the way the relationship went for the past years, you kind of checked out of it mentally a long time ago, but finding out about the affair still kicked you in the guts. Luckily, you're too busy to get lose yourself in a thought spiral about it, all thanks to your grandmother who is keeping you fresh on your toes.

Being the busy woman that she is, she has a whole list of errands for the week, consisting of groceries, check-ups and social calls. You keep thinking that if it wasn't for her rollator and her slower, slight wobbly walk, you'd hardly know the woman was operated on just days ago, and you're not alone. The same sentiment is expressed to you wherever the two of you go, your grandmother being a well-known and respected woman in her neighborhood.

On Saturday, just five days after your arrival, you take her to the local church. Despite not being big on faith, she has been a member of the volunteer group of the church for decades, and a cherished one at that. The moment you push her wheelchair through the door, other volunteers rush over and swarm your grandmother with questions about her well-being. Grammy makes a point of saying there's no need for the fuss, but you can tell that she's touched by the community's care for her.

The meeting discusses the idea of a block party that's been floating around for some time now, but was never realized.

"Lottie, do you even think you could handle it, being in recovery and all?," an elderly man asks directed at your grandmother. The look she shoots him in response drains some color in his face, and some other members at the table laugh. "I'm insulted you'd even ask, Frank," your grandmother replies with a hint of sourness in her voice, but then her smile grows wide and there's a mischievous spark in her eyes that puts you on high alert. You know that look. Your grandmother is up to something.

"Much as I hate to admit it though, you might be right. I'm not at the top of my game, no denying that. However, that's where my lovely granddaughter comes into play!" All eyes swivel around to you, including your grandmother's, the mischievous sparkle present as ever.

Uh oh.

"As many of you already know, my granddaughter has temporarily moved in with me to help me out during my recovery, gracious soul that she is." Gracious soul? Grammy is laying it on thick. You cock your head slightly to the side with raised eyebrows, all while maintaining a smile on your face. What are you doing? Your grandmother reads the silent question in your facial features but offers no explanation, her smile just turns more sweetly. "As a teacher, she has her fair share of experience with organizing events. Ain't that so, sweetheart?"

"I mean, I've organized two talent shows, but that was in collab-," you begin, still unsure of where this is going, but Grammy cuts you off.

"See? She's perfect. I'm sure she can fill my shoes just fine, and I'll still be there behind the scenes anyway."

Before you can utter another word, you are crowned as head of the block party planning committee. As soon as the decision is made, the group gets down to business and starts mapping out a rough draft. Besides the obvious cake buffet, whipped up and provided by members of the volunteer committee, the only other safe participant is the church's kids group, who, according to pastor William, plan to host a lemonade stand. By the end of the meeting, you have an extensive list of possible collaborators to hit up. As head of the committee, it falls in your jurisdiction to get local business on board.

"Alright, that looks like a solid list. I trust Lottie's granddaughter will do a fine job of getting lots of business on board." Pastor William smiles warmly at you and you can't help but feel like he's already forgotten your name again. Then again, he's got a big flock. Can't blame him if he doesn't remember every single sheep by name.

"And we've got Anne, Derrick and Kirsten for decorating, as well as our kids group. That just leaves the question of construction. Who's gonna supply us with stalls or booths? Any ideas, folks?"

"I'm sure Joel Miller would be happy to chip in. Him n' his brother got that construction business, remember? Sweet boys. Helped me set up my lil' hospital ward situation I got back at home," your grandma chirps up, and suddenly, you understand the mischievous twinkle in her eye.

What an elaborate and canny way to set you up. Wow.

You bite on your lip to hide the grin that threatens to spill across your face, keeping your laughter inside until after the meeting. Once you bring it up in the car back home, Grammy plays the innocent act. "I got no idea what you're talkin' about, honey. Just suggested a guy I know that does good work and has a good heart."

"Right, because especially the good heart is extremely relevant when it comes to building things," you chuckle.

"Sure it is, if it's volunteer work. And I'm tellin' you. That Joel, he's got a heart of gold."

You can sense the way your grandmother's eyes are boring into the side of your skull, but you keep your gaze focused on the road ahead of you.

Heart of gold or not, you're nowhere near ready to be dating again.

"Yeah, come on in, Lottie said you'd swing by."

It's late in the evening and his porch light hums above the two of you, casting a golden light on your silhouettes and long shadows on the ground. The fly screen creaks as Joel Miller holds it open for you. You shimmy past him with a small smile, tugging your folder of papers to your chest so they don't rub against him.

Joel's house smells like wood chips, old leather and something distinctly 'homey' that you can't quite put a finger on, but makes you feel very at ease. The scent engulfs you as you step into the house, briefly interrupted by smell of him, a mix of soap and aftershave and just the tiniest tinge of sweat.

It's an intoxicating combination.

So much so that for the briefest moment, you have the instinct to lean a step back and sniff him, but you catch yourself before you embarrass yourself.

"Kitchen's down there. Got a table and everything for your paper collection." Joel motions down the hallway with a quick and friendly wink at you. You follow his direction wordlessly and sit at the aforementioned table, feeling the tips of your ears growing slightly red.

Your grandma wasn't kidding when she said he's handsome.

You'd chalked it up to her trying to set you up, talking him up the same way elderly ladies tend to talk about men that are younger than them. 'Handsome' and 'smart-looking' are standards in that vocabulary box. You couldn't have known that this time, the description would be right on point.

"Want one?" Joel's got his head in the fridge, holding out a cold beer to you over his shoulder.

"Sure, thanks." Usually you're not so tight-lipped. In fact, you've probably talked more in the past few days than you do in a normal school week, and that's saying something. Going around town and chatting up local businesses about participating in your block party had your mouth going at a hundred miles per hour, figuratively speaking. Between speaking to people in person and confirming spots via your cell-phone, it has been a couple of very word-filled days.

And yet, now that you're with another potential 'client' you have to recruit for your endeavor, your speech well seems to have dried up.

It could have something to do with the fact that visually, Joel Miller is exactly your type. Besides his physique - tan biceps visibly stretching under a tight t-shirt that might be a size too small for him - he's got warm, brown eyes with laugh crinkles around them and a head full of salt-and-pepper hair that pairs beautifully with his scruffy-looking beard. By the looks of it, he has ten, maybe fifteen years on you.

Not really an issue for you.

Your ex, cursed be his name, was a chunk older than you too. It was just the type of man you drifted towards, the kind that's a bit ahead of you in time. In your experience, it pays off maturity wise in a way that men your age just can't compete in, even if your last boyfriend wasn't the best example.

Older men just have a grip on you you can't explain, nor deny.

"So." Joel sets the two bottles of beer down on the table, then slides onto the chair across from you. "What can I do for ya? Lottie said somethin' 'bout you guys needin' somethin' built?"

He screws the caps off of both bottles, then slides one over to you. "Cheers." Your bottles clink together and you take a few chugs, grateful for the liquid running down your dry throat. Whether that's from all your talking or a physical reaction to Joel, you don't know, and you're not sure you want to find out.

"Yeah, that's right," you finally say when you put your beer down half empty. Joel glances at your bottle with one raised eyebrow and half a grin on his lips, but doesn't say anything and instead motions for you to go on. "It's for the church's block party. The volunteer group, which my grandmother is a part of, is putting it together. It's supposed to be this come-together opportunity, get-to-know-your-neighbors kind of thing. I've been going around the past couple of days, seeing who wants to join and maybe offer a booth or a stall."

"Looks like you were quite successful with that." He nods at the wild stack of papers in front of you, post-its sticking out left and right and scribbles all over. You laugh and shuffle through the papers.

"It looks more than it is, but yeah, lots of people want to join, thankfully. Now that's where you come in." You pull out a numbered list and slide it over to him.

"This is everyone that wants to join. Problem is, we don't have enough booths for everyone."

Joel skims over the list, then whistles. "Phew. That's a bunch. How many of them you got stalls for?"

You pause long enough for Joel to look up from the list and notice you biting on your lip. "Umh. None of them?" Your grin is awkward and apologetic at the same time. Joel stares at you for a second, a dumbfounded expression on his face, then breaks out into a bellowing laughter. It's warm and deep and infectious and has the corners of your lips rising into a genuine grin.

"Oh, you're somethin'," he says breathlessly when he recovers from his laughing fit. "I can definitely see the relation to Lottie."

You shrug apologetically again and bite down on your bottom lip, the grin still lingering on your face. "What can I say? Persuasion runs strongly in this family."

"That so?" Joel leans back in his chair and puts his arms behind his head. Before you can help it, your gaze flickers across his across his arms, from his prominent biceps all the way down to where his torso meet his jeans. You look away quickly, but get the feeling Joel caught your stare by his smug grin. "I ain't said yes yet."

He does say yes. You come home giddy, excited by your success of rounding up participants for the block party and flustered from your hour at Joel's house.

It didn't take him long to officially agree, though you had no doubt that he would.

You also have no doubt that Joel Miller has been flirting with you.

There is even less doubt that you liked it.

You surprised yourself. By the time you wrapped your first meeting up, you asked for his number so you could reach him in case of changes or the like. Though the block party really was the main reason you required his number, you couldn't deny finding a little bit of joy in the idea of having his number in your phone. He had smiled all smugly too when you'd asked, his brows wiggling suggestively for just a second before he reached for the pen in your hand and scribbled his number down on one of your papers. "There you go, darlin'," he'd said, and you had to fight the urge very hard to bite your bottom lip at the mention of the endearing term.

It only occurs to you now that your grandma probably already has his number and you asking for his number could have come across as you flirting.

Oh.

"Honey, that you?," your grandma hollers out of the living room when you enter her home.

"Yeah Gammy, it's me," you call back and set your papers down on the side table near the front door.

"How'd it go?"

You tell her about your meeting with Joel in the most nonchalant way possible while you help her chop up veggies for dinner. She listens intently and is delighted that Joel has agreed to build the booths, but doesn't seem surprised by it either. Once you're finished with your summary, she gives you that inquisitorial look again.

"So?"

"So what, Gammy?"

"Don't fool me, honey. What'd you think?"

You keep your eyes focused on the carrot your peeling, determined not to meet her gaze. You just know she'd read everything in your eyes.

"Yeah, he's a nice man," you say, but she just tsks at you and swats your arm with her cooking spoon.

"You know damn well that's not what I asked."

"What do you want to hear then?"

The lack of reply makes you look up. Grammy is staring at you with an anything-but-pleased look on her face.

"What!," you exclaim defensively. Her response comes paired with another whack of her spoon. "He's a good man! You should give him a chance."

"Oh my god, Gammy. He has a kid." You groan, but pictures of Joel's biceps dance across the back of your mind.

"So? You're thirty-two, old enough to be a mom. 'Sides, I ain't tellin' you to marry the man, I'm just sayin' go out, have some fun."

"Oh well, in that case. If I'm not supposed to marry him."

You giggle and jump away when the spoon launches for you a third time, only narrowly missing you by a few inches.

Series Masterlist - Mobile Masterlist

Feedback is always appreciated! If you have any requests, feel free to send them my way. I'm always happy to practice my writing! :)

Find more entries for the hot dilf summer challenge by @hellishjoel here!

[amethystarachnid]

PROMISE

⤷ JAMES B. “BUCKY” BARNES

ᯓ★ Pairing: James B. “Bucky” Barnes x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, action and tiny bit of fluff, angst

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL bingo

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 4k

ᯓ★ TW(s): reader tells Bucky that she wants him dead, swear words, depressed Bucky (?), reader gets shot so blood, coma

ᯓ★ Timeline: after CACW but everyone lives "happily" at the compound.

ᯓ★ Request: I'd love to req enemies to lovers Bucky where reader risks her life for him 🫶🏼 ( @roxymiaa )

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo (requests open)

ᯓ★ Masterlist

ᯓ★ If you are a Charles Xavier fan click on this link!

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language and this isn’t proof read

ᯓ★ I realized I suck at writing enemies to lovers so yeah, sorry if this sucks since it's like a one-sided enemy thing (?), it's more like hate to love, and also, sorry for the wait <3

The Winter Solider, the man who killed your parents, the man whose life you wish to take even if doing so made you a killer.

The man who's living in your house and chatting with your friend, Natasha.

"If you keep glaring at him like that you'll burn holes in his head." Tony says as he sits next to you on the couch.

"I hope I do." You say as you sip your coffee, you hear your twin sigh.

"Listen, Y/N, I like having him here as much as you do and I know how much you hate him, hell, I hate him the same." Tony takes a deep breath, "But he was being brainwashed when he did what he did, you know that."

You look down. You know that it wasn't Bucky who killed your parents, you know that the man responsible for that is the Winter Soldier but Bucky is the Winter Soldier. How can everyone be so calm about it? Anyone could walk in the room at any moment, say a few Russian words and the man now holding a book in his right hand will use it to smash someone's head.

"I know." Is the only thing you say before standing up and walking out of the room, past Natasha and Bucky who are talking in Russian.

"Y/N" Natasha calls you and you turn around. "Will you be one of us for tonight's movie night?"

The Avengers' movie nights, where everyone sat in the cinema room to watch movies, if you remember correctly it would be Wanda's turn to choose them tonight, you and her always had similar taste in movies so it would be an enjoyable night with your dearest friends.

You were going to say yes, but then your eyes met Bucky's and it reminded you that he'd be there too.

You can barely stay in the same room as him during training or meals, the times where you're forces to share your space with him, but when you can choose to stay away from him, that's exactly what you do.

"No, I think I'll go to sleep early." Bucky looks down at your words, he knows that he's the reason you're isolating yourself more and more everyday, but there isn't much he can do.

He already apologized to Tony and you, he's even seeing a therapist now (that was Tony's condition to make him stay at the compound), he feels himself getting better and better everyday.

Especially knowing that Tony is searching for a way to erase completely the brainwashing from his mind, so that there'll be no way to turn him back in the Winter Soldier.

He looks at you as you walk away, knowing that there's nothing he can do to make you stop hating him when even he hates himself.

────୨ৎ────

You sit against a tree outside the compound, sipping a beer while deep in thought, but you still hear the faint footsteps approaching you from behind.

You recognize them immediately, since you have spent the last months avoiding them.

"Why are you here?" You ask harshly as you finish your beer.

"Wanda is making us watch Kate & Leopold for the fourth time, I couldn't take it anymore." He chuckles, standing next to your sitting form.

"She made me watch Australia ten times at least, but can't really blame her." You say with a small smile. Usually you would've already walked away from Bucky but the five beers you have already drank altered your mind.

"For the actor that starred in them?" You nod at his words.

"She's already excited for his new movie next year, Great Showman or something like that." You shrug your shoulders, trying to take another sip of beer but the bottle is empty.

"Here." He hands you an opened beer bottle and only then you notice that he has two in his hands.

Did he bring one for you only?

"You didn't poison this, did you?" You try to ignore the pain that flashes in his eyes at your words.

"I would never do that." He says, sitting down next to you, "Listen, I already apologized to you and Tony, what else do you want me to do?!" His voice is calm and this makes you even angrier at him.

You have been holding back your feelings for him for way too longs and the fact that you're also drunk makes you finally snap.

"To fucking die!" You yell at him, the bottle in your hand slips and hits the grass, shattering in tiny sharp pieces.

You don't even realize that there are tears coming out of your cheeks, running along your cheeks and then fall off your chin.

"Then kill me!" He takes a gun from the inside pocket of his jacket and puts it on your hands, your fingers immediately adapting to the familiar weight and your index finds its place on the trigger.

Bucky brings your armed hand against his chest and presses the gun against his body, "Kill me, because I swear to God, there's no one who wants me dead as much as I do."

Your eyes widen and suddenly you see the pain in his eyes, in his voice, in him.

"Do a favor to everyone on this fucking planet and kill me, please." His voice cracks at the last word and you see unshed tears in his eyes.

You have never thought about it like this, you were too focused on your own pain that you didn't even think that, maybe, he was in pain too.

Having to live with the memory of every person who he has killed, does he see blood on his hands everytime he looks at them?

"I...I..." Your eyes move quickly from his face to the gun in your hand, against his chest, right over his heart.

The heart you thought he didn't have, but now you understand that he does have a heart, a heart so fragile that it could break any moment if handled too roughly.

James Barnes does have a heart, one covered in scars and bandages and you don't want to be the one to add the final scar, the one that would shatter his injured heart completely.

The moon rays hit his blue eyes, making them almost magical.

"I know I don't deserve to live, I already tell myself that every night." A single tear runs down his beautiful left eye.

"T-That's not what I..." You stutter as you look at the broken man in front of you, how did you not realize it sooner?

Bucky hates himself for being the Winter Soldier as much as you do, if not more.

"I can't do it." You say as you stand up and drop the gun to the ground next to him.

"Isn't this what you've always wanted?" He says as he looks up at you, his eyes, big and glossy, remind you of a lost puppy that just wants to be comforted.

"I may have been wrong all this time." You look down at him, then glance at the gun by his side, "Don't do anything stupid with that, Steve would be sad." It's the excuse you give both him and yourself before walking inside the compound.

Once inside you turn around and see him hitting the tree with his right hand, you are too far away to understand what he's saying but he looks like he's crying.

"What happened to Barnes?" Tony's voice asks you from behind, you turn around and see him coming out of the cinema room, behind him you can see end credits rolling on the big screen.

"I don't know." You simply say before walking towards your room on the second floor.

────୨ৎ────

"What?! Have you gone mad?!" You look shocked at Steve and Tony, surprised that a plan as stupid as that came out of the two of them.

"You have to look past your personal problems, Y/N." Steve scolds you with a frown and if there is one thing that Captain America is good at, is making people feel guilty.

Like that one time you accidentally ate one of his yogurts and he looked so disappointed that you bought him twenty of them as an apology.

"This would be a great way to gain intel of this criminal organization who is selling weapons." Tony says, leaning back against his chair.

"And you think that sending me undercover with Bucky to a masked party in downtown Manhattan will help us?" You scoff at his words, crossing your arms over your chest.

You glance at Bucky, he has been silent during all the length of the meeting.

"We are sending you two because you are the only people who we trust enough to do it and because you have the last chances of being recognized." Steve explains, calmly as always, "People don't know Bucky's face, they may know yours, but we have masks that can make people see your features in other ways."

"With my technology we could make people see him bald." Tony points at Bucky, he looks up and touches his hair.

"I like my hair." He simply says, glancing awkwardly at you. Things between you two have been even more awkward than before after what happened under the tree two weeks ago.

"Fine, I'll do it." You scoff and stand up, Tony claps his hands together.

"Great, you already have a stunning dress waiting for you in your room, the party is in three hours." Your brother says.

"Three hours?!" You and Bucky say at the same time, you could get physically ready quickly but you needed your time getting mentally ready to spend a whole evening with Bucky glued to your hip.

"Yes, Mr. and Mrs. Jones." Tony says, handing you and Bucky an invite each.

"How did you get these?" Bucky asks.

"They're fake, obviously, but anyone who will look at them won't understand it because I did it." He says, showing off his ego.

Two hours and half later, you're walking outside the compound in a shiny designer black dress, already wearing Tony's mask which makes you completely unrecognizable to everyone else but Bucky apparently.

“You look…beautiful.” Bucky says as he looks at you, he too is wearing a designer black suit and it looks ridiculously good on him.

“Thank you…” You give him a small smile, “You don’t look too bad either.”

He smiles and looks down at himself, "Shall we go?", he hopes the car door for you and closes it once you're sat inside.

"So our cover is this: we've been married for five years and are secretly the owners of a large weapon-making industry, which is so secret no one has ever heard of it." You repeat to Bucky as he starts the car, drivinig out of the compound's garage.

"That's what they told us, yes." He nods.

"But we need more backstory if we want to do it correctly." You sigh, why didn't Tony write a full script for you two? He usually prefers to have every single backstory detail already organized in case of emergency, "Let's say…We met when we were twenty, it was love at first sight and…Oh yes! Our families didn't approve of us so we got separated and then we ran away five years ago and we got married!"

Bucky glances at you briefly before turning his eyes back on the road, "Are you sure we need all these details? I don't think anyone will ask us this type of things."

"Bucky, this is a party in downtown Manhattan, I have been invited to those kinda party before…" You look at him in disbelief, "Can you even imagine how noesy the people that attend those parties are? They live for drama, and they want every single detail."

"So you too?" He grins, "you too are noesy since you attend those parties."

"Oh, I'm the noesiest of them all, that's why I'm tellying you that we need to be really good with our acting." You turn your eyes on the road too, suddenly realizying that you called him Bucky earlier and not by his last name like you usually do, "So we need to act like we're deeply in love."

"That won't be hard." He smiles, "I've always been a great actor."

"Why don't I have trouble believing that?" You chuckle, leaning against your seat more relaxed, looking out the car window.

────୨ৎ────

"Oh you two are so cute." An old woman says as she looks at me and Bucky: his arm is wrapped around your waist while the other hold a glass of champagne, there's a mask similar to the one you are wearing on his face.

"Thank you, ma'am." You reply politely, it only takes you one glance at her to understand that she's the one hosting the party and so is the most powerful person in the room, for the moment at least. "Your dress is gorgeous."

"Oh dear, I see you have extraordinary taste…" She glances at Bucky, "But I should've understood that just by looking at your husband."

"He is handsome isn't he?" You smile, glancing at Bucky, you don't know what Tony's mask is making her see but with the mask or not, Bucky is indeed one of the most handsome man you've ever laid eyes on.

"Oh but I think my wife here is ten times more beautiful than me." Bucky gives you hip a playful squeeze, kissing your cheek.

"I see that you are still in the honeymoon phase." The woman chuckles. "How long have you been married?"

"It'll soon be our fifth anniversary." You smile at her, taking a sip of your champagne.

"Adorable, and what does your work consist of?" She asks, arching a brow. There are more than one hundred people at the party, it doesn't surprise you that she doesn't remember all of them and thanks to this she can't really remember if she really invited you or not.

"We produce weapons." Bucky explains, "We're new to the industry, so we were really happy when we received your invitation, it isn't every day that you receive an invitation by Miss Lond." You smile at his words, he understood one of the basic rules of parties: always flatter the host.

Miss Long chuckles, hiding the lower part of her face that isn't hiding behind the mask behind her fan, "Please follow me, I'll introduce you to some of my dearest friends."

During the rest of the night the microphone you're wearing gathers all the information for you and the party is going smoothly...Too smooth.

"I have a strange feeling." Bucky says as you two stand on the side of the dance floor.

"Yeah, me too, this mission is going too smoothly." Your attention is taken by the noise of a microphone being turned on and then you see Miss Lond walk on the small stage at the center of the room.

"My dear guests, I'm really glad you could make it here, I hope you are enjoying the party." The woman starts, "I hope to make it more interesting by starting a treasure hunt."

Murmurs emerge from the room and people look at her confused.

"We should go." Bucky whispers in your ear, you nod and hold his hand as he walks in front of you towards the exit.

"We have special guests here...Y/N Stark and The Winter Soldier!" After her words all the lights in the room - literally - point at you two.

"Well, no need to hide anymore." You say as you take the mask off, the same does Bucky. He reaches for the gun in his jacket and you for the bracelet that Tony gave you, which quickly turns into something similar to his Iron Man suit but that only covers your arm.

"I'll give five million dollars to whoever will bring them to me! Dead or alive, it doesn't matter!" She laugh in the microphone.

The air crackles with tension as you and Bucky stand back-to-back, encircled by a sea of armed enemies. Your pulse quickens, but you steady your breathing, fingers brushing the edge of the wrist-mounted device Tony gave you. It's not a full suit, but it’s packed with enough tech to keep you alive — and dangerous.

Bucky’s voice is low and steady behind you. "First time fighting a small army?"

"First time fighting with you," you reply, flicking the device on. A translucent energy shield springs to life on your left arm, while the right crackles with an electric charge, ready to strike.

"Stick close, then," he says, a hint of a grin in his tone. "I'll cover you."

The first wave rushes in, and the chaos begins.

You pivot just as a gunman fires, your shield absorbing the bullets with a flickering hum. With a swift movement, you deactivate it and thrust your right hand forward, sending a burst of electricity into the attacker. He convulses and drops, but there’s no time to celebrate.

Bucky is a blur beside you, his metal arm a deadly weapon as he blocks a knife strike and counters with a bone-shattering punch. His movements are fluid, precise, like he’s done this a thousand times before.

But it’s the first for you.

Two more rush at you, and instinct kicks in. You duck low, shield reactivating just in time to block a swinging blade. With a sharp twist, you bash the shield into the attacker’s face, then spin and release a concussive blast from your device, sending the other flying.

"Not bad," Bucky grunts, catching a gunman by the throat and slamming him into the ground. "But keep your guard up."

"Thanks for the tip," you shoot back, dodging a hail of bullets and firing a stun charge in return. The shooter drops, twitching.

The two of you are able to get out of the room, "Wait!" Bucky stops you. You two put tables and chairs and everything you can find in front of the door to gain some time.

The moment you and Bucky burst out onto the open street, you know something’s wrong. The hairs on the back of your neck prickle, and your instincts scream at you to move. You catch a glint of metal on the rooftop: snipers. Without thinking, you lunge toward Bucky.

“Get down!” you shout, raising the energy shield just as the first shot rings out. The bullet ricochets off the shield with a sharp clang, and Bucky turns to you, eyes wide with surprise and something else —concern.

You barely manage a breath before another shot echoes. This one doesn’t bounce off. Pain blossoms in your side, hot and searing. The world blurs as you stumble, the shield flickering out as your strength falters.

“Y/N!” Bucky’s voice is raw, panicked, as he catches you before you hit the ground. His metal arm is solid, grounding you, but it feels like you’re floating—disconnected. The pain is overwhelming, but the look on his face cuts deeper.

“I’m—” you try to speak, but the words catch in your throat, replaced by a choked gasp. You clutch at your side, blood seeping between your fingers.

“Why did you that?!" He yells as he picks you up, quickly running in the car, laying you in the backseats and quickly driving towards the compound.

"Because you deserve to live." You simply say, trying to get a glimpse of him from the backseat, are those tears running down his eyes?

"But not at the cost of your own life!" He shouts, hitting the steering wheel with his fist.

"I'll survive." You stutter, pressing your hand over the wound.

"I sure hope you do so I can kill you myself." He shakes his head.

"I expected a thank you at least, is that how you will repay me for saving your life?" You chuckle, coughing up blood right after.

"I swear when you'll get out of the infirmary of the compound I'll kiss the life out of you."

Your eyes widen at his words and you smile, "I take it as a promise." You say as your eyes slowly close.

"Y/N? Y/N!" Are the last words you hear from him.

Two weeks later

Your eyes slowly open but you have to close them again because of the brightness of the room: you are in the compound's infirmary.

"You're awake." Bucky enters the room just as your eyes get used to the light, "Tony just left to get something to eat, he hasn't left your side since I got you back here."

"What happened to you?" You ask confused as you see his bruised face.

He chuckles and sits on the chair next to your bed, "Tony." He shakes his head, "He got mad at me when you came back unconscious and I almost without a scratch."

"What an asshole." You sigh.

"So, how do you feel?" He asks gently.

"Thirsty." You joke and he immediately hands you a glass of water while he tells you that you have been in coma for two weeks.

"Guess I finally was able to get some sleep." He shakes his head at your joke.

"Jokes like this remind me that you are, in fact, related to Tony." He places the glass back on the bedside table.

"So?" You ask as you raise a brow.

"So what?"

"What about your promise?"

"Which promise?"

"To kiss the life out of me once I'm healed."

"You aren't healed yet."

"Maybe a kiss will heal me."

"I thought you hated me."

"Hate, like, love...They're all so similar." You smirk as he gets closer to you.

"Call me old fashioned, but I usually prefer taking girls out on a date first." His face is so close to yours.

"Call me new fashioned, but I think we don't need a date first since I risked my life for you."

"Promise to go on a fate with me anyway after you get Banner's approval?"

"Promise." His lips are finally on yours and even thought your breath probably stinks because of the two weeks you spent in a come, you couldn't care less because his lips are so soft that you can't focus on anything else.

Until you hear a plate shattering from outside the room.

You and Bucky immediately separate and look at the wall that faces the hallway...Which is completely made of glass.

And right behind that glass stands Tony, with a broken plate and food at his feet, his mouth open wide in shock.

"Oh shit, am I a dead man?" Bucky asks you even though you both can't hold back a laugh.

"BARNES DID YOU JUST KISS MY LITTLE SITER?!"

Likes, reblogs and especially comments are highly appreciated (I love reading your thoughts <3) I hope you liked the story!

[eu-nicola]

arranged marriage part 2

part 1

sinopsis: after the death of his girlfriend in an accident, Rafe falls into a severe depression. His family offers him a family friend, Arabella, with whom he has always had a bad relationship, to marry him for the good of the family.

warnings: arranged marriage, barely named violence, etc

author's note: this story is very long, english is not my first language, the tags are not correct so don't tell me anything cause I ALREADY KNOW, then I'm going to correct

word count: 5375

mention: @cwufst @constantsadness @urbrunettebombshell @pinkpoetrycrown

The next morning, Arabella woke up in the same large, empty bed she had spent the night in. The chill of the empty sheets beside her reminded her of the reality of the previous night. The silence of the room was overwhelming, interrupted only by the faint sound of the wind filtering through the windows. Daylight streamed in timidly, making the opulent decor of the room look even grander and, somehow, more suffocating.

It wasn't long until the door slowly opened, and Sarah poked her head in with a smile on her face. She was dressed in a light robe, her hair still somewhat messy from the night before, but her eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Good morning, Mrs. Cameron!" she said in a playful tone, stepping fully into the room. She sat on the edge of the bed, looking at Arabella expectantly. "So? How did your first night as a married woman go?"

Arabella slowly stood up, stretching a little and letting a long sigh fall from her lips before answering. There was no emotion on her face, just a cool calm that reflected what had happened the night before.

"Well, if you're expecting to hear stories of romance and lit candles... you're going to be disappointed," Arabella said with a small, wry smile. "Rafe didn't even touch me. He made it clear to me that... well, that I disgust him and he wants nothing to do with me."

Sarah's eyes widened in surprise, clearly not expecting that answer. Although she knew that Rafe hadn't been the most charming man in the weeks leading up to the wedding, she hadn't imagined things would be so tense between them.

"What?" Sarah exclaimed, a mix of surprise and concern in her voice. "Did he tell you that? It can't be! Rafe was upset, yes, but... I thought that with time, things between you two would calm down."

Arabella gave a bitter laugh. "Yes, that's what he said. He made it very clear to me that this is just a farce for him. So, honestly, I'd rather he didn't speak to me while he could. Everything will be fine as long as he doesn't do something stupid that would jeopardize our 'perfect marriage'." She paused, and then, with a spark of dark humor in her eyes, she added, "Because if he does, believe me, Sarah, I could kill him."

Sarah laughed out loud, understanding that her friend was joking, although there was a grain of truth in those words. She knew that Arabella was frustrated, but she also recognized that resilience that characterized her, that way of facing difficult situations with sarcastic humor.

"Well, if you decide to kill him, let me know first. Maybe I can help you hide the body," Sarah joked, but then her expression became more serious as she took Arabella's hand. "But seriously, Belle, Rafe is angry, and I understand. This whole thing has been crazy, especially after what happened. I'm not justifying his behavior, but I think with time... things can get easier."

Arabella pressed her lips together, feeling the weight of Sarah's concern. She knew her friend only wanted to help, but there was something about the way Rafe had rejected her that hurt her more than she was willing to admit. Still, she didn't want Sarah to worry too much.

"I know, I know," she replied, shaking her head slightly. "And as long as I stay out of his way and he stays out of mine, everything will be okay. I just need time to find a way to... bear it."

Sarah gave her hand a squeeze before letting go. "I'll always be here for you, you know that, right? If you need to talk, vent, or even get away for a while, just tell me. We'll get through this together."

Arabella smiled at her gratefully. "Thank you, Sar. Knowing I have you by my side is the only thing that helps me stay sane in this mess."

The two of them were silent for a moment. Despite everything that was happening, knowing that Sarah had her back gave her a small spark of hope.

"Well," Arabella finally said, with a sigh. "It seems I have to get used to living in this house, and in this marriage..."

Sarah nodded, but before she could say anything else, a light laugh escaped from Arabella.

"I just... hope he doesn't do anything that will make me lose my temper, because then there will be no turning back." Sarah looked at her, surprised by the joke. "I'm serious! Of all the things I've endured... I don't know how much more I can take before I do something radical."

They both laughed, relieved by that small respite of humor.

After a few minutes of laughter, Arabella lay back down on the bed and let out a long sigh. Silence settled between the two of them again, until she looked at Sarah, a mix of resignation and nervousness on her face.

"Well, I think it's time for me to get ready for breakfast," she finally said, getting out of bed and stretching her arms out. "And also pray that Rafe decides to show up."

Sarah nodded, a crooked smile on her lips. “Yes, that would be the smart thing to do… although you know what he is like.”

Arabella snorted as she walked to the dressing room to find something to wear. “Of course I do. In fact, that’s exactly what worries me. You never know what to expect from him, especially now.”

As she pulled out a white linen dress, Arabella felt tense. Despite how awkward the wedding had been and how Rafe had left her alone the night before, she knew she had to keep up the facade.

“What if he doesn’t show up?” Sarah asked, helping Arabella adjust the blouse. “What are you going to do?”

Arabella paused, her eyes meeting Sarah’s in the mirror. “If he doesn’t show up, I guess I’ll have to make something up.” The worry on her face was evident, but she tried to hide it with a forced smile. “The last thing I want is for them to start asking questions.”

Sarah put a hand on Arabella’s shoulder and gave her a small, supportive squeeze. "Don't worry, he'll show up for sure, I don't think he wants dad to bother him."

Arabella nodded and finished getting ready. When she was ready, they both walked down the stairs to the dining room.

"I just hope this morning doesn't turn into another disaster," Arabella murmured as they walked down the hall.

Sarah laughed softly. "Disaster? In this house? Impossible," she joked.

As they approached the dining room, Arabella took a deep breath, preparing herself for whatever might happen.

When Arabella and Sarah arrived in the dining room, the first thing Arabella noticed was the figure of Rafe already sitting at the table. Her heart skipped a beat immediately, and tension ran through her body like lightning. She hadn't expected to see him there so early, much less ready for breakfast. The mere sight of him sitting there, with that expression of indifference on his face, made her nerves soar.

Rafe looked up as soon as he saw them enter, and for a second, Arabella felt the atmosphere become even more charged. There was no trace of the man who had rejected her so coldly the night before, but that only confused her more. However, to her surprise, Rafe got up from the table.

With a calmness she didn't recognize in him, he walked towards her and, without saying a word, pulled out a chair so Arabella could sit. The polite gesture caught her off guard, but she tried to hide it and settled into the seat he offered her.

“Thank you,” she murmured, barely meeting Rafe’s eyes. He just nodded and returned to his spot, taking a seat next to her. Arabella could sense the tension between the two, but they were both clearly making an effort to keep up appearances, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Sarah, who sat across the table from her with a smile that tried to lighten the mood.

As the servants began to bring breakfast, the dining room slowly filled up. Ward and Rose arrived shortly after, and the questions began almost immediately.

“Well, how are you feeling after your first day as husband and wife?” Ward asked with a smile that, to Arabella, seemed to have a sharper edge than usual.

Arabella pursed her lips slightly, but Rafe was the one who answered first, his voice surprisingly calm. “All very well, sir. We are settling in.”

His tone was neutral, and Arabella knew he was making an effort to sound convincing. For her part, she forced a smile and nodded, hoping she wouldn't have to say much more on the subject. The questions kept coming, but she and Rafe navigated the conversation carefully, answering just what was necessary without revealing anything about themselves.

Rose, ever observant, noticed the silence in the interactions between Arabella and Rafe, but didn't comment on it. Ward, on the other hand, seemed to be pleased with how they were handling the situation. Arabella, though uncomfortable, remained composed, feigning interest in the breakfast and the conversation, while her mind was elsewhere.

On more than one occasion, she felt Rafe's gaze on her, and though she knew he was making an effort to act like an attentive husband, she couldn't help but wonder what was really going on in his head.

As breakfast progressed, the questions continued, from trivial matters to questions about the future of the marriage. "And when will we be given the joy of a grandchild?" Rose joked, but the comment made Arabella tense even more. It was too early to even think about such things, and the words caught in her throat. Before she could say anything, Rafe intervened again.

"In time," he replied, in a dry but controlled tone, nipping any further jokes or awkward questions on the subject in the bud.

Finally, after what seemed like hours, breakfast came to an end.

As the others began to disperse, Rafe rose from the table without a word and left the room without a glance at Arabella. She sat there, still, with the bitter taste of the perfect performance they had both just given.

Sarah, who had remained silent for most of breakfast, walked over to Arabella and put a hand on her shoulder, as if trying to comfort her without saying anything.

The day passed slowly for Arabella. After the awkward breakfast, Rafe disappeared without a word, leaving her alone. As the hours passed, her frustration grew. She knew that her marriage was not one based on love, but she at least expected Rafe to make the effort to keep up appearances. After all, they were both caught up in this.

Arabella spent the afternoon between small tasks, trying to distract herself with Sarah, who encouraged her not to think too much about the situation. But Rafe's absence, his indifference, was driving her crazy. Where was he? What was he doing? And most importantly, why was he acting as if this marriage didn't matter to him one bit? They were supposed to, at least publicly, keep up the facade of being a happy couple, or at least committed to the union.

When night came and Rafe still didn't show up, Arabella felt rage take over her. The hours passed, and the silence in her room only made her anger grow. The lights in the house were already off, and there was still no sign of him.

Finally, close to midnight, she heard the bedroom door open. Rafe walked in as if nothing had happened, his expression cold and impassive. Arabella, who had been waiting for him, got out of bed with her fists clenched. She wasn't going to let this go by without saying something. Not tonight.

“Where the hell have you been?” she blurted, her voice sharp as she crossed her arms in front of him.

Rafe, taken aback by her tone, glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t stop. He made his way to the dressing room, ignoring her anger, and began unbuttoning his shirt as if nothing had happened.

“Rafe, I’m talking to you. It’s our first day married and you’re already being a jerk,” Arabella continued, her voice rising with each word.

He let out a heavy sigh, as if her words were wearing him out. “Don’t bother me, Arabella. I’m not in the mood.”

That only fueled his anger further. She stepped closer to him, challenging his indifference. “I didn’t marry you so you could ruin this whole thing from the start. I don’t care if you don’t love me, but you could at least behave like a good husband.”

Rafe quickly turned to her, his face now filled with irritation. “I told you not to bother me,” he growled, gripping her arm tightly. His fingers dug into her skin, but Arabella was undaunted.

“No!” she screamed, wrenching herself from his hold. She glared at him, her heart pounding. “As long as you’re married to me, you’re going to behave. If you want to go off with other women, do it. But in front of people, you’ll be the perfect husband. I’m not going to let you ruin this.”

Rafe fell silent, his eyes fixed on her. He’d never seen Arabella so determined, so full of fire. Despite his anger, there was something about her attitude that unnerved him. This wasn’t the shy girl he’d known for years; this was a woman who wasn’t going to let herself be trampled on. Something inside him stirred, a mix of frustration and unexpected attraction.

Arabella, without waiting for a response, turned on her heel and walked out of the room. The slam of the door echoed down the hall, leaving him alone in the silence of the room.

Rafe stood in the same spot, still bewildered by the fight. He looked down at his hands, still remembering the feel of Arabella's skin under his fingers, and realized how strong the fight had been. He never expected her to stand up to him like that, let alone with such determination.

He slumped down on the bed, staring at the ceiling. He knew she was right. If they were to survive this marriage, he would have to do more than disappear and drink himself to forget. He would have to do his part, or at least pretend.

Rafe closed his eyes, trying to calm the storm of thoughts in his mind, but Arabella's words kept echoing in his head.

A few weeks passed, with Rafe trying hard to stay within the role of "good husband," keeping up appearances at family meals, accompanying Arabella to social events, and exchanging a few kind words when they were in public. But every night, when the rest of the house was asleep, Rafe would disappear. He would leave without warning, and even though he tried to be discreet, Arabella always noticed. The sound of the door closing softly but firmly woke her up every time, and even though she didn't say anything, she felt how this nightly routine was feeding a silent anger inside her.

Arabella wasn't entirely sure where Rafe went or who he met, but she sensed it. This marriage had already put her in a difficult position, and now she added the fact that he would disappear at night, making it clear that he didn't care what she thought or felt. Even though she didn't tell anyone, the situation made her angrier than she wanted to admit.

One Saturday, however, was an important day: Arabella's 19th birthday. The Cameron family had planned a party in her honor. It would be a big party, with friends and acquaintances. There was a theme for the celebration: a white party, where all the guests had to wear white, except Arabella.

From early on, the house was already in full swing. The staff was running around, preparing every detail: lights, flowers, music, drinks. White decorations hung all over the place, while the glass tables sparkled under the afternoon sun. Sarah, who was more excited than Arabella about the party, had spent the whole morning helping her choose her dress.

"You're going to look stunning tonight," Sarah had told her with a mischievous smile as she handed her the bright red dress she had chosen for the occasion. It was a long, form-fitting dress with delicate embroidery that reflected the light with every movement. It contrasted perfectly with the wedding ring Arabella wore on her hand.

Amidst all the whiteness of the party, she would be the only one standing out.

Sarah was also excited that her boyfriend, John B, would be attending the party. Rafe didn't like the idea at all. In fact, the presence of John B and his group of friends, the Pogues, bothered him deeply, but he couldn't do anything about it.

When night came, the Cameron mansion was sparkling clean, illuminated by the warm lights and the vibrant music coming out of the speakers. Guests began to arrive one by one, all dressed impeccably in white. Sarah, wearing a tight white dress like the rest of the guests, was happy to welcome her friends. John B arrived with a big smile, greeting Arabella with an affectionate hug, while his friends stood close by, looking around. Despite their relaxed attitude, it was clear that they knew they weren't entirely welcomed by some of the attendees.

Arabella, in her red dress, walked among the guests, accepting congratulations and smiles.

Rafe, meanwhile, stood across the courtyard, keeping his distance. Though he did his best to maintain a present husbandly facade, Arabella noticed the way his eyes kept wandering in other directions. Right now, though, she wasn’t going to let that get to her. It was her birthday, and she wanted to enjoy it.

As the night progressed, the guests began to dance, and the mood became more relaxed. John B and the Pogues joined the dance floor, dancing carefreely, while Sarah laughed at the scene and pulled Arabella along to join them. For a moment, Arabella let herself go, laughing alongside Sarah as they twirled under the lights.

The night had progressed. The music was still thumping throughout the house, the laughter and the hustle and bustle of the party continued at its pace, but Arabella was already feeling exhausted. Sitting on one side of the patio, with a glass of wine in her hand, she watched as the guests continued to dance and laugh. Everything seemed to happen around her as if she were in a dream, but she couldn’t help but feel out of place. Rafe had disappeared, as usual, and although that bothered her, she felt more irritated by the fake smile he had maintained for hours.

Suddenly, JJ, one of Sarah’s friends, approached with his usual carefree smile. He seemed to have noticed her boredom from across the patio.

“Everything okay, birthday girl?” he asked with a mischievous smile as he sat down next to her.

Arabella raised an eyebrow, surprised by his presence.

“It could be better,” she replied, sketching a small smile. “But thanks for asking.”

“You know, you’re way too serious to be hosting a party,” JJ commented, leaning in a little closer. “What’s wrong? Don’t rich people know how to have fun?”

Arabella laughed softly, a laugh she hadn’t felt all night. There was something about the way JJ carried himself, that relaxed, disinterested attitude, that made her feel more comfortable. He told her a couple of jokes, jokes without much depth but that managed to distract her, making her laugh for real. It was a respite from all the chaos.

What Arabella didn’t notice was that, across the courtyard, Rafe was watching her. Although he had been absent for most of the night, when he returned to the party his eyes immediately fell on his wife, and he didn’t like what he saw at all. Arabella was laughing with JJ, a laugh that she hadn’t directed at him at any point in the night. A feeling of anger began to grow inside her.

Without thinking twice, Rafe strode across the room, jaw clenched and fists clenched. JJ’s eyes widened slightly as she saw him approach, but she didn’t move, maintaining her relaxed posture.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Rafe blurted out, interrupting the conversation with his harsh voice.

Arabella, surprised by the tone, looked at Rafe with wide eyes.

“We’re just talking, Rafe,” JJ said calmly, holding up her hands in a sign of peace. “Relax.”

But that response only fueled Rafe’s fury further. Without another word, he threw a punch that landed squarely on JJ’s jaw, sending him reeling back. Arabella screamed in surprise as she tried to get between them.

“Rafe, stop it!” she yelled, trying to push him back.

JJ’s friends quickly intervened as well, separating the two before things got out of hand. JJ, his face full of rage, shouted something at Rafe, but didn’t get to finish before Sarah dragged him out of the place, along with John B and the others.

The party, which had been in full swing, paused momentarily as the guests watched the scene uncomfortably. Rafe was breathing heavily, his face still full of fury, while Arabella looked at him with a mix of disbelief and anger.

“You’re an idiot,” she whispered to him, her face hardened before turning and heading to her room.

Arabella didn't want to stay there for a second longer. Anger and shame mixed inside her. She didn't want to see anyone, much less Rafe. She headed for the stairs, wanting to get to her room to lock herself in and be alone.

“Arabella!” Rafe shouted from behind, following her with hurried steps.

She didn't answer. She quickly climbed the stairs, ignoring his shouts. The music had started again, and the murmurs of the guests as well, as if the party was trying to continue despite the recent chaos. But Arabella had only one goal: to get away from Rafe.

When she finally reached her room, she closed the door behind her, breathing hard, trying to calm herself. However, a few seconds later, the door slammed open. Rafe burst in furiously, his eyes still burning with anger.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” he blurted, slamming the door behind him hard. “You're my wife! What were you doing with him?”

Arabella stared at him in disbelief, the anger that had been building up all night finally bursting forth.

“What was I doing?” she replied, her voice full of sarcasm. “Nothing! I was talking to someone, Rafe. Talking! Because you, my dear husband, have been missing all night, as usual.”

Rafe took a step towards her, his expression hardening.

“It’s none of your business what I do. You’re my wife, and if I don’t want to be around, it’s my damn right.”

Arabella let out a bitter laugh.

“Right?” she repeated. “And what about my rights, Rafe? You disappear every night! You don’t even bother to give me an excuse. The least I can do is have a conversation with someone. Or are you going to forbid me from that too?”

“You’re not going to get anything,” he growled, moving even closer, until he was face to face with her. “I’m your husband, and that should be enough. I don’t need to explain my actions to you.”

Arabella pushed him away, her rage overcoming any fear.

“That’s bullshit, Rafe! You can disappear every night, satisfy your ‘needs,’ but I can’t even laugh with anyone? It’s unfair, and I hate it!”

Arabella tried to pull away, wanting to get out of the room, but before she could reach the door, Rafe grabbed her arm tightly.

“Don’t you dare leave here,” he said, his voice low and menacing.

Arabella tried to pull away, but Rafe’s strength held her in place. Their breaths were rapid, and they were both wrapped in a storm of emotions.

“What are you going to do, Rafe?” she snapped, looking at him defiantly. “Keep treating me like an object?” Like I’m nothing more than a fucking decoration in your life?”

Rafe’s eyes flashed with a mix of frustration and something else, something Arabella couldn’t quite put her finger on until, without warning, he pulled her close and kissed her hard. It was an abrupt kiss, full of tension and fury, almost as if he were trying to silence her. But Arabella, still filled with anger, initially resisted, pushing him away with her hands, though the force of the moment caught up with her. Her tense body finally gave in to the intensity of the kiss as the emotional conflict between them consumed them.

They were both caught in a tangle of conflicting feelings, hatred, attraction, and unspoken desire.

Arabella stood there, standing in the center of the room, her breathing still labored after that kiss that had left her more bewildered than ever. It wasn’t the kiss itself that confused her, but everything behind it: the rage, the desire, and the frustration. Rafe had abruptly pulled away from her, almost as if the physical contact had been more than he could bear, and without saying a single word, he turned and walked out of the room, leaving Arabella in an internal storm.

Arabella couldn't take this constant back and forth of emotions anymore. She felt like everything was falling apart around her. Rafe's mix of rejection and desire made her feel small, vulnerable, as if every action of hers could cause a new disaster.

"Not this time," she thought determinedly, feeling the rage begin to boil inside her. She wasn't going to let him humiliate her and leave again, not without facing him once more. So, without thinking too much, she ran out of the room.

She quickly descended the stairs, ignoring the murmurs of the party that continued below, the lights flickering, the music blaring, as she desperately searched for Rafe. She found him in the front yard, just in time to see him climb into his Jeep. Fury mixed with desperation pushed her forward.

“Rafe!” she screamed, her voice sharp, making him stop.

He turned, his hand already on the car door handle, his eyes meeting hers. Arabella walked towards him, taking deep breaths to calm herself, but she couldn’t stop her voice from sounding broken inside.

“Don’t go,” she said, almost pleading. “Not tonight. Stay with me, at least today.”

Rafe watched her silently, his eyes analyzing her as she stood motionless by the car. Arabella had never felt so vulnerable. It was like everything she felt was being laid out before him, and that simple act of asking him to stay made her feel weak, but she couldn’t take it anymore. She didn’t know how to handle all of this, she didn’t know how to handle him.

“I don’t want things to go on like this,” she admitted, almost with a lump in her throat. “I want… I want everything to be easier, Rafe. I’m tired of fighting with you, of feeling like we’re enemies.” Her voice cracked slightly at the end. “I don’t know what else to do.”

Rafe, still silent, clenched his jaw, clearly struggling with his own thoughts. Arabella was watching him, waiting for some sign, anything to indicate that he was willing to do something different as well. After a few seconds of hesitation, however, he looked away, as if he couldn’t bear the pressure of the conversation.

Arabella understood. He was between a rock and a hard place, and he probably wouldn’t know how to deal with her or his own feelings. She let out a tired sigh, slumping her shoulders as if the weight of the entire day had suddenly fallen on her.

“Forget it,” she finally muttered, giving up, feeling completely defeated. “It doesn’t matter. Do what you want.”

She simply turned around, walking back to the house, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill. The pain in her chest was unbearable, as if all her effort to make this marriage work was useless. She didn’t want to cry, not tonight. She just wanted to forget everything, sleep, and have the world disappear for a few hours.

Back in her room, she closed the door behind her, letting the silence envelop her. She began to undress slowly, as if each piece of clothing she removed would ease a little of the weight she carried. First her shoes, which she tossed aside carelessly, then the jewelry she was wearing, leaving only her wedding ring on her finger, a cruel irony. Finally, she unbuttoned the sparkly dress she had worn that night, the same dress that had drawn so many glances, but which now seemed like a prison of fabric. She carefully removed it, letting it fall to the floor, leaving her there in her underwear, the cold of the room enveloping her exposed skin.

As she stared into the mirror, seeing her nearly naked reflection and feeling more vulnerable than ever, she heard the door softly open behind her. She turned quickly, surprised to see Rafe standing there, his face impassive but his eyes fixed on her.

Arabella stood stock still, not knowing what to do or say. She had expected him to leave, to leave her alone like he always did. But this time it was different. He closed the door behind him and began to walk slowly towards her, his eyes scanning her body intently, as if he were really seeing her for the first time.

The air grew heavy in the room, and for a moment, Arabella thought about saying something, but her voice caught in her throat. Rafe reached her without a word, standing just inches away. His closeness enveloped her, and before she could process what was happening, he grabbed the back of her neck and kissed her. This time it wasn't like before. Although there was still an undeniable intensity in the contact, it wasn't driven by anger or frustration. There was something else, something she couldn't understand.

Arabella closed her eyes and kissed him back, letting her body respond automatically. She felt a mix of emotions, between pain, desire and emptiness. She didn't know if she hated Rafe or if, at that moment, she desperately needed him.

Rafe's hands ran over her body with a firmness that made her shudder, and when he lifted her into his arms, she couldn't resist. He carried her to the bed, and without saying a single word, he laid her down gently, his lips never leaving her kiss.

That was their first night together, a night filled with mixed feelings. There was no love in their gestures, but no hate either. Just a physical connection that they both needed at that moment. Arabella gave herself to him, but at the same time, deep inside, she felt a deep sadness that she couldn't fully explain. It was as if, even though their bodies were together, their souls were in completely different worlds.

When it was all over, Rafe just stood there beside her, breathing heavily in the darkness. Arabella, on the other hand, turned away, staring at the window, letting the tears she had held back all night finally fall.

[abihastastybeans]

Jily week - Day 2 - Partners in crime

@kay-elle-cee @sunshinemarauder

Heavy footsteps thundering down the stairs made Lily look away from the morning rays filtering through their bedroom screen. A knock sounded on the door.

"Come in," she called.

Harry opened the door, looking all disheveled, clutching a letter tight in his hand. His T-shirt was inside out.

"Mum," he said. "Ron's written back saying he'll be here, along with Ginny, sometime after breakfast."

"Oh, good," Lily settled back against the headboard. "Gives us enough time to get up and going, then."

"Er, yeah," Harry replied, uncertainly. He tried to appear calm but his fidgeting told her otherwise. "Did you already know that Ginny was coming along?"

Lily hid a smile. "Yes," she replied, nonchalantly. "Yes, I told Molly I'd give her a hand with Ginny's school shopping. That way she doesn't have to make the trip to Diagon Alley as well."

"Oh."

Her eyes were drawn to the bathroom door as James walked into the room, toweling his hair. He smiled seeing their son.

"Morning, Harry," he said, ruffling Harry's hair as he walked by him. He was now almost as tall as his father, having grown more than a foot during the summer. "Ron's letter?"

Harry ducked away from James, and combed his hand through his wild mop, trying to get it to lay down. "Yeah..."

"Ron and Ginny will be here after breakfast," Lily piped up from her comfortable place on the bed. "We can leave as soon as they're here."

"Oh, good," James said appreciatively. "By the way, Harry, I almost forgot," he turned to Harry with a twinkle in his eyes. "I'm taking mum out for lunch once we're done with your shopping. I hope you don't mind us leaving you alone for a while."

Lily watched amused as a faint blush appeared on their teenaged son's face. "Yeah, it's-" he cleared his throat, "-it's alright. Sure." Avoiding their eyes, he quickly retreated from the room, the bounding footsteps and the thud of a door closing following his wake.

James turned to look at Lily at once. "Did you see his face?" he laughed.

Lily grinned. "Poor thing, had to stress himself about all that as soon as he woke up."

"He looks just like you," James said, fondly.

Lily scrunched her nose. "What're you on about? He's your clone."

"No," James shook his head and walked to the bed, "It's exactly the same way you acted when you didn't wanted to admit your feelings."

Lily chuckled and pulled him by his hand. The bed dipped where James' leaned his weight. "Did you really plan a lunch or was that just your ploy to get them alone?" She asked.

"What do you think?" James smiled, cupping her face, and pressing a soft kiss on her lips.

[percynorthwest]

Jegulus microfic - doctor

2/5-2024 @jegulus-microfic words:~1060

cw:medical inaccuracies, pregnancy scare (ig?), complications, ectopic pregnancy

"And how long has the pain been going on for?"

"It started maybe two days ago. But it got so much worse this morning." Regulus replied. "And my shoulders started hurting too, at the same time," Regulus shrugged, "I don't know."

James could see that tried his best to keep his composure, but he could see the pain Regulus was in by his stiff posture and the constant frown on his face.

"And since then, it feels like I'm constantly on the brink of fainting."

The doctor typed quickly on her computer. She too had a quaint frown on her face. James held Regulus' hand, stroking his thumb over the back of his hand. Regulus hand was cold, more so than usual, and he was looking a tad to pale, all furthering James' worry.

James looked up to Regulus' face, and saw how he took deep, rhythmical, breaths, once again indicating of how much pain he was in. His eyes were closed tightly, and when he opened them, he blinked rapidly to keep the tears at bay. James understood how much he hated this; being so in the centre of attention; being vulnerable; in pain. James raised Regulus' hand to give it a soft kiss.

"And how long ago since your last period?" the doctor asked.

Regulus stiffened further where he sat on the plastic bed. This wasn't a topic Regulus was particularly comfortable with.

"Ehm, two years ago, maybe." He replied, still looking uncomfortable, "It kinda stopped once I got on hormones."

The doctor swirled away from the computer screen, now instead facing Regulus on her chair.

"Are you sexually active?"

James could see Regulus getting immediately red, before he answered with a nod. Then Regulus' frown deepened further.

"But I have an IUD, since like three years ago. And I'm at no risk of STDs or anything" He explained quickly with a now really worried look on his face, looking even more pale.

"It's still highly unlikely, but not impossible." The doctor explained, following Regulus' line of thinking. "I want to be on the safe side though, so I'm going to order some blood test, that will not only screen for pregnancy, and then I'd also like to order an ultrasound."

Regulus was certainly looking a lot more pale now, but he nodded along.

"Both the blood test and the ultrasound could indicate what's going on, not only whether or not it's a pregnancy."

Regulus looked just as worried, but he nodded again, maybe just a tad relieved after the doctor's reassurance.

When the doctor left the room, Regulus dropped his head back on the plastic bed, groaning out loud. James dragged his chair closer to the bed, wanting to support Regulus in any way he could. Regulus dragged his legs up, folding himself up like a ball. James placed a hand on Regulus' knee. He could hear Regulus' uneven breathing, making his heart break further. He stood up, bringing his hands to Regulus' face, cupping slightly and wiping away the few tears that had started falling down his chin.

A nurse or something akin to one, maybe a midwife, entered the room. Both James and Regulus startled slightly, and Regulus immediately wiped away any of the tears James had missed. James didn't sit back down again, wanting to be as close as possible.

"If you could just come with me," she said softly.

They followed her into another room, in the same part of the hospital. The room had stirrups, which made Regulus grip James' hand more tightly. Another nurse sat in the room already, and he seemed to be preparing blood tests.

Regulus was asked to sit down, and the male nurse took two vials of blood, while the other nurse prepared the ultrasound. After the vials were filled with crimson red blood, the male nurse left -thankfully, as Regulus probably didnt want more people in the room than necessary.

The whole procedure was quite quick. Regulus was asked to take his pants off and place his legs in those uncomfortable stirrups, and the nurse could quite quickly confirm that Regulus had a ectopic pregnancy, letting Regulus get down and get dressed again.

"What does that mean?" James asked after Regulus didn't say anything.

"The egg has been fertilized outside of the uterus," she explained. "In your case on your left fallopian tube. It happens to about one in 90 pregnancy, and if one is to get pregnant while using an IUD, the risk increases." Regulus nodded, seeming to be listening in. "I'll have to confer with the doctor, but either you will have to wait it out, under observation, or you'll be given medicines to stop furthering growth. There's also a surgery, if necessary."

She left in order to get the doctor.

Regulus turned to James, with a stern look on his face.

"We are never having sex again."

James immediately burst out in laughter, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle the sound, so stunned by the exclamation. Regulus was looking straight ahead, but James could see a smirk creeping on his face.

Once James had managed to stop, he turned to Regulus again;

"How are you feeling?" He asked softly, looking intently at his boyfriend's face, trying to gauge his emotions.

"Pretty fucking bad." he said, laughing slightly, but James could see the look of anxiety on his face, as well as a few tears escaping his eyes.

Regulus closed his eyes tightly, and groaned loudly as he pressed the heel of his hands into his face.

"I mean what the actual fuck? This is barley supposed to be possible!"

James didn't know what to say, instead just stroking Regulus' hair, tucking a lock behind his ear.

"I don't know, baby," he murmured, placing a kiss on top of his hair.

"This is your fault, you know." Regulus said, dropping his hands in order to glare at James. "You're sleeping on the couch indefinitely."

"Sure," he replied warmly. He would probably sleep on the street if Regulus so asked.

Regulus turned on the bed, dropping his legs of the side, now sitting turned to James. His face was still slightly crunched up in pain, and tears framed his eyes. He leaned towards James, who immediately engulfed him in a tight hug. Reg sobbed quietly into James' chest. James stroked his back.

"Everything will be okay," He murmured, once again into the top of his hair.

a/n:

i don't have a medical degree or anything, this is from what i've been taught in school and what i've researched online, so this could possibly be incredibly inaccurate, probably most so regarding procedure etc.

[ddejavvu]

mei!! congrats on 20k!! 'i just don't want anyone to know i've fallen for you.' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :) bradley bradshaw being so starstruck of his newborn caroline :)) him always staring at the baby being all :]] and every time she cries he stops whatever he drops and stops whatever he's doing immediately and be all D: and him being such a good house husband taking care of his wife after giving birth

join my 20K celebration!

'i just don't want anyone to know i've fallen for you.' - send me a request for a baby blurb! give me a character, and a plotline, and i'll write you a little fanfiction :)

--

Bradley isn't easily broken away from Guys' Night. This week it's online, over headsets while he stations himself in front of the television with a controller in his hand. He's not the biggest fan of video games, but Hangman's challenged him, so he has to be the best.

You're happy to let him have time to himself, because it isn't easy to get that with a newborn baby. Bradley's gone above and beyond what you'd ever expected of him, volunteering for every feeding and scooping little Caroline up each time she cries. He'll always hand her over to you if you ask, but he's stuck to her like a magnet, so you're happy that he's getting a break to do something a little more fun than washing dirty onesies.

You're putting her in a fresh one now, the soiled one in the laundry pile. She doesn't like that she's not being coddled, already spoiled by her dad's insistence on holding her, and she starts to fuss while you're picking out her new outfit.

"Honey, it's okay," You croon, your wrist bent at an awkward angle as you rifle through a drawer of her onesies. You're looking for a specific print, but if she doesn't calm, you might have to go with the first one you can grab.

"It's alright," You promise her, watching her little face screw up, "No, honey, no tears, c'mon. You're okay, Mommy's here, you're-"

"Honey?" Bradley makes a rather unexpected appearance, headset still over his ears and mic angled downwards as he surveys the situation. Apparently he's heard her cries, and come running like a puppy on a leash.

"She's okay, Brad." You promise, finally finding the soft texture of the onesie you're searching for and dragging it out of the drawer, "Just fussy. You can go back to your game, sorry she scared you."

"S'okay," He shakes his head, taking the headset off and discarding it haphazardly on the dresser as he crosses the room to pick her up, "Daddy missed you, y'know? Holding a video game controller is so much worse than holding a baby. 'Specially when she's so cute," He gushes, leaning down to rub his nose to hers, which soothes her cries in an instant, "Huh, angel? Cutest baby in the world."

"That makes sense, though," Bradley hums, cradling her to his chest and angling his body towards you so that she looks the same way, "'Cause your mama's so beautiful, doesn't surprise me you are, too. Yeah," He sends you a dopey grin, turning back to Caroline to kiss her forehead, unphased as she drags a fistful of his shirt into her mouth. You hear a faint slew of sounds coming from Bradley's headset, and you reach for it, tentatively holding one of the pads to your ear. You're worried about what you might hear, considering all you've heard about video game talk among men, but all that greets you is whiny grown men.

"-fair! Rooster just gets to dip whenever he's dying, and go hold a baby?"

"I'd ditch this round, too, if I were him," Hangman drawls, "He knew he couldn't catch up with me."

"I dunno, Hangman. I'd rather go see my gorgeous wife and kid than beat your score," Payback quips, and you let out a fond chuckle for the man.

"Thanks, Reuben," You hum into the mic, and Bradley shares an amused grin with you over their antics.

"Hey, there she is! How's the baby?" Fanboy pipes up, and you wish you could show him her sleepy little face as she curls into Bradley's embrace.

"She's good! She's tired," You laugh, "Bradley might be occupied for a little while longer."

"All good," Javy promises, and you can hear the adoring grin in his voice, "And how's the mama?"

"I'm tired, too," You laugh, "Maybe I'll leave Caroline with Bradley and go take a nap myself."

"Go ahead, baby," Bradley nods, speaking at a low enough level that it doesn't bother Caroline where she's beginning to doze off on his chest, "I'll put the port-a-crib in the living room, 'n watch over her while I play. I'm sure she'll nap for a bit, she's probably tired since she missed her 10 o'clock nap."

"You sure?" You raise a concerned brow, "I was just teasing, Brad, I can take her."

"I'm sure," He waves off your worry, "Go nap, honey, you deserve it. I can handle her, I promise."

"I know you can," You smile at his insistence, "I just don't want to mess up Guys' Night."

"No, she could never mess it up," Bradley kisses Caroline's smooth forehead, "She'll just make it better, baby. I'll teach her to play."

"She'll eat your controller," You giggle, passing Bradley's headset back over to him and kissing your sleepy baby's chubby cheek, "Be good for Dada, okay? And go easy on Hangman, jellybean, I don't think he can handle being beaten by a baby."

[arch3ontumbl]

World Bearer Part 1

Bearing his child as he was fighting in Shibuya

It wasn't intended neither it was accident, the child you caress in your womb, it was the result of love. A couple of days earlier barely even recalling the dates, news came unto you as Shoko informed you of Gojo captured, impossible..

He promised

He always promises y/n, you thought to yourself having filled with worry and doubt this time the result would be different, this time he wouldn't be able to be by your side, the last smile he gave you, the last kiss, it floods all to your every bit of sanity left.

You wept unsure of what to do, this is bad for your child. It's stressing you out knowing you can't do anything and you can't ask anyone about it. It pains you that you cannot be beside him nor come to his rescue, you carry the world inside you and you can't risk to lose any of which.

Your whole relationship with him was hidden deeper than 6 feet graves could even speak, only Shoko were informed and were supposed to be the only person besides him to assist you on giving birth.

'missed a call from Shoko'

You missed her first call as you were to focused on picking up some shards of glass, you dropped the mug you and Gojo share for every morning coffee.

Broken. You struggle to bend down as your belly bump is clearly on the way, you stood up and checked your phone to your surprise

Is it finally good news

You called back as she picked up in a hurry, she seemed to hesitate to tell, she hesitated to cause anymore stress than to bear the very weight of the next possibly most powerful sorcerer to mankind in the next generation. Even the weight of the child causes a wave of imbalance in the world between curses and the burden of being expected to be the sword and shield for the most dangerous circumstances awaits your child if his birth were to be exposed and known to the world.

It's what Gojo went through afterall

"y/n listen, Gojo is out now and currently facing curses and possibly Sakuna. I am called for support for the sorcerers in Shibuya—" she paused for what seemed eternity, fueling my anxiety and worry.

"y/n I just wanted to tell you to worry a bit less, he told me to relay you his message: I'd win, I'd be there when our son is born. I'm the strongest afterall" Shoko whispered to the phone as I let out a little chuckle still with a hint of nervous yet comfort. Atleast feel a little ease for the child you bear, for the child you birth with Gojo beside you.

"Thank you Shoko" I whispered back, your voice crack and break devours the silence of the room.

2 hours pass, and shit you feel building up contractions, painfully telling you your world is about to arrive. You rush to get some lukewarm water, a damp towel, quickly sterilize some scissors and a warm blanket

Yet he is not here, he's in battle, fighting

Unable to contact anyone else you try to reach for Shoko again. Afraid, you're just straight up afraid. Your timing your contractions yourself as you lay down your soft bed sheets, slowly painting it with blood. Gojo is in his battlefield and so are you, you combat the pain as you try to push harder and harder not trying to pass out on the way.

One

Two

Three

You push, again

One

Two

You push, you can't stop here. Your child needs to get out now

You gave another hard push screaming your lungs out, cursing, fist balled in the sheets as the other scratched the bed board.

Finally, a cry

Don't faint, don't faint

You pick yourself up, positioning yourself to sit back at the bed frame for support. Picking up your child and expertly cutting his umbilical cord before you could finally fix your eyes on your child you made sure to hear his heart beat, your scared you did a step wrong.

But his heart beat as loud as he cried, you admire your child clearly reassembling your husband. His hair and the same goes for his eye lashes, white as snow, his eyes with a hint of you a hue of purple and mainly the blue skies, high and mighty, adding the captivating and deep capture of the ocean you admire from Gojo.

You cried, as your child slept in your arms. A call notifies your phone enough for you to immediately answer before it wakes up your son.

"He's here" you said as Shoko could picture your smile from the phone call before she could even speak a word, her seconds of silence sends you a break of her heart like she's about to break another bad news for you.

[shalotttower]

Fractalize (part 2)

Title: Fractalize Fandom: Hunter x Hunter Summary: "You do this sometimes," he continues, tugging a bit harder. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago." Word count: 2100+ Characters: Chrollo x Reader (female) Notes: yandere Chrollo, kidnapped, depressed and miserable Reader, Reader is dissociating, morbid pondering, morbid imagery, psychological manipulation, intrusive thoughts, non-con touching, non-con kiss. I start thinking that sad is probably my favourite genre to write at this point. Part 1 Part 3 is in question. I have some drafts, but not sure if it'll become anything.

Fractalize - making things into smaller copies of themselves over and over again.

Your mother always smelled of fresh linen and something powdery, like her face cream which you tried once in secret. The fragrance held you mesmerized, and when the jar accidentally dropped from your hand, shattering into pieces, it lingered everywhere: on the bathroom tiles, in the cracks and narrow space under the sink. Her silent disappointment was so overpowering that you cleaned the mess three times.

That scent clung to her knitting needles too when she sat with yarn on her lap. It made way into your mind place, waiting for the most inappropriate of moments to resurface: she would show you how to knit, loop after loop, and eventually you were able to create your own tiny scarf.

Hideous, that's what it was.

But also the first thing you ever knitted, so you cherished it, not caring for the holes and loose threads. She called it pretty, mothers do lie like that.

"I was thinking," Chrollo begins. Clean plates are stacked next to a dish rack, ready to be dried. You help him sometimes with this mundane chore out of boredom or a faint allusion to the life you had.

"Mm."

When you stand so close, his shoulder occasionally touches yours, and a lump forms in your throat, a very unimportant physical aspect of your being that you've stopped paying attention to long ago. You swallow it away, like every single morning before putting on the same shirt for the eighth day in a row.

Dry and repeat.

"Is there anything specific you'd like to do today?"

You pick up another plate. How odd. A few months ago this question would've made you ecstatic. Not that there was a real chance to sway Chrollo's plans, but it was a gesture, the pretence that your input mattered, and you took everything from it, until it started tasting stale. A shy kind of feeling, misplaced and fragile, would bloom in your chest, and prompt you say something soft, silly and naive: 'maybe we can have a picnic?', 'I'd like a carrot cake', 'yes, I want to watch that period drama for the hundredth time.'

And he would agree sometimes. Or suggest his alternative instead, which turned out more often than not to be less favorable, but you accepted it because what else was there? In-between the walls decorated with expensive paintings, books you already read three times, between Chrollo who listened intently to every word and a faint buzz of some high-end place, you chose to take whatever you could.

It doesn't bother you anymore, going or not going. Doing nothing or doing something. Being with him in a room or being alone, even though the last one is more compelling. The initial excitement that came with having small choices has passed. You think sometimes that if you took a knitting needle and sunk it deep into your chest, the surface around it would start crumbling and bare a hollow cavity with just ribs and dusty spaces.

Chrollo's suggestions are very thought out. Aimed to convince you that this arrangement isn't that bad after all, but also aimed to bring him something from it, be it sitting uncomfortably close to you on a sofa or holding your hand the entire walk. His presence is stifling in more ways than one, and you've been choking, choking, choking on it for so long, that finally all those cracks running across your insides started to feel liberating.

"No," you say. "Not really. Anything you want is fine."

Chrollo's been asking this more often lately. What you want to eat and what you want to do. Even whether you want to go out sometimes (with him, of course, never alone). Perhaps he's trying to figure any new preference you might have. Or a part of him can sense this deterioration that's slow to set in, but once it does - it stays.

"Dear," there's a tone in his voice. It's not worry per se. Chrollo doesn't worry for you, he worries for that little world of his, made of forced interactions, silk bed sheets and fake domesticity, which you're a part of, an intricate cog he can keep closely tucked to his side. Sheltered, protected, cared for - these words don't fit. So you use other instead, like imprisoned, kept, thing. He likes to have them, from trinkets he steals to human beings - you. Maybe it comes from years of owning nothing at all, having nothing at all, and now the allure of having much and more is like second skin.

You've heard stories about children abandoned to their own devices. Those who were left to roam the streets, scavenge through trash and fight other kids for a half-eaten sandwich or a can of beans. You wonder if he was like that, with messy hair, bony limbs and a desperate need to own something that no one could take.

Bit by bit you slip.

That tone means he's sensing it already, that bit by bit you're trying to leave him behind.

Chrollo always catches up with things easily. From the way he grips your arms, you wonder if that's what he did just now, caught up.

"Yes?"

The dishes are all done, clean and sparkling. The sink shines too, almost mocking you with its perfectness - there's nothing to do anymore. Your mind space of fake wooden floors and wide windows is waiting to be occupied, but it would feel wrong to retreat there so soon. Chrollo will ask questions, and if you're not able to keep up, he'll notice too. He slides both palms down your skin, squeezing a tad harder at the elbows; and so you stare into the sink.

His hands aren't soft at all. They're a little dry from soap, callused around fingertips. How effortless it would be for him to break your bones, one by one, starting from the wrist, but that won't happen; no, all that comes from him is words whispered in your ear, caresses and cruelty wrapped in kindness - it sounds poetic when phrased this way.

Your reflection stares back from the stainless metal. She doesn't look bad. Chrollo takes good care of her, makes sure she eats balanced meals and drinks enough water. She looks alright, with shiny hair and healthy nails.

The eyes is what doesn't match this picture of okay-ness. Not empty. Not vacant. Just frozen in time and very, very still.

Chrollo presses closer until his chest is touching her shoulder blades. You wonder if he considers it a victory, this silent compliance. It's not acceptance really, because that should be accompanied by a sense of peace or fulfillment and none of the two are currently present. It's not even resignation - that requires energy to acknowledge defeat.

If neither of those, what is it then?

"You've been awfully quiet today."

A drop of water falls from the tap and slides down the drain.

"The whole week in fact," his thumb strokes her stomach through the fabric. Slow circles, up and down. Chrollo enjoys physical closeness so much that it should be surprising for someone like him - reserved, calm and collected - to thrive on such things, but you suppose when it comes to her there's an exception.

"Not that I mind it, but if something's bothering you, you know that I'm always ready to listen."

There is something bothering you actually. Many things. You want your cat back. You want him gone, away, to see your mother again and bake with her. Eat fresh pastries while listening to old songs on the radio and talk about silly things or whatever she liked to ponder over before you were swept off your feet like in those old fairy tales. You want your phone and accounts unlocked so you could message friends. You miss your grandmother with her apron, the way she laughed at corny jokes and told stories about her youth. You want many things that Chrollo would never agree on - you're well aware of that, that's why you keep them safely tucked away and rotting.

You also want him to stop pressing against your back, and this is far easier to achieve. Slowly you untuck yourself from between his body and the counter, then turn around. He watches your face calmly like always, with this unblinking gaze full of strange fixation; there are small lines in the corners of his eyes, barely noticeable ones. You count them - six in total, three for each eye.

Then you blink.

"I don't think there is anything."

"Really," Chrollo hums, playing with the hem of your shirt, and you wonder if he knows something you're not aware of him knowing. "You've spoken less than ten sentences in two days, yet there's nothing bothering you. I must say I don't believe that."

So this is how it's going to start. This is how the conversation begins, and it'll flow from here until Chrollo finds what he's searching for.

"I've been paying close attention."

You don't doubt it.

"And what did you notice?"

"Nothing pleasant," his finger finds a loose thread and wraps it around. The pull is light, as if testing whether it'll prompt you to move closer into his space. "Quite concerning things actually."

You don't budge an inch.

"You do this sometimes," he continues. "When I ask a question and it takes you longer to respond. When we watch a movie, and I'm sure you stopped following at least twenty minutes ago. Or when you go over the same page until it's clear that I'm looking."

Chrollo's collarbone is a crisp line with a faint old scar; your attention skims over it to the sharp edges of his jaw. No smile today.

"And I wondered where you have been going."

He tugs a bit harder and the thread snaps.

It should've stunned you how fast everything crumbled - the imaginary wooden floors, Miss Whiskerton on your lap and the lizard, the wide windows - but no, it's surprisingly anti-climactic. Nothing breaks dramatically, just splits the middle, leaving you with cold kitchen tiles underneath your bare feet. You thought about this scenario - Chrollo cornering you, many times, and the words you would choose when he did, yet they fail to manifest and nothing fills the silence except a mute sensation of acknowledgement which settles over your head and shoulders. Your knees don't buckle. Your breath doesn't hitch, there is no shivering, and perhaps that's the most terrifying reaction of all.

So what, you think. And it's such a simple thought, plain and ordinary, so what.

Chrollo has his ways, but you have yours; they are slow and small, and squeeze you very tight. You can't comprehend this new expression on his face, haven't seen it before.

"My dear," he says in a quiet voice, so unlike his usual smooth, charming tone. "Broken thoughts and forlorn dreams can't fix what you want them to."

He taps your forehead, as if to engrave those words into the soft tissue of your brain. They slip away though, like running water.

"Wherever you choose to wander, there's not a single spot where I'm not right behind. Delusions don't suit you and it's simply sad to watch."

The kiss comes without warning; Chrollo doesn't bother to say anything else, just cups your face. It's warm and deep, a full-mouthed kiss that tastes faintly of tea you two drank during breakfast.

It's rot, you realize with a ten minute delay; and this slack mouth he's caressing isn't yours. There's a plant behind his shoulder, some small cactus with white needles sitting on a windowsill. The sunlight creates patterns on the glass, soft yellow circles and lines. They shift every passing second.

He's going to do this now, isn't he. Kiss you when you slip too deep as a way to break the pattern and remind that this is where you're supposed to be - with him. In the kitchen wearing a thin shirt above the knee, with cracks that spread across your insides, seeking for every small space they can fill. You'll grow older by his side, he'll bring you material pleasures to compensate for the lack of mental ones - books, clothes, jewelry, a pet if you decide to ask (you won't). Chrollo is going to kiss you often until age creeps onto your faces, and you'll watch each other turn old together.

The plant on the windowsill looks so dry.

"Dear."

He pulls back a few inches. You meet his eyes.

"Mm?"

You will let the rot dig under your nails and wait for it to eat away until his hands eventually become empty; rot is something to grab onto. It's slow to set, but spreads fast once does and never runs out of supply.

[user2772636]

Douzième Fille

12th girl

××《☆》××

××《☆》××

Transferring schools after moving places for the 6th time, a new opportunity is given; a school for both boys and girls. With a new experience to be dealt with, will you survive a blooming rivalry with one of your classmates, a socialising society, and freshman year? Welcome to Voltaire High.

===

Joseph Descamps x Reader

Warnings: Teen boys being teen boys (ykwim), swearing, violence

===

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Chapter one: Mary Jane's

===

I polish my newly bought Mary Jane's, the last on my to-do list before heading to my new school. After I put them on, I get up to go in front of the mirror and fix my hair. I sigh deeply.

A new school, I think to myself. Again.

I grab my satchel and coat, put both on, and make my way outside.

I recently moved here, coming from Paris. I felt disappointed when we moved, feeling a part of me still in that city, but I knew I shouldn't feel that way. I should've expected it. It's now the sixth time we've moved places.

I live in a flat now with my parents and my cat, George, named after the member of The Beatles. My parents are both always at work, leaving me, most of the time, home alone.

I trip on a crack on the sidewalk, making me fall forward and almost hit a girl. She looks my age, has braided blonde hair and fluffy bangs. She just came out of the butcher's with a man. The man is very handsome, tall, neat, wearing a nicely tailored suit. He has a serious expression on his face.

He only glances at me before turning and ushering the blonde girl to follow him. She looks at me for a while more before turning and following the man.

I compose myself, feeling flustered, and I quickly brush it off. I continue to walk. In front of me, I noticed the two people I saw only a few seconds ago. The man walks off, and the girl stands still in her place. I purse my lips, wondering if I should come up to her. I did.

"Is that your father? He seems strict, but I'm only basing off my experience." I say as I stand next to her. She looks at me, a bit surprised. I wouldn't blame her.

"No. He's my brother. He's strict, yes. And it's very annoying." She furrows her brows a bit and groans. I chuckle.

"I'm Y/N. Where are you headed?" I put my hand out for her to shake.

"I'm Michèle. I'm headed to school, actually." She shakes my hand and smiles.

"Oh? Which school? I might be going to the same one."

"Voltaire. I hope you are. Otherwise, I'd be walking in, not knowing anyone but my brother." She cringes at the thought. I chuckle again. She's funny.

"Good thing I'm going there, too. Let's get going, yes? We don't want to draw any more attention." I tilt my head to the direction of the school. She nods.

I lead the way, her following only a few steps behind. The gates are wide open, and my stomach drops. First day of school jitters. The worst feeling ever. And there's boys everywhere. My stomach drops further.

I slow down my pace to be walking next to Michèle. My anxiety radiates off of me, and with my suddenly hightened senses, I feel Michèle's anxiety, too.

We walk past the gates, and all eyes are on us. My spine feels shivers. It's suddenly quiet. I keep my head held high to not give off an awkward stance. Michèle does the opposite.

Every step we take feels slower than usual. I hear whispers around the campus.

'There they are', 'She's pretty', 'Go talk to her!', 'They do have tits', 'Nice ass', 'They're not supposed to be here'.

My ear twitches, but I don't show a reaction on my face. I notice three boys on the bench, but one catches my eye.

He has sandy hair, wire framed glasses, and is sitting with both arms on the back of the backrest. Before I looked away, I saw a faint smirk on his lips.

We head to the board for our assigned rooms. Me and Michèle sigh in relief as we see our names listed to the same teacher.

I feel movement behind me, but before I could turn, a girl pops up next to us. She had short bobbed hair with a blue clip, bright eyes, and a wide smile.

"There aren't even twenty of us." She states. I smile softly. I hear Michèle sigh in joy.

"We thought we were the only girls." She points to the both of us, and I nod along.

"I waited for both of you to come in." A small laugh comes out from all of us. "I'm Simone."

"Michèle." She responds. They wait for me to respond.

"Y/N." I say, and Simone's face lights up. We pause for a while until Simone cuts the silence off.

"It feels like everyone's staring." She says worriedly but still with a smile on her face.

"They are." Me and Michèle say. The girls continue to talk as I look behind me again and see the sandy haired boy talking, or what looks like teasing, another boy. I think to myself, a bully. I grimace. I look away before he notices me staring.

"Are you wearing heels?" All of us look down to stare in awe at Michèle's foot wear.

"I didn't take you as a bold girl, Michèle." I joke, scoffing in amusement.

"My mom didn't say anything. Hopefully, the teachers don't say anything, too." We all laugh, nodding.

"Oh, Y/N. Look at yours. They look new." I look down at my Mary Jane's, smiling to myself.

"Yeah, they are. My parents got them as a moving gift." Simone nods, but Michèle looks confused.

"Moving gift?" She asks.

"They're gifts I receive when we move places. It's sort of a token of appreciation for being understanding from my parents." They both nod.

"Have you talked to the other girls?" Simone asks, glancing at them. As we all glanced behind, I noticed the boy that was being teased walk to our direction.

"Three were in my electives class, but we're not friends." I transfer my eyes to the group of girls. We look back at each other. Michèle looks to Simone. "Did you go to a Catholic school?"

"No, I was from Algiers. I got here a month ago. I don't know anyone." Simone smiles innocently. Their gazes shift to me. "What about you, Y/N? Are you old or new?"

"I'm new. I moved from Paris." I smile a bit sadly.

"Wow, Paris? I've always wanted to see the tower. Is it bigger than they say?" They start to ask me questions, and I answer happily. I cut them off once the boy I noticed walks closer.

"There's a boy coming. Stand still." They quickly shut up and look back at the board. I hold in a laugh.

"Oh no." The boy says, disappointed.

"Something wrong?" Michèle asks, curious by the boys' exclamation.

"My homeroom teacher is Bluebeard." He responds, now looking at us.

Me, Michèle, and Simone look at each other, confused.

Just then, a new girl walks in. She's wearing a blue dress and headband, her blonde hair swaying in the wind. She sticks out like a diamond in the rough. Boys exclaim, making the same comments they did when me and Michèle walked in, but more vulgar. Distaste has masked my face.

"Do you know her?" God bless Michèle's innocent soul. The boy shakes his head.

The bell rings, and I hear a series of groans. I sigh. The day has officially started.

××《☆》××

I make the lecture fade out of my ears, staring at the stage with no thought in my head. I feel a stare on my left

I turn my head and am met with eyes staring dead straight into mine. The glasses cover the way he'slooking at me, so i can't read how he's feeling, but his eyes are dark and hooded.

I look away slowly, a bit creeped out.

××《☆》××

I stare out the window, watching the trees sway in the breeze and the birds chirp, flapping their wings.

I snap back to reality when Ms. Giraud changes the seating arrangement of the boy we talked to earlier.

The boy with the sandy hair whispers something to him and makes him trip. The class laughs. I stare quietly and think, what an asshole.

"And you, girl with the Mary Jane's. What's your name?" Ms. Giraud says, but it feels like she's screaming. I stand up.

"Y/N Pardine." I respond. I feel the class's eyes on me. A certain pair of glasses covered ones make me shiver.

"Ms. Pardine, what's outside the window that's caught your attention?" I stare at her, a bit annoyed.

"Nothing, Ms. Giraud. I'm sorry I got distracted." There's a voice in my head saying fuck you.

She nods. Thank god. "Sit down. See class? That's how you should respond to your teacher." The lecture fades again as I stare off into space at my desk.

××《☆》××

I learned a few names after class. First, the blue dress girls' name is Annick, then the boy who always gets teased is Pichon, and last and very much the least, Joseph Descamps, the boy with the sandy hair.

××《☆》××

As we walk to our next class, someone bumps into my shoulder harshly. I look in front of me and see Descamps running with his friends. A teacher shouts something like 'no running in the halls'. I glare at his back, and he turns around, and he's smiling. Maybe it was because he was laughing, or maybe he was smiling at me. I stick to the first one and glare harder.

××《☆》××

We sit with the same arrangement as the last class. I tap my Mary Jane's on the hardwood floor and admire the way it shines with the sunlight hitting it.

"Excuse me, sir." I hear someone say. I turn my head and see both Descamps and Annick raising their hand.

"Yes?" The teacher asked. Descamps glances at me, and I furrow my brows. He smirks and looks away.

"I think she raised her hand." He states. I breathe out through my nose, a silent laugh. He's smiling again. Is he always this happy?

The teacher gives Annick a side look. Confusion covers my face. Does he think the girls aren't supposed to be here, too?

He lets her talk, and she does. She explains the meaning of the words written on the board. I look at her, impressed. She's pretty and smart. Good for her.

I see Michèle look to her left. I look, too. The boys pass notes and whisper incoherently. I keep a close eye on them. They pass the note to one boy, Laubrac, who looks like he doesn't know what to do with it.

"Give me that." The teacher states. "Give it to me."

Laubrac gets up, moving to the front of the classroom. The teacher opens up the note, then looks back at Laubrac.

"You think this is funny?" The teacher holds up the note.

"It wasn't me." Laubrac says in defence, but with a calm tone.

"Who is responsible for this masterpiece?" The teacher waves the paper in the air.

I turn my head back to the boys in the back. Descamps is chewing on the tip of his pen, acting like he doesn't know anything. His blinks under his glasses, and I squint. His hazel eyes connect with mine, and I look away swiftly.

"Your name?" The teacher asks as he folds the note.

"It wasn't me." Laubrac states again.

"'It wasn't me'. All culprits have the same name. They must be related. Okay, Mr. It wasn't me-"

"Laubrac. My name is Laubrac."

The teacher pauses. "Alright, Laubrac. Are you the boy from foster care? A nobody's son trying to graduate? How amusing." Gasps are heard.

"Didn't anyone teach you discipline in the care system?" He didn't wait for Laubrac to respond. "I won't let a bastard like you disrupt my class. Get out."

"But he didn't do anything." Michèle gets up from her seat to exclaim. I stare at her in shock.

"Nobody taught you how to raise your hand in your all girls' school, Ms. Magnan? Or maybe you think you have a free pass because your uncle is the dean." This teacher is getting on my nerves. I glance at him with squinted eyes.

"Escort your new friend to your uncle's office. He'll give you detention, too." He points to the door. Michèle and Laubrac start walking. I stare at her worriedly. I lean over the desk to talk to Simone.

"Is she gonna be okay?" I ask her. She turns to look at me with creased eyebrows.

"I think so. Her uncle's the dean, after all." I nod and sit back down.

I glance behind me and catch framed hazel eyes staring. He looks away quickly. I stare back to the front.

××《☆》××

Me and Michèle are walking outside when we hear a man call out her name. Before we could turn, he grabs her arm and leads her to the side of the building. I stood in my place, waiting for her instead of going with when I noticed it was just her brother. I walk to lean against the building, gathering my surroundings. I hear pebbles being stepped on and think nothing of it, assuming it was Simone. It wasn't.

"Good morning." I turn my head, smiling, then drop it when I'm met with a chest. I tilt my head upward, and the sunlight hits my eyes. There's a smile on his face still.

"Why are you alone? Where's your friend?" Descamps interrogates. I stare blankly.

"It doesn't matter to you." I turn my head again. I feel him adjust, putting an arm against the wall of the building.

"I know it shouldn't. But seeing a pretty girl like you all alone worries me. I can't let the other boys get to you before I could." He lowers his voice, dropping his head to reach my height.

I look back up at him. I raise my eyebrows. "How many girls have you used that on?"

He laughs. He's laughing. Why is he laughing?

"You're witty. I like that." I roll my eyes at his words. I notice Michèle in the middle of the grounds with Simone, and I sigh in relief. I walk away from Descamps and sprint to them, trying to keep myself composed.

As I get to them, Simone is running towards the bathroom. I catch my breath and shout.

"Simone, that's not-" Simone squeals as she runs back to us. She's laughing. I smile widely, amused.

"It was the boys' bathroom. I just saw-" We start walking but stop as a boy calls out 'What was that!?'.

"Sorry!" Simone repeats, and we all laugh.

××《☆》××

We all sit and talk in the lunch hall. I look out the window, barely touching my food.

Loud clattering catches my attention. I turn my head and see Pichon's hands in Annick's food. I grimace. There are boys laughing in the background. Pichon says a quick sorry to Annick and walks away, clearly embarrassed. Someone asks Annick if she wants a new plate.

"That idiot should give her his." Michèle says, partially mad. I glance to the boy, and it's Descamps. Of course it is. A series of ooh's are heard in the room. Descamps glances at me, then puts his eyes on Michèle again.

"Does the dean's niece have a problem?" He puts his arm on the backrest of his seat, and the other arm leaning on the table. "What did you tell your uncle? 'Laubrac is innocent. Descamps is the bad one'. The dean's niece and the bastard. A new love story." The hall laughs. I glare at him.

"Why don't you tell us what you wrote on that note?" Michèle bites back.

"It was a drawing. I'll show you." Descamps says calmly. He grabs a bottle and starts drawing on his scrambled eggs. I furrow my brows, already knowing what was gonna happen.

"It's a portrait." He holds up his plate, and his eggs now display a woman's bare chest. I scrunch my nose in digust. The hall laughs yet again. Words come piling out my mouth before I know it.

"It's too bad you'll only ever see them in pictures, not in real life. Women would never fawn over that small dick of yours." I say, and the hall erupts with impressed sounds. He raises his eyebrows. Simone holds up a sausage.

"Does this remind you of anything?" She grabs the other end of the sausage and breaks it in half. I laugh. The hall ooh's again. They start banging on the tables, and it catches a teachers attention.

Descamps glances back at us and glares at Michèle. His eyes travel to mine, and a spark of mischief flashes in his framed eyes. My brows crease.

××《☆》××

The bell rings, and students walk into their classrooms. Me, Michèle, and Simone are walking to our class.

I stare out the windows, seeing the busy streets of the afternoon. The girls are talking about a man named 'Alain Delon' when Michèle opens the door and a tub of water drops on her. I gasp.

The boys are laughing. I look at Michèle in worry. I tried to look for something to cover her up, but our teacher came first. She looks at Michèle, then looks at the room full of boys. She gets rid of her coat and tells someone to keep an eye on the class.

I walk inside, standing in shock near my table at the back at what happened. When I came back to my senses, Descamps was drawing boobs on the board, saying some things I couldn't hear with my unfocused mind.

Before I could walk over to him and give him a beating, Michèle's brother, Jean Pierre, walks into the classroom and starts punching the boys.

The others try to stop him, but he keeps punching. I stare at the scene, unable to do anything.

Descamps's eyes move from the fight to me, and I see emotions flashing in them. Worry, stress, fear, and regret. His eyes continue to stay on me when he gets punched. I cover my mouth in shock. I run near.

I pick up his glasses, and there's a crack on one of the frames. My heart drops when I hear whimpering.

I turn around and see Descamps on the floor, hand cupping his eye. I hadn't noticed the dean until he was kneeling next to him.

"My eye! I can't see." Tears well up. I feel thundering emotions.

My ears ring, and I blur everything out. I can still hear him whimpering. My eyes travel around his shaking body, my heart is beating out of my chest, and I feel like falling.

"Pardine. Take him to the office and call an ambulance." The dean tells me, and I snap back into reality. I quickly go to Descamps and grab his shoulders, ushering him to stand. There's blood seeping out of his fingers. I try not to sob.

He probably thought I was the nurse because he leans into me and relaxes a bit. I sigh shakily. I rub his back with my palm and guide him to the office.

××《☆》××

The ambulance was called, and he was taken to the hospital. I sit on the stairs, watching the ambulance drive away. I sigh deeply and place my head on my hands. I breathe in and out slowly, trying to calm myself.

Why did I help? He's bullied my classmates, especially Pichon and Michèle. I furrow my eyebrows. Fuck.

××《☆》××

I knock on the door, and I'm granted to come in. I quickly grab my things, ignoring the teachers questions. Michèle and Simone lean over to me. Simone talks first.

"Are you okay?" She asks worriedly. I shake my head no.

"I don't feel well. I think I'm gonna take the rest of the day off." Simone nods, understanding. Michèle looks confused but brushes it off.

"Okay. Get home safe. We'll see you tomorrow?" Michèle asks. I nod.

"Sure. See you tomorrow." I leave the room and head to the dean's office, asking for an excuse slip.

××《☆》××

As I lie on my bed petting George, I recall the events. Meeting the girls, talking to Descamps, Descamps embarrassing Michèle, witnessing Descamps go blind, calling the hospital for him. I sigh again. That boy will be the death of me.

I glance at my Mary Jane's. There's a scratch on it. Only when I got home I realised that Descamps stepped on it when he pushed past me. Fuck him and his face.

I hate him, I say in my head. I hate him and will continue to hate him. Two eyes or not.

××《☆》××

End of- Chapter one: Mary Jane's

Next- Chapter two: My eye only

××《☆》××

End of Chapter one, i really hope you guys liked it. It's my first time writing in a long while. When I watched Mixte, i was obsessed with joseph and was disappointed with the lost opportunity of an enemies to lovers. So i made one with a reader insert because i also couldn't find a lot of reader insert for joseph in it. Joseph and reader will get together very soon. Please dm this acc for recommendations. Thank you for reading!!!

[14dayswithyou]

my birthday is coming up 🩵🩵🩵 I think it’d be really cute if Teo and I got like matching rings and had a cute little date at like a little altar, and maybe he wears a suit and I wear a white gown 🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

ANSWERED: Hehe I know exactly what you mean 😻

Adjusting the black tie around his neck; Teo stands in front of the altar, pulls out a folded piece of paper from his back pocket, and begins to read. "Rosie was... the best lay I ever had. It's a real shame she died in that ugly Victorian nightgown, but I guess even It Girls need a break from serving cunt all the time."

"It's true..." Saint says with tears in her eyes — except not really because I'm livin MY LIFE WITH EDDIE BABYYYY LETS GOOOOOOO!!!!! Ok, actual fic below now, I promise teehee <3

"Thought I'd find you up here." your voice comes out soft, so as to not startle the man smoking near the ledge. The faint glow of his cigarette stands out even amongst the stars and cityscape backdrop he'd been staring at moments prior. But even after hearing your words, Teo doesn't seem to move.

"Guess I need to switch things up then." He doesn't turn around, though he does makes room for you to stand beside him. "I'm becoming predictable."

Silence blankets the two of you as you both idly stare off into the distance. It'd never been like this at the start of your relationship... And while you wouldn't admit it out loud... It was a nice change of pace. No longer did Teo seek you out for late-night rendezvous, and in turn, you no longer had to fall prey to his hedonistic escapades.

But the silence could only last for so long. And what's more, you were certain Teo would grow bored of the lack of stimulation and do something more... worthy of his attention.

So, with a slight cough, you casually strike up a conversation. "What did you get up to today?"

"Heh, you'll probably see it on the news soon." A sly smirk pulls at his side profile, before Teo finally acknowledges your presence by his side with an intrigued look in his eyes. "And you?"

...And you?

Since when did the Teo Alvarado talk about something other than himself?

"I, uhh..." Clearly not expecting that response, you stumble over your words and avert your gaze towards the illuminated backdrop once more. "I got my nails done?"

"Hmph. You don't sound too sure 'bout it, doll." The taller male extinguishes the butt of his cigarette on the cement railing before leaning against it. A beat passes before he extends a hand out towards you. "Lemme see."

He takes your palms into his larger ones and spares a casual glance over each nail individually. And had you known any better, you would've assumed he was bored. But you did know better. That was a look of genuine intrigue.

"...Green, huh?"

"I-I just felt like it!"

No way were you going to let him in on your suppressed feelings. You were well ware of the fact that once Teo sensed any semblance of attachment, he would run and never look back. You'd seen it happen one too many times, and you weren't going to let the same thing happen to you.

Besides... What you had with Teo; it felt different. It was nothing like the casual hookups he used to have with all those men and women from the city -- now long forgotten the moment he started getting cozy with you.

"...Do you like them?" Hesitantly, you gaze upwards to read his expression. "I thought you might, considering you paid for it and all."

"They're not bad. Could be better." Okay, rude. But before you can say anything, Teo continues, "Here. Try this."

Not allowing you a moment to respond, Teo quickly reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a small box. Upon opening it, an almost gaudy ring captures your attention (was that Tiffany's?) -- before his large hand hides it from view as he pulls it out.

Was that...

Reaching for your own hand now, Teo slips the ring onto your finger. Too overwhelmed with what was happening, your mind barely registers the fact that the ring seemed to be your exact size.

"Much better." Teo's voice pulls you from your thoughts. "More my taste."

"T-Teo... You do realize that's my ring fin—"

The sharp look he sends you sends a shiver down your spine. "One more word, and I'll lock you up here and drive off."

"...What about two words?"

"No."

"Three?"

Immediately, he drops your hand, turns towards the fire escape door, and waves you off. "Hope you brought a sleeping bag. 'M not coming back till morning."

"Okay, okay! I'm sorry!" Without thinking, you reach for his arm and tug him back into the spot beside you. "I'll be quiet."

Another wave of silence washes over the both of you. Though this time, it felt forced. It seemed far too awkward to suddenly address such an... unexpected and intimate gesture from someone like Teo, but you didn't know what else to say either. Changing the subject would only bring more awkwardness, and it wasn't like you could continue the current conversation either.

Damn this man and his inability to be on the receiving end of basic human emotions.

Completely lost in your own mind, you barely notice how Teo lets out a forced huff beside you and pulls you closer by your hips. He rests his chin against the crown of your head this time -- no doubt to stop you from looking up at him -- before he finally breaks the silence.

"It's my nanny's ring." When you don't respond, Teo continues, "Some... sentimental heirloom shit, I guess. She never had any children 'cause she was busy taking care of me."

Why was he holding you so tightly? Like he was afraid you'd run away at the barest hint of vulnerability?

...Attachment?

"And before you ask, yes, she parted with it willingly. I..." You feel him lull his head to the side to pop a joint in his neck, "I asked her for it. Didn't ask for her blessing though, so I don't know why she gave it."

"Teo. This is seriously sounding like a proposal."

"...It's whatever."

"Teo!"

"Fine. A birthday gift."

"...You remembered my birthday?"

"Ouch. Do I look like someone who'd forget?" Just as you open your mouth, his hand predicts your actions and squishes your cheeks together. "Wipe that smug look off your face. I can't see it, but I know you're gonna do it."

"...Thank you, Teo." It all suddenly felt far too sentimental in that moment, and you knew all too well that Teo would be responding negatively to it soon. So, deciding to fall back on old ways -- lest he starts to gets mean -- you settle for an all-too-familiar way to thank your lover.

Unashamedly, you turn in his grasp before trailing your hands down the warm expanse of his chest. They rest just above the latch of his belt -- but almost uncharacteristically, Teo pulls them away and wraps your arms around his neck instead.

"...Do I look like someone you could marry?"

"...W-What?"

"Like I said. I'm getting predictable." He uses your hands to cup his face before leaning closer. "'M switching things up again. Marry me."